unwelcome shutterbug

It was a back alley somewhere in Chinatown. (I don't really know where but had stumbled upon it as i let myself wander about the area.) I had decided to walk into a corner instead of past the shophouses lining the main road. That turned out to be a rewarding move, for i chanced upon a mini flea market of sorts which i never knew existed in this part of Chinatown.

The first thing that one noticed isn't the haphazardly displayed items being laid on some groundsheet. It's the sellers who were sitting idly by their makeshift stalls on either sides of the alley. Unlike other flea markets which are often bigger and most certainly would have young entreprenuers selling their stuff, this one consists only of a few sellers, most of whom are doubtless in their sixties. Even the few passers-by who had stopped to examine the things displayed, they were mostly middle-aged adults. But of course, it was a lazy afternoon and here is an obscure corner of Chinatown, probably the reason why this small hub of activities had sprung up.

I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, observing the people and studying the scene in the least unintrusive way. But the rather bulky camera that i was holding made for unwanted attention. When i turned to the other side of the alley separated by a small road that joins the main road from where i had turned into, i caught sight of a roadside barber, one of those dying trades that belonged to the era of the 50s or 60s. The space in which the barber operated his business is but the size of a bathroom, sheltered by a canvass that is held up by wooden poles. At the centre of this small space is the central feature - an inclined armchair which his customers sit on to have their hair cut. From where i stood, which is a few polite metres away, i observed that the barber was trimming the nose-hair of his elderly customer.

I was thrilled. Somewhat possessing the the mentality of a prying, self-conceited photographer, the first thought that came to my mind was: I have to capture this rare find. But i had to do so without incurring the possible wrath of my subject. Inasmuch as one is just a curious, harmless photographer taking snapshots of the things and people that he comes across, I believe it is something akin to being unethical were one to take a picture of someone who is against being photographed. Two shots were snapped hurriedly when i realised that the barber was done with the customer. But as they were taken without any focus, i felt compelled to linger around and capture better shots when the next customer comes along. It was then that i became aware of a man standing not farwaway who was eyeing me warily. I did not look at him, not wanting to give him the impression that i was aware of his attention. Instead, in the most nonchalant and insouciant manner i could muster, i turned away and strolled back to the other side of the alley.

I walked about and surveyed the smorgasbord of items that were up for sale. They range from the usual old CDs - even pirated DVDs - and cassette tapes to the likes of plastic toys from the 80s, lighters, jade rings and other paraphernalia. A player was emitting a slow-tempo hokkien oldie sung by a high-pitched female singer - the image of a songstress in cheongsam singing comes to mind - that registered a rather lazy quality, as though the song had floated langurously through the air before reaching my ears, suffusing the entire backlane alley with a nostlagic atmosphere.

A woman whose entire hair is greyish-white spotted me trying to take a picture with her in the background, and she instintively held up a plastic board and covered her face away from the unwelcome lens of my camera. Feeling uneasy myself, i felt guilty of having become the face of an unwelcome, trouble-inviting photographer who with a camera in his hands can only possess selfish motives. This was all the more acutely felt as i wondered if these elderly people are making a living out of this. My presence was doing them nothing good, and in fact, it was their presence which i now appeared keen to exploit. Whether or not these people are licensed to sell their stuff here, it seems to me that they represent the part of our society who are robbed of their time by modernity and relentless progress. And how ironic it seems that Chinatown embodies that all-important link to our heritage and past, yet is simultaneously also a testament of rapid development and change, courting crowds of tourists to experience a taste of Chinatown, that quintessential place in cities around the world that supposedly exhibits cultural traits that are common to all Chinese in the world.

I walked back to the other side where the barber was at. This time around, the man who had observed me with a cynical eye earlier was lying on the armchair. Alas, as i walked in his direction with the camera in my hands - but not taking aim or anything - he finally spoke what was running through his mind when he first spotted me. 'You don't take any photos here,' he said in a steady, defiant voice as his stern gaze followed my every movement. A chill went down my spine but i once again pulled off an indifferent look, seemingly paying no heed to what he had just said. I avoided looking at him but merely walked on, neither hurrying nor slowing my footsteps. I meant to prove him wrong, that although i had my camera in my hands, i hadn't the intention to photograph him having his hair-cut; his worries are thus unfounded. Thank god there was a corner just ahead and i turned into it almost as a natural course, as if my purpose in walking this direction was only to get there and nothing else. Stealing a quick glance as i was about to disappear from the man's sight, i saw that his gaze had not left me even as i was surely leaving the scene. I thought, this guy surely has something against benign-looking lads like me holding a normal digital camera that isn't even the kind used by an amateur photographer. He had a most unfriendly and insistent stare that cuts to your bone and which conveys a quiet but powerful dislike for any creature that carries a camera.

It was well that the afternoon was getting late and i needed to get home soon. This was actually the first time i had set off on a trip just to take random shots of things that i come across. I had decided that Chinatown wouldn't disappoint, for it has always been that odd place trapped between the past and the demands of the future. Yet I must say that even as Chinatown isn't quite what it used to be, there are still many scenes and things that are worthy of appreciation. You need to take time to walk the area in order to appreciate its multifarious contents, be it the large elderly crowd who live in the area or wjo hang around with their friends in the day, or the gentrified buildings that are justaposed with the looming commercial buildings at the fringe. Not many a young person today would find much in Chinatown that is attractive or a cool place to hang around, but i've grown to like the place a lot. Maybe someday in the future i will hopefully find the time to spend another afternoon visiting other alleys and backlanes which i surely have never set foot on.

Out of respect for the people whom i came across at that back alley, i shan't be posting here any of the photos that i took of the place and of them.

postcards from chinatown

Trucked off

Behind the gates

Company

(still) awake at 430am writing this

The meeting-up-cum-night-ride tonight was good. It felt like the good ol Friday leisure night ride was back. Being a farewell dinner of sorts for Dan who's going to Norway for his SEP, the focus wasn't on the ride. We headed East from our meeting point at the esplanade, where there were huge balls floating on the river at its front, and cycled a short distance to Upper East Coast Road. This was the first time i've been to the night eating place. The drinks and desserts they have are reputedly very good. I ordered 'si mud' tea which is basically just milk tea; it tasted all right. Not long after we sat down, two prominent local celebrities came along and they received immediate attention from the waiter who served them promptly. Heads turned and there was murmuring across the tables - as did happen at our table - but that was about it. No one stared rudely or continued to talk about the pair of celebrities after spotting them initially, much less approach them. Most of the patrons are young adults (late twenties to thirties) who were there having supper with their friends - very much like ourselves indeed. EY commented that in S'pore the paparazzi is not needed - because this place is so small, word gets around quickly. I say our local celebrities and other well-known public figures - whatever their profession is - have it good, coz our media/paparazzi ain't the invasive sort found in Hong Kong and Taiwan.

The ride was good because, as with past friday night rides, which were then a more frequent event, it finished off with a chit-chat session over drinks and light makan. Typically i'm the more quiet one because i have little intimate knowledge about cycling news and bikes, unlike the rest of them who are truly well-informed cyclists. My ignorance therefore precludes me from contributing much to the conversation. Nevertheless, laughter usually flows with easy abundance, for there would always be crass humour, coarse jokes or cheeky, laugh-out-loud comments from someone amongst us.

Tonight was no different.

no write

a host of reasons has kept me away from blogging, but mainly it's because i am feeling rather weary of many things. Being the very perfectionist me, i don't want to ramble aimlessly when the inspiration for writing is sorely absent.

I opened and read an email sent by a friend a long time ago, and there i was, smiling at his words which are all so knowingly foreboding:

"well in the US, people generally avoid courses where there are singaporeans. of course it's not the same for me, coz i'm so lousy that even the americans beat me! ugh... all my top boy genes go down the drain already. sad man. can't wait for graduation, really. wq you're almost there! after that can do all the exciting things like circling ads in the news paper and all that....

"so anyway, hope you have a great year ahead, hope nothing gets in your way and hope the years pass by like scenery in a moving car!"

Well...it's always the little notes, emails and words that people have said which bring a cheer to you whenever you recall them. words can fail us at times yet they also convey so much and make us go through the gamut of emotions - laughter, pain, anger, excitement etc.

my friend who wrote that note, he writes great poetry and songs, and he is able to create refreshing metaphors that are always so delightful, that have the capacity to move and leave a deep impression. I don't know if my years will pass by like scenery in a moving car, but i hope the engine of the car will be sturdy so that it will not cause car-breakdown so often along the long journey ahead of me.

well kept secrets

It's that time of the year again when you do your personal stocktaking. You dig into the deepest corners of your cupboards and drawers, rummaginng through old stuff that comprises old keepsakes as well as dusty albums, notebooks and what not. Not that you wanted very much to go through this tiring ritual, but you needed to clear away or rearrange your personal items to create badly-needed space for new additions.

Many of the things you find, they probably have little or no practical value. But you are loath to discard them. Some things, you can't just justify their utility (or lack thereof) based on hard-headed rationality. It isn't just about precious memories of the past, of people and of incidents, that make you cling to them. Often, you are reluctant to part with them because to do so would be akin to a seeming act of self-betrayal, as if you have decided to sever important links that reside in those items which, over the years, have been relegated to obscure corners in your room.

