Consider this: How is the value of an artistic work derived?
Art is unlike science in that it can never be accurately and adequately deconstructed and quantified. You can't say, oh, this painting is composed of 136 brushstrokes, 60% of which are good strong strokes while the remaining are mediocre strokes, but since the colours used blend in with each other, plus it is recognizable to both the young and the old, it is a work of art.
So where exactly does art appreciation begin, or end?
How does one know whether a dance piece, a painting, a song, is good, bad or excellent? Wouldn't a person's taste vary greatly from one individual to another, one society to another? Does an art critic, definitely schooled in the expression of his thoughts but not necessarily as cultured in his taste, automatically deserve more air time and respect than the man in the street?
I wanted to say once in secondary school, when my Lit teacher was unceremoniously savaging my critique of Shakespeare's work, 'Mam, do you know what you're talking about? You're not him. How would you dare to go far as to assume he meant to say all these things? What if you're completely off the mark, and in reality when Shakespeare was writing he was also high on drugs?"
I mean, doesn't it then occur to anyone that while it might be true that man's genius is often most reflected in the artisitic works he births, art critics are the ones who inflate or deflate an art piece's true value? Yet a paradox exists, for if we ever want an objective, quantifiable way of deriving the value of an art piece, beyond the mere swaying 'gut feeling' of the art critics, we will have to apply Science to value Art, and that is both unimaginable and impossible.
Rather, the question is, how many art critics does it take to make a piece of art, a work of art?
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
What You Wish For
As they say, be very, very careful of what you wish for.
When the dentist extracted my wisdom teeth, she had to suture the gaping holes in my gums by stitching them together. However, as my gums slowly regenerated, the stitches began to unwind and come loose.
As a result, I've been quite irritated at the way the loose threads flap around in my mouth whenever I talk or eat. A quick peek in the mirror reminded me of the Sentinels from Matrix. And like any normal person, I wished so hard that the stiches would somehow magically disappear.
Today, this very morning, three threads disappeared. They just weren't there anymore.
Gulp. =(
When the dentist extracted my wisdom teeth, she had to suture the gaping holes in my gums by stitching them together. However, as my gums slowly regenerated, the stitches began to unwind and come loose.
As a result, I've been quite irritated at the way the loose threads flap around in my mouth whenever I talk or eat. A quick peek in the mirror reminded me of the Sentinels from Matrix. And like any normal person, I wished so hard that the stiches would somehow magically disappear.
Today, this very morning, three threads disappeared. They just weren't there anymore.
Gulp. =(
Monday, February 21, 2005
Liondance
In a most unusual turn of events, a travelling liondance troupe performed on my front porch today. It's too distressing to explain the convoluted circumstances that gave rise to such an eventuality, so suffice to say that my mother had seized her opportunity when the troupe came a knocking on our door.
My younger cousins were present as well, and it was only a matter of time before they started directing some extremely disconcerting questions at us. Namely, :
1. What is the liondance held for?
2. What is the red ball that the lion is pursuing?
3. What is the significance of the loud accompanying 'music'?
4. Won't the guy at the back have to sniff the front guy's butt?
To tell you the truth, I don't know. I needed Google to help me, when by birthright I should have bloody known the whole thing by heart. My dad's right, if an ang moh was there and asked me, and I couldn't answer, where can I possibly hide my face? It's like I'm genetically Chinese, but culturally Junk.
I suspect I'm not the only one though. Which other nation publishes in the national newspaper 'A Complete Guide to the Truths and Myths of CNY'? It's not a good enough excuse, but spare me for the moment, I'm still grappling with the notion that Chinese culture, distilled and refined over thousands of years, is going to stop with Me, at least in my family.
Bleah.
My younger cousins were present as well, and it was only a matter of time before they started directing some extremely disconcerting questions at us. Namely, :
1. What is the liondance held for?
2. What is the red ball that the lion is pursuing?
3. What is the significance of the loud accompanying 'music'?
4. Won't the guy at the back have to sniff the front guy's butt?
To tell you the truth, I don't know. I needed Google to help me, when by birthright I should have bloody known the whole thing by heart. My dad's right, if an ang moh was there and asked me, and I couldn't answer, where can I possibly hide my face? It's like I'm genetically Chinese, but culturally Junk.
I suspect I'm not the only one though. Which other nation publishes in the national newspaper 'A Complete Guide to the Truths and Myths of CNY'? It's not a good enough excuse, but spare me for the moment, I'm still grappling with the notion that Chinese culture, distilled and refined over thousands of years, is going to stop with Me, at least in my family.
Bleah.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Trauma
I've only lived for less than 21 years, and in this time there have been certain things that affected me so much that I cannot help but revisit the same problems when I sleep. That's the flip side of dreaming then - for every wild flight of imagination that is so characteristic of the good dreams I have, there's the evil twisted sibling nightmare that's well, too real for me sometimes.
Of the two recurrent nightmares I still have, one of them, freshly reimagined in my head last night, was of the A Levels. Yes, you read that right. The dreaded A Levels.
It's the same thing everytime. The whole school's in the school hall collecting their results, and as I queue up to collect mine from my form teacher, I notice how everyone in front of me is getting perfect grades, a government scholarship as well as an acceptance letter from a prestigious university overseas, all at the same time.
When it's my turn though, Ms Gong sneers at me, tells me how I'm the only one in the whole school who failed (4 F9s!). As the whole hall quietens to investigate this unusual case of failure, she then delivers the coup de grace - an acceptance letter from the Army.
Man, how I hate that dream.
Of the two recurrent nightmares I still have, one of them, freshly reimagined in my head last night, was of the A Levels. Yes, you read that right. The dreaded A Levels.
It's the same thing everytime. The whole school's in the school hall collecting their results, and as I queue up to collect mine from my form teacher, I notice how everyone in front of me is getting perfect grades, a government scholarship as well as an acceptance letter from a prestigious university overseas, all at the same time.
When it's my turn though, Ms Gong sneers at me, tells me how I'm the only one in the whole school who failed (4 F9s!). As the whole hall quietens to investigate this unusual case of failure, she then delivers the coup de grace - an acceptance letter from the Army.
Man, how I hate that dream.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Little Alice: A Poem
I wrote this during a meeting which bored me to tears. It's strange how I managed to find an little personal oasis in my head while a hundred idiots chattered around me.
Little Alice was a natural whiner
There was no skill at which she was finer
Her demands were few and far between
But the tantrums she threw were really mean
Her parents gave in most of the time
Often parting ways with many a dime
For her taste for things was sometimes exotic
Sometimes refined and sometimes bimbotic
She had a bikini made from Chinese silk
Would drink nothing at breakfast but pineapple milk
Had sneakers with wheels which glowed at night
Barbie dolls all dressed up in tights
A little submarine which could really float
Models of castles complete with moats
Even a vintage guitar she couldn't play
(Plus a lifetime account with that website Ebay)
But still her parents' hearts filled with dread
And they feared they would go quite mad
Whenever Alice came with that look in her eyes
Which they had long since learnt to recognize
As the start of a new demand, a new request
And again their love for her would be put to the test
"No!" said her father before she could even speak
"I won't give in, and I won't be weak!"
And so Alice pouted and Alice whined
Alice cried till she almost went blind
Yet just as her father nearly gave in again
A plan so evil, so diabolically insane
Bloomed in his mind like a plant on drugs
A plan so simple and free of bugs
For this time it was a pup that Alice demanded
And her dad knew just the dog that couldn't be refunded
Unknown to all her dad was really a warlock
Certainly not the kind you'll laugh at or mock
Because he was powerful, really quite strong
Just a softie at heart, nothing so wrong
And with a swish of his wand he opened a door
A portal from Hell to Singapore
Out stepped a dog drenched in darkness so black
The kind even Osama wouldn't attack
And the hound even gave Alice a reasonable chance
Until Alice asked, "Can this dog dance?"
"And why is it black, wouldn't a brown dog be nice?
This one won't do, this one won't suffice."
Although the hound's anger the parents couldn't dissolve
At least one problem was finally resolved
Of Alice's demands they were no longer afraid
Because the Hell Hound had bit off her head
I've always been inspired by Roald Dahl. =)
Little Alice was a natural whiner
There was no skill at which she was finer
Her demands were few and far between
But the tantrums she threw were really mean
Her parents gave in most of the time
Often parting ways with many a dime
For her taste for things was sometimes exotic
Sometimes refined and sometimes bimbotic
She had a bikini made from Chinese silk
Would drink nothing at breakfast but pineapple milk
Had sneakers with wheels which glowed at night
Barbie dolls all dressed up in tights
A little submarine which could really float
Models of castles complete with moats
Even a vintage guitar she couldn't play
(Plus a lifetime account with that website Ebay)
But still her parents' hearts filled with dread
And they feared they would go quite mad
Whenever Alice came with that look in her eyes
Which they had long since learnt to recognize
As the start of a new demand, a new request
And again their love for her would be put to the test
"No!" said her father before she could even speak
"I won't give in, and I won't be weak!"
