hhhh

2011-07-27T06:14:00.000-07:00

I've decided, that I would rather retain my passion and get into trouble than avoid trouble and lose my passion at the same time. Always head towards the trouble, what does it matter if others condemn? They don't understand you, nor give a shit about you.

2011-07-27T05:54:00.000-07:00

I have not blogged for quite some time because a thought has been stuck in my mind that prevents me from penning down my thoughts.

"Nothing is a waste of time, if you use the experience wisely." Auguste Rodin

This quote I take from my calender. What worth does it has, for a human, to be more reflective? One down side of being more reflective, I feel, is that it often takes away the spontaneous quality to your lifestyle. The thought process is carried often in retrospect; instead of living for the moment, we're always living after the moment.

But what is purpose behind being more reflective at all?

An unexamined life is not worth living. But is it not? As I toil through the flood of seemingly non-connected, worthless activities, sparks of idealism gives me hope. But there is so much joy in not penning down every thought and being conscious of the tiniest bit of thought that is in your head.

After all, is thoughts all there is to us? Or is actions?

A combination of both, maybe, is the solution. For there to be a me in the first place, there must be a sort of society. Hence, society's standards defines who we are. If we were to want to live by our own standards, then it is inevitable that society would not grant us what we deserve, as existential entities.

How and to what extent might we give in, and whether we should always grasp on to the ideal of a passionate existential being living alongside, not with, society has been a question that troubled me for ages.

Also troubling my mind, is the issue of eloquence. It is STILL the issue of eloquence. Singlish is not the most eloquent of languages, but there are definitely many eloquent singaporeans (I am thinking Darion, Mr Tan WaJiam), whose speech is as fluid as their thoughts. But one down side to being eloquent in the singaporean society, is that you would give off an impression of pretension, or taking yourself too seriously.

Sometimes, the sentiments are noble but impressions conveyed are laughable.

An individual taking himself seriously is always funny.

We can't help but to take ourselves seriously, can we? Those who don't often find a reconciliation between the meaninglessness of life and the wanting to feel significant. Working on either is a tough issue that's got to do with lifestyle. Can intelligence transcend such issues and see the light in them?

I don't see why not. There are nothing more worth taking seriously than jokes.

Society treats trannies like shit. I agree. I did.

2011-07-07T02:40:00.000-07:00

I have never given much thoughts about the LGBT movement before. I am, to those of you who knows me, a fairly simple male with no confusions with his sexual identity--I like girls, hence the relationship with lena; I am only sexually aroused by girls; and I possess many quintessential masculine traits, such as engaging in a seemingly masculine sport such as basketball, an aversion towards shopping, and talking in a lower voice register. Of course, these are just some traits that I happened to conceive, and are by no means the only ones. But even these seem problematic.

Let me deal with my biologically determined traits first. I have a penis, two testicles, no vagina, one asshole (oh my, are you also thinking of the absurdity of having two?), prostate glands and other stuff like that that happens to determine my sexuality--pardon me for my lack of biological knowledge beyond the point of the visible. Not that I can see my prostate glands, but I know that it exists because I've read that I am supposed to derive pleasure from having it probed. These things on my body, voice register included, are supposed to determine my sexuality, or, how I should behave myself. If I have a naturally high voice for a male, I would invariably be ostracized by society because I am different from the rest. If I didn't have a penis (although that would be more unlikely) but possess all other features that males have, then an interesting question would be: what is my sexuality?

For the sake of simplicity, let us avoid the physically abnormal for the time being. It could thus be seen, that sexuality is often determined by fate. Now, let us watch this video about a transsexual called Zinnia Jones. I would have to admit that I find her appearance physically abhorrent--but that is due to human's incapability to transcend beyond the physical. She raised many thought-provoking issues regarding human sexuality, many of which have not even crossed my male mind.

"Just because someone feels that they don't entirely fit into their assigned gender role, that doesn't mean that they are going to conclude that they must be the opposite sex. They may not be able to totally fit into the purportedly restrictive gender role of the opposite sex either, so transitioning might achieve nothing. It's not as if people immediately flip to the other sex because of some minor difficulties with gender expectations--that would be absurd. For trans people, it's far more pervasive and internal than that. They don't only feel out of place in their expected gender roles, they feel out of place in their own bodies."

There are a few amazing ideas in this paragraph. Gender roles have been constantly an issue that society has to deal with, ever since the beginning of time. In a community, some has to do the hunting, others have to do the tending and caring. In modern societies such as Singapore, both men and women receives education and gets seemingly equal treatment. If anything, socially prescribed gender roles facilitate the productivity and survivability of our species, since it is biologically determined that women are better at some things than men and vice versa. However, the issue raised by Zinnia in her video is that some of us not only feel that there are any gender roles per se, that they could categorize themselves under. This severely blurs the line between man and woman. If one feels that they belong to neither, then what ARE they?

"Looking the part can really help with acting the part."

The cure that Zinnia provides, it seems, is sex change. When the individuals deem that it is necessary, changing one's sexual anatomies might alleviate them from the suffering and help them "act" their role better, gaining self assurance if not social acceptance. This implies that the problem of sexuality is not fundamentally solved even after sex change. There seems to be a deeper problem lurking beneath the surface, one that goes beyond the physical--the mental state. I can't help suspect, that all these insecurities about their own sex is a profound mental illness of sorts. But as with any illness that has to do with the mind, the issue of identity is being put into question. If it is not a mental illness, as the trannies would love us to believe, then the Cartesian split between mind and matter would seem to be an obvious explanation for this. Their minds are autonomous even to the biological determination of sexual orientation--they are free on their own, and the mind always wants to get out of the "body's prison."

"It's not an ideal world where things just happen perfectly. In the mean time, we should accept them for who they are. "

I agree, although it is hard for ordinary people to fully come into acceptance their queer characteristics, without consciously rationalizing and sympathizing with their plight.

"Rather than expecting them to endure being misgendered for the sake of a point of principle. "

The principle that she refers to here, is the Christian principle of zero tolerance towards sexually ambiguous individuals. With regards to Christianity's uncompromising attitude towards the changing consciousness of individuals in society and also society as a whole, I feel that really, Christianity is antiquated. It's appeal lies in the divine authority that comes directly from historical validation. The main problem here, is that while the rest of society changes as it modernizes, Christianity never changes. It cannot afford to. Can mere humans alter the divine course that God blessed us with? No, we can't, and we shouldn't. This hard and fast adherence to christian ethics brings about many complications as the world's population is getting more and more intelligent. When Jesus went preaching, there wasn't any Anthony Grayling around.

Other quotes that are fairly memorable from the video:

"frankenstein life flaps of barely living tissue"

"Do you make it a habit of criticizing people's private parts for not living up to your standard? What are you, a connoisseur of dicks?"

However, there is something contradictory and ironic in her defense. Consider the following arguments:

"This kind of surgery does not make someone a man or a woman. That's because a transwoman is already a woman.Some transpeople don't even choose to have surgery: that's not what makes them man or woman, they were men or women to begin with--that's who they are. "

I agree here that what she meant is that it is not the surgery, or in other words, the physical change, that gives the Transsexual his/her identity. The identity already lies in her being, and as such, some of them do not even feel the need to undergo sex change. However, if for some of them, their gender orientation is already present intrinsically, then why the mentioning of the act of sex change as not merely to conform to societal expectations of their roles, but as something "much more pervasive and internal?" If it is already present in them, then why the need to placate the rest of the humanity? And how sure are he that if he is not a man, then he MUST be a woman? Is the change of sex really desired, or is it simply an experiment with the only available alternative?

I don't have a clue.

She moves on to talk about restrictive gender roles, of how the public is obsessed with the masculinity of the transwomen. She defends it by claiming that some of them could "pass so well" that none could recognize them.

I find this the most stupid defense. It is appealing to the very public acceptance that Zinnia is attacking in the first place. If anything, she should simply criticize them for being narrow-minded and lacking perspective, instead of saying that "oh, some of the surgeries are conducted so well that you can't even see the difference!".

Well, in conclusion, I did gain a new perspective--the perspective of one transsexual. If I could take Zinnia's views as the general attitude of the transsexuals, then one thing that i would not do, is to try to identify the bulge in the mini-shirts of women with extraordinarily large breasts while cycling around Changi Village.

2011-06-25T23:21:00.000-07:00

"Of course, the Cartesian split is not the cause of the contemporary pathologies of reason, but it should be blamed for the slowness with which the modern world has recognized their emotional root. When reason is conceptualized as free of biological antecedents, it is easier to overlook the role emotions play in its operation, easier not to notice that our purported rational decisions can be subtly manipulated by the emotions we want to keep at bay, easier not to worry about the possible negative consequences of the vicarious emotional experiences of violence as entertainment, easier to overlook the positive effect that well-tuned emotions can have in the management of human affairs."

2011-06-25T21:43:00.001-07:00

It's a disease to treat things too seriously--especially things that matter most to us.

Singaporeans, as well as Asians, in this respect, treat everything way too seriously. Why bother?

You're gonna die, and life's an absurd piece of shit that happens to be rather beautiful, so why don't you just take what you have and work towards what you want, cheerfully, blithely?

Sometimes, you have to reckon which things you can change and which of those you can't. And it's no use lingering in the self-created abyss of misery, because it's stupid.

Why can't you see that, my sweetheart?

2011-06-24T21:18:00.001-07:00

We sat on our own swings, side

by side.

Off she went swinging, slowly, casually; in that motion, the rhythm of the swing blends her with the rhythm of nature—soft, feminine, tender.

I sat heavily on the swing, tugging coarsely and aggressively at the metal chains that suspended the swing, in an attempt to go higher, higher, higher.

Gradually, I gained momentum.

Still, she swung casually and delightfully, contented with the rhythmic motion caused by invisible forces—the same forces that controls the movements of the tide and the revolution of the moon around the Earth.

I pulled even harder. The hard metal edges of the chains grinded into my palm, but it was the wanting to go higher that spurred me on. I tensed my muscles.

The wind blasts across my face as I swing to and fro with considerable velocity, enjoying both the movement and the instantaneous suspension that separates the rise from the fall.

Finally, I could swing no higher. Any higher, I would throw my body out of the swing.

At the submit of my achievement, I took a glance to my left—a soft floating impression that is still swinging in an easy, carefree manner, enjoying more of the smooth glide than the speed.

“Do you want me to give you a boost?” I offered.

“Nah, it’s alright,” she replied, with a smile.

Still swinging.

birthday

2011-06-23T10:59:00.000-07:00

There are several things I have to say before I fall into a beatific state of unconsciousness.

I tell her so many things, just like how she claims to tell me so many things. And yet, the exact same events are viewed so differently through our individual lenses of consciousness. So much so, that I suspect, that truth lies not in reasoning, but in a change of perspective.

Before I move on to that, I have to say something about my girlfriend. She is such a sweetheart. She gave me an album that's filled with pictures of her and pictures of me and pictures of us together, decorated with utmost care and delicacy, even burning the edges of some messages to produce a fraying beauty that only comes with age (I love the effect). Every page is simply and yet marvelously designed: the fragmented letters; the pretty and changing backgrounds on which the letters are pasted; the ropes around the pictures; the carefully selected text; the simple yet pretty poetry for "January" and "February", which disappeared for the subsequent months; the leaves and flowers; the embossed phrases; the sparks of cuddling insecurities which makes me want to embrace her and tell her what a silly little baby she is.

I don't think cuddling is an adjective though, it just popped out in my mind as an idea.

The album itself, as a physical entity, is an amazing handicraft that stands beautifully alone. It's less of a gift than of an understanding; it's less of giving me a new pair of spectacles than replacing my existing one. Mark the difference, will you. Before, I had inklings of the impacts of what I have done towards her. Now, it's as though I had my suspicions confirmed, my thoughts validated.

Could I really understand her nature? Or is there no point in the attempt at that? If I were to be as altruistic as she had described me to be, I would not be doing many things that I have done to her. I am a passionate lover, whose passions are, unfortunately, solely mine.

In some ways, Lena, I feel that the selflessness, or altruism, is such a sin. It deprives you of the things that you could do with your life, at the expense of gaining moral sanctity.

It is refreshing and delightful to view the same events in your point of view, my dear, because it tells me so much about you and about myself. Most importantly, sadly, about myself--of how I could never even catch the faintest glimpse of truth by myself.

I am extremely tired I am not making sense. There is so much more that I want to say, but I can't exxxxactly finishhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

xinjiang

2011-06-08T07:40:00.001-07:00

I am going to this exotic land tomorrow, the land in the far West of China that spans over 1.6 million km(squared) and borders Mongolia, Russia, Pakistan, India, Tajikistan and Afghanistan. While doing some research on it, I stumbled upon this video.

Unfortunately, a man's eyes could only be occupied by one beauty, one that's closest to his heart.

**

But How do I describe this weird sensation?
A lonesome, mixed impression,
of anticipation and emptiness,
as nothing lies prostrate,
in return for a mixture of beings
tangled and tied, mustered and wrung
never have I felt such a fresh antagonism
as sadnesses are dealt two-fold
one in return and one in leaving
blighted, by petty tests
and the prospect of being

alone.

Surreal like as I float around,
trapped in between, two periods of constructed
change, looking forward while glancing back
unsure of the steps ahead.
Should I plunge and thus regret,
or should I trip and then forget?
Nothing leaves, but a tugging love,
a tugging love. a tugging heart,
binds you to your yard.

It's the glimmer in her eyes

2011-06-01T08:39:00.001-07:00

It has always been that glimmer in her eyes that attracted me. They vary in shades and degrees--sometimes, they are as soft and understanding as a coronation, other times they are as wild as a scarlet rose, and occasionally, they sparkle with baffled sagacity (usually after I say something extremely stupid).

Not to mention the times when they light up in delight at the sound of KOI, or ice-cream, or oysters, and the times when they are all misty with excessive courtesy. I love her eyes.

I love her expressions too. The way her lips pout and her eyebrows curl up in an attempt to get me to do something for her, of which I always fall for; the way her jaw hangs loose and her eyes droop and form two tiny slits when I crack a joke of which she could not find humor in; the way her eyes close and her lips part in invulnerable surrender as I take her in. All these expressions are like jewels, radiating vitality and life--and they would sparkle in my memory for as long as my brain doesn't fail me.

Her demeanor is not extremely graceful, but she treads in light steps. Her skinny arms are frequently swinging about in an exaggerated manner, as if they have a life of their own, separate from hers. It distances her body from her mind, which is ever so rich with emotions and brisk thoughts. There is a distinctively adorable quality to her demeanor, one that I am extremely fond of. It is half satiric in nature, occasionally mocking the cruelty and leaden-eyed despair of humans; while the other half is always dancing in the garden of eden, celebrating life and all the joys that come along with it.

She is extremely accident prone, to the point that sometimes, I am led to suspect that there is something lacking in her neuromuscular development. During the first few times, I would wince in pain whenever I hear her knocking against a hard surface. Now, I am so used to it that I hardly bother to say "ouch, that must have hurt". It's not that I do not care about her suffering--of course I do, I care more than anyone else could ever care--but the repeated occurrences have taught me that sympathizing her would not alleviate the pain.

Should I describe the way she thinks? That would be a daunting task indeed, for I could write another 1000 words on this subject. But to summarize, she thinks fast. Her thoughts shoot out like arrows, as though her memory is like a well-ordered cupboard, always ready to extract information. She likes literature a lot, but due to unfathomable reasons, she did not take literature as a subject. As a consequence, she often complains that there are delicate and invaluable insights about life formed in her head at erratic moments but she does not have the ability to put them into prose as beautiful as the thoughts themselves. She would rather let them remain unexpressed than to taint the purity of the thoughts by inarticulate expression. What she does not know, is that sometimes, thoughts do not have to expressed in that way. It is rewarding to observe how her rich array of expressions convey much more than what could be said with mere language. When keith said that she was a jewel, I knew it was true.

I would love to expound on that, but I am too blighted with drowsiness.

2011-05-28T10:21:00.000-07:00

the previous post didn’t make sense. I admit that shopping isn’t that bad.

2011-05-27T08:23:00.000-07:00

I went shopping with lena.

Now, I want to kill every single fucking human in the world.

It was alright just now when I am in the shopping malls and everything. But now, once I am on the MRT home, you should have seen the dreadful frown on my face. The ugly grimace that I gave to everyone who had the misfortune to look at me. I would really shoot everyone if I had a gun.

I type this in a fist of rage. Over what? I have no particular clue. It might be due to the lack of sleep, but I am so fucking angry that I do not want to sleep. I am so angry and dissatisfied. I have never been so mad with everything before.

I really do not hate shopping. I do not hate shopping. I do not.

