miles away, missed

Was it the brief interlude of respite that I miss? A free soul - almost - wandering in a foreign land, alone for short moments but feeling more than a pang of slight liberatation. Moving through unfamiliar streets, gazing langurously at new sights, feeling one's presence in a foreign land: a sense of detachment and foreigness quickly emerges to occupy one's consciousness. One's state of mind and being? Tender yet vulnerable; light and contented.

Or was it the joy and thrill of travelling? Being away from the familiar, the claustrophobic, the ceaseless; the promise and anticipation of the unfamiliar, the unseen, and the exotic. The excitement and desire to go beyond one's shores - these feelings never disappear.

Or was it the place - its particularity and character - that makes me think of it, miss it? Was it Shanghai and Shanghai itself that makes me recall fondly that brief interlude?

my ideal bed

Methinks the happiest person on earth is the toddler in the pram who gets around without having to move, without needing to get out of his bed, without having to squeeze through throngs of noisy people. All he does is to lie back in his little cozy nest, maybe suck his thumb, hug his little bolster and gaze curiously at the world around him. Most importantly, he can stay in his bed all the time but still get to places.

I want to be that toddler.

that perfect brew

It's nice to see (that's important) and it's nice to drink (that's also important, if not more). Ay, I'm such a sucker for aesthetics, i think it would be a good idea if i could get to know how my tea and coffee is served before i decide on what to get.

Which my polite friends would point out, you'll never get to drinking your tea/coffee. Oh well.

Sign of Middle Age

It is a sign of what my life is like right now: drinking wine with Bosses late after work; drinking coffee with boss early before work; having lunch with Bosses between work.

Quite unexpectedly, Big Boss (henceforth BB) walked out of his office, asked how many people were still around, said he had a bottle of wine; he wanted to get glasses. (When he's gone for a while, i whispered to colleague next to me, 'i don't want wine, i want to go home!') As things turned out, BB is a man who knows his stuff. He drinks well ('I drink my hard liquor neat'), eats the finest food, knows a goddamn awful lot about wine and food. Wouldn't be far off the mark if i say he's quite the connoisseur. I don't know a great deal about wine (though at the way my learned friend is lifting me from existence to living, maybe soon enough i will know a lot more), but I can say the wine that BB shared was good stuff. I enjoyed it as much as the stories volunteered by him, K and JW.

BB not only eats and drinks well, he is also ahead in the race when it comes to running. Way, way ahead, in utmost certain fact. Hearing him speak and knowing his timing, it is as if you so much as run a 4hr 01min timing for the full marathon, you belong to the category called 'Slow'. And because i belong to this category (i.e. anything more than 4 hours), as do most other ordinary folks, i believe, I was happy to be silent on the topic. Well, i did comment that there was a drastic, disappointing drop in the number of runspirators for the marathon this year. Almost no groups along ECP actually. (Where are the drummers, percussion groups and youthful cheer teams of yesteryears?!)

So the question was posed to BB: what makes him run the marathon these years? (He had remarked that our body is not designed to run marathon distance, or something close to that.) Sporting a wry smile - which is usually prelude to some sardonic or acute humour - he professed that when you hit middle age, you run a marathon. Actually, you either run a marathon, or you go skirt chasing, or you drive a sports car.

Which makes me wonder, maybe i'm hitting middle age a bit too early? ;))

Nirvana

My hunger appeared to have subsided, or so i imagined, and my mind started to lift itself out of starving mode. Good enough. It was tiring running for more than two hours, and to have to carry thoughts of my hungry stomach striking protests, that's another weight sapping one too little remaining ounce of energy that's left of me.

So, I began to lose thoughts of hunger. My weary legs seemed to have found strength, striking forward with greater assurance of their, er, foothold. The landing felt balanced, and there even appears to be a newfound momentum. Gathering slowly, but present nevertheless.

My hopes were rekindled. I felt less weak. Then my mind - that all-powerful tool that controls without a word spoken, or a finger lifted - detected a signal. Unmistakably so.

'Your mind's drawing the tiredness and pain away from your feet. It is sucking away the negative energy, that's why your steps not only don't hurt, they feel stronger. Mind over matter. You've mastered your strikes. And your running technique - landing on the front of your feet - that you've conciously put to practice - it works! Here and now's the proof!'

I felt stronger, could feel little pain (it's disappeared). My pace, my running posture, my confidence, they have never been better. My body is in sync with itself, all the critical drivers in kinetic unison.

The feel-good thoughts didn't stop there. My mind was in an excited state, I reckoned, and it decided to fill itself with positives. It detected yet another signal, this time as if it came from divinity.

'Amazing. You are running better, never felt so good, and if you continue like this - running at this speed, feeling little pain, thinking only good - you may just be able to achieve a superb timing, a record record! Hell, you are reaching Nirvana! You could go on and on, running at this pace!'