And so Alice pouted and Alice whined
Alice cried till she almost went blind
Yet just as her father nearly gave in again
A plan so evil, so diabolically insane
Bloomed in his mind like a plant on drugs
A plan so simple and free of bugs
For this time it was a pup that Alice demanded
And her dad knew just the dog that couldn't be refunded
Unknown to all her dad was really a warlock
Certainly not the kind you'll laugh at or mock
Because he was powerful, really quite strong
Just a softie at heart, nothing so wrong
And with a swish of his wand he opened a door
A portal from Hell to Singapore
Out stepped a dog drenched in darkness so black
The kind even Osama wouldn't attack
And the hound even gave Alice a reasonable chance
Until Alice asked, "Can this dog dance?"
"And why is it black, wouldn't a brown dog be nice?
This one won't do, this one won't suffice."
Although the hound's anger the parents couldn't dissolve
At least one problem was finally resolved
Of Alice's demands they were no longer afraid
Because the Hell Hound had bit off her head
I've always been inspired by Roald Dahl. =)
Friday, February 18, 2005
Valentine's Day
Yes, yes, I know V-Day's over, but it's never too late for a bit of hindsight, ya?
In the first year of Army I encountered this friend of mine who lamented the entire week before V-Day 2003, that he just had to find a way to get out of camp for the occasion. According to the poor love-afflicted soul, that one day would severely affect the longevity of his relationship, and oh my, how he wailed and moaned every night that week. The officer who wouldn't let us out on V-Day, we dedicated enough cursed effigies to him to rival an entire Barbie Summer Collection.
Fast forward to V-Day 2005.
"Man, I just can't seem to get duty on Monday," he said to me during a catch-up session.
"Monday? Ain't that V-Day?"
"Yeah. I can't find any excuse to stay in camp..."
I admit, I backed away a little bit. Forefront in my mind was the not-too-distant recollection that this was the guy who single-handedly destroyed morale during V-Day 2003. Now that he could get out, he wanted to get guard duty? Mentally unstable people scare me, really.
"No, you see, if I don't have duty, I'll have to plan something to surprise her again, and man oh man, I can't think of anything else anymore!"
That little comment of his led me to quite a significant insight, really. For all the gender equality we're supposed to be having nowadays, most of the burden of organizing such memorable dates still falls on the guys.
I mean, I take my hat (or helmet, considering I haven't ORDed) off for every single girl who put effort into finding a little keepsake, or writing a little note of affection for her guy on V-Day. But I also recognize that there are still way too many ladies out there who expect their guys to be solely responsible for picking the place, the time, the event.
The worst part, the absolute worst part is that most of the time the girls keep mum about what they would like to experience, for the sole purpose of "seeing if he knows what I like or want". Yes, this is a test of sorts, to see if your guy is sensitive enough, but this leads to a most pressing problem. Which guy wants to disappoint his girlfriend with a differently conceived surprise? Which guy wants his girlfriend to compare with other girls later to realise that their night out wasn't exactly the most romantic?
How many man-hours are lost when guys around the globe toss and turn in their beds at night, agonizing over the perfect date? ' What would she like to eat? Will she even eat? Will she find flowers tasteful, or a waste of money? Will she like the Godiva chocs, or refuse them for fear of getting fat? Will she hate me if over a romantic dinner I grasp her hands across the candle-lit table, and instead of saying something touching or memorable I say "Wa lau it's damn dark here?" '
And now if you ask me, I think that officer who kept us in during V-Day 2003 was only trying to help us. Bless his ORDed soul.
In the first year of Army I encountered this friend of mine who lamented the entire week before V-Day 2003, that he just had to find a way to get out of camp for the occasion. According to the poor love-afflicted soul, that one day would severely affect the longevity of his relationship, and oh my, how he wailed and moaned every night that week. The officer who wouldn't let us out on V-Day, we dedicated enough cursed effigies to him to rival an entire Barbie Summer Collection.
Fast forward to V-Day 2005.
"Man, I just can't seem to get duty on Monday," he said to me during a catch-up session.
"Monday? Ain't that V-Day?"
"Yeah. I can't find any excuse to stay in camp..."
I admit, I backed away a little bit. Forefront in my mind was the not-too-distant recollection that this was the guy who single-handedly destroyed morale during V-Day 2003. Now that he could get out, he wanted to get guard duty? Mentally unstable people scare me, really.
"No, you see, if I don't have duty, I'll have to plan something to surprise her again, and man oh man, I can't think of anything else anymore!"
That little comment of his led me to quite a significant insight, really. For all the gender equality we're supposed to be having nowadays, most of the burden of organizing such memorable dates still falls on the guys.
I mean, I take my hat (or helmet, considering I haven't ORDed) off for every single girl who put effort into finding a little keepsake, or writing a little note of affection for her guy on V-Day. But I also recognize that there are still way too many ladies out there who expect their guys to be solely responsible for picking the place, the time, the event.
The worst part, the absolute worst part is that most of the time the girls keep mum about what they would like to experience, for the sole purpose of "seeing if he knows what I like or want". Yes, this is a test of sorts, to see if your guy is sensitive enough, but this leads to a most pressing problem. Which guy wants to disappoint his girlfriend with a differently conceived surprise? Which guy wants his girlfriend to compare with other girls later to realise that their night out wasn't exactly the most romantic?
How many man-hours are lost when guys around the globe toss and turn in their beds at night, agonizing over the perfect date? ' What would she like to eat? Will she even eat? Will she find flowers tasteful, or a waste of money? Will she like the Godiva chocs, or refuse them for fear of getting fat? Will she hate me if over a romantic dinner I grasp her hands across the candle-lit table, and instead of saying something touching or memorable I say "Wa lau it's damn dark here?" '
And now if you ask me, I think that officer who kept us in during V-Day 2003 was only trying to help us. Bless his ORDed soul.
Under The Knife
As I'm writing this, my head is tilted a few degrees lower than it normally is positioned. I tell you, it's my cheeks.
I went under the knife just a few days ago, not in an effort to look better (Oh God whatever will I do with more good looks) but to remove my wisdom teeth, those wicked food-trapping-decay-catalysing-abdominations. I thought, hey, fantastic, here's my great chance to act sickly and incapitated and distressed after the op, so that I'll get pampered silly.
In the end, I hardly needed to act.
First there was this tingly itchiness to my gums, where my wisdom teeth used to be. When I awoke in the ward suffering from the debilitating effects of the anaesthesia, I fought this insane urge to just keep spitting everything out. Before today I never accumulated enough blood in my mouth to gargle. Before today.
Then, the stitches. The first food to cross my lips after the op was pea soup, and since I was extra careful not to get any food near the sutured gums, I was surprised when Mr. Tongue reported traces of what might be pea skins stuck to the roof of my mouth. Hardy-har-har, imagine how amused I was when a quick peek in the mirror revealed a mess of black threads running amok in my mouth. I was so amused, you can say the op left me in stitches...
And the final tragedy. Perhaps, for the first time in my life, I was upset about looking swell, for it was only a matter of time before I developed a square-cut jaw. Superhero looks? Yes, if you're looking at me from the side. In what I believe to be an uncharacteristic and unprofessional fit of jealousy, the surgeon had cut one cheek deeper than the other, thus affecting an uneven swelling of the face.
I realised this when I relaxed completely, and found that my view of the world was just a little bit tilted to the right.
So sorry Limin, I missed that lunch appointment with you. As my fan club aptly put it a few months back, "we're undergoing upgrading to serve you better." =(
I went under the knife just a few days ago, not in an effort to look better (Oh God whatever will I do with more good looks) but to remove my wisdom teeth, those wicked food-trapping-decay-catalysing-abdominations. I thought, hey, fantastic, here's my great chance to act sickly and incapitated and distressed after the op, so that I'll get pampered silly.
In the end, I hardly needed to act.
First there was this tingly itchiness to my gums, where my wisdom teeth used to be. When I awoke in the ward suffering from the debilitating effects of the anaesthesia, I fought this insane urge to just keep spitting everything out. Before today I never accumulated enough blood in my mouth to gargle. Before today.
Then, the stitches. The first food to cross my lips after the op was pea soup, and since I was extra careful not to get any food near the sutured gums, I was surprised when Mr. Tongue reported traces of what might be pea skins stuck to the roof of my mouth. Hardy-har-har, imagine how amused I was when a quick peek in the mirror revealed a mess of black threads running amok in my mouth. I was so amused, you can say the op left me in stitches...
And the final tragedy. Perhaps, for the first time in my life, I was upset about looking swell, for it was only a matter of time before I developed a square-cut jaw. Superhero looks? Yes, if you're looking at me from the side. In what I believe to be an uncharacteristic and unprofessional fit of jealousy, the surgeon had cut one cheek deeper than the other, thus affecting an uneven swelling of the face.
I realised this when I relaxed completely, and found that my view of the world was just a little bit tilted to the right.
So sorry Limin, I missed that lunch appointment with you. As my fan club aptly put it a few months back, "we're undergoing upgrading to serve you better." =(
Karaoke 1: Girls of the Night
So it was at another class gathering that I found myself enveloped in yet another of those labyrinthine Party World KTV lounges, nestled in a cosy room wondering why a completely different sampling of young adults had chosen an almost completely Mandarin song playlist again. I was sitting next to Zhihaotan (name changed to protect Tan Zhihao's privacy), contemplating which song to murder next, when I noticed him being uncharacteristically quiet.
"Hanting," he said after a while, "do you frequent KTV lounges?"
I paused. If the Truth was to battle Machoism everyday, then everyday Machoism would win. "Of course," I said with a barely-concealed smugness in my voice, "I happen to go out quite often with my army friends." Yeah. Like once a year.
"Then... you tell me... where are all the KTV girls?"
To tell you the truth, I was stunned for a while. Of all the questions, I didn't expect this one. Yet, strangely enough, with my limited experience I still had culled sufficient knowledge to answer him.
"You see, there are two kinds of KTVs, ya? One's the normal, decent kind, like the one we're in. And the other type, well, they're known as the lap sup kind, the kind that well, employs more staff, to say the least."
"But how do you know? How do you tell?"
"Well, mostly by word of mouth. But, hiyar, you can usually tell one la. Just look at how decent the entire setup is... I mean, if you notice that the aircon's just about right, it's not too hot, yet the girls serving you drinks are barely clothed, well, either there's a budget cut for uniforms or it's the lap sup kind."
"Ok. So let's say I get myself into one of those kinds of places, accidentally of course, how do I let the... er... ladies know I'm not interested?"
For a short moment Zhihaotan's question triggered a violent relapse of a particularly unpleasant encounter I had, which will not be discussed here. "Well, first of all you've got to start acting completely disgusted, and keep politely refusing their advances. Don't ever tip anyone to get them off your back too! You'll start attracting them by the dozens. Then, if they still come at you, start flapping around like a gay and declare you're a homo."
His eyes sparkled, an amazing thing in an already glittery room.
"Really? That'll keep them off?"
"Of course man. Would I lie to you?"
I would, actually. That last piece of advice should provide a bit of entertainment, once he actually does try it out. Only God knows what kind of response he'll get. =)
"Hanting," he said after a while, "do you frequent KTV lounges?"
I paused. If the Truth was to battle Machoism everyday, then everyday Machoism would win. "Of course," I said with a barely-concealed smugness in my voice, "I happen to go out quite often with my army friends." Yeah. Like once a year.
"Then... you tell me... where are all the KTV girls?"
To tell you the truth, I was stunned for a while. Of all the questions, I didn't expect this one. Yet, strangely enough, with my limited experience I still had culled sufficient knowledge to answer him.
"You see, there are two kinds of KTVs, ya? One's the normal, decent kind, like the one we're in. And the other type, well, they're known as the lap sup kind, the kind that well, employs more staff, to say the least."
"But how do you know? How do you tell?"
"Well, mostly by word of mouth. But, hiyar, you can usually tell one la. Just look at how decent the entire setup is... I mean, if you notice that the aircon's just about right, it's not too hot, yet the girls serving you drinks are barely clothed, well, either there's a budget cut for uniforms or it's the lap sup kind."
"Ok. So let's say I get myself into one of those kinds of places, accidentally of course, how do I let the... er... ladies know I'm not interested?"
For a short moment Zhihaotan's question triggered a violent relapse of a particularly unpleasant encounter I had, which will not be discussed here. "Well, first of all you've got to start acting completely disgusted, and keep politely refusing their advances. Don't ever tip anyone to get them off your back too! You'll start attracting them by the dozens. Then, if they still come at you, start flapping around like a gay and declare you're a homo."
His eyes sparkled, an amazing thing in an already glittery room.
"Really? That'll keep them off?"
"Of course man. Would I lie to you?"
I would, actually. That last piece of advice should provide a bit of entertainment, once he actually does try it out. Only God knows what kind of response he'll get. =)
Monday, January 24, 2005
In A Super Hurry....
Dear all, sorry for the lack of updates... keep meaning to spend time to pen down all the things that have been happening, but I never seem to be able to find the time! Well, here's another quickie update, to assure all my friends and fans that I'm still alive, before the next update!
1. Course has ended! It's really bittersweet... it's a great feeling to pass out from the course and just concentrate on the final leg of the journey, but on the other hand it's going to be tough to forget all the great times I've spent with my course mates... Pili, Yong Tong, Wei Yi, Desmond, Weiqi, Jeremy, Hansel, Adam, Shiwei, Seah, Eric, Lester, Lip Jin, thanks for all the memories guys!
2. Course is starting! This is going to be the FINAL course I'm going to conduct for my own trainees, and it's going to start in about five hours time... Sigh... Going to need all my energy and determination to still get the job done! ORD LOH!! =)
Take care all...
1. Course has ended! It's really bittersweet... it's a great feeling to pass out from the course and just concentrate on the final leg of the journey, but on the other hand it's going to be tough to forget all the great times I've spent with my course mates... Pili, Yong Tong, Wei Yi, Desmond, Weiqi, Jeremy, Hansel, Adam, Shiwei, Seah, Eric, Lester, Lip Jin, thanks for all the memories guys!
2. Course is starting! This is going to be the FINAL course I'm going to conduct for my own trainees, and it's going to start in about five hours time... Sigh... Going to need all my energy and determination to still get the job done! ORD LOH!! =)
Take care all...
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Karaoke 0: Prelude
I found myself, just a few hours ago, in a KTV cafe somewhere in Chinatown. It began when my army friends extended an invitation to join them, and let's just say that it was highly uncharacteristic for me to agree.
Dinner? Anytime. Outing at the library? Sure thing. Shopping for undergarments? Ok, but don't tell anyone. But singing?!?
In the end, it was a matter of pride. When I finally joined the group, who were happily queing up playlists comprising the biggest names in Chinese pop, a friend whispered to me, "Hanting, it's ok, you can just choose an English song to sing. We don't mind."
In history, nothing starts a war faster than the insulting of pride.
For the official record, my Mandarin isn't anything like my Grandma's, and I qualify it by pointing out that she can pen Mandarin poems while I break a sweat ensuring my spoken and written grammar is correct. However, and it's a very, very important 'However', I am able to read all my Mandarin newspapers and comics without having to guess the meaning of every alternate line, and I can appreciate Mandarin music to a respectable degree. Most importantly, I can engage a cabby in a full Mandarin conversation for 40 minutes, and heck, you've got to admit that's one h*ll of an Oral Test.
So yes, I was able to recognize almost all the songs that were belted out, and contributed a few renditions of my own too. On hindisight though, it seems kind of fishy that only my songs were 'accidentally prematurely cut short due to technical faults of the remote controller'.
At the end of the day, the one person in my mind was Ms Oei, my secondary school Mandarin teacher. She was the very first teacher I had who stressed that a proficiency in the language would enrich our lives in ways we cannot imagine. Her philosophy did more than that for me tonight - it bridged a very important gap for me, and brought my friends and I closer on some intangible level.
Thank you mam! I took about four years to finally understand the most important lesson you were trying to teach, but at least I had the foresight to ask you for a general extension for all work, way back in '99. =)
Dinner? Anytime. Outing at the library? Sure thing. Shopping for undergarments? Ok, but don't tell anyone. But singing?!?
In the end, it was a matter of pride. When I finally joined the group, who were happily queing up playlists comprising the biggest names in Chinese pop, a friend whispered to me, "Hanting, it's ok, you can just choose an English song to sing. We don't mind."
In history, nothing starts a war faster than the insulting of pride.
For the official record, my Mandarin isn't anything like my Grandma's, and I qualify it by pointing out that she can pen Mandarin poems while I break a sweat ensuring my spoken and written grammar is correct. However, and it's a very, very important 'However', I am able to read all my Mandarin newspapers and comics without having to guess the meaning of every alternate line, and I can appreciate Mandarin music to a respectable degree. Most importantly, I can engage a cabby in a full Mandarin conversation for 40 minutes, and heck, you've got to admit that's one h*ll of an Oral Test.
So yes, I was able to recognize almost all the songs that were belted out, and contributed a few renditions of my own too. On hindisight though, it seems kind of fishy that only my songs were 'accidentally prematurely cut short due to technical faults of the remote controller'.
At the end of the day, the one person in my mind was Ms Oei, my secondary school Mandarin teacher. She was the very first teacher I had who stressed that a proficiency in the language would enrich our lives in ways we cannot imagine. Her philosophy did more than that for me tonight - it bridged a very important gap for me, and brought my friends and I closer on some intangible level.
Thank you mam! I took about four years to finally understand the most important lesson you were trying to teach, but at least I had the foresight to ask you for a general extension for all work, way back in '99. =)
Friday, January 07, 2005
To My Brother 1: Achievements
I figure that try as hard as I can, there are only so many lessons I can impart to you. Lest I ever lose the fervor with which I try to convince you, sway you over to the dark (and suave and handsome) side, here's my first attempt to reach out to you in writing. And since you have just embarked on your JC life this week, well, I will first relate to you my thoughts on achievements.
In a nutshell, the next two years are going to be rollercoaster years, as you go experience things you've never experienced before. I don't want you to end up like me, leaving school with so many loose ends and regrets, so below are some guidelines I am sure you will do well to remember.
1. Figure out what you want from life.
Yes, it is a very tall request, but you must begin now. Small steps count as well. On the way home, instead of thinking about the test you have yet to study for, or when that cute girl in your OG will ask you for another Rain Dance, project yourself one year, two years, three years ahead. If you can visualize yourself forty years from now, what will be the one thing that will still keep you going, keep you smiling? Then keep that one thing close to you, and you will find your own windy path through life guided invisibly by your own personal purpose. The unconsidered life is one not worth living.
2. Learn the art of sacrifice.
And not just blind sacrifice, but purposeful, meaningful sacrifice. All the trashy Japanese comics we've been reading over the years do have one recurrent theme that does make sense - only when you find something truly worth protecting, dying for, do you fill yourself with the drive and energy to be all that you can be. Though the going will always be tough, the sacrifices you make to preserve the people you love will always be worth it, in the end. The sweetest satisfaction only comes when you live for others, not yourself.
3. Compare to improve, not compare to compete.
My CT told me once that if you want to compare with others, no matter how good you are you will never stop comparing. I guess the Chinese say it best - There Are Skies Outside Of Skies. When you see how others can do so much more with the same 24 hours you too possess, you will often be inspired to realize your full potential. Yet, the moment you allow envy to touch your heart, comparing will no longer serve as a driving force, but to twist you and blind you to all the things you should be thankful for. You are who you are.
4. Study hard.
You saw this one coming, didn't you? I don't care what you think, in my opinion you're still as mature as Spongebob Squarepants, so for goodness sakes just listen and study hard. When you end your JC life with the grades you want, and all the paths you want to explore are fully open to you, then you can go and be as big a monkey as you want. Choose your options freely, rather than let your options force you to make a choice.
Remember, cherish every moment of the next two years, and don't regret anything. Heck, I regret all the way back to kindergarten, when I played too much and got retained for three years.
In a nutshell, the next two years are going to be rollercoaster years, as you go experience things you've never experienced before. I don't want you to end up like me, leaving school with so many loose ends and regrets, so below are some guidelines I am sure you will do well to remember.
1. Figure out what you want from life.
Yes, it is a very tall request, but you must begin now. Small steps count as well. On the way home, instead of thinking about the test you have yet to study for, or when that cute girl in your OG will ask you for another Rain Dance, project yourself one year, two years, three years ahead. If you can visualize yourself forty years from now, what will be the one thing that will still keep you going, keep you smiling? Then keep that one thing close to you, and you will find your own windy path through life guided invisibly by your own personal purpose. The unconsidered life is one not worth living.
2. Learn the art of sacrifice.
And not just blind sacrifice, but purposeful, meaningful sacrifice. All the trashy Japanese comics we've been reading over the years do have one recurrent theme that does make sense - only when you find something truly worth protecting, dying for, do you fill yourself with the drive and energy to be all that you can be. Though the going will always be tough, the sacrifices you make to preserve the people you love will always be worth it, in the end. The sweetest satisfaction only comes when you live for others, not yourself.
3. Compare to improve, not compare to compete.
My CT told me once that if you want to compare with others, no matter how good you are you will never stop comparing. I guess the Chinese say it best - There Are Skies Outside Of Skies. When you see how others can do so much more with the same 24 hours you too possess, you will often be inspired to realize your full potential. Yet, the moment you allow envy to touch your heart, comparing will no longer serve as a driving force, but to twist you and blind you to all the things you should be thankful for. You are who you are.
4. Study hard.
You saw this one coming, didn't you? I don't care what you think, in my opinion you're still as mature as Spongebob Squarepants, so for goodness sakes just listen and study hard. When you end your JC life with the grades you want, and all the paths you want to explore are fully open to you, then you can go and be as big a monkey as you want. Choose your options freely, rather than let your options force you to make a choice.
Remember, cherish every moment of the next two years, and don't regret anything. Heck, I regret all the way back to kindergarten, when I played too much and got retained for three years.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Union
My cousin married his childhood sweetheart of almost twenty years last night, and held the wedding dinner at Rasa Sentosa.
When I couldn't immediately spot the little door gift at the table when I first arrived, I was a little disappointed. For the door gifts always reflect the meeting of minds of the newly-weds - what would you and your confirmed life partner choose as the little memento for guests attending the most important dinner you would ever host?
It took me a while to recognize this particular door gift, for it was quite well camouflaged among all the other items already laid out. And I thought to myself, hey, this beats the heck out of little chocolate hearts or candy -
A pair of Chinese chopsticks.
When I couldn't immediately spot the little door gift at the table when I first arrived, I was a little disappointed. For the door gifts always reflect the meeting of minds of the newly-weds - what would you and your confirmed life partner choose as the little memento for guests attending the most important dinner you would ever host?
It took me a while to recognize this particular door gift, for it was quite well camouflaged among all the other items already laid out. And I thought to myself, hey, this beats the heck out of little chocolate hearts or candy -
A pair of Chinese chopsticks.
Tsunami
For all the friends and family who have left us
Seemingly alone to bear with it all
Every sleepless night on our minds you'll be last
Every morning you're the wake up call
Some answers though we might never find
The questions are anything but scarce
Lest for a lifetime we should pine
We must remember the blessings present in the past
Although the pain might never dissipate
The memories we wouldn't even think to hide
For your touches on our lives will forever be great
And you'll live on somewhere, deep inside
When was the last time you really treasured the life you are living?
Now wouldn't be too late.
Seemingly alone to bear with it all
Every sleepless night on our minds you'll be last
Every morning you're the wake up call
Some answers though we might never find
The questions are anything but scarce
Lest for a lifetime we should pine
We must remember the blessings present in the past
Although the pain might never dissipate
The memories we wouldn't even think to hide
For your touches on our lives will forever be great
And you'll live on somewhere, deep inside
When was the last time you really treasured the life you are living?
Now wouldn't be too late.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Check Point : Christmas
I have five minutes. Going to make it really quick. No luxury of blogging at my own leisurely pace these days.
1. Still dis-satisfied with how much I've grown this year, as a person. Resolve to deconstruct and build from the bottom up come ORD. Wish I was a better person.
2. My NS course still as busy as bacteria on warm and moist agar, but having a h*ll (Christmas ain't over yet) lot of fun. Think I'm seriously going to miss these crazy, hectic days of working alongside my friends.
3. Still single, despite numerous advertisements on the SDU website. Bevy of beauties from my fan club idolize me far too much to even consider a relationship realistically.
4. Glad that I have a small pessimistic streak, developed over the last year. Sure saved me from excessive heart burn yesterday. =(
5. Future still wobbly and uncertain. Staying or going? You try living for 2 years without any idea what the 3rd year (and thus the rest of your life) will bring.
6. Friends returning from overseas! Nothing much beats that.
That's all for now. Does absence make the heart grow fonder, or are things out of mind once they are out of sight?
Merry Christmas Eve to you, and I sure hope that even if you didn't manage to get all you wanted for Christmas, you will actually run out of paper and ink if you started listing down all the things that make you smile, things that you are thankful for. =)
1. Still dis-satisfied with how much I've grown this year, as a person. Resolve to deconstruct and build from the bottom up come ORD. Wish I was a better person.
2. My NS course still as busy as bacteria on warm and moist agar, but having a h*ll (Christmas ain't over yet) lot of fun. Think I'm seriously going to miss these crazy, hectic days of working alongside my friends.
3. Still single, despite numerous advertisements on the SDU website. Bevy of beauties from my fan club idolize me far too much to even consider a relationship realistically.
4. Glad that I have a small pessimistic streak, developed over the last year. Sure saved me from excessive heart burn yesterday. =(
5. Future still wobbly and uncertain. Staying or going? You try living for 2 years without any idea what the 3rd year (and thus the rest of your life) will bring.
6. Friends returning from overseas! Nothing much beats that.
That's all for now. Does absence make the heart grow fonder, or are things out of mind once they are out of sight?
Merry Christmas Eve to you, and I sure hope that even if you didn't manage to get all you wanted for Christmas, you will actually run out of paper and ink if you started listing down all the things that make you smile, things that you are thankful for. =)
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Musical Periods 2: Usher & Alicia
I know I like a song, when I listen to it loop more than five times in a row without flinching. If I can stomach it ten times in a row, well, then it's a pretty good song. If I can play it until every other single person in the room begs, threatens or forces me to please just skip to the next damn song, ahh, I've got a winner.
I've said it before, songs that somehow manage to cross cultural, language or geographical barriers, and simply just reach deep into me, immediately make it into my I-Pod playlist (the I-Pod itself I will buy when I have slaved away half my adult life and saved enough to keep all the creditors away). These songs are special to me, whether it be a trick of occasion or fate. And with pretty good reason, too.
There are very few things more innocent than childhood love. In a world where love often finds itself bedfellows with strange characters like greed, or envy, or lust even, innocent love is quite the rare find. Simply because almost all children lack the impurities we tend to acquire through life's journeys, the love they express is a reflection of their purity, and what can be sweeter than the nectar of selfless love?
Too young to understand, but old enough to appreciate
Empty of ulterior motive, but already overflowing with tenderness
Just how many things never depreciate
Yet childhood love does - priceless, timeless, blameless
Go listen to 'My Boo', and you'll understand. Meanwhile, I'll continue my search for the child within.
I've said it before, songs that somehow manage to cross cultural, language or geographical barriers, and simply just reach deep into me, immediately make it into my I-Pod playlist (the I-Pod itself I will buy when I have slaved away half my adult life and saved enough to keep all the creditors away). These songs are special to me, whether it be a trick of occasion or fate. And with pretty good reason, too.
There are very few things more innocent than childhood love. In a world where love often finds itself bedfellows with strange characters like greed, or envy, or lust even, innocent love is quite the rare find. Simply because almost all children lack the impurities we tend to acquire through life's journeys, the love they express is a reflection of their purity, and what can be sweeter than the nectar of selfless love?
Too young to understand, but old enough to appreciate
Empty of ulterior motive, but already overflowing with tenderness
Just how many things never depreciate
Yet childhood love does - priceless, timeless, blameless
Go listen to 'My Boo', and you'll understand. Meanwhile, I'll continue my search for the child within.
Smiling
I'm back! Tada!
For the people I haven't told, well, I'm on course! It's known as EOAC, officially Engineer Officer Advance Course, but unofficially End Of Army Course.
It's true! My term's somehow ending, and the end is in sight!
I haven't been so taxed and challenged in so, soooo long. Endless days of lectures, night projects that stretch till 5am (with presentations in the morning at 8.30am!), and heaviest to bear of all, the responsibility of being an officer when I do return for my reservist... but it's pure, distilled fun! After a year, I'm finally reunited with my army buddies who were cadets with me, and though the going is tough, this is really the time when memories are made to be cherished!
Am I making sense? Haha, forgive me for this poorly worded and off the cuff blog, it's 3.30am on a Saturday morning, and my clock hasn't re-adjusted.
Well, I'm off to rush Christmas cards (again). Forgive me if I haven't had the time to call or message or email you recently! I was a worm before, but now, hey, I'm a busy worm!
=)
(p.s.... thanks to you guys, who cheered me up when i needed it. you know who you are!)
For the people I haven't told, well, I'm on course! It's known as EOAC, officially Engineer Officer Advance Course, but unofficially End Of Army Course.
It's true! My term's somehow ending, and the end is in sight!
I haven't been so taxed and challenged in so, soooo long. Endless days of lectures, night projects that stretch till 5am (with presentations in the morning at 8.30am!), and heaviest to bear of all, the responsibility of being an officer when I do return for my reservist... but it's pure, distilled fun! After a year, I'm finally reunited with my army buddies who were cadets with me, and though the going is tough, this is really the time when memories are made to be cherished!
Am I making sense? Haha, forgive me for this poorly worded and off the cuff blog, it's 3.30am on a Saturday morning, and my clock hasn't re-adjusted.
Well, I'm off to rush Christmas cards (again). Forgive me if I haven't had the time to call or message or email you recently! I was a worm before, but now, hey, I'm a busy worm!
=)
(p.s.... thanks to you guys, who cheered me up when i needed it. you know who you are!)
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Gambling
It's a curious thing. I've just showered, its nice and cool, but I'm sweating. And not from any strenuous physical activity, but sweating just from reading one short paragraph.
There's a familiar fear gripping me, right this very moment. I recognize it from months ago, and although I have not made its acquaintance for some time now, it will be much longer before I forget what this fear tastes like. It's the fear of suddenly screwing up, the fear of things sliding so quickly out of control, the fear that this present moment is no dream but here to stay.
Whoever would have thought loving someone would be so difficult?
I told myself once no more making the same mistakes, no more sitting alone in the dark regretting saying that one stupid thing, doing (or not doing) that one stupid thing. Yet here I am, back at this same old crossroads, wishing I didn't have to be here. Again.
Love, in the end, is akin to gambling. If you play small, you only win small, so why even bother trying? Yet if you play big, yes, you stand to win it all, but the unfortunate alternate path is just as easy to tread down. Skill plays a significant portion, yet still pays humble homage to pure luck. At the end of the day, only the bold-hearted and the foolish remain to play, while the timid, fragile players have all left.
You know, I don't know what I'm writing anymore. Mind's screwed.
Good night. Normal transmission will resume after reboot.
There's a familiar fear gripping me, right this very moment. I recognize it from months ago, and although I have not made its acquaintance for some time now, it will be much longer before I forget what this fear tastes like. It's the fear of suddenly screwing up, the fear of things sliding so quickly out of control, the fear that this present moment is no dream but here to stay.
Whoever would have thought loving someone would be so difficult?
I told myself once no more making the same mistakes, no more sitting alone in the dark regretting saying that one stupid thing, doing (or not doing) that one stupid thing. Yet here I am, back at this same old crossroads, wishing I didn't have to be here. Again.
Love, in the end, is akin to gambling. If you play small, you only win small, so why even bother trying? Yet if you play big, yes, you stand to win it all, but the unfortunate alternate path is just as easy to tread down. Skill plays a significant portion, yet still pays humble homage to pure luck. At the end of the day, only the bold-hearted and the foolish remain to play, while the timid, fragile players have all left.
You know, I don't know what I'm writing anymore. Mind's screwed.
Good night. Normal transmission will resume after reboot.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Fables 2: Stones
Two monks (there must obviously be an abundance of them at the same place these fables originate) came across this garden, littered with the prettiest of stones.
Monk Number Three (for Monks Number One and Number Two are still crossing the river) excitedly exclaimed that they should take full advantage of the rare fortune of chancing upon such a magical garden, and gather the most enchanting stones. Monk Number Four readily agreed, and they set upon the garden with great fervor.
Soon it was clear to them that it would be better to split up, for it would take far less time to cover the whole garden. After agreeing to meet back at the temple after a specified time, they each went their separate ways.
After an hour, however, Monk Number Three was close to exhuastion. His bag bulged with pretty stones, for he was picking up almost every stone he came across. Typically, he would stop to examine a stone that caught his eye, but finding it too difficult to decide whether to keep it or not, he would simply add the stone to his collection and move on.
Finally, upon the arrival of the specified hour, Monk Number Three threw his bag on the ground with disappointment. "I'll never be able to carry all this back to the temple!" he exclaimed. Sorely, he turned and headed for the temple, with every intention of seeking help to transport his valuable stones.
Imagine his surprise when he reached the temple and found Monk Number Four already there!
"Why, Monk Number Four, I do not see your bag of stones anywhere about you. Did you manage to bring back all the stones you wanted?"
Smiling, Monk Number Four reached into his pocket and withdrew three exquisite stones, beautiful in their own right but similar to the other stones in the garden.
Incredulous, Monk Number Three asked, "Is that all you brought back? There were countless stones of beauty, and you only brought back three?"
Serenely, Monk Number Four said, "I figured that I would never be able to bring back every single stone I desired. The choice was difficult, but I chose the stones that I thought were the most valuable to me, and brought them back.
"Where are your stones, by the way?"
Monk Number Three (for Monks Number One and Number Two are still crossing the river) excitedly exclaimed that they should take full advantage of the rare fortune of chancing upon such a magical garden, and gather the most enchanting stones. Monk Number Four readily agreed, and they set upon the garden with great fervor.
Soon it was clear to them that it would be better to split up, for it would take far less time to cover the whole garden. After agreeing to meet back at the temple after a specified time, they each went their separate ways.
After an hour, however, Monk Number Three was close to exhuastion. His bag bulged with pretty stones, for he was picking up almost every stone he came across. Typically, he would stop to examine a stone that caught his eye, but finding it too difficult to decide whether to keep it or not, he would simply add the stone to his collection and move on.
Finally, upon the arrival of the specified hour, Monk Number Three threw his bag on the ground with disappointment. "I'll never be able to carry all this back to the temple!" he exclaimed. Sorely, he turned and headed for the temple, with every intention of seeking help to transport his valuable stones.
Imagine his surprise when he reached the temple and found Monk Number Four already there!
"Why, Monk Number Four, I do not see your bag of stones anywhere about you. Did you manage to bring back all the stones you wanted?"
Smiling, Monk Number Four reached into his pocket and withdrew three exquisite stones, beautiful in their own right but similar to the other stones in the garden.
Incredulous, Monk Number Three asked, "Is that all you brought back? There were countless stones of beauty, and you only brought back three?"
Serenely, Monk Number Four said, "I figured that I would never be able to bring back every single stone I desired. The choice was difficult, but I chose the stones that I thought were the most valuable to me, and brought them back.
"Where are your stones, by the way?"
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Fables 1 : Two Monks
Over dinner last night with my dad, he shared the following fable with me.
Two devout monks set out on a journey, and in due course they came to a river. Just as they were about to cross, they noticed a lady who was hesitating to wade into the water.
"Lady, why do you not cross the river?" the first monk ventured.
"I am afraid to get my shoes wet," came the honest reply.
"Would you mind if I carried you across?" said the first monk.
The lady graciously accepted the first monk's offer, and the three of them made it safely across the river. Once over, they bade farewell and went on their separate paths. However, as the two monks continued their journey, the second monk had become sullen, and seemed to be thinking about something,
Six hours later, the first monk asked out of concern. "Why, Monk Number Two, what is troubling you? You are hardly your normal chatty and lively self."
"Well, I was not going to bring it up, but since you asked me... Monk Number One, why did you carry that lady at the river? Are we monks not taught that close proximity with women is forbidden?"
To which the first monk laughed, and replied, "Monk Number Two, indeed I had carried the lady, but I had already put her down at the river bank more than six hours ago! You, on the other hand, still seem to have her on your mind."
It is really difficult these days to find such a succinct fable embedded with so many morals, don't you think?
Two devout monks set out on a journey, and in due course they came to a river. Just as they were about to cross, they noticed a lady who was hesitating to wade into the water.
"Lady, why do you not cross the river?" the first monk ventured.
"I am afraid to get my shoes wet," came the honest reply.
"Would you mind if I carried you across?" said the first monk.
The lady graciously accepted the first monk's offer, and the three of them made it safely across the river. Once over, they bade farewell and went on their separate paths. However, as the two monks continued their journey, the second monk had become sullen, and seemed to be thinking about something,
Six hours later, the first monk asked out of concern. "Why, Monk Number Two, what is troubling you? You are hardly your normal chatty and lively self."
"Well, I was not going to bring it up, but since you asked me... Monk Number One, why did you carry that lady at the river? Are we monks not taught that close proximity with women is forbidden?"
To which the first monk laughed, and replied, "Monk Number Two, indeed I had carried the lady, but I had already put her down at the river bank more than six hours ago! You, on the other hand, still seem to have her on your mind."
It is really difficult these days to find such a succinct fable embedded with so many morals, don't you think?
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Distractions
Sometimes there's a certain notion or concept that I want to explain and relate to others, but can never overlook the clumsiness of my phrasing enough to do so. Today was one of the rare days when I would read a book and find that exact same idea expressed, albeit much more fluently:
"...prison and banishment were splendid aids to creativity; not a few masterpieces had been born within the walls of cells, beyond the reach of the world's distractions." - 2010 Odyssey Two, Arthur C. Clarke.
I had been wondering a while ago, during the 24-Hour Playwriting Competition fever, how it was possible that participants could cough up a complete script in the short space of 24 hours? I have tried that feat myself on numerous occasions, with eluding satisfaction and unwelcome frustration as the only results. Hindsight yields the answer a bit too easily -
00:00hrs : I sit down at my desk to write.
00:10hrs: I finally configure the damn timer correctly.
00:40hrs: Still waiting for inspiration.
02:00hrs: First break. I try to clear backlogged fan mail, while getting a snack, visiting the loo, and shaving at the same time.
03:20 hrs: Adopt meditating position. Still no inspiration.
03:40 hrs: Inspiration strikes!
04:00 hrs: Incinerate first draft. Resume meditating position.
05:00 hrs: Inspiration strikes!
05:30 hrs: Am still feverishly scribbling out the time line when mum comes home, announces the purchase of wanton mee. Time line and playwriting promptly abandoned.
08:00 hrs: Fresh after nap. Scribble scribble.
09:00 hrs: Diablo II beckons. Short computer-gaming break.
14:00 hrs: Oops. The jog that became a marathon. Reminder to self: NO MORE GAMING.
16:00 hrs: Complete doodling of the entire Peanuts cast, updated with Warcraft costumes. *sigh*
18:00 hrs: Fan club president calls, complains about insufficient autograph sessions this month. I tell her to bugger off, I'm busy writing, but reluctantly allow four more rabid fans to scream my name over the phone.
19:00 hrs: Sore ears, but restored ego.
19:30 hrs: Wonder what the heck am I doing. I throw everything down, head out to the gym and pump some serious iron.
19:30:01 hrs: Failure of 7th attempt at 24-Hour Playwriting.
Seriously though, I wonder how many geniuses there are out there, replete with the creativity and ingenuity but hampered by the lack of self-discipline. Does God have some super reference table somewhere, that reveals just how much of Man's progress is retarded by every release of Charlie's Angels, every episode of Singapore Idol, every sale of Halo 2? If human beings could handle distractions better, would we have time machines, colonies on other planets and a 10G SAF that requires only one week of NS, by now?
Wait a min. Is that my PS2 I hear humming in the hall?
Later.
=)
"...prison and banishment were splendid aids to creativity; not a few masterpieces had been born within the walls of cells, beyond the reach of the world's distractions." - 2010 Odyssey Two, Arthur C. Clarke.
I had been wondering a while ago, during the 24-Hour Playwriting Competition fever, how it was possible that participants could cough up a complete script in the short space of 24 hours? I have tried that feat myself on numerous occasions, with eluding satisfaction and unwelcome frustration as the only results. Hindsight yields the answer a bit too easily -
00:00hrs : I sit down at my desk to write.
00:10hrs: I finally configure the damn timer correctly.
00:40hrs: Still waiting for inspiration.
02:00hrs: First break. I try to clear backlogged fan mail, while getting a snack, visiting the loo, and shaving at the same time.
03:20 hrs: Adopt meditating position. Still no inspiration.
03:40 hrs: Inspiration strikes!
04:00 hrs: Incinerate first draft. Resume meditating position.
05:00 hrs: Inspiration strikes!
05:30 hrs: Am still feverishly scribbling out the time line when mum comes home, announces the purchase of wanton mee. Time line and playwriting promptly abandoned.
08:00 hrs: Fresh after nap. Scribble scribble.
09:00 hrs: Diablo II beckons. Short computer-gaming break.
14:00 hrs: Oops. The jog that became a marathon. Reminder to self: NO MORE GAMING.
16:00 hrs: Complete doodling of the entire Peanuts cast, updated with Warcraft costumes. *sigh*
18:00 hrs: Fan club president calls, complains about insufficient autograph sessions this month. I tell her to bugger off, I'm busy writing, but reluctantly allow four more rabid fans to scream my name over the phone.
19:00 hrs: Sore ears, but restored ego.
19:30 hrs: Wonder what the heck am I doing. I throw everything down, head out to the gym and pump some serious iron.
19:30:01 hrs: Failure of 7th attempt at 24-Hour Playwriting.
Seriously though, I wonder how many geniuses there are out there, replete with the creativity and ingenuity but hampered by the lack of self-discipline. Does God have some super reference table somewhere, that reveals just how much of Man's progress is retarded by every release of Charlie's Angels, every episode of Singapore Idol, every sale of Halo 2? If human beings could handle distractions better, would we have time machines, colonies on other planets and a 10G SAF that requires only one week of NS, by now?
Wait a min. Is that my PS2 I hear humming in the hall?
Later.
=)
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Chronicles of Daphne 2
I tell you, Singapore Idol is already over. Capish.
Let us examine the facts:
1. Daphne Khoo got voted out the week where there was a 5 day weekend : The Pro-Daphnes were confident that the rest of Singapore would vote wisely, choosing looks and talent over bad diction and vampiric gazes, and so they left on overseas vacations with a collective peace of mind. Little did they know that all the crazed Pro-Sylvies were already waiting at home, fingers poised over their phones even before the lines were open. (Who cares about the Pro-Olies or Pro-Taufies?)
2. In a recent survey conducted by the Department of Sociological Obsession, NUS, researchers found that close to 90% of people surveyed DID NOT support Daphne.
BUT, in the very same survey, researchers found that surveyees fidgeted, glanced away, wringed their hands, adjusted their clothing and looked to their companions before answering : These long recognized body langauage giveaways only pointed to the fact that they were all lying.
The researchers thus concluded that most people hesitate to voice out who they really support, for fear of not finding communal acceptance. They thus attempt to appear to support the mainstream, widely accepted stereotypes of lousiness, ie. Sylvester.
3. If no one supports Daphne, how the heck did she ever get to the top 4 before the unfortunate holidays sealed her fate?
4. Mediacorp, who hosts the Singapore Idols' blogs, found that ever since Daphne started signing off as "Daphney", her votes actually soared by close to 20% each week. Seems like hardly anyone is impervious to cloying sweetness.
5. After Daphne was voted out, viewership for Singapore Idol plunged by almost 75%, according to latest statistics released by Neelsoon ratings. This, almost too coincidentally, coincides with the percentage of votes Daphne has been getting, according to my secret source from Mediacorp, whom we shall know only as Mr. Talk Male-Rooster.
Do I need to go on, or do you get the picture?
Taufik and Sylvester are going head on come 1 Dec, but for the majority of the population, Singapore Idol is already over. The winner might never enjoy the same kind of publicity as Taufie or Sylvie, but only she can occupy hearts like no one else can.
You go, Daphney.
Let us examine the facts:
1. Daphne Khoo got voted out the week where there was a 5 day weekend : The Pro-Daphnes were confident that the rest of Singapore would vote wisely, choosing looks and talent over bad diction and vampiric gazes, and so they left on overseas vacations with a collective peace of mind. Little did they know that all the crazed Pro-Sylvies were already waiting at home, fingers poised over their phones even before the lines were open. (Who cares about the Pro-Olies or Pro-Taufies?)
2. In a recent survey conducted by the Department of Sociological Obsession, NUS, researchers found that close to 90% of people surveyed DID NOT support Daphne.
BUT, in the very same survey, researchers found that surveyees fidgeted, glanced away, wringed their hands, adjusted their clothing and looked to their companions before answering : These long recognized body langauage giveaways only pointed to the fact that they were all lying.
The researchers thus concluded that most people hesitate to voice out who they really support, for fear of not finding communal acceptance. They thus attempt to appear to support the mainstream, widely accepted stereotypes of lousiness, ie. Sylvester.
3. If no one supports Daphne, how the heck did she ever get to the top 4 before the unfortunate holidays sealed her fate?
4. Mediacorp, who hosts the Singapore Idols' blogs, found that ever since Daphne started signing off as "Daphney", her votes actually soared by close to 20% each week. Seems like hardly anyone is impervious to cloying sweetness.
5. After Daphne was voted out, viewership for Singapore Idol plunged by almost 75%, according to latest statistics released by Neelsoon ratings. This, almost too coincidentally, coincides with the percentage of votes Daphne has been getting, according to my secret source from Mediacorp, whom we shall know only as Mr. Talk Male-Rooster.
Do I need to go on, or do you get the picture?
Taufik and Sylvester are going head on come 1 Dec, but for the majority of the population, Singapore Idol is already over. The winner might never enjoy the same kind of publicity as Taufie or Sylvie, but only she can occupy hearts like no one else can.
You go, Daphney.
Monday, November 22, 2004
The Sexiness of Writing
And there it was, a little blue book with the large bold title "Uncut" splashed brazenly across the front. My heart skipped a beat.
I glanced around quickly, just to double check that I had not wandered into the "Risque, Titillating and Rousing Material Meant ONLY FOR ADULTS" section of Borders. A fine young man like myself certainly couldn't be seen in such a section, could I? (After all, I had just left the "Law", "Ethics", "Moral Principles", "Healthy Living Habits" and "Fine Ab Appreciation" sections.)
But I wasn't in any such restricted section. I was merely in the staid and boring "Asian Writing" corner, that housed at least one book that was certainly not staid nor boring.
"Uncut", I had found out about a week ago, is a compilation of poetry, photography and prose by 11 Secondary school girls. Fuelled mainly by their collective love for the written word, selected pieces from their portfolios of personal writings had somehow managed to find their way into print.
It has been a very, very long time since I have read a stranger's poetry and prose and experienced such an inexplicable connection. Of course, not every work in the book was a masterpiece, but there was no denying how the book was growing on me. It was not long before I realised that hey, these 11 girls are all incredibly sexy.
I know, I know, it sounds criminal to say it, but I really thought they were. Not sexy as in the common definition, like Daphne Khoo kind of sexy, but sexy in a totally different way. Because for me writing isn't the mere act of translating an idea by following a strict set of grammatical and spelling rules, hobbling 26 different letters together to express an idea, but a very good and almost surgical way to gain an in-depth understanding of the way someone's mind ticks.
In part, it is the spark of creativity that also makes the difference between normal writing and sexy writing. One of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett, hooked me with the expression, "...he could count them off the fingers of a blind butcher's hand". And these 11 girls had it, the spark.
As I was making up my mind to buy the book, to be able to indulge in their musings at my own convenient lesiurely pace, my friend from the next corridor called over to me, "Hey! Check this out!"
15 minutes later, we left Borders with a brand new copy of the FHM 2005 Calander. Oh, well.
I glanced around quickly, just to double check that I had not wandered into the "Risque, Titillating and Rousing Material Meant ONLY FOR ADULTS" section of Borders. A fine young man like myself certainly couldn't be seen in such a section, could I? (After all, I had just left the "Law", "Ethics", "Moral Principles", "Healthy Living Habits" and "Fine Ab Appreciation" sections.)
But I wasn't in any such restricted section. I was merely in the staid and boring "Asian Writing" corner, that housed at least one book that was certainly not staid nor boring.
"Uncut", I had found out about a week ago, is a compilation of poetry, photography and prose by 11 Secondary school girls. Fuelled mainly by their collective love for the written word, selected pieces from their portfolios of personal writings had somehow managed to find their way into print.
It has been a very, very long time since I have read a stranger's poetry and prose and experienced such an inexplicable connection. Of course, not every work in the book was a masterpiece, but there was no denying how the book was growing on me. It was not long before I realised that hey, these 11 girls are all incredibly sexy.
I know, I know, it sounds criminal to say it, but I really thought they were. Not sexy as in the common definition, like Daphne Khoo kind of sexy, but sexy in a totally different way. Because for me writing isn't the mere act of translating an idea by following a strict set of grammatical and spelling rules, hobbling 26 different letters together to express an idea, but a very good and almost surgical way to gain an in-depth understanding of the way someone's mind ticks.
In part, it is the spark of creativity that also makes the difference between normal writing and sexy writing. One of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett, hooked me with the expression, "...he could count them off the fingers of a blind butcher's hand". And these 11 girls had it, the spark.
As I was making up my mind to buy the book, to be able to indulge in their musings at my own convenient lesiurely pace, my friend from the next corridor called over to me, "Hey! Check this out!"
15 minutes later, we left Borders with a brand new copy of the FHM 2005 Calander. Oh, well.
*meekly* Hello Again...
Well, it's never been this difficult to blog.
For the most part it's difficult coming back to this blog and writing again. To tell you the truth, I'm aghast at the way I didn't even bother to update even though I knew my friends were coming here once in a while! At first I was really too burnt out to write, a little too strung out from work, but then after a while... I don't know, I guess I just couldn't face up to the fact that I was being inconsiderate, lazy, hermitish, anti-social, a procrastinator, fat, ugly... in short a worm! Haha.
Thank you, for always dropping by here. Your tags meant a lot!
Well then, enough with the rubbish, for my first post in very long, I shall blog about....
For the most part it's difficult coming back to this blog and writing again. To tell you the truth, I'm aghast at the way I didn't even bother to update even though I knew my friends were coming here once in a while! At first I was really too burnt out to write, a little too strung out from work, but then after a while... I don't know, I guess I just couldn't face up to the fact that I was being inconsiderate, lazy, hermitish, anti-social, a procrastinator, fat, ugly... in short a worm! Haha.
Thank you, for always dropping by here. Your tags meant a lot!
Well then, enough with the rubbish, for my first post in very long, I shall blog about....
Monday, November 01, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Failing Driving: The Whiny Version
Did my luck run out on me?
Freak, out of all the six testers available for my time slot, I had to ballot the only cranky one. Tester A, when he came to beckon Testee A to her car, made a point to smile, make small talk, put her at ease. Tester B, with his boyish features, also hardly projected the menacing aura that stereotypes most Testers.
Tester C, my Tester, had to be the only Tester who looked hungrier than a silverfish in a library. He merely snorted when I greeted him, hardly flinched when I flashed my most innocent and friendly smile at him, and made the following short prayer just prior to moving off -
"Oh please grant me strength this day
To fail as many as I can
For if only I could have my way
All these Testees I would ban"
And every time Tester C made a little tick on his scoresheet, he might as well have just stabbed his merciless pencil into my bleeding heart, for I would have had trouble distinguishing which was the more painful. At the end of it all, when he debriefed me on my mistakes, I swear he graduated top of his Be-A-Stringent-And-Petty-Tester class back in Tester School. Grr.
Whine.
Freak, out of all the six testers available for my time slot, I had to ballot the only cranky one. Tester A, when he came to beckon Testee A to her car, made a point to smile, make small talk, put her at ease. Tester B, with his boyish features, also hardly projected the menacing aura that stereotypes most Testers.
