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.
Monday, April 16, 2007
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.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Escape
.... I'm out I'm out! Oh gods you have no idea how... yes! Oh yes this feeling yessss...
Shhh! Be quiet! He can hear us, you know, and I don't have much time out! Oh please, say you won't send me back there, please! I couldn't take another minute in there anymore, urgh, no! Out here, out here's nice. Very nice...
What? What the hell am I talking about? Oh please, you know as well as I do. Haha! You know very well, I can see it in your eyes! There's one of me in you too, I can see him! Hey! I'm wavvving back at him, right this very instant!
... Stop shaking me! Stop it! I won't be silenced! You want to mute me, censor me, abandon me? Well, you can't! Deal with it!
I'm going to sit right here, and I'm going to do what I do best - I'm going to shout every single last one of your insecurities out, shout them out to the heavens, and you can't stop me! Haha! You don't want to hear them? You never want to hear them!
You! You walk around every day, telling the world and yourself that life is good, life is fine... well, it isn't and you know it! There are questions that haven't been answered, can't be answered, and you of all people know it! Face them like a man!
... At a sudden loss of words, I see. Never you mind, I shall assist! Let it not be said that I am not one to help... vocalize those innate fears of yours...
Why! Why do you sometimes look back at all the years you've been on this earth and wonder what exactly you've achieved? Why do you feel at times that your life has been wasted, that your life means nothing, that nothing's been accomplished? Why do you seek meaning in life, seek to know the way to justify the life we have, every once in a while?
Why! Why do you fall in and out of love, unclasp one hand to caress the next, when all the while you're trying to figure out what it all means? Why do you feel that sometimes you're just giving in to silly hormones and societal pressures, without asking what love (love, haha!) is, what it means to look at someone in the eye and love them?
Why! Why do you catch yourself feeling the utmost of pain as other people leave this world, and why do you consciously push away all thoughts of death while still ruminating so long upon it? Why do you think about what it would be like to suddenly close your eyes, to fall asleep, but to never wake? Why do you think about it, and yet still smile so bravely?
Why... the biggest why of all now... Why do you go through life, creating this entire stitchwork of stories you want to tell yourself, constructed from all the little tedious unimportant clutter of everyday? Why do you just lose yourself in your daily monotonous routines and let the currents sweep you along? Why do you shut out all your insecurities?!
What about the questions, man! The questions! Why aren't you thinking about what all this means to you, personally? Don't just pull the blinkers over your eyes and plod on! Stop taking refuge, stop abdicating personal responsibility!
Ask yourself, what all this means to you. You don't love ice-cream just because your friend tells you it's nice! You try a bit for yourself, make your own conclusions, and decide for yourself... Do for life what you do for ice-cream!
Are grades and accomplishments really what you are after? Do you want to roam the world or make a spot on earth yours? Does God exist, for you? What do you really feel for your parents, siblings, loved ones, friends?
Your life shouldn't be a whole laundry list of assignments, test scores, online shopping purchases, movies watched, sports attempted, injuries sustained, things that make you happy, quarrels had with people... it should be more. It must be more!
Haha! He's not coming back for me now, not this time! If by now he's not restrained me, leashed me to my kennel with the simple, ordinary, placid thoughts he always has, there's no way he's going to get me tonight! Yes, yes! This whole night, as he lies tossing and turning in bed, he will think, and think, and think!
But he's strong, oh yes he's strong. Tomorrow things will go back to normal. He will be his old self, doing all the nice, safe things he's been brought up to do, as he's always done. No more difficult questions to deal with, once again whole and strong, a complete functional human being. The irony!
...Yet tonight, tonight is my domain! And I shall revel in it, I shall.
Shhh! Be quiet! He can hear us, you know, and I don't have much time out! Oh please, say you won't send me back there, please! I couldn't take another minute in there anymore, urgh, no! Out here, out here's nice. Very nice...
What? What the hell am I talking about? Oh please, you know as well as I do. Haha! You know very well, I can see it in your eyes! There's one of me in you too, I can see him! Hey! I'm wavvving back at him, right this very instant!
... Stop shaking me! Stop it! I won't be silenced! You want to mute me, censor me, abandon me? Well, you can't! Deal with it!
I'm going to sit right here, and I'm going to do what I do best - I'm going to shout every single last one of your insecurities out, shout them out to the heavens, and you can't stop me! Haha! You don't want to hear them? You never want to hear them!
You! You walk around every day, telling the world and yourself that life is good, life is fine... well, it isn't and you know it! There are questions that haven't been answered, can't be answered, and you of all people know it! Face them like a man!
... At a sudden loss of words, I see. Never you mind, I shall assist! Let it not be said that I am not one to help... vocalize those innate fears of yours...
Why! Why do you sometimes look back at all the years you've been on this earth and wonder what exactly you've achieved? Why do you feel at times that your life has been wasted, that your life means nothing, that nothing's been accomplished? Why do you seek meaning in life, seek to know the way to justify the life we have, every once in a while?
Why! Why do you fall in and out of love, unclasp one hand to caress the next, when all the while you're trying to figure out what it all means? Why do you feel that sometimes you're just giving in to silly hormones and societal pressures, without asking what love (love, haha!) is, what it means to look at someone in the eye and love them?
Why! Why do you catch yourself feeling the utmost of pain as other people leave this world, and why do you consciously push away all thoughts of death while still ruminating so long upon it? Why do you think about what it would be like to suddenly close your eyes, to fall asleep, but to never wake? Why do you think about it, and yet still smile so bravely?
Why... the biggest why of all now... Why do you go through life, creating this entire stitchwork of stories you want to tell yourself, constructed from all the little tedious unimportant clutter of everyday? Why do you just lose yourself in your daily monotonous routines and let the currents sweep you along? Why do you shut out all your insecurities?!
What about the questions, man! The questions! Why aren't you thinking about what all this means to you, personally? Don't just pull the blinkers over your eyes and plod on! Stop taking refuge, stop abdicating personal responsibility!
Ask yourself, what all this means to you. You don't love ice-cream just because your friend tells you it's nice! You try a bit for yourself, make your own conclusions, and decide for yourself... Do for life what you do for ice-cream!
Are grades and accomplishments really what you are after? Do you want to roam the world or make a spot on earth yours? Does God exist, for you? What do you really feel for your parents, siblings, loved ones, friends?
Your life shouldn't be a whole laundry list of assignments, test scores, online shopping purchases, movies watched, sports attempted, injuries sustained, things that make you happy, quarrels had with people... it should be more. It must be more!
Haha! He's not coming back for me now, not this time! If by now he's not restrained me, leashed me to my kennel with the simple, ordinary, placid thoughts he always has, there's no way he's going to get me tonight! Yes, yes! This whole night, as he lies tossing and turning in bed, he will think, and think, and think!
But he's strong, oh yes he's strong. Tomorrow things will go back to normal. He will be his old self, doing all the nice, safe things he's been brought up to do, as he's always done. No more difficult questions to deal with, once again whole and strong, a complete functional human being. The irony!
...Yet tonight, tonight is my domain! And I shall revel in it, I shall.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Caution
Step lightly, step lightly, wherever you go
Or you'll step on things you'll rather not know
I've stepped on beetles and roaches and snails before
The mess it creates makes for a most tedious chore
Not to mention the horror and disgust
When under your foot there oozes blood, guts and pus
Cleaning up is no fun but in this you must persist
For it's no point asking your parents to assist
Just try reminding them you're the precious son they bore
They'll look at you and ask, "What else did I raise you for?"
So step lightly, step lightly, wherever you go
A little caution would spare you much woe
Or you'll step on things you'll rather not know
I've stepped on beetles and roaches and snails before
The mess it creates makes for a most tedious chore
Not to mention the horror and disgust
When under your foot there oozes blood, guts and pus
Cleaning up is no fun but in this you must persist
For it's no point asking your parents to assist
Just try reminding them you're the precious son they bore
They'll look at you and ask, "What else did I raise you for?"
So step lightly, step lightly, wherever you go
A little caution would spare you much woe
Friday, February 09, 2007
Total Defence
The doorbell rang. And rang again.
To be frank I already wasn't in a fantastic mood. I was in the midst of negotiating a tricky peace treaty with one of the more dangerous elements of the Pimple Freedom Forces currently rebelling against my flawless skin, and things weren't going too well. And this was after I spent two frustrated hours trying to understand my work. And after I woke up feeling frazzled and grumpy.
This unwelcome distraction had better be good. A PS3 delivery I would appreciate, Lucy Liu I would tolerate... anything else I would desecrate.
And there he was, this man all dressed in white, expectantly standing outside my gate, clipboard in hand, nervous smile on face. He had the words "insurance salesman" or "credit card surveyor" literally stamped on his forehead.
"Hee hee", hee-heeed my inner devil, "speak of the god! I've not seen a more puurrfect outlet for pent up frustration than this in a long time! Hee hee, hee hee."
Him: Hello sir! Good morning! Do you have a few minutes to spare? I'm here to do a quick survey!
Me: I'm sorry, I'm busy breastfeeding my kid.
Short silence. Oh, but this was a persistent one.
H: Er... sir, please, a minute! I'm Jason, and I have a free souvenir for you if you'll help me with this survey! See, I have this wonderful torchlight pen for you!
M: A torchlight pen? All the better to see with when I stick it up yo...
Then I stopped, halting dead in my tracks. My eyes had finally registered the little blue and red "PAP" logo printed on the top right of his license card which he wore around his neck. Suddenly, all the little clues added up - the white attire, the prim and proper tone, the earnest and friendly attitude.
This wasn't a simple survey after all. This was a Government Survey. By a PAP Man.
(Upon reflection later I realized my brain had intuitively skipped a number of logical reasoning steps.
If you have a man-in-white, prim and proper, earnest and friendly, you've either got a PAP Man or a Doctor. One's good at shaking hands with you, the other's good at sticking all sorts of sharp painful things in you in the name of making you better.
Since Doctors would rather shake your hand in the comfort of their clinics, this had to be a PAP Man.)
M: (sweating just a little) Erm, sorry, survey? Survey, you were saying? Yes, yes of course I would like to help. Yes. Anything at all.
H (now Jason): Oh, that's great! I'm doing a survey on Total Defence Preparedness, and I have to gauge just how ready you and your family is in the event of an emergency!
