Lovin it

Weekend is about enjoying the things you like such as having afternoon tea or brunch with friends, taking a stroll, smelling the grasses, or reading a book.

So, this is what i want to tell Mr Last Day of October and Mr First Day of November: I can't wait to embrace you both. A full, warm-hearted, throaty embrace!

The new machine

Its birth was unplanned, and no amount of precaution could have prevented it. What's more, it was born under dubious circumstances, though it's due to no folly of mine. Accidents do happen, which is why there are unplanned births and dark past. When they do happen, the way forward is to adapt and make good with the change. And this change, it should be clearly stated, came with a hefty tag. SO MUST CELEBRATE LAH!

Boys & Rock Band

Boys Territory


Rock Cool

I always think that as a guy, if you want to get the girls you've got to be either 1) suave and good-looking; 2) have a very good voice so you can croon and move the fairer sex; or 3) play a smashing instrument in a rock band.

I am none of all that, so I wish I could be number 3 in my next life because i think making music is just so cool and fun. Just don't turn me into a cockcroach. That will surely scare all the girls away. Confirmed, guaranteed, Chopped.

Dream. Silence. Pictures.

Some of the totally useless but satisfying things I spend time on is going through my pictures and producing stuff like the above. If I were to run through my growing collection of photos (they are easily taken on a digital camera these days), I wonder if there could be a recurring motif detected. Perhaps a relentless quest for perfection? Or the yearning for space and true freedom? Or just being anal about everything. Perhaps, or perhaps more.

I wish I could call myself a true Dreamer, maybe just to excuse my numerous failings and impractical habits. JPW was nice, and being witty as usual, when he once said - in response to my dreamer remark - that I was just an idealistic realist (or was it realistic idealist?). A dreamer could be an idealistic realist, couldn't he? But I much prefer the dreamer label. Even when dreaming and thinking such unproductive thoughts, I also insist on its sounding nice. Such is my mortal failing.

But, dreaming about how life often takes curious, unexpected turns, contemplating about the things going on around us, their hidden messages and subtle significance - the whimsicality of life always intrigues me. As a non-believer of any religion, I find that I have that bit of freedom to question and think possibilities that the faithful might not have because of their beliefs, just as they have the faith and strength to journey on through life which others may find lacking or faltering at times.

I've also come to realise that age is often accompanied by the longing for silence. On the train listening to BBC some time back, I heard this line: 'There's nothing I crave so much as silence these days. There's so much noise these days.' It struck a chord in me. Weighted down by accumulating memories and growing responsibilities, the real respite one gets these days is when one is left untouched by these matters and thoughts. Having silence and personal space is key to attaining that 'untouched' state, however transient it might be. This may perhaps explain why mediation works for some, or why some people take a break and go on a sabbatical.

But craving silence does not mean shunning social company. It just means needing more quiet space (alone or with your friends and loved ones), and literally having less noise, less clutter in our tiny, nearly overcrowded lives. Technology may have weaved greater convenience into our lives, but it has also created more noise, both literally and metaphorically. In this urban city of ours, especially as a working, lower middle-class - whatever it means - citizen, the need for silence is amplified by the ceaseless claustrophobia one is constantly afflicted with. Growing older thus, I find contentment in spending quiet moments alone or with friends, away from the cacophony of our urban jungle.

Lemon Tea, Orange He ;)

Brunch on a quiet Saturday morning at Marmalade Pantry.
Love the contrast between the stripes and lemon tea.

Prelude to my favourite time: the weekend!

The Charm Factor

If you have style, sensible taste, elegance (often involving subtlety) and wit, I'm likely to be charmed and impressed.

Aesthetics is important. Without which, life will be less appealing, less exciting, less colourful, and more bland. You and I deserve better.

Magical Words

When I went for the trip a few weeks ago, I chose to bring a book I've not started at all instead of one of the numerous others that I had already begun. I reckoned I would have both the time and the mood to read during the trip, so i wanted to make sure I brought along a book that I would very much enjoy.

I didn't have to think long about what book I want to bring. I'm the sort 'who saves the best for the last', and though this was no last trip nor last book, my choice was decidedly Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude. I had bought the book long ago but consciously delayed starting on it, knowing that once I read it I would finish very quickly. For I knew García Márquez's spellbinding novels would be hard to put down once you started reading them.

As expected, I finished reading the book in a week or so. I read it on the train, while walking to office, and even stayed up late just to savour a few more pages, a few more lines. Even though I feel Love in the Time of Cholerea was a better book - and indeed i enjoyed it more than I did the former - I was nevertheless mesmerised and totally captivated by García Márquez's words which I can only describe as magical. They are full of empathy and humanity.

"The revision of the deeds took place at the same time as the summary court-martial presided over by Colonel Gerineldo Marquez, which ended the execution of all officers of the regular army who had been taken prisoner by the revolutionaries. The last court-martial was that of Joss Raquel Buendia. “I don’t have to tell you anything about his good heart, about his affection for us, because you know better than anyone.” Colonel Aureliano Buendia gave her a disapproving look.

“I can’t take over the job of administering justice,” he replied. “If you have something to say, tell it to the court-martial.”

Ursala not only did that, she also brought all of the mothers of the revolutionary officers who lived in Maconda to testify. One by one the old women who had been founders of the town, several of whom had taken part in the daring crossing of the mountains, praised the virtues of General Mocanda. Ursala was the last in line. Her gloomy dignity, the weight of her name, the convincing vehemence of her declaration made the scale of justice hesitate for a moment. “You have taken this horrible game very seriously and you have done well because you are doing your duty,” she told the members of the court. “But don’t forget that as long as God gives us life we will still be mothers and no matter how revolutionary you may be, we have the right to pull down your pants and give you the whipping at the first sign of disrespect.” The court retired to deliberate as those words still echoed in the school that had been turned into a barracks. At midnight General Jose Raquel Moncada was sentenced to death. Colonel Aureliano Buendia, in spite of the violent recriminations of Ursala, refused to commute the sentence. A short while before dawn he visited the condemned man in the room used as a cell."

One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez