Love, is like a plant.
You nurture it daily, with nutrients that it hungers for. Eventually, depending on the effort that you've put into it, it blooms, blossoms, bears fruit.
People don't dwell much upon it, but Hate, the twin that lurks in Love's shadow, is also like a plant.
You also have to nurture it daily, lest it withers away. Again, eventually, depending on the effort invested, it bears fruit too. The best cared-for plants yield the most succulent of fruits.
I've been thinking about it a lot, especially after Spiderman forgave the Sandman in his recent movie outing. It made a lot of sense then - why labor daily to feed venom (hurhur no pun intended) to this gnarly twisted plant that is Hate, when its fruits are bitter and vile?
Therefore, logically, there seems to be no reason for us to Hate anything. For Hate corrupts us, burdening us with its endless echoes of anger, chaining us to a past we do not need.
Alas, alas, nothing is as simple as it is in the movies. For while much romantic ink has been spilt to chronicle the wonders of the fruits of love, not a lot has been devoted to the fruits of Hate. Harry Potter, for example, continually espouses Love as the one defining mark of humanity.
But you may one day discover that the fruits of Hate are useful in their own way. For every single inedible blackened apple on my desk serves as a reminder of a painful lesson learnt, so that I need not convert my living quarters into a greenhouse.
Lucky Spiderman.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Brotherhood
It is incredibly, exquisitely difficult for boyfriends to learn to be good shopping companions. Girls, please do recognize the efforts your men put in.
To appreciate us fully, first understand that men are fundamentally different from you females when it comes to shopping. We shop like homing missiles – if our shopping trip were a movie, the tagline would read “One Man. One Item. One Hour.”
As such, we shop without distractions. We walk down Orchard Road seeing only the path ahead, only vaguely aware of people buying other things in other shops, in much the same way that career-obsessed fathers are only vaguely aware of small people growing up in the same house.
In fact, if we don’t need anything from a shop, we can walk by it a thousand times without registering its existence. Don’t believe me? Try asking your male friends to meet you at Dorothy Perkins or Miss Selfridge. Chances are, they’ll be too proud to ask for directions, and will simply wander around helplessly until they find it.
Thus, every boyfriend who has learned to be a good shopping companion, I hail as a hero. Beneath their calm exteriors lie courageous hearts, tempered by the fiery, hellish flames of Girlfriend Wrath. In fact, observe carefully enough and you’ll even discern the four hallmarks that distinguish the veterans from the rookies.
First, Imagination. You gauge this by how long the male takes to react, when the female holds out a dress and asks, “How would this look on me?” The amateurs just can’t picture it, but the veterans have a full-fledged Photoshop Studio mentally running 24/7. In 5 seconds the new dress is scanned in and overlaid over the mental Girlfriend Mannequin.
It’s not surprising when you think of it as an evolutionary reaction. “I can’t imagine you in that dress, you better go try it out” means a 15 minute trip to the dressing room, so the male human brain soon forces itself to develop Imaginative faculties. That way, the male can reply with “Ah yes you look wonderful in it”, which lengthens the male’s life by 15 minutes.
This leads us to the second hallmark, Feedback. First-time boyfriends are often accused of having a terribly limited vocabulary, which usually revolve around variants of "Nice" or "Pretty". Before long they are additionally accused of insincerity, or of simply not caring.
That's where the misconception lies. Men are muscle-bound, but that doesn't mean they don't have emotions. They do have opinions about your shopping, but usually it is only the veterans who know how to better express themselves. Not only do they give feedback, but they also know when to reassure, console, reproach, all with heart-felt sincerity.
Third, Integration With Traffic. Put it this way: walk into Mango, and any male who sticks out like a sore thumb is the amateur. He's the one standing uneasily outside the dressing room, the one awkwardly apologizing and making way for people to pass by. He probably blends in as well as a well-built man in a library. Wearing a pink tutu. With two heads.
The veterans, in contrast, are like ninjas or Traffic Policemen - you can't see them until it's too late. They know how the qi in a shop flows, and position themselves such that they are one with the environment, blending in so perfectly they become accessories to their girlfriends. Blink and you’ll even think they were shopping for themselves.
Fourth, Quality of Company. Let's face it. As men it's hard to always stay interested in shopping. You're perpetually looking at clothes you will never wear, at bags you will never use, at shoes you will never slip into. There's just no way to fake that squeal of delight when you see a dress that is perfect... for someone else.
That's why amateurs exude an air of unease, impatience after a while. The novelty has worn off, and shopping quickly becomes a chore for them. Some men perpetuate this behaviour because girls sometimes give in once they sense that their men are restless, but this is a short term solution.
As nonsensical as it sounds, shopping with your girlfriend, isn't just about shopping. Shopping's the activity, much like a movie or windsurfing or rockclimbing. The focus should be on enjoying yourself, and your girlfriend's company. The veterans use this time to share stories, exchange gossip, connect... you'll be surprised at how much fun couples can have shopping.
Well, the next time you’re out in Orchard, watch out for and observe the secret Brotherhood. These men, with varying ranks in the Order, are everywhere. They may trail behind their girlfriends, or stand next to them as dresses are selected. They may stand guard outside dressing rooms, or rush to pay for the shopping.
But wherever they are, these men pass each other with a surreptitious nod, a silent acknowledgement of the Brotherhood, the thread that binds them all. The stronger ones continually egg the flagging ones on, in an endless cycle as timeless as shopping itself.
Forward the Brotherhood!
To appreciate us fully, first understand that men are fundamentally different from you females when it comes to shopping. We shop like homing missiles – if our shopping trip were a movie, the tagline would read “One Man. One Item. One Hour.”
As such, we shop without distractions. We walk down Orchard Road seeing only the path ahead, only vaguely aware of people buying other things in other shops, in much the same way that career-obsessed fathers are only vaguely aware of small people growing up in the same house.
In fact, if we don’t need anything from a shop, we can walk by it a thousand times without registering its existence. Don’t believe me? Try asking your male friends to meet you at Dorothy Perkins or Miss Selfridge. Chances are, they’ll be too proud to ask for directions, and will simply wander around helplessly until they find it.
Thus, every boyfriend who has learned to be a good shopping companion, I hail as a hero. Beneath their calm exteriors lie courageous hearts, tempered by the fiery, hellish flames of Girlfriend Wrath. In fact, observe carefully enough and you’ll even discern the four hallmarks that distinguish the veterans from the rookies.
First, Imagination. You gauge this by how long the male takes to react, when the female holds out a dress and asks, “How would this look on me?” The amateurs just can’t picture it, but the veterans have a full-fledged Photoshop Studio mentally running 24/7. In 5 seconds the new dress is scanned in and overlaid over the mental Girlfriend Mannequin.
It’s not surprising when you think of it as an evolutionary reaction. “I can’t imagine you in that dress, you better go try it out” means a 15 minute trip to the dressing room, so the male human brain soon forces itself to develop Imaginative faculties. That way, the male can reply with “Ah yes you look wonderful in it”, which lengthens the male’s life by 15 minutes.
This leads us to the second hallmark, Feedback. First-time boyfriends are often accused of having a terribly limited vocabulary, which usually revolve around variants of "Nice" or "Pretty". Before long they are additionally accused of insincerity, or of simply not caring.
That's where the misconception lies. Men are muscle-bound, but that doesn't mean they don't have emotions. They do have opinions about your shopping, but usually it is only the veterans who know how to better express themselves. Not only do they give feedback, but they also know when to reassure, console, reproach, all with heart-felt sincerity.
Third, Integration With Traffic. Put it this way: walk into Mango, and any male who sticks out like a sore thumb is the amateur. He's the one standing uneasily outside the dressing room, the one awkwardly apologizing and making way for people to pass by. He probably blends in as well as a well-built man in a library. Wearing a pink tutu. With two heads.
The veterans, in contrast, are like ninjas or Traffic Policemen - you can't see them until it's too late. They know how the qi in a shop flows, and position themselves such that they are one with the environment, blending in so perfectly they become accessories to their girlfriends. Blink and you’ll even think they were shopping for themselves.
Fourth, Quality of Company. Let's face it. As men it's hard to always stay interested in shopping. You're perpetually looking at clothes you will never wear, at bags you will never use, at shoes you will never slip into. There's just no way to fake that squeal of delight when you see a dress that is perfect... for someone else.
That's why amateurs exude an air of unease, impatience after a while. The novelty has worn off, and shopping quickly becomes a chore for them. Some men perpetuate this behaviour because girls sometimes give in once they sense that their men are restless, but this is a short term solution.
As nonsensical as it sounds, shopping with your girlfriend, isn't just about shopping. Shopping's the activity, much like a movie or windsurfing or rockclimbing. The focus should be on enjoying yourself, and your girlfriend's company. The veterans use this time to share stories, exchange gossip, connect... you'll be surprised at how much fun couples can have shopping.
Well, the next time you’re out in Orchard, watch out for and observe the secret Brotherhood. These men, with varying ranks in the Order, are everywhere. They may trail behind their girlfriends, or stand next to them as dresses are selected. They may stand guard outside dressing rooms, or rush to pay for the shopping.
But wherever they are, these men pass each other with a surreptitious nod, a silent acknowledgement of the Brotherhood, the thread that binds them all. The stronger ones continually egg the flagging ones on, in an endless cycle as timeless as shopping itself.
Forward the Brotherhood!
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Conflict Resolution
I used to believe in Hong Kong dramas. I no longer do.
Goodness knows how many lives I've lived vicariously through them. I would be an ordinary schoolboy during the day, facing down challenges that even at their largest, would amount to no more than school exams or squabbles between friends.
But come the evenings, once at 7 pm and again at 9 pm, all that would change.
I would be a suave one-armed swordsman, brushing off a dozen doting lasses while waiting years for that one chick who’s my teacher, older than me and has issues with open communication. Or a struggling firefighter, or a doctor with a heart of gold, or a professional gambler. The list goes on.
And after absorbing years of life experience through that artificial sped-up process, I thought I knew all there was to know about inter-personal relationships. In particular, about how arguments between couples could be resolved.
As it turns out, nothing I learned from the dramas could prepare me for real life. The dramas only made things worse. Take, for instance, how I tried to apply a Hong Kong Drama Lesson (HKDL) when I got into a flaming argument with an ex.
At that point, she was a seething, raging beast, a veritable PMS-ing Medusa on a bad hair day who’d just missed a Mango sale. My instincts said ‘Run’, but I swallowed and kept the faith. After all, in almost 95% of the dramas I watched, there was one magic way to defuse her.
So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and hugged her.
If the dramas were to be believed, she would struggle at first, but after 10 seconds she would calm down and cry in my embrace, and we would be fine again. Well, here’s a little mental log I kept of that 10 seconds.
2 Seconds – ‘Pain. I think she’s trying to wear out her nails on my back. Shall persevere.’
4 Seconds – ‘More Pain. I smell copper in the air, must be me bleeding. Cannot give up now.’
6 Seconds – ‘She’s screaming something into my ear, but I can’t really hear what on account of the Pain. It sounds like a swear word.’
8 Seconds – ‘Anytime now! She will melt, then tend lovingly to my wounds, which I plan to shrug off as Painless. I may have to lie.’
10 Seconds – ‘Just got Kneed In The Groin. Have. To. Give. Up. Now.’
Hours later, still curled up on the floor, I conducted a post mortem to figure out what went wrong. I narrowed it down to two possibilities – either the HKDL was fundamentally flawed, or I wasn’t being affectionate enough.
Hence, the next time she got mad again, I tried kissing her. It was only after I got most of my upper lip reattached that I grudgingly conceded that maybe the HKDL was the erroneous factor.
But that didn’t stop me. One flawed HKDL didn’t mean the rest were inapplicable, right?
For example, another HKDL dictates that when female friends storm off, you must engage in pursuit, with no regards to her requests for cool-off time / space. After all, in over 95% of dramas, men who failed to give chase would suffer loss of said female friend, or would later endure hours of nagging from random supporting characters.
Or the other HKDL, where women can take up to 40 episodes to dump the bastard boyfriend, but can get tired of their ‘boring’ nice boyfriends in less than 4 episodes? The conclusion, I thought, is that you must treat your girlfriends badly every once in a while.
Well, let’s just say that after a while, I learnt that HKDLs as theories were fun to contemplate, but suicidal to implement, especially with my history of rather violent female friends. (You know, the kind who savage you after losing at board games… and not the pleasant sort of savage, either.)
The upside to all this is that I soon accumulated a list of things not to do when trying to resolve an argument.
1. Don’t go to bed angry.
2. Don’t be sarcastic / hurtful / spiteful.
3. Don’t drag up old mistakes from years ago.
4. Don’t confuse issues, instead resolve them individually.
5. Persevere, but don’t force things.
These days I amuse myself by observing how couples resolve their quarrels, and I find that the ones who are happiest in the long-run are those who never bury problems. These couples may even bicker on a regular basis, but you’ll be surprised at how strong they can be.
Nobody likes confrontations, but at the very least, couples should always feel comfortable enough with each other to confront even the trickiest of issues.
Farewell then, my HKDL-reliant days. I guess there are some things we really cannot learn from TV.
Goodness knows how many lives I've lived vicariously through them. I would be an ordinary schoolboy during the day, facing down challenges that even at their largest, would amount to no more than school exams or squabbles between friends.
But come the evenings, once at 7 pm and again at 9 pm, all that would change.
I would be a suave one-armed swordsman, brushing off a dozen doting lasses while waiting years for that one chick who’s my teacher, older than me and has issues with open communication. Or a struggling firefighter, or a doctor with a heart of gold, or a professional gambler. The list goes on.
And after absorbing years of life experience through that artificial sped-up process, I thought I knew all there was to know about inter-personal relationships. In particular, about how arguments between couples could be resolved.
As it turns out, nothing I learned from the dramas could prepare me for real life. The dramas only made things worse. Take, for instance, how I tried to apply a Hong Kong Drama Lesson (HKDL) when I got into a flaming argument with an ex.
At that point, she was a seething, raging beast, a veritable PMS-ing Medusa on a bad hair day who’d just missed a Mango sale. My instincts said ‘Run’, but I swallowed and kept the faith. After all, in almost 95% of the dramas I watched, there was one magic way to defuse her.
So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and hugged her.
If the dramas were to be believed, she would struggle at first, but after 10 seconds she would calm down and cry in my embrace, and we would be fine again. Well, here’s a little mental log I kept of that 10 seconds.
2 Seconds – ‘Pain. I think she’s trying to wear out her nails on my back. Shall persevere.’
4 Seconds – ‘More Pain. I smell copper in the air, must be me bleeding. Cannot give up now.’
6 Seconds – ‘She’s screaming something into my ear, but I can’t really hear what on account of the Pain. It sounds like a swear word.’
8 Seconds – ‘Anytime now! She will melt, then tend lovingly to my wounds, which I plan to shrug off as Painless. I may have to lie.’
10 Seconds – ‘Just got Kneed In The Groin. Have. To. Give. Up. Now.’
Hours later, still curled up on the floor, I conducted a post mortem to figure out what went wrong. I narrowed it down to two possibilities – either the HKDL was fundamentally flawed, or I wasn’t being affectionate enough.
Hence, the next time she got mad again, I tried kissing her. It was only after I got most of my upper lip reattached that I grudgingly conceded that maybe the HKDL was the erroneous factor.
But that didn’t stop me. One flawed HKDL didn’t mean the rest were inapplicable, right?
For example, another HKDL dictates that when female friends storm off, you must engage in pursuit, with no regards to her requests for cool-off time / space. After all, in over 95% of dramas, men who failed to give chase would suffer loss of said female friend, or would later endure hours of nagging from random supporting characters.
Or the other HKDL, where women can take up to 40 episodes to dump the bastard boyfriend, but can get tired of their ‘boring’ nice boyfriends in less than 4 episodes? The conclusion, I thought, is that you must treat your girlfriends badly every once in a while.
Well, let’s just say that after a while, I learnt that HKDLs as theories were fun to contemplate, but suicidal to implement, especially with my history of rather violent female friends. (You know, the kind who savage you after losing at board games… and not the pleasant sort of savage, either.)
The upside to all this is that I soon accumulated a list of things not to do when trying to resolve an argument.
1. Don’t go to bed angry.
2. Don’t be sarcastic / hurtful / spiteful.
3. Don’t drag up old mistakes from years ago.
4. Don’t confuse issues, instead resolve them individually.
5. Persevere, but don’t force things.
These days I amuse myself by observing how couples resolve their quarrels, and I find that the ones who are happiest in the long-run are those who never bury problems. These couples may even bicker on a regular basis, but you’ll be surprised at how strong they can be.
Nobody likes confrontations, but at the very least, couples should always feel comfortable enough with each other to confront even the trickiest of issues.
Farewell then, my HKDL-reliant days. I guess there are some things we really cannot learn from TV.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Effort
There's just something about Scrubs I like very much. Yes, it's old and passe, but still.
I think it's the way they manage to squeeze cheesy life lessons into the plots, with the effect that after watching enough of it, you definitely would come across an episode that reaches out and hammers a specific lesson home.
Tonight, it's the lesson that "Nothing that's ever worth having comes easily", delivered by Dr Bob Kelso of all people.
Yeap, it's probably just more hogwash to you. It's just "Easy come easy go" reworded, you protest, it's nothing much.
But sometimes it's the obvious things we overlook, and sometimes we are reminded of them in the queerest of ways.
I think it's the way they manage to squeeze cheesy life lessons into the plots, with the effect that after watching enough of it, you definitely would come across an episode that reaches out and hammers a specific lesson home.
Tonight, it's the lesson that "Nothing that's ever worth having comes easily", delivered by Dr Bob Kelso of all people.
Yeap, it's probably just more hogwash to you. It's just "Easy come easy go" reworded, you protest, it's nothing much.
But sometimes it's the obvious things we overlook, and sometimes we are reminded of them in the queerest of ways.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
And A Good Evening To You Too
Your eyes. That look in your eyes.
I had wondered what would stare back at me, when I finally had the chance of looking you in the eyes again. I expected a look of haughtiness, of derision, of crystal confidence, as you sneer at me from the towers of your high castle.
After all, wasn't I the sullied one, the flawed one, the one fallen from grace? The one who had strayed from the path all honourable men take? The one not deserving of a second chance?
But I didn't see any of that. I only saw apprehension. The words of greeting you issued may have left your lips without a single stammer, but your eyes said it all.
Your eyes said, I can no longer bear the gauntlet of righteous anger. There is doubt.
The truth may never come to light. We may forever lack the necessary scales to weigh our relative culpability in this mad circus of events. But I look at what doubt there is that exists within you, and I chuckle at how this blight has afflicted us all.
No one is clean.
And it will do us all good to remember that, as we continue to endeavour for the restful sleep of the wilfully blind.
I had wondered what would stare back at me, when I finally had the chance of looking you in the eyes again. I expected a look of haughtiness, of derision, of crystal confidence, as you sneer at me from the towers of your high castle.
After all, wasn't I the sullied one, the flawed one, the one fallen from grace? The one who had strayed from the path all honourable men take? The one not deserving of a second chance?
But I didn't see any of that. I only saw apprehension. The words of greeting you issued may have left your lips without a single stammer, but your eyes said it all.
Your eyes said, I can no longer bear the gauntlet of righteous anger. There is doubt.
The truth may never come to light. We may forever lack the necessary scales to weigh our relative culpability in this mad circus of events. But I look at what doubt there is that exists within you, and I chuckle at how this blight has afflicted us all.
No one is clean.
And it will do us all good to remember that, as we continue to endeavour for the restful sleep of the wilfully blind.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Bad Boy Complex
He said it with the most solemn of faces. "I want to smoke," he said, "I want to wear bling. I want to treat her like dirt. I want to sulk in the corner and be Emoboy. I want to be baaad."
Heh. Helllooo, Bad Boy Complex (BBC). It's been a long time.
You’ve witnessed the BBC before, I’m sure? It's a curious affliction that most commonly descends upon poor broken-hearted boys. Overnight, they boldly strike out in wild new tangents, doing things they wouldn’t ever have dreamt of doing.
The assumption, of course, is that chicks dig the Bad Boys, preferring them to the ones who are too δΉ–.
Interestingly enough, observe enough BBC-sufferers, and you’ll find that they rebel in eerily similar ways. And if you’re a BBC-wannabe, and have no clue where to start, you’re in luck.
Welcome to Hanting’s BBC Guide For Good Boys.
Smoking
This is probably your first resort on your journey to being a Bad Boy, on account of smoking being relatively effortless to pick up. All you really need is money, a lot of breath mints, and a blatant disregard for gross pictures.
Now, we’re all aware of the health risks involved, so what’s an intelligent Bad Boy to do? Simple. The idea is to maximize every single stick. And to do this, you have to remember, it’s not about the smoking.
It’s about being seen smoking.
So, you need to practice at home. Find a wall you are comfortable leaning against, and try out various ways of holding your ciggy. I recommend the Lolling Two-Finger Grasp, where your ciggy is hanging precariously from your fingers.
And when you do smoke it, dreamily half-close your eyelids. Exhale slowly, and flick ash away in a devil-may-care way. Heck, you don’t even really need to smoke! Just light up, and gaze longingly at some faraway point.
When others ask why you’re letting the stick go to waste, reply with some cryptic nonsense, like “From the ashes we are all born, true?” or “They do deserve the pay rise, correct?” Then go back to your ciggy while they shower you with respect.
Bling
Now, bling’s a little harder. By ‘bling’ I mean clothes, accessories, piercings, the whole lot. Now, short of paying for a makeover, it is vital that you seek professional help from friends.
Because, seriously, if you’ve been a Good Boy all this while, you don’t know jack sh*t about bling. There is no way you will be able to pull it off on your own. Not only is it already hard to know how to accessorize fashionably, but you’re a guy too, and that makes it doubly hard.
So, be humble. Ask for help.
You see, the secret is this… the bling’s got to match you. You can’t just assume that what’s cool on 50 Cent looks good on you too. A good friend will most definitely tell you when you look cool, and when you look like the village idiot – after all, he’s going to have to worry about being seen in public with you.
Just never, ever ask for your mum’s input. Please. Just say no. Her perspective is skewed.
Do you want to be as attractive as your dad?
Tattoos
With tattoos we clearly enter hardcore BBC territory. For goodness’ sakes though, considering that for most people the BBC is but a stage in life, please get small tattoos. The era of the large, ostentatious tattoo is long over, unless you’re trying to escape from a prison facility, in which case it’s damn cool.
As you can expect, the tricky part is in the choice of the tattoo. Needless to say, “Mummy Power Forever”, anywhere, doesn’t cut it. Nor do random animals in various states of aggression. Cheeky ones don’t help too, you know, the kind that goes “If you can see this you’re a lucky woman” on your… nevermind.
Don’t forget, less can say more. Go for cryptic, tiny yet highly conspicuous tattoos. Things like “Blinded” on your eyelids, or “Empty” in a gothic font just above your heart.
So what does your tattoo say about you? It says that at one point, you were delirious or troubled enough to scar yourself with an indelible statement. It’s as intelligent as having a permanent nick for your MSN… you know you will lose the angst one day, yet you still want an everlasting mark of it.
And that, my brother, is what earns you your respect.
Summary
The pinnacle of the BBC lies not in any particular activity, but in the attitude you possess. The ideal you’re striving towards, is the caged tiger. At times you will be normal, sociable, functional, but at others you can be dark, conflicted, complex.
But most importantly, never BBC allll the way. You have to be redeemable, flawed but still whole enough to be saved. For some inexplicable reason, there are girls who believe they can change wounded Bad Boys for the better, and will slavishly gravitate towards them.
Maybe it’s Nature’s way of improving the overall quality of the human gene pool, by making Bad Boys attractive only to certain girls. If so, heck, it’s not working fast enough.
But, dear BBC-wannabe, I hope for your sake that your BBC phase passes soon. I maintain that guys who subscribe to the BBC lifestyle are motivated by a nagging notion that they are imperfect in some way, and that for some reason their relatively clean-cut lifestyle is the problem.
You know that’s not true.
Enjoy your BBC phase while it lasts. I’m pretty sure that when the clouds clear and the angst passes, you’ll find that you’re still most comfortable in your own skin.
(One day, I will write about the Good Boy Complex. Because, if you think about it, if good boys want to be bad after they undergo a breakup, wouldn’t Bad Boys want to be good?
Being a Good Boy is not that easy, and deserves a full guide of its own. If you're in dire need though, a good start would be petting a kitten everyday, saying “please excuse me” instead of “kn*bc*b blind ah f*x”, and not downloading any more albino infant elephant bondage porn.)
Heh. Helllooo, Bad Boy Complex (BBC). It's been a long time.
You’ve witnessed the BBC before, I’m sure? It's a curious affliction that most commonly descends upon poor broken-hearted boys. Overnight, they boldly strike out in wild new tangents, doing things they wouldn’t ever have dreamt of doing.
The assumption, of course, is that chicks dig the Bad Boys, preferring them to the ones who are too δΉ–.
Interestingly enough, observe enough BBC-sufferers, and you’ll find that they rebel in eerily similar ways. And if you’re a BBC-wannabe, and have no clue where to start, you’re in luck.
Welcome to Hanting’s BBC Guide For Good Boys.
Smoking
This is probably your first resort on your journey to being a Bad Boy, on account of smoking being relatively effortless to pick up. All you really need is money, a lot of breath mints, and a blatant disregard for gross pictures.
Now, we’re all aware of the health risks involved, so what’s an intelligent Bad Boy to do? Simple. The idea is to maximize every single stick. And to do this, you have to remember, it’s not about the smoking.
It’s about being seen smoking.
So, you need to practice at home. Find a wall you are comfortable leaning against, and try out various ways of holding your ciggy. I recommend the Lolling Two-Finger Grasp, where your ciggy is hanging precariously from your fingers.
And when you do smoke it, dreamily half-close your eyelids. Exhale slowly, and flick ash away in a devil-may-care way. Heck, you don’t even really need to smoke! Just light up, and gaze longingly at some faraway point.
When others ask why you’re letting the stick go to waste, reply with some cryptic nonsense, like “From the ashes we are all born, true?” or “They do deserve the pay rise, correct?” Then go back to your ciggy while they shower you with respect.
Bling
Now, bling’s a little harder. By ‘bling’ I mean clothes, accessories, piercings, the whole lot. Now, short of paying for a makeover, it is vital that you seek professional help from friends.
Because, seriously, if you’ve been a Good Boy all this while, you don’t know jack sh*t about bling. There is no way you will be able to pull it off on your own. Not only is it already hard to know how to accessorize fashionably, but you’re a guy too, and that makes it doubly hard.
So, be humble. Ask for help.
You see, the secret is this… the bling’s got to match you. You can’t just assume that what’s cool on 50 Cent looks good on you too. A good friend will most definitely tell you when you look cool, and when you look like the village idiot – after all, he’s going to have to worry about being seen in public with you.
Just never, ever ask for your mum’s input. Please. Just say no. Her perspective is skewed.
Do you want to be as attractive as your dad?
Tattoos
With tattoos we clearly enter hardcore BBC territory. For goodness’ sakes though, considering that for most people the BBC is but a stage in life, please get small tattoos. The era of the large, ostentatious tattoo is long over, unless you’re trying to escape from a prison facility, in which case it’s damn cool.
As you can expect, the tricky part is in the choice of the tattoo. Needless to say, “Mummy Power Forever”, anywhere, doesn’t cut it. Nor do random animals in various states of aggression. Cheeky ones don’t help too, you know, the kind that goes “If you can see this you’re a lucky woman” on your… nevermind.
Don’t forget, less can say more. Go for cryptic, tiny yet highly conspicuous tattoos. Things like “Blinded” on your eyelids, or “Empty” in a gothic font just above your heart.
So what does your tattoo say about you? It says that at one point, you were delirious or troubled enough to scar yourself with an indelible statement. It’s as intelligent as having a permanent nick for your MSN… you know you will lose the angst one day, yet you still want an everlasting mark of it.
And that, my brother, is what earns you your respect.
Summary
The pinnacle of the BBC lies not in any particular activity, but in the attitude you possess. The ideal you’re striving towards, is the caged tiger. At times you will be normal, sociable, functional, but at others you can be dark, conflicted, complex.
But most importantly, never BBC allll the way. You have to be redeemable, flawed but still whole enough to be saved. For some inexplicable reason, there are girls who believe they can change wounded Bad Boys for the better, and will slavishly gravitate towards them.
Maybe it’s Nature’s way of improving the overall quality of the human gene pool, by making Bad Boys attractive only to certain girls. If so, heck, it’s not working fast enough.
But, dear BBC-wannabe, I hope for your sake that your BBC phase passes soon. I maintain that guys who subscribe to the BBC lifestyle are motivated by a nagging notion that they are imperfect in some way, and that for some reason their relatively clean-cut lifestyle is the problem.
You know that’s not true.
Enjoy your BBC phase while it lasts. I’m pretty sure that when the clouds clear and the angst passes, you’ll find that you’re still most comfortable in your own skin.
(One day, I will write about the Good Boy Complex. Because, if you think about it, if good boys want to be bad after they undergo a breakup, wouldn’t Bad Boys want to be good?
Being a Good Boy is not that easy, and deserves a full guide of its own. If you're in dire need though, a good start would be petting a kitten everyday, saying “please excuse me” instead of “kn*bc*b blind ah f*x”, and not downloading any more albino infant elephant bondage porn.)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Cryptic
I think the Era of the Unsophisticated Blog is well and truly over.
Just a few years back, blogs were backdoors into people's minds. Everyone splashed raw emotions candidly across their webpages, bouyed by the rush that full and frank disclosure brought. Blogs were public platforms that suddenly became accessible even to the layman, a rare commodity unleashed upon a hungry market.
All that changed as people gradually felt the ill-effects of putting their whole lives on the net. If you keep a blog, you would know what I mean. A myriad of things can happen... your pictures get pilfered and circulated, your posts cause misunderstandings, mere acquaintances start gaining access to your innermost thoughts and feelings.
That's why blogs are so different nowadays, at least amongst experienced users. Beyond the occasional objective record of an event, say a birthday party or a night out clubbing, it's really quite hard to figure out what any given blogger is really trying to say anymore.
Yes. It is with great satisfaction that I tell all of you, the ones who always accuse me of being overly cryptic, that you can hardly find a blog out there that's not cryptic anymore.
If you approach blog-reading the way you do literature, there are indeed tools available to enhance understanding. You need:
1. To know the blogger's background, especially of his recent history
2. To know his desired audience
3. To have read enough of his posts to recognize patterns and styles
Basically, no one has time to do any of that. So, in effect, I think the large majority of posts go misunderstood, and hardly ever achieve their desired effect.
This creates consequences:
1. You can't read into someone's posts with any degree of certainty anymore.
2. You can't weave hidden meanings and messages into your posts anymore, and hope that that special target audience will understand.
3. You must be very, very careful about what you write, lest it be taken out of context (I think my friend Tris will understand this, haha)
Don't be mistaken, I'm glad that blogs are unreliable channels of communication. Humans were never meant to interact this way. We're supposed to size each other up, observe the hundred and one tell-tale body language signals, then decide if someone is telling us the truth.
We're not supposed to hop on someone's blog and hope to uncover nuggets of feelings or intentions or motives neatly ensconced in a few cryptic references. That's really a recipe for disaster in most cases.