But you could have seen those rich consumerist pigs waiting in their queue to to try their pretty clothes on, the smugness of the man who got his hands on a new suit. He was disgusting. Despite his posh dressing, he talked in such an irritating and moronic manner. Really, clothes, those that are bought in shopping malls, are available for any moron just like him. It's yours if you have the money. Everyone was quite disgusting in the shopping malls. I would punch them if I had the guts to.

I shall sleep and maybe tomorrow I could love life again.

words from my subconscious

2011-05-23T06:28:00.000-07:00

My friend, why are you always doing things on your own, in your own way? Why can't you love society? Society isn't there to hamper your progress, whatever that is, and you, my conceited fellow, is too full of yourself to think of anything else. You want things done, and you want it done fast; but you mistake yourself for superman, or overman, no? Why not get into the flow with the society, and see what life has to offer, instead of trying to create life by yourself? What is so goddamned wrong with going with the flow?

As far as my prudence leads me, I can't see why not.

Why don't you just take life less seriously and go with the flow, for once?

Don't you shun society, you stupid, stupid fellow.

Jazz Masterclass

2011-05-19T05:34:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I signed up for a Jazz Masterclass sponsored by the school. I have always wanted to learn jazz, and it was free, so I thought, why not. I went to the class today and learnt two things.

1. Jazz is beautiful.
2.The teacher is brilliant on the piano.

The "masterclass" was more of an "introductory class" though. We learnt the pentatonic scales and a little bit of modes. The teacher, Boni, is classically trained but plays wonderful Jazz music. The notes dance, as if on their own accord, autonomous of the musician himself; bouncing lightly and gracefully through the air, reaching harmonious tones and crushed cadences. I was enthralled.

How I wish I could do that.

I want it so bad, yet, I am not willing to compromise on the other aspects of my life for it. I would tend to rationalize my way out of discipline. The piano has been left alone during the past few days because of the literature review and other things: imagine the amount of time I would be away from piano next year due to O-Levels!

Gotta make use of every single minute then.

2011-05-18T17:44:00.000-07:00

A hectic week has passed. I have done a literature review, read around 4 books, figured out the meaning of life, performed a splendid gig and watched extensive amounts of Monty Python. I must say that this week has been fairly productive.

Now the Nietzsche voice in my head is shouting "fuck productivity! The will to power, my friend! Productivity is a modernist herd mentality!"

I reply,"Always look on the bright side of life,,,du du,, dudu du dud ud du"

Monty Python is making me pretty retarded. The fact that I've discovered that life in itself is meaningless doesn't exactly help. Why should I say yes to whatever anyone says, besides for the convenience that he would never interrupt me again?

Oh and the reach cambridge trip is making me excited. Very excited. The amount of literature I have to read before that is so extensive that I shiver at the prospect of knowing all those beautiful illusions of life.

the sheer amount of work

2011-05-14T21:15:00.001-07:00

Once again, I am pretty overwhelmed by the amount of work that I have to do. First, there is the literature review for KI. I can't believe Shyam gave us 1 week to do a literature review on a topic that we haven't even conceived. I visited the NIE library twice during the past 3 days and am extremely delighted with what I have found out.

The perennial question of the meaning of life have been befuddling me since a year ago. It has been quite some time since I have made any intellectual progress because I haven't been reading on the right stuff. The trip to the NIE library yesterday afternoon was extremely fruitful-- I feel pretty enlightened.

Previously, I used to think that we live for happiness or pleasure; pretty much utilitarian. However, I soon discovered that this view of the meaning of life is extremely narrow and shallow, not to mention immoral most of the time (Nietzsche would argue that life itself isn't moral).

I have always felt that art provides a sort of purpose that other activities could never provide. This idea however, is inchoate. After reading an introduction text of the Nietzsche's "A birth of Tragedy", I was thoroughly excited.

He thinks that there is no meaning to life itself: the truth is harsh and cold, too agonizing for any human to endure. The purpose of art, therefore, is to provide an illusion, and comforting solace, to make the truth a more palatable pill to swallow. How true! It is in art that we find euphoria, in art that we catch a glimpse of the truth, and in art that gives life it's meaning, despite life being meaningless itself.

The logical question follows: what is art? and do all art provide the same sort of purpose? Music has been alleviating the human spirit since the dawn of time; literature has been the collective effort of mankind in documenting thoughts to provide a rich illusion of significance; and visual art has been providing us a deep-seated sense of awe and transfixion. Within each category of art, however, are many movements that penetrate different depths in the human psyche. The current culture in visual art of the artist having the midas touch (art is whatever the artist says it is), is ridiculous, and must be changed.

I want to write some essays on the following topics soon, after I am done with my literature essay, math integration tutorial, GPP and literature review: what is art, what constitute a good piece of art, the role of music in life, the movements of art, from realism to post-modernism, a follow up on the meaning of life, my piano progress, my guitar progress, the gigs, what happened during the breach in blogspots, Ms Heng's conservative and prudish attitudes, and my hair.

I need to start blogging on a regular basis again. The unexamined life is not worth living--but over-examination deprives you of life.

Harmonious balance, then.

On your weakness.

2011-05-10T07:54:00.000-07:00

My mind has never really left you since just now. You claim to be emotionally "weaker", but what do you mean? We are but mere humans, and the frailty of our species have never escaped my mind ever since I began thinking about our place in the world. I am attached to you, but not incapacitated; dependent on you, though not weaker; less free, but in a sense, could not be freer. The only problem that I see, lena, is that you do not search for answers in books anymore--no, you are trapped in your own discontentment, your own destructive world of self-hatred, not willing to get out of it.

We all need things to hold on to. Ideals, beliefs, personal identities-- it is absurd to think that we are rendered weak because of that. Confidence or strength may mask our insecurities but they do not change the nature of our weakness.

If there is one thing logical to do, that is to embrace it. Celebrate the corrupted souls of irrational humans, and you would be surprised with how much more meaning there is to your life. Trust me.

2011-04-25T05:04:00.001-07:00

2011-04-21T21:36:00.001-07:00

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/on-faith/post/religion-lies-about-women/2011/04/13/AFDS9mXD_blog.html

interesting and provocative article written by a feminist

On the Wonders of Having a Good Earpiece

2011-04-16T08:41:00.001-07:00

Nothing is more important to a person than the possession of a good earpiece. Nothing. You can take away my clothes, my shoes, my guitar, hell, even my highly treasured designer water bottles, but leave me those delicate pieces of dangling goodness. I would get very very pissed indeed, if anyone were to steal my ear-piece; much more pissed than, say, if my girlfriend proposes to marry my math teacher.

What is a good earpiece? Most importantly, it has to have the plug-in-ear technology. The presence of a layer of rubber of material similar to that of a condom is pushed ever so gently into your ear, blocking incessant noises that the city (and garrulous people) produces, providing you with the extremely euphoric music listening experience. The soft rubber is also gentle on the ears, so comfortable that there is a propensity to feel uncomfortable without it.

Also, it provides just the escape that you need. All you have to do, is plug it in, turn on the music, close your eyes, and there you go; transported into the strawberry fields where nothing is real.

A good earpiece has to be able to withstand the wear and tear of everyday usage. It should, desirably, be able to be stuffed into any corner of your bloated bag without taking up much space. In addition, it is of utmost imperative, that it should not possess the uncanny ability of tangling itself magically in your bag. How many times have you wanted to listen to a song so badly, just to have your zest delayed as your ear piece gets entangled?

Ah, that, in itself, is one of the worst feelings possible. You want to listen to the Kinks, you want it bad-- but no, your inexorable earpiece simply refuses to placate your intolerable hunger for rock and roll by tangling itself up into one huge mess. You are forced, with a defeated smile, to be patient with it and slowly, slowly, work your way out with your clumsy fingers, just to be met with a diminished passion.

Now, a bad ear-piece is all too ubiquitous. First, any sort of ear-piece that doesn't provide the plug-in-ear technology is a bad ear-piece. I utterly detest them. Not only do they degrade the quality of the music by constantly allowing jarring noises, such as the wimpy laughter of girls on the bus, to enter your ear, the enlarged size of the edge also constantly pushes against the wall of your ear; a little like getting sodomized by a short penis of sizable girth. Horrifying analogy? I think not; it feels much worse, especially since it's stuck in there all the time.

Also, a bad ear-piece is one that spoils way too easily. I bought a new earpiece just 2 months ago, under the recommendation of a sales person. It's brand is called iLuv, and it boasts a thick sort of wires that can't be entangled. The wires, however, look like tapeworms. But I digress. It was a decent earpiece, serving all the necessary purpose; until a week later, the tip came out, leaving the earpiece tangling by the inner copper wires. I do admit that I am rough with my earpiece because I don't bother to roll them nicely after usage, but that piece of bloody plastic is way too frail.

At first, I solved the problem by pushing the tip back into place--but it kept coming off, until a few days later, while pulling it out of the front compartment of my bag(usually bursting with my wallet, handphone, pencil box and graphic calculator), the tip came off again and the wires broke. There goes 22 bucks.

Actually, I wasn't that concerned with the money. I just hated the experience of parting with a earpiece. I do not want to get touchy here, but to me, having a earpiece is akin to developing a relationship. Now, before you start judging me for my unique opinions, let me explain.

A earpiece is a bridge that connects you to your spirituality. It is the closest one can get, in the hustle bustle of the city, to living a solitary spiritual life. It provides the necessary isolation for deep contemplation, the euphoric escape into the elysian fields, and, not to mention, the emotional comfort of simply having something up your ears. The physical proximity that you get with your earpiece surpasses any that you get with your fellow paternities or lovers. Of course, you can claim that on a similar respect, undergarments stick to your body even more than earpiece does, but I would suggest that they don't interact with you. They cling unto your body like lichens on a rock-- while a earpiece, my friend, a earpiece is different.

A earpiece is the best present that you can get for a friend. If the person needs one, viola!, he or she would love your thoughtfulness. If he already possesses one, another one would do just fine, because you would be sparing him the dread that would ensue when his current one spoils, and he would appreciate your prudence. If he doesn't listen to music, a good earpiece would encourage him to start listening and help him develop a cultural life. Everyone needs a earpiece, and there is always room for the possession of one more.

The wonders, indeed, of such a simple invention.

Debating

2011-04-13T06:55:00.000-07:00

There are many good things and bad things about debating. First, it allows you to speak more fluently. Often a times, there are many ideas in my head that I just cannot express without faltering or stumbling for words. Even though the topics discussed during debate might not be so interesting (a motion such as "THB that Junk food companies should compensate individuals" simply fails to arouse passion"), it would be beneficial if I were to take it as a training to sound convincing without actually being convincing logically.

Debating is an intensive mental process. You have to listen to the opponents and think critically, while at the same time formulate the best way to phrase your arguments. It is extremely hard (for me) to do all of that at once. Half-way through the debate today, my brain just switched off, like how it switches off during econs lessons.

Joining debate as a passion, though, does not mean forgoing basketball. I would still play as often as I feel like it. That's the way sports should be.

I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed last evening. And I am afraid that, you, too, have to concede that it made you feel out of the world. As far as pleasure goes, too much is never good-- but too little is intolerable.

I haven't been busking for quite some time, partly because I haven't been learning new songs and I don't feel like singing the same old songs over and over. Wait. That's an excuse. I am not going busking because I am spending more time with the person that I love.

Ah, this kinds of shed light on my intentions of busking itself. Does it mean that I would busk solely because I was lonely and that there was a gap in my heart that needed filling? Maybe. I would say, partly because nothing else gives me more pleasure than that, and partly because I just feel so damn good singing. I need to sing to feel alive, just like how the black man in Sudan needs to dance wherever he goes. But now that I am feeling alive with you, the importance of singing in my life diminishes. Maybe that would explain the retrograde course of my development.

But not as if there is any objective end in mind in the place.--Maybe I am just ignoring them?

2011-04-07T05:13:00.000-07:00

I love to write, but have never considered any of my writing as a "creative piece" or "work". I write out of a fervent need to feel alive and to be understood; not as a means of getting my pay or meeting a deadline. I do not claim the superiority of this view but I like it this way.

Also, I really read too little. The interview for reach cambridge was a wake up call of sorts that shed light upon my ignorance of matter. It set my passion burning again. It seems as though the only way that a person can grow is through dissatisfaction of his foolishness.

Quote of the day:

"I could do with some recognition"--Joel

2011-04-07T02:58:00.001-07:00

" Love is something far more than desire for sexual intercourse; it is the principal means of escape from the loneliness which afflicts most men and women throughout the greater part of their lives. There is a deep-seated fear, in most people, of the cold world and the possible cruelty of the herd; there is a longing for affection, which is often concealed by roughness, boorishness of a bullying manner in men, and by nagging and scolding in women. Passionate mutual love while it lasts puts an end to this feeling; it breaks down the hard walls of the ego, producing a new being composed of two in one."-Bertrand Russell in Marriage and Morals

2011-04-02T17:02:00.000-07:00

I woke up on a sunday morning, missing her. I looked at my phone and saw 3 messages from her. I clicked on it and the words came flooding into my brain.

I was lost.

Halfway through the message i felt a pang of pain in my heart, as if thousands of leeches are clinging onto it and sucking blood out.

Morbid description but it probably felt worse.

I rubbed my eyes, read the message a second time to make sure there was nothing that I missed. I put down the phone, looked at my sister sleeping blissfully on my bed (she sneaks in on sunday mornings), and drudged to the toilet to piss.

I thought about her-- the pain, the horror, of her, being alone; middle of the night, darkness enveloped, confused, lost, needing me to be there; yet i was, unconscious of, oblivious to, incognizant of her turmoil, her weighty problems.

I walked out of the toilet and washed my face; all in a mechanical routine; my mind was too deeply involved to care.

I read the message for the third time.

I read it again.

I put the phone down and lied on my bed, lost for words, lost for reactions, for everything.

2011-03-31T08:11:00.000-07:00

In her corporate, semi-formal tone, she spoke, before I got the chance to say anything.

"Nonono, I just wanted to say that I love you. "

In moments like these, one can always choose to reply with an effusive display of solicitude, like:

" Oh gosh darling, that's SOO awfully sweet of you!"

Such a reply would possibly garner the most amount of positive feelings in her, which might subsequently lead to an increased propensity for such a behavior (of which I enjoy), but the pretentiousness of a raised tone seems to belie the true depth of the emotions stirred in my heart, so instead, I let the silence resonate through our minds, before breaking it with a soft moan, like a warrior exposed in the middle of the battlefield without any armor, and then calling her name, before saying, I love you so much.

Saying the phrase "I love you too" as a reply to "I love you" is utterly undesirable most of the time. It feels, somehow, as though you are extremely unimaginative in conveying the depth of your intense emotions because the only utterances that come from your unresponsive mind are meek repetitions, mere reiterations of a stand that belongs to somebody else. It would be most desirable, hence, to embrace her; or kiss her; or even, if circumstances allow, make love to her, immediately after.

But through the phone, nothing much can be conveyed apart from pulsations of air molecules.

David mitchell

2011-03-27T08:23:00.001-07:00

It's one of those nights

2011-03-27T07:57:00.001-07:00

Yes it's one of those nights, when you feel as though you can do literally anything in the world.

time and tide, time and tide, wait for me. . . . . ..........

ideals

2011-03-26T04:02:00.000-07:00

Spent an afternoon sleeping and reading in relative comfort. After the grueling training yesterday, I cannot help but to nap 5 times today, effectively marring an otherwise productive saturday. I think, of all things that I am capable of, productivity can never be one of them.

To be honest, the previous few weeks have been spent in a sort of hazy feverishness. In the literal sense, I have been, in fact, constantly blowing my nose and coughing my lungs out during the evenings, for reasons unknown. It was only until 1 week ago that I regained my health. During the sickly times, I was quite surprised to discover that physical discomfort does not cause as much harm as I thought it would. Fortunately though, I still retained my physical fitness to a large degree.

Being physically fit and playful is one of the best ways to attain a meaningful life, without compromising either on happiness or the quality of feeling alive. Feeling energetic and full of the joys of spring make us feel alive while being happy at the same time. Reading and falling in love, on the other hand, can only allow us to feel alive because happiness that result from enlightenment is fleeting. Sports, however, dismisses these extreme moments of highs and lows, and in return, it allows us to be in a constant state of physical elation derived partly from adrenaline and the quality of doing something.

Ah, why, in fact, reading IS like falling in love. You pick up a book that attracts your attention. You read it, with the hope of understanding what the book is all about. You get confused at the start, because everything seems all jumbled up and out of place. (Well, of course there are those books that features it's climax at the start, but then everything else seems to be a subordinate substantiation of the climax, which invariably leads to dreariness. )

You plunge into the book, consciously consuming it; while subconsciously, you know, that it is in fact consuming you. Occasionally, your mom informs you that dinner is ready and reluctantly, you put it down and go for dinner, just to pick it up again with burning ardor an hour later. Every night you compromise on your precious sleeping time to understand it a little bit more; not much, mind you, just that little bit, because true comprehension demands complete devotion of your attention to scrutinizing the tapestry of subtleties in the book--a commitment too great an opportunity cost (think economics here). Nonetheless, you love reading, because it provides just the sort of escapism you need; because it makes you feel alive; because the fleeting moments of enlightenment makes it all worthwhile, when you, the passionate reader, bask in the glory of life itself.

Of course, not all books are worth reading. The language that the book adopts has to satisfy your assiduously cultivated preference, while the content be intellectually stimulating. It has to be of the right size--preferably not too large, for portability is crucial to a sustainable period of reading. Aesthetically appealing books are attractively pleasant at first glance; but only if the words captivate you could you confirm the worthwhileness of the book; of not, you could, perhaps, only close the book and comment that it's a pretty book with vague indifference.

Right now, I am quite sure that I am reading a pretty good book. I am not sure what the ending is though, and don't you spoil it for me. And I too, like pete doherty in his song "fuck forever", would never get bored of happy endings.

Ah, I am but enjoying every single moment of it.

Terribly.

oh and for the love of humanity, i decided not to be a selfish little snob and privatize my blog. life, of course, could be much more convenient if no one were to bother me about anything--but it shouldn't be convenience that I seek, should it? No it shouldn't; not for this solitary life.

where's the fucking passion

2011-03-21T09:14:00.001-07:00

dead

i'd never thought

2011-03-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

I miss her so much. I am not entirely in a mess-fortunately- yet. I might just be, soon.

The problem, you see, stems from my parents. They have expectations of me. I don't. At least, mine is different form theirs. Shit it's this conundrum all over again. I've argued, systematically, before and here is the conclusion: treat school as a day job, work as enlightening yourself and slowly build up your musicianship.

getting 48 for math test is demoralizing, i suppose. ah fuck it. Missing lynn is even more depressing. It's like an aperture in your heart that needs to be filled with that sweet substance that only she can produce. No innuendos meant.

GOD GET A FUCKING GRIP OF YOU LIFE CAN YOU?!

you didn't do a fucking shit for the whole holidays. I can't escape culture, if that's one thing that I've learnt form tess: live it or be condemned.

my daily dose

2011-03-18T21:26:00.001-07:00

I am helplessly addicted to a drug. I was introduced to the drug a few months ago, and now, I simply cannot live without it. Sometimes, I inject it. Sometimes, I swallow it; sometimes, I suck it in as hard as I can. It does not escape my mind at all--not even for a single second.

At first, I was ambivalent towards the drug: it would get me high, but what would happen if I were to be dependent on it, and the supply just gets cut off? I didn't give a fuck but plunged right in anyway. It was too enticing. After a while, I grew to be so dependent on it that I can't think straight if it wasn't around. Every time it arrived, I would swoon and my heart would rapture. I was deeply, deeply in love with the drug.

Now, I am still undeniably reliant on the drug. It is THE source of joy in my life. Sometimes, I get the feeling that it is consuming me instead of the other way round. Either way, it doesn't matter, for as long as I have my stash, I would be a contented little boy, deliriously licking it with relentless existential urgency.

I am helplessly addicted to the drug.

Epiphany at 1 am

2011-03-18T10:08:00.001-07:00

You should not fall in love if you are ambitious. No-- it is an activity for the indolent, for those who do not care an ounce what the future holds for them: they relish too much the moment to care.

I still am ambitious, just that the fire that keeps my passion burning is directed to my lover, instead of any inferior or comparatively inconsequential task.

It's a fine line between contentment and stagnation.

2011-03-17T10:07:00.001-07:00

Why do I have so few things to say nowadays? Because I am contented. I have just realized, that all activities, both mental and physical, are derived from discontentment.

Take for example, simple actions like eating and sleeping. We eat because we are discontented with an empty stomach. We sleep because...err...because our bodies are tired, a form of discontentment that stemmed from being overused. We fall in love because we are discontented with the utter meaninglessness and stagnation of our lives. And also because of how wonderful the person is, of course, but more so because of ourselves. When we fall in love, we are loving ourselves. We study so that we can make discoveries that change the world. We make discoveries that change the world because we are discontented with how the current world works.

To be contented, therefore, would mean one thing: inactivity due to euphoric bliss. We would be lying around in contentment, and thinking of how perfect everything is. There is no NEED for any sort of growth, any sort of achievement or competition, because you are experiencing the exact same things you need to live a good life. This could easily be view as laziness, which has a negative connotation due to societal influences. Come to think of it, what is it about laziness that makes it such an undesirable quality? Being lazy is, after all, being easily contented with what you have. But upon thinking of laziness, one could easily associate this quality with stagnation--a term defined as a complete lack of growth.

But think of it: if there were no need for growth, is stagnation necessarily that bad?

In the title of this blogpost, I said that it's a fine line between stagnation and contentment, two words that are strikingly similar in essence but carry contrasting connotations. However, now that we've discussed it, it does seem as though these two words are essentially the same thing.

Ahh words, the power of words. Two same things--such different meanings, all due to the words themselves. That's why I believe so much in the power of words: because all thoughts spring from words. Words give rise to thoughts, not the other way round. Yes, thoughts may exist on their own, inexpressible and inarticulate, but it is only through the expressing of them that the thoughts are...erm, shall I say consummate?? My god, I shouldn't really use that word so much. Words give thoughts their finality, their essence. --

Not to mention how convenient it is to paint a picture with words than to actually paint it.

Some thoughts

2011-03-17T03:26:00.000-07:00

It's the holiday again: time for thinking, time for sleeping, and time for some more rethinking. I do have many thoughts but the boundaries of this blog is making me discard them. I do deem them fairly valuable for my enlightenment and your amusement but somehow when I think about the people reading them the words cease to flow.

I have recently made an Indian friend. His name is Md Mosharef, pronounced as Mohammad Mou-Sha-ref, as in ref in referee. It was quite a pleasant encounter really, and it happened 2 days during lunch time.

I was wondering helplessly in Orchard two days ago, drowning in the sea of capitalism and tall buildings,incidentally, in my uniform. Why was I in my uniform? Oh right, before that I went to school for the literature make-up lessons--during which I received a "U" for my diagnostic test. Actually, I wasn't surprised at all-- the essay was a poorly written one, with a length of a little more than one page; a length barely enough for any substantial points. I was not in the mood of writing anything intelligent, or rather, writing anything at all, and so I just decided that I should make an absurd interpretation of a poem by Robert Graves. Actually, upon reading my essay again, I do feel that it is completely rubbish. But it is, after all, a diagnostic test; a test designed for you to fail so that for the rest of my 2 years in JC, there would be boundless rooms of improvement.

Where was I. Oh yes, this friend of mine. That day, I actually agreed to go to Lynn's house after the lessons to spend some quality hours with her alone. Quality hours, to quote her, means doing nothing in particular, but "kissinghuggingkissinghuggingtumblingaroundinbed", an activity that should be no more important in a relationship than say, going to the zoo, or the beach (or so she says). Of course, I would love to go watch animals scratching each other and shitting in their cages but it would be extremely difficult for me to lie that I would enjoy it. And just when I thought that I could catch without her clothes on, she bluntly added: no bikini.

But where was I. Looks like I have acquired the fine art of digressing after being with Lynn so much.

On my way to Lynn's house, I received a call from my mum asking me to join her for buffet lunch. Never was I met with such a substantial dilemma. Standing on the MRT with a phone in hand, I stared into the window at the reflection of my troubled self, pondering intensely for the duration of two MRT stops. Lynn. I love her. I need to see her rather badly because I really do miss her. But then again, my mum, a woman whom I love dearly, who has suffered great hardships throughout her life and never really got to enjoy the richness of upperclass living. A buffet lunch, to many of us, is just another luncheon where you fill your stomachs but to my mum (or so I think), it is a symbol of a "good life", a life that is elusive due to pragmatism and austere chinese protestant values, one that she never really got to experience but is content with having only occasional whiffs of. She is like a country mouse who moved into the drains of a great city hotel but never really immersed herself in the splendor of the classy hotel cheese, but rather, enjoyed packaged grains from the country.

I decided to stick around orchard and wait for my mum to finish her medical check-up. I had 1 hour to spare, and I decided to read a book under the shade of the lustrous trees. When I walked up the tiny hill, I was greeted by the sight of a few Bangladesh workers lying on the straw mats under the tree, slumbering in languid sweetness. One of them was unfolding his own mat and I thought,"how lovely it would be to read under the shade", and so I approached him. Politely, I asked him if I could share the mat. He agreed amiably.

After sitting down, we introduced ourselves and just like that, the conversation begun. I learnt that his name is Mohammad Mosharef, and he is of 24 years of age. He offered me a stick and out of politeness, I accepted it. Just then, it occurred to me that I was in my uniform and I told him that I could not smoke because it is against the law to smoke in your uniform. After comprehending what I meant, he insisted that it doesn't matter and I could easily hide it by curling the wrist of your hands to cover the cigarette.

Casually he offered me the lighter after lighting up and I took my first puff in 1 week. It was a different brand of smoke from the normal things that Ari and bowen gave me, Marlboro Reds or black menthol, i believe. The term black menthol is interesting because it conjures a image of a blackened lung in the mind of the smoker, very much like the one on the package itself. Marlboro reds is somehow sweeter (by definition, not substance), and I unconsciously associate it with red bull. The normal sticks that my mates offer me are usually new and crisp and easy to suck.

The one I received from Mosharef is fairly new and it felt stronger, with more a more herbal twinge to it. I am not sure whether the herbal quality is due to my association of the stick to the owner's nationality, or the brand of the cigarette itself. Either way, it felt different than the normal types (in a good way), but my lack of knowledge (and the insistence on the lack of it) prevented me from concisely marking the difference, hence boring you with this long and fuzzy description.

Feeling inquisitive that afternoon, I inquired about his history. He told me that he had come to singapore to work when he was 18 and that this was his 6th year working here. However, he added that he went back to Bangladesh when he was 19 and after coming back to work a year later, 2011 would be his "4th year running". He used the term "4th year running" with an air of pride, as if it is a record held by him amongst an internal competition within the Bangladeshi worker's community. I nodded, therefore, in silent admiration.

The subject slowly drifted to our education. I informed him that I was 17 years old, and currently studying in junior college. His account of his education was a rather interesting one. He told me that he received a 10-year education back in Bangladesh, but somehow the pronunciation of the word "ten" wasn't comprehended by me due to his thick Bangladeshi accent, and thus to clear things up, he fished out a pen from his dirt-stained back pack and wrote the numerals 1 and 0 on his palm. What followed was the interesting part.

The numerals 1 and 0 were written approximately around the paddings of his left palm, the area underneath the middle finger, leaving a large amount of space on the left side leading to his arms. To further illustrate the meaning of ten, he helped me visualize the consequential number of years of his education by drawing downward strokes, one by one, 9 times, with utmost finality, until the final picture looked like 11111111110. After finishing, he looked up, and in the manner of a math professor who just demonstrated the proof of the Pythagorus theorem, mused in satisfaction the concept of a decade.

All the while, I listened in artless attention.

The subject then slowly turned to religion. He told me that he is a devote muslim that prays everyday, and that his mother had the amazing talent of memorizing the Koran word for word. "My mama..you know the koran? The muslim bible, yes. My mama she don't need to see the koran and automatic--same same--automatic..she reads the words automatic"

These were the actual phrase that Mosharef used to describe this amazing talent of hers.

"You mean she can memorize the Koran?"

"yes same same, it's all in her head."

I was genuinely amazed. He then told me that she studied the Koran for 5-6 years before she could do that and it hit me how powerful religious faith was at some parts of the world. After a while, Mosharef asked me which religion do I subscribe to. When I told him that I was a freethinker--it isn't Buddhism, it isn't Islam, it isn't Christianity, --, his huge Bangladeshi eyes gaped in incredulity.

"Then who do you pray to?!" he inquired in existential fervency.

"No one. I don't pray"

"YOU DON'T PRAY?!"

I shook my head with bourgeois amusement. I explained to him that many people in Singapore are freethinkers like me. Then I argued, on a hill and under the tree, for my atheist views. Mosharef listened in tolerant humility, constantly nodding and absorbing my arguments, after which he would proceed to explain his religious theories to me. Brace yourselves, because after listening to his sermons, I am a changed man.

He began by drawing a circle on the remaining spaces of his palm.

"This," he said," is the Earth."

"There are many countries on this earth," he casually mentioned, while simultaneously filling the vacant circle with little black dots.

"God made us humans--both man and women--God made us number 1. We are the first. The animals and the plants; the whole earth is number 2. Number 2 is used to support number one," As he spoke, his arms were outstretched towards the skies. Seeing the confusion in my eyes, he pointed to the skyscraper nearby (we are at Orchard, remember)," You see the building there? It is made of cement and metal and glass. All of the materials used are to support the number 1, which is the building."

As I listened, I can't help but to observe how attractively long his eye lashes were; and how undeniably sexy his rough shaven chin stood out in contrast to the dark swirling hair. Indian men, as I always say, are so handsome. He does look like Elvis Presley, come to think of it.

After his speech, I disagreed and put forth my atheistic views of life. I told him about the theory of evolution and why I believed in it, and that being the fundamental reason why I didn't believe in God. He took a puff and smiled benignly. " Ah, brother, each religion is like a road. You can choose to go left," he pointed left," or go right," he to the right," or any other path with all the different Gods. Or even, if you don't believe in god, we are all humans--you cut, we bleed and it is red is colour-- all of us have 2 legs, 2 arms and 1 head. we are all same same."

He also told me, that he worked from 7am to 7pm for weekdays and 7-2.30pm for weekends and has Sundays off. He says that it is tiring but he needs to send money to those people who need his help, namely friends or family members (he has a brother aged 14 studying in Bangladesh alone).

After a while, my mother called me and I had to go. We exchanged numbers, with the prospect that one day, we could go double dating together--he bring his girlfriend, and I'll bring mine.

Sounds exciting, eh?

Go make some friends

2011-03-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

Finally, an article that informs us about the benefits of being alone. You can read it here. .

Being alone is a condition that most people would associate loneliness with. It is really hard to draw the line: you know it when you feel it. I genuinely like company most of the time. People would interest me up to a certain point until I feel that talking to them would get me nowhere that I start to feel bored; and that is when all my responses would be condensed into an apathetic grunt.

As with all psychological research, this one is heavily backed by scientific findings. Actually, not much empirical evidence is really needed to confirm the fact that feeling lonely produces negative emotional consequences, and that being happily alone is rather desirable.

Nothing is stopping you from being a rock star--apart from your staggering indolence.

2011-03-13T08:31:00.000-07:00

I feel particularly down now. I do have an explanation for this detestable and undesirable feeling of incompetence, and if you would pardon my grammatical errors from now on, I would just like to ramble about something totally insignificant and trivial and inconsequential: my goals.

I was, and still am, inspired to be a musician of sorts. I do not like to call myself a musician, because as far as the term goes, I am not up to it. In my mind, there are true musicians and not-so-true musicians. Those true musicians are the ones that evoke abysmally deep emotions with their music, squeezing passion out of my heart as if it was a soaked sponge. The not-so-true ones are the ones on the radio.

I do realize that this is a sweeping generalization but as far as the word "true" is concerned, it is only through the voice of one crying in the wilderness that the ways of the gods must be prepared. This is quoted, probably, from Oscar Wilde.

So often a times, I feel inadequate musically. There are so many things that I can't do; and the knowledge that I have the physical and mental capabilities to do it..well, sticks on my mind like a lichen on a rock.

It dawned upon me that one can never do everything, but just to list some of the things that I want to do-- I want to be able to hear any note and immediately recognize it, subsequently, hear any song and be able to play it. Look at a sheet of piano score and have the tune played in my head. Hear the sounds of the rain, of the ringing of silence, of your quiet whimper, of the chirping of the birds, of the chugging of the trains, and replicate it with my instrument. I want to convey the depth of my emotions with music alone, without the interference of words. Words have their own beauty when sung, but it can only bring you so far--beyond that level, it has to be disciplined practice. Practice musically, not just any-o mechanical practice.

I am fucking sleepy again. I have to stop ending my posts with statements claiming that I am extremely sleepy. But I am.

And I just realized, that it really isn't about the practice. Practice is too over-rated. It's about integrating practice into your life, making it a lifestyle instead of a particular event that you do for the sake of achieving a goal, much like brushing your teeth or blinking your eyes.

The reason why I do not like academic science and why you shouldn't too

2011-03-08T07:32:00.001-08:00

Everyone used to claim that there were nine planets in the solar system: Mars, Venus, Jupiter, Earth, Mercury, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto--until one day, a smart fellow decided that Pluto is too small to be considered a planet and pulled it out of the solar system. What does this monumental event imply? Most people would shrug and go," Uh. Isn't that the cute purple circle at the end of the list of planets? Ah. Didn't bother about it anyway." And for those more inquisitive people like me, they rave in indignation and horror," You mean you can just demolish the idea of pluto being in our solar system just like that?" *snaps fingers*

For Earthlings like us, it probably didn't matter at all whether or not Pluto is considered a planet. In fact, it might even be a good thing now that there are only 8 planets (including Earth, one that you would never miss) for primary school kids to memorize.

For most part of my life as an aspiring scientist, much of the knowledge about the scientific world is based on faith rather than empirical evidence. Consider the Pluto example. I was just this ignorant little earthling minding my own mortal business until someone claimed that there are many other "planets" out there. To be honest, by the time that I got to that age, I didn't even bother to be skeptical anymore. The only thing that fueled my imagination was those colourful pictures of the Cosmo--with all the planets neatly arranged for easy reference. Do I ever know if they exist? That would require a telescope of some sorts, and loads of effort; of which the latter would prevent me from being a physics Nobel Laurette. This example could be applied to almost all of the scientific concepts that I have learnt. How on earth would I know, for certain, that Hydrogen has a molar mass of 1, or that oxygen 16, apart from the fact that the periodic table said so? Of course, they provide lab sessions, of which we would try to prove the simplest stuff, usually those that doesn't require much proving at all.

You see, all of the scientific knowledge I absorbed (the use of this term is deliberate) when I was young--I never bothered to confirm them due to the total irrelevance to my life. In a sense, I could have been a much more curious and inquisitive child, ever-willing to flip boarders to find out what's underneath; but I am not. I am sleepy. Could be writing longer but I need to sleep.

Love is a state of mind

2011-03-06T04:07:00.000-08:00

Isn't love but a state of mind? Just like anger, or happiness, or melancholia; love, is like putting on a new pair of spectacles, opening new doors of perception. When you see things through the spectacles of anger, everything seems out of place and ugly; vulgar, even, for your superior self. But if you'd see things through the spectacle of love, even an iota of beauty in a dull object would be astronomically amplified, bringing you abounding happiness and unlimited hope.

I have been, for the past few days, in this state of mind.

As such, there isn't really any need to continue blogging anymore. I would love to put the feeling down into words but I am really lazy. Love makes you lazy; that's for sure. But just so that I could remember how it feels like: it is a pleasant and warm churning somewhere in your belly; it feels like dipping your freezing hands into a bowl of lukewarm water; it's like getting lost in the elysian fields; it's like spinning on top of the hills while looking at the azure sky and getting dizzy; it feels like the moment before you jump into the sea of sponge from the second level of the hwachong gymnasium; a cube of ice on a sweltering day; a gentle murmur of a child whispering his happiness in his sleep, and occasionally, just occasionally, like a puff of EC: your mind goes blank, your body isn't in your command anymore and you feel so satisfied with your life that you don't mind dying. Oh, and it feels, too, sometimes, like you are on the cusp of sobriety where every object presents itself as a burst of joy.

I love you. I love you too much. I want to jump into the sea with you, preferably off a cliff, and not die after that (i don't know how though). I want to doze off with you under an apple tree beside a serene lake. I want to write lovely sonnets for you so that 500 years later, robots could read them and fathom the universality of this affection. I want to kiss every part of you. I want to get drunk with you together, and then fall asleep in an armchair. I want to walk with you down a dusty country road that leads to nowhere. God knows what else I would want to do with you, and precisely hence, I would not want to die just yet. I want to live and live but with you.

You. You. You. How could the human mind comprehend the concept of another, when it can't even comprehend anything beyond itself? Could I possibly encompass you into myself? I am not sure, but it sounds scary though. You, however, have already a part of my soul, without which I would never be the same. So is this the so called "essence"? The essence that makes an apple an apple, a chair a chair; the essence that gives human beings their identity. Is that the reason why love is so powerful? because it alters the intrinsic essence of an individual?

Lazy as I am, I have said just enough to cover the breadth of my feelings--as for depth, I am afraid words alone would never suffice.

Over.

2011-03-04T17:21:00.000-08:00

Finally, dramafest is over. You have no clue how happy I am--both with the fact that it's over and that it happened. No, don't get me wrong; I thoroughly enjoyed dramafest, in fact, a little too much. It was such an interesting interesting experience.

Let's just say that for the past week, time felt as though it stopped. My life revolved around reading, attending lectures and dramafest. Of course, you can always mention those routine activities like sleeping and eating and climbing the staircase but I would choose not to because they are events that would have occurred at any other period of my life.

Yes, that basically summed up what I did for the past week.

No piano, no guitar, no excessive reading and writing--no. My musical and literary growth was put to a halt. To be honest, I am not entirely satisfied with that, for I would like to be constantly learning. However, any forms of dissatisfaction is annulled by the sheer joys of acting, a form of art that I have had no previous experience for.

The stage.

Acting is a queer activity. Unlike performing music on stage, whereby you reveal a piece of your soul to the audience, acting is about concealing that exact piece of your soul, deceiving them into thinking of you what you are not. Of course, we could never escape judgements of our physical form;whereas in the mental and emotional level, you are totally not what you are in real life. Audiences would know, of course, that it is all part of an act and subsequently judge you by how well you act and not who you are, which is really a fortunate thing.

To tell the truth, I do not find acting as enjoyable as music. I've given much thoughts on this and the main reason why that is so is because I can't view the final product. When I act, the impressions, the fruits of the labour, is an entity that only the audience could perceive, for it would be impossible for me to check myself out (vain it would be too). The source of MY pleasure, then, is their immediate response to my acting, of which I could never entirely fathom due to subjectivity and preferences.

One way to derive pleasure from objectivity, therefore, is to view the whole play as an art, as a form of self-expression--and as all self-expression goes, it makes you feel alive. But the catch here is that drama is meant for an audience, and the absence of one would render it pointless. Imagine rehearsing as intensely for a week and performing on stage with no audience at all--absurd, isn't it? Although having an audience boosts your adrenaline before the play, it would slowly dissolve the moment you step on stage, and then perk up again after the show, like a cosine graph.

But I digress, for adrenaline isn't as necessary for self-expression as euphoria is.

Music, on the other hand, is totally different. Musicians are mostly self-absorbed people, performing more for themselves than for an audience. They satisfy their own acquired tastes first before everyone else's, hence deriving greater pleasures from performances each time. There is no need for pretense, no need to act as something else other than themselves. Only when you are perfectly yourself can you relish the moment on stage.

I am looking forward to the days ahead. I am looking forward to playing the guitar everyday during breaks and after school at the class bench, which is the perfect place to practice if there weren't so many people. Looking forward to playing lots of piano again, to reading all the things I want to read , and to creating beautiful songs--but mostly, mostly to the break on thursdays.

It's quite crazy really.

2011-02-26T18:32:00.001-08:00

2011-02-26T18:06:00.001-08:00

Thoughts about things that came too fast.

2011-02-23T06:45:00.000-08:00

Today felt short.

Really really short. Actually, it wasn't short. I just did not have anytime to make sense of time, to be conscious of myself spending time; an activity that I do so ever often during the...relaxing periods of life.

I don't exactly like these types of days. I have been kept busy since I stepped into school all the way until around 9pm, and I did not really have much time to organize my thoughts. Unorganized thoughts confuses me--I would tend to get lost easily.

But many interesting things happened in school today; of those many interesting things, I would briefly mention a few before I fall onto my bed in delightful slumber.

So, during the 1 hour break after PE (which was really fun), Joel, Bowen and I went to the library to do some maths. Somewhere during our casual conversation, I decided to ask Bowen what time he slept last night. Nonchalantly, he replied,"2."-- Actually, I was expecting something like that already. Joel mentioned that he slept at around 1. I added, with a hint of pride, that I slept at 11, and that the main reason why I felt neutrally happy everyday is because I have had enough sleep, that sleep is one of the best ways of preventing ourselves from being depressed.

Joel gave me an incredulous stare and replied with something like this," You mean you are actually happy?", in a tone that you would expect to hear when, say, someone doubts your sexuality.

Bowen merely grunted," Gay".

I love my friends.

Joel Tan's still trying pretty hard to get chicks.

Ahh there were some thoughts that dawned upon me when I was shitting just now but I couldn't remember it now. Almost all my epiphanies are formed in the toilet--I swear. Oh and I ate so little fibre that I felt as though I shat pebbles.

No I really can't remember. I am tired. My eyelids are drooping. I miss some people very very very very much. But even if I hear their voices, it would be a blatant lie to say that I would be satisfied. Even if I see them, I still don't think I would be.

What else, besides a physical embrace, could fill this empty vessel in my chest?

There would be a point, where words would seem pointless. Frivolous, even.--because we get so less of the silent type of communication.

Distance is such a chore. Really it is it is it is. It's like a piece of meat stuck between your teeth. You won't really get the true form of love without closing the gap. I doubt you can. If you could, tell me, how?

2011-02-20T00:59:00.000-08:00

The past week has been pretty hectic. In fact, I did not have much time to think--a worrying phenomenon. If anything, i should at least be spared a few hours of quality contemplation time a week but no, dramafest deprived me that.

Also, my reading list is piling. Not that I actually keep a reading list, but just the mental list of books that I know I should read as soon as possible. I need to distill my life to doing only the important stuff...school is offering me so many enticing distractions that i really could do, happily, without. I am just glad that I turned down Tianjie's offer of running for council; god knows what type of despicable lifestyle I would lead. Just imagine. Me, putting up an air of fake fervor, standing on stage strumming the guitar to the tune of the school song. Me, unleashing my inner animalistic passion and leading the group of unthinking beings in a cheer. I would be utterly ashamed. Compromising my soul for scholarship? --Not a worthy transaction.

I like the literature tutor. He has all the qualities that a good teacher is supposed to have; delightfully witty, clear voice, passionate and confident. I like my KI tutor, Mr Shyam, too. He speaks with authority and confidence accentuated by the slight upward tilt of his head, as though he is Plato giving a speech in the marketplace. Discussions were extremely interesting. His voice booms, at times, with the abounding zeal for inquiry that never fails to captivate my attention and stir my thoughts. The math tutor is good enough; geeky, task-orientated, alert and intelligent. I am, in all, pretty contented to have such amazing teachers.

Perfect pitch! I think I am beginning to hear colours in the tones; and it is giving me such great joys.

Due to the inclusion of Dramafest into my lifestyle, I haven't been consistently playing piano--a great sin, in my perspective of things. My guitars have been standing lonely on the rack for too long also, and not to mention those 2 harmonicas thrown carelessly on the floor 2 weeks ago. I need to decide. I need to know that it is impossible to practice everything. Ahh, it is either variety or consistency, of which I am sure the latter would give me much more happiness in the long run.

I can't sleep

2011-02-12T09:52:00.000-08:00

...And I can't believe I wrote the previous post before everything happened...

I think I am a prophet.

It's like answering a question before I even heard of the question, and getting full marks for the answer.

Reasons why this relationship feels deeper but not necessarily romantic

2011-02-12T02:12:00.000-08:00

because ordinary people are pragmatists; they concern themselves with sensibility and conventions. When someone leads, they follow, not realizing that the ideas promoted themselves are not necessarily true,--in an objective sense of the word--but rather, definitely sensible for the sake of the masses, at least reasonable enough for them to reach the same practical conclusion after certain mental prodding.

Of course, they never stop contemplating; no, that would be even harder than thinking itself. Instead, they fall into the trap of those who have no more experience of life than themselves, whose ideas are mere echoes of those passed on by the same group of obedient beings. Obedience is a nasty quality much much worse than rebellion. Being obedient means submitting oneself to a seemingly superior force, an act that might devastatingly destroy the capacity for intellectual growth-- that’s why I usually insinuate subtly to my sister whenever she disagrees with someone, that it is a good thing to do.

So why do we feel the need to hide?

This is beautiful, because together, we reach an understanding much deeper than most people could even grasp. It feels weird only because we’re not used to such a type of understanding—what we are used to are stereotypes, physical judgements and small talks, things so ubiquitously common that I am pretty disgusted by them. Let me repeat, I find them quite boring. It is human nature to only like anything that we cannot possess, and dislike immediately anything that’s too available. This is God’s way of preventing stagnation of any form.

I don’t know what lies ahead, and do not, in any way, want to know either. It is only pleasant to be surprised. But it is a bitter irony that something as marvelous should be marred by standards.

Thunderous afternoon

2011-02-11T23:04:00.000-08:00

During the course of the orientation, I didn't really pay attention to any of the dances; or rather, I didn't bother attending any of the Song, dance and cheer sessions due to my aversion towards large crowds. I just detest the disgusting ways that everyone cheered with relentless fervor because it seemed to possess a striking resemblance to the 2 minutes of hate in 1984.

Actually, I wouldn't say that I hate crowds. As much as I'd prefer a quite, serene environment for almost any activity, I am in love with the passionate energy that the multitudes are capable of releasing. During the campfire, we were exploiting every opportunity that we had to turn our colossal flames of youth into a form of purely physical release--the mosh pit. Ours was not exactly violent, for we were jumping around and shoving each other in moments of mad frenzy where everything swirls with energy. It was insanely addictive. However, it was a pity that there were only a few of us doing it; imagine the madness if a thousand ardent youths burning with excitement are thrown into a state of similar physical frenzy! We would be a gigantic ball of pure energy, animalistic and devastatingly beautiful.

Hours before campfire night, I was standing in the pouring rain right next to the rundown train tracks in my dark blue underwear, positively soaked but highly spirited. I just realized how deprived I have been, to be relishing in the experience of playing in the rain naked at 17, an age where most men in Pakistan are already fathers with 3 kids. After dancing my self taught scottish dance right next to the tracks, I lied, fully sprawled, on the stoney ground, feeling the raindrops falling on every exposed part of my body. Torrents of rain came pouring from the cumulonimbus clouds as every drop of rain felt like tiny frozen pins as they gained acceleration from the moment they were formed until the point when they contact my delicate skin, stinging my nerves.

Pitter patter pitter patter; droplets attacked my bare chest, thighs and firmly shut eyelids.

Pitter patter pitter patter; upon falling onto the ground, their round, exquisite shapes were lost as they merge with the other water droplets to form a collective and fluid whole that glides, rather indecisively, to somewhere else. You see, they had to get somewhere, until the point when they reach a destination flat enough for them to stagnate. Individually, they were so sharp and painful but collectively, their vehement nature was lost to a gentler, milder substitute, seemingly more contented with everything.

Somehow, I have a feeling that that's what the school is trying to do to us.

Things are turning just a little too revolting.

2011-02-10T02:48:00.000-08:00

I have always wanted to be a person radiating positivity--a pure burst of energy and liveliness in itself--and I have reasons for that. Monotony is something that no one could stand save the dull and the conforming and the pusillanimous (I have to use it) and I've always believed that you got to take a interest in life in order to love life. Orientation was fun in the beginning, when everyone's full of the joys of spring and enthusiastic about interaction. But not if you overdo it.

One of the things that really causes revulsion in me whenever I see it in school is people sitting in circles. Don't get me wrong, I am not a misanthrope and in no circumstances at all do I not enjoy company. Social interaction is a highly desirable thing because it erases loneliness and promotes the exchange of ideas--not to mention forge relationships--but relationships are simply not forged by sitting in a circle and playing frivolous games. The games are supposed to be fun of course, as they "break the ice", or, in other words, add life to the dull and purposeless lives of the few. In my opinion, relationships forged through such ridiculous means could only go awry and wither.

I don't know my classmates well enough to judge them yet; but what I do know, is that something is seriously wrong if all of them agreed, although hesitantly, to sing a song about the school values of "Joy, Teamwork, integrity, etc" in the tune of barney for the class skit. When Arivan suggested that we should really just go up to the stage and just stare at the audience for 5 minutes, Angus, the self-appointed temporary CT rep, said in utter indignation," but there is no PURPOSE in doing that!"

I think he really wanted to set some hearts ablaze with passion and love for the school by reiterating the terribly redundant school values in the tune of barney.

So, yes, things are beginning to turn revolting. I walked out of the class in the middle of the discussion (cheerfully of course, i even said goodbye to angus) and angus was quite happy, i would say, to see me leave. I think I just love pissing uptight people off-- little wonder why Ariel hates me.

The heat is becoming unbearable too. When I went home at around 4pm, all I wanted to do during the walk to the bus-stop with joel and bella was curse. Speaking of Bella, you know before I came to JC, i was really hoping to find girls as cool as her. No, let me put it this way: I thought every girl would be as cool as her, because all the girls that i used to hang out with had great sense of humour and are not that judgmental or immature. Of course, I've met awesome girls that just fill my heart with optimism, but the majority are just quite repulsive.

My take is that girls are just like guys...there are the cool ones and there are the immature, pragmatic ones that becomes councilors. Even so, I am generalizing. School is just a place where motley individuals with seemingly disparate worlds of thoughts are forced to congregate--that's why you learn so much more about people.

Which isn't really good because most of them are boring. hahahahahahahahha

2011-02-04T21:30:00.000-08:00

all the stuff about busking would be blogged in this blog..

incomprehensibility

2011-02-01T07:25:00.000-08:00

A sudden revelation: am I equating love to unfathomability (I don't think there is such a word, but you get my point)?

The beautiful ones always seem more mystical--more surreal, as if they mere physical appearance could satisfy some innate desire for beauty. Am I relishing in their beauty or their ideas? Of course, it has to be an odd mixture of both, but I deeply suspect that it is the former. Is it because of the lack of natural beauty in the landscape of singapore, that I hunger for such qualities in humans?Could it be possible?

Whatever the case, it's not like anything the media wants me to believe.

2011-02-01T07:07:00.000-08:00

Even in a crowd, I feel so lonely. It is as though I need only understanding; as though I need someone to see pass everything physical about me to caress my soul, sooth it with their words.

I don't want the trite, specious perks that are way too ubiquitous. I need something real, something unadulterated, intrinsically and spontaneously natural. Even I am not capable of that, for I am constantly dissatisfied with what I am, and constantly changing: I don't know what I am.

I like to think that I could choose to adopt any attitude towards life whenever I like. Somehow, I can't do that. I thought that doing that would make life more fun, or, less boring, but damn, I am still constantly bored. Expecting too much from life? I am not sure. But I firmly doubt so, for if such thrills exist in my imagination, they could become reality; there need not be any distinction.

After all, too many things just seem so artificial. Orientation is like adding rubber lettuce into a concrete subway sandwich. I crave for intimacy, for understanding, which is a quality that repels the majority.

Maybe it's my
I just get lonely...or bored,

perhaps sleepy.

2011-01-30T06:19:00.000-08:00

There are a few things I would like to talk about.

My Life

From the very beginning to 2008, I have found my goal. I have decided that computer games, though fun, are a waste of time and vowed to quit them. But what else could I do that is equally fun? I turned to music. I learned the violin for 2 years during primary school until my uptight China mum decided that I had to devote more time to PSLE instead, which proved to be a bad choice because I began playing basketball or badminton virtually everyday after school. It was not until secondary 2 that I decided to pick up the guitar because I thought it was cool and it would get me more girlfriends. After almost 3 years of learning that instrument, I still fervently believe that guitar is indeed the coolest instrument, but as for the second part of the prophecy...well it never got fulfilled.

I started learning the piano at around mid 2009, after realizing that in order to be a truly self-sufficient musician, having a certain theoretical knowledge for music would be crucial. Indeed, I have learnt all the major and minor scales, basic melody and harmonics, note reading and have a deeper appreciation for every genre of music. I have also been trying to develop absolute pitch since June 2010. Now, I could name every white tone on the piano with ease. It has been a slow and arduous process, I assure you, because perfect pitch, unless cultivated below the age of 5, is an exquisite and delicate art that takes large amounts of effort and faith. Effort because you have to spend every single day listening to the tones on the piano for at least 30 minutes-- if you were to skip a day, the effort you put in for the past 4 days (generally) would be wasted. I am like a snail trying to climb up the well; if I don't progress, I backslide. The reason why I took so long is because naturally, being the fun loving, adventurous boy that I am, listening to tones over and over again had a hypnotic effect on me; often a times, I would give up half way and throw my tired soul onto the awaiting bed. Faith is vital because these listening drills seemingly produce no reward. I still could not recognize most tones, but to my amazement a few weeks ago, I found out that the tone that was produced when I tap my card on the bus was a B. If you don't believe me, go check it out with a tuner. Also, for the ding dong in the "Doors are closing, ding dong" on the bus, the ding is an E while the dong is a C. I believe that one day, I would be able to recognize the tone that the purr of the cat produces, as well as the tone behind almost everything. It would be a great prospect to relish in.

So, my life. Well, if I were not sleeping, I would either be playing the piano or the guitar and occasionally harmonica. I would go to school, yes, but I can't seem to learn most things as fast as most people in the class, partly because my brain switches off when things of no relevance to my life is imposed onto me. That is why, I take literature and knowledge and inquiry and history--because those stuff matters. If I weren't trying to improve my musical self, I would be reading. Be it physical novels or online articles, I find great joy in reading as well, especially ambrosial words spurned by great writers like Oscar Wilde. Currently, I am still reading Women in Love by DH Lawrence. Although Lawrence isn't as witty as Wilde, his penetrating observation regarding human behavior in social circumstances astounds me. Here are some quotes from the book.

The first one is a quote from the chapter Moony, after Birkin drove William Brangwen furious by proposing marriage to his daughter, Ursula. " There was a complete silence, because of the utter failure of mutual understanding. Birkin felt bored. Her father was not a coherent human being, he was a roomful of old echoes."

A roomful of old echoes! What a wonderfully conceived metaphor to describe an austere person, full of antiquated prudery and antediluvian ideas of life, a mere immaterial echo of ideas bouncing off dusty walls of his soul! A little, perhaps, like my mother, when she is in rage... A perfect description.

Then this one "Then there started a revulsion from Gudrun. She finished life off so thoroughly, she made things so ugly and so final. As a matter of fact, even if it were as Gudrun said, about Birkin, other things were true as well. But Gudrun would draw two lines under him and cross him out like an account that is settled. There he was, summed up, paid for, settled, done with."

That was exactly the anger I felt, a few blog posts ago. I felt as if junyang drew two lines under me in his head and summed me up, like an answer to an 8 marks math question that he satisfactorily produced with confident finality.

On a separate note, I happened to stumble upon a few funny sex quotes that I thought I would love to share.

Bisexuality immediately doubles your chances of a date on a Saturday night.
- Rodney Dangerfield

Sex at age 90 is like trying to shoot pool with a rope.
- George Burns (love this one)

Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake whole relationships.
- Sharon Stone

My girlfriend always laughs during sex – no matter what she’s reading.
- Steve Jobs

Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is.
- Barbara Bush (an unexpected spark of wicked humour from a former First Lady)

Women need a reason to have sex. Men need a place.
- Billy Crystal (this one too)

According to a new survey, women say they feel more comfortable undressing in front of men than they do undressing in front of other women. They say that women are too judgmental, where of course men are just grateful.
- Robert De Niro (LOL)

The problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.
- Robin Williams (ahh true)

There is about all that I would like to share. Oh and one more thing. I have always called Shihe a pussy, with the vague intention of debasing him. I don't feel guilty at all. The fun of watching Shihe's reaction to that remarkable word which meant a fuzzy mixture between cats and female genitals overrides any ounce of guilt that the self-righteous me produces. I have never stopped to consider which of these two meanings the word actually imply. Today, I've found the answer. While reading an online article, I stumbled upon the word pusillanimous and after checking the dictionary, I found that it actually meant "showing a lack of courage and determination."

Explains everything, doesn't it? Pussyllanimous

oh man

2011-01-27T04:39:00.001-08:00

I am so demoralized.

Riches

2011-01-24T18:24:00.001-08:00

Money can get you what you want. It's actually the easiest way to get experience.

It would be so fantastic, wouldn't it? To be able to do anything you like with, say, a 2 billion dollar cheque. Money can't get you education though, hence what we are undergoing now.

It is quite a good thing, really, to not get involved in money that early, for those stuff makes you shallow and stupid.

Not to mention fat.

But after all these bullshit, money is all that makes life fun.

A glimpse into Idiocy

2011-01-24T07:14:00.000-08:00

Last night, a very peculiar thing happened. While I was inquiring, on MSN, the date of which school starts for the J2 people, Junyang's tone changed after a while of chatting. It was, I daresay, pretty acrimonious, with a twinge of contempt, to be exact. He used adjectives like "diao" to describe the way I walked in school, and how I "swaggered" around and how the tilt was "almost 25%". After a while, I knew where he was getting at. It was quite blatant to him, that I became a egoistic, narcissistic snob.

To tell the truth, even though I don't regard Junyang as my closest mate, he is still a pretty good buddy who's always ready to play basketball or go swimming with me. I don't think he has the slightest idea of how I want to live my life and I doubt he would understand why either, even if I had told him. It was a friendship balanced on the proximity between both our homes--a friendship, nevertheless.

When I first sensed contempt in his words, I felt infuriated. It was, in fact, a really retarded misunderstanding. I deliberately use the adjective "retarded" because it is in fact, pretty retarded. The hilarious truth is, after so many months of abstaining from sports with an iota of intensity, my frail toes could not take the sudden torrent of abrasion applied on them; my little toe bled; my middle toe nail chipped; and a blister of blood (you don't know that it even exists, do you) formed at the side of the biggie. So, as you could have pictured, my right foot WAS in dire straits. Wretched, you may even exclaim.

In actual fact, I do recall myself limping around school in concealed agony. I wasn't "swaggering" in confidence, although I could not see anything wrong with that; I wasn't trying to be cool, though I would love to be cooler; and the "25% tilt" that you've astutely observed in my walking position was in fact a limb, an innocent, vulnerable limp. Of course, you would take none of that; no, you would advise with penetrating prudery: do not do that, other people will "kaopei".

When I read that off the little msn conversation box, I was white with disgust. Disgust, mixed with fury and indignation. It felt as if something is squeezing your lungs, depriving you of the full intake of sweet oxygen. It felt as if you are trapped between two insurmountable walls which are gradually closing onto you, inch by inch, until your very bones are crushed into smithereens. It felt like the night before the history exam.

I was upset because I expected my friends to know me, at least enough to not judge me by the physical preference. I was furious because of the contempt that arose from such an ironic misunderstanding. And I was disgusted, by your stupidity.

Or rather, by your conformity to standards.

I think of humans as free souls who have a certain freedom to choose whatever they want to do, as long as it is within their moral boundaries. Even if I wanted to walk with a swagger (no, i would never want to do that), I would be free to do it, and I would not give a fuck about what others would think of me, as long as I don't know them and they me. The crux of the problem here, you see, is the fact that someone who knows me judges with such decisiveness, such certainty that left no room for understanding.

Note how I emphasize moral boundaries. As long as it is not immoral, there is no reason not to do it. I would not have written this post if not for another queer encounter this evening, which led me to question certain social codes of conduct that I once deemed acceptable.

After dropping off at KAP from the shared taxi with Faizal and Austin (who were fervently discussing who should pay more for the taxi fare all the way), I went to the bus-stop. Seconds after sitting down, I was turning my head to the right to look out for the bus when suddenly, a female figure came into my vision. It seemed like one of those hollywood moments whereby our glances met and was sustained by a peculiar quality while time deliberately slowed down to accentuate our connection, after which the film would return to normal speed again when eye contact was gone.

I've seen this glance before, I thought, as she walked past me towards the far end of the bus-stop.

No, it couldn't be...

I turned my head to the left to look at her. Yes, that eyes! I've seen them somewhere before, in fact, quite recently.

Then it hit me. It was one of those menacing looking glares that popped out from the front of the bus to SAS when I stopped singing! I shivered as traumatic memories floated into my mind. The night, for the first time, felt cold.

Something inside my heart, however, compelled me to approach her-to erase her image as a pair of icy, glaring eyes that screams "asshole".

So, it was quite natural that I was pretty shocked when she actuallysmiled.

SHE COULD SMILE!!!! OH MY GOD! I thought, as I approached her.

"Hi, do you happen to be in the basketball team..? You look familiar," I began, while trying to charm her with an artless smile.

"Oh hi! You look familiar too. You're the one that Sharlyn scolded right?" She replied with a beam. At this point, I began to quite like her. You know, when you expected the worst, any sign of positivity is attractive.

"Oh ya,"I replied sheepishly.

"So how are you coping with it? Have you gotten over it?" She spoke as if a great tragedy betided my life.

"Well, still occasionally sad and traumatized and..." I paused to think of an appropriate word-,"moody".

It wasn't that appropriate actually; "desolated" would be a better choice for enhancing the drama, but still, she knew I was joking.

We introduced ourselves casually. Cheryl, a charming name which , unfortunately, fits the smile much more than the piercing eyes.

I couldn't fathom why, but the next thing she exclaimed was," What's with you hair!"

I replied the usual," I cut it myself, do you like it?"

"Not really, it is really attention attracting,"

"Well yeah, at least it's free."

Practicality serves as my last defense against a world which views change and originality with hostile and loathing eyes.

"But it is not good," Cheryl advised with a voice teeming with accumulated wisdom, "attention isn't good-- Oh here's my bus, I got to go, byebye!"

"Bye Cheryl," I waved with a courteous, delightful smile as she boarded that thing.

From this brief encounter, I find Cheryl really likable and polite; and she speaks pretty intelligently, which differentiates her instantly from the majority of girls in this country. It is a good thing. But why on earth does Cheryl have to give me such a ghastly advice?

For one, we are 17. Presumably, this would be the best years of our lives, where we could live in excitement and fun without any physical constraints. Sure, I could get myself a normal 10 dollar haircut from EC House and look like everyone else--but where's the fun? We are all already in dull, brown uniforms that render us more like soldiers than individual teenagers; and yet, and yet the only thing that we could change that would add colour to our lives, our hairstyle, you forbid it?

You forbid it precisely for the reason that I want to do it.

Of course, you could conveniently view it as a easy way of standing out from the crowd, and I would not deny it. But the reason why it would even be possible in the first place is the utter lack of creativity in the rest of the people: if everyone were to do it, then it would not be a tiniest bit "attention attracting", would it? I am not saying that I am inherently more creative, that I am intrinsically superior than the rest--in fact, I would relish in the idea that everyone has a crazy hairstyle of their own; how fun would that be!! I am just a little disappointed at how things work around here; about how, ideally energetic and heated youths should become mouthpieces of pedantic, austere morality with no intent of changing the status quo. Are we really not capable of producing a society driven by happiness instead of uptight adamantine rigidity?

You know, there is a stark similarity between what Junyang and Cheryl said. Fundamentally, both of them are trying to advocate a quiet life, a diluted existence devoid of originality. To be in the crowd! To be just like everyone else! Inherently, we are built that way and it is perfectly fine to do that. Also, it would be a blatant lie for me to deny my need for social inclusion and love, friendship, etc. I like being a part of a social entity, and just like any other human being, I detest loneliness.

However, I see something deeply flawed with the ideologies of the crowd; and in order to change anything, my exclusion would be imperative. It may seem to be a trivial thing but it is the fact that such words of conformity came from youths just like me, instead of someone like, say, the discipline master (which is a term synonymous for "brainless fag"),that is deeply troubling. This situation is akin to the caste system in India, whereby every chicken is squashed in a stifling cage and the force that's keeping the cage in tact is provided by the chickens themselves. Something like the ideological state apparatus.

The bottom line of everything, I guess, is that the two years ahead would be teeming with idiots who judges way too easily without even thinking . Nevertheless, to quote Foucault, I would love them, but hate their stupidity.

Discipline (or the lack of it)

2011-01-23T00:07:00.000-08:00

Oh no, not the D word!

With regards to losing 3 matches in a role and getting trampled on by Zhoukai, the acrimonious me wants to discuss discipline, a word closely related to conformism in my mental dictionary.

But first, I would like to give an account of the emotional torture of guarding Zhoukai in a game.

Standing at around 1.7m tall, he has intimidating, bulging muscles that pack explosiveness. Usually, he keeps his cool while dribbling the ball down the court with habituated confidence (unless, of course, if he's losing). That day, I was guarding him and after having stopped training for more than 6 months, my indefatigable efforts produced little resistance, if not none at all, against his powerful bursts and quick change of direction.

It is torturing really! The embarrassment of being outplayed by an opponent much more formidable than you are; of being penetrated without the slightest effort, it was the worst form of debasement ever. The crucial part was that I tried. I tried, but I couldn't stop him. After identifying me as the weakest link of the defense, he constantly called for isolation play (a play in which everyone gets out of the way for the individual to penetrate) and despite knowing that he was going for the basket, I could not stop him. If I were smarter, I would have just stood in the painted area to wait for him to shoot or pass, knowing that the chances of him scoring is much lower if he shoots than if I had let him gotten pass me. But fucking Bk was saying things like "leibing where's your defence" and not wanting to appear as a slacker, I kept a one-arm distance from him, which is the ideal distance for a perfect defense that unfortunately didn't work due to difference in speed between him and me.

So, it was a torture. Of course, I could harp on the fact that he HAS been constantly training, he IS in fact 2 or 3 years older than me, but I am not going to do that.