In a bid to free up space on my cluttered work desk, i once again opened up all my drawers and cupboards, surverying how i shall go about to create additional space. Each time i do this, i am surprised that there actually are still things which i can afford to throw away, even if this seemed to be forced by circumstances. It's either because i take a longer time to convince myself that such and such actually has no use anymore, or that i have unknowingly discriminated against my possession, deciding that certain things are more important than the rest. The truth is probably something simpler: i have accumulated too much rubbish which hasn't been disposed of, and now's the time to act.

In the midst of my clearing the cupboard, i found certain things that got me re-acquainted with my early years all over again. Things which are probably worthy of grandfather stories many years down the road; things which may find unlikely historical value thrust upon them with the passing of time. First i took out a small box out of a yet bigger shoe box used to keep various little items. The small box contains phonecards which i used to collect at a time when it was still fashionable and obligatory to use public phones. There are so many of them, i wonder who i had called up when they were in use. Of course, many of them were taken from my mum after she had used them. Judging from the value of the cards, one wonders if the amount spent on purchasing them is not comparable to the mobile phone bills that are chalked up presently.

But i digress. Collecting phonecards is a simple hobby that i had picked up at an age when one is given to collecting all kinds of things, in part because there were limited entertainment and activities. Certainly it's not the forgettable memories of using smelly public phones that had me collecting them. New and different designs of phone cards were released frequently and different priced cards had different designs. Typically, the higher valued ones like $10 or $20 have prettier designs. These were the ones that i could only check out at the shops but otherwise had no money to buy. I also had no wish to purchase them. By buying the $2 and $3 ones, which would be used up in a shorter time, i would be able to own more cards. This, to a young boy who thinks only in terms of numbers - the bigger the better - is of course more important than owning exotic designed cards. I remember the different designs often fascinate me, not unlike how a child gets excited over worthless stickers (which become destroyed the sooner they come into his possession). Aesthetically, the phone cards are very appealing. Sometimes they have pictures of animals or vintage vehicles, other times they are simply portraits of different aspects of Singaporean life.

At some point of time, however, mobile phones become cheap enough for widespread possession and use. It wasn't a sudden realisation that i had ceased collecting phonecards (because they were no more), nor did the realisation ever really sink into my consciousness. It's the kind of thing which will just fade away quietly, until one day you rediscover them and reminisce about their history.

Not just my collection of phonecards, but i have also old watches, key chains, an unfunctioning pager, etc. etc. These are the things which i probably will never throw away unless a fire breaks out in my home one day and burns everything (Choi!).

the aftermath

Post marathon, i felt like i have dutifully finished the second round of examinations, that with its completion my holidays can finally be said to begin proper. Just like the school exams that i've had, the run on Sunday was an anticipated event, one that awaited to be finished with the full knowledge that once it's over all suffering would end. I make it sounds like i've been put through great misery that is of my own doing, but this is not true. Yes, my legs have been aching since after the run yesterday and, yes, the run was painful indeed. But as others who have taken part and who did their best would have you know, nothing beats the euphoria of having accomplished a marathon. It's not everyday that one takes the effort (which is considerable in extent) to run such distance, especially when one is neither an athlete nor a runner by profession. What i want to say is that as the marathon is over now, this brings to a close a chapter of my life in year 2005, so to speak. My schedule for the remaining days of the year, as it is, is now free from events and appointments that invariably inundate our personal calender. Which is why while one is still a student, the school vacation is always a delightful prospect. It provides an important respite that allows the human body to rest and refuel, the human mind to reflect.

Training
Training for the marathon started in earnest in August, although this little fact gives a completely lopsided picture of the truth. Twice a week Jon, EY and I would run 8km round campus, and this culminated in our running the army half-marathon in September. After that, as school work caught up with all of us, the frequency of training inevitably took a plunge, especially the weeks just before the marathon. Our training was very inconsistently maintained, to say the least. If one were aiming for a personal best timing in the marathon, there's no doubt that a training regime has to be adhered to diligently. To that end, Jon and I were hardly harsh on ourselves because we didn't set out to run the fastest that we could - we had neither the drive nor the wish to achieve that.

Gungho EY
On the other hand, EY, who has run the Philadelphia marathon the year before, had great aspirations. I knew him through cycling but it was through our training for the marathon that i got to know him better. A focused, imaginative, confident and often humourous guy, he pursues his interests with great passion. So much so that it was in fact his enthusiasm and discipline that pushed Jon and i to keep up with the weekly training. Without his participation, i can safely say for myself and Jon that we would be taking things easy and would most certainly not have trained as diligently as we had. For he's the one who takes note of how fast or slow we run, whether our timing has deteriorated, makes plan for running progressively longer distance, etc. etc. This was a far cry from two years ago, when Jon and I ran the same marathon without any proper training.

Race Day morning: Deja Vu
430am - i reached the stadium just in time before the chartered bus was about to leave. I wasn't feeling excited, nor was i worried. I got on the bus and was greeted by a scene reminiscent of army days. It was the wee hours of the morning, passengers on the bus were mostly - overwhelmingly - young males, and what's more, a quick scan on the bus registers the unmistakable observation that most of the fellow marathoners have very short and neat hair, not unlike that of a typcial soldier. Perhaps i shouldn't be surprised, since i've noticed that most people who do sports regularly tend to prefer to keep their hair short.

The Run
For the majority of us, when we attempt a difficult, unfamiliar or new task, especially one that challenges our comfort zone and mental strength, we are bound to feel jittery, excitement perhaps, a keen sense of anticipation definitely. I felt none of that before the race started nor during the race itself. I hadn't expected to. This being not the first marathon that i'm running, i had no mental barrier to overcome. I knew that with a comfortable pace the first 21km was going to be easy-going, even enjoyable. The sun's not out yet at 6am and you run in the early hours amid a city that gradually emerges from darkness to daylight, though in the midst of running you probably wouldn't bother to appreciate or notice the change. As the day slowly approaches noon the heat is acutely felt and makes every minute of your run increasingly unbearable. After the 30km mark every kilometer seems such a neverending stretch - there's a signboard showing the distance covered at every kilometer interval - that you begin to wonder whether the authorities have made a mistake with the measurement of distance. All this i had expected to face during the run, and all this i did experience on the actual run.

As EY so titled his blog post, 'doing it for the second time does not make it any easier', this is certainly true of my second attempt. Yet on hindsight, having done the marathon before makes you mentally prepared for the challenge. When every part of your leg aches terribly in protest while the scorching sun (the heat this year was exceptionally excruciating) hangs resolutely above throughout the morning, this calls for perseverance and self-motivation to work against conditions of adversity. It is when you merely have to grit your teeth and run on, resisting the constant urge to quit running and walk mostly for the remaining distance. Of course this is provided one has done sufficient training, for it would be utterly foolish to persist running and risk self-afflicted injuries if one wasn't prepared.

Why run a marathon then?
Firstly, i never aspire to run a marathon. Running certainly isn't my cup of tea. I find it a fairly monotonous activity and, besides, in the long term it does damage to your knees. i signed up because Jon wanted to, because two silly young men wanted to prove their worth while they still are able to do so. Secondly, because i need motivation to run regularly, which the marathon provided me with. It is a goal whose fufilment requires commitment and purposeful planning; it forces me to make a concious effort to run regularly. As someone who has to take the IPPT every year, it's important that i keep up with running, yet the problem is that i am not motivated to do so. Signing up to run a marathon helps in that sense. Above all, i run with my friends, something which is important because i just can't bring myself to run on my own. Having company is definitely essential for someone who lacks self-discipline.

In the end, i reckon i've never before clocked so much running mileage in a few months. Thanks to the company of Jon and EY, there was never a dull moment during our training.
Now, the third day after the marathon, i am quite fortunate and surprised that my legs have taken a shorter time to recover than the last time. I'm not sure if i would do it again next year, but if i were to, this time i would aim for a personal best timing - before my knees give way and age catches up.

Re: my tom yang diarrhoea friend

On msn with my tom yang diarrhoea friend:

gin: uncle where's the p-h-o-t-o?
him: still in the camera lol
gin: can u make urself a useful man
him: hmm
him: lazy to xfer until the card gets almost full haha
gin: ur holiday is going to be bad. Coz i say so. Coz u aren't uploading ur photos
him: choy
.
.
him: r u writing an email telling everyone abt my inefficiency at uploading photos
gin: i wasn't. but since u mentioned this, i shall blog about it

from where i live

It is not a breathtaking scene, just a typical view of the suburban landscape which I live in, very nondescript. You need not take a closer look to agree that its character is given by the ubiquitous HDB high-rise flats that litter the landscape. Incidentally, this is taken from the block which i live in. But I never find this scene that greets me everyday attractive, mainly because it is very ordinary, you can probably see this from any high-points in the heartland.

Whenever the sky turns ominously dark and heavy cumulus clouds hung threateningly low, however, i invariably find myself surveying the scene. It is a scene that is always there, unchanging no matter the days or months or years that have gone by. It was on one such occasion that it dawned on me how far and wide the landscape encompasses. There aren't any spectacular landmarks, nor are there verdant mountain tops or rivers within sight. But it is a reassuring sight whose vastness seems only visible when rain or stormy weather is imminent.

a fruit scene

This is where passerbys walk slowly through the small pathway during busy periods, keeping a lookout for fruits that look and smell fresh. It is where fruit-sellers lay long (singlish: to display; to parade) their stuff, shouting at the top of their voices, cajoling and impressing upon interested buyers to buy something. Apples, durians, bananas - you name it, they have it.

Twenty-three days ago

The venue: Fish and Co at Wheelock Place. The occasion: A simple dinner, a get-together, if you like. The atmosphere: like the good old days, where conversations, laughter, bad jokes, silly remarks and harmless jibes flow freely.

There were 8 of us, a number i reckon neither too big nor too small, comfortable enough to allow everyone to interact with one another for the entire evening. Five years have gone by - knowingly and unknowingly - but some things remain the same, I realise. Like the yellow-tee that Jul wore. Or the dimpled smile of t*.

But there are other less discernible but surely more salient matters that remain unchanged despite the passage of time: our personalities. This is the one thing that makes us know what to expect of each other, what to anticipate of our meeting and how to riposte that smart jibe spewing out of someone's mouth every so often (of course sometimes you just roll your eyes or laugh mockingly, or you go 'yah..yah..'). Maybe if it were only 3 or 4 of us, there might be some awkard moments; but in general, the presence of a few outspoken and loquacious people ensures that there is seldom a minute that goes by without something being talked about.

Marc is still that rotund, if a little unkempt, guy who speaks coarsely, says a lot of nonsense and has a mind full of lascivious thoughts. Perhaps he never got round to imbibing the finer points of social propriety that limit acceptable behaviour between Man and Woman, what with his sometimes indecent questions or proposals that offend. But by and large, he means no disrespect. If he irritates, i daresay he's behaving in an immature manner that is so his nature. The way to go is to beat him at his own game. Which is not too difficult since most of us are at any time more than ready to join forces and turn the tables on him. Unless of course he is making fun of, well, jw.

jw's the other peculiar guy who hasn't changed much. He is still single-mindedly devoted to his other half who wasn't with us that night. Apart from the fact that he is now even wealthier than he was before, his very-short-haircut, his persistent questions and his deep-seated insistence on not wanting to feel indebted to anyone - these are the traits that very much still inform our opinion of him. There is, however, a persistent depressing side of his outlook which stems from various inhibitions that are self-imposed. As far as I believe, since the day he won the heart of his life-partner, he has gained a new-found confidence that mitigates his depressing outlook of life and friendships. On a different note, he is doubtless the one amongst us who has a certain and promising path ahead of him.

You never quite know when you have made the transition into yet another stage in life, one which is at least quite different from the previous stage to be worthy of being regarded a new phase. But there are significant details or momentous changes in life that hint at or blatantly signal the passing of years and coming of age. And it need not be graduation or landing that first job. Whenever i speak to and interact with long-time friends I am always reminded of how far we have come since our school days. Once impecunious schoolgoers whose duty is just attending school everyday, doing homework and enjoying an occasional gathering with one or two groups of close friends, most of us have unavoidably metamorphosed into preoccupied individuals who now command financial independence. Where we used to dig into our thin wallets to make sure we have enough to pay for our meals, now there are enough credit cards to compete for payment - because there is no cash to spare. Where anxious dads or mums would upon the call of their child drive out to pick them up from anywhere, now almost everyone has attained their driving licence, while some drive their own cars and others plan to buy their own.

It's not feelings of envy or maudlin sentimentality that underlie these remarks. Usually, the most trivial details surrounding our lives cannot but come to my attention or creep into my consciousness. They are a fact and when they come to my attention, I just ponder over their (in)signficance. At some point of time, they simply stand out from the generality of things and force you to take note of them. Inevitably, since they usually constitute connections between certain aspects of our past and the present, there is an element of nostalgia to whatever ensuing thoughts produced.

That evening, we had an ad hoc celebration for jw and t*, one whose birthday was the following day while the other's had just passed. At NYDC, we sang a birthday song that came on rather spontaneously. It's been a long time since we've sang birthday songs in public for a friend, and at that moment we seem to have returned to our school days.

As i recall this now, i remember, fondly, that singing birthday songs was a ritual put to good use during our school days - they delay the tutor from starting the lesson.

My tom yang diarrhoea friend

There was some precious few minutes left before the doors of the examination hall would open. I saw a decent space not faraway from where i stood and decided that i shall settle for it. Sitting down rather than standing around would be far better for me to absorb whatever final notes i still could. Approaching there, however, i caught sight of someone slouching on the ground, his back slumped against the drab concrete wall. Unmistakably, that was Mr Teoks: he was almost half-lying on the ground, though, unlike me, he didn't have any notes in his hands.

I went over next to him and exclaimed mockingly (but very mildly), "someone looks very prepared and full of confidence yah." To which he was quick to retort: "this is called Can't Be Bothered." I sat down next to him, and for that precious few minutes thereafter, he kinda ruined my last ditch attempt to finish reading the copious amounts of notes in my hands. I shall blame him for my bad results.

We didn't make any plans to meet up after the paper but nevertheless, we had dinner together at Holland V. ( I found out that the carpark that was still in construction when i last went there is now in operation.) This being the end of a traumatic period of being entrapped in the terrifying place called school library, we both were in agreement that we could do with some good food to nourish ourselves. But the thing is, both of us being very hawker-centre kind of people, we ain't have any idea where is a good place to dine. And both of us also being very sui bian kind of people (as in anything goes for us or accomodating), we spent a lot of time discussing what would be the most judicious decision for post-exam dinner. And so, from one end of holland v we walked right to the other end before turning and walking down the same path back. Along the way, we saw an apparently new restuarant that is offering pasta for a mere $2.99. That makes us seriously wonder what the size of the serving would be.

I wanted to go on and write about how many other stops and hesistations and considerations we made before we finally settled for Thai Express, but i am too tired to go on. It would be as long as the time we took to walk round the entire Holland V before finally walking into Thai Express. By which time, we had already become two miserable, famished students.

I don't know if ever laksa is served without any noodles or, more specifically, whether Thai laksa is served with or without noodles. I wouldn't have questioned this until Teoks asked me that. He wanted to order one of the laksa dishes but did not do so in the end, because we wanted Tom Yam seafood soup. The soup turned out to be the best dish for our dinner because it was really authentic - sweet, sour and spicy, and without the oiliness that characterises most local versions of tom yam soup. Then came yet another comment from Teoks which rather amuses me: "I think i will have diarrhoea later because that's what always happens to me after eating my tom yam cup noodles." I did not hesistate to correct his gross misjudgement: "Hello, this is genuine tom yam soup alright; those that got you your diarrhoea, they are fake!"

Besides that, during and after the dinner, i took his very-slim camera (which he always brings along with him) to take some random pictures. I reminded him later via sms to send me the photos and it elicited this friendly sms reply from him: "Yup ill post it in a month or two dun worry." I was too polite to heap my curses on him.

I must say dinner was good. There wasn't any haste to get things done, the food was decent, and the service (always an important factor) was pleasing.
Lovely.

it's that time of the week again

No wonder my mood was particularly light when i took a walk to the market-place just now. Why, of course it is Sunday. The sky was turning dark as i strolled on the side-walkway and i could see the bright lights of the coffeeshops from afar. There was an air of excitement but it wasn't that of the atmosphere one finds in the raucous morning market. Families had congregated at the various coffeeshops and were having their dinner. This time of the day and week, the zi char stores at every kopitiam doubtless are at their busiest, taking orders and serving food for many a Singaporean family. I find it usually quite heartening to walk past these kopitiams, seeing small kids and grandparents alike with their other family members enjoying dinner together. Having grown up in the HDB heartland all my living years, this is a common sight which i am all too familiar with. I guess the kopitiam scene in the weekend evening depicts a very Singaporean aspect that strikes a chord with me. The shops and the facade of the market place may change over the years but not the feelings that it inspires in one who grew up breathing and living its vibes, with all its chaotic and colourful contents.

cause for excitement

I have many disparate and sporadic observations that can be put into words here, but they would appear disjointed and meaningless; now's not the right time to blog, though it is quite apparent that i am doing it in any case.

Just a week ago, the library was filled with so many people that it actually made for a horrible sight, what with the intense congregation of muggers, muggers and - more muggers. Now there are fewer souls around, most of whom doubtless are connected to one another by the one miserable fate which they share: exams are not done yet. The only comfort for me is that in another two days i shall depart from this group and thereby regain my freedom. Freedom from the tyranny of examination and freedom to pursue my interests. I shall be able to eat healthy and sleep healthy; exercise on a more frequent basis without the imbalance in lifestyle to ruin its positive gains; and my mind shall be cleansed of unnecessary theories and academic concepts.

There's much to be excited about, as it is. (Never mind that i am sounding as if i have fulfilled my dilligent role when the truth is I have been so hopelessly l.a.z.y)

cheers to a sunny weather

I realise that somehow the weather, of all things, is always able to inspire me to write. It could be the sun, rain or a thunderstorm - such natural conditions affect my mood and trigger many thoughts. I become variously contemplative, melancholy or exhilarted. And that makes me feel like writing about the weather as well as other stuff which are essentially just ramblings.