I am attaining Nirvana? Its mere existence - the thought - seems to corroborate its own prognosis.

Some time later - not that much later, really - the all powerful mind seemed to encounter a grave challenge. There could be internecine strife, I supposed. I tried hard to feel and search within for my nirvana strength, but it seemed to elude me. Tiredness and pain seemed to have been drained down from top (mind) to below (legs). The negative energy seemed to be exerting its presence. If i felt deep enough, if i concentrated hard enough, I swore I could hear and feel the devastating hungry thoughts. They were going to inhabit my erstwhile emancipated stomach, and bear me down with its mental weight.

Enlightenment came not long after. Again, the all-knowing mind.

Power Gel effect has been consumed. No more effect. Kaput. No more nirvana dream. No nothing!

So much for the positives.

Rainman

Sunday. Today. It was raining the entire day. Lovely weather to sleep in and snuggle under your blanket. But instead, I was outdoor in the naked rain - for nearly five excruciating hours save for a lunch in between. Had the rain started when i just stepped out of home, things would have been different.

After lunch, the rain was still beating relentlessly. It's the sort which you take one look and you know instinctively that it would go on for another eternity. Fat chance of the rain stopping anytime soon. So we finally braced ourselves to continue the journey. I was driven by only one overriding concern: to get home soonest and have a hot bath!

Home, however, was a good 40+ km away.

I can't remember if ever there was a time i was exposed in the rain for so long, seriously. When we rode out from Changi Village, I wasn't just trembling - that's too mild to describe my condition - I was shaking. The rain was hardhitting, the wind was swirling and the cold was envelopng. My arms, torso, hands, fingers - they started to shake like spasms which I couldn't suppress. I let out a Whooooo Wheeeeee every few seconds when i started to shake uncontrollably. Not too long after, I did the only thing that could make me warmer and alleviate my uncontrollable shaking: I picked up speed and surged forward along the coastal stretch. Ironically, while I was mentally and physically battling the cold, I thought this was just the training that i need to push myself to cycle faster.

By the time i reached home, i had transformed into a Rainman. Having been exposed for some 5 hours in the rain - torrential at some point in time - i was amazed that i survived at all and did not get pneumonia!
What an overwhelming showers of blessing for my Comeback Ride. It can only get better from here!

Hai Jiao Qi Hao

Cape No 7

Yes, I finally caught the show! So glad I managed to catch it before it runs out in the theaters - and with the bubbly, excited Ms T no less. As countless reviews said it, the movie is a crowd-pleasing favourite.

I sat through slightly more than 2 hours feeling satisfied and contented. With a local authentic setting, pleasing characters, funny scenes and pleasant music, it's hard not to like the movie. The love story - if there's one - is weak and some connections are filmsy, but the light-heartedness, the funny characters and the rustic setting of the seaside town together evoke a warm, laidback charm that makes all the shortcomings forgivable.

Lovely movie. If you haven't caught it, you can consider watching it.

I love pancakes!

Living my not-so-secret unambitious ambition of chilling out in a nice cafe, imbibing the langurous mood, forgetting the inexorable march of time.

runaway laughs

Running 84km (Addidas Sundown) is no longer challenging yourself. It's just 'insane', says Jon.

'The only time i will ever run a marathon is when I have to do it to survive, which I don't think will ever happen', says my fav co-worker. 'I can think of thousand other things to do.'

The lady in his office says she will see him at the end of the run. Can't be, he says, for he's running the marathon, which will take a couple of hours. She says yes, becoz she's running 10km, it starts later and she will take 2 and 1/2 hours to complete. Jon says: You run with your arms for 10km, you will also not take 2 1/2 hours!

Dancing to a Murakami tune

Ms C shot me an instant, unimpressed look - with a slight sneery smile - when i told her i was reading Murakami now. Yes, it's what everyone is reading. And by everyone, of course i don't mean everyone; i mean nearly everyone, people who read, you know.

The sort of books that everyone reads is the sort that i may consciously avoid. I tend to steer clear of populist reads, which Murakami's works surely fall under. This is a somewhat visceral reaction, counter-intuitive. I know some books are hugely popular because they are, as a matter of fact, darn good. I just like to get to them later, prefering to scan around for less well-known but equally good works. But this is very difficult, because more often than not one relies on store's and friends' recommendations, book reviews, critics' and book awards to suss out a good book. I mean, how else does one know whether a book is worth one's time reading - unless you have hell lot of a time to browse and read synopsis, which i think most of us do not have.

This is not going to sound impressive, but what i like about Murakami's books is his brevity, his surrealist (absurd, you may say) stories and the almost easy words that flow poetically. There are facetious lines that he writes which are easy on the eyes and mind. Then there are the somewhat pseudo-thoughtful words that seem contrived but nevertheless palatable. It helps that the language is simple and you can finish a book of his quite fast.