That being said... I like being cryptic. And drama, evidently. =)
Just a few years back, blogs were backdoors into people's minds. Everyone splashed raw emotions candidly across their webpages, bouyed by the rush that full and frank disclosure brought. Blogs were public platforms that suddenly became accessible even to the layman, a rare commodity unleashed upon a hungry market.
All that changed as people gradually felt the ill-effects of putting their whole lives on the net. If you keep a blog, you would know what I mean. A myriad of things can happen... your pictures get pilfered and circulated, your posts cause misunderstandings, mere acquaintances start gaining access to your innermost thoughts and feelings.
That's why blogs are so different nowadays, at least amongst experienced users. Beyond the occasional objective record of an event, say a birthday party or a night out clubbing, it's really quite hard to figure out what any given blogger is really trying to say anymore.
Yes. It is with great satisfaction that I tell all of you, the ones who always accuse me of being overly cryptic, that you can hardly find a blog out there that's not cryptic anymore.
If you approach blog-reading the way you do literature, there are indeed tools available to enhance understanding. You need:
1. To know the blogger's background, especially of his recent history
2. To know his desired audience
3. To have read enough of his posts to recognize patterns and styles
Basically, no one has time to do any of that. So, in effect, I think the large majority of posts go misunderstood, and hardly ever achieve their desired effect.
This creates consequences:
1. You can't read into someone's posts with any degree of certainty anymore.
2. You can't weave hidden meanings and messages into your posts anymore, and hope that that special target audience will understand.
3. You must be very, very careful about what you write, lest it be taken out of context (I think my friend Tris will understand this, haha)
Don't be mistaken, I'm glad that blogs are unreliable channels of communication. Humans were never meant to interact this way. We're supposed to size each other up, observe the hundred and one tell-tale body language signals, then decide if someone is telling us the truth.
We're not supposed to hop on someone's blog and hope to uncover nuggets of feelings or intentions or motives neatly ensconced in a few cryptic references. That's really a recipe for disaster in most cases.
That being said... I like being cryptic. And drama, evidently. =)
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Appreciation
The day is often a blender of events, emotions, happenings, feelings. Life speeds by so fast that I find myself only reacting, rushing to keep up with the pace.
Fortunately, it so happens that the night is perfect for reflection. For that's when the world, or most of it, goes to sleep, and things slow down just enough for me to think about things.
And I'm often surprised at how much perspectives change after a little reflection. Joyful moments lose a little shine when I suddenly spot considerations that weren't there before, while sombre segments become more palatable when I manage to identify silver linings.
Most days, like today, I sleep well too. For there is much to be thankful for, no matter how much it doesn't seem that way at first.
I'm thankful for friends who gleefully join me in burying time capsules in town, who give wake up calls so that I don't miss breakfast with them, who don't mind trekking halfway across the island for supper.
I'm thankful for the little miracles, like meeting supportive librarians who help you loan 40 books at a shot, or like inspiration flowing at the right time so that certain stories can be told they way they deserve, or like Havianas mysteriously snapping so that you have an opportunity to maybe further a friendship.
I'm thankful for discovering that a nature trail I was looking forward to was closed off, and yet having an enjoyable enough time that it didn't really matter.
Count your blessings often enough, and you'll find that there's not much to regret at all.
Fortunately, it so happens that the night is perfect for reflection. For that's when the world, or most of it, goes to sleep, and things slow down just enough for me to think about things.
And I'm often surprised at how much perspectives change after a little reflection. Joyful moments lose a little shine when I suddenly spot considerations that weren't there before, while sombre segments become more palatable when I manage to identify silver linings.
Most days, like today, I sleep well too. For there is much to be thankful for, no matter how much it doesn't seem that way at first.
I'm thankful for friends who gleefully join me in burying time capsules in town, who give wake up calls so that I don't miss breakfast with them, who don't mind trekking halfway across the island for supper.
I'm thankful for the little miracles, like meeting supportive librarians who help you loan 40 books at a shot, or like inspiration flowing at the right time so that certain stories can be told they way they deserve, or like Havianas mysteriously snapping so that you have an opportunity to maybe further a friendship.
I'm thankful for discovering that a nature trail I was looking forward to was closed off, and yet having an enjoyable enough time that it didn't really matter.
Count your blessings often enough, and you'll find that there's not much to regret at all.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Video On Design Process
This is a quick plug for one friend I've not had problems keeping in touch with over the years. =)
Dot's over at Stanford doing a course on Creating Infectious Action, Kindling Gregarious Behavior (which you can find more info about here), and her team has created a really interesting video on the design process.
Yes, the design process. The process by which elegant practicable solutions are found for the problems that crop up in everyday life.
So do take a look at it! I know I managed to gain some insight as to how one can logically identify problems and then develop counter-measures.
Dot's over at Stanford doing a course on Creating Infectious Action, Kindling Gregarious Behavior (which you can find more info about here), and her team has created a really interesting video on the design process.
Yes, the design process. The process by which elegant practicable solutions are found for the problems that crop up in everyday life.
So do take a look at it! I know I managed to gain some insight as to how one can logically identify problems and then develop counter-measures.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Mr. Snuffles
07
You squeal with delight when you first lay eyes on me, and I reciprocate by falling in love with you instantly.
How does one ever forget an image like that? Of you running up to me, laughing as you wrestle me away from your mother’s outstretched hands. You are a sight, a little girl of 7 struggling to hold me up, when I’m almost half your size.
You fuss over me, and I can’t help but preen myself as you heap endearments on me. You gush about how my tail is frizzy, how I’ve got the softest fur, how my button eyes are already speaking volumes to you.
I think it’s in the way you hold me. It’s in the way you laugh, a hearty, innocent laugh that fills the house with warmth. I can’t help it if you inspire trust in me so very easily.
I stay awake that first night, just to watch you sleep. Time just doesn’t seem to flow anymore, and the bedside clock has the courtesy and good manners to signal her ticks softer. By the moonlight you look so very, very perfect.
You can’t hear me, but I’m holding on to you with my paws and I’m promising you, over and over again, that I will always be there to soothe away your pains, to comfort and guide you as best I can.
I belong to you, already.
14
I sit in your lap contentedly, as you scribble furiously away in your diary. Your tears are still hot against my fur, but they do not bother me.
You hold me up to let me see what you have written. I can’t read, so you say it aloud for me. I’m telling you to stop, that apologies aren’t necessary, but you go on anyway (you’ve always been stubborn!).
I’m trying to say, I understand. I know you wanted to seem like a big girl in front of your friends, especially around the boy you have a crush on. So I understand that when they found me on your bed and asked who I was, you casually said I was just some soft toy, like I didn’t matter to you.
You start crying again, burying your face in my side. I know you have recorded this incident in your diary so that you will never forget how important I am to you, but you know why it’s not necessary?
It’s because you have spent these past 7 years by my side constantly. I’m your confidante, your closest friend. You have shared your deepest secrets with me, and have always felt renewed with the silent companionship I offer. You have given me more than I could ask for, and now it is my turn to do something for you.
If what you need is space, to grow closer to your other friends, take it. Do not feel guilty about it. Love is letting go too, yes? I’m glad enough to know I can always cheer you up, make you happy. So, shoo!
21
You pick me up, squeal my name, and hug me tight, for the first time in months. And that’s when I know today’s the day you make your choice.
You have been deconstructing your room lately, packing it all up into little brown boxes. Some boxes are shoved into your wardrobe, but others are adorned with bright air-mail stickers and moved into the hallway.
You’re about to leave for a study program overseas, and I wonder which kind of box I will end up in. I’ve tried to ask you gently for some time, but you don’t really talk to me anymore.
I hate to admit it, but I miss you holding me to sleep.
Twice this past year you have let me comfort you, once when you fell out with your parents, and another when you failed a class test. Twice this past year did I feel needed, wanted again.
And twice this past year did I feel ashamed of myself, for being so selfish. For I have seen what an alluring, confident, successful woman you have become, and I know that asking you to love me like you did years ago, would only hold you back.
I’m proud of the way you are handling most problems on your own now. I’m proud of the close friendships you have cultivated with others. I’m proud of the way you stand on your own two feet, independent, strong.
My heart still aches, sometimes, when I see that you really do need me less, but I understand. It is necessary. I’m just not what you need now.
You slip me into a box, and slowly tape up the opening. I know then that you won’t be bringing me with you, for the rest of the box is filled with an assortment of oddities you won’t be needing overseas.
You confirm my suspicions when you shift the box a short distance, and then close the wardrobe door. As the sounds of you packing continue to filter in, I slowly let go of the hope I’ve been nursing in the bowels of my heart, and it floats away like the morning mist.
35 / 07
The sunlight hurts my eyes, as the lid of the box is pried away. There's a strange male voice in the background, and he wants me thrown out.
You do not listen (you never did!), and instead you lift me out and hug me. You have aged, my angel. There's a certain gauntness to your face I did not think possible before. What storms have you weathered without me?
It's a warm, familiar hug, one that I've not felt in 14 years. I hug you back instinctively, with love I've bottled up for so long, and I regret it at once. It hurts the very second that you disengage just a little too hastily, because I know you no longer feel the same about me.
"Mummy! Who is he!" I turn to see a younger you on the bed, jumping in excitement. She has your eyes, your hair, and most importantly your warmth. Before you can react, she has grabbed me away from you.
She engulfs me in a hug, defiantly staring you down. You disapprove, saying that I’m unclean (I take umbrage at that!), but she doesn't seem to hear you (it runs in the family!). She demands that you let her keep me.
I hesitate.
My heart's in pieces as it is. Can I really go through all this again? Of caring for her, living a life with her, only to see her grow up and walk away, just like you did? You have no idea how painful it is, to love someone with all your being, and then to realize one day that your love is simply not wanted anymore.
That's when she kisses me.
Despite what the male voice says about my thinning fur and loose stitches, despite what you say about me being old and dusty, despite her knowing that there are a thousand other prettier companions out there, she has kissed me.
"I love you, Mr. Snuffles. Will you be mine?"
I hear those words, and something in me mends. I think it may just be possible… for me to love another again.
You squeal with delight when you first lay eyes on me, and I reciprocate by falling in love with you instantly.
How does one ever forget an image like that? Of you running up to me, laughing as you wrestle me away from your mother’s outstretched hands. You are a sight, a little girl of 7 struggling to hold me up, when I’m almost half your size.
You fuss over me, and I can’t help but preen myself as you heap endearments on me. You gush about how my tail is frizzy, how I’ve got the softest fur, how my button eyes are already speaking volumes to you.
I think it’s in the way you hold me. It’s in the way you laugh, a hearty, innocent laugh that fills the house with warmth. I can’t help it if you inspire trust in me so very easily.
I stay awake that first night, just to watch you sleep. Time just doesn’t seem to flow anymore, and the bedside clock has the courtesy and good manners to signal her ticks softer. By the moonlight you look so very, very perfect.
You can’t hear me, but I’m holding on to you with my paws and I’m promising you, over and over again, that I will always be there to soothe away your pains, to comfort and guide you as best I can.
I belong to you, already.
14
I sit in your lap contentedly, as you scribble furiously away in your diary. Your tears are still hot against my fur, but they do not bother me.
You hold me up to let me see what you have written. I can’t read, so you say it aloud for me. I’m telling you to stop, that apologies aren’t necessary, but you go on anyway (you’ve always been stubborn!).
I’m trying to say, I understand. I know you wanted to seem like a big girl in front of your friends, especially around the boy you have a crush on. So I understand that when they found me on your bed and asked who I was, you casually said I was just some soft toy, like I didn’t matter to you.
You start crying again, burying your face in my side. I know you have recorded this incident in your diary so that you will never forget how important I am to you, but you know why it’s not necessary?
It’s because you have spent these past 7 years by my side constantly. I’m your confidante, your closest friend. You have shared your deepest secrets with me, and have always felt renewed with the silent companionship I offer. You have given me more than I could ask for, and now it is my turn to do something for you.
If what you need is space, to grow closer to your other friends, take it. Do not feel guilty about it. Love is letting go too, yes? I’m glad enough to know I can always cheer you up, make you happy. So, shoo!
21
You pick me up, squeal my name, and hug me tight, for the first time in months. And that’s when I know today’s the day you make your choice.
You have been deconstructing your room lately, packing it all up into little brown boxes. Some boxes are shoved into your wardrobe, but others are adorned with bright air-mail stickers and moved into the hallway.
You’re about to leave for a study program overseas, and I wonder which kind of box I will end up in. I’ve tried to ask you gently for some time, but you don’t really talk to me anymore.
I hate to admit it, but I miss you holding me to sleep.
Twice this past year you have let me comfort you, once when you fell out with your parents, and another when you failed a class test. Twice this past year did I feel needed, wanted again.
And twice this past year did I feel ashamed of myself, for being so selfish. For I have seen what an alluring, confident, successful woman you have become, and I know that asking you to love me like you did years ago, would only hold you back.
I’m proud of the way you are handling most problems on your own now. I’m proud of the close friendships you have cultivated with others. I’m proud of the way you stand on your own two feet, independent, strong.
My heart still aches, sometimes, when I see that you really do need me less, but I understand. It is necessary. I’m just not what you need now.
You slip me into a box, and slowly tape up the opening. I know then that you won’t be bringing me with you, for the rest of the box is filled with an assortment of oddities you won’t be needing overseas.
You confirm my suspicions when you shift the box a short distance, and then close the wardrobe door. As the sounds of you packing continue to filter in, I slowly let go of the hope I’ve been nursing in the bowels of my heart, and it floats away like the morning mist.
35 / 07
The sunlight hurts my eyes, as the lid of the box is pried away. There's a strange male voice in the background, and he wants me thrown out.
You do not listen (you never did!), and instead you lift me out and hug me. You have aged, my angel. There's a certain gauntness to your face I did not think possible before. What storms have you weathered without me?
It's a warm, familiar hug, one that I've not felt in 14 years. I hug you back instinctively, with love I've bottled up for so long, and I regret it at once. It hurts the very second that you disengage just a little too hastily, because I know you no longer feel the same about me.
"Mummy! Who is he!" I turn to see a younger you on the bed, jumping in excitement. She has your eyes, your hair, and most importantly your warmth. Before you can react, she has grabbed me away from you.
She engulfs me in a hug, defiantly staring you down. You disapprove, saying that I’m unclean (I take umbrage at that!), but she doesn't seem to hear you (it runs in the family!). She demands that you let her keep me.
I hesitate.
My heart's in pieces as it is. Can I really go through all this again? Of caring for her, living a life with her, only to see her grow up and walk away, just like you did? You have no idea how painful it is, to love someone with all your being, and then to realize one day that your love is simply not wanted anymore.
That's when she kisses me.
Despite what the male voice says about my thinning fur and loose stitches, despite what you say about me being old and dusty, despite her knowing that there are a thousand other prettier companions out there, she has kissed me.
"I love you, Mr. Snuffles. Will you be mine?"
I hear those words, and something in me mends. I think it may just be possible… for me to love another again.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Old Pictures
You ever wonder why old pictures, or pictures for that matter, are important to you?
It's because people are forgetful creatures. Memories, the children born of the wedlock between events in our lives and our emotional reactions to them, eventually fade. Every once in a while, we will need solid, concrete pictorial proof of the past to recall things.
And, in a way, old friends are like old pictures.
Today I had dinner with an old friend. It didn't matter that the last time we actually sat and talked properly was more than a year ago. Conversation came easily, all embargoes between our channels of understanding lifted by the mutual trust we shared.
When I walked out of the restaurant, I had a spring in my step that wasn't there before. I felt like me, again.
Perhaps it had to do with the laughs we shared. It's always a joy to laugh unreservedly around people you know you can trust, knowing that you could do the silliest things and not be judged.