So far, this morning i have been able to exercise discipline by focusing on my readings longer than i usually do. I can't of course attribute this to the weather; that would be quite absurd. Still, the sunny weather today cheered me a little somewhat. The warmth generated was a lovely departure from the past few days of torrential rains and strong winds, which had kind of brought along with them a persistent sense of gloom. This morning, however, I looked up at the sky and was pleasantly greeted by a clear, blue sky that was interspersed with pockets of thick, white clouds, none of which, though, were menacing or boded ill weather for the rest of the day. The prospects for the day seem also bright. Or maybe my good mood was due to the lingering endorphin from the late night run yesterday. My day started on a positive note and it really needed to be that way.

Four more days to go and hopefully there would be more active writing from me. I need a break from all the leaden academic writings. Already, I am thrilled that finally there would be time for unfinished books, magazines, photo-taking and, above all, doing little or nothing.

sunday bliss

Sunday - you typically feel more laid-back as the pace of life slows down. Unless you join the throngs in town, in the hustle and bustle of city living, the residential suburbs can be a good place to spend some peaceful moments. If you pause during the weekdays, take a deep breath and survey the neighbourhood, you probably would realise that Monday, Tuesday or the rest of the week is no different from Sunday. But boy, does Sunday make a whole lot of difference! The air smells somwhat fresher; the road below with the same trees lining its sides looks less busy; and the nondescript playground, the street soccer court - in fact, the entire park - they seem to exude a lovely serenity, seeing it alone from the balcony of your flat cheers you up and calms your mind.

Admittedly, the hot Sunday afternoon can really kill your spirits. Add to that the lack of good programmes on TV during this time, and you may find your Sunday spent at home to be a chore; or a complete waste of the most important day of the week - which you will lament when the day draws to a close and you are confronted with pre-Monday blues. The thing is to keep yourself occupied during the early afternoon, like reading a book and surfing the net or maybe meeting up with some friends for coffee or other leisure activities. But always stay away from the claustrophobic town.

In the late afternoon/evening however, this is the best time to enjoy your Sunday at home or in your neighbourhood without feeling a grudge. You usually don't get to enjoy this part of the day on other days because chances are - if you are a regular 8 to 5 worker, that is - you will be travelling or just knocking off from work. As such, during the week you won't bother to pay attention to the surroundings or appreciate your abode because you simply are too tired. Even meeting your neighbours or trudging past other residents in the area - who are also trudging their way home - is dreadful and hopefully avoidable. And if you had a lousy day at work or in school, everything else becomes oblivious of your attention because you made a conscious effort to shut your mind.

Sunday is different. There's no rushing home from work, no ceaseless movements of returning folks filling every possible space in the neighbourhood, no foul mood and, most important, no tired spirits. Because you are in a completely relaxed and easy mood, you are able to take greater notice of things around you, things which are inconsequential but have a beauty of their own - things which otherwise usually escape your attention. For example, as dusk approaches the sun seems also aware that this is Sunday and not other days, for it seems no hurry to retire for the day and then doing so in an unobtrusive way. The afternoon heat gives way to mild sunshine whose luxuriant rays now provide warmth, not a source of irritant. As the breeze makes contact with your skin, you feel positively refreshed and upbeat. There is less traffic on the roads and fewer people in the streets (as everyone is at their home or their parents or grandparents' home eating dinner), all of which make for a pleasant and serene atmosphere, so much so that it would be a pity not to get out of home and take a stroll outside. It is of course really because on a Sunday you should have little or no work, that you are in the perfect state of mind to be able to pause and enjoy such ordinary details. You are grateful for the fact that in the human calendar, at least a day each week - for most people in any case - is set aside not for work.

I like my Sunday evenings best, because this is when life comes closer to being simpler and idyllic. It is when i get to appreciate the otherwise sterile neighbourhood during most part of the week. When the day first gradually fades and then almost imperceptibly transits into night, i feel most content and suffused with a sense of optimism. It is as if every unpleasant feeling and negative thought, at least for that brief period, has dissipated with the sun's vanishing rays.

Going out on Sundays to the malls or meeting with friends and relatives are fine. These are the activities that often have to be done on a Sunday, the only day of the week that seems to afford us time to do a dozen things that are not work related and which can't be done during the busy week. But they are not worth it if at the end of the day you feel drained and tired - no different from the rest of the week. One would want a good day of rest before one enters the new week of work with all the inane and insane that comes along with the frenetic pace of life.

A few more hours and this Sunday would be officially the past. But that would mean i have the next Sunday to look forward to.

A call from overseas

In the midst of my futile attempt to write something for my political economy essay, i received a surprised call from K. It's a surprise because this was a long distance call - K had called from Down Under. He's doing a 5 year vet course there and there're two more years to go for him. After that he still has a good 4 months to spend in army when he's back in Singapore. He jokes that by the time he's back in army, the young men in the army are going to be laughing at him, for he would be so much older than most of them. This quickly brings to my mind, that because of national service, most of the male Singaporeans actually end up in the work force at a rather old age - at least old enough for the female counterparts to have already been working for some years. (i say this matter-of-factly, not in any sardonic or angry sense.) For those of us who go to university, it also means that our family would have to shoulder a heavy burden for a couple more years before we can finally take over the burden.

But no, that wasn't what i want to talk about. I spoke to K for almost an hour on the phone, during which my laptop was left unattended on the studying desk in the library (I had to move elsewhere). But i wasn't worried about this of course. Although we haven't been in the closest contact since secondary school days - which by the way were some donkey years ago - we nonetheless had a good chat over the phone. What i want to say is just this: when a good friend calls you up from abroad, you feel a sense of elation that in particular warms your heart and reassures you. I guess it is a small thing but it says something about the friendship. Maybe these days making an overseas call is as good as making a call locally, but i think people who are living abroad don't usually call up their friends here most of the time. I was only glad to find out that K was feeling troubled and decided to call me up, though i probably did not do much to make him feel better. Still, we spoke about other common friends and updated each other on our lives. He's also having his exams in a week's time, but will be back this December. Which reminds me other friends from Australia are also coming back this year end. I am looking forward to meeting all of them soon.

Grow up

I told Irene this evening (this evening being a few days ago) that i am constantly distracted and can't get settled to do my work seriously. Her response was immediate: 'Grow up!'

Unbelievable as that may seem, I'm afraid she was telling the truth. If I can't muster the self-discipline that all adults need to exercise to organise their lives, I'm not far different from the recalcitrant kid who lacks focus and needs an adult to enforce discipline on him. The person who can't concentrate on his work has only himself to blame, not the many distractions that everyone is confronted with everyday. I watch too much TV, write too many emails, muse too much about impractical things (Irene rightly describes me as being too 'dreamy') and get too little work done. In the end, this only shows how much discipline I lack. And if I may add, this probably also sets me apart from others who are doing well - those who have a vision and a goal, and the drive and focus to achieving them.

I am not whining here. I am aware how increasingly inept i've become, lacking the discipline a student needs to mug through endless amounts of school work. Every other reason that I come up with just seems to come across as a poor excuse. So i've stopped making excuses. I hope things will become better - and for that to happen, i would first have to finish my final essay for the semester.

that elusive happiness

Sometimes the drudgery of everyday routines or the ponderous details in our lives cause us to descend into the occasional melancholic introspection. We become upset, maybe feel utterly helpless or inept; we also behave a tad unpredictably, acting even like an idiot perhaps. Mood swings are likely, just as unusual reticence is understandably normal. This is perhaps when we yearn to be left alone or desire company, depending on the individual. It is also when we find ourselves delving into the past to seek assurance or looking into the future and contemplate answers. Often, the familiar become something we cling to, as though the mere act of possessing or doing them manifests relief. And so it is that we look through precious photo albums, or run in the dead of the night and feel the caress of a cold breeze, or sit in front of the TV and keep changing channels, the purpose of which is of course not to watch any particular show. The idea, basically, is to keep ourselves occupied and numb our feelings. No doubt most of us get upset and hung up on many things every now and then (not that we can help it sometimes); the difference lies in how we survive the temporary misery.

Cycling on the road the other day, it struck me that happiness is the feeling which transpires when you do things you genuinely enjoy. There is no striving to attain happiness because it comes naturally when you are at ease with yourself and free from any inhibition. There was a fun race at Mount Faber that morning and while i did not take part in the race itself, i nonetheless cycled my way down. I was tired and i hadn't rode for quite some time and there were dreadful deadlines looming at the back of my mind. But as soon as i hit the road, i could almost feel deeply the familiar sense of liberation which always transpires when i'm riding my bike. This sense of liberation is also what motivates me to pedal harder, cycle further, go the further mile. Apart from the hazardous traffic, there's little that interferes with the ride: my legs worked the pedals, my hands gripped the handlebar and my eyes focused on the unravelling road ahead.

Other kinds of sports can equally bring joy to the practitioner, but there's a connection between a cyclist and his bike that is inseparably linked to the liberation and joy which he experiences while riding. As the cyclist moves constantly he sees scenery and people and things that pass him by relentlessly, even if these enter and exit the mind only for a fleeting moment. Perhaps it's the transience, or perhaps it's the beauty of the ordinary which appears only briefly and from a distance - there's something about cycling past objects and through human space that has the capacity to move, even inspire.