The first Murakami book that i read started well enough but soon worn me out after each new story turns out to be each new bizzare story. I grew tired and decided i shan't read another Murakami book. Then I read a book by another author, which i picked up from the paper's review. At the end of the review, it says there, 'If you like this book, read also Murakami's Wild Sheep Chase'. I like the book enough to decide to check out Murakami's book. Guess I wasn't disappointed, for now I am reading the third Murakami book.

Here's an exerpt:

"You're not such a bad cook," Yuki said.

"No, not true. I just put my heart into it. That's the difference. It's a question of attitude. If you really work at something, you can do it, up to a point. If you really work at being happy, you can do it, up to a point."

"But anything more that, you can't."

"Anything more than that is luck," I said.

"You really know how to depress people, don't you? Is that what you call being adult?"

- Dance Dance Dance by Haruki Murakami

Sinfully Good

Well, photos don't do justice to the awfully good food. Table was just too messy and it was impossible to snap an 'isolated' shot. What does one do then? Ditch the camera, eat the food!

Knowledge is not intelligence all right

We were talking about a professor, and I commented that, given his public persona, he seems the profound, intelligent sort. Is he?

Not one to let an opinion goes unchallenged, she replied almost matter-of-factly: 'Someone who is knowledgeable may not be intelligent.'

Me: That is quotable and i shall quote you.

She (smiling): I've quite some friends who also felt that (what i say can be quoted)

Me (smiling): That shall be quoted, too.

21 more minutes of...

sinful photos

I love food and colours!

Ye Shanghai

The famous Oriental Pearl TV Tower and nearby buildings viewed from the Bund. This scene has invariably become the modern image of Shanghai, I believe.

I was, however, more intrigued by the sight of the glowing buildings along the bund (see below). The view was truly mesmerising; the buildings that followed the road down were of different architectural designs, and they shone, literally, in Shanghai night. It was evocative of a flourishing and ostentatiously bustling Shanghai in its early years, replete with exciting stories of wealth and crime.

in transit

Now at Changi T3. Really in transit, almost. Next to me, outside the floor-to-ceiling glass panel (which by the way, looks so clear it must be wiped quite often) is a Singapore Airlines plane that looks so big this close. Airbus? I don't know. I do know i've got to go to the gate now or else I can stay here and stare at the plane forever. bye!

The BCR Ride Report - 8 Oct 08‏

With permission from the author, I reproduce here his fine ride report, which after reading (i first received it exactly a month ago in my mailbox) I resolved not to ride with these speed demons anytime soon. I had not been riding for what seemed like an eternity, and this report I read, literally, as a provocation, a reminder of how far behind them, i mean time, that I've become.

Note: Names have been altered to protect the persons from being identified and pursued by other riders looking for a good challenge. Of course, they (the author and the named in the report) wouldn't care less about others, who surely must be inconsequential.

Yours truly.

______________________

You may ask... what does BCR stand for?

But upon learning the identity of the "Trainer", you would go... "ah-ha! BIG CHAIN RING!"

Leaving my house at 830pm, I should have anticipated the pace. After all, it was a "Kenneth" ride. Having the luxury of pedalling leisurely, I wound my way slowly through Chancery, admiring the grand houses, and then continued along Bt Timah Rd towards the rendezvous point, KAP MacDonalds. Savouring the joys of the cool air AND the relaxed pace, I arrived a couple of minutes early. Shortly after, all dreams of a leisurely ride were shattered.

Kenneth arrived and we briskly took off, heading towards Mandai. He showed no mercy and spared no thought for the heavy traffic along the initial portion of the ride - he SPED. As I frantically panted after him, giving everything I had to keep up, he deftly accelerated up the hills and descended even faster. With the immense exertion on my part, the waterfall started. Blinking to keep the sweat from my eyes, or was it the tears of pain from the agony in my lungs and legs, I could have sworn that for many moments, the blurry figure of Kenneth in front of me morphed into... J!

Can't be wrong, I tell myself, but the speedo read 37kmh. And to my dear readers, this was along a flat road. Or should I say, ALL the flat roadS. Never letting the speed drop below 35kmh, we reached Mandai and started climbing the hills. "Go on ahead, dont wait" was all i could manage to grunt out, in between panting. J... I mean Kenneth, slowed down at the crest of each hill and patiently slowed down for me to catch up.

I tell myself - (yes dreaming helps to ease the pain) - Kenneth & J should set up their bike shop. They could make tons of money by demo-ing heavy steel bikes - "see? this steel bike may be 15kg, but it is a special and VERY fast bike - it goes effortlessly at 40kmh - better than these new fangled carbon machines that struggle at 35kmh - hence the steel bike costs more - special for you, only US$10,000"......

With my mind tuning out the pain, I managed to finish Mandai & Thomson and we finally reached our end point - Adam Road hawker centre. As I stumbled in and heavily plonked myself down on the nearest empty seat, the lady at the next table glanced disgustedly at me - all dripping wet and yucky - such a contrast to Kenneth all fresh as a daisy. We had cold watermelon juice and chatted about the vietnam trip in December. And the chng tng was sublime... we have to return.

--- the end ---

Space Apart

The Quintessential taste of New Orleans

So said my atas (bourgeoisie) friend, who recommended the drink Mint Julep to me when i was going through the cocktail menu.

Being the absolutely ignorant peasant that I am - my esteemed friend has taken upon himself to elevate me from existing to living - I asked in earnest what the 'quintessential taste of New Orleans' is and how the recommended drink gives off that 'quintessential taste'. Whereupon my friend begain a slight introduction on the history of New Orleans (slaves, plantations etc). I was not the least bit tipsy, but I promptly forgot his entire explanation. After all, could i seriously be blamed if the atmoshere of the luxury bar was intoxicating my senses?

We had just finished our glass of Yamazaki Whisky. Earlier, my esteemed friend patiently explained to me the difference between a fine whisky and a lousy one (you could feel the latter which runs down your throat and leaves an irritating sensation). He even commented on the single, solid ice cube that accompanied the Whisky; it must surely be something about how it complemented the whisky.

I held the glass in my hand and took the first sip gingerly, like an excited but clueless proletariat who is tasting epicurean cuisine for the first time.

'Gulp.' I took a small amount, swirled it a little, felt and tasted it, then finally letting it run down my throat, believing that the sensation was, well, superior. I was trying my best to look the wise and appreciative, which must surely be de riguer for the atmosphere.

A fine evening it was, and I had been shown how to live, not just exist. In case you are mistaken, my esteemed friend was good company, and I had a relaxing night in a totally chill-out place.

Now, I just need to taste lousy whisky to appreciate a good whisky next.

Trance City

that image running in my mind

On the way back home from Changi Airport - the night was just creeping into the wee hours - this was the image that kept propping up in my head: narrow streets flanked by shops with a canopy of signboards of all sizes and colours, and tall, skinny buildings looming in the background. Different images formed, but inevitably they were of the same scene.

Nothing else quite came to mind, and I took occasional glances at the speedometer (which was going at 120kmh at one point) while clutching the plastic bag at my feet to keep the two bottles of duty-free Absolut Volka and champange from toppling.

Only a few hours ago i was zipping through dense streets which were constantly overfilling with people, people that were constantly moving rapidly. It was messy, even claustrophobic, but that was quintessential Hong Kong: at least based on what I've come to imbibe from culturally fed images on TV over the years.

And now, here I was seated in the comfort of a taxi coasting smoothly along the Pan-Island Expressway. Orderliness prevails - the vibes of it, at least.

yummlicious stuff

Instead of waffle, this was what went down my stomach - with the help of 5 others to share the calories, of course. Not that I am complaining.

And where on earth did Gelare at Holland V disappear to???

S.W.O.T

I was working on an email, writing paragraph after paragraph trying to emphasize the current situation, which requires attention and fixing. There's the problem of this, which leads to that, and this has implications for that and that. There's the other problem, which kind of restricts this, and that approach would seem not wise, resulting in this and that. Blah Blah Blah.

Then it hit me that what i am trying to put in words would be better illustrated using, er hmm, SWOT analysis. That simple but brilliant tool that I've left behind after graduating from university. How smart! And having said all this, this much about me you should know - either I wasn't a business student, or I was a lousy business student.

Must be the run that gave me (work) inspiration. *shudders*

Fussy old fusspot!

Jon's hilarious email prompted me to dig out these two books - Mr Perfect and Mr Fussy - from my dusty bookshelf. I had such a fun time reading the books all over again, as well as the words penned by my friends. The book was each given by a group of friends in JC. Needless to say, the group which gave me Mr Perfect consists of more gentle souls, while the other group were my incorrigibly playful and abusive friends. Some people choose to see good, some people just don't. *chortle*

Mr Crap didn't know about the two books that I have, and i was grinning silly when i read his absolutely well-crafted Mr Choosy. At the risk of smearing my distinguished reputation, I knew i have to immortalise his story. And below it is:

__________________________
mr xxx,

have you read/seen the mr. men series of books?? they have mr jelly, mr tickle, mr bump, etc....but not many people know
abt mr choosy...

Once upon the near future, on his upcoming 26th bday, in the far edges of jurong west, mr choosy has the daunting task of making some really important decisions...