Perhaps it had to do with her kindly saying that I hadn't really changed much, that I might have weathered storms but fundamentally I was the same. I was touched that she remembered me that way, and that I was still the same person to her.
So thank you, for dinner today. It's great to know you are getting on so well, and that you've a most promising future ahead. Thank you too, in a way, for helping me remember the happy, carefree me I was a year ago, and for helping make me feel accepted.
Not all bits of the past are unpleasant ones, I guess.
It's because people are forgetful creatures. Memories, the children born of the wedlock between events in our lives and our emotional reactions to them, eventually fade. Every once in a while, we will need solid, concrete pictorial proof of the past to recall things.
And, in a way, old friends are like old pictures.
Today I had dinner with an old friend. It didn't matter that the last time we actually sat and talked properly was more than a year ago. Conversation came easily, all embargoes between our channels of understanding lifted by the mutual trust we shared.
When I walked out of the restaurant, I had a spring in my step that wasn't there before. I felt like me, again.
Perhaps it had to do with the laughs we shared. It's always a joy to laugh unreservedly around people you know you can trust, knowing that you could do the silliest things and not be judged.
Perhaps it had to do with her kindly saying that I hadn't really changed much, that I might have weathered storms but fundamentally I was the same. I was touched that she remembered me that way, and that I was still the same person to her.
So thank you, for dinner today. It's great to know you are getting on so well, and that you've a most promising future ahead. Thank you too, in a way, for helping me remember the happy, carefree me I was a year ago, and for helping make me feel accepted.
Not all bits of the past are unpleasant ones, I guess.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Crisis Management
Recently, I did something that can best be summed up as not "thoroughly thought through".
You know the standard operating procedure. When an idea flashes by your mind, you're supposed to evaluate the consequences, and then sleep on it. If you still see things the same way a day later, a week later, then do it. Impulse is often hazardous!
It's not that gut instinct is always wrong. In fact, it's often right. The problem is, gut instinct does not illuminate the best way you can go about doing something. It merely shows you the shortest, most obvious path to your objective.
This quick and dirty route, by its very nature, misses out on the finer nuances or considerations that any person with a positive EQ score would pick up on. Even if you think you're instinctively savvy, trust me, hindsight will put you in your place.
But life doesn't quite play out by the book, does it? Many times we find ourselves pressed to make the best choice in a limited time, or else face paralysis by indecision.
And you will inevitably make a mistake, or perhaps simply not make the best call about something. Then, voila! The mistake may even blossom into a full-blown Richter 8.0 Crisis.
I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed at first, for crises tend to do that. Initially, my mind did nothing but try to grapple with just how big the mess is, and I entertained a thousand useless questions like why did I do it that way and how could I not see a better choice.
But it got better the moment I cleanly excised all the emotional responses, and instead just focused on what I could do next. Given that the ogre of a Crisis had just hit puberty right before my eyes, what options were open to me, what possible courses of action might actually remedy the problem?
And then things got better.
This time around, I spent but an hour anguishing about the Crisis before I sprung into action. I'm improving, after all. One of the small graces in life, it seems.
You know the standard operating procedure. When an idea flashes by your mind, you're supposed to evaluate the consequences, and then sleep on it. If you still see things the same way a day later, a week later, then do it. Impulse is often hazardous!
It's not that gut instinct is always wrong. In fact, it's often right. The problem is, gut instinct does not illuminate the best way you can go about doing something. It merely shows you the shortest, most obvious path to your objective.
This quick and dirty route, by its very nature, misses out on the finer nuances or considerations that any person with a positive EQ score would pick up on. Even if you think you're instinctively savvy, trust me, hindsight will put you in your place.
But life doesn't quite play out by the book, does it? Many times we find ourselves pressed to make the best choice in a limited time, or else face paralysis by indecision.
And you will inevitably make a mistake, or perhaps simply not make the best call about something. Then, voila! The mistake may even blossom into a full-blown Richter 8.0 Crisis.
I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed at first, for crises tend to do that. Initially, my mind did nothing but try to grapple with just how big the mess is, and I entertained a thousand useless questions like why did I do it that way and how could I not see a better choice.
But it got better the moment I cleanly excised all the emotional responses, and instead just focused on what I could do next. Given that the ogre of a Crisis had just hit puberty right before my eyes, what options were open to me, what possible courses of action might actually remedy the problem?
And then things got better.
This time around, I spent but an hour anguishing about the Crisis before I sprung into action. I'm improving, after all. One of the small graces in life, it seems.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Clarity
Tonight, was an important night for me. Very, very important.
Of course, different things are important to different people. Using a dash of olive oil instead of a splash may be inconsequential to the overstressed working mother trying to whip up a hasty dinner, but it is the world to the professional chef locked in the foremost culinary competition.
Yes?
Before tonight, the most dangerous, influential, perspective-wrenching movie I had watched was a little film starring Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke. I have, literally, multiple drafts trying to pin down the magic in that movie, trying my best to explain its effect on me.
It says a lot that up till this date, I have yet to publish one single post on it. There's... just too much to explain. Maybe one day I'll gain the faculties to do so, who knows.
And tonight, I had the sublime pleasure of watching another such movie like that. It's called Stranger Than Fiction.
I'm quite sure that if you watched it, chances are that you would march up to me and berate me for wasting 2 hours of your life. It was quirky, you would say. It was disjointed, poorly edited, flawed, preachy, unrealistic, or just plain dumb.
I would smile, in some small part because I have heard that all before, and it didn't change how important the movie was to me.
But I would smile largely because, there are others who understand.
Of course, different things are important to different people. Using a dash of olive oil instead of a splash may be inconsequential to the overstressed working mother trying to whip up a hasty dinner, but it is the world to the professional chef locked in the foremost culinary competition.
Yes?
Before tonight, the most dangerous, influential, perspective-wrenching movie I had watched was a little film starring Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke. I have, literally, multiple drafts trying to pin down the magic in that movie, trying my best to explain its effect on me.
It says a lot that up till this date, I have yet to publish one single post on it. There's... just too much to explain. Maybe one day I'll gain the faculties to do so, who knows.
And tonight, I had the sublime pleasure of watching another such movie like that. It's called Stranger Than Fiction.
I'm quite sure that if you watched it, chances are that you would march up to me and berate me for wasting 2 hours of your life. It was quirky, you would say. It was disjointed, poorly edited, flawed, preachy, unrealistic, or just plain dumb.
I would smile, in some small part because I have heard that all before, and it didn't change how important the movie was to me.
But I would smile largely because, there are others who understand.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Rain From The Past 3: It Was For You, Too
The card lay on the table before me, coloured pens on the side. Already, most of it was filled up, all cheery messages wishing him the best in his studies overseas. Overhead, the PA system was already announcing that his Departure Gate was open. Not much time left.
And when I picked up the pen, inspiration struck! It coursed through me, a powerful jolt that effortlessly strung words together in my mind, forming a rhyming poem that was a touch humorous, no less!
Just to make sure it was all fine, I scribbled it out on a paper napkin I had. All through this while, she sat next to me at the cafe table, talking excitedly to the rest of our friends. When I was done, I gripped her hand under the table.
"Dear! Take a look at this little poem which I'm thinking of writing for his farewell card! Hehe, I think it's almost as funny as that one I wrote for you last week!"
But she was distracted. And honest, perhaps.
"What? Another poem? Please la, just write something simple? Not another one of your silly things." Another friend said something then, and she turned back to them, laughing.
I ended up writing "Hey man, all the best over there! Stay happy always!". Funny how long it took me to pen that message, when a moment ago I could have filled three cards without breaking a sweat.
When another friend chided me for taking so long to write so little, I begged for his forgiveness, saying I was never one for writing, and that he couldn't blame me for it. He smiled, said it didn't matter, and passed the card on.
I threw away the crushed napkin on the way home. I couldn't bring myself to look at the words anymore. I stole a quick glance at them at the airport, but they suddenly seemed juvenile, peurile... silly.
I didn't write poetry for a long time after. The words, they didn't flow.
And when I picked up the pen, inspiration struck! It coursed through me, a powerful jolt that effortlessly strung words together in my mind, forming a rhyming poem that was a touch humorous, no less!
Just to make sure it was all fine, I scribbled it out on a paper napkin I had. All through this while, she sat next to me at the cafe table, talking excitedly to the rest of our friends. When I was done, I gripped her hand under the table.
"Dear! Take a look at this little poem which I'm thinking of writing for his farewell card! Hehe, I think it's almost as funny as that one I wrote for you last week!"
But she was distracted. And honest, perhaps.
"What? Another poem? Please la, just write something simple? Not another one of your silly things." Another friend said something then, and she turned back to them, laughing.
I ended up writing "Hey man, all the best over there! Stay happy always!". Funny how long it took me to pen that message, when a moment ago I could have filled three cards without breaking a sweat.
When another friend chided me for taking so long to write so little, I begged for his forgiveness, saying I was never one for writing, and that he couldn't blame me for it. He smiled, said it didn't matter, and passed the card on.
I threw away the crushed napkin on the way home. I couldn't bring myself to look at the words anymore. I stole a quick glance at them at the airport, but they suddenly seemed juvenile, peurile... silly.
I didn't write poetry for a long time after. The words, they didn't flow.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Who Knows Best?
One of the more engaging cases we saw this week had all the elements of a classic Hong Kong gangster movie. It was a secret society trial, replete with harsh initiation rites, gang beatings, charismatic leaders and hapless victims.
The main differentiating factor though, was that the average age of the parties involved was 12, 13 years old.
At the trial's conclusion, the judge very sternly rebuked the kids, and forbade them from ever fraternizing with each other in school again. No meetings, no sitting together during recess, no hanging out after lessons. Nada. Zilch. A complete separation, break, split.
And that was what struck me the most.
See, the children were friends to begin with, even before the gang recruited them. They might still be friends now, even after the gang was dispersed.
But the court didn't care. The court, applying an objective standard, had decided that it was better for the children to stay apart, that it was in their best interests that they be separated, never to cross paths again. The standard was arguably a reasonable one, culled from years of academic research into the behavioural patterns of gang members, years of accumulated wisdom regarding child rearing, so on and so forth.
It didn't matter whether the children still wanted to be friends - the understanding was that they were too young or immature to decide what was best for themselves, and that society's neutral, passionless objective standard decried that they be isolated from one another.
Children grow up. We grow up too. Eventually.
Does a consensus distilled from the opinions of a thousand reasonable men always outperform an individual's own reasoned choice?
I wonder, is there ever a point when we are wise enough to choose our own paths, or will we always yield to society's collective wisdom?
The main differentiating factor though, was that the average age of the parties involved was 12, 13 years old.
At the trial's conclusion, the judge very sternly rebuked the kids, and forbade them from ever fraternizing with each other in school again. No meetings, no sitting together during recess, no hanging out after lessons. Nada. Zilch. A complete separation, break, split.
And that was what struck me the most.
See, the children were friends to begin with, even before the gang recruited them. They might still be friends now, even after the gang was dispersed.
But the court didn't care. The court, applying an objective standard, had decided that it was better for the children to stay apart, that it was in their best interests that they be separated, never to cross paths again. The standard was arguably a reasonable one, culled from years of academic research into the behavioural patterns of gang members, years of accumulated wisdom regarding child rearing, so on and so forth.
It didn't matter whether the children still wanted to be friends - the understanding was that they were too young or immature to decide what was best for themselves, and that society's neutral, passionless objective standard decried that they be isolated from one another.
Children grow up. We grow up too. Eventually.
Does a consensus distilled from the opinions of a thousand reasonable men always outperform an individual's own reasoned choice?
I wonder, is there ever a point when we are wise enough to choose our own paths, or will we always yield to society's collective wisdom?
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Beating
I'm a Chinese dude. With conservative Chinese parents. Of course I was beaten when I was a kid.
As a child I was generally suicidal in the way I did things, being unable to, as my teacher put it, "think of the consequences beyond the next five minutes". I would run into glass walls, use my knees as brakes, jump happily into potholes. Pain was my constant, familiar companion.
So why did the beatings I received all those years ago, still manage to drive icy spikes of dread into my little heart? It couldn't be fear of the pain, right? You don't see Michael Jackson afraid of minor operations anymore, yes? Or JBJ afraid of minor parking fines, for that matter?
Now, years on, I understand why. It wasn't fear of the pain per se. It was a lethal cocktail of pain, shame in the knowledge you did wrong, and disappointing your parents. More on that later.
My parents got the beatings down to a fine art pretty fast too. They were complementary, that's why. My mum's the Good Cop, the nagger, the one who continually cajoles you until the wax drips out of your ears. She would threaten to hit me, but never could bring herself to. She was the one who would set me up for...
... the Bad Cop. My dad. The one who lurks in the background, doesn't speak much, who distractedly plays with Inquisitory Tools of Pain while you're trying to answer the Good Cop. And when he spanked me, it wasn't mere half-hearted Western-parent spanking... it was Golden Lotus Unfolding Palms Spanking. The Shaolin kind.
A typical Disciplinary Proceeding would thus unfold something like this:
Me: You're being unfair! It wasn't my fault!
Mum: Teng, please! We're doing this for your own good! Come, come listen to mummy...
Dad: *skulks in background*
Me: No, no! You tell me, what did I do wrong!
Mum: How many times have we told you, it's wrong to fight with your brother! You're older than him, you're supposed to take care of him!
Me: He bit me first!
Mum: He's a toddler! He doesn't know better!
Dad: *flicks a cane rhythmically against a table, hums "I Will Survive"*
Mum: You don't hit your friends right? So why hit your brother?
Me: 'Cause he's my brother! My friends would complain to their parents!
Mum: ... how disappointing. You leave me with no choice. Repent while you can, sinner!
Dad: *GOLDEN LOTUS UNFOLDING PALMS*
Of course, there were many times when I would think of retaliating. Just like the delinquents in movies, I would push my mother away, or something like that. But then I would think of my dad, and I would just whimper and give up. Heck, what did I have in my arsenal at that age, Raging Vengeful Rabbit Paw?
But children learn fast. Did not Sun Tzi once say, "What you cannot beat defeat head-on, you run the hell away from"? I soon learnt to recognize the signs, and before my parents could tag-team me I would go ballistic, zipping all over the house screaming bloody murder. Oh the glory days... I was faster and more unpredictable than a headless chicken with a firecracker up its egg-laying chute!
Of course, I knew I was going to get the same beating at the end, but heck, I had to have them earn it. Plus, the pre-emptive release of endorphins always made things easier to bear.
Which is why I'm always shocked when friends tell me they've never been caned / spanked / slapped by their parents before. It's the same shock AC* boys get when they head to Uni and find that other people are well-adjusted and pleasant and nice. Growing up in a world where physical punishment was a very real consequence indeed, I can't imagine how other kids could learn without a decent amount of corporal punishment.
It all boils down to the two main schools of thought regarding disciplining kids. On one extreme we have the modern Western teachings, which exhort reasoning with children and guiding them towards understanding the import of their actions. Children are goaded with incentives / disincentives, but never physical punishment.
On the other extreme, we have the Asian Kung-Fu teachings. Here, you may reason, you may persuade, you may cajole, but there will be a beating. If you need further elaboration, just watch Russell Peters.
In my opinion, the approach you adopt depends on the kid you have. I've observed that younger, immature kids can't reason for nuts (see above as to how I justified beating my brother over my friends), and it's fruitless trying to reason with them. What's the point in spending hours persuading a petulant 6 year-old anorexic-to-be that she needs her nutrition?
Yet, once the child develops a semblance of a functional self-aware brain, then reasoning is crucial. Beating drives home very clear boundaries, but when explanations and guidance are absent for too long, the child's moral growth is stunted, and lacks the necessary nuance.