I like to think that cycling is a very down-to-earth activity (not in the literal sense): You go as fast as you are willing to push yourself, relying on personal will and strength. More important, there's a sense of equanimity that accompanies you whenever you pedal your bike and cycle into the distance. I reckon this equanimity which cycling affords is what makes me feel unfailingly liberated and happy each time i'm on the bike.

Nevertheless, all these aside, i was happy cycling down to Mount Faber that morning because i was doing something i enjoy - pure and simple as that.

International rankings: what's the problem?

On the third page of ST today is the report on SM's take on media freedom in Singapore:

Singapore needs a media which practises its freedom responsibly, yet is not subservient to the Government.
The media here should aim to unite, not divide; and should report the news in a balanced manner without sensationalising coverage to boost circulation, (said) Senior Minister Goh Chok Tong last night.
Outlining the Government's view of a responsible media, he said that while times have changed, the context in which the Singapore media operates has not changed much.
The multi-ethnic structure and social fabric remain the same, and so do the country's permanent vulnerabilities.

On Singapore's international ranking in press freedom:

How should Singapore react when it takes a beating in an international ranking on press freedom?
There's no need to be embarrassed or worry that investors might be put off, Senior Minister Goh Chok Tong said last night.
Because while Singapore ranks near the bottom in a media freedom index by the Paris-based group, Reporters Without Borders, it does very well on other ratings.
Singapore was ranked 140th out of 167 in media freedom, behind ASEAN neighbours Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia and the Philippines.
Even struggling, war-torn Sudan came out seven spots above Singapore at No. 133, which Mr Goh found amazing.

Well, there is no doubt that critics of the PAP are not going to be persuaded by SM's take on press freedom in Singapore. I suspect for people who are rather tired of hearing justifications for the Singapore model on the media, this sort of news has long ceased to provoke them into counter-argument. As for me, i just respond with a mix of indifference and cynicism.

If indeed Singapore shouldn't worry about such rankings from Reporters without Borders, then is it not rather unwise to quickly bring forth international rankings in other areas to serve as a basis for comparison? To discredit or mitigate the abysmal showing in one ranking using top ranking scores in other areas does highlight important points, but this seems to smack of double standard. SM Goh is right in suggesting that Singapore's 140th ranking in media freedom does not give a true picture of the Singapore state. Very astutely, he points out Sudan's better ranking to allow the implication to speak for itself: for anyone with even bare awareness of international affairs would agree that, to speak of Singapore and Sudan in the same breath is to undermine the vast differences between an economically first-world prosperous state and a third-world war-afflicted nation.

SM used Singapore's favourable, if not fantastic, scores in other areas like corruption and economic freedom to prove that Singapore's perceived poor record in media freedom is really unimportant or even irrelevant. The critics of Singapore's press freedom have neglected to point out that despite or because of our (supposed lack of) press freedom, we are now a nation which has achieved prosperity in a clean and uncorrupted environment, surely a record that allows us to stand tall in the international community. The poor showing of our media freedom is thus a travesty, for it really gives a wrong impression of Singapore. It follows that even if it were true that Singapore is so repressed in this area, at the very least our success in other areas would somewhat mitigate or excuse our poor performance in press freedom.

The thing about the myriad of international rankings of countries in different areas is this: that the performance of the country in the aspect which is being ranked - be it on economic freedom, transparency, education or media freeom - depicts the part of reality that it chooses to. To that extent, one cannot really dismiss the poor showing of Singapore in the aspect of media freedom, for it cannot be that there is no justfication for Singapore's being ranked at the bottom. As any well-informed person of local politics would tell you, there are both underlying overt and covert mechanisms that restrict media freedom here in Singapore. The glaring lack of news on or marginalisation of local political opposition in the media is one case in point.

On the other hand, these rankings alone cannot be taken at face value. Media freedom is but one aspect of a country's performance, albeit an important one; it is, however, not the be-all and the end-all. To merely focus on this alone gives an incomplete picture of Singapore. Surely a nation which has been able to provide for a decent standard of living and prosperity for its people, and law and order, cannot be what the 140th ranking in press freedom would suggest. There must be a well-balanced consideration of all factors.

Our political leaders would have to speak up whenever certain aspects of the country invite scrutiny in whatever form from the world over. However, the discerning citizen would have to decide for himself what to agree or accept when the government explain its perspective.

Holiday (or not)

The good thing about living in a multiracial nation is this: you get more national holidays. Just when you thought Hari Raya Puasa or Deepavali or Chirstmas had just passed, you realised the next Hari Raya Puasa, Deepavali or Christmas is just around the corner. Sometimes i just wonder, hmm, wasn't that over quite recently? But heck, it's a holiday - and holidays are precious, precious time for deprived students and Singaporeans who just seem to be working non-stop. For me, i like Deepavali - specifically, i like this year's Deepavali: because it falls on a Tuesday, and Tuesdays are my longest day in school. Never mind that i've been skipping classes. Never mind that i won't be celebrating Deepavali. In fact, that's precisely the point.

Tomorrow, i hope to be able to do some running. The key word is hope. I would be grateful if Heaven makes the decision for me by pouring intensely the whole day, or at least at the moment when i open my eyes in the morning. It makes me feel satisfied because i don't have to make a choice. i won't need to feel guilty should i end up not running or i don't have to deliberate and think of 101 reasons why i should run to counter 100 reasons why i shouldn't run. That can be quite tiring for my mind which, as it is, is already preoccupied with too much work. Leave my poor mind alone.

That's pretty much about it. It's either slack a little, do some sports, or work on essays or study for tests and exams. Right now, during this period, one can't really think of going for movies, going to town or engaging in some activities that take up too much time. If i were to go back to the school library tomorrow, for instance, i would be forgiven for thinking that it's a normal school day. But of course that won't happen, because no way will i drag my feet to that dreadful place called school.

And so tomorrow and Thursday will be public holidays. Should we students be grateful for that 'extra' time to catch up with work, or should we be upset that we are cheated of a supposed holiday?
Like so many other things, there's always irony or contradictions.
But others would have us know, it's all a matter of perspective.
Ah...

A walk at holland V

You've probably heard the trite phrase change is the only thing constant many times, it means little except probably a hint at a sense of resignation or grumpiness. Still, it is true that change is that condition which our surroundings always impress upon us. What good, old grandfather stories have i got this time?

Nothing interesting as usual. I was at Holland Village this evening, and walking around the area, i realised - no surprise - that there have been changes, new developments. The construction work at the area has been going on for quite some time, and as anyone who drives would tell you, parking is a bane over there. But no, i wasn't driving.

Walking from the carpark into Holland V, i saw new roads in the making. They were constructed above the existing carpark - something like a flyover - and apparently leading from the main road to a multistory carpark that's also in the making. The reality might be a little different, but pardon me, i can't describe this very well. Anyhow, I had my dinner at Subway. First time eating there, i didn't quite know what to get, so i chose the one that is on offer for the day - turkey breast. After the quick dinner, i walked with my friend from this end of Holland V to the other end where we were to take a bus home. Now, the part of Holland V where the subway's located at is one place i seldom go to. If im at holland v, it's usually at the other side where the cafes and restaurants are found. I may be wrong, but it seems some of the shops here are a new addition. Katong Laksa is still there - this one i know for sure.

It's trivial, but i relished the short walk to the bus stop. Just being able to walk slowly, taking in the myriad sightings and enjoying the vibes of a familiar yet always refreshing place - these are simple pleasures that i can't ask for more. Having been cooped up in school and at home for the better part of two weeks, there was an inexpressible sense of elation in me that makes me feel alive and full of hope. I don't think of unfinished work, but just let my gaze fall on whatever that comes into my vision - be it the couple reading books over a cuppa at coffee bean, a waitress taking orders at crystal jade, or the ostentatious classic BMW car that just drove past. My mind's always full of what i see and what i hear, but i generally find it meaningful to observe people and things i come across. I can't take an expensive holiday in Europe or buy the things i fancy at a shopping mall to make myself happier, but there are always innumerous simple and costless trivia that can lift my spirits. Taking a stroll in the evening or at night is one example. If there's company and conversation, good; if not, a walk alone can provide for some quiet contemplation - good for the mind and soul.

Reading a good book is another, but i shan't go into that. For now, it's signing out of blogspot, shutting the computer down and delving into either boring traditional chinese medicine or the political economy.
Or maybe - take a walk outside, eh?

Futility of Thought

First it was the tsunami, then came devastating hurricanes, and now the latest manifestation of Nature's wrath took the form of an earthquake in Pakistan and other parts of South Asia. Apparently, a village was wiped out and a building had collapsed in Islamabad. At least a 1000 people are reportedly dead.

More headlines run across the screen on Channelnews asia: i learned that Central America and Mexico are not spared either - flooding and mudslides have left hundreds dead. Then there are the familiar warnings about the spreading bird flu.

How does one react to all this? These are the sort of news, if you took notice, which make you shrug; they unsettle you a little, but it won't be for long before you clean forget about them. The news and especially its medium, the TV, do convey a sombre, proximate sense of realism and evoke feelings of poignant tragedy. But life is such that unless you are personally brought to bear the consequences of tragedies such as natural calamities, you won't be terribly affected by their occurrence or the immense damage that they wreaked on human lives - lives which are probably totally unrelated to your existence and never would cross path with yours. And so while mass rapes and unspoken atrocities were taking place in Sudan, while entire families are possibly destroyed by the earthquake in South Asia, while many Iraqis struggle daily to survive and not get killed by bombings and insane killings, and while many other atrocities are occurring in many parts of the world even as i am writing now, you and i - our lives just go on as normal. We have many burdens too, like coping with school and work stress, but surely they cannot compare in any degree to those implacable problems that are prevalent and ongoing in this world.