1. choose which day next week he wants to celebrate his bday with mr young and mr crap. mr crap suggests fri the 5th of may

2. both mr young and mr crap don't know what to get for mr choosy, so he can either decide dinner or a shopping trip to a bike shop where he can choose (hopefully not too long) anything he wants, within budget, of cos. mr crap knows mr choosy will say that he doesnt want either, not becuase he feels bad, but because he can't choose! so mr young and mr crap insist that mr choosy chooses something he likes.

3. also mr choosy has to decide where to eat, preferably somewhere with a simple menu, so mr choosy won't spend too much time deliberating on what to eat.

lastly, mr young would like to remind mr choosy (who is also mr photog) to bring 2 x copies of the sedili ride photos

mr crap will promise to entertain mr choosy and mr young by telling them all about his dinner with miss indeterminate beauty...that should be reason enough for mr choosy to promtly come out with decisions regarding the 3 really important questions

[damn-i can be a story teller]

Dated: 27 August 2008

September Treats

Top to bottom: Sat, 27 Sep 08: Caleb's birthday cake. Had an entire group of staff suddenly bursting into Happy Birthday Song, which caught even us the planners unaware; Tue, 9 Sep 08: Yummy banana split at Swensens @ Orchard with JG and M. Had helluva time catching up on good 'ol times; Tue, 9 Sep 08: Chatterbox chicken rice, so expensive that I can only eat with my Atas friend, who didn't know Chatterbox has moved to the 39th floor.

Snatches of September

September weighed rather consciously on my mind. I couldn't be awakened from a September vacation, for it didn't happen at all. Instead, a flurry of activities and late nights in office stole the sweet breath of September away. Until a week ago, it was as if September was one long breath drawn, with respite far away in sight. I can breathe a little easier now, but things are hardly any better. Or maybe it's just me being pessimistic. I read a novel and it was described that there were two kinds of (mediocre) people: the mediocre realists, and the mediocre dreamers. There was an immediate affinity to the latter that seems to be my conscious soul saying, hey, that's you. As if to prove that judgment and instinctive feeling right, I started to wonder if labels and terms like these bear any truth, or might they ring some degree of truth if only because people's minds attach meaning to them to reinforce what they already believed?

Perhaps it is because my birthday falls in September that makes me fond of the month, the ninth in the year. But I like September because it sounds nicer than other months; it has a soothing, autumn-like feel that is reassuring (hint of mediocre dreamer?). Almost at the stroke of midnight which ushered in my birthday, a group of people sang me a birthday song, some of them I've only known and spoken with in the last 24 hours. The next day, I crashed out and lay in bed till afternoon, recuperating from a physically exhausting day before. The exhausting day was a memorable one though, and I have no complains of being completely tired out. After all, how often does one's good friend tie the knots on the day before one's birthday?

In the 3 weeks that he was back preparing for his wedding, we probably met up and hung out together more than we ever did in the past 3 years combined. We hit the bars to drink, and he would invariably regale me with stories on the Brits' love for drinking, whereupon I would remind him that this is Singapore, hello. He's one of those good friends who, despite not meeting up frequently, I feel very at ease when hanging out together. We could talk about many things and there won't be awkward silences. It helps that - as is the case with other good friends - we have a healthy appetite for the absurd, funny, crappy, but can still hold a serious conversation if we want to. We had a lot of fun during the 3 weeks leading to his wedding day, so much so that I admit feeling a tinge of sadness when he returned to London, this time with his wife.

Another good friend's birthday falls in September too, and we met up for dinner a week ago. I meant it to be a birthday treat but he beat me to it by calling for the bill when I went to the washroom. Said i paid too many times and he's learnt to be smart finally. I felt cheated. Over dinner I told him about JG's wedding, M's unresponsiveness and the smashing gathering he'd missed (lucky guy was backpacking in Central Asia). We laughed and joked, as is always the case. Then, almost casually, he dropped that he's now attached ('By the way...'). When I probed further, I realised that he didn't have to do anything - except to ask - to win the approval of his girlfriend (what was the girl thinking?!). Suddenly the world seemed a little lonelier, what with everyone getting attached or married.

The following day - coincidentally, the last day of September - I went for a run with Eugene to train for marathon. It was the first time we were running alongside each other instead of cycling. It was also the first time that I ran some 12km at East Coast Park whilst talking nearly the entire run. I didn't go breathless, but it sure felt like an added component to the usual training. Holding a converstation while running turned out to be not a bad thing at all, for I got through the boring parts of ECP pretty quickly without the boredom catching on. Moreover, it was a good opportunity to know a friend better, and Eugene and I had had some good conversations. Later, we guiltlessly indulged in sinfully good prawn noodles and fried kway teow for dinner, even though both of us weren't the least bit bothered by the level of (un)healthiness - with or without the run. I remember the night ended with heavy rain (thus ended our it-won't-rain-let's-not-say-too-early talk), and though i had to use my umbrella to get home from the train station, I was quite a happy man because of the cool weather. Listening to my MP3 with two bags slung across my shoulder, I stepped into the rain feeling a sense of fuzzy warmth, having had a good evening and knowing that a good sleep now awaited me.