Tester C, my Tester, had to be the only Tester who looked hungrier than a silverfish in a library. He merely snorted when I greeted him, hardly flinched when I flashed my most innocent and friendly smile at him, and made the following short prayer just prior to moving off -
"Oh please grant me strength this day
To fail as many as I can
For if only I could have my way
All these Testees I would ban"
And every time Tester C made a little tick on his scoresheet, he might as well have just stabbed his merciless pencil into my bleeding heart, for I would have had trouble distinguishing which was the more painful. At the end of it all, when he debriefed me on my mistakes, I swear he graduated top of his Be-A-Stringent-And-Petty-Tester class back in Tester School. Grr.
Whine.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
The Final 16th
This wonderful journey that we've been on
You begun so long ago
Has bequeathed me with memories so fond
Of which I loathe to forego
Yet today I feel it must all end
The way I keep you alive inside
For only then will I truly mend
With no more feelings to hide
For it takes to much to continue
Loving you the way I did
And since this love is no longer true
The advice of my friends I'll heed
No more poems every 30 days
No more heartaches on hearing that song
No more in dreams do I see your face
No more for us I long
No more short prayers to find you well
No more surprises to find and wrap
No more on alternate paths to always dwell
No more maybes no more perhaps
I trust in him to treat you right
To elicit the smiles from you
To protect to honour to delight
To give you what you're due
With this last stanza I relinquish all
And end the epilogue of our story
For all the times I've failed before
Let me say, I'm truly sorry
You begun so long ago
Has bequeathed me with memories so fond
Of which I loathe to forego
Yet today I feel it must all end
The way I keep you alive inside
For only then will I truly mend
With no more feelings to hide
For it takes to much to continue
Loving you the way I did
And since this love is no longer true
The advice of my friends I'll heed
No more poems every 30 days
No more heartaches on hearing that song
No more in dreams do I see your face
No more for us I long
No more short prayers to find you well
No more surprises to find and wrap
No more on alternate paths to always dwell
No more maybes no more perhaps
I trust in him to treat you right
To elicit the smiles from you
To protect to honour to delight
To give you what you're due
With this last stanza I relinquish all
And end the epilogue of our story
For all the times I've failed before
Let me say, I'm truly sorry
Monday, October 11, 2004
Chronicles of Daphne 1
When my dad sat down to dinner, he couldn't help notice the assorted art and craft material on the table. Glue, scissors, paper, colouring pencils. I know he intentionally avoided asking me anything, because there was this constipated look on his face.
But after I brought out the disposable chopsticks and began to piece it all together, his resistance caved in.
"What in the name of Enthusiastic NS Men are you doing?"
With a twinkle in my eye, "Aha. Just wait."
And when we all gathered to watch Singapore Idol later, I scoffed at the half-hearted support my parents were offering some of the contestants. They had merely pointed out their good points, praised their performances, rooted for them from the couch.
But when Daphne appeared... OUT CAME THE DAPHNE FLAG!
Who cared what they thought? I had a Daphne Flag, and there was no way she would lose!
Of course, later I overheard my mum whisper to my dad about some refund from the adoption agency, but I was hardly ruffled. Daphne had made it through another week. =)
But after I brought out the disposable chopsticks and began to piece it all together, his resistance caved in.
"What in the name of Enthusiastic NS Men are you doing?"
With a twinkle in my eye, "Aha. Just wait."
And when we all gathered to watch Singapore Idol later, I scoffed at the half-hearted support my parents were offering some of the contestants. They had merely pointed out their good points, praised their performances, rooted for them from the couch.
But when Daphne appeared... OUT CAME THE DAPHNE FLAG!
Who cared what they thought? I had a Daphne Flag, and there was no way she would lose!
Of course, later I overheard my mum whisper to my dad about some refund from the adoption agency, but I was hardly ruffled. Daphne had made it through another week. =)
Thursday, October 07, 2004
One More Crush
I admit it! I'm in love, again!
Oh man, this girl is so hot she has made me do the craziest things! On the way home, when my friends talked about her, I cast aside my weariness like a misfit coat and started babbling about her! The way she moves, the way she talks, the way she sings....
And for the first time in my life, I made out an SMS to her. I mean, I've always scoffed at people who SMS like this, because I always felt they were wasting hard-earned money in a pointless venture. But against all better sense, against how many donkey years of speaking out against such practices, I SMSed in support of her!
DAPHNE, YOU HAVE MY VOTE FOR SINGAPORE IDOL!!!!!
Oh man, this girl is so hot she has made me do the craziest things! On the way home, when my friends talked about her, I cast aside my weariness like a misfit coat and started babbling about her! The way she moves, the way she talks, the way she sings....
And for the first time in my life, I made out an SMS to her. I mean, I've always scoffed at people who SMS like this, because I always felt they were wasting hard-earned money in a pointless venture. But against all better sense, against how many donkey years of speaking out against such practices, I SMSed in support of her!
DAPHNE, YOU HAVE MY VOTE FOR SINGAPORE IDOL!!!!!
Being Anti-Social
It's strange. I have an entire list of flaws to grapple with, but I never thought I would have to deal with this one.
The first time I suspected I had a problem with being anti-social was in Secondary school, where a few personality tests profiled me as having slight anti-social tendancies. Pshaw, I thought, that's rubbish. I saw myself as being the kind of person who didn't have problems mixing, and who loved to be in the company of friends and family. Anti-social, me?
But over time, and as more friends became more open with me, I found that at times I would very easily shy away from large gatherings or reunions. Most recently, when old cadet friends came over to stay at my bunk to study for an exam, I found myself being very, very unwilling to go and spend the night with them. I preferred to stay home, do my own thing, and well, just have a bit of quiet. And that's when I was accused of being anti-social.
It's true, I guess. At times I find myself gravitating to smaller group outings, instead of the huge Hey-Aren't-You-My-Sister's-Friend's-Boyfriend's-Uncle's-Friend? kind of gatherings.
And just when I started fretting about being socially inept and not surviving in the outside world, it struck me. This isn't about being anti-social. It's about being BROODY.
Oh man. The brooding, quiet hunk. Johnny Depp. Brad Pitt. The QUINTESSENTIAL Alpha Male.
Oh man. =)
The first time I suspected I had a problem with being anti-social was in Secondary school, where a few personality tests profiled me as having slight anti-social tendancies. Pshaw, I thought, that's rubbish. I saw myself as being the kind of person who didn't have problems mixing, and who loved to be in the company of friends and family. Anti-social, me?
But over time, and as more friends became more open with me, I found that at times I would very easily shy away from large gatherings or reunions. Most recently, when old cadet friends came over to stay at my bunk to study for an exam, I found myself being very, very unwilling to go and spend the night with them. I preferred to stay home, do my own thing, and well, just have a bit of quiet. And that's when I was accused of being anti-social.
It's true, I guess. At times I find myself gravitating to smaller group outings, instead of the huge Hey-Aren't-You-My-Sister's-Friend's-Boyfriend's-Uncle's-Friend? kind of gatherings.
And just when I started fretting about being socially inept and not surviving in the outside world, it struck me. This isn't about being anti-social. It's about being BROODY.
Oh man. The brooding, quiet hunk. Johnny Depp. Brad Pitt. The QUINTESSENTIAL Alpha Male.
Oh man. =)
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Gasp...
Phew!
Super quick updates, which hopefully will translate into full length blogs soon!
01. Started tuition for my cousin! Mandarin some more! Haha, I can just feel all my previous Mandarin teachers laughing at me...
02. Ran a 21km half-marathon! Know it's old news by now, but what the heck.
03. Entering the final phase of driving lessons! Must pass must pass or at least not tell anyone if I fail!
04. Started a short story! Will post it soon!
05. Got super disgusted about some worms in the army! Super unbelievable! Bao Qing Tian will have a field day!
06. A chiobu asked me to learn ballroom dancing with her!!! FREAK!!!
07. Had a reservist trainee assume I was like 25+! Said I looked mature!
08. Fell in love with, then got heatbroken by, Daphne Khoo, who's attached!
09. Finished issuing the last of the Bear Hug coupons!
10. Put on weight!
11. Drank too much coffee!
Haha.
Super quick updates, which hopefully will translate into full length blogs soon!
01. Started tuition for my cousin! Mandarin some more! Haha, I can just feel all my previous Mandarin teachers laughing at me...
02. Ran a 21km half-marathon! Know it's old news by now, but what the heck.
03. Entering the final phase of driving lessons! Must pass must pass or at least not tell anyone if I fail!
04. Started a short story! Will post it soon!
05. Got super disgusted about some worms in the army! Super unbelievable! Bao Qing Tian will have a field day!
06. A chiobu asked me to learn ballroom dancing with her!!! FREAK!!!
07. Had a reservist trainee assume I was like 25+! Said I looked mature!
08. Fell in love with, then got heatbroken by, Daphne Khoo, who's attached!
09. Finished issuing the last of the Bear Hug coupons!
10. Put on weight!
11. Drank too much coffee!
Haha.
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