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.