Maybe September didn't start well enough. But it does seem like I wasn't treated shabbily in its closing. For that I am thankful.

Wake me up when September ends

No excuses shall be made, nor reasons given. I just feel like I'm wasting away. I couldn't quite find the word to describe the condition, until a friend mentioned it, and since then, it has stuck, almost beautifully melancholic, like a drifting autumn leaf that has finally landed on its destined spot, permanently.

Trapped. It's a feeling of powerlessness and, ultimately, it's self defeating. Entrappment is both a physical and a mental state. It gnaws at you and constantly makes you feel conscious of your constraints. Maybe that's why I crave space - vast, voluptuous space - like how a dolphin or sea animal loves its endlessly wide ocean.

September - sweet september. Can one ask for a vacation and live a September dream?

on hiatus

Growing weary, thinking of things with no easy answers, tired of many things. Is this what they call quarter-life crisis?

Will not be blogging for some time. Out now.

Burma's junta and crimes against humanity

Day when Cyclone Nargis struck Burma:

May 3, 2008

Headline in The Straits Times on May 26, 2008:

"Turning point in tackling cyclone crisis: UN Chief urges more access for aid workers as junta warns against politicisation" (emphasis added)


Reading about the possible 'turning point' in the crisis that the Burmese are mired in now, any feeble feelings of relief and hope generated must surely be quickly replaced by a sense of unadulterated outrage and utter disgust at the junta's warning againist politicisation.

It only shows the psyche and hallmark of a despotic regime, whose first and foremost objective is to ensure that the regime survives and continues to exercise absolute power. The mere prospect that some form of authority might be ceded to an external power is enough to make them paranoid. Yes, despots are paranoid, and their perpetuation of power feeds on a constant paranoia - fear that their subjects would overthrow them (witness the junta's crackdown on the saffron-robed monks not long ago); fear that outsiders would jump at the slightest opportunity to expedite their downfall.

More than an indictment of their incompetence (this we knew all along), the junta's inadequate response to the cyclone crisis shows their obesession with power and control. Surely, they must be thinking that its people and the international community would not mind if the chance to oust them comes up fortuitously (indeed if only this were the case).

And so for weeks the junta had refused foreign aid and denied humanitarian workers access to the disaster area. One can only rationalize this in the context of a closed and reclusive regime who places utmost concern on the maintenance and exercise of power. This necessarily dictates that they must be wary of all external powers - especially if the latter have a record of criticising their rule - their intentions and actions inclusive.

More than three weeks have passed since the cyclone struck and brought untold misery to a people already living miserably under a brutal regime. And yet now we are only talking about a likely 'turning point'. How many lives have gone to waste and how much more widely and deeply have diseases spread during this period?

China's handling of its own crisis in the aftermath of the Wenchuan earthquake has been held up as a contrast to Burma's situation, highlighting especially the complete uselessness and cruelty of the junta in Burma. But this is hardly the point.

That the junta is recalcitrant, intransigent, brutal and has no moral and legitimate authority to govern is a recongised and affirmed fact. But what the ongoing crisis does is to crystallize all that the junta is known for and capable of: a deplorable and morally void government that commits unspeakable crimes against its people.

Runaway

If...

'If grief is deep blue, melancholy must be the colour of a sky without clouds.'

'If my self is a shadow, at least I made a dent in the light.'

- Cyril Wong, 'If...else' in Like a seed with its singular purpose

It's 2:06am, a time when i would do better to be in bed. But dreaming sweet dreams I am not; instead, Im writing this post while waiting for photographs to be uploaded to Facebook.

Of late, blogging and uploading photographs have become some sort of after-work part-time job, an affair that i carry out in the dark hours, when married couples are whispering to each other in bed, kids have long fallen sound asleep and party-goers are starting to thin out in the clubs.

I have no choice. I get home late from work and the computer is not always immediately available. I crave sleep, that slumbering lure of rested soul. But I also desire sometimes to pen certain lines, to indulge in writing, which is a far more interesting and satisfying pursuit that what i do in the day.

Aesthetics - something very essential and important that I value. And so I usually spend a long time uploading pictures (though it is usually the thought of owing others photos that spur me to hurry and upload them), arranging them, thinking up suitable captions.

Like now. I've more than 200 photos and it looks like they won't be completely uploaded till at least a few more nights. It was Kenneth's inspiring email that motivated me to continue this endeavour after work this evening. I shall perservere!