Yet the truth is, such is the the condition of life, that while we are aware of injustice, unfairness across human societies and both inevitable as well as blatantly wanton deaths in the world, many of us will not and cannot be made to confront our problems while keeping in mind that real life tragedies exist elsewhere which surely make our problems somewhat infinitely inconsequential. It just doesn't work that way. No one ever said that keeping a healthy perspective of our personal life and personal problems must entail comparing with people who are worse off than us. On the contrary, it is to those seemingly blissful/successful/beautiful/powerful people whom we look upon and contemplate our fate.

Poverty and suffering, as do illness and dying, are after all nothing new and have been ever present. When someone talks about such stuff, sometimes it can seem as though yet another person is romanticising about Life, life's tragedy and what not. Compassion is like a residual feeling which one musters only when one is not afflicted by personal problems or tragedies. All is fair game; men may be created equal but they don't live equal - you just have to live with that, without needing to feel guilty or responsible for the status quo, no matter its inherent flaws.

I know i won't be thinking about the earthquake in Pakistan, the suffering i see on TV and the insane devastating human conflicts i read in the papers when i start to panic about work deadlines or grapple with money woes. I think only of how terribly miserable i am; i think of how i can extricate myself out of my misery.

But as i am these days constantly deluged with fresh news of brewing conflicts the world over, i get really unsettled and think a little deeper about what all this means for me, a student troubled over what path his future should take even as there are others whose future confines only to suriving the next day.

And as i ponder how ironic it is that Nature alone creates so many problems for human beings - including seizing one too many life prematurely - while human beings create more problems for themselves through terrorism, nukes and power struggles instead of solving problems together, i realise also the futility, even the irrelevance of my thoughts.

Us

I was talking to a guy whom i knew from one of my tutorial class this evening. I knew him through a class presentation which we did together with two other classmates. As i speak to him more often whenever we meet in school, i am increasingly inclined to think that he's an interesting friend to talk with. For one thing, in our conversations, he does 80% of the talking while i do the remaining 20% (don't ask how i derived that figure). This leaves me listening to him talk most of the time, which is not a bad thing since he's not at all boring or talking about himself endlessly. After all we take the same major and therefore it isn't at all very difficult to find something common to talk about.

The other thing about him, which i found out today, is that he jumps from one topic to another faster than you can figure out what he just said. So half the time while i listen to what he is talking about, my mind has to adjust pretty quickly to the imminent change in subject. He told me that every now and then 'we' see someone we know and there's something that we want very much to say to the person, something that is in our mind and that we just need someone to talk with. (He's thinking of himself, i am sure.) Then, almost as if to inform me how i should respond to him, he adds that while he says different and many things to people he knows, he says them incompletely (or selectively) such that they won't be able to grasp just what kind of person he is. In other words, his loquacity does not betray his real identity. And hence, therefore, his predisposition to talk about many things but only partially. I was amused enough to tell him that he's a very interesting person. Being not a very good conversationist myself, i was happy to let him do most of the talking.

Before i left, though, i bade him farewell and told him that i shall find out the real him by weaving together all the disparate information/ideas/stories that he had talked about. He smiled at me, somewhat a little surprised at my suggestion. He probably knew there isn't much of a real him behind his public persona.

Which brings me to this point: our self-identity derives from how others perceive us as much as from our own consciousness. No matter how much a veneer we hide behind, there's an inevitability to others' perception of us which we have no control over - because we don't always conciously portray an image that we want others to imbibe; we simply can't. There's always a part of us that is decided by others which we have no control over. On the other hand, we do knowingly deliberate to affect others' opinions of us. For aside from decorum and propriety (which restricts our behaviour), we do exercise control over what selective information we tell people. We may know a lot about our good friends but there're also things that we do not know. Even so, it is when we are with our close friends and loved ones - people whom we are totally at ease speaking to or hanging around with - that there are fewer inhibitions restraining our thoughts and actions. And we are at such moments a lot closer to being ourselves, safe, assured and contented.

something about rainy nights

it poured real heavily last night. i was walking on the sheltered path but it was not much of a shelter really. the harsh wind just kept bringing on the torrential rain in my direction and before i knew it, my vision was kind of filtered through many, many tiny droplets that had collected on my spectacles. i like rain, but if only at that time i was in the comfort of my home and not braving the storm outside. for once, though, the dormant umbrella in my bag came into use.

a few hours after i had got home, the rain subsided and it was starting to get a little stuffy once again. Little did i expect that it would pour again later in the night, when i and most other people were already sound asleep.

there's something about being at home on a night while a heavy rain pours relentlessly outside that makes you feel very safe and reassured, as though you are protected from some ongoing harm that is wreaking havoc. i guess this feeling of assurance is not consciously felt but it implicitly derives from the fact that you are taking comfort, literally, in being sheltered from a storm whose ferocity is very tangibly felt. the constant flashes of lightning and accompanying thunderous roar makes one shiver but the very cool weather is a welcome change from the scorching afternoon heat. to enjoy the moment, it is best to play some soft music that helps create a soothing atmosphere.

lying snugly in bed with the music and the clattering rainfall in the background completes the picture of bliss. as it is, savour the coolness of the night while the rain pours on with abandon - because it won't be long before the realisation of its subsidence strikes you and induces a sense of disapppointment. calmness, in this case, is not something one desires or hopes for.

what happens when you try to study for a test whose subject throws up a lot of obscure names of herbs, their disparate functions and uses, their latin names, their effects etc etc? well you basically try to remember them, of course! But the trying is really trying, as it requires not so much understanding as purely memorisation. It sucks. This is incredibly uninteresting and an exercise of little purpose. I have it upon myself for choosing this module, but heck - it's either this pharmacy module or that science module; all are equally unappealing to me; all equally entail memorising lots and lots of alien terms.


i ran in the morning. 12 rounds on the track. I have to congratulate myself for carrying off such a repetitive chore. it's not the running part - it's the repetition: going in circles, with no distinctive end-point or scenery to motivate you, such that in your mind you don't - you can't - think about much else and you just let your body do the work, lift your legs off the ground and maintain a bearable pace. The morning sun was really strong, because when i changed up later, i realised i've acquired an unpleasant tanline. Surprisingly, for someone who really doesn't fancy running as a likeable sport, these days it just doesn't feel right if i don't run. Unfortunately there's only so much time one has. The current training regime means that cycling, swimming and even badminton have to take a backseat. I miss cycling.


Sunday. yesterday the best part of the day was a simple affair: sipping teh and enjoying 4 slices of kaya butter toast. yes, kaya butter toast - my perennial favourite. I used to crave those from ya kun and killiney which has a generous slab of butter and thick kaya between two slices of toasted brown bread. But these days, i prefer the ones that most kopitiam sell, which has the more common butter spread and ordinary kaya. And the bread's also the plain white one instead of the brown one. Which suits me fine. They taste heavenly all the same, with that hot cup of teh to go along with it.

Clash of cultures

It was an international relations class, yes. But at times the lecturer found it necessary to express (mock) disbelief at our seeming lack of understanding of some seemingly fundamental concepts.

"Can someone explain what is international anarchy?"
"Do you guys know what is...?"
"Have you guys ever heard of...?"

The lecture theatre remained conspicuously silent.

"C'mon, i saw some heads nodding just now"

Still, the class remained adamantly uncooperative.

I guess at the end of the class everyone had almost something to say about the new lecturer, an Asian American guy who is new to the department and who is now taking over the second half of the module. At the start of the class he told us he has been in Singapore for a month, and there have been many occasions where people were frustrated either with not catching what he's saying or with him not understanding what they are saying. With regard to his speaking, he sure talks with an obvious American accent, and many a time he ends his sentences with that american-or-not-quite-american whatever. As for his difficulty with understanding some of the people he has had contact with, i wonder if it's Singlish that's the problem or some of our imperfect spoken English. For instance, he informed us that in american speech, the emphasis is on the first syllable, but it seems over here the emphasis is on the second syllable. Once, someone said the word urgently to him but after a few times he still could not comprehend him, because the person said urGENTly, as opposed to URgently. He even asked if anyone would like to say the word aloud so that he could hear how we say the word, but you know better what the response was like. Generally, i find his speaking alright except that sometimes it seems as though he is mumbling and i need to listen carefully to catch what he's saying.

Never mind that it's a political science class - true to typical Singaporean school culture, the front rows of the LT were customarily unoccupied while the back of the LT displayed a somewhat compression effect. And staying true to the Singaporean cultural setting also, lecture participation had to be painstakingly entreated. Even then, interaction and questions from students were virturally absent. At least this aspect of our culture was a visible source of frustration to the lecturer, who was undoubtedly used to a vibrant american class setting. (My friend who had studied in the U.S. assured me that over there, people speak and raise questions all the time; they compete to talk in class; and active participation is the norm, unlike here.) As evidence of his desperate frustration, he had to implore us to assume that we aren't in Singapore now, that we are in 'sunny Los Angeles' - that is, please for goodness sake speak up!

He spoke about his intention of showing a film some time later in the course and he told us the name of the documentary. Then failing to get a response from the class about whether anyone has watched or heard of the film, he hastened to add, 'wait a minute, do you guys even watch movies?' We do, thank you very much. Later the lecturer informed us that his sense of humour very much borders on sarcasm (yes i realised that long ago) and we would just get it all the time, unfortunately. I have no problem with that actually, for he's aware of his style of conducting class and he's being candid here. He's obviously being deliberately sarcastic but i don't think it's in a fundamental way very negative or disparaging. But i reserve my judgement, for these are early days yet.

I do sympathise with him even as i am guilty of indifference in class. But if silence and an unwillingness to speak up is indicative of an imbedded culture and all that attendant implications on our education system in Singapore, i guess the lecturer would have little choice but to adjust his expectations and not be too hopeful of replicating a vibrant Los Angeles or Californian class setting. Some of my peers are obviously very vocal during tutorial classes, but when under a larger public setting, many tend to just not want to voice their opinions even where opinions are overtly sought. The reasons, you and I know, are the same few, which i shan't talk about. I agree that it's a very unsatisfactory cultural attribute that boils down to some flaws inherent in our education system. It is an unhealthy state of affair, for it lacks the important qualities in a vibrant participatory culture, where the underlying mechanism encourages creativity and confidence in public speaking, and prospects for fruitful debate are likely to be more prevalent. I am not sure whether the situation and teaching emphasis in our primary and secondary schools have improved over the years.

For now, it awaits to be seen whether during the next lecture my peers will heed the lecturer's request and occupy the front rows in the LT. For me and my friends, i can safely say we will be typical followers instead of trend-setters. What's wrong with being at the back, you know. =)

The little girl on the bus

Still on the topic of kids.

Today i was on a crowded double decker and was standing right at the back. Even then, the bus was unable to admit more passengers when it reached many bus stops, much to the frustration of those wanting to get on the bus.

Throughout most part of the journey, my attention was focused on the little girl who sat in front of me. Looking around 3 or 4 years old, she sat in between two ladies, her short dangling legs a contrast with the the full length of the legs of her neighbours. She was separated from her mother and younger brother who were sitting across on the opposite side, and i was that human barrier in between them. But i shifted my position slightly so that the little girl was within sight of her mum.

Having nothing better to do than to hold on to the railings and stand rather immobile throughout the journey, naturally, the little girl became my subject of observation. She was after all just in front of me and unless i made a deliberate attempt to focus my gaze elsewhere, there's no avoiding looking at her.

As it turned out, it is always a joy to have kids around you. Their seeming unconsciousness and innocence, their childish but ceaselessly adorable actions - all these make for a source of joy and amusement to us adults. Unlike adults who are consciously aware of others' perceptions of themselves and of their presence in the midst of strangers, the little girl is constantly active in that little space of hers. One minute her knees were on the seat as she turned her body around so that she could look at the passing buidlings and people when the bus moved along; a few minutes later when her curiousity and enthusiasm had waned, she would once again settle on her seat, rather like a child who is tired running about. She would hug her little, pink bag closer to her and for a moment looked as though her mind was intently preoccupied with some serious thoughts.

All this while i noticed the young lady (who is probably in her late twenties) to her left would occasionally look at her just to make sure that the little girl's actions would not disturb her unnecessarily. The very first sign of the lady's slight displeasure with the girl was shown when the latter was climbing to get seated next to her. The lady saw her, quickly tucked the sides of her dress to the underneath, presumably so that it will not suffer the risk of getting dirtied by the restless kid. That move proved a sound one but it also quickly reflected the lady's uneasiness with her neighbour. While the girl would constantly make little actions while seated down, the lady would from time to time glance at her disapprovingly: if it is not a look of disapproval, at the very least her eyes conveyed an expression of cautious wariness, as though to look out for and preempt any undesirable movements her diminutive neighbour is capable of. I was in fact secretly hoping that the little girl would precisely step on her just so that her fears would prove founded, and just so that she will be annoyed. I wonder whether not a loud, disapproving grunt would come out from her while the rest of the passengers look at her and judge her petty reaction.

But alas the journey was peaceful and the lady got off before me. The little girl later joined her mother at the other side when there was an empty seat. When it came to that critical bus stop, almost half the bus was emptied as people rushed to alight. I moved down from the back and as i tapped the ez-link card reader and saw the time, i realised I was running late for class again. What's new.

No more Children's Day

October is coming and so is Children's Day. Kids are a lucky lot because they have a day which is meant for them, a day which they get to stay in bed and not have to wake up early in the morning to go to school. Then there's all the presents that they will receive from their teachers, which invariably include lots of goodies and other worthless little toys that kids amuse themselves with to no end. As is the tradition in local schools here, there will be a celebration the day before a festive holiday or other special days, of which Children's Day happens to be one of them. I remember during my primary school days, the celebration always seemed to include some magic show. Maybe it's just the nature of kids to get terribly excited with magic shows, but during my time, the tricks that the magicians perform, one would have seen them many times over till one knew exactly what's in the bag of tricks that the magician has.

The most exciting part, however, must be the lessons we had on celebration day. That's because all us greedy kids would be eagerly waiting for goodies and presents to be given away by our teachers. I remember there would be those miserly and bo chap teachers who would merely just distribute to everyone a packet of crackers or the like. Usually that's because it is the most convenient way of satisfying the occasion. In army, we call that go through motion - do something purely for the sake that it needs be done.

For those nicer teachers whom we would expect something more substantial, we were usually not disappointed. Most often, it would be the form teacher who will furnish the most number of gifts. Sometimes a huge packet consisting many smaller packets of sweets or crackers would be passed around for everyone to take one. This was a ritual performed every Children's Day, where almost a class of 40 rambunctious kids would sit in the classroom and wait for goodies to be passed around. There would be plenty of chatter, boastful comparisons of presents (like different colour or pattern of the exterior of certain presents) and a persistent air of excitement. Gratitude was not a virtue we understood or had acquired then, and all that was in our mind was the da feng shou (huge harvest). Instead of puzzling over mathematic sums, you fussed over which chocolate or sweet shall you consume first.

Kids are therefore a fortunate lot. And rightly so. For we are all kids only once, and for a short period which we will only fully appreciate and be aware of only after we leave our childhood. I don't know how Children's Day came into existence and neither am i interested to find out. But i wonder if we adults are not deserving of a holiday ourselves? Ok, Adults' Day sounds just way too unappealing. Still, since i have formally and irrevocably relinquished my children status many years ago, i wouldn't mind having something else to replace that. Modern Man needs more holidays. We need to work less and play more!

End of presentations, but...

i feel very relieved and just happy that all the rushing and the presentation itself is now over. slept on the sofa last night; woke up in the morning and continued to pore over my notes and literally worked till the last minute. class was at 4 and i finished my presentation notes only at 330pm, rushed out of home and took a cab down to school, then rushed again to the printing room to print copies of my notes for the class before flying off to the classroom which is located faraway. but finally just now i could take all the time i wanted to have my dinner.

the prof finally realised that it wasn't a wise move to have students work on the presentation topic before he covers them in lecture. and so he's going to have the next 2 classes pushed back till the final week of the semester. the module is after all highly theoretical and the notes aren't simple to comprehend. why i chose to do the earlier topic then? coz i wanted to get it over and done with. so now i am done with presentations for the semester. bad thing is: there're 3 essays, 1 project and 3 more tests to see me through the rest of the weeks. in particular, that pharmacy module i am taking is going to kill me with the gargantuan amount of memory work that's going to be needed. sucks.

yesterday i had lunch with Josh and as usual it is always interesting talking with him. he was my buddy during a certain phase during my army stint and i am glad we had the chance to be friends, to stay as good friends even though we rarely are able to meet up.

in army you inevitably make many friends but who are otherwise just acquaintances. on many occasions i've met these acquintances/army-mates around on campus, but because neither the other party nor i made an effort to say hi or smile when we first met again after army days, it became that we behaved as though neither of us knew each other. since our looks haven't had any drastic changes, it's highly unlikely that we've forgotten who the other person is. i mean, some of us went through horrible times with the same group of people, you can't just erase that person's face off your memory. besides this group of people i knew through army, the other group are some primary school friends whom i have never spoken much to during those early years.

thing is, you can't help but feel this sense of awkwardness whenever you see these people. maybe the first time when i saw them i ought to have taken the first step - but no, i'm not the very friendly sort, you know. like them, i just fix my gaze elsewhere. it's just hard to make that extra effort to establish connection once more. there's just a stubborn inertia that holds you back and makes you hope the other person will instead come forward to you. if neither does, then too bad.
i just pray i won't ever end up in a same class as these people. otherwise it will be extremely embarrassing and awkward to exclaim surprise, like 'oh yah, you are...' or 'do you remember...?'

for now, i shall take a break tonight and decide if i want to rush the project that is due this friday. yes, there're neverending datelines to meet. but i try to remind myself i ought to enjoy no matter how bad things are. besides the pharmacy module, i'm glad that for the rest, i enjoy studying and gaining insight into the subjects and issues that are involved. this should always be the case.