As we all know, to do something well, we must either be constantly exposed to an environment thriving with that certain activity (think blues in New Orleans), or spend countless hours practicing the skill fervently and relentlessly. Neither do I have the former nor the second condition for the mastery of basketball, so it is of little wonder why I sucked. What I need though, is discipline.

According to the dictionary in my mac book, discipline is "the practice of training people to obey rules or a code of behavior, using punishment to correct disobedience". If basketball was something that I enjoyed, why would I even have to be "punished to correct disobedience?" I think the main reason is because of my body's retaliation when I push it too hard. It IS a self-defence mechanism, a natural mechanism planted in our biological build-up to prevent our indefatigable minds from killing ourselves to reach goals. Unfortunately, my mind has another tool equipped to help me lead a more comfortable life: rationalization. Why do I have to suffer all these tough ignominious matches? Can't I just play with some rookies and derive pleasure from trampling on THEM? These are the types of question that I ask in the fist of rage after losing 3 games in a role while suffering from aching muscles and numerous blisters.

Obviously, they are not the things that I actually wanted. I want to achieve something grander, a form of satisfaction that would last-- being the main point guard for the team during the Grand Finals of the Championships for example-- and winning. In order to do this, I need to at least be as good as Zhou Kai and to be as good as Zhou Kai, I have to train.

Hence, I need discipline.

But why impose something so adamantly rigid into an already adamantly rigid life?

That is the question; in an utterly dull life that lacks excitement while teeming with monotony, why make it even drier?

I am in a dilemma.

Of course, I could join some relaxing CCAs such as frisbee or guitar ensemble or drama but then I would not win and I would be climbing up the ladder right from the bottom, if you know what I mean. Sure, prerequisites are not that important if you just want to have fun but it is if you want to win. Ah, it's all about satisfying our ego, isnt' it? Maybe the portfolio too. Bloody life.

On an optimistic note, I won the 4th game, which was a relief because the ultimate loser had to carry the benches used for the friendly match back to the canteen. It was hard to fathom why we weren't the ultimate loser since we only won 1 game but heck, when fate deals you a better card, you don't think too much.

Incredible true story of a collar bomb heist

2011-01-22T22:12:00.000-08:00

The story seems almost unreal, like something from the Japanese detective comic Conan.

Click here to read it

Interesting day

2011-01-20T06:39:00.001-08:00

Basketball. . . I love basketball. . . . . I hate losing though, i really do hate losing, but it is so hard to beat those muscular dudes who have been so dedicated and so disciplined for training that they are almost like basketball machines. It is either that they love basketball more than me, or that they hate losing even more than I do. I think it is the former.

I like music too, and reading, and beautiful places and thinking. My love for other things does not debase my love for basketball, although it DOES degrade the quality of game played by me. The more time I spend reading or thinking, the less time I have for training and vice versa.

Argh, i am too inefficient to balance everything. I am a slow thinker, a slow writer and not surprisingly, a slow runner too.

I need to live in a world where 1 second there, is equivalent to 2 seconds here- and all things kept constant, i should be able to react doubly fast to everything.

Or maybe, I would just be slowly conditioned into thinking slower. --Bummer.

What a day I had today! When I was on the bus to the match at the Singapore American School, I started introducing the other basketballers to nice songs like those by Credence Clearwater Revival and Apples in Stereo.

When Energy was playing on the speaker, i closed my eyes and started singing along to the music. When I was awaken from my trance, many pairs of beady, menacing looking eyes shot at me sternly from the people sitting at the front of the bus. Unfriendly people, i thought, I had better stop soon.

All of a sudden, my vision was palled by a massive shadow of red which towered over me as I sat dazed on my seat. The next thing I knew, I felt glacial pangs of pain as vehement words like a stab of a dagger of ice frozen from a poisonous well penetrates my heart.

I couldn't remember what it was about, exactly, but that lady was furious. With a face all flushed and chubby, (kind of like mine, actually...)she belittled me to the best of her abilities. I squirmed in my seat in total aghast as my cheeks blazed in horror.

After she was done with a speech so charismatic that would render Hitler jealous, I barely managed to utter "Chillax lah" before she turned and sat with a bump, on the seat right in front of me.

I think I made her sad.

BUT IT WAS SO THRILLING!

Talking about kicks, I would love to have her get mad with me again.

Maybe a slap would be good. I would love to have her slap me. Twice, on the same cheek. That'll be quite an experience, I think.

And then, I would forgive her.

That's how bob dylan used to get his kicks.

But on a serious note, I really wonder: why so serious, mama shaq?

2011-01-18T03:24:00.000-08:00

There is a part of me that I would never show,
and hence you would never know.

But if you happen to see me like this, pray not be horrified,
I would promise anything, if I never had lied.

2011-01-18T02:47:00.001-08:00

What is the use of being smart, exactly? There are many things that knowledge would bring, but even more things it would take away. Of course, knowledge is an easy way of differentiating yourself from an animal- whom, of course, is a inferior being than you are. Is that all? Is that all the reason there is behind being cultured, intellectual, occasionally skeptical and pessimistic?

Being stupid isn't really enticing either. Going into a good university has always been my aim, so as to give my parents the peace of mind that I am going to be a successful person when deep inside, I will always be the carefree, easy going me. People don't change for no reasons, circumstances impelled them to.

I can't write essays that I have no interest for. Whenever I start, I would find myself revolving around the same old points, reiterating it in different words over and over again. Occasionally, shadows of doubt palls over my mind. I have an imperative to do well academically because, and only because, I can live by myself in relative comfort without an iota of dependency on my parents. But after the holidays, I can't seem to organize my thoughts coherently anymore, ideas just come as and when they like while I physically pen it down. Maybe I could do better as a song writer, by linking seemingly sporadic thoughts into strings of verses.

Jason complains that he is "lost and confused" when he doesn't play basketball anymore. I have passed that stage-- that's why I return again to basketball. It is a profound feeling really; when you are too used to a certain activity, going cold turkey is simply not the way out. You would feel lost and confused. We often see this phenomenon when lovers break up--one of them would bound to become disoriented because they were too used to having that part of their soul with someone else. Your heart feels as if it has been detached from you and put into a dusty, capacious hall. It disrupts your normal pattern of rationalization. Ms Sim says that for the past few months, I have been a fish out of water. I mused about this imagery and i thought that it wasn't quite appropriate. I was just this frail little fish which was pretty tired of the aggressive lake and hence went to seek refuge in another lake. The other lake proved to be a decent place, but every other fish has already been in that lake for many years and this foreign fish felt out of place. Of course, he could decide to try to fit in, but soon, he found out that the fishes are just impassive, frigid, austere fishes brought up in a fish farm. It wasn't a lake: it was a fish farm. Sure, they could be more delicious, maybe pricier, but this fish doesn't want it that way. He loves the voluptuous nature of the previous lake. Hence, he swam back. Fortunately, the previous lake still welcomes him with open arms and he feels appreciated. The old lake is where his nature belongs. Of course, he still travels occasionally to new environments but he'll always enjoy whatever he receives.

I need to tell Jason this little story. Maybe he would raise an eyebrow or two in interest; but never the eyelids.

Beautiful places

2011-01-14T07:46:00.001-08:00

When you live in singapore for too long, you tend to forget how beautiful the world is. Traveling, in my opinion, shouldn't be merely a luxury-it should be a fundamental thing to do, for any human being seeking for enlightenment. How wonderful would it be to step into a foreign land and relish in the voluptuous arousal of your senses! Yes, it would be an imperative to do it before your senses fray with age. 25 would be a great age to travel extensively, considering the fact that you would have done with your education while still teeming with the fervor of youth.

New Year Resolutions

2011-01-12T03:13:00.001-08:00

As we all know, these things that we call New Year Resolutions never work. But one thing that they do though, is make you feel better about yourself. After all, we feel much better when we have got something to look forward to, instead of living life for it's immediate pleasures alone-believe me, i've tried both, although the latter felt good, it's pretty mindless.

Mindlessness. Such a simple thing, really. When we think too much, we tend to chide ourselves for immersing in our thoughts and not really doing anything. Actually, however, doing something without thinking is worse than doing nothing at all. Of course, you can say that we can immerse in the pure, unadulterated experience of something alone, and I concede that this notion is both admirable and enticing. However, it is also absolutely worthless. Mindless matters are not worth pursuing, simply because it doesn't last in our minds. On the other hand though, we should still have our daily dose of mindless matter because it's fun. Fun=happiness, i've figured that out too.

So, the resolutions. I do want to read 2 books per week, learn a new language, preferably french, because of how related it is to english. Also, playing guitar a lot would be good, piano too, and really nothing else. maybe murder someone when I get the chance to, smoke some weed and inject an iota of heroine. Nah.

You know how people try to simplify all problems at the end of a philosophical discussion by saying things like "Whatever..We should just live our lives, it doesn't matter." Well, true, if your life doesn't matter to you, that is. Well a life should matter to an individual, because really, it's all we've got... It's hard to harp on the significance of this all day though, because otherwise, you would most likely lead a bohemian lifestyle and die pretty young. If you're pragmatic like the rest of us, well, then just live your life.

Language

2011-01-10T07:16:00.001-08:00

I keep forgetting

2011-01-08T22:33:00.001-08:00

that experience is all that matters, the more intense, the better. It doesn't even have to be good for you.

So come on, hit me. Hard.

Please?

2011-01-08T20:43:00.000-08:00

Oh how I wish that you could read my heart

Beneath pretentious veins, there is no art.

to tell you the wonders of this depression,

that is fueled mainly by a passion,

upon which your mere existence creates;

and of which only you can alleviate:

a touch, a kiss, or your soothing voice,

when it's meant for me, not other boys.

Often a'times when I am alone at night,

my thoughts wonder to you, where it'll reside

Away from the lonesome day; you set

fire to a heart that tends to forget.

Until a day when this blaze naturally declines,

I would love to

make you mine.

New Year

2011-01-01T03:33:00.000-08:00

It is of little wonder why human beings revel in the coming of a new year- we look back in pleasant reminiscence as the wondrous prospect of another year brimming with possibilities hits us.

Come to think of it, 365 days, as well as minutes and seconds, are all attempts to divide time. What exactly, does a year signify, besides being an arduous long span of seemingly forevers that passes, again seemingly, in a blink of an eye? It is quite queer, if you ask me, the concept of time. I ought to read up more about it before I express my inchoate opinions but here is something that has been boggling my mind.

We all know that time is relative to our experience of it; it slows down during the last five minutes of the last period of the day and speeds up during happy moments. It can then be concluded (prematurely), that time itself is pretty much arbitrary. If every experience that we have of the world is significant only because of it's relation to us (in some way or another), then why should time be commonly divided and measured? What then, is the significance of a minute, an hour, or a year?

Of course, by dividing time, life proceeds with greater convenience. Our dependency on the idea of a 24 hour division between dawn and dusk is colossal. Imagine living without the concept of minutes and seconds; the inconvenience is unfathomable. Our primitive cavemen ancestors managed to do that, however, because luckily, we can still measure time in terms of the availability of light with our senses. In a sense, there were only two entities of time for them cavemen, as compared to our current 365, or 24, or 12, or 60 and so on. What difference does it make, you may ask. Well, actually not much. Not enough to render our existence insignificant, neither enough for our extinction. But then again, there are probably much more things to life then what we perceive of ourselves and our physical presence in the world.

Fuck I digress. But what was it that i wanted to say anyway? Right, the new year. 2011. The number itself seems packed with meaning eh? Haha. It is hard to imagine that these are just a combination of 4 numbers. What makes it so power is the global scale of it's significance: everyone (or nearly) in the world will know what it mean. Weighty stuff, 2011.

Merry Christmas!!HOHOHO

2010-12-24T21:48:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone! Merry fucking christmas!

Really, christmas doesn't pack any significant meaning for me, but it's a day when people start getting generous and drunk and happy and so I will just share some of these videos that's been in my comp for some time so that YOU CAN BE HAPPY!!!

Ah I am an awesome brother.

I am going busking for the whole night again and hope i meet some drunkards hahaha!!!

Adventure indeed.

2010-12-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

I had one hell of a night last night.

Watched local blues band The Chicken Shack Revival.

Went busking,

Only to chat with an old man who was 67 and still masturbating.

For 2 hours

Missed the last bus AND the MRT.

Decided to go to Sean's party.

Met another busker

Who gave me a rolled up cigarette

We decided to go busk at Orchard

Since Clark Quay was like a ghost town

Head down to orchard, outside lucky plaza i think

got into trouble with the cops

Played Crowded House to 2 Aussie friends who owned 7 guitars in a mansion in Melbourne

Got invited to the Meredith Music festival "where everyone's having fun on a big field listening to great music and getting stoned"

Played for an African-born white man, who travelled 6000km through Kuwait and Saudi Arabia to see Bob Marley and got locked up at the borders.

He loves weed

And his children (5 of them)

Faithful was he-"that prostitute thinks she is getting laid, but I am a man of 5 kids! No, I will just give her 200 dollars and be gone"

Gave me 50 bucks in his drunken stupor.

Gave the 50 to my busker friend who claimed that he needed money to pay the bills.

Busked for a few Germany tourists in front of the stairs of a mall.

they were impressed.

Occasionally, some american or australian would stroll out of the mall and request a song

I made another 80.

A german lady demanded the shirt that I was wearing.

It was Arivan's shirt; though I really liked it, I thought, why not.

Someone in the crowd shouted that it's for sale at 200 bucks.

In the end, I got it for 50 and 2 cans of beer.

Sat down for the beer.

After a while, an extroverted guy who was complimenting on how good my body looked when I took off my shirt

came introducing himself to me.

He had a cool handshake, and whispered to me

"Actually the dudes were making fun of you just now for a while, but you're cool."

I felt a twinge of embarrassment

You know, the feeling you get when you reminisce about how your brother pissed in your mouth when you're 5.

He's from a club called Romeo. Told me to bring my friends there and I'll get discount.

lovely fellow.

Went topless for 20 mins

The busker friend gave me a shirt.

Quite grateful for it.

Spent the rest of the night listening to a great singer called James belting out oldies.

Went home at 6.

Oh yeah, one more thing, this is an interesting episode.

"So show me your busking license,"the malay policeman asked, quite politely.

I did just that, and he nodded.

His chinese Subordinate called Stephen Low (read it off his gleaming name tag), demanded," Keep the money."

This is an interesting guy. Standing at a height of around 165, he clearly lacked confidence. You can see it when people lacks confidence; their eyes will wander when they say something. Seeing that he's rather harmless, I decided to just be cheeky.

"What do you mean by keeping the money? The money's in my guitar bag, i am already keeping it. OHH! You mean in my wallet? Do I have to keep the money in my wallet? Or should I put the money in my pocket, Sir?" I beamed at him.

"Are you trying to defy authority?" he said, lifting an admonitory finger, trying to be stern while his eyes wandered to the side.

"Nonono, of course not Sir."

Just then, a stout, corpulent middle aged man, who was witnessing the entire scene, stepped in and called out to the Stephen guy.

"Hello Sir, is there ANYTHING wrong with asking a simple question? Don't we citizens have a right to ask questions? Don't we?"

The following 30 mins were all spent arguing over this petty issue.

Later, he told me he was from the opposition party. I was not surprised.

Stupid philosophy

2010-12-19T21:27:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, I adopted a philosophy that in order to be happy, you have to be stupid. It turned out to be quite awesome, really, but then again being stupid compromises on many things. First of all, your ego. As a guy, I do need a decent level of ego to survive. Troublesome yes, but unpreventable. To be stupid, you have to let loose of yourself and stop being the uptight conscious macho man like you've always been, and let me tell you, it is not as easy as it seems. People like to be around others with single faceted personalities; those that appear simple and amiable. The key thing to be liked, then, is not to give a fuck about 90 percent of the things.

Of course, I am still trying to learn that. It will take some time, but happiness needs training.

Actually, there is nothing wrong with being sad at all, especially when you can channel your loneliness into creative energy-that is, if you are not consumed by it first.

It is thoughts that make you sad. If you can learn how to preoccupy your mind every single minute of the day by your passion, I am sure it will alleviate loneliness.

2010-12-18T17:50:00.000-08:00

the allman brothers!! fucking hell!

Robert Johnson is the new god.

2010-12-18T08:54:00.000-08:00

holy shit! a new record! 72 bucks.

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

lovely night,

lovely weather,

lovely humans with

lovely tits

which bounce about

on a lovely chest

of an ugly whore.

An Afternoon at Jo's

2010-12-16T06:50:00.000-08:00

"That is why I said, I believe that beauty is truth and truth beauty."

"Hmm, I've never really understood how beauty is truth and vice versa."

"Ok say a tree over there," he pointed vaguely to the sofa in the living room," I want to express it in a form of a poem or song, and I do so by penning down the impression of beauty of the tree upon myself. I will tend to exaggerate the beauty and neglect the ugly bits."