Image Relook

A serious re-examination of my image (perceived or otherwise) is in order, if these conversations I've had are anything to go by.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
'How've you been!' An external working partner - a she - called out excitedly when we met after a meeting. It was some 9 months back since we met for this annual project.

'You must be doing good; better than before!' (Chuckles)

'I remember you had a pimple then. Must be the stress!' (Laughs heartily)

Me: What??!! All you remembered was my pimple?!! (Mock Horrified look. Less the Mock, really.)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Tam: Would you date older women? (matter-of-factly tone)

Me: Yes (a little hesistant. Guys need to be careful when thrown such questions)

Tam: You look like you would date older women. (matter-of-factly tone maintained)

Me: Huh? What?!

SX: Er, no, he looks like he would go out with girls of our age.

At least SX thinks otherwise! What, you mean i don't look like sweet young things will want to date me?!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SU (colleague): What's wrong with your hair today? Bad Hair Day? (sniggers)

Me: Hmm. Well - I. Waxed. My. Hair.? (eyes rolling)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There, I said it. I need to re-examine my image. Seriously.

Perfect Quiet

Room the size of night. Perfect quiet. Space at last
To dream of islands without end.

-- Alvin Pang, "Upgrading" in City of Rain


When the roads unexpectedly empty itself
of its ceaseless trespassers,
that briefest of interlude, as the last
passing car pulls away into the indecipherable
distance, its fleeting legacy a void filled by unseen
Silence.

Or that moment in between
wakefulness and consciouness in limbo,
lying in bed thinking about things
you can't think of in the ever-hurrying day.

Quiet thoughts now collect in your mind,
shrouded by the silence of dark,
the conspiring stars watching above.

Quiet is that silence keeping your thoughts afloat
before being overtaken by dreams,
dreams that know no fears and fear no secrets.
Quiet is that stealthy gulf that bridges you
and the glimmering stars hiding in that unknown
Universe.

Triple the Joy

One book of Labour


Twins of Happiness


Trio of Friends

Spring(field) Surprise

Springfield, a perennial favourite brand of mine, now has a flagship store at Raffles City. This I discovered by chance today. I asked the store manager (i guessed she's the manager) and learnt that yet another store will be opening in Plaza Singapura.

This is not good news to the vain me. Yet another brand that is going down the road of Topman - becoming giordanonised!

I also noticed that Springfield now carries women's clothes and accessories. Yet another sign of the maturing local fashion-apparel retail market.

Anyway, fatal mistake to chance upon that store. I walked out poorer. Much poorer. Sigh.

The morning I saw a rainbow

The weather was cool this morning and though the sky was overcast, I was hopeful that the clouds won't unleash its power.

No such luck.

The rain came on after we got past the congestion at Kranji Loop. Kenneth was ahead of me from the get-go, and I was careful not to lag far behind him. Cycling towards Kranji Dam, I could feel the rain gathering strength as decisive droplets pelted on my exposed arms. Soon enough, the droplets hit me with relentless force and in larger quantity. Did the rain get heavier, or were we just cycling into heavier rain?

That's when I saw it - the rainbow. We were rolling across Kranji Dam and I was focused on cycling, barely paying attention to the surroundings. Of course, it was impossible to miss the endless sky that loomed above. I first noticed the portentous clouds that had swallowed the Saturday morning sky. I hardly needed any reminding that I was in for a soaking experience. Only moments ago, i was shouting against the whooshing headwind to Kenneth: 'We are cycling into the rain!'

It was when we got to Kranji Dam that we saw the rainbow - its full, wondrously curving entirety, so serenely yet incongruously perched against the stormy sky. I was so excited that I shouted again to Kenneth in front: 'Look! Rainbow!'

Anyone who's seen a rainbow before - especially during or after inclement weather - must surely experience a sense of cheerful hope. It's a beautiful phenonmenon that is an apt metaphor for hope - an array of colours justaposed with cheerless gloom.

The rainbow that we saw this morning appeared just as we braced ourselves for the torrents that were going to descend on us shortly. It was a sight to behold because the rainbow was spread nearly as far as the two ends of the sky within our sight, forming an amazing arch that was so extensive it left me in awe. For a moment, it didn't matter that I was cycling in the rain.

The brevity of a rainbow's existence is one reason why it's special. I didn't know when the rainbow disappeared, for it wasn't long before the trees along the narrow Neo Tiew Road blocked the view of the sky. In any case, once past Kranji dam, I was battling the fierely pelting rain and had no mind to think about other things.

I suffered much discomfort because the needle-like raindrops were hitting my glasses and eyes with such intensity that made keeping my eyes open a challenge. Throughout the whole Neo Tiew stretch, my mind was half-preoccupied with trying to keep my eyes open to see the road ahead. The other half-preoccupation: entertaining thoughts about soaking-wet shoes.