And once the child develops a conscience, you can retire the canes and the secret Kung Fu manuals. You've been through it yourself. You're initially all defensive when your parents berate you over something, but slowly you begin to see the whole picture, and eventually you know you're wrong. And all without a beating, too.
I'm not saying that without beating you can never teach a kid well. I'm saying chances are higher that with a lil' harsh love you can guide them faster, earlier. So if by chance you're around 4 - 8 years old, and reading this, and have never been beaten before, please ask your parents to beat you.
Just don't say it with a wink in your eyes. I don't know about your parents, but if I did that to my conservative Chinese parents... whoaaaaa, mama.
As a child I was generally suicidal in the way I did things, being unable to, as my teacher put it, "think of the consequences beyond the next five minutes". I would run into glass walls, use my knees as brakes, jump happily into potholes. Pain was my constant, familiar companion.
So why did the beatings I received all those years ago, still manage to drive icy spikes of dread into my little heart? It couldn't be fear of the pain, right? You don't see Michael Jackson afraid of minor operations anymore, yes? Or JBJ afraid of minor parking fines, for that matter?
Now, years on, I understand why. It wasn't fear of the pain per se. It was a lethal cocktail of pain, shame in the knowledge you did wrong, and disappointing your parents. More on that later.
My parents got the beatings down to a fine art pretty fast too. They were complementary, that's why. My mum's the Good Cop, the nagger, the one who continually cajoles you until the wax drips out of your ears. She would threaten to hit me, but never could bring herself to. She was the one who would set me up for...
... the Bad Cop. My dad. The one who lurks in the background, doesn't speak much, who distractedly plays with Inquisitory Tools of Pain while you're trying to answer the Good Cop. And when he spanked me, it wasn't mere half-hearted Western-parent spanking... it was Golden Lotus Unfolding Palms Spanking. The Shaolin kind.
A typical Disciplinary Proceeding would thus unfold something like this:
Me: You're being unfair! It wasn't my fault!
Mum: Teng, please! We're doing this for your own good! Come, come listen to mummy...
Dad: *skulks in background*
Me: No, no! You tell me, what did I do wrong!
Mum: How many times have we told you, it's wrong to fight with your brother! You're older than him, you're supposed to take care of him!
Me: He bit me first!
Mum: He's a toddler! He doesn't know better!
Dad: *flicks a cane rhythmically against a table, hums "I Will Survive"*
Mum: You don't hit your friends right? So why hit your brother?
Me: 'Cause he's my brother! My friends would complain to their parents!
Mum: ... how disappointing. You leave me with no choice. Repent while you can, sinner!
Dad: *GOLDEN LOTUS UNFOLDING PALMS*
Of course, there were many times when I would think of retaliating. Just like the delinquents in movies, I would push my mother away, or something like that. But then I would think of my dad, and I would just whimper and give up. Heck, what did I have in my arsenal at that age, Raging Vengeful Rabbit Paw?
But children learn fast. Did not Sun Tzi once say, "What you cannot beat defeat head-on, you run the hell away from"? I soon learnt to recognize the signs, and before my parents could tag-team me I would go ballistic, zipping all over the house screaming bloody murder. Oh the glory days... I was faster and more unpredictable than a headless chicken with a firecracker up its egg-laying chute!
Of course, I knew I was going to get the same beating at the end, but heck, I had to have them earn it. Plus, the pre-emptive release of endorphins always made things easier to bear.
Which is why I'm always shocked when friends tell me they've never been caned / spanked / slapped by their parents before. It's the same shock AC* boys get when they head to Uni and find that other people are well-adjusted and pleasant and nice. Growing up in a world where physical punishment was a very real consequence indeed, I can't imagine how other kids could learn without a decent amount of corporal punishment.
It all boils down to the two main schools of thought regarding disciplining kids. On one extreme we have the modern Western teachings, which exhort reasoning with children and guiding them towards understanding the import of their actions. Children are goaded with incentives / disincentives, but never physical punishment.
On the other extreme, we have the Asian Kung-Fu teachings. Here, you may reason, you may persuade, you may cajole, but there will be a beating. If you need further elaboration, just watch Russell Peters.
In my opinion, the approach you adopt depends on the kid you have. I've observed that younger, immature kids can't reason for nuts (see above as to how I justified beating my brother over my friends), and it's fruitless trying to reason with them. What's the point in spending hours persuading a petulant 6 year-old anorexic-to-be that she needs her nutrition?
Yet, once the child develops a semblance of a functional self-aware brain, then reasoning is crucial. Beating drives home very clear boundaries, but when explanations and guidance are absent for too long, the child's moral growth is stunted, and lacks the necessary nuance.
And once the child develops a conscience, you can retire the canes and the secret Kung Fu manuals. You've been through it yourself. You're initially all defensive when your parents berate you over something, but slowly you begin to see the whole picture, and eventually you know you're wrong. And all without a beating, too.
I'm not saying that without beating you can never teach a kid well. I'm saying chances are higher that with a lil' harsh love you can guide them faster, earlier. So if by chance you're around 4 - 8 years old, and reading this, and have never been beaten before, please ask your parents to beat you.
Just don't say it with a wink in your eyes. I don't know about your parents, but if I did that to my conservative Chinese parents... whoaaaaa, mama.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Ladies Of The Night
There was no love here.
I could smell sickly-sweet alcoholic fumes flirting with bitter-dry cigarette smoke, I could hear the ladies laughing their rehearsed, high-pitch schoolgirl squeals, I could taste the primal, naked lust in the air.
But no love. I could sense no love here. Not in this dimly-lit 7-11 of vices. Love was even more elusive here than an emboldened demon making merry in the streets of heaven.
I pushed past couples locked in embrace, their passions on coarse, open display. My neck itched, victim both of my vanity and the new shirt I had just bought. I came here the night before as an ordinary, forgettable leaf from the past, but tonight... I wanted her to remember me.
There she was, seated between two men, their arms around her like diseased tendrils across her fair skin. A curious mix of jealousy and anger bubbled in me. I had no right to feel that way, not when she was not mine. Not anyone's, for that matter.
She recognized me, a fleeting moment before I wrenched her away from them. And in those seconds as she was uprooted, she suddenly looked lost, confused, her gaities falling away like melting wax. No longer the confident, commanding lady of the night she pretended to be.
At a quiet corner, she lit up, pointedly looking away as the smoke rings danced away from her.
"You can't just pull me away like that. They will be angry, and you don't exactly look like the sort who can defend yourself."
"I can pay. I will pay. Look, just come away with me, again." I sounded desperate. I didn't care.
She laughed. "Pay? And towards what purpose? I'm a girl who likes to earn her money, you know, and last night didn't do much for me at all."
I wasn't shaken - the facade was as plain as day. "You lie. It was the best damned night you've had since forever, and you know it. Come with me, again, please."
She was silent for a while, then she struck out at me like an enraged rattlesnake. I was pushed back against the wall hard, but the pain barely registered. I could only notice the creases in her makeup, thin flaking lines etched in by the scowl she wore.
"Last night did not happen. You hear me?"
"It did, and nothing you can do will make you forget it."
"No. You came to me for my body, paid for it, got what you wanted, and you left. That's what happened. Another simple transaction in this sprawling existance of ours."
"I never wanted your body, never touched it. I only came to talk to you. You know that."
My perseverance was paying off. Just like last night, her defences were coming down, one at a time. The brimming tears of anger in her coloured-contacts-eyes said it all.
"You had no right to do that, you hear me? You had no right to spend the whole night doing nothing but talk to me, talking like we are still the friends we were so long ago. You were supposed to come in, take me, then leave! Not linger like this!"
I placed a hand on her shoulder, and waited for her to calm down. "I'm sorry," I found myself saying, "You said you were lonely last night, and all I wanted was to talk to you again. That's all."
When she eventually looked up it was as I feared. The mask was rigidly in place again, the pleasant, genial, vacant expression she wore for all her customers.
"Honey. Last night won't ever happen again. That girl you talked to, the one you shared old stories and laughed with, she's not living here anymore. She left a note for you, though. She said she's moved away, and if ever she finds a place of her own again, she'll contact you, so don't bother looking for her now."
She patted my cheek in that infuriatingly condescending way of hers.
"She said, don't be so idealistic anymore. Our youth has deserted us. You think you have choices in life, that you're always in control, but it's not so simple. We all have responsibilities, wouldn't you agree?"
"You know that's not true. You know that..." Her finger to my lip cut me off. I'm weak that way.
"Don't spoil the moment." She smiled then, but from whom the smile sprung from I was no longer sure. "If it matters to you that much, she also says thank you, for being nice to her last night. She felt... appreciated, and maybe one day, one day she would like to feel that way again."
I lost her then. She turned and slipped back effortlessly into that black, oil-slicked sea of leering faces and earnest hands. My feet guided me out, for I could not stay and watch. The pain was killing me.
To anyone else my resolve to return and try again may seem suicidally stupid, but no one else saw her as I did last night. And if they did, they would know it would be worth it.
Another day it would have to be, then.
* This was inspired by a friend's post, and is not reflective of my real life. Maybe the emo bits, but not the salacious bits. Sigh.
I could smell sickly-sweet alcoholic fumes flirting with bitter-dry cigarette smoke, I could hear the ladies laughing their rehearsed, high-pitch schoolgirl squeals, I could taste the primal, naked lust in the air.
But no love. I could sense no love here. Not in this dimly-lit 7-11 of vices. Love was even more elusive here than an emboldened demon making merry in the streets of heaven.
I pushed past couples locked in embrace, their passions on coarse, open display. My neck itched, victim both of my vanity and the new shirt I had just bought. I came here the night before as an ordinary, forgettable leaf from the past, but tonight... I wanted her to remember me.
There she was, seated between two men, their arms around her like diseased tendrils across her fair skin. A curious mix of jealousy and anger bubbled in me. I had no right to feel that way, not when she was not mine. Not anyone's, for that matter.
She recognized me, a fleeting moment before I wrenched her away from them. And in those seconds as she was uprooted, she suddenly looked lost, confused, her gaities falling away like melting wax. No longer the confident, commanding lady of the night she pretended to be.
At a quiet corner, she lit up, pointedly looking away as the smoke rings danced away from her.
"You can't just pull me away like that. They will be angry, and you don't exactly look like the sort who can defend yourself."
"I can pay. I will pay. Look, just come away with me, again." I sounded desperate. I didn't care.
She laughed. "Pay? And towards what purpose? I'm a girl who likes to earn her money, you know, and last night didn't do much for me at all."
I wasn't shaken - the facade was as plain as day. "You lie. It was the best damned night you've had since forever, and you know it. Come with me, again, please."
She was silent for a while, then she struck out at me like an enraged rattlesnake. I was pushed back against the wall hard, but the pain barely registered. I could only notice the creases in her makeup, thin flaking lines etched in by the scowl she wore.
"Last night did not happen. You hear me?"
"It did, and nothing you can do will make you forget it."
"No. You came to me for my body, paid for it, got what you wanted, and you left. That's what happened. Another simple transaction in this sprawling existance of ours."
"I never wanted your body, never touched it. I only came to talk to you. You know that."
My perseverance was paying off. Just like last night, her defences were coming down, one at a time. The brimming tears of anger in her coloured-contacts-eyes said it all.
"You had no right to do that, you hear me? You had no right to spend the whole night doing nothing but talk to me, talking like we are still the friends we were so long ago. You were supposed to come in, take me, then leave! Not linger like this!"
I placed a hand on her shoulder, and waited for her to calm down. "I'm sorry," I found myself saying, "You said you were lonely last night, and all I wanted was to talk to you again. That's all."
When she eventually looked up it was as I feared. The mask was rigidly in place again, the pleasant, genial, vacant expression she wore for all her customers.
"Honey. Last night won't ever happen again. That girl you talked to, the one you shared old stories and laughed with, she's not living here anymore. She left a note for you, though. She said she's moved away, and if ever she finds a place of her own again, she'll contact you, so don't bother looking for her now."
She patted my cheek in that infuriatingly condescending way of hers.
"She said, don't be so idealistic anymore. Our youth has deserted us. You think you have choices in life, that you're always in control, but it's not so simple. We all have responsibilities, wouldn't you agree?"
"You know that's not true. You know that..." Her finger to my lip cut me off. I'm weak that way.
"Don't spoil the moment." She smiled then, but from whom the smile sprung from I was no longer sure. "If it matters to you that much, she also says thank you, for being nice to her last night. She felt... appreciated, and maybe one day, one day she would like to feel that way again."
I lost her then. She turned and slipped back effortlessly into that black, oil-slicked sea of leering faces and earnest hands. My feet guided me out, for I could not stay and watch. The pain was killing me.
To anyone else my resolve to return and try again may seem suicidally stupid, but no one else saw her as I did last night. And if they did, they would know it would be worth it.
Another day it would have to be, then.
* This was inspired by a friend's post, and is not reflective of my real life. Maybe the emo bits, but not the salacious bits. Sigh.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Diet III
See, girls diet.
We all know that. And they diet for an amazing host of reasons which actually do sound reasonable, once you have the reasons chanted to you ad nauseum for hours on end.
(Think of it as your body’s natural survival instincts. There's a point when your will to argue back just withers, and one by one your brain cells die, and you just nod and agree. It's better than expending all your energy in a futile exercise)
What, you think naggy mothers pop out of nowhere? They have to cut their teeth somewhere too, you know.
But what surprised me was this. Guys. Diet. TOO.
And for the same reasons! For wanting to feel attractive, for wanting to fit into their clothes, for wanting to look good. Some do it for health reasons, but even then, there are healthier ways to get healthy (yes I have poor vocab, deal with it).
Just to be very clear, I’m not talking about Eating-The-Right-Food-Groups Dieting, but Today-Shall-Be-A-Water-Only-Day Dieting. There’s an objective line which I figure isn’t that hard to spot.
I’m surprised because I thought that girls are judged by their appearances, overwhelmingly more so than guys are, and therefore they are justified in a warped sort of way. But guys?
Of course, this doesn’t mean that guys should just flip off personal grooming and let their bodies go to ruin. Urgh. Let’s just say that if you diet, you better bloody know why you’re dieting.
So, in the quest towards beneficial dieting, some myths need to be debunked.
First, girls don’t really want us for the way our bodies are sculptured. True, if we all looked like Homer Simpson the only thing we’ll be turning on at night are our PS3s. But see, that’s only the first stage of attraction.
I mean, girls want us for so much more! They do, eventually, ascribe far greater weight to the other qualities we possess, like the way we are sensitive to their needs or how we keep them feeling secure.
Just ask the girls. Could they really live with a Greek God who had no other redeeming qualities they wanted? Sure, you’ll have something hunky to keep you company at night, but how much understanding can his six perfect abs give you? How much meaningful conversation can you get out of a pair of bursting pecs?
You: Sigh, darling, I had such a bad day today.
Pecs: *wiggle*
You: My boss picked on me, my colleagues backstabbed me, and I spoilt the photocopier. Please, say something to make the pain go away…
Pecs: *wiggle wiggle*
Second, everyone needs a little meat on them. Looking thin and lanky is not necessarily attractive! The key isn’t in exactly how thin or fat you are. The key is in looking healthy, exuberant, radiant. It’s how healthy an image you project that matters.
It’s almost an evolutionary trait, prizing healthiness over thinness. How do you think husbands still manage to summon so much love for their pregnant wives (aside from the threats of hormone-induced violence) ? You’ve seen that magical glow some pregnant women have, despite their… slight increase in size.
Overly-thin people just look fragile, wouldn’t you agree? People worry about being classified as ‘bak bak’, or fleshy, but in truth the most attractive people out there are reasonably meaty. If you starved yourself just so you could proudly exhibit your protruding hip bones or rib cage, trust me, people would look at you and feel instinctively that something was not quite right.
So, to my guy friends out there, diet because you want a balanced intake of food. Diet because it’s healthy for you. Please don’t diet simply because you think it makes you look hotter, more attractive.
I can’t deny that physical attraction does matter, but the effort you put into dieting can also be channeled into making yourself a more complete, attractive individual, yes?
And to show my commitment to my beliefs, I shall don a dark cape and assume the identity of Food Man. And wherever I find a guy who diets for dubious reasons, I will tempt you.
I will scoff at your Vegetables-Only Diet. I will point out every single KFC and BK we pass by, and I will recite their latest menu additions. I will recount intimate accounts of when I last had a fantastic, wholesome, sinful meal. I will moannn and shake uncontrollably whenever we see a Kinder Bueno commercial.
I will not stop, until I see you happily eating again.
For I am Food Man.
* You can find my other posts on Diets here and here. =)
We all know that. And they diet for an amazing host of reasons which actually do sound reasonable, once you have the reasons chanted to you ad nauseum for hours on end.
(Think of it as your body’s natural survival instincts. There's a point when your will to argue back just withers, and one by one your brain cells die, and you just nod and agree. It's better than expending all your energy in a futile exercise)
What, you think naggy mothers pop out of nowhere? They have to cut their teeth somewhere too, you know.
But what surprised me was this. Guys. Diet. TOO.
And for the same reasons! For wanting to feel attractive, for wanting to fit into their clothes, for wanting to look good. Some do it for health reasons, but even then, there are healthier ways to get healthy (yes I have poor vocab, deal with it).
Just to be very clear, I’m not talking about Eating-The-Right-Food-Groups Dieting, but Today-Shall-Be-A-Water-Only-Day Dieting. There’s an objective line which I figure isn’t that hard to spot.
I’m surprised because I thought that girls are judged by their appearances, overwhelmingly more so than guys are, and therefore they are justified in a warped sort of way. But guys?
Of course, this doesn’t mean that guys should just flip off personal grooming and let their bodies go to ruin. Urgh. Let’s just say that if you diet, you better bloody know why you’re dieting.
So, in the quest towards beneficial dieting, some myths need to be debunked.
First, girls don’t really want us for the way our bodies are sculptured. True, if we all looked like Homer Simpson the only thing we’ll be turning on at night are our PS3s. But see, that’s only the first stage of attraction.
I mean, girls want us for so much more! They do, eventually, ascribe far greater weight to the other qualities we possess, like the way we are sensitive to their needs or how we keep them feeling secure.
Just ask the girls. Could they really live with a Greek God who had no other redeeming qualities they wanted? Sure, you’ll have something hunky to keep you company at night, but how much understanding can his six perfect abs give you? How much meaningful conversation can you get out of a pair of bursting pecs?
You: Sigh, darling, I had such a bad day today.
Pecs: *wiggle*
You: My boss picked on me, my colleagues backstabbed me, and I spoilt the photocopier. Please, say something to make the pain go away…
Pecs: *wiggle wiggle*
Second, everyone needs a little meat on them. Looking thin and lanky is not necessarily attractive! The key isn’t in exactly how thin or fat you are. The key is in looking healthy, exuberant, radiant. It’s how healthy an image you project that matters.
It’s almost an evolutionary trait, prizing healthiness over thinness. How do you think husbands still manage to summon so much love for their pregnant wives (aside from the threats of hormone-induced violence) ? You’ve seen that magical glow some pregnant women have, despite their… slight increase in size.
Overly-thin people just look fragile, wouldn’t you agree? People worry about being classified as ‘bak bak’, or fleshy, but in truth the most attractive people out there are reasonably meaty. If you starved yourself just so you could proudly exhibit your protruding hip bones or rib cage, trust me, people would look at you and feel instinctively that something was not quite right.
So, to my guy friends out there, diet because you want a balanced intake of food. Diet because it’s healthy for you. Please don’t diet simply because you think it makes you look hotter, more attractive.
I can’t deny that physical attraction does matter, but the effort you put into dieting can also be channeled into making yourself a more complete, attractive individual, yes?
And to show my commitment to my beliefs, I shall don a dark cape and assume the identity of Food Man. And wherever I find a guy who diets for dubious reasons, I will tempt you.
I will scoff at your Vegetables-Only Diet. I will point out every single KFC and BK we pass by, and I will recite their latest menu additions. I will recount intimate accounts of when I last had a fantastic, wholesome, sinful meal. I will moannn and shake uncontrollably whenever we see a Kinder Bueno commercial.
I will not stop, until I see you happily eating again.
For I am Food Man.
* You can find my other posts on Diets here and here. =)
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
No Need For Words
We sat in the public gallery of the courtroom, all 12 of us Legal Service interns. We knew it was a criminal trial for charges of drug trafficking, but we couldn't help feeling a little bit detached.
After all, hadn't we already seen enough of these cases in our textbooks? Hadn't we already plowed through the arguments for and against the death penalty, in relation to Singaporean drug trafficking charges? Hadn't we already seen it all?
So there we were, insulated against cold, harsh reality. We were detached observers, mere spectators.
Until the accused came in. And started gesturing to his family in sign language. The thick panes of glass between them may have inhibited sound and distorted sight, but they did nothing to stem the torrents of understanding that flowed in those moments.
Fingers trailing down his cheeks, furrowed brows, a quick shake of the head. Don't cry for me. Whatever you do don't cry. A thumbs up, a tentative, manic grin. Of course I'm fine, why would I not be fine?
Open palms, nonchalent shrugs, undulating shoulders. I won't know what will happen, how could I? Why worry now? Chin tilted upwards, raised eyebrows, head jerking in their direction. Is mother fine? Is grandma fine? Are you two boys ok?
A crooked index finger. A quick draw across the neck. But still, still that cheerful, weary, belaboured smile. I will hang. I know I will. But life goes on, right? Don't be sad for me.
I tried hard to concentrate on the legal arguments being bandied around. But this wasn't a textbook case anymore. There was no court reporter here to excise all the cancerous emotions and reduce the proceedings to black print upon white paper. It was real.
In time I guess I will be desensitized, and I will learn to focus only on the arguments before me. But I hope that time will be a long time in coming.
After all, hadn't we already seen enough of these cases in our textbooks? Hadn't we already plowed through the arguments for and against the death penalty, in relation to Singaporean drug trafficking charges? Hadn't we already seen it all?
So there we were, insulated against cold, harsh reality. We were detached observers, mere spectators.
Until the accused came in. And started gesturing to his family in sign language. The thick panes of glass between them may have inhibited sound and distorted sight, but they did nothing to stem the torrents of understanding that flowed in those moments.
Fingers trailing down his cheeks, furrowed brows, a quick shake of the head. Don't cry for me. Whatever you do don't cry. A thumbs up, a tentative, manic grin. Of course I'm fine, why would I not be fine?
Open palms, nonchalent shrugs, undulating shoulders. I won't know what will happen, how could I? Why worry now? Chin tilted upwards, raised eyebrows, head jerking in their direction. Is mother fine? Is grandma fine? Are you two boys ok?
A crooked index finger. A quick draw across the neck. But still, still that cheerful, weary, belaboured smile. I will hang. I know I will. But life goes on, right? Don't be sad for me.
I tried hard to concentrate on the legal arguments being bandied around. But this wasn't a textbook case anymore. There was no court reporter here to excise all the cancerous emotions and reduce the proceedings to black print upon white paper. It was real.
In time I guess I will be desensitized, and I will learn to focus only on the arguments before me. But I hope that time will be a long time in coming.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Letter To The Past
Dear Hanting of so-long-ago,
My my, it's not been one year since you wrote that letter, but a full seven years. Seven years, seven years of growth, of experience, of observing how the world ticks.
Remember back in Primary Three, when you thought kissing led to babies? ... Ok in a way kissing does lead to babies, just not directly, argh you know what I mean. And when you discovered the truth you laughed so hard at Primary-Three-Hanting?
Well, in a way, I also couldn't help laughing when I read what you wrote, Sec-Four-Hanting. It's not that I am being condescending... it's just slightly amusing to imagine your eyes shining with bright, wild-eyed idealism as you penned your thoughts back in Jan 2000.
I wish I could reveal all that lies ahead of you, so that you may avoid the pitfalls, and fully treasure the fleeting flashes of happiness that pass you by. But we both know we can't do that. You won't learn as much, will you?
What I can do, is to provide the merest glimpses into what you will become.
You will learn how to fully cherish your friends, family and loved ones. I know it’s a constant struggle for you, seeking the best way to provide for them, but take heart. You will be proud someday at the way you reach out to them.
Yet, you will not remain unscathed forever. Disappointments may tattoo their dalliances with you on the canvas of your soul, but you will be glad for the lessons they bring. Take heart too! Bitterness and anger will never take root for long, for though you may be damaged, you still are whole.
The rest is for you to discover. Exciting, ain't it?
My my, it's not been one year since you wrote that letter, but a full seven years. Seven years, seven years of growth, of experience, of observing how the world ticks.
Remember back in Primary Three, when you thought kissing led to babies? ... Ok in a way kissing does lead to babies, just not directly, argh you know what I mean. And when you discovered the truth you laughed so hard at Primary-Three-Hanting?
Well, in a way, I also couldn't help laughing when I read what you wrote, Sec-Four-Hanting. It's not that I am being condescending... it's just slightly amusing to imagine your eyes shining with bright, wild-eyed idealism as you penned your thoughts back in Jan 2000.
I wish I could reveal all that lies ahead of you, so that you may avoid the pitfalls, and fully treasure the fleeting flashes of happiness that pass you by. But we both know we can't do that. You won't learn as much, will you?
What I can do, is to provide the merest glimpses into what you will become.
You will learn how to fully cherish your friends, family and loved ones. I know it’s a constant struggle for you, seeking the best way to provide for them, but take heart. You will be proud someday at the way you reach out to them.
Yet, you will not remain unscathed forever. Disappointments may tattoo their dalliances with you on the canvas of your soul, but you will be glad for the lessons they bring. Take heart too! Bitterness and anger will never take root for long, for though you may be damaged, you still are whole.
The rest is for you to discover. Exciting, ain't it?
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Letter To The Future
Back in Sec 4 our tutor made us write letters to ourselves. At the beginning of the year, we were to detail the personal growth we wanted to experience, the goals we wanted to attain, by the end of the year.
Our tutor would collect the letters, and mail them back to us after we graduated. It would be a good way for us to chart our progress through life, he said.
And this was what I wrote:
"Dear fat-shit, haha, I bet you've forgetten about this. But Mr. Indra hasn't, so here you are, with what you wrote back in Jan 2000.
I wonder how you are now, really. Did your O's go well? Did you finally manage to pass Maths? Haha, did you manage to improve at carrom, or win anything at Nationals?
It's mind-boggling, trying to predict what would happen 365 days later. The possibilities are just endless... but you and I both know, aside from these practical achievements, there are more important things at stake.
How are you, as a person? Do you still stand for the values I stand for now?
Have you managed to reach out to your parents and brother? I know it's difficult to, and it's terribly easy to lead a life separate from theirs, but don't. Any friction you've experienced so far is merely the result of them trying to weave you into their lives, trying to share their experiences with you. I have to write this to remind you, because you tend to forget all this sometimes.
Do you still give your friends your all? Are you still investing the energy and time into keeping your friendships alive and well? No man's an island, and you know you have the propensity to keep to yourself at times... but don't. You've already learnt that friends enrich the world, so don't backtrack now. If you have no idea how valuable they all, all the more you should not easily discount them.
Have you gotten attached? Haha, have you broken up, for that matter? I have no idea what falling in or out of love feels like, but right now I know if I'm attached, I would really bend over backwards to give her my all. She's precious, so never take her for granted... always trust her, always be open with her. If she lets you down, please don't change because of her. Someone else is waiting for you, someone else who wants you the way you are. You know that.
Continue to improve, Hanting. Be the person you want to be. Be open with people, caring, sensitive, funny, thoughtful, engaging. You like it too, don't you, when you help make people smile? Take pride in being able to avoid the common mistakes other people fall into. Go out there and make every day memorable, for you and the people around you!
You have a duty to bring happiness and meaning to the people around you, because it is already so easy to sow discord and cynicism for life... If ever you feel lost and unsure of what to do, pretend Ms. Gan's still here, and just imagine what she would advise you to do. She was usually right.
I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that you are smiling as you are reading all this. If not, then remember that one year ago you were me, with all this idealism and conviction to save the world your way.
Whether or not this letter serves as a mere milestone to mark your journey, or a signpost to guide you back to the path, I just want to say... I can't wait to read this myself again one day. I want to know what I've become."
Our tutor would collect the letters, and mail them back to us after we graduated. It would be a good way for us to chart our progress through life, he said.
And this was what I wrote:
"Dear fat-shit, haha, I bet you've forgetten about this. But Mr. Indra hasn't, so here you are, with what you wrote back in Jan 2000.
I wonder how you are now, really. Did your O's go well? Did you finally manage to pass Maths? Haha, did you manage to improve at carrom, or win anything at Nationals?
It's mind-boggling, trying to predict what would happen 365 days later. The possibilities are just endless... but you and I both know, aside from these practical achievements, there are more important things at stake.
How are you, as a person? Do you still stand for the values I stand for now?
Have you managed to reach out to your parents and brother? I know it's difficult to, and it's terribly easy to lead a life separate from theirs, but don't. Any friction you've experienced so far is merely the result of them trying to weave you into their lives, trying to share their experiences with you. I have to write this to remind you, because you tend to forget all this sometimes.
Do you still give your friends your all? Are you still investing the energy and time into keeping your friendships alive and well? No man's an island, and you know you have the propensity to keep to yourself at times... but don't. You've already learnt that friends enrich the world, so don't backtrack now. If you have no idea how valuable they all, all the more you should not easily discount them.
Have you gotten attached? Haha, have you broken up, for that matter? I have no idea what falling in or out of love feels like, but right now I know if I'm attached, I would really bend over backwards to give her my all. She's precious, so never take her for granted... always trust her, always be open with her. If she lets you down, please don't change because of her. Someone else is waiting for you, someone else who wants you the way you are. You know that.
Continue to improve, Hanting. Be the person you want to be. Be open with people, caring, sensitive, funny, thoughtful, engaging. You like it too, don't you, when you help make people smile? Take pride in being able to avoid the common mistakes other people fall into. Go out there and make every day memorable, for you and the people around you!
You have a duty to bring happiness and meaning to the people around you, because it is already so easy to sow discord and cynicism for life... If ever you feel lost and unsure of what to do, pretend Ms. Gan's still here, and just imagine what she would advise you to do. She was usually right.
I hope, from the bottom of my heart, that you are smiling as you are reading all this. If not, then remember that one year ago you were me, with all this idealism and conviction to save the world your way.
Whether or not this letter serves as a mere milestone to mark your journey, or a signpost to guide you back to the path, I just want to say... I can't wait to read this myself again one day. I want to know what I've become."
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Ignorance Is Bliss
Inspiration really does come from the most unexpected of places. Last night, my muse happened to be... an episode of Heroes.
Now, most of the stuff on Heroes (or TV, for that matter) comes perilously close to being cheesy. Themes like believing in yourself, or self-sacrifice for the greater good. It gets painful to watch at times, but then I remind myself, hey there's Claire Bennet, and things get better.
But last night one particular line struck me, and the irony was that it came from a baddie. And the line goes, "I think, there comes a time when a man has to ask himself, whether he wants a Life of Happiness, or a Life of Meaning?"
He went on to explain, that for a LOH a man would live entirely in the present, focusing on the joys in front of him, never thinking about the past or the future. But for a LOM, a man would be "condemned to wallow in the past, and obsess about the future", for it was in such introspection that he would understand his place in life.
And I give up on Nathan Perelli, who could only stare blankly back at the baddie. Heck, two questions were already racing through my mind: Can there ever be a middleground, for how can one say that there is no Meaning within Happiness, or Happiness when Meaning dawns? And, are people naturally predisposed to either path?
While it's very possible for all of us to dabble in both paths at different stages in our lives, I still think people are naturally built to follow one path. It's really got to do with the way you think.
Take friend A. He's always been mature, rational, intelligent, but it's just that he never lets his mind wander. Clouds were but condensed molecules of water, events in life but isolated cause-and-effect incidents, memories but hazy footprints in the sand near the water's edge. When he was alone working at his hobbies, his mind was focused, clear.
Take friend B. She's equally capable of mind, but she sees life differently, thinks about life differently. She dissects characters in movies, questions their motivations, explores the various interpretations of the language used. Long after relationships end, from the ashes of the memories she still pieces together new lessons, an unrelenting archaeologist of the past.
I think like friend B does. I, er, hope that I've been mature and rational and all that too (the last Report Card which said I was mature of thought came in Primary 3. Nothing since then. Sigh), but while I do have a leash on my mind, it's really a stretchable 100m long leash.
My mum detests the way I think about things. She labels my thoughts on life 'peurile worries', and reminds me constantly that the present has so much to offer, so why think about the past and the future? To her mind, there's so little of the world we can control, so you might as well just be happy.
Which parent wouldn't want their children happy? For that matter, who would ever wish their friends to be locked in an endless cycle of truth-searching too, when we all know that some answers cannot be found?
Maybe that's why Meaning, means so much. It's one of those things you discover on your own, contrary to general advice, earned at great cost.
Now, most of the stuff on Heroes (or TV, for that matter) comes perilously close to being cheesy. Themes like believing in yourself, or self-sacrifice for the greater good. It gets painful to watch at times, but then I remind myself, hey there's Claire Bennet, and things get better.
But last night one particular line struck me, and the irony was that it came from a baddie. And the line goes, "I think, there comes a time when a man has to ask himself, whether he wants a Life of Happiness, or a Life of Meaning?"
He went on to explain, that for a LOH a man would live entirely in the present, focusing on the joys in front of him, never thinking about the past or the future. But for a LOM, a man would be "condemned to wallow in the past, and obsess about the future", for it was in such introspection that he would understand his place in life.
And I give up on Nathan Perelli, who could only stare blankly back at the baddie. Heck, two questions were already racing through my mind: Can there ever be a middleground, for how can one say that there is no Meaning within Happiness, or Happiness when Meaning dawns? And, are people naturally predisposed to either path?
While it's very possible for all of us to dabble in both paths at different stages in our lives, I still think people are naturally built to follow one path. It's really got to do with the way you think.
Take friend A. He's always been mature, rational, intelligent, but it's just that he never lets his mind wander. Clouds were but condensed molecules of water, events in life but isolated cause-and-effect incidents, memories but hazy footprints in the sand near the water's edge. When he was alone working at his hobbies, his mind was focused, clear.
Take friend B. She's equally capable of mind, but she sees life differently, thinks about life differently. She dissects characters in movies, questions their motivations, explores the various interpretations of the language used. Long after relationships end, from the ashes of the memories she still pieces together new lessons, an unrelenting archaeologist of the past.
I think like friend B does. I, er, hope that I've been mature and rational and all that too (the last Report Card which said I was mature of thought came in Primary 3. Nothing since then. Sigh), but while I do have a leash on my mind, it's really a stretchable 100m long leash.
My mum detests the way I think about things. She labels my thoughts on life 'peurile worries', and reminds me constantly that the present has so much to offer, so why think about the past and the future? To her mind, there's so little of the world we can control, so you might as well just be happy.
Which parent wouldn't want their children happy? For that matter, who would ever wish their friends to be locked in an endless cycle of truth-searching too, when we all know that some answers cannot be found?
Maybe that's why Meaning, means so much. It's one of those things you discover on your own, contrary to general advice, earned at great cost.
Friday, May 04, 2007
A Difference
Sometimes, all of us lose a little bit of our way.
Sometimes, you sit alone, and it is quiet. You hear the birds outside, the wind teasing the leaves on the trees, the crackling of engines labouring to serve their human masters. But it is still quiet.
And you realize, that you could do nothing at all today, not utter a single word nor lift a single finger, and the world would spin on. It is as if the world does not really need you. It's a rude wake-up call.
But many times, many times we are fortunate enough to find our paths again.
And you realize, that you could do something today, just a few kind words, or the simple act of reaching out to a friend. Whatever you do, no matter how small, would mark one more day of you making a difference to this world.
With pain and suffering as the easiest presents to give in this world. even the smallest token of kinship is significant for the people around you.
Sometimes, you sit alone, and it is quiet. You hear the birds outside, the wind teasing the leaves on the trees, the crackling of engines labouring to serve their human masters. But it is still quiet.
And you realize, that you could do nothing at all today, not utter a single word nor lift a single finger, and the world would spin on. It is as if the world does not really need you. It's a rude wake-up call.
But many times, many times we are fortunate enough to find our paths again.
And you realize, that you could do something today, just a few kind words, or the simple act of reaching out to a friend. Whatever you do, no matter how small, would mark one more day of you making a difference to this world.
With pain and suffering as the easiest presents to give in this world. even the smallest token of kinship is significant for the people around you.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
... And Let The Reason Be Love
Part Two
Now, with all that background information out of the way, the next question is, how do we utilize it?
And here’s the bit of reasoning and extrapolation that I’m proud of. Boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen, the secret method of utilizing this information, lies in… DOTA.
Yes you heard me right. DOTA.
DOTA, Defense of the Ancients, the Warcraft game that’s the bane of all you poor girlfriends out there. *patpat*
Look, just think about it. You call your boyboy when he’s playing DOTA, and he’s a million miles away from you. There’s nothing you can do to reach out to him, to connect to him. You could walk right up and flash your boobs at him, and he’ll just wave you aside and shout, “Argh I need the money to buy Eul’s Scepter! Don’t disturb me!”
And that’s pretty hard for you to accept, yes? You think of that special moment he confessed his feelings for you, when he said he needed nothing else in this world except you. Your own love for him may give him a certain leeway in playing DOTA, but it often reaches a point when he almost seems like a different person to you.
ITS. THE. CHEMICALS.
DOTA INHIBITS THE CHEMICALS.
When he’s playing DOTA, you’re a girlfriend to him. You have certain strengths, certain weaknesses. You bring enumerated joys to his life, you are important to him in specific ways. You are human, only human.
When he’s NOT playing DOTA, you’re a goddess to him. You’re the sun, the moon, the stars. You’re on such a high pedestal he’s confident of fashioning huge monuments of love from your, er, waste. You know the feeling.
How do you utilize this? Simple. Assuming he’s wholehearted about this reflection process, you give him a list of questions to answer HALFWAY through a DOTA game. Stress that he’s not answering the questions to please you, but to give himself a chance to think about the whole thing properly.
The questions can include:
1. Why me?
2. What do we bring to each other’s lives?
3. What are the obstacles we face?
4. Are the obstacles worth surmounting? Do the efforts outweigh the benefits?
5. Is staying with me now worth it, or should we both look elsewhere first?
For you, the girlfriends of all the DOTA boys out there… I can’t think of any equivalent method by which you can really distance yourself from the relationship, for those few minutes of lucidity. Perhaps, perhaps you could try those quiet nights when he’s busy with DOTA, or you could also go to a soulful, restful place like a church to think about things?
Before I end, this post honestly won’t reach out to many of you. There are just so many different approaches taken towards relationships – some of us want relationships for the long term, some of us want them for the immediate benefits they bring.
Some of us really don’t mind taking the wait-and-see approach, and see no problem with just living the present to the fullest. Why be so fatalistic, Hanting? Why worry so much about making the wrong choices sometimes, why be so fearful of getting hurt? We’re all young, there’s so much to explore!
Maybe it’s just because I feel that blind, indiscriminate love tends to dilute the meaning in every relationship I have had. If I love you, it’s not because of the chemicals in my brain or the headiness of the moment, it’s because… you’ve earned it, by being the person you are.
And if you happen to be similar to me, the sort who prefers to parcel out love in controlled limited-edition quantities, the sort who wants to give his all to a relationship grounded in sturdy, rational foundations, then it would be good if you could just take a short 5 minutes to think about all this yourself.
Wouldn’t you rather have someone learn to love you over a period of time, than to have them love you completely, irrationally right from the start?
Now, with all that background information out of the way, the next question is, how do we utilize it?
And here’s the bit of reasoning and extrapolation that I’m proud of. Boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen, the secret method of utilizing this information, lies in… DOTA.
Yes you heard me right. DOTA.
DOTA, Defense of the Ancients, the Warcraft game that’s the bane of all you poor girlfriends out there. *patpat*
Look, just think about it. You call your boyboy when he’s playing DOTA, and he’s a million miles away from you. There’s nothing you can do to reach out to him, to connect to him. You could walk right up and flash your boobs at him, and he’ll just wave you aside and shout, “Argh I need the money to buy Eul’s Scepter! Don’t disturb me!”
And that’s pretty hard for you to accept, yes? You think of that special moment he confessed his feelings for you, when he said he needed nothing else in this world except you. Your own love for him may give him a certain leeway in playing DOTA, but it often reaches a point when he almost seems like a different person to you.
ITS. THE. CHEMICALS.
DOTA INHIBITS THE CHEMICALS.
When he’s playing DOTA, you’re a girlfriend to him. You have certain strengths, certain weaknesses. You bring enumerated joys to his life, you are important to him in specific ways. You are human, only human.
When he’s NOT playing DOTA, you’re a goddess to him. You’re the sun, the moon, the stars. You’re on such a high pedestal he’s confident of fashioning huge monuments of love from your, er, waste. You know the feeling.
How do you utilize this? Simple. Assuming he’s wholehearted about this reflection process, you give him a list of questions to answer HALFWAY through a DOTA game. Stress that he’s not answering the questions to please you, but to give himself a chance to think about the whole thing properly.
The questions can include:
1. Why me?
2. What do we bring to each other’s lives?
3. What are the obstacles we face?
4. Are the obstacles worth surmounting? Do the efforts outweigh the benefits?
5. Is staying with me now worth it, or should we both look elsewhere first?
For you, the girlfriends of all the DOTA boys out there… I can’t think of any equivalent method by which you can really distance yourself from the relationship, for those few minutes of lucidity. Perhaps, perhaps you could try those quiet nights when he’s busy with DOTA, or you could also go to a soulful, restful place like a church to think about things?
Before I end, this post honestly won’t reach out to many of you. There are just so many different approaches taken towards relationships – some of us want relationships for the long term, some of us want them for the immediate benefits they bring.
Some of us really don’t mind taking the wait-and-see approach, and see no problem with just living the present to the fullest. Why be so fatalistic, Hanting? Why worry so much about making the wrong choices sometimes, why be so fearful of getting hurt? We’re all young, there’s so much to explore!
Maybe it’s just because I feel that blind, indiscriminate love tends to dilute the meaning in every relationship I have had. If I love you, it’s not because of the chemicals in my brain or the headiness of the moment, it’s because… you’ve earned it, by being the person you are.
And if you happen to be similar to me, the sort who prefers to parcel out love in controlled limited-edition quantities, the sort who wants to give his all to a relationship grounded in sturdy, rational foundations, then it would be good if you could just take a short 5 minutes to think about all this yourself.
Wouldn’t you rather have someone learn to love you over a period of time, than to have them love you completely, irrationally right from the start?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Love Me For A Reason...
Part One
A little background is necessary. What is love?
Love, without resort to dictionary reference, is basically the desire to do things for another. You want to care for that person, make that person happy, watch out for him / her. This often comes at significant personal cost, and is irrational to boot.
But then, the more important question remains. HOW does love arise?
This is the very tricky part. You often love someone for a variety of reasons, and try as you will, you just can’t narrow it down to a few key qualities. You say you love someone for their capacity to care, or their sociability, or their reliability.
A little background is necessary. What is love?
Love, without resort to dictionary reference, is basically the desire to do things for another. You want to care for that person, make that person happy, watch out for him / her. This often comes at significant personal cost, and is irrational to boot.
But then, the more important question remains. HOW does love arise?
This is the very tricky part. You often love someone for a variety of reasons, and try as you will, you just can’t narrow it down to a few key qualities. You say you love someone for their capacity to care, or their sociability, or their reliability.
But wouldn’t other people have equal or greater quantities of that quality? In those mixes too? Why do you recognize those qualities in your friends, yet never feel any inclination to pursue a relationship with them?
When pressed, people end up admitting that they can’t quite explain exactly why they want someone, at least at first. They put it down to a whimsical caprice of the human heart, or “chemistry”, if you will.
And that’s when the revelation struck! We humans keep searching for that elusive ingredient, that special thing, and the answer, the answer simply is… chemicals.
Chemicals! Secreted by your brain! Hormones! I have no wish to be cynical and dismissive of the great phenomenon that is Love, but I don’t doubt our body processes have something to do with it too!
Many of us may have read about it before, but I had no idea scientists had already shed light on so many intricacies of the chemical processes. You can read the quite thorough scientific explanations for love, right here. It’s really worth the click.
And the simple summary is this: There are two phases of Love, (1) the Attraction / Lust Phase, and (2) the Attachment Phase. The first Phase is powered by chemicals, the second by true mutual understanding and acknowledgement of qualities.
If the significance of this has not hit you yet, it is this. These sneaky chemicals do the following: they make you obsess about someone, they prevent you from assessing the other person’s qualities rationally, and they can also turn you into a love junkie, someone addicted to relationships for that natural high at the start.
In other words, these chemicals emulate the feelings of True Love.
The evolutionary explanation for these chemical processes is simple. This Chemical Love is the springboard which propels people together, which gives them the confidence to overlook their most immediate differences. Once together, they then have that opportunity to work things out. After all, very few people are matches made in heaven, and great amounts of give-and-take are often required.
This, is the Attraction / Lust Phase of Love.
Then, as your bodies build up resistance to the chemicals, the early passions fade away. By now, you would have already seen all that your partner is good for, and your feelings are truly grounded in rational reasons. There won’t be fireworks, but you’ll get the contented, stable, fulfilling Love older couples experience.
This, is the Attachment Phase of Love.
So why is this information important? It’s because I’ve witnessed too many friends, both male and female, rush into a relationship thinking they may just have found their one perfect mate in life. And it’s only later that they look back and wonder, what the hell were they thinking?
If you had an opportunity to learn how your own brain worked, which would add an extra dimension to the way you approach Love, wouldn’t you take it? My suggestion is, don’t scoff at all this too quickly.
Bookmark the links to read later. This isn’t silly information on how heavy Britney is today, or how many times Snoop Dogg got arrested this month. This WILL affect you in an intricate way someday.
(Part Two will go live in a short while! Otherwise the whole thing would have been so long as to put people off, and for some reason I feel like I reallllllly want to share this with you!)
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Provision Shops
AMK Hub opened recently, and it houses one really mega NTUC Hypermart. And since then I've been telling my mum, please shop there, it offers so much more than the dingy little Shop N' Save (SNS) around the corner does. But she refuses, then smiles, then continues on her routine pilgrimages, a loyal SNS devotee to the end.
Back then I just couldn't understand her. I had been to both places, and the contrast is truly startling, so much so that I found it hard pressed to see just how SNS could be the more attractive option.
Look at NTUC. The variety of goods there is astounding. You can get anything you want, from groceries to clothes to Xboxes. The thrill alone of seeing so many things at your fingertips is enough to entice even the most jaded of shoppers.
Compare that with SNS. It’s cosy, I grant you that, but you can’t really get more than the basic groceries you need. Sure, every once in a while you get special sales of clothes or other household items, but that’s about it really.
Before you conclude that I’m a dolt for not recognizing the million other factors involved, allow me to explain. I noticed too that occasionally my mum would pop by NTUC, or other shops for that matter, to get whatever else she could not find from SNS.
That led me to think, which provision shop ever provides you with all you need? Beyond the tangible physical goods on sale, there are the intangible considerations like convenience, or familiarity with the place, or the shopping experience, things like that. No one shop has it all, and that’s why shoppers frequent different places to satisfy all their needs.
Then it hit me – people are like that too. We’re all provision shops in our own right.
I mean, we all have qualities for sale. It just varies from person to person, the exact composition of our inventory on display. Our personalities and circumstances make up the rest of the equation, the intangible aspects like how approachable we are, how trustworthy, how… convenient.
Just like shops, it’s really quite impossible to imagine finding all that you need in a single person. Emotionally, many times, it seems that way, but the reality is that you do need to find other people too, for different things, to satisfy different needs. You can frequent a certain shop and call yourself a die-hard loyal customer, that’s fine, but you’ll amaze me if you did not need to shop at anywhere else for other things.
I’m sure you have noticed as well, that the strongest romantic relationships are those buoyed with multiple kinships with other people. We might find that our significant other fulfills almost all of our needs in life, but hey, the key word is ‘almost’.
It makes you wonder, does it not, what type of shop you want to be. Which slice of the demographic you want to appeal to, how much effort you will expend in keeping yourself well-stocked, how much different or enticing do you want your customer reward system to be…
And those are just the basic questions. What about the business motivations? Are you opening a shop only for the money? Is it profits-driven (think McDonalds / Walmart) or is it interest-driven, where you want to reach out to customers with the same passions (think hobby shops, or specialty food shops). Are you operating a shop merely because it is a means of survival, or because the business itself is your life?
And just as people are shops in their own way, so too are we shoppers, customers. The teenaged Hanting would settle for nothing less than Borders even if he already had a specific book in mind (the hip factor then was undeniable), but now, now if the NUS Coop had it, it would do just fine. Our priorities change in life, and it may take some time before we figure out exactly what we want when we go shopping, but we will eventually.
Just like my mum did, I guess. For all the bells and whistles NTUC has, SNS is good enough. For the time being.
Back then I just couldn't understand her. I had been to both places, and the contrast is truly startling, so much so that I found it hard pressed to see just how SNS could be the more attractive option.
Look at NTUC. The variety of goods there is astounding. You can get anything you want, from groceries to clothes to Xboxes. The thrill alone of seeing so many things at your fingertips is enough to entice even the most jaded of shoppers.
Compare that with SNS. It’s cosy, I grant you that, but you can’t really get more than the basic groceries you need. Sure, every once in a while you get special sales of clothes or other household items, but that’s about it really.
Before you conclude that I’m a dolt for not recognizing the million other factors involved, allow me to explain. I noticed too that occasionally my mum would pop by NTUC, or other shops for that matter, to get whatever else she could not find from SNS.
That led me to think, which provision shop ever provides you with all you need? Beyond the tangible physical goods on sale, there are the intangible considerations like convenience, or familiarity with the place, or the shopping experience, things like that. No one shop has it all, and that’s why shoppers frequent different places to satisfy all their needs.
Then it hit me – people are like that too. We’re all provision shops in our own right.
I mean, we all have qualities for sale. It just varies from person to person, the exact composition of our inventory on display. Our personalities and circumstances make up the rest of the equation, the intangible aspects like how approachable we are, how trustworthy, how… convenient.
Just like shops, it’s really quite impossible to imagine finding all that you need in a single person. Emotionally, many times, it seems that way, but the reality is that you do need to find other people too, for different things, to satisfy different needs. You can frequent a certain shop and call yourself a die-hard loyal customer, that’s fine, but you’ll amaze me if you did not need to shop at anywhere else for other things.
I’m sure you have noticed as well, that the strongest romantic relationships are those buoyed with multiple kinships with other people. We might find that our significant other fulfills almost all of our needs in life, but hey, the key word is ‘almost’.
It makes you wonder, does it not, what type of shop you want to be. Which slice of the demographic you want to appeal to, how much effort you will expend in keeping yourself well-stocked, how much different or enticing do you want your customer reward system to be…
And those are just the basic questions. What about the business motivations? Are you opening a shop only for the money? Is it profits-driven (think McDonalds / Walmart) or is it interest-driven, where you want to reach out to customers with the same passions (think hobby shops, or specialty food shops). Are you operating a shop merely because it is a means of survival, or because the business itself is your life?
And just as people are shops in their own way, so too are we shoppers, customers. The teenaged Hanting would settle for nothing less than Borders even if he already had a specific book in mind (the hip factor then was undeniable), but now, now if the NUS Coop had it, it would do just fine. Our priorities change in life, and it may take some time before we figure out exactly what we want when we go shopping, but we will eventually.
Just like my mum did, I guess. For all the bells and whistles NTUC has, SNS is good enough. For the time being.
Monday, April 30, 2007
At The Same Point
I recognized him the moment I stepped into the Notebook Service Centre. It wasn't that hard, actually. After all, he had the same hairstyle, same uniform, same demeanour as he did, one full year ago.
Even the flow of our conversation barely differed from back then, and I accurately predicted his responses to every question I posed. It was almost as if... he hadn't moved from that spot at all, in all the 365 days that had since passed.
Now that's really scary, and I'll try to explain why.
Between the Thomson Muggers, we always said six months was the sweet, magic number to watch for. Every six months, we agreed, you could look back at the changes in your life and you would be amazed at how many developments were impossible to predict.
We tested it by looking six months into the future, and then trying to pinpoint the major changes that lay ahead. Our awkward, amateur prophecies almost always met with the same results - there was simply no way we could describe, with any hint of usefulness, how our lives would develop in the near future.
Of course, we had rough checkpoints to guide us. We could say that in six months we would begin our exchange programs, for example, but beyond that there was no way to predict what type of problems we would face, or how enriching the experience would be.
The futility of trying to wrestle the future into obediently revealing itself further sank in every time we TMs met. Upon catching up properly I would notice changes both subtle and stark, like how Alex had acquired a refined air of independence after her exchange, or how Ivan was looking more and more like a walking corpse after all his medical mugging. There was always change, and we merely had to spot it.
That's why the Notebook Man unsettled me. How did he progress in that one year since? Wouldn't meeting all the people who had streamed into his office, have changed the way he responded to them? When did his replies even begin to acquire their own stifling scent of routine / formality?
Could he still be an employee here, 6 months later, doing the exact same job? Or how about 5 years later? Would I one day break the TMs' Law of Personal Change too, and end up stagnating in terms of personal growth?
It would be nice to for one to always be able to look back and recognize all the little achievements and positive changes, wouldn't you say?
Even the flow of our conversation barely differed from back then, and I accurately predicted his responses to every question I posed. It was almost as if... he hadn't moved from that spot at all, in all the 365 days that had since passed.
Now that's really scary, and I'll try to explain why.
Between the Thomson Muggers, we always said six months was the sweet, magic number to watch for. Every six months, we agreed, you could look back at the changes in your life and you would be amazed at how many developments were impossible to predict.
We tested it by looking six months into the future, and then trying to pinpoint the major changes that lay ahead. Our awkward, amateur prophecies almost always met with the same results - there was simply no way we could describe, with any hint of usefulness, how our lives would develop in the near future.
Of course, we had rough checkpoints to guide us. We could say that in six months we would begin our exchange programs, for example, but beyond that there was no way to predict what type of problems we would face, or how enriching the experience would be.
The futility of trying to wrestle the future into obediently revealing itself further sank in every time we TMs met. Upon catching up properly I would notice changes both subtle and stark, like how Alex had acquired a refined air of independence after her exchange, or how Ivan was looking more and more like a walking corpse after all his medical mugging. There was always change, and we merely had to spot it.
That's why the Notebook Man unsettled me. How did he progress in that one year since? Wouldn't meeting all the people who had streamed into his office, have changed the way he responded to them? When did his replies even begin to acquire their own stifling scent of routine / formality?
Could he still be an employee here, 6 months later, doing the exact same job? Or how about 5 years later? Would I one day break the TMs' Law of Personal Change too, and end up stagnating in terms of personal growth?
It would be nice to for one to always be able to look back and recognize all the little achievements and positive changes, wouldn't you say?
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Brother
(I must admit, and apologize, for the disappointing quality of my posts these days. Haha, a friend even complained to me that my posts aren't as funny anymore.
Well, I do try! But I think the new direction to my blog is a good one. I will write as much as I can, but in the meantime, I'm more interested in sharing my little thoughts each day with you. :) )
Tonight, I realized just how much closer my brother and I have gotten over the past few years. I think it had to do with us being more open with each other, sharing stories about life, the decisions we made, the choices we faced.
Back then it was a rare moment indeed for us both to sit and talk, but now, like the way tonight played out, it was a very warm familiar feeling to have him walk in and say, "Hey we need to talk."
And tonight was indeed a momentous night. He came in, sat with me, and told me about his breakup that took place mere hours earlier. In a pained yet controlled tone he detailed how he and his ex had come to the decision mutually, and that both parties had parted as very close friends.
What struck me was the clear, rational thought that guided his actions. They were quite precariously enamoured with each other, yet still decided that this was a good time for both to explore life, explore University / Army, explore other people. They recognized too the other hurdles in their way, and had clearly acknowledged each and every one.
I was mightily impressed. He had effectively learnt to deal with his emotions, managed to think more than a few steps ahead, and just saved himself and the girl no small amount of pain later. He may only be 19 years of age this year, but I somehow felt he was mature beyond his years.
So I'm dedicating this post to him, in memory of the night when I felt I no longer needed to guide him quite as closely anymore. You've really done me proud, and very few people can ever do that for me.
Well, I do try! But I think the new direction to my blog is a good one. I will write as much as I can, but in the meantime, I'm more interested in sharing my little thoughts each day with you. :) )
Tonight, I realized just how much closer my brother and I have gotten over the past few years. I think it had to do with us being more open with each other, sharing stories about life, the decisions we made, the choices we faced.
Back then it was a rare moment indeed for us both to sit and talk, but now, like the way tonight played out, it was a very warm familiar feeling to have him walk in and say, "Hey we need to talk."
And tonight was indeed a momentous night. He came in, sat with me, and told me about his breakup that took place mere hours earlier. In a pained yet controlled tone he detailed how he and his ex had come to the decision mutually, and that both parties had parted as very close friends.
What struck me was the clear, rational thought that guided his actions. They were quite precariously enamoured with each other, yet still decided that this was a good time for both to explore life, explore University / Army, explore other people. They recognized too the other hurdles in their way, and had clearly acknowledged each and every one.
I was mightily impressed. He had effectively learnt to deal with his emotions, managed to think more than a few steps ahead, and just saved himself and the girl no small amount of pain later. He may only be 19 years of age this year, but I somehow felt he was mature beyond his years.
So I'm dedicating this post to him, in memory of the night when I felt I no longer needed to guide him quite as closely anymore. You've really done me proud, and very few people can ever do that for me.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Internal Issues
Have you caught Blithe Spirit? It's a comedy drama about a man who accidentally summons the ghost of his first wife, resulting in mayhem as the man, his second wife and the spirit all try to coexist.
And while I was much amused and entertained by the fantastic character portrayals and beautiful language, one underlying theme stood out quite starkly. That of... how it is your perspective / attitude (and not things like wedding vows) that determines how long you can stay together with a partner.
You see, [spoilers ahead!!] when the first wife returned, the husband was ecstatic. They revisited old memories, indulged in long conversations, and rediscovered tender sides to their personalities that had been stashed away.
Yet, within a few weeks, old problems once again reared their ugly mugs. The audience soon saw that their marraige really never was perfect, that it had its own serious flaws, and that there was no way they could have spent eternity together. And eventually, they decided to part again, despite all the good there was to them.
That was a very good illumination of the way people handle staying together, wouldn't you agree?
I'll try to explain. I think it's very very rare for two people to be perfect for each other their entire lives. There are a million other factors, like their stages in life, their needs at that moment, their circumstances. Thus, I always thought it was normal for people to break up and move on, for it is silly to expect life-time commitments all the time.
So, why then is marriage such a big deal? Why is it that at a certain stage, we say ok we will persevere no matter what happens, only upon death do we part?
My point is, I think marriage as a precursor to life-long commitment is an illusion. It is an excuse for people to believe that they have changed for the better, that with the exchange of vows, they will magically keep trying until they die. Marriage does not automatically make you able to commit for life.
Because, if the marriage (after weighing everything, of course, like kids and what not) is not worth it in the end, why should one remain trapped by vows that no longer hold the same meaning?
I’m not encouraging divorce. I’m saying that how one wants to deal with relationships, should come from within, and not from external social obligations like marriage.
I’m saying that at the end of the day, it boils down to what kind of person you are.
If you’re the wanderer sort, who enjoys meaningful relationships but refuse to be tied down for life, no marriage vow will ever chain you. If you’re the other sort, the kind who refuses to leave as long as (in totality) the relationship is worth it, you’ll also hardly need vows to stay together for life.
The couple in Blithe Spirit… they never dealt with surfacing problems, merely sweeping them under. There was no give-and-take. They clearly wanted to pursue their own agendas. It was that which drove them apart eventually.
To end this on a positive note, it is entirely possible for some relationships to last a lifetime. When the external factors are right, and you are ready to commit, you will naturally become the sort of person who is able to last with another to the finish line.
And you wouldn’t even have to have an official marriage to do that.
And while I was much amused and entertained by the fantastic character portrayals and beautiful language, one underlying theme stood out quite starkly. That of... how it is your perspective / attitude (and not things like wedding vows) that determines how long you can stay together with a partner.
You see, [spoilers ahead!!] when the first wife returned, the husband was ecstatic. They revisited old memories, indulged in long conversations, and rediscovered tender sides to their personalities that had been stashed away.
Yet, within a few weeks, old problems once again reared their ugly mugs. The audience soon saw that their marraige really never was perfect, that it had its own serious flaws, and that there was no way they could have spent eternity together. And eventually, they decided to part again, despite all the good there was to them.
That was a very good illumination of the way people handle staying together, wouldn't you agree?
I'll try to explain. I think it's very very rare for two people to be perfect for each other their entire lives. There are a million other factors, like their stages in life, their needs at that moment, their circumstances. Thus, I always thought it was normal for people to break up and move on, for it is silly to expect life-time commitments all the time.
So, why then is marriage such a big deal? Why is it that at a certain stage, we say ok we will persevere no matter what happens, only upon death do we part?
My point is, I think marriage as a precursor to life-long commitment is an illusion. It is an excuse for people to believe that they have changed for the better, that with the exchange of vows, they will magically keep trying until they die. Marriage does not automatically make you able to commit for life.
Because, if the marriage (after weighing everything, of course, like kids and what not) is not worth it in the end, why should one remain trapped by vows that no longer hold the same meaning?
I’m not encouraging divorce. I’m saying that how one wants to deal with relationships, should come from within, and not from external social obligations like marriage.
I’m saying that at the end of the day, it boils down to what kind of person you are.
If you’re the wanderer sort, who enjoys meaningful relationships but refuse to be tied down for life, no marriage vow will ever chain you. If you’re the other sort, the kind who refuses to leave as long as (in totality) the relationship is worth it, you’ll also hardly need vows to stay together for life.
The couple in Blithe Spirit… they never dealt with surfacing problems, merely sweeping them under. There was no give-and-take. They clearly wanted to pursue their own agendas. It was that which drove them apart eventually.
To end this on a positive note, it is entirely possible for some relationships to last a lifetime. When the external factors are right, and you are ready to commit, you will naturally become the sort of person who is able to last with another to the finish line.
And you wouldn’t even have to have an official marriage to do that.
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