"Hmm alright..."

"By doing so, I am creating a beautiful memoir that is distorted from the truth, but what does it matter? People who read the poem or listen to the song will be captivated by the beauty"

"Ah! But the beauty that you've given them is not the truth."

"Oh can't you see? It is the truth, because the beauty penned down are MY perceptions of the tree, and if I had seen an ounce of beauty in it, it is the truth to me, and subsequently, what the readers are reading will be the truth of the beauty of the tree, in relation to me."

"But that is, still, not the actual truth! From what I see, the tree itself, at that moment in time, is the truth."

"In a sense, yes, but what does it matter if we'd just live our lives in pleasure derived from deception, like how Dorian did- we should just live in perpetual derivations of pleasure and then die in a vile puddle of our mess."

"That would suck, won't it? To screw up your life like Dorian; you won't be liked by anyone."

"He is liked by everyone!"

"Only because he is so fucking beautiful, like how Wilde portrayed him to be."

"Yes, that's one of the flaws of the book, the inordinate prominence of beautiful people."

"Hmm... I tend to draw a distinction between the beauty of nature and the beauty of humans."

"Why? I mean, I've always regarded human beings as creatures that go in tandem with nature."

"But can't you see? The beauty of the grandiose mountains, fields and rivers is so different from the beauty of a pretty girl-but that's not the point. The point is, we humans love beautiful things, and it would be fair to love beauty in nature, since stones can't really feel emotions, but it would be utterly shit to love only beautiful people."

"But that's what we all do, and there doesn't seem to be any escape from it"

"Yes, exactly, because of human's intrinsic love for beauty, they simply just love the beautiful people. It sucks cos it implies that ugly people are inherently bound to receive less love or attention from the fellow human beings."

"Beauty is only skin deep."

"Ah, that's what they say to comfort the ugly people, which consists of the majority of the population- at only a certain age will you be really beautiful, and beyond that age, you'll be ugly."

"So?"

"So...if you're not beautiful, then your emotions will be rendered less significant because no one gives a fuck, but in your heart, it is genuine and significant."

"Yeah I guess that's true, but the ugly people can always choose not to harp on their sorrows and derive pleasures from other activities."

"But you just said that our seemingly insignificant existence can only be shed meaning by interaction with other fellow humans. So do our lives really have any meaning at all?"

"Yeah, but then again, we'll all die and turn into stones, so why care so much about what others think about you?"

"No...we like to believe that we are somewhat significant you see..."

"From what I see, we're not inherently different from that tree over there," he points at the sofa again," really, what are we? In the scheme of things, we are nothing but some petty human beings. But one way of making yourself significant is to leave traces or footsteps in the world when you die, that's why I write all these poems and songs. It would be nice if my sons or grandsons read them and know a little about me."

"That shows that we all want to be significant right? It matters to an individual because that is all that he can perceive."

"Your argument is so anthropocentric."

"Yes, because we are, in effect, human beings. I just think it unfair that the opinions of the beautiful holds more water simply because of how they look, but then again, we are devastatingly helpless to that. Imagine a hot girl saying something retarded. We would tolerate or even find her cute. But imagine an ugly girl saying the same thing. We would call her a bitch. "

"yeah we would...hahaha, but then that really can't be helped, and it is one of the flaws of being a human."

"One very shitty flaw indeed...humans can't help but to become the most simplistic creatures at times."

"Do you think that our lives have any meaning at all?"

"Like I said, we're as meaningless as those stones over there, and everything beautiful in this world, everything awe-inspiring, is simply a creation in our minds- those things are beautiful simply because we think that they are.

"So, in a sense, we give the world a meaning because we contemplate."

"You're being anthropocentric again. That's why people turn to religion sometimes, because things seem utterly so meaningless but yet they want to search for a meaning."

"But I firmly believe that you don't need religion to derive meaning in our lives."

"Yes, there are too many loopholes in them. If I were God, I would take a step back and take a look at my human creations that are deeply flawed, and burning..."

"...in pleasure,"I added. We humoured ourselves with the imagery.

It started to feel cold inside the room as the sky darkened outside. This queer psychological phenomenon never fails to interest me. I stared at the dense cumulonimbus clouds outside the window, which swirled in greying agony. I began to feel a little old.

"I feel old."

"I've always felt old."

"You know, Jo, I feel that I've changed quite a lot."

"Really? Since when?"

"Ever since..erm, ever since I stopped playing basketball a few months ago. I never used to think so much about all these stuff."

"Thinking is good."

"But the worst part is, I can't seem to find anyone to connect with ever since this odd change of mine. I used to just laugh and goof around, not thinking much really, and was very happy. But now, all the things begin to seem utterly frivolous."

"Yeah me too, last time i used to laugh around my church friends, but now I just can't seem to stand going out with them. But i think being selective of your friends is good."

"Not when you feel lonely, really. To be honest, you are the only person whom I feel that I can chat comfortably with., Sometimes Cheryl; but cheryl's really retarded at times..and extremely busy nowadays with her jobs, kittens, hamsters and a new room."

"Haha...how bout louis ngia? Got go skate with him?"

"Overseas I think. Everyone's either overseas or working their asses off this hols! Weird..."

"You need to get a job, maybe there will be interesting people for you to meet."

"Oh yeah, maybe I need to get a job."

"Wait, busking is your job! It's like the best holiday job lah..."

"But one thing about being a busker is that people never really want to get close to you, they might like you, but they would not want to be that intimate with you."

"Hmm, what about Yijing? She's pretty smart what, did you call her?"

"Nah...but speaking of yijing, i was chatting with her just a few days ago, and she told me that she used to have a crush on you," I looked at him, grinning,"how come you're so pro?"

He smiled,"Yeah I am damn pro right? Haha I knew that, she invited me to some CSI thing but i turned her down. I told her I would never go out with her because of you."

My smile faded. I bit my lips, half embarrassed, half bitter,"That's stupid...really fucking stupid of you..."

Well, actually, it is stupid of me.
***************************

It was raining outside and I couldn't play basketball with Dion and Sean. Kind of disappointed, since I travelled all the way to Thomson with the hope of playing basketball after a break of 2 months, but then the caprice of the weather just cannot be helped. However, generally, it has been an awesome day. Gymed in school, ate lunch with Sean and Laisheng, bought harmonica holder and guitar slide, practiced a christmas song for a gig this saturday evening with Jo. Saw Bella outside Jo's house when he was sending her down and she looked pale as a ghost.

Never juggle 2 jobs when you're 16.

2010-12-14T06:18:00.000-08:00

It has been awhile since I actually blogged about anything in detail. All of the previous posts have been short spurts of random thoughts that just happened to float into the vicinity of my generally aloft mind; in other words, nothing much in particular.

There is something absurdly strange about the psychology behind bloggers- on one hand, you want people to read what you write and subsequently respond to it; on the other hand, you want a certain amount of privacy, so that your imprudent comments would not stir unnecessary trouble. I have yet to find a solution as to where to draw the distinction, but then again, fuck it.

This holidays has shed new light on my own capacity of solitude. What is the use of loafing around with friends, I used to think. But then sometimes, especially during the evenings, you feel an aching desire to be with someone who understands.

Ah, what a lonesome feeling that is! It consumes you bit by bit, and would not lift its strangling grip from your soul, which is, coincidentally, located somewhere around your chest, depriving you of breath. You think to yourself: anyone will do, anyone. However, you know that certainly, that is not true. That person has to be genuinely interested in this trivial life of yours, whom is capable of intellectual discussion to a certain extent, and also, to a certain degree, pleasing to be around with (in the physical sense). It is easy to be comfortable with anyone online, behind the veil of cyberspace that hides their hideousness, and hence, I have a strong aversion towards it. However, I do admit that I depend on it to pass the day, just as much as a beggar on his 50-cents. Oh yes, it is hard to find someone who understands, for he or she has to be engaging, or at least look as though he understands what you are talking about. I am not trying to say that I am a sophisticated personage, in fact, I consider myself a simple man with inchoate ideas about the world- it's just that, even the simplest of us beings long to be understood.

Now, enough of my lonesome holidays spent in utter solitude in an equally secluded place called Bukit Batok where the biggest thing that ever happened was the...oh never mind, I can't recall anything big that happened here. I do have a faint recollection of a case of murder, but I couldn't care less then because it was told by my mother with vehemence when I arrived home at 1am in the morning, which is frankly speaking, nothing of significance. In fact, I am dead positive that nothing will ever happen to you if you were a boy of 16 with a chubby face, who doesn't stare at people too much and has a delightful smile (damn I am sounding narcissistic).

Moving on to busking. There are simply too many things to be said about that, and I would really like to dedicate another blog to this exciting new world of experience. You know, there is something quaintly romantic about being a busker, which I am attracted to. I have a strong affection to both the notion and the activity itself; and of the latter, excitement is slowly fraying but it is constantly supported by the former. During the first few days of busking, my eyes used to light up whenever someone walks pass me; now, my eyes only light up when they put in the 2 dollar bills- not even the petty coins. Soon, I am afraid, nothing will excite me except the songs themselves; and that is why I need to improve, so that I'd get more excitement when I perform.

Oh, and one very awesome thing about busking is that, though the audience's reactions are fairly predictable (I will dedicate a post or something about how people reacted to me), you would never guess when someone will do something out of the ordinary. There is this element of surprise, even in Singapore, on the streets that lights up the flickering fire in my heart. Once (in fact, just yesterday), an old eurasian man with greying hair walked through the underpass. He wore a striped red collar tee-shirt, navy coloured bermudas, and had a black backpack slung across his shoulders. Most distinctively, he was constantly gripping his DSLR camera, which was attached to a strap around his neck. He wore spectacles and looked like an explorer of sorts. So upon seeing me (I happened to be playing In an Aeroplane over the Sea), he stopped at the far end of the tunnel and aimed his camera at me. Ah pictures, somehow, people love taking pictures of buskers. So far, in my few weeks of busking, I have had numerous photos taken of me with my shitty guitar, whose E string just broke. The photographers ranged from tourists to Indie looking couples (you know, those type of pretty looking guys dressed in bright yellow T-shirt and green skinny jeans, and pretty looking girls in fluffy, arty clothes and a DSLR camera in her hands). Nowadays, every pretty girl who can press the button on the camera thinks that she is an artistic photographer.

Anyway, I digress. So this queer old dude, after taking his photos, started tapping his black leather shoes on the ground and swinging his arms. Is he dancing? I wondered. If he was, his grooves were amazingly unique, unlike anything that I have seen before. If you'd ask me to describe it, I would say that it was a cross between a moonwalk and those folkish tap dance moves.

So that old fellow, with a camera pressed against his belly, was indeed dancing this delightful dance. Slowly, he started dancing his way towards me. All the while, I sang while having my head turned towards him. There were some passer-bys approaching towards our direction from the right and the old fella' stopped two meters to my left and turned to face the passer-bys, still dancing. The passer-bys, who were genuinely amused by this cute little duo comprising of an innocent looking chinese boy and the peculiar old man, shot us smiles of appreciation.

After a while, when the passer-bys were gone, he stopped dancing and fished out a two-dollar note from his pocket and bent to put the note into my guitar case, which is my coin box of sorts, before standing up to walk away.

"You sure can dance!" I exclaimed with a smile as he stood up.

"Nah, I wish tha I could play music," he pointed at the guitar, with a glimmer of regret in his eyes.

"You can always learn!"

"I am too old to learn."

"No," I cried in horror," no one is too old to learn!"

As he began to walk away, he turned back and smiled. For the first time, I noticed the wrinkles on his face that folded like tributaries.

"It is alright. As long as there is music," the old man said cheerfully, pointing at my guitar," I can always dance!"

With that, he turned and waved," Nice to meet you, young man."

"Nice to meet you too," I waved with my picking hand, staring at the brightly coloured walls of the Clark Quay Underpasses, enthralled by the beauty of what he said.

That night, when I was chilling out by the riverside after the guitar's E-String broke (which ended the busking session prematurely), the words that peculiar old fellow said rang in my ears. "As long as there is music, I can always dance." Oddly arcane philosophies, just like the old man himself.

But I do make hasty judgements, which is something that should be changed.

I would love to continue rambling on about the thoughts that were passing through my mind these days but I am really too tired. good night.

Motivational Monday

2010-12-12T19:04:00.000-08:00

"Ask yourself, how many times have you intended to do something, to be good at something, but only to give up after encountering difficulties? You try to talk yourself out of it- I am not good at this; I don't have the talent; this is too hard. How many times?"

oh fuck this

2010-12-12T04:13:00.000-08:00

Loneliness hits at just the right moments- Sunday night, 8.16pm, in fact.

I'll just blog about how utterly lonely I am now, so that...well, y'know, some lonely soles out there can contact me and we can make merry.

Or, we can at least be lonely together.

2010-12-12T03:52:00.000-08:00

is there ........................no one .............

Out there?!???????????????????????????????????????????

2010-12-10T08:06:00.000-08:00

Besides earning around 20 bucks today, I took a look at last year's pictures of me on facebook. I never knew how round my face was, until I saw the resemblance in my face that of a basketball.

Haircut tips for the round face: never shave.

Life reserves it's best for the beautiful. It is impossible to be charming when no one takes you more seriously than a teddy bear. Maybe if my musician career fails, I will be a comedian. But I am too shy to be a comedian.

Perhaps a loser will do just fine.

I will be a busker with no soul, a little like a jukebox; put in the coins, it plays your favourite tunes, unaltered, perhaps slightly worse than the original but you like it nevertheless for the sake of filling the awkward silence of your life with sustained notes you call music. I will use the money to survive. Books, food and water is sufficient for one man to live a decent life.

I will walk alone, like how I'd love to, to the bus-stop, watching the traffic twirling in circles around the labyrinth known as the city, watching couples poking at each other with accentuated playfulness, watching the reflection of my utterly devastating self-cut hair and leaning against the algid brick wall of the dazzling underpass. People pass me by, some look, others stare straight ahead. I like those who smile at me; but still, I prefer those who start fishing money out of their pockets.

People are queer creatures indeed. I just took a look at the video of my performance on graduation night and my heart tingled with awkwardness as I watched myself on stage. After a while, fortunately, I got used to it. I guess it is possible to be indifferent towards everything, except the beautiful.

2010-12-08T03:18:00.000-08:00

There are so many things that I don't understand; then again, there are so many things that I don't have to understand.

I shall just have enough understanding to get by.

holiday

2010-11-28T05:13:00.000-08:00

So what day is it today?

Let me see...

Right, it's Sunday. You see, I kind of lost track of time these few days. Been wondering around singapore making money, hanging out with friends and singing. Busking is a very lucrative business indeed. I would love to write an essay about busking but now I just don't feel like doing it.

Here's roughly what I earned for the past few 1.5hr sessions of busking.

100+ bucks(of course, the picture shows just the coins), for roughly 3 hours per day of busking. What's more, I resided at a moderately crowded place. If I had the capabilities to go to orchard road, I would not be surprised to find more than 100 bucks per 1.5hrs of busking. Now, talking about making money out of doing something you love?

Stayed over last night at ari's house with both joels and bowen. I had my first mind-blowing experience of doing ethyl chloride and I would talk about that some time later. I drifted out of the world twice, both times unable to control myself from plunging into the ground and yet being semi-conscious about it. I thought it was lame at first but now I'd eat my words. This IS the shit man. Beats vodka and everything else.

Smoking sucks, don't do it. Had a puff and it tasted like mentos. But honestly, it sucks. Unless you're a businessman planning to invest in China, the land of billion smokers, I suggest that there are better ways of achieving happiness...

Hold on, this is something that I tend to forget: smoking, unlike other drugs, DOESN'T give you happiness. Do you think that those dudes look cool and happiness smoking nicotine? Well, they're just losers who, really, doesn't have anything else better to do with their lives.

Gosh I am so tired. A director of some company approached me two days ago while I was busking and gave me 2 bucks. After that, she told me that I was a "talent" that could really help her company's youth group and cheerfully gave me her business card. I was pretty pleased that she called me a "talent"; which really is a cliched and hollow word, but nonetheless, I was pleased. I emailed her and she replied today, inviting me to a gig for a christmas/monthly birthday bash at with her company's youth group. yipee !

Speaking about gigs, Ari's mum (who got real pissed last night when she walked into our room at 2am to realize that we were all stoned) invited us to a gig for her company as well. She told us that we could charge her "commercial rate". Sounds professional enough, for a professional. I daresay that she just wanted to get ari motivated. Still, I am happy that I've got something to work for.

Will blog about Ethyl chloride and busking soon. This two things are simply too awesome to not reflect upon.

