The Road to Atas-dom

The road to Atas-dom is paved with good intentions. It shows you where you stand in the scale of atashood as the pinnacles of finery gleam everywhere in the background. Be exhilarated, be humbled.

black dots and white fluff

I love the little dots that rise and fall in a line suspended in the air. My Sunday morning was made all the more beautiful because of this lovely image. It makes it worth my while to crawl out of bed early in the morning and risk a tired Sunday.

the aged truth

Can anyone be more brutally frank when they haven't met you for a while (say more than a year) and upon meeting up, tell you without the slightest hesitation: 'You've aged!' If you didn't think someone look the same or become even more youthful after a long absence, you wouldn't go the other way and say he's aged right? I'm amused, maybe a little sad, but not at all offended. After all, the mirror that I see myself in everyday doesn't lie; work has made me a haggard man, sadly. But this incident stood out because these were the first words that came out of JL and it was even before I sat down after I arrived!

Yani was kinder. She said I look the same but funkier (because of my glasses). I think most people are so used to seeing me in stiff, boring work clothes so much so that they exclaim or get surprised at how I look when I'm in casual wear. Seriously, when you have to be dressed in proper shirt and pants for 5 days a week, you don't really have that many options to look different each day. You would still be wrapped in business shirt and pants no matter the details of the shirt or the accessories you use.

The other day, my (female) colleagues saw me for the first time in smart casual wear on Friday, and they joked that I have become an Ah-Boy. But I look no different that day compared to the past 30 days - except that I was in short sleeved shirt and jeans. But still, that's the kind of reaction I got. All I can say is that being called Ah Boy is better than to have aged.

Yours truly,
Ah Boy

pedal. rain.

It's been pouring since morning. Though it's evening now there seems to be no difference in the time because the sky's been gloomy and overcast since the first torrent of raindrops came beating down this morning.

As I held my umbrella and shielded myself from the splattering rain this afternoon, I thought of the last Malaysia ride we had - of being caught in the rain and getting our bike and ourselves drenched with rainwater.

I hated it when we are caught in the rain while cycling overseas. But for a moment just now, I felt a tinge of yearning to cycle in the rain: pedal, pedal, pedal; feeling the icy coldness cut my skin and the relentless droplets attack my eyes; the pedaling keeps going on, our mind carrying just one singular thought that no one needs to spell out: let us get to our destination as quickly as we can.

the way, the truth, the life

"The Gospels, revealingly, tell us little of Jesus's spiritual formation and concentrate mostly on his words and actions. The Buddha story, by comparison, places most of its emphasis on how Sidhartha came to enlightenment - the process (which anyone can follow, even today, in principle) - while the particular details of his subsequent teachings and wanderings are often barely mentioned. Even non-Christians may know some of Jesus's words, while typical Buddhists may know hardly any of Buddha's specific discourses. Buddha is a precedent more than a prophet; and where Jesus came to earth as the way, the truth, and the life, the Buddha came to suggest that the way is up to us, the "truth" is often impermanent, and the light comes and goes, comes and goes, until we have found something changeless within." - p.101

The Open Road: The Global Journey of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, Pico Iyer

Twenty Four past Twelve

It's twenty four minutes past twelve. We are in the first hour of the ninth day of November in the year twenty eleven.

My humble achievement at this hour: Chapter 1 of Book 1 of 1Q84 completed. Aomame has crossed the metropolitan highway and swung over the metal barrier. She is now making her descent down the emergency highway.

I'm such a sucker for cool design and all things aesthetically appealing, especially when it involves paper-related products such as books and notepads. So it shouldn't be any surprise that I am fond of 1Q84 the physical book itself: the cover paper and the pages have a neat and minimalist touch which I appreciate, particularly the font and the inclusion of the book's title on the mid point of the side of every page. This little detail, rather understated, makes all the difference to the book.

dinner + supper + murakami

Picture below: Supper that I had just 20 minutes ago. 5 minutes before that I just finished my dinner. All super unhealthy food, but what's there to complain after a hard day at work and a barely decent lunch?

In other world news, I'm glad I performed the Murakami operation last night, for the prospect of continuing from where I left off yesterday, even if it may only be for a few precious lines, offers a glimmer of hope and sends a tinge of excitement down my spine.