Yes, it's not exactly a priority concern. It's trivial and silly even. But hell, ever since army days, I can't stand wearing shoes that contain swooshing water. It means socks completely wet. This in turn means great discomfort of a disgusting level.

So while my eyes were struggling to stay open - at times the best I could do was a slit - I was thinking of my shoes that were rising and falling in tandem with my pedalling. At first I consientiously avoided puddles. Then, thoughts of minimising the wetness of my shoes quickly gave way to thoughts of delaying my shoes getting completely wet. It was like how the slight drizzle swung to the other end that is the torrential rain: it's just a matter of time. One's will and foolish hope surely were naught when pitted against Providence.

Like a defeated soldier who had nothing else to lose and could not get any worse, I subsequently surged forth with wild abandon, not bothering to avoid or slow down when cycling across puddles. Seeing the white of Kenneth's jersey stained with lines of black, i consoled (and smugly congratualated) myself for my judicious decision to wear the blue jersey today.

The downpour only eased somewhat when we reached the open part of Lim Chu Kang Road where we turned into Old Lim Chu Kang Road. From Neo Tiew to Lim Chu Kang, only about 4 cyclists passed us by in the opposite direction. A few other cyclists had taken shelter at the bus-stops. The ever-friendly Kenneth would wave at them when he cycled past.

By the time I reached home I had covered 70km - my longest ride this year so far and a good progress. Most importantly, i feel more confident about next week's ride. Can't wait for Saturday to come!




The rain left its mark all over my bike. :( Took me some time to give my bike a good scrub after that. Photo at the top: After the clean-up :)

writing - an asthetic experience

Æsthetic enthusiasm. Perception of beauty in the external world, or, on the other hand, in words and their right arrangement. Pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story. Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable and ought not to be missed. The aesthetic motive is very feeble in a lot of writers, but even a pamphleteer or writer of textbooks will have pet words and phrases which appeal to him for non-utilitarian reasons; or he may feel strongly about typography, width of margins, etc. Above the level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from aesthetic considerations.

- George Orwell, Why I Write

The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect your reader precisely as you wish.

- Robert Louis Stevenson

Blue, blue Sky

I love the blue, blue sky. Through my tinted lenses, it was a shade cooler, a blue that soothes my mind.

The sky was nearly stark, as though it were baring Heaven's soul upon Earth. And the bareness of it only serves to accentuate its vastness, limited only by the few wisps of clouds that emerge from either end.

The heat was intolerable: we could almost feel the sun's searing rays piercing our grime-soaked skin. But this couldn't hide the beauty of the naked sky, which was matched by the green fields spread beneath.

I knew not how to remember this beautiful morning, which was quickly giving way and becoming consumed by the merciless mid-day sun. I acted only on my impulse, which was to fumble for my camera, fiddle with the buttons, search for the right frame and, finally, click.


Not me, of course. I ain't look so good even from the back!

Of belated gift and surreptitious photo-taking

A very nice shot by Ms One-Zero.

The morning ended with us drinking kopi at Ya-Kun, after we had gone round to hunt for that perfect gift. Between a suitably elegant necklace and a pair of classy looking candle holder, we both settled for the same choice, which we consider to be slightly less common, hopefully therefore more special.

Like a pro, we took photos of the gifts surreptitiously - me positioning the camera in furtive angles, she acting the interested customer. It was not a junvenile act, but part of our elaborate gift plan, which includes pictures of our hunting in action and, of course, our handwritten notes and jibes. A pity i did not take a photo of her waiting at Starbucks in the early morning when only a few souls were around - this would have been a nice prelude.

Come Monday, our fun shall continue. And we fully expect praise and an outpouring of gratitude from the recipient. Nothing less!

May Day Happy Day

The only blemish to the evening was the reluctant realisation that, sigh, tomorrow's a working day. Labour day really shouldn't be today; it should be tomorrow - since, well, we are labouring tomorrow and not today! (of course, as I'm writing this it's already past midnight. i forsee that i will be on coffee sustenance tomorrow. But as Kel said, you look forward to the weekend tomorrow! Now that sounds familiar.)


May day afternoon was a fruitless trip to Borders @ Wheelock. Can anyone imagine that I, armed with two Straits Times cut-out 30% discount coupons, walked out of the store without using them? Of the two books that i specfically wanted, Borders does not carry any books by one the two authors. The other book is out of stock. So much for the trip.

Evening was a lovely and thoroughly enjoyable meeting with the gang. L's bday celebration continues to roll over into the Xth day, and tonight was our turn. We received updates from Adrian, and hope for his sake that the storm will clear soon and the issue resolved.



Over at Harry's, Adrian delighted with his stories, and at one point of time, J picked up on his words and summed it up: You are kuai lan but not heartless
And I must say Adrian seems pleased with the prognosis. =)