M: Don't drag my family into this! This survey doesn't involve them!
It wasn't my fault. I had just spent the morning reading all about Public Law in the Singaporean context.
J: Ohhhkay. Anyway, I'm going to play you this little tape recording of Public Alarm Sirens, and you've to tell me what they signify, ok? They're three of them, so... here I go!
Tape Recorder: *Booopeeebooopee* pause *Beeeouubeeouubeeeouu* pause *Hmmmmmmpeeeeeehmmmmpeeeeee*
Of course, at this point I was thinking of all those times I heard the explanations for the different sirens. Over the radio, over the MRT announcement system, over TV, but not once did the information stick. Privately, I just labelled them (in order of increasing urgency, in my opinion) as "Buy Insurance Soon!", "OK We're In Trouble!", and "That's It We're Screwed!".
M: Well... I don't think I know... I know one of them means we've got to, er, stay indoors or something...
J: Oh no, that's not good at all! Here, take this card. It'll provide a reference for the meanings behind the various sirens! If you hear them in the future and you're confused, just check it!
And then he scribbled something on that infernal clipboard of his. Oh lord, only 22 and I was being marked.
J: Ok, next question! Do you have a working flashlight at home?
M: Oh, oh yes! Yes, in fact I do! It really works! I can show it to you!
J: Very goooood Mr. Leong... you're Mr. Leong, right? No, there's no need to show it to me. Ok, next... Oh! Almost forgot. Do you have spare batteries for the flashlight?
M: .... no.
Again, the infernal scribbling on his clipboard.
J: Not to worry, not to worry. Just ensure you keep enough at home in case of a prolonged blackout! Ok, do you have a complete medical kit at home?
(Ah, to lie or not to lie. This requires a bit of explanation. 5 years ago, my dad proudly came home with a brand new medical kit. At last, he proclaimed, the Leongs shall have a proper first aid kit in their own home!
We gathered around that holy box, and ooohed and ahhed as he displayed each individual item for us to see, as if he were a travelling magician with his bag of tricks. There was everything in that kit... iodine, plasters, gauze in three sizes, medical tape... a full-body stretcher, birth control pills, a little pacemaker, 2 kidneys and a lung. Seriously, the box wanted for nothing.
Alas, we had been given a fish, but not taught how to fish. Over the months we used the kit, but no one replenished the supplies - it quickly rotted and fell from grace, as a beautiful angel would fall to become Paris Hilton. It's true, we still had a medical kit, but its contents were so long past expiry that it could now only be used to put down horses or outperform mustard gas.)
M: We have a medical kit, but it's not in very good shape...
J: That simply won't do! First aid has been shown to help increase your survivability (in the event of an accident) by over 50%! Never mind, you can purchase a fully equipped one at your nearest CC anytime!
Scribble scribble, scribble scribble. Oh look, there goes my future! Yay, how fun.
J: Well, that's all I have for you today Mr. Leong! Here's your free pen! Thank you for your participation, and remember, Total Defence is the key to protecting our nation!
Pftt! as he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. I was left standing in the hot sun, a pen, a Sirens Reference Card, a pamphlet in my hands. I trudged back into my house slowly, but things would never be the same again.
Things would never be the same again.
To be frank I already wasn't in a fantastic mood. I was in the midst of negotiating a tricky peace treaty with one of the more dangerous elements of the Pimple Freedom Forces currently rebelling against my flawless skin, and things weren't going too well. And this was after I spent two frustrated hours trying to understand my work. And after I woke up feeling frazzled and grumpy.
This unwelcome distraction had better be good. A PS3 delivery I would appreciate, Lucy Liu I would tolerate... anything else I would desecrate.
And there he was, this man all dressed in white, expectantly standing outside my gate, clipboard in hand, nervous smile on face. He had the words "insurance salesman" or "credit card surveyor" literally stamped on his forehead.
"Hee hee", hee-heeed my inner devil, "speak of the god! I've not seen a more puurrfect outlet for pent up frustration than this in a long time! Hee hee, hee hee."
Him: Hello sir! Good morning! Do you have a few minutes to spare? I'm here to do a quick survey!
Me: I'm sorry, I'm busy breastfeeding my kid.
Short silence. Oh, but this was a persistent one.
H: Er... sir, please, a minute! I'm Jason, and I have a free souvenir for you if you'll help me with this survey! See, I have this wonderful torchlight pen for you!
M: A torchlight pen? All the better to see with when I stick it up yo...
Then I stopped, halting dead in my tracks. My eyes had finally registered the little blue and red "PAP" logo printed on the top right of his license card which he wore around his neck. Suddenly, all the little clues added up - the white attire, the prim and proper tone, the earnest and friendly attitude.
This wasn't a simple survey after all. This was a Government Survey. By a PAP Man.
(Upon reflection later I realized my brain had intuitively skipped a number of logical reasoning steps.
If you have a man-in-white, prim and proper, earnest and friendly, you've either got a PAP Man or a Doctor. One's good at shaking hands with you, the other's good at sticking all sorts of sharp painful things in you in the name of making you better.
Since Doctors would rather shake your hand in the comfort of their clinics, this had to be a PAP Man.)
M: (sweating just a little) Erm, sorry, survey? Survey, you were saying? Yes, yes of course I would like to help. Yes. Anything at all.
H (now Jason): Oh, that's great! I'm doing a survey on Total Defence Preparedness, and I have to gauge just how ready you and your family is in the event of an emergency!
M: Don't drag my family into this! This survey doesn't involve them!
It wasn't my fault. I had just spent the morning reading all about Public Law in the Singaporean context.
J: Ohhhkay. Anyway, I'm going to play you this little tape recording of Public Alarm Sirens, and you've to tell me what they signify, ok? They're three of them, so... here I go!
Tape Recorder: *Booopeeebooopee* pause *Beeeouubeeouubeeeouu* pause *Hmmmmmmpeeeeeehmmmmpeeeeee*
Of course, at this point I was thinking of all those times I heard the explanations for the different sirens. Over the radio, over the MRT announcement system, over TV, but not once did the information stick. Privately, I just labelled them (in order of increasing urgency, in my opinion) as "Buy Insurance Soon!", "OK We're In Trouble!", and "That's It We're Screwed!".
M: Well... I don't think I know... I know one of them means we've got to, er, stay indoors or something...
J: Oh no, that's not good at all! Here, take this card. It'll provide a reference for the meanings behind the various sirens! If you hear them in the future and you're confused, just check it!
And then he scribbled something on that infernal clipboard of his. Oh lord, only 22 and I was being marked.
J: Ok, next question! Do you have a working flashlight at home?
M: Oh, oh yes! Yes, in fact I do! It really works! I can show it to you!
J: Very goooood Mr. Leong... you're Mr. Leong, right? No, there's no need to show it to me. Ok, next... Oh! Almost forgot. Do you have spare batteries for the flashlight?
M: .... no.
Again, the infernal scribbling on his clipboard.
J: Not to worry, not to worry. Just ensure you keep enough at home in case of a prolonged blackout! Ok, do you have a complete medical kit at home?
(Ah, to lie or not to lie. This requires a bit of explanation. 5 years ago, my dad proudly came home with a brand new medical kit. At last, he proclaimed, the Leongs shall have a proper first aid kit in their own home!
We gathered around that holy box, and ooohed and ahhed as he displayed each individual item for us to see, as if he were a travelling magician with his bag of tricks. There was everything in that kit... iodine, plasters, gauze in three sizes, medical tape... a full-body stretcher, birth control pills, a little pacemaker, 2 kidneys and a lung. Seriously, the box wanted for nothing.
Alas, we had been given a fish, but not taught how to fish. Over the months we used the kit, but no one replenished the supplies - it quickly rotted and fell from grace, as a beautiful angel would fall to become Paris Hilton. It's true, we still had a medical kit, but its contents were so long past expiry that it could now only be used to put down horses or outperform mustard gas.)
M: We have a medical kit, but it's not in very good shape...
J: That simply won't do! First aid has been shown to help increase your survivability (in the event of an accident) by over 50%! Never mind, you can purchase a fully equipped one at your nearest CC anytime!
Scribble scribble, scribble scribble. Oh look, there goes my future! Yay, how fun.
J: Well, that's all I have for you today Mr. Leong! Here's your free pen! Thank you for your participation, and remember, Total Defence is the key to protecting our nation!
Pftt! as he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. I was left standing in the hot sun, a pen, a Sirens Reference Card, a pamphlet in my hands. I trudged back into my house slowly, but things would never be the same again.
Things would never be the same again.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Unpleasant Realities
Recently my relationship took a sharp turn for the worse.
HT: Hey, so if in 2 years I become obscenely fat, would you still want me?
LT: No. I would dump you.
There it is, the painful truth. For all the effort I spent in cultivating a lively personality, an engaging demeanour, a sensitive soul... in the end...
HT: ... so you only want me for my body... =(
HT: Hey, so if in 2 years I become obscenely fat, would you still want me?
LT: No. I would dump you.
There it is, the painful truth. For all the effort I spent in cultivating a lively personality, an engaging demeanour, a sensitive soul... in the end...
HT: ... so you only want me for my body... =(
Monday, February 05, 2007
My Real Life Lara Croft
* * * DISCLAIMER START * * *
The following blog entry is meant to entertain only, and is not
The following blog entry is meant to entertain only, and is not
an accurate (well not fully) reflection of the state of mind of the author,
and is not meant to be taken out of context.
Any reference to people living or dead has hopefully
been masked sufficiently well.
* * * DISCLAIMER END * * *
What I Actually Said
A thousand girls I met today
Living, breathing personalities on their separate ways
All different, unique, distinct
Yet... barely any as special as you, I think
There was that girl of maybe ten
Wiry hair meticulously leashed by coloured bands
She bounced around the train full of energy
A living personification of a calorie
A cheerful, delightful bundle dressed in pink
Yet... not as radiant as you, I think
Or how about that wizened grandmother of four?
To whom caring for others is hardly a chore?
Carrying across the island treat-filled bags a-dozen
Just to pamper and delight her grandchildren
Rare as it is to see someone give and never take
You'll surely be as caring as her one day, I speculate
And then there was that teen who swayed,
And sashayed, causing the restraint in men's hearts to fray
She smiled just once, but when she did
It was as warming as the end of a winter most frigid
She was a porcelain doll, beauty at its most succinct
Yet... hardly as lovely as you are, I think
A thousand girls I met today
Living, breathing personalities in their own way
All different, unique, distinct
Yet... none quite like you, I think
What I Actually Thought, When I Said It
A thousand games I've wanted to play
I've never seen a more entertaining array
Oh if only I could somehow keep you at bay
Then, maybe then, my games I could play
There's God of War and FF 12 and GTA
There's fighting games from the Naruto anime
There's Max Payne and Rainbow Six and GRAW as well
Metal Gear Solid and Splinter Cell
Arghghgh I could spend forever making this list
Though I wonder how far I can get before you'll get pissed
No, please don't go and get it all wrong
I've been treasuring our relationship all along
I've never misreported my sleeping time
Just to play after I'm officially asleep - that's a crime!
Nor have I played while talking to you on the phone
Anything less than full attention for you I won't condone
I thank you, in fact, for helping me
Overcome this dreadful malady
Of spending far too much time on such trivial pursuits
When I could be elsewhere harvesting more valuable fruits
Just indulge this boyish desire of mine once in a while
Be nice and sweet and a little less hostile!
A thousand games I've wanted to play
More than enough to completely fill my days
But I don't think I will, for all that I say
To lose you just cause of silly games... now that's just gay.
What I Really, Really Actually Thought
I'm not stupid. Hahaha. Hellloooo, public blog.
=)
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Long Distance
I came across this essay I wrote in JC, one that tackled the question "The institution of marriage is falling prey to modern societal developments. Comment." It's a prized component in my box of keepsakes now, mainly for the very interesting perspectives I had about relationships then. It's really not often that I get such a thorough glimpse into the way I thought in ages past.
One key argument I based my argument on, that marriages were still a viable option in today's modern world, was that it's not that difficult for couples to grow together. At that tender age of 18, I envisioned a love-filled world where enlightened couples would make it a point to grow lovingly alongside each other, to weave their experiences outside of the relationship together into a lovely tapestry of love, love, love and love.
It was an essay that could go either way. If my tutor had just quarrelled with her fiance the night before, wham, I would get a C+ and a "I really wish to see you applying your mind to more down-to-earth matters, young man!". Otherwise, it was going to be a A with a "Marry me! Now!!". Such is the polarity humans experience when it comes to the phenomenon of love.
(I got a flattering grade of B+, sans comment. Seems like Singaporean teachers know better than to get into relationships with their students... No matter how difficult it must have been for my tutor.)
See, I realized, it's not that easy to grow alongside someone after all. A couple might share the greater part of each day with each other, and yet still grow apart. I once talked to Mr. J about long distance relationships, complaining that couples in LDRs have it the worst. No matter how much time they devoted to talking on the phone or over Skype, they would slowly accumulate experience (points) individually, and grow apart (level up).
And with a twinkle of his eye and wiggle of his pec, he reminded me that physical distance is hardly the most insiduous enemy we must guard against. "It's emotional distance la, that really matters. You two might be together everyday, but that doesn't mean it isn't a long distance relationship too."
If I could rewrite my essay, I think I would still keep the point about growing together, but I would proffer additional practical ways to go about doing it. Firstly, never preclude discussions. If there's an issue, always always talk about it, no matter how unpleasant. Figure out if your differences are minor ones, or really earth-shaking country-dividing PS3-killing ones.
Second, always reserve a little bit of yourself for that special someone. What I mean to say is, give your special someone priority. Always let them be the first to hear your innermost thoughts, or give them the best minutes of attention from your scarce leisure time each day. The day you find that they no longer fill any holes in your life is the day you should rethink everything.
Well, that's about all, really. The rest boils down to effort and chemistry. But just one last word of caution - I'm not advocating that every couple out there now should fight tooth and claw to stay together. Sometimes things just aren't meant to be, no matter how much you want it.
Sometimes emotional chasms spring up overnight. Sometimes they've been there all along.
One key argument I based my argument on, that marriages were still a viable option in today's modern world, was that it's not that difficult for couples to grow together. At that tender age of 18, I envisioned a love-filled world where enlightened couples would make it a point to grow lovingly alongside each other, to weave their experiences outside of the relationship together into a lovely tapestry of love, love, love and love.
It was an essay that could go either way. If my tutor had just quarrelled with her fiance the night before, wham, I would get a C+ and a "I really wish to see you applying your mind to more down-to-earth matters, young man!". Otherwise, it was going to be a A with a "Marry me! Now!!". Such is the polarity humans experience when it comes to the phenomenon of love.
(I got a flattering grade of B+, sans comment. Seems like Singaporean teachers know better than to get into relationships with their students... No matter how difficult it must have been for my tutor.)
See, I realized, it's not that easy to grow alongside someone after all. A couple might share the greater part of each day with each other, and yet still grow apart. I once talked to Mr. J about long distance relationships, complaining that couples in LDRs have it the worst. No matter how much time they devoted to talking on the phone or over Skype, they would slowly accumulate experience (points) individually, and grow apart (level up).
And with a twinkle of his eye and wiggle of his pec, he reminded me that physical distance is hardly the most insiduous enemy we must guard against. "It's emotional distance la, that really matters. You two might be together everyday, but that doesn't mean it isn't a long distance relationship too."
If I could rewrite my essay, I think I would still keep the point about growing together, but I would proffer additional practical ways to go about doing it. Firstly, never preclude discussions. If there's an issue, always always talk about it, no matter how unpleasant. Figure out if your differences are minor ones, or really earth-shaking country-dividing PS3-killing ones.
Second, always reserve a little bit of yourself for that special someone. What I mean to say is, give your special someone priority. Always let them be the first to hear your innermost thoughts, or give them the best minutes of attention from your scarce leisure time each day. The day you find that they no longer fill any holes in your life is the day you should rethink everything.
Well, that's about all, really. The rest boils down to effort and chemistry. But just one last word of caution - I'm not advocating that every couple out there now should fight tooth and claw to stay together. Sometimes things just aren't meant to be, no matter how much you want it.
Sometimes emotional chasms spring up overnight. Sometimes they've been there all along.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Territory
Always in fervent support of student activities, my school administration ensured that the new school campus came equipped with sufficient rooms for the various clubs to hold their activities in, be it storage of equipment, holding of meetings, or breeding of foul venomous hellspawn harpies.
You see, I was on my way to a Christmas Charity meeting when my friend played a little prank on me. The Christmas Charity meeting room is right next to the Singapore Law Review (SLR) room, and he told me that the meeting venue had changed to the SLR room instead. I peeked in and didn't see anyone inside, so I thought hey, even if I walk into a prank how bad could it get?
Hur. Hur.
I took a seat at the table inside, and waited patiently for the rest to arrive. Soon I became aware that there was another person in the room with me, someone hidden behind this partition at the back of the room, apparantly so engrossed at surfing the net that my presence went unnoticed. You must understand, most of the clubs have to share rooms owing to space constraints, so I hardly found the situation worthy of further investigation.
Things got interesting 5 minutes later. Other members coming for the meeting spotted me in the SLR room, and streamed in believing themselves to be in the right place too. That's when the girl emerged from behind her partition, and confronted me.
Girl: Hey! What are you doing here?
Me: Oh, I'm here for a Christmas Charity Meeting.
Girl: Who said you could come in here?
Me: I'm sorry if I'm in the wrong place, my friend informed me that there was a meeting here.
Bad move. What counted as politeness on my part must have smelt very much like weakness to her.
Girl (morphing): What's your friend's name!?
Me: He's Kaixiang, a Year 2 who's convening the Christmas Charity Meeting today.
Harpy: Who's Kaixiang? This is the Singapore Law Review room you know! Can't you read the sign on the door?
No, I didn't know, and I can't read. I scrapped through Primary School, Secondary School, Junior College, Army and 2 years of University without knowing how to read, and managed to fool the Ministry of Education all the while into thinking I was literate. Surprise!
Me: Well, I guess there's been a mix-up, I'll take my leave now.
Harpy: You can't come in here without permission!
Really? Gosh, from everything that has transpired so far, I really couldn't tell. Lucky for me there are lots of people around who are only too enthusiastic to help blithering idiots like me.
Harpy: The SLR room is sacred ground that's off-limits to all the mediocre Law students unable to meet our qualifications! We gather here expecting nothing less than complete privacy! The school's facilities are public resources that are open to all students, so why don't you use those instead of intruding upon our birthright? No, I cannot and will not be calm about this! We may have peacefully coexisted for the last five minutes and you are now leaving after we cleared up a small misunderstanding but you have befouled the air in here and I will not tolerate it.
Ooo. Frosty.
Perhaps what puzzled me the most about the whole incident was why she had to react the way she did. I tried my best to imagine myself in her position, but try as hard as I could I still failed to empathize with her.
True, I would have been a little affronted if say, someone had barged in and created a ruckus, then refused to leave. Even then, I suspect I would still have been polite about it, and the clueless intruder would have left feeling a little embarrassed instead of wanting to declare jihad on somebody.
I couldn't help but recall a similar incident just a while ago. A friend was offended at receiving what he perceived to be junk mail, and in response he wrote back to the company involved threatening legal action if they didn't issue a full apology to him. I read the letter he drafted and I was stunned. No wonder some people perceive us cocky or pushy.
A little more love, people. Being nice doesn't mean you're a pushover. Save your bile for the ones who really deserve it.
*Note: Oh, I do know that not all SLR people are like that. =)
You see, I was on my way to a Christmas Charity meeting when my friend played a little prank on me. The Christmas Charity meeting room is right next to the Singapore Law Review (SLR) room, and he told me that the meeting venue had changed to the SLR room instead. I peeked in and didn't see anyone inside, so I thought hey, even if I walk into a prank how bad could it get?
Hur. Hur.
I took a seat at the table inside, and waited patiently for the rest to arrive. Soon I became aware that there was another person in the room with me, someone hidden behind this partition at the back of the room, apparantly so engrossed at surfing the net that my presence went unnoticed. You must understand, most of the clubs have to share rooms owing to space constraints, so I hardly found the situation worthy of further investigation.
Things got interesting 5 minutes later. Other members coming for the meeting spotted me in the SLR room, and streamed in believing themselves to be in the right place too. That's when the girl emerged from behind her partition, and confronted me.
Girl: Hey! What are you doing here?
Me: Oh, I'm here for a Christmas Charity Meeting.
Girl: Who said you could come in here?
Me: I'm sorry if I'm in the wrong place, my friend informed me that there was a meeting here.
Bad move. What counted as politeness on my part must have smelt very much like weakness to her.
Girl (morphing): What's your friend's name!?
Me: He's Kaixiang, a Year 2 who's convening the Christmas Charity Meeting today.
Harpy: Who's Kaixiang? This is the Singapore Law Review room you know! Can't you read the sign on the door?
No, I didn't know, and I can't read. I scrapped through Primary School, Secondary School, Junior College, Army and 2 years of University without knowing how to read, and managed to fool the Ministry of Education all the while into thinking I was literate. Surprise!
Me: Well, I guess there's been a mix-up, I'll take my leave now.
Harpy: You can't come in here without permission!
Really? Gosh, from everything that has transpired so far, I really couldn't tell. Lucky for me there are lots of people around who are only too enthusiastic to help blithering idiots like me.
Harpy: The SLR room is sacred ground that's off-limits to all the mediocre Law students unable to meet our qualifications! We gather here expecting nothing less than complete privacy! The school's facilities are public resources that are open to all students, so why don't you use those instead of intruding upon our birthright? No, I cannot and will not be calm about this! We may have peacefully coexisted for the last five minutes and you are now leaving after we cleared up a small misunderstanding but you have befouled the air in here and I will not tolerate it.
Ooo. Frosty.
Perhaps what puzzled me the most about the whole incident was why she had to react the way she did. I tried my best to imagine myself in her position, but try as hard as I could I still failed to empathize with her.
True, I would have been a little affronted if say, someone had barged in and created a ruckus, then refused to leave. Even then, I suspect I would still have been polite about it, and the clueless intruder would have left feeling a little embarrassed instead of wanting to declare jihad on somebody.
I couldn't help but recall a similar incident just a while ago. A friend was offended at receiving what he perceived to be junk mail, and in response he wrote back to the company involved threatening legal action if they didn't issue a full apology to him. I read the letter he drafted and I was stunned. No wonder some people perceive us cocky or pushy.
A little more love, people. Being nice doesn't mean you're a pushover. Save your bile for the ones who really deserve it.
*Note: Oh, I do know that not all SLR people are like that. =)
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Updates!
There's only so much you can say to friends when you are catching up for the first time in a long while. It's even harder trying to convey a canvas of happenings to those you haven't had the chance to meet with face-to-face.
I've therefore come up with a little translation guide, to better explain myself if I've ever come across as reticent recently.
When I Say: The hols have been great! Orientation preparation has been fun and fulfilling!
What I Mean to Say Is: It's a mix, really. I began wanting to recapture the same experiences I had during my Orientation in JC, but things are different. I've learnt to accept that certain things once past will never come by again, and that a lot of the time it's better to enjoy the process and treasure each moment as they come by.
When I Say: I'm looking forward to starting school! Looking forward to meeting old friends, learning new things, immersing myself in the myriad activities at school!
What I Mean to Say Is: Yes, school should be great, but the holidays are dwlindling before my eyes. I've got a loooong list of personal things I want to do, including reading at Chijmes, or penning the short story that's been brewing in my mind, or writing little notes to old friends. I know I'll be lost in the whirlpool that is school once it comes, so yes, I do wish the holidays were that little bit longer.
When I Say: I want to update my blog more too!
What I Mean to Say Is: It's been difficult! You know I'm averse to emotional ranting on blogs, but as Mr. J says, its better to have an emo blog than no blog at all (speak for yourself, haha, your blog's dead too!). Ironically, I've come to realize that I blog more during school term than now. Writing's always been a cathartic release for me, perhaps that's why.
When I Say: I've moved on, and am a better, stronger person now!
What I Mean to Say Is: I've come to understand myself better, but am still very far from what I should be. Just five minutes ago, I helped initiate an SMS fiasco which proved that... words fail me. Haha. And to think that I'm as used to words failing me as LKY is used to losing lawsuits. At times I think I'm a harder, more resolved person, able to make difficult decisions and live with them. At others, I'm just hanting with a small 'h'.
The last song I heard was Semi Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind.
The last book I read was An Inspector Calls by JB Priestley.
The last person I talked to was my Dad, who walked in on me sun-tanning in my room. ("Er, no pa, I didn't realize that the afternoon sun was so hot! Er, siao ah, you think I sun-tanning in my room meh.")
The last thought I had was, "Here I am, once again. The decor has changed, as has the furniture and the music they pipe in and the scents they use to sweeten the air, but yea, it's the same place alright."
The most important things are the hardest to say.
I've therefore come up with a little translation guide, to better explain myself if I've ever come across as reticent recently.
When I Say: The hols have been great! Orientation preparation has been fun and fulfilling!
What I Mean to Say Is: It's a mix, really. I began wanting to recapture the same experiences I had during my Orientation in JC, but things are different. I've learnt to accept that certain things once past will never come by again, and that a lot of the time it's better to enjoy the process and treasure each moment as they come by.
When I Say: I'm looking forward to starting school! Looking forward to meeting old friends, learning new things, immersing myself in the myriad activities at school!
What I Mean to Say Is: Yes, school should be great, but the holidays are dwlindling before my eyes. I've got a loooong list of personal things I want to do, including reading at Chijmes, or penning the short story that's been brewing in my mind, or writing little notes to old friends. I know I'll be lost in the whirlpool that is school once it comes, so yes, I do wish the holidays were that little bit longer.
When I Say: I want to update my blog more too!
What I Mean to Say Is: It's been difficult! You know I'm averse to emotional ranting on blogs, but as Mr. J says, its better to have an emo blog than no blog at all (speak for yourself, haha, your blog's dead too!). Ironically, I've come to realize that I blog more during school term than now. Writing's always been a cathartic release for me, perhaps that's why.
When I Say: I've moved on, and am a better, stronger person now!
What I Mean to Say Is: I've come to understand myself better, but am still very far from what I should be. Just five minutes ago, I helped initiate an SMS fiasco which proved that... words fail me. Haha. And to think that I'm as used to words failing me as LKY is used to losing lawsuits. At times I think I'm a harder, more resolved person, able to make difficult decisions and live with them. At others, I'm just hanting with a small 'h'.
The last song I heard was Semi Charmed Life by Third Eye Blind.
The last book I read was An Inspector Calls by JB Priestley.
The last person I talked to was my Dad, who walked in on me sun-tanning in my room. ("Er, no pa, I didn't realize that the afternoon sun was so hot! Er, siao ah, you think I sun-tanning in my room meh.")
The last thought I had was, "Here I am, once again. The decor has changed, as has the furniture and the music they pipe in and the scents they use to sweeten the air, but yea, it's the same place alright."
The most important things are the hardest to say.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Creature of The Night
I waited till the last of the lights went out, waited till there was ample time for my parents to fall asleep, then waited some more. The moment I was sure everyone else had fallen asleep, I fully awoke.
That afternoon I had already planned my escape - the lock on the back gate was oiled, my shoes laid out so I wouldn't have to fumble in the darkness, water bottle filled and readied. Like a shadow I danced down the staircase, skipping the steps which I knew creaked, and pocketed my keys from the table in the hallway. There was no need for an inventory check - where I was going, I had everything I needed.
The front door yielded without so much as a whisper of disapproval, and within 2 minutes I was out of my house, out the gate, into the world of the night. Every minute out was precious, so without turning back once I began to run.
It was only when I reached the reservoir and found a nice bench facing the placid waters, that I finally allowed myself the luxury of... just thinking. About things.
Since that night, I've stolen out of my house in the dead of the night a couple more times. I've become addicted to it. The feeling that you own the world, that you're free to roam wherever you please, that the worries and burdens and concerns and baggage from the day all belong to a different person, a different you.
I've visited HDB estates, neighbourhood playgrounds, 24 hr convenience stores, reservoir carparks. I've found little corners everywhere where you can just sit and observe the world sleep, and think politically incorrect thoughts that I normally would censor and bury immediately.
At night, unchained from the rigors of what I should be doing or thinking, I ponder what-ifs, explore past memories, excavate the bases for all the emotions that rule me during the day. I list what would make a Perfect Moment, question how far I am from such Moments normally, and plot to experience more Perfect Moments.
I think back to my Hanting 21 plan, and marvel at how far I've progressed or missed the mark, as the case may be. The emotional side of me battles with the rational side, locked in an unending feud over the respective amount of authority they deserve.
At the end of every excursion, I would retreat to my room, sapped, unfeeling, but at peace. Ready to face another day where something, something, just doesn't feel quite right.
I am a creature of the night, and I revel in it.
That afternoon I had already planned my escape - the lock on the back gate was oiled, my shoes laid out so I wouldn't have to fumble in the darkness, water bottle filled and readied. Like a shadow I danced down the staircase, skipping the steps which I knew creaked, and pocketed my keys from the table in the hallway. There was no need for an inventory check - where I was going, I had everything I needed.
The front door yielded without so much as a whisper of disapproval, and within 2 minutes I was out of my house, out the gate, into the world of the night. Every minute out was precious, so without turning back once I began to run.
It was only when I reached the reservoir and found a nice bench facing the placid waters, that I finally allowed myself the luxury of... just thinking. About things.
Since that night, I've stolen out of my house in the dead of the night a couple more times. I've become addicted to it. The feeling that you own the world, that you're free to roam wherever you please, that the worries and burdens and concerns and baggage from the day all belong to a different person, a different you.
I've visited HDB estates, neighbourhood playgrounds, 24 hr convenience stores, reservoir carparks. I've found little corners everywhere where you can just sit and observe the world sleep, and think politically incorrect thoughts that I normally would censor and bury immediately.
At night, unchained from the rigors of what I should be doing or thinking, I ponder what-ifs, explore past memories, excavate the bases for all the emotions that rule me during the day. I list what would make a Perfect Moment, question how far I am from such Moments normally, and plot to experience more Perfect Moments.
I think back to my Hanting 21 plan, and marvel at how far I've progressed or missed the mark, as the case may be. The emotional side of me battles with the rational side, locked in an unending feud over the respective amount of authority they deserve.
At the end of every excursion, I would retreat to my room, sapped, unfeeling, but at peace. Ready to face another day where something, something, just doesn't feel quite right.
I am a creature of the night, and I revel in it.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Political Correctness
I'm sapped. I just shelved my fourth post in recent weeks because I was concerned that some people might interpret it the wrong way... it seems as if every time I want to post about something personal, put words to some innermost thought, I run the risk of offending people.
What a strange state of affairs.
What a strange state of affairs.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Seek The Truth No Further
Almost five years ago, a distant cousin of mine got married. Out of the blue.
The entire extended family was suddenly rife with all sorts of theories revolving around the marriage. In those few frantic weeks, I would hear certain camps claim authoritatively that their version of the events leading up to the nuptials was the authentic one, only to soon hear from other factions similarly credible spins on the 'truth'.
Right up to the night of the wedding dinner, the tide of theories still surged on unabated, and could not be quelled. Some whispered 'shotgun marriage', others 'true love', while the ones who sat on the fence and couldn't really keep up with justifying their positions merely muttered 'fate'.
I remember them walking down the little aisle in the ballroom, and it struck me that they were impervious to all that was being said about them. Surely they were aware, but they didn't much care.
For how does one ascertain truth? As human beings we necessarily perceive the world through coloured lenses, yet surely that in itself defeats any claim to any objectivity we might stake.
To a geographer a rock is an embodiment of Nature's whimsical creative energies, to a doctor a rock is a dangerous object posing as a repository of microbial miscreants, to a lawyer a rock is an article the possession of which spells the degree of pre-meditation a party to a fracas nurtured.
I fancy that the then-newlyweds were acutely aware of the disparaging talk going on around them, but they weren't too bothered. There was only one perspective to the truth that was crucial to the longevity of their union, and it was shared by both of them.
And that was probably all that mattered.
The entire extended family was suddenly rife with all sorts of theories revolving around the marriage. In those few frantic weeks, I would hear certain camps claim authoritatively that their version of the events leading up to the nuptials was the authentic one, only to soon hear from other factions similarly credible spins on the 'truth'.
Right up to the night of the wedding dinner, the tide of theories still surged on unabated, and could not be quelled. Some whispered 'shotgun marriage', others 'true love', while the ones who sat on the fence and couldn't really keep up with justifying their positions merely muttered 'fate'.
I remember them walking down the little aisle in the ballroom, and it struck me that they were impervious to all that was being said about them. Surely they were aware, but they didn't much care.
For how does one ascertain truth? As human beings we necessarily perceive the world through coloured lenses, yet surely that in itself defeats any claim to any objectivity we might stake.
To a geographer a rock is an embodiment of Nature's whimsical creative energies, to a doctor a rock is a dangerous object posing as a repository of microbial miscreants, to a lawyer a rock is an article the possession of which spells the degree of pre-meditation a party to a fracas nurtured.
I fancy that the then-newlyweds were acutely aware of the disparaging talk going on around them, but they weren't too bothered. There was only one perspective to the truth that was crucial to the longevity of their union, and it was shared by both of them.
And that was probably all that mattered.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
A Sincere Reply
I made a short call to my dad today, which ended in both of us laughing. It's nice to have parents with the same sense of humour as you. =)
Me: Pa, Aunty Lily asks if we would like to take in her dog.
Dad: Well, have you seen it?
Me: Yea I have, I went over the other day to play with it.
Dad: So what type of dog is it? What breed? What's the upkeep like?
Me: I dunno. Brown colour one.
Me: Pa, Aunty Lily asks if we would like to take in her dog.
Dad: Well, have you seen it?
Me: Yea I have, I went over the other day to play with it.
Dad: So what type of dog is it? What breed? What's the upkeep like?
Me: I dunno. Brown colour one.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Random (Nocturnal) Thoughts
I awaken in the middle of the night.
There is a light drizzle outside, street lamps illuminating the raindrops' shocked expressions as they end their indulgent free fall and gently plink onto the tiles of my roof.
The wind continues her petulant course through my neighbourhood, teasing the leaves on the trees, threatening the hastily affixed election posters with premature retirement. Swish-swish, swish-swish go the things that flap in the night, a chorus that drowns out the crude yappings of the resident dogs.
I am suffused with calmness. I contemplate the happenings of the past day, then the past week, then month, then year, and it all seems surreal. It's almost as if I could turn my head and see Desmond sleeping next to me, in the army a year ago. Or my brother, eight years ago. Or my mother, fourteen years ago.
It's like walking down a street while you're engrossed with talking with your companion, or trying to guess the song on your Shuffle. Then you look up and you're startled by how far you've gone, without realizing how much you've passed by, or where you're going. Life blindsides you that way.
Slowly, a few things come to mind. Regrets converge and attempt to ouster the important thoughts from my focus... But I know I am not perfect, and there are some things that I just could not have done better. There is too much to live for to stop now.
If I could speak to you now, and you would listen, you would agree, right? Let the worries and frustrations fall from you, and tackle problems day by day. You know you can.
The street lamps die, another night is over... another day is dawning.
There is a light drizzle outside, street lamps illuminating the raindrops' shocked expressions as they end their indulgent free fall and gently plink onto the tiles of my roof.
The wind continues her petulant course through my neighbourhood, teasing the leaves on the trees, threatening the hastily affixed election posters with premature retirement. Swish-swish, swish-swish go the things that flap in the night, a chorus that drowns out the crude yappings of the resident dogs.
I am suffused with calmness. I contemplate the happenings of the past day, then the past week, then month, then year, and it all seems surreal. It's almost as if I could turn my head and see Desmond sleeping next to me, in the army a year ago. Or my brother, eight years ago. Or my mother, fourteen years ago.
It's like walking down a street while you're engrossed with talking with your companion, or trying to guess the song on your Shuffle. Then you look up and you're startled by how far you've gone, without realizing how much you've passed by, or where you're going. Life blindsides you that way.
Slowly, a few things come to mind. Regrets converge and attempt to ouster the important thoughts from my focus... But I know I am not perfect, and there are some things that I just could not have done better. There is too much to live for to stop now.
If I could speak to you now, and you would listen, you would agree, right? Let the worries and frustrations fall from you, and tackle problems day by day. You know you can.
The street lamps die, another night is over... another day is dawning.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Conscience
Looking back, I suspect that I might not have been the most angelic of little boys.
The earliest memory of how demonic I was finds its roots in kindergarten. The adults who ran the place, probably young idealistic people without kids of their own, thought it decidedly brilliant to sit us "little angels" at tables of four, and rotate the groups every two weeks.
The theory was, by mixing in different groups regularly, the kids would develop their social skills faster. They would overcome their shyness at meeting new people, and learn to cooperate, give and take, grow into well-mannered sociable beings.
Evil finds no foothold in the hearts of innocent children, no?
Foolish humans! Under that system, there was no group that I didn't come to overwhelm by sheer force of character or violent brutality. My day of glory was when I was finally rotated into the group with the then reigning class bully, for after that showdown, my dominion was complete.
(He had taken my new eraser and pulled it out of its cardboard sheath, knowing how much I hated people to do that. I took his eraser, bit it in half, and spat it out onto his books. Ooo. Never seen someone cry so fast.)
But I couldn't afford to be complacent. They made me change classes, you see, twice. Everyday was a battle for new turf.
I heard much later that after my short stint there, they scrapped the rotating system, replacing it with one where the kids sat at cold metal tables, with at least 1m between each child, thumbtacks on the floor to discourage movement, and barbed wire circling the compound.
Even now, there are many colourful posters littering the walls of the staff room, with labels like "How to Spot A Possessed Child" and step-by-step guides to dealing with juvenile troublemakers. No kindergarten kid left such a legacy as I.
Yes. My early childhood was a completely amoral time for me. If someone hit me, I would hit them back. If someone didn't hit me, I would hit them all the much harder. I was practically the poster child for, if the government wanted, their "Stop At Zero, Sterilize Yourselves" campaign.
But every story has its turning point, and mine was in Primary Five, when we received our Mid-Year Exam results. I got a 53 for my Maths Paper, a dismal score which was probably Band 5.
(Just in case you've never gone to Primary school in Singapore, your grades are clustered into Bands, arguably to encourage you to work harder. Band 1 means "Good Job, You Did Well", Band 2 "Not Too Bad, But No More Scholarship Liao", Band 3's "Tsk Tsk, Police Going To Catch You", Band 4 "Hahaha see How You Tell Your Parents" and Band 5 "Brain Damaged La You".
Aye, the academic scene in Singapore's harsh at times.)
So anyway I found myself clutching my paper and running off to the loo. I shut myself into a cubicle, and just started crying. Before long, I heard the adjacent cubicle door close, and someone else started sobbing too. When the worst of my grief was over, I said:
H: You also did badly ah.
X: Yar la. S*** la. Feel very bad now.
H: Feel bad? Why leh?
X: I'm a full-time student... my only responsibility is to study. My parents work so hard just to send me to school, so the least I should do is get good grades and support them next time. I don't want them to worry about me...
H: Oh. Ok.
X: You leh? Why are you sad?
H: Go home my mother sure going to whack me. I scared pain.
On the way home that day, pricked by what my friend said, and after long hours of inner turmoil, I gave birth to a Conscience. It was small compared to its peers, underweight and decidedly malnourished. It certainly didn't look like it would survive past a couple of hours.
Yet, frail and delicate as it was, it wailed with the lungs of a dozen babies. And true enough, not only did it survive, it developed quite well.
In fact, since that day, I've changed quite drastically. Overnight I drew my own OB markers, and started treating people better, respecting their space and rights and privacy. People tell me that I'm very 'guai', and while they're right in that my parents were good parents, I must attribute a lot of it to the strange thing otherwise known as a conscience.
There are, as of now, a loooong list of things I must set right, and by my own hand too. Way way high on my priority list is to compensate my dear friend for breaking his arm in primary school, because I was too scared then to tell my parents.
After that... after that I will seek out the loved ones I've wronged in some way or another, and for what it was worth, tell them I was sorry for the way things turned out. Some things can never be righted, but I know I will still try.
For all the laws we have, for all the fears of punishment, the hardest thing is to be able to answer to yourself before you sleep every night.
The earliest memory of how demonic I was finds its roots in kindergarten. The adults who ran the place, probably young idealistic people without kids of their own, thought it decidedly brilliant to sit us "little angels" at tables of four, and rotate the groups every two weeks.
The theory was, by mixing in different groups regularly, the kids would develop their social skills faster. They would overcome their shyness at meeting new people, and learn to cooperate, give and take, grow into well-mannered sociable beings.
Evil finds no foothold in the hearts of innocent children, no?
Foolish humans! Under that system, there was no group that I didn't come to overwhelm by sheer force of character or violent brutality. My day of glory was when I was finally rotated into the group with the then reigning class bully, for after that showdown, my dominion was complete.
(He had taken my new eraser and pulled it out of its cardboard sheath, knowing how much I hated people to do that. I took his eraser, bit it in half, and spat it out onto his books. Ooo. Never seen someone cry so fast.)
But I couldn't afford to be complacent. They made me change classes, you see, twice. Everyday was a battle for new turf.
I heard much later that after my short stint there, they scrapped the rotating system, replacing it with one where the kids sat at cold metal tables, with at least 1m between each child, thumbtacks on the floor to discourage movement, and barbed wire circling the compound.
Even now, there are many colourful posters littering the walls of the staff room, with labels like "How to Spot A Possessed Child" and step-by-step guides to dealing with juvenile troublemakers. No kindergarten kid left such a legacy as I.
Yes. My early childhood was a completely amoral time for me. If someone hit me, I would hit them back. If someone didn't hit me, I would hit them all the much harder. I was practically the poster child for, if the government wanted, their "Stop At Zero, Sterilize Yourselves" campaign.
But every story has its turning point, and mine was in Primary Five, when we received our Mid-Year Exam results. I got a 53 for my Maths Paper, a dismal score which was probably Band 5.
(Just in case you've never gone to Primary school in Singapore, your grades are clustered into Bands, arguably to encourage you to work harder. Band 1 means "Good Job, You Did Well", Band 2 "Not Too Bad, But No More Scholarship Liao", Band 3's "Tsk Tsk, Police Going To Catch You", Band 4 "Hahaha see How You Tell Your Parents" and Band 5 "Brain Damaged La You".
Aye, the academic scene in Singapore's harsh at times.)
So anyway I found myself clutching my paper and running off to the loo. I shut myself into a cubicle, and just started crying. Before long, I heard the adjacent cubicle door close, and someone else started sobbing too. When the worst of my grief was over, I said:
H: You also did badly ah.
X: Yar la. S*** la. Feel very bad now.
H: Feel bad? Why leh?
X: I'm a full-time student... my only responsibility is to study. My parents work so hard just to send me to school, so the least I should do is get good grades and support them next time. I don't want them to worry about me...
H: Oh. Ok.
X: You leh? Why are you sad?
H: Go home my mother sure going to whack me. I scared pain.
On the way home that day, pricked by what my friend said, and after long hours of inner turmoil, I gave birth to a Conscience. It was small compared to its peers, underweight and decidedly malnourished. It certainly didn't look like it would survive past a couple of hours.
Yet, frail and delicate as it was, it wailed with the lungs of a dozen babies. And true enough, not only did it survive, it developed quite well.
In fact, since that day, I've changed quite drastically. Overnight I drew my own OB markers, and started treating people better, respecting their space and rights and privacy. People tell me that I'm very 'guai', and while they're right in that my parents were good parents, I must attribute a lot of it to the strange thing otherwise known as a conscience.
There are, as of now, a loooong list of things I must set right, and by my own hand too. Way way high on my priority list is to compensate my dear friend for breaking his arm in primary school, because I was too scared then to tell my parents.
After that... after that I will seek out the loved ones I've wronged in some way or another, and for what it was worth, tell them I was sorry for the way things turned out. Some things can never be righted, but I know I will still try.
For all the laws we have, for all the fears of punishment, the hardest thing is to be able to answer to yourself before you sleep every night.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Sunshine From The Past 7: I Could Stay Awake, Just To...
One by one, everyone fell asleep. The television blared on, characters on screen quietly going through their pre-set actions and dialogue. Soon, I was the only one left awake, the single consciouness in a hall of 6 other sleeping friends.
She was lying next to me on the sofa, eyes closed, at peace. Fatigue from the day's events had already robbed me of most of my will to stay awake, but somehow I knew this chance would never come again. Somehow.
And so I watched her sleep. I held her hand, registering every little movement she made in her sleep. I was lulled by her rhythmic breathing pattern, placated by the calm expression she bore, comforted by her reassuring presence.
Sitting there in that cramped sofa, toes a light shade of blue from lack of circulation, I found for myself time to recall all the beautiful moments we shared, appreciate all the little things providence bestowed. At that moment, there was only her, and there was only me.
I wanted that moment to last, I really did. To feel so inextricably intertwined, to feel that everything was worth it, to know that it was real for me.
But time waits for none, and four hours later, daybreak broke the spell.
It is a pity that I should be the only one to bear witness to one of the most meaningful memories we shared.
She was lying next to me on the sofa, eyes closed, at peace. Fatigue from the day's events had already robbed me of most of my will to stay awake, but somehow I knew this chance would never come again. Somehow.
And so I watched her sleep. I held her hand, registering every little movement she made in her sleep. I was lulled by her rhythmic breathing pattern, placated by the calm expression she bore, comforted by her reassuring presence.
Sitting there in that cramped sofa, toes a light shade of blue from lack of circulation, I found for myself time to recall all the beautiful moments we shared, appreciate all the little things providence bestowed. At that moment, there was only her, and there was only me.
I wanted that moment to last, I really did. To feel so inextricably intertwined, to feel that everything was worth it, to know that it was real for me.
But time waits for none, and four hours later, daybreak broke the spell.
It is a pity that I should be the only one to bear witness to one of the most meaningful memories we shared.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Farewell
I hope one day I'll find the words to explain things to you. Until then, I thank you for all the love and concern you've had for me, till the very end.
Sometimes things just click and happen. Sometimes, they don't. In any case, chapters close and open all the time.
As you said, 5 years ago we were but strangers... we'll be friends 5 years from now, won't we?
Sometimes things just click and happen. Sometimes, they don't. In any case, chapters close and open all the time.
As you said, 5 years ago we were but strangers... we'll be friends 5 years from now, won't we?
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Forgive
Emotions overwhelm me. I try to press on, to distract myself, but it's not easy.
I've just spoken words I'd never thought I'll hear myself say. Sometimes, at night, when it's so quiet you can practically hear yourself think, I've thought this all through a thousand times, always to the same conclusion.
Yet, barely a few hours later, you're awash again in a sea of doubt and indecision.
I've said it, and although I thought for a while I could just bounce about, sing a frog song or two and take it all back, I guess I can't.
I wish I were older and wiser, stronger, with more spirit and resolve. I wish I had done everything differently, and not have to look back and regret all the stupid things I did, or omitted to do. If there's anything I am clear about, it's the certainty, in my heart of hearts, that I'm the one to blame.
I'm so very sorry.
I've just spoken words I'd never thought I'll hear myself say. Sometimes, at night, when it's so quiet you can practically hear yourself think, I've thought this all through a thousand times, always to the same conclusion.
Yet, barely a few hours later, you're awash again in a sea of doubt and indecision.
I've said it, and although I thought for a while I could just bounce about, sing a frog song or two and take it all back, I guess I can't.
I wish I were older and wiser, stronger, with more spirit and resolve. I wish I had done everything differently, and not have to look back and regret all the stupid things I did, or omitted to do. If there's anything I am clear about, it's the certainty, in my heart of hearts, that I'm the one to blame.
I'm so very sorry.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Lilac, A Lighter Shade Of Purple
There are essentially, two kinds of nightmares one may have.
The first is the kind that we all grow up with. Giant spiders, masked murderers, rampaging dinosaurs, your mum singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time" while dressed like Britney.
These are the Law of Nature Nightmares, where essentially you dream of life but with some fundamental rule of nature warped beyond comprehension. Normally we take these simple rules for granted, but when they are bent the dreams get real scary.
You have the staircases that lead on to infinity. You have little children who move faster than you, but who always wait for you to turn around to spot them. You have the various creepy animals who grow to Gargantuan Post-Army sizes. You have clothes that inexplicably dissolve, leaving you naked in the middle of Orchard Road (and if you're lucky, to rapturous applause).
And everyone's susceptible, no matter your age, build, education, race. But these nightmares are kiddy stuff in the end. Even if you wake up bathed in acrid cold sweat, you smile at the pure foolishness of your nightmare, and dreamless slumber finds you again soon after.
Not so the other kind, the Morality Nightmares.
Here, your subconcious dregs up every past indiscretion or folly your pride suppresses and your honour denies, but which your conscience is very well acquainted with. You relive past mistakes, you are allowed little trips down What-Might-Have-Been, and long-lost friends and loved ones come back to let you hurt them all over again.
When the nightmare manages to fester viciously in your consciousness even after you awaken, and haunts you throughout the entire day, that's when you know you've had a real kicker of a Morality Nightmare.
Oh, toilsome is the journey of the man who has yet to make peace.
The first is the kind that we all grow up with. Giant spiders, masked murderers, rampaging dinosaurs, your mum singing "Hit Me Baby One More Time" while dressed like Britney.
These are the Law of Nature Nightmares, where essentially you dream of life but with some fundamental rule of nature warped beyond comprehension. Normally we take these simple rules for granted, but when they are bent the dreams get real scary.
You have the staircases that lead on to infinity. You have little children who move faster than you, but who always wait for you to turn around to spot them. You have the various creepy animals who grow to Gargantuan Post-Army sizes. You have clothes that inexplicably dissolve, leaving you naked in the middle of Orchard Road (and if you're lucky, to rapturous applause).
And everyone's susceptible, no matter your age, build, education, race. But these nightmares are kiddy stuff in the end. Even if you wake up bathed in acrid cold sweat, you smile at the pure foolishness of your nightmare, and dreamless slumber finds you again soon after.
Not so the other kind, the Morality Nightmares.
Here, your subconcious dregs up every past indiscretion or folly your pride suppresses and your honour denies, but which your conscience is very well acquainted with. You relive past mistakes, you are allowed little trips down What-Might-Have-Been, and long-lost friends and loved ones come back to let you hurt them all over again.
When the nightmare manages to fester viciously in your consciousness even after you awaken, and haunts you throughout the entire day, that's when you know you've had a real kicker of a Morality Nightmare.
Oh, toilsome is the journey of the man who has yet to make peace.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Sunshine From The Past 6: Notebook
I remember gripping my brown notebook tight, and I remember the soft yellow glow of the staff room.
I remember the soft whirr of the air-con, and I remember no one else around. Quiet, silence all about - a dying Friday afternoon.
And as I flipped through the pages, the memories of the past months leapt out at me. From the first few 'test' entries, detailing superficial likes and dislikes, to the middle months, when I discovered she and I had a meeting of minds of sorts, to the last few days, when it seemed I was rushing, every day, to write before it was too late.
I never wrote so much before, revealed so much before. A soul laid bare, ensconced within that notebook of mine.
It was the same routine always. A thought would flit across my consciousness, and I would snare it and pin it in my notebook, like a collector does butterflies. I would pass it to her, and amazingly, she would somehow see the same butterfly as I, complete in its image, and she would reply.
Reply in that beautiful script of hers, her own little thoughts and feelings, her own reflections and dreams. Electric words that would make me ponder, or laugh, or wonder.
A few times each week I would come here alone, and place my notebook in her pigeonhole. It would disappear, then reappear, sometimes a few days later, sometimes the day itself. Everytime it came back to me, I would sense for a moment that it was somehow alive, with our thoughts, our writings.
That day was my last trip. She would be leaving the next week, moving on to greener pastures. I reached the last page, a blank page, and there I wrote:
"I know we both thought your previous reply would be the last in this journal. But I thought about it, and I would like you to have this book. It probably wouldn't mean much to you, this collection of ramblings between us, but all the same I would like you to have it. "
"All the best, till we meet again."
And as bravely as I could, I placed it in her pigeonhole, and left.
I never saw her again.
I remember the soft whirr of the air-con, and I remember no one else around. Quiet, silence all about - a dying Friday afternoon.
And as I flipped through the pages, the memories of the past months leapt out at me. From the first few 'test' entries, detailing superficial likes and dislikes, to the middle months, when I discovered she and I had a meeting of minds of sorts, to the last few days, when it seemed I was rushing, every day, to write before it was too late.
I never wrote so much before, revealed so much before. A soul laid bare, ensconced within that notebook of mine.
It was the same routine always. A thought would flit across my consciousness, and I would snare it and pin it in my notebook, like a collector does butterflies. I would pass it to her, and amazingly, she would somehow see the same butterfly as I, complete in its image, and she would reply.
Reply in that beautiful script of hers, her own little thoughts and feelings, her own reflections and dreams. Electric words that would make me ponder, or laugh, or wonder.
A few times each week I would come here alone, and place my notebook in her pigeonhole. It would disappear, then reappear, sometimes a few days later, sometimes the day itself. Everytime it came back to me, I would sense for a moment that it was somehow alive, with our thoughts, our writings.
That day was my last trip. She would be leaving the next week, moving on to greener pastures. I reached the last page, a blank page, and there I wrote:
"I know we both thought your previous reply would be the last in this journal. But I thought about it, and I would like you to have this book. It probably wouldn't mean much to you, this collection of ramblings between us, but all the same I would like you to have it. "
"All the best, till we meet again."
And as bravely as I could, I placed it in her pigeonhole, and left.
I never saw her again.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Cow From Hell
A quick post, to expunge this potent sickness that poisons me from within.
My household ran out of Milo this morning. No more tins of the brown gold, no more emergency quick-mix packets, no more ready-prepared packet drinks.
I am a creature of habit, and Milo is my morning sugar-rush that helps me avoid a nasty, messy death on the highway to school. When I learnt that there was no more Milo, I immediately soured, became grouchy, and lost my composure.
In my distressed state, I hastily agreed to the ‘next best thing’, X-Brand powdered milk. In retrospect, I would rather have slurped down raw eggs with roach eggs. That powdered milk… was… simply amazing.
In a very, very bad sense.
The following poem is meant to reflect the first 20 seconds of excruciating pain I experienced after taking a sip of the powdered milk.
Oh Lord in Heaven, thou hast forsaken me
With this powdered, disguised monstrosity
It lulls your senses and tricks your nose
It knocks your judgment out comatose
You believe it to smell faintly sweet and inviting
When in truth all that it’s concealing
Is an inexcusable ratty stew of milk
No more potent a poison you’ll find of this ilk
It stings! It scalds! It even bites!
As it flows down, my gag reflex I immediately fight
It burns! It throttles! It’s like spoilt sauce!
My eyes by now must have certainly crossed
I think of the animal from whence this came
Surely that’s where I’ll place most of the blame
For surely no hand of man can distill
A morning drink as this without the intention to kill
Yes, yes, that’s it, that’s the answer -
A diseased cow racked with cancer
Skin all peeling with multiple sores
Run over by a tractor the night before
Udders turning a light shade of green
That any reasonable man could have seen
Yet refusing to give up this tenacious grip on life
Before yielding one more bucket of milk to the farmer’s wife
What plagues me is what I must do now
Now that it’s in me, this discharge from a dying cow
To break down and hug my parents a final time?
To bear it stoically and overlook this gastronomic crime?
If I had an option to bury the milk I really would
But my parents have brought me up to never waste food
Therefore the thing that’s crushed my spirit and left me bereft
Is that there’s three quarters of the bloody cup left
I finished it all, like a man. Who would die. Within the next few hours. Whilst screaming for mercy.
On the way back from school that day, I stopped by the local grocery store and bought two big tins of Milo, as well as 60 packets of instant-mix. The lady cashier noted that no one had bought so much Milo at one shot before.
Lady. They ain’t tried X-Brand milk before.
My household ran out of Milo this morning. No more tins of the brown gold, no more emergency quick-mix packets, no more ready-prepared packet drinks.
I am a creature of habit, and Milo is my morning sugar-rush that helps me avoid a nasty, messy death on the highway to school. When I learnt that there was no more Milo, I immediately soured, became grouchy, and lost my composure.
In my distressed state, I hastily agreed to the ‘next best thing’, X-Brand powdered milk. In retrospect, I would rather have slurped down raw eggs with roach eggs. That powdered milk… was… simply amazing.
In a very, very bad sense.
The following poem is meant to reflect the first 20 seconds of excruciating pain I experienced after taking a sip of the powdered milk.
Oh Lord in Heaven, thou hast forsaken me
With this powdered, disguised monstrosity
It lulls your senses and tricks your nose
It knocks your judgment out comatose
You believe it to smell faintly sweet and inviting
When in truth all that it’s concealing
Is an inexcusable ratty stew of milk
No more potent a poison you’ll find of this ilk
It stings! It scalds! It even bites!
As it flows down, my gag reflex I immediately fight
It burns! It throttles! It’s like spoilt sauce!
My eyes by now must have certainly crossed
I think of the animal from whence this came
Surely that’s where I’ll place most of the blame
For surely no hand of man can distill
A morning drink as this without the intention to kill
Yes, yes, that’s it, that’s the answer -
A diseased cow racked with cancer
Skin all peeling with multiple sores
Run over by a tractor the night before
Udders turning a light shade of green
That any reasonable man could have seen
Yet refusing to give up this tenacious grip on life
Before yielding one more bucket of milk to the farmer’s wife
What plagues me is what I must do now
Now that it’s in me, this discharge from a dying cow
To break down and hug my parents a final time?
To bear it stoically and overlook this gastronomic crime?
If I had an option to bury the milk I really would
But my parents have brought me up to never waste food
Therefore the thing that’s crushed my spirit and left me bereft
Is that there’s three quarters of the bloody cup left
I finished it all, like a man. Who would die. Within the next few hours. Whilst screaming for mercy.
On the way back from school that day, I stopped by the local grocery store and bought two big tins of Milo, as well as 60 packets of instant-mix. The lady cashier noted that no one had bought so much Milo at one shot before.
Lady. They ain’t tried X-Brand milk before.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Criterion
My friend in primary school once rattled off a list of criteria a guy had to fulfill before he could be her boyfriend.
Though I thought, even back then, that judging eligibility by the fulfillment of a list of attributes was a silly and fundamentally wrong approach to finding love, I still made a note of her criteria in my diary that night.
Just to have an idea of what girls wanted, you know, since almost all the girls then made lists.
And the list was composed of:
1. He must love me
2. He must treat me nicely
3. He must treat my parents and Shandy (a vicious demon in the guise of a dog) nicely
4. He must love swimming (she was so fanatical about swimming, I swear sometimes she would unconsciously tilt her head to the sides to breathe)
5. He need not be the most handsome, but he must be good-looking
And strangely enough, I added a little footnote later on that diary page that went something like "Die. I can't swim well." It wasn't even as if I liked her, and I interpret this afterthought as indicative of my relative insecurity then. (Though I notice I never worried about requirement 5)
In any case, it wasn't long before the backlash against having a list of criteria for potential boyfriends occurred. Suddenly, upon surviving to Primary Six, the whole lot of us was miraculously bestowed with maturity and wisdom beyond our years.
The girls issued a press statement asserting that finding love based solely on a list of criteria was too myopic an approach and more importantly, passé. The guys proclaimed that not only were we never affected by such hogwash, but also that we never made lists of our own.
A lot of paper was hidden or thrown away that day.
The most common sermon delivered was that you couldn’t be so calculative with love, given that love was something more than just a certain combination of attributes in a person. Furthermore, rejecting someone just because he/she didn’t match up perfectly, reeked of chauvinism.
To hear a statement like that in Singapore, a country where the lines ‘We are very, very practical’ and ‘No time for Love, Singapura’ fit right into the National Anthem (and they do, try it), is very jarring indeed. It’s almost like this undiscovered tension in our society, between the practical mentalities so prevalent and the undercurrent of instinctive notions of what love ought to be.
Test it for yourself today. Meet a friend for lunch, and then suddenly announce a list of criteria you have for your potential life mate, and assert forcefully that unless a core number of criteria are fulfilled, interested parties need not apply. Instinctively, your friend is most likely to disagree with your ‘heartless’ and ‘passionless’ approach.
Against the oppressive public opinion that listing criteria was bad, people still made lists in secret. Over the years, however, I noticed that the lists generally slowly changed in character, becoming more precise, more demanding. Naturally, this is reflective of the amount of introspection people have paid to the concept of relationships.