When i started with this blog i had wanted to use it more as a platform to do some creative writing. I think i did manage to write some thoughtful pieces and had fun writing them. Unlike what i am doing now, writing those creative pieces require more deliberation and effort as you give your writing some semblance of structure. I do that not because i haven't had enough of academic writing, but because i like to read and i appreciate good writing and i hope to exercise my writing skills in some creative way. It's somewhat like why i enjoy literature - it's about appreciating good prose, poetry and good writing that inspires or provokes. And sometimes it's just for fun, really.

But now that busy days are the norm, it is rather difficult to write as i did previously. While i know for certain there are only few - if any at all - people who would visit this blog occasionally, strangely, it has actually taken some time for me to become comfortable with blogging whatever i wish to write about, to be less restrained by inhibitions. Now i am more apt to just blog about small matters, perhaps even inconsequential stuff. To me, blogging provides the platform for writing; it is writing itself that is a cathartic process.

I slept only 3hrs yesterday to produce an essay outline that i presented today. Now i have less than 16 hours to churn out another one - the one about structural problems in the international economic system :( - before i embarrass myself in front of my classmates. I can take some quiet comfort in the fact that i was told the topic that i am doing is a hard one, and that there are probably quite many others who are also struggling with it (i hope so! haha). And it is because i couldn't really proceed on that i found myself writing all this. I hope in the next post, it would be about how i have scraped through the presentation. I really hope so.

Why are some of us always thrilled and quietly delighted at the sight of sunset or sunrise, or so i assume? Undoubtedly it has to do with the beauty of such a sight, which alone is enough to awe us. I guess its transience is just as important a factor that contributes to its beauty. Not everyone gets to see the sun rise from the horizon everyday, and even when one sees it, it is only for a specifically short period of time. That makes it all the more a precious experience.

I am not making sense of the tons of notes that i am carrying around with me everyday. 2 presentations next week are consuming ALL my attention. But try as i might, my mind's always wandering instead of reading the notes focusedly. Some people amaze me by simply being able to stay in the same position reading or doing work for a long period of time.

The bad part is not about not understanding your readings - it's being clueless about what the question wants and what the terms mean.
'Structural problems in the international economic system' - ???
Boy i am in need of help!

Rainbow over the sky

Just the other day the few of us were trying to get a bbq fire started (actually only K was getting his hands dirty with the charcoal). Dark clouds had gathered above in the sky and it was starting to drizzle. Thankfully the imminent storm didn't materialise even as the evening sky remained somewhat ominously cloudy. Then someone spotted a rainbow in the sky - and that got us all excited. We moved out of the veranda to catch a better view, and there it was, a rather faint but clearly visible rainbow had formed. I wondered in my 23 years how many times have i actually seen a rainbow. But this was certainly the first time that i saw a rainbow and had a camera at hand. Someone asked if i would be able to capture the rainbow on camera, and the next thing i knew, we were snapping photos of ourselves silly - with the rainbow in the picture, of course.

I

I read my notes blankly, stare at MS Word on the laptop blankly - only to have both of them stare back at me passively.

I stopped staring and looked out of the windows, and i realise it is now raining. I don't know when the raindrops started falling, but now that they are, i feel a tad more despairing, as if the rain encourages me to feel so.

I came to the library, the library of one of the top 20th universities, and all i wanted was a table that has a power terminal output nearby so that i can plug my laptop and do my work; but i was not granted my wish. I concluded thus, that there is a severe chronic shortage of tables and terminal outputs in the library, the library of a top university.

I look out of the windows again, and i realise now it's raining even more heavily. I wonder if it parallels my increasing sense of anxiety, but just as instantaneously, the rain seems to be getting smaller, much smaller.

I look at my laptop again, and this time it is responding, making words silently, from left to right, that look exactly the same as the thoughts that are running in my mind.

Yes, things are happening, but not my essay outline that needs submitting.

orchard-inspired crap

i like the selection of books at Kino
but i prefer the vibes of Borders
its more classy decor, its unavailable seats
maybe i just like Wheelock more than Ngee Ann

topman is giordano-ised
levis is de rigueur
zara is chic
and everyone has a pair of addidas sneakers
but watch out
'coz puma is leaping up

there is orchard but no fruits
there is mango but no tree
far east plaza is far but not east
paragon lures with elegance
while scotts seems forgotten

from lucky plaza
take 7 to bugis
to get to suntec
take 1-0-6 or 14

unseen trains zip beneath the mall
quite deep they must be
'coz there's B1, B2 even B3

For now i can't think of more
and end here it therefore shall be

I haven't read Thomas L. Friedman's by now not-so-new book The world is flat. But i've read The Lexus and the Olive Tree. Another book in waiting to be read is his earlier one, From Beirut to Jerusalem. Came across this New York Press Review of his new book from another blog and it has had me laughing.

Starting on a wrong note

There are some days when you wake up at the wrong time, find yourself a little tired perhaps (despite the long sleep) and feeling none too enthusiastic about the day that would unfold soon. You sit on the bed slumped, hair in an unsightly state, notes lying untidily on the desk; the alarm clock shows that you are running late for school, and you realise your bag is not packed with the things that are needed for the day. But try as you might to be upbeat about things and to summon a sense of urgency - which the situation always demands of you - you just feel unmotivated to get going. It's like you've woken up from a deep slumber on a stationary jeep stuck in the middle of a long empty road: you dreamily recall that there's an appointment to hurry to, and that you need to do something fast with the failing engine - but something appears to be out of sync and holding you back, and you can only remain where you are, almost involuntarily, unable to do much else except maybe stare at the long, lazy road ahead. All this while the details of the surroundings - the relative quiet and calm, the unstirred dust and sand, the usual sounds of nature - conspire to root you to your immobility - which you only all too readily acquiesce.

Today was such a day for me, except that I was not in a jeep on some desolate road. I woke up and sat dead still on my bed, but was strangely conscious of the small room which i've been an inhabitant of since nearly 6 years ago. Immobilised to my bed for a couple of minutes, i was staring not at an empty road but a messy table (and its contents). The noisy standing fan a few metres away from my bed was determined to fill the place of natural sounds. And outside, the sky was occupied by low menacing clouds while the sun was nowhere to be seen. I vaguely remembered waking up momentarily to a raining sky earlier, but it seemed now the rain had retreated.

I surveyed my surroundings and looked for my alarm clock first. If i hastened to do what needs to be done, i reckoned i could still catch the bus and not be too late for the 8a.m. lecture. The mood to act fast was, however, decidedly absent. That's when it struck me that today is not going to be a good day, that things are not going to go quite the way they should like on, say, a normal day. After all, it's always been like this: your mood at the start of the day often has a strange influence on how the rest of your day would be like, while the unfolding events in the day would be all too glad to perform a complementary role, as if proving that your mind had picked up the right signals at the start of the day's journey.

In my case, it didn't take long for the day events to sing to the tune of my tepid, languorous mood. Although i knew it wasn't very early by the time i set off from home, it soon turned out that i would be made to pay for my morning procrastination. Walking to the bus-stop, the rain came on again, first drizzling but soon got heavier, though it never reached the levels of torrential rainfall. An unusually long wait for the bus ensued. When the first one arrived, it stopped to allow passengers to alight, but the front doors remained passively shut. Obviously the diver didn't think that more people could squeeze up the sardine-packed bus. The second one came - yet another single-deck - but still i couldn't board it; the massive, shoving crowd proved just too difficult to get past. Only when the third bus arrived was i able to get on the bus, by which time the lecture was just a few minutes away from starting. Surely this wasn't a very good way to start the day with.

During all that waiting, however, i found myself distracted by the rain instead of being preoccupied with the prospect of being very late for class. There's always a somewhat subdued sense of elation welling in me whenever i gaze at and admire falling raindrops from the sky. Perhaps it has to do with the power of Nature to evoke in me a certain sense of awe and fascination each time it displays its forces (which of course can be benign or destructive). The traffic may be roaring and the movement of humans on the streets continuous and unceasing, but the rain stands isolated from all that, even nonchalant to the little chaos it seemed responsible for below here in diminutive human towns. Against the bad vehicular traffic and in the midst of an atmosphere of incessant rushing and impatience at the bus-stop, the raindrops merely fall innocently from above, creating a constant rhythm that drowns all human din combined. Sometimes the simple joy of admiring nature can't be explained fully in words, if only because man's tool for expression sometimes prove inadequate (and unecessary perhaps) in matters regarding Nature and its myriad processes.

I was almost 45-minutes late for lecture but was told by my friend i had missed little. When i got out of the lecture theatre later the cloudy sky had already cleared and the sun was peeking from behind somewhere. I did feel a little disappointed that the rain had come and gone so quickly, but it wasn't a lingering feeling. For the rest of the day, the lethargy was persistent and, i supposed, quite visible since i had friends asking why i seemed out of sorts today. Also, I would have incurred a great deal of unnecessary trouble had i not realised i had dropped my wallet at a bench. It was almost 15 minutes later that i realised it and flew back to the location to find it still lying there untouched, fortunately.

Ironically, perhaps that recovery - born out of a bad incident - was destined to mitigate the bad day. At least for today, it seems mind, body and fortuity were all playing conspiratorial roles. The only good is that it produced these thoughts, and hence this post.