The day passed with new pressures and expectations. Now into my third week, I am still learning new things everyday, even as the pressure to deliver results mounts with each passing day. It's a different ballgame, a completely new environment that I've settled into. The only way for me to rise above all the struggles is to keep going, keep going with a bit of faith, preferably at a rate faster than my legs could carry me. I learnt quite early on that the only way to learn is to learn things myself - consciously, purposely, constantly. For if I do not take this upon myself, no one is going to give a damn about me. And out I will go, eventually, for the world waits not for the man who can't catch up with changes.

Strangely, perhaps it's the shot of supper sugar, I feel an unexpected sense of optimism tonight even though there's much to worry about from the unfinished business of the day (like how many successful calls am I going to hit tomorrow).

Oh well. Murakami beckons. Good night!

1Q84: The Beginning

I have done the deed. The stage is now set for what would be a long journey into the mystical and bizarre, the inexplicable and astounding. The incriminating book has been stripped of its plastic cover, and the pages were ruffled for the very first time. I felt like a Murakami character experiencing a sense of uncanny delight as if I had been bracing myself for this moment, preparing to plunge into a strange world that the protagonists of Murakami's stories inhabit. Indeed, I wish some time I could fall out of the real world and enter another one which logic cannot explain every occurrence. In that world, one can disappear from the now and resurface in another realm (preferably one with sunshine and lots of greenery).

After gingerly turning the first few pages, I reached the first chapter and read the first few lines. Like other novels of authors whom I appreciate, I have mixed feelings when I begin reading the book. It's a great pleasure and I look forward to devouring every line, every page and every chapter. But all too often I dislike the fact that the beginning is the start of the end.

Murakami's latest novel is a thick volume. This will somewhat slow down my reading pace since I won't be carrying it around. Sounds reassuring.

that which we all adore: A&W!

The other reason why I ditched Bintan for Batam in the end was this: A&W. I don't know if Bintan had A&W, but Batam definitely has, so that's a clear edge for Batam. Just like in Malaysia where the people who ask about A&W and patronise it are my countrymen, so too is the case for Batam.

I guess if A&W never disappeared from the F&B landscape here, it would not have been so popular and excited so many souls now. But such is life, the extinct A&W rootbeer float being such a signature delight that it has seared its way into the hearts of foodie Singaporeans. After all, the value of a commodity invariably increases when it is in limited supply. I guess from an economic sense that's how nostalgia has an ineradicable part in our lives.

 

Space and Solitude #4: Recharge

About three weeks ago, I spent a bit of Me time at what I thought was a perfect sanctuary to recharge and spend some quiet time alone. It all started with my having obtained an extended leave at the last minute. I wanted to get away from everything that's familiar and which consumes my energy and even my soul. The sensible thing to do is to travel: go to a foreign place, journey by yourself.

I did travel a bit previously but it was mostly for work. Unlike my peers who could jet off pretty frequently for weekend feasting in say Kuala Lumpur or diving at some nearby islands, I could ill afford the time for leisure travel. The tragic truth is that weekends had become time to catch up with work. When I do have to travel for work - mostly to attend some meetings or programmes - my exhaustion level would peak because of the inevitable mad rush. The record I had set thus far: I worked till 7 plus in the evening once, flew out of office to flag a cab and scooted home, started packing for (or rather, throwing) whatever I needed for the trip only then, and was out of home within an hour heading for the airport to catch a red-eye flight. (The thing is, when your schedule changes, you have to work it round the schedule and clockwork of the rest of the world, for the world is not going to change its pace and schedule to accommodate yours.)

Despite the stress and exhaustion, I do relish the opportunity to travel for work. Notwithstanding having a legitimate reason to be out of office, the things that I enjoy are the same reason why travel is an effective antidote to clearing one's mind of tedium and stress. I like being in the cab travelling from this end of the island to the other end where the airport is. After having done a mental check on the things I had to bring and settle, the Me time begins during the local commuting. Slumped in the air-conditioned interior of the cab whose meter keeps rising by the minute, this is probably the first time since the mad rush began that I am able to catch some rest. But my mind would be restless, my droopy eyes scanning the city that slips past the cab while random thoughts would be floating through my mind.