As you probably would have realized, lists are also influenced by the personal experiences of the person. Take, for example, this list I got from a JC friend, which, should I say, was influenced somewhat by her relative desirability.
1. He must love me whole-heartedly, and in his heart there can only be me
2. He must treat me nicely, shower unexpected gifts upon me, cheer me up whenever I am grouchy, be there for me whenever I need him, and be fully telepathic so that he can read my mind without me telling him
3. He must treat my pets nicely, and also treat my friends, my relatives, my colleagues, my bosses, my business associates all with kindness, respect and fawning affection
4. He must love everything that I do. Period
5. He must be cute, and have a cute butt and sturdy legs and broad shoulders and six-packs
Yes, it had occurred to me that humanity would probably evolve an extra arm or leg before we found a male that fit her requirements.
Compare with the following list from another friend, whom I suspect has not been treated too kindly by her ex-boyfriends.
1. He must love me on his sober days
2. His looks don’t matter
3. He must treat my parents, at the very least, as functional human beings
4. He must not take out more than two insurance policies on me with evil intentions
5. He must not beat me until I lose consciousness
Don’t even get me started on the wholly materialistic lists. They irk me to no end.
My belief is that as people grow up and are increasingly empowered, so will their lists get more stringent. Yet, most ironically, get too powerful or independent, and you will find no one capable of matching up. Potentially, this is how an over-achieving, rich and beautiful single girl in her late 40s would construct a list:
1. Anything that is warm, male and moving.
Astute readers would have noticed by now that I have yet to product a single guy’s list of criterion. Contrary to public opinion, it’s not:
1. She must have nice legs
2. She must have nice (random body part)
3. She must have nice (random body part)
4. She must have nice (random body part)
5. She must love me
Guys, in case you haven’t realized, are more than just the hulking masses of muscle that lumber around. They are emotional creatures as well, and some have lists that would really surprise you with their emotional complexity, despite their rock-solid alpha male appearance (hint hint)
There might well be public disgust associated with the concept of criterion-making, but I think it best to actually do so, and to abide by your list faithfully. Through the relationships we have we slowly discover what it is that we want, that we need, what can sustain a relationship and what cannot.
You know as well as I do that when emotions come into play, logic goes out the window. I’ve seen friends, normally completely logical and rational, finding themselves attracted to people who really should be prevented from contributing to the human gene pool.
Because, really, that’s what love does. It’s a lubricant of sorts, that eases the process of people coming and staying together. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a romantic at heart, but I recognize that’s the power of love. Once it kicks in your list of criterion gets a huge discount, and you’re often willing to overlook many shortcomings for the perceived overall good. Though this is good sometimes, it might not always be the case.
When love wanes or wavers, what are we left with?
Though I thought, even back then, that judging eligibility by the fulfillment of a list of attributes was a silly and fundamentally wrong approach to finding love, I still made a note of her criteria in my diary that night.
Just to have an idea of what girls wanted, you know, since almost all the girls then made lists.
And the list was composed of:
1. He must love me
2. He must treat me nicely
3. He must treat my parents and Shandy (a vicious demon in the guise of a dog) nicely
4. He must love swimming (she was so fanatical about swimming, I swear sometimes she would unconsciously tilt her head to the sides to breathe)
5. He need not be the most handsome, but he must be good-looking
And strangely enough, I added a little footnote later on that diary page that went something like "Die. I can't swim well." It wasn't even as if I liked her, and I interpret this afterthought as indicative of my relative insecurity then. (Though I notice I never worried about requirement 5)
In any case, it wasn't long before the backlash against having a list of criteria for potential boyfriends occurred. Suddenly, upon surviving to Primary Six, the whole lot of us was miraculously bestowed with maturity and wisdom beyond our years.
The girls issued a press statement asserting that finding love based solely on a list of criteria was too myopic an approach and more importantly, passé. The guys proclaimed that not only were we never affected by such hogwash, but also that we never made lists of our own.
A lot of paper was hidden or thrown away that day.
The most common sermon delivered was that you couldn’t be so calculative with love, given that love was something more than just a certain combination of attributes in a person. Furthermore, rejecting someone just because he/she didn’t match up perfectly, reeked of chauvinism.
To hear a statement like that in Singapore, a country where the lines ‘We are very, very practical’ and ‘No time for Love, Singapura’ fit right into the National Anthem (and they do, try it), is very jarring indeed. It’s almost like this undiscovered tension in our society, between the practical mentalities so prevalent and the undercurrent of instinctive notions of what love ought to be.
Test it for yourself today. Meet a friend for lunch, and then suddenly announce a list of criteria you have for your potential life mate, and assert forcefully that unless a core number of criteria are fulfilled, interested parties need not apply. Instinctively, your friend is most likely to disagree with your ‘heartless’ and ‘passionless’ approach.
Against the oppressive public opinion that listing criteria was bad, people still made lists in secret. Over the years, however, I noticed that the lists generally slowly changed in character, becoming more precise, more demanding. Naturally, this is reflective of the amount of introspection people have paid to the concept of relationships.
As you probably would have realized, lists are also influenced by the personal experiences of the person. Take, for example, this list I got from a JC friend, which, should I say, was influenced somewhat by her relative desirability.
1. He must love me whole-heartedly, and in his heart there can only be me
2. He must treat me nicely, shower unexpected gifts upon me, cheer me up whenever I am grouchy, be there for me whenever I need him, and be fully telepathic so that he can read my mind without me telling him
3. He must treat my pets nicely, and also treat my friends, my relatives, my colleagues, my bosses, my business associates all with kindness, respect and fawning affection
4. He must love everything that I do. Period
5. He must be cute, and have a cute butt and sturdy legs and broad shoulders and six-packs
Yes, it had occurred to me that humanity would probably evolve an extra arm or leg before we found a male that fit her requirements.
Compare with the following list from another friend, whom I suspect has not been treated too kindly by her ex-boyfriends.
1. He must love me on his sober days
2. His looks don’t matter
3. He must treat my parents, at the very least, as functional human beings
4. He must not take out more than two insurance policies on me with evil intentions
5. He must not beat me until I lose consciousness
Don’t even get me started on the wholly materialistic lists. They irk me to no end.
My belief is that as people grow up and are increasingly empowered, so will their lists get more stringent. Yet, most ironically, get too powerful or independent, and you will find no one capable of matching up. Potentially, this is how an over-achieving, rich and beautiful single girl in her late 40s would construct a list:
1. Anything that is warm, male and moving.
Astute readers would have noticed by now that I have yet to product a single guy’s list of criterion. Contrary to public opinion, it’s not:
1. She must have nice legs
2. She must have nice (random body part)
3. She must have nice (random body part)
4. She must have nice (random body part)
5. She must love me
Guys, in case you haven’t realized, are more than just the hulking masses of muscle that lumber around. They are emotional creatures as well, and some have lists that would really surprise you with their emotional complexity, despite their rock-solid alpha male appearance (hint hint)
There might well be public disgust associated with the concept of criterion-making, but I think it best to actually do so, and to abide by your list faithfully. Through the relationships we have we slowly discover what it is that we want, that we need, what can sustain a relationship and what cannot.
You know as well as I do that when emotions come into play, logic goes out the window. I’ve seen friends, normally completely logical and rational, finding themselves attracted to people who really should be prevented from contributing to the human gene pool.
Because, really, that’s what love does. It’s a lubricant of sorts, that eases the process of people coming and staying together. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a romantic at heart, but I recognize that’s the power of love. Once it kicks in your list of criterion gets a huge discount, and you’re often willing to overlook many shortcomings for the perceived overall good. Though this is good sometimes, it might not always be the case.
When love wanes or wavers, what are we left with?
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Samantha
Do you remember, back then
How you so gently took me in hand?
When those who could understand were so few
When loneliness was the only friend I knew
My guilt and pain you washed away
You remoulded my spirit like a potter does clay
... you breathed meaning into my life.
I am thankful for those precious moments
So much more than my sins did warrant
You gave a caged sparrow a chance at flight
But though free by day, I was trapped by night
This cancer in me you could alleviate but never resolve
For eventually giving up, all blame is absolved
... you were right to leave to love more truly.
So here I am at this junction once again
Mercy to winds of change and limitless pain
I only pray that this little life in me will forgive
A weary girl with an evaporating will to live
You will understand I have no choice won't you?
My one chance to reset a life gone askew
... you...
... you were a brief dream in this violent nightmare of a life.
Samantha Seow, a fictional girl of 21 in a class assignment handed out almost six months ago, has woven her way into the deepest corners of our lives. If she had more time than she did, I would have liked to think that this is the farewell note she would have written.
Although we've never seen a picture of her, in my mind she's forever tanned with long dark hair, emaciated, dishevelled, skittish and with two-inch red perforated cuts on her wrists.
I do not deny that Life often throws up seemingly insurmountable challenges. But you know as well as I do, that all you need to do is reach out, and you will find someone leading the way.
There's a solution to every problem.
How you so gently took me in hand?
When those who could understand were so few
When loneliness was the only friend I knew
My guilt and pain you washed away
You remoulded my spirit like a potter does clay
... you breathed meaning into my life.
I am thankful for those precious moments
So much more than my sins did warrant
You gave a caged sparrow a chance at flight
But though free by day, I was trapped by night
This cancer in me you could alleviate but never resolve
For eventually giving up, all blame is absolved
... you were right to leave to love more truly.
So here I am at this junction once again
Mercy to winds of change and limitless pain
I only pray that this little life in me will forgive
A weary girl with an evaporating will to live
You will understand I have no choice won't you?
My one chance to reset a life gone askew
... you...
... you were a brief dream in this violent nightmare of a life.
Samantha Seow, a fictional girl of 21 in a class assignment handed out almost six months ago, has woven her way into the deepest corners of our lives. If she had more time than she did, I would have liked to think that this is the farewell note she would have written.
Although we've never seen a picture of her, in my mind she's forever tanned with long dark hair, emaciated, dishevelled, skittish and with two-inch red perforated cuts on her wrists.
I do not deny that Life often throws up seemingly insurmountable challenges. But you know as well as I do, that all you need to do is reach out, and you will find someone leading the way.
There's a solution to every problem.
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