After checking in at the airport, I generally like to take my time at the transit area. It's the next significant chunk of time I have to be freely wondering about things, enjoying a coffee somewhere and watching the business of air travel unfolding before my eyes. One moment a family of five with kids could be queuing up to buy their last local Singaporean fare; the next moment a business traveller might be seen at the lounge area discussing a deal with his partner. But rarely would you see a majority of businessmen, those decked out in well-pressed shirts and big coats, for these are the seasoned travellers whose time equates with money; they appear just in time before the gate closes instead of lingering in a place where they've grown accustomed to spending so much time of their life moving through.

My latest travel, an overnight getaway, however did not involve taking the airport or taking the plane. Being so last minute, I couldn't get any cheap air ticket so I ditched my plans to chill out at Koh Samui. I was about to scoot off to Bintan before a chance discovery made me change my tentative plans. Within the next 24 hours I was transported by ferry and then a minivan to a hidden balinese-like gem in Batam where the world is nowhere at my footsteps. In place of urban noise and incessant chatter and crowds was a tiny oasis of peace filled with the calming sounds of running water and soothing plants. Within minutes of arriving at this secluded place, I made up my mind that I like it and would be back again if I had the time. It's a little costly for one person (this place is catered to couple crowds) but the peace and quiet that you enjoy makes it a good deal. The place has nothing else except its comfortable spa and chalet rooms to offer - perfect for the tired soul who is not looking for action but craves quiet and tranquility. Again, it was a weekday so there were few guests and that spared me the fate of meeting more of my countrymen. After a three-hour spa and a spendid nasi padang lunch, I spent my time mostly doing nothing or reading my books and watching some DVDs half-interestedly. For me, this is as prefect as it can get for a short getaway to chill and rejuvenate.

 

the here and the now

"Buddhism, more than any philosophy I am aware of, has no interest in "dreamlands," or in the places in our head that stand in the way of our engagement with what is happening right now; the Buddha, after all, took his very name and meaning from the sense of being wide-awake in the middle of confusion and ignorance. The philosophy that arose out of his teaching affirms no absolute paradise of the kind hymned in Christian or Islamic texts; for those in the Dalai Lama's tradition, Nirvana itself is just a way station, a state of mind, really, that the true bodhisattva sees not as an endpoint but a viewpoint, to carry back with him into the clamour of the world." 

The Open Road: The Global Journey of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, Pico Iyer, p. 40

exclusive pleasures

It will never happen, but a comfortable schedule should be one sprinkled with regular time-out at the friendly cafe at the corner of the street or in an unpretentious restaurant that serves no-frills good food. Prices should be affordable and most importantly, the atmosphere and vibes must strike the right chord. Make it too gaudy and the place will come across as having poor taste. Sexed it up with a poor mix of music and even the best cappuccino cannot compensate for it.

The things that invariably impress me are simplicity, good service, a decent selection of cakes and bite-sized food, and good coffee (not necessarily in that order). The furnishing must be pleasing because one goes to a cafe to relax and chill. (Don't bother if you have to ask what's the connection.) And in the words of my King of Komfort friend (so labelled because he is a ruthless connoisseur of all things comfortable in life, which, I should add, does not necessarily equate with all things expensive), toilets of restaurants are most critical: they cannot be shabby-chic; they must be swanky. 

That's a swanky statement to make.

The saddest thing about tiny Singapore (which is growing tinier as its population continues to grow) is that no place can ever stay as an exclusive haven. The moment a gem even in the most secluded, god-forsaken location sprouts up, it will very shortly become a haven lost. I discovered during my recent respite that the only way to enjoy that bit of exclusivity and pleasure at such places is to visit them during weekdays. But unless you are a millionaire-turned-retiree or a care-the-world-not swaggering lad who lives by his own time, the possibility of you enjoying time-out on a weekday is probably very slim. Life's a bitch and we know it.

Sunday's almost gone, but you don't have to start mourning - 'coz tomorrow's a public holiday. As my ex-classmate's Facebook status says: 3-day weekends should be made mandatory. Now, that's another swanky statement I support.