And I think I am missing someone very badly. . . I might just pay a visit to vegan burg in the next few days (god knows where that place is).

we did cartwheels on the field

2010-11-22T16:33:00.000-08:00

I had my eyes fixed onto the wet and mossy ground as I threaded meticulously through the field, trying my best to avoid the puddles of mud. Beads of sweat form like dewdrops on my bare chest and back, trickling down my abdomen and soaking my pants. "We're almost there," Jo said with a twinge of optimism as he hopped over a puddle of mud. Beyond the trees, I could catch a faint glimpse of the biggest open field in singapore. I grunted with a smile.

As I stumbled around the corner, a refreshing breeze hit me right on the face like a cool towel, blowing beads of sweat off my body. "So this is it," I gazed at the field. It was huge, to be honest, but the grass was less than satisfactory. I had imagined a patch of grass with a lighter shade of green, perhaps softer and more tender. Instead, the grass on the field appeared prickly and rough, with patches of light brown, dried-up soil all over the place. Still, the sheer size of the field threw me into fits of elation. It was not only big- it was ours alone.

The four of us made our way across the field in search of softer grass.

"If I had remembered correctly, there IS a spot with grass like that of a golf course, but it is only around 2 meter squared big," exclaimed Ari with delight. We continued walking.

Apart from us, there was only one other man on the field. He was a corpulent middle-aged man, with short stubby hair (a little like the grass) and had a remote control gripped tightly in his hands. The plane that he controlled soared into the sky and flew like a weightless air particle. It did seem as light as a feather from down below. WIth meticulous precision, he steered the plane around and around the air. I marveled at his toy- what a joy it is to be able to fly! Suddenly, the plane tilted it's head upwards and slowly, the incline increased to more than 75 degrees as it defied gravity with all the energy its small engine could muster. The man, who obviously thought that he was the actual pilot, cringed with exhaustion as beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. He pushed the knob on the remote with all his strength as the plane continued to gain altitude. If was only a matter of time before the signal was lost as the plane started to take a nose dive. Just when it was about to hit the ground, the veteran pilot steered it on course again. He grinned with satisfaction as he flew the plane back to himself. After a while, we got tired of him flying his toy aeroplane and just sat down at the patch, staring at the far end of the sky.

The sky was beautifully light blue in colour, with patches of clouds all over. Yes, I concede that most skies look like that, but what was different then was the amount of sky that we could see. It was either that, or the whimsical feeling that emanated from the field. I was feeling hot again so I took off my shirt and threw it onto the ground. I was still amazed by the beauty of the sky. With my head tilted up, I spun round and round, watching the universe turn in euphoria. It was almost like getting high on dizziness, just that a headache was bound to ensue soon after.

After a while, they started smoking. I didn't smoke so I continued spinning. Puffs of smoke lingered in the air and as it travelled to my face, I breathed it in. It didn't smell as bad as it used to a few years ago. Perhaps it was the brand of cigarette. It was a lighter kind, not the hardcore ones that my China Uncles smoke.

The sun was slowly setting in the horizon and the clouds over yonder (I have to try saying this word because it sounds so much nicer than "there") were painted a bright orange hue, as if they were set ablaze. The four of us fell silent as the beauty of the sunset touched a certain part of our soul. It caressed us gently and whispered tender words through the wind," Laugh at all your frivolous worries, humans, as nothing can be more beautiful and meaningful than me." A smile crept across my face as I was reminded of my youth, my holidays and the wonderful days ahead.

Jo too, felt the penetrating tranquility of the moment. Sitting cross legged, he took a puff of smoke and stared into the horizon with misty eyes.

"You know, the three of you are the favourite people in my life," he said casually, with a natural smile across his face.

Just then, I felt something tugging at my heart. I think it was love, but a very different type of love, a slightly frayed and grey-ish type of love. It felt abysmally poignant and relishing at the same time. I wanted to say something but I was immediately stopped by a mysterious force that has always been accentuated whenever I head down to the gym. The subject was quickly changed into something else; something that didn't matter as much; something that we would feel comfortable talking about.

After the sunset, the field was pitch dark so we trudged our way back to the main road. As we couldn't see anything, we constantly stepped on soft and slimy mud and it squished underneath our weight. While we were walking to the bus-stop, I told them about the time when I made friends with the Indian pond cleaner in my school and how I played chess with him in the library and let him win.

Ari stuck out his right hand and grinned," Wa I respect you man."

I looked at him, slightly amused. It is hard to tell when he is being sarcastic.

Soon, we reached the bus stop and parted.

change

2010-11-16T18:31:00.000-08:00

It seems to me that everyone's kind of changed, in a way, including me. Let's start with booze. I went to Joel's house 2 days ago for a "party". The reason why I put party in inverted commas is because it was less of a party- we simply sat down and drank mixed Bacardi rum and a bottle of wine which I couldn't pronounce the name of. Personally, I am fine with drinks, but it'll only be nice if I were drinking with real close friends; not the other way round. Drinking has long been established as a social tool for drawing relationships together (or apart, depends). Is it about time we youngsters embrace this convention and start doing what the adults do? The reason why I am saying this is because I don't really enjoy booze that much. Honestly, as compared to sex or a kiss or simply hugging a girl that you like, drinking pales in comparison.

However, two days ago, I did get a little drunk. Just a little. It was my first time getting light-headed after a drink and contrary to popular beliefs, I didn't lose myself at all. I simply felt really sleepy, a little dizzy when I stood up, and everything seemed ten times funnier. I just kept on laughing because SOMETHING was so bloody funny, but I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was the fact that everyone was alive at that moment. I was only a LITTLE drunk, but my thoughts were crystal clear and I could definitely argue coherently. The only premise that could establish, unfortunately, was that I wasn't drunk, and since it was all in the mind, I couldn't really prove my point, which quickly got rebutted by "that's what every drunkard says". Geez, I thought, that's unfair.

So you see, it WAS fun. Partly because when you are drunk, very few things seemed to matter anymore. I was still rational enough not to start kissing everyone or touching her boobs, but everything seemed really frivolous; and funny. Funny in what way, you may ask. Well, it wasn't as funny as south park(i have to use something as a yardstick), but you just WANT to laugh, sometimes for the sake of laughing. Once you start, there's no end, unless you choke yourself or run out of breath.

Fun, of course, comes with a price, literally, because drinks are expensive as hell. At least for our age, they are. Money is hard to get after all, and being the cheapskate as I am, I prefer forms of entertainment that don't involve that much money, e.g. a wank, playing harmonica, guitar, or reading. The downside is that you can hardly get girls through these forms of entertainment since these things are not as social. My body has taught me that I would need either girls or my right hand in order to perform higher level thinking activities and since the former is more socially accepted, I would stick to drinking (occasionally).

Sean, on the other hand, dived head first into the world of booze. Before I introduce this interesting guy to you, I have to say something that I have recently discovered.

There is a whole drinking scene out there!

It is amazing. Before the party at Joel's house the other day(not Joel Wong), we were fishing at Bottletree park; or rather, watching Joel and Anson fish. After a while, we took a walk around the park and found this beautiful pond of lilies! Lotus leaves are amazing plants. They never get wet, because water simply does not stick to them. Ever wondered why things are wet? That is because water is sticky. For lotus leaves, they do not ever get wet because water droplets simply roll off them like how a ball rolls on the ground. They also have really low densities...

Anyway, I digress. We settled down at the playground nearby and started chatting. Zonghan and I found out that the girls are really much cooler than us. They started drinking LAST year, when we were still marveling at tiger beer. They even booked hotel rooms for up to five days and four nights to party?! How crazy is that. For once, zong and I felt a twinge of remorse at all these events that we missed out; but is it worth it in the first place? Sure, you may enjoy yourself during those fleeting moments but after that it's all crash and burn as you start puking your guts out and scrapping your throats with middle fingers to force yourself to vomit in order to get the alcohol out of your system. How very pretty. And cool too.

Ok back to Sean. That dude's been immersing in parties one after another. That is pretty nice, considering how much he loves parties and being in pictures with whores. It would be nicer, though, that he take up penmanship classes so that he would not retain this year.

Moving on to last night: batch dinner. I was shit tired throughout the day because I didn't sleep much the previous night at Joel's house and yet, I had to rehearse to the band, which consisted of Sean, Lichen, Lukky, MinGao and me. We did around 4 songs, two by the Ramones, Twist and Shout by Beatles, Imagine by John Lennon and you can't always get what you want by the stones. We had a pretty fun time and I guess the audience liked us. It was my first time being the frontman of the band (along with Lukky) and it was quick different from previous experiences of playing country and folk. Considering how hard it is to stand in front of an audience with nothing but a mic stand, you still had to capture their attention because most of the time, they will be looking at you. I danced simple steps awkwardly, half sang, half screamed into the mic and twisted around. It was refreshing; a break from the usual routine which involves only me and a guitar.

The dinner was great. After a while, everyone started walking around in the ballroom and nobody gave half a shit about what was happening on stage anymore. I am glad that we performed first. Everyone was taking photos for the sole purpose of having them uploaded onto facebook, where their true experience lies. I was sitting at my table (which was empty half of the time) surveying the room without much thoughts. The ballroom was emanating with exuberance and dynamism as handsome young men dressed to the nines laughed, joked and made horny poses. Occasionally, I would be approached by an old friend who wanted to take pictures with me in order to consolidate our memories and cheerfully I would accept. Other than that, I felt a little out of place without Joel Wong around. After all, he was the one who's been through thick and thin with me for the past two years. This emptiness, fortunately, was quickly filled up by photo-taking sessions with enthusiastic old friends whom I adored all the same.

After the dinner, they didn't know where to hang out and I was really tired, so I decided to go find her, who was conveniently nearby. After chatting a little at Macdonals, that sweet little girl walked me to the bus stop where I kissed her on the cheek and took the last bus home for a good night's sleep.

I am getting my busking license this week. Gonna be fun.

Slalom-

2010-11-13T20:21:00.000-08:00

Dancing through cones with skates on.

I have been really interested in Slalom ever since I was 12, when I saw a friend, who was 4 years older than me, do tricks on his skates at East Coast Park. I purchased my skates a year later, along with ten yellow cones. However, I didn't have the time to really get into it due to my commitments to the basketball team-which isn't a regret at all. A few days ago, Louis introduced me to this pretty awesome skate park right at the heartlands of Bukit Batok Jungle, and I started skating again. Letting gravity take control of your body as you lean forward to glide down the ramp incites adrenaline into your system. Adrenaline feels really great. For the subsequent days, I checked out youtube videos on slalom tricks and got into doing Slalom again.

I have to say that Slalom is one of the few things that guarantees instant satisfaction. For the previous skating sessions (sometimes accompanied by Louis but often alone), I've learnt how to do snake with both feet, forward cross and the single foot thing. Looks something like this
snake

and this, cross

I've got those two down within 1 week. Sweet satisfaction.

However, the next step, Eagle, proves to be a real challenge.

Twisting the angle of your feet to more than 180 degrees?! That's insanely tough, at least for now.

So, regarding locations to skate, I generally prefer smooth surfaces; but not too smooth, because you would need some friction in order to really train you legs. Ideally, a multi storied car park will do just fine, because that way, i can be sheltered from the caprices of nature. However, I cannot find one near my house, so I had to settle for the stretch of pavements beside the huge canal a stone's throw away from my house. It is really convenient and not many people use it. The unfavorable aspect of the canal is that it'll always be wet after raining; you can't do much on a wet surface.

Gosh I hate it when it rains in the day, like what's happening now.

Oh you knew I'd do this again

2010-11-13T00:59:00.000-08:00

It was such a refreshing moment of my life that I HAD to undelete this blog to blog about it.

I got a phone.

For many of you, it may seem as though I am making a mountain out of a molehill but that is certainly not the case, because you see, after approximately 3 months of living in the caves, I am finally living in the 21st century again. You want to know how it feels like? Just imagine being trapped in a dark room for 40 days and then finally stepping out to receive the sunlight that blinds. I was dazzled by the marvels of technology and will now talk about my superzx xmegazcoolz handphone.

This is not just any ordinary phone, as you might have guessed from the abounding happiness effusing from my words.
Think about it, I get 80 minutes of free calls and 50 free messages!! How bloody cool is that! No more getting lost in the middle of cityhall or orchard where every road looks completely the same to me, no more waiting for louis at the WRONG soccer court, no more calling 91520849 everyday simply because I don't have anybody else's number. Now I can call ANYONE like! Yes, that means hours of fun, if you think about it, because previously, all my nights have been spent at home because no one can contact me. Lonely times...but they'll be over.

It was the cheapest phone available, but what a shock I got when I turned it on to see that it can access WIFI. Think about it! I can now watch porn on the go, listen to johnny flynn early in the morning, in fact, listen to anything early in the morning, watch slalom videos, do ANYTHING! Not that I didn't have the internet, but the prospect of having the internet in your hands is too remarkable.

Furthermore, it has a 2 gig memory card for me to store music files! How bloody awesome is that! A few years ago, the cheapest phones came with only a 26mb memory card. Now I know why people get excited about technology.

Best of all, it has an ultra comfortable ear piece. I just lost mine, in case you didn't know, and have been wanting to buy a good one ever since; y'know, the type which has a condom looking rubber tube that slides comfortably into your ears and blocks out every single noise in the environment.

So in conclusion, I am both satisfied and proud. God damn yes I am proud of this new phone that I have. I am going to show it to everyone on the street and tell them what they are missing out. I will log on into MSN 24/7 just like Sean, and I am going to tweet every single one of my thoughts and revelations and share it with the rest of the world so that my existence will be significant. Oh yes I am. Hail me, the owner of a phone. Hail me.

Rock Star Poet

2010-11-04T19:49:00.001-07:00

Friday Morning:

I watched a 5 part documentary on Lord Byron on Youtube. He is portrayed as a drop-dead charming man, sexually appealing to both sexes and fornicates (especially with married women) a lot. From young, he was inspired by a gothic chamber in which he would hold wild and hedonistic parties. He would have sex with young women and then write poems about them, after which he would dump them due to the lack of interest in their hollow minds. I can't help but to think about how women are portrayed as feminine and hollow human beings simply out there to serve Lord Byron's sexual desires. Naughty bastard he was.

Rock Star Poet

2010-11-04T19:42:00.000-07:00

Friday Morning:

I watched a 5 part documentary on Lord Byron on Youtube. He is portrayed as a drop-dead charming man, sexually appealing to both sexes and fornicates (especially with married women) a lot. From young, he is inspired by a gothic chamber in which he would hold wild and hedonistic parties. He would have sex with young women and then write poems about them, after which he would dump them due to the lack of interest in their hollow minds. I can't help but to think about how women are portrayed as feminine and hollow human beings simply out there to serve Lord Byron's sexual desires. Naughty bastard he was.

update

2010-11-04T05:01:00.001-07:00

It is unbelievable how low my sex drive has been for the past few days. It took me 30 minutes of pondering to just type jizzhut.com into the browser. I couldn't really find an explanation for the low sex drive of mine but maybe, just maybe, I am getting desensitized.

But that's impossible. I swear it was just the sultry heat of singapore for the past few days. Or the monotony of life at this supposedly exciting point of time. I am 16, just finished exams, got fucking awesome grades, and is bored. Fucking bored.

Had a pretty decent gig yesterday with Joel during Proed night. We did one of my song followed by Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes. This is my first experiencing rocking out with an electric guitar (normally I do folk) and damn, it was a blast. I would consider this a pretty decent start to my rock career, albeit lacking drugs, sex and violence.

Sometimes, I just don't know what else to blog about. I don't feel the type of happiness that i used to feel anymore. Without the phone, time just passes in slow motion, and my life lacks surprises and excitement. Occasionally, I feel like just pestering my parents about a new phone but then I am reminded that my busking license should be arriving soon and then I can start making my own money (hopefully) and get stuff by myself. It's a big thing for me, this getting my own stuff imperative. I have my reasons for that.

God bless Youtube

2010-10-30T04:36:00.000-07:00

Nothing much happening nowadays. Went to Joel's house for a swim yesterday, came back, practiced piano, wanted to sleep but ate a little too much, played basketball with Zhiguang until 11 before going to bed.

Had piano lesson this morning. Played guitar after that. Ate lunch. Read "Introduction to Aesthetics" that Joel lent me. Slept for an hour. Woke up, tried to train my pitching but got frustrated with my lack of progress. Picked up the harmonica at 4 and played till 8.

Which happens to be now.

Eating dinner later, possibly swimming and reading by the pool at night, maybe calling junyang along. But before that, I'll practice piano first.

I love the holidays.

2010-10-28T00:42:00.001-07:00

Arn't we all slaves to physical attraction, no matter how much we romanticize ourselves?

Not doing much, really.

2010-10-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

what have I become

What, have I become?

WHAT HAVE I BECOMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Geez

2010-10-25T18:16:00.000-07:00

I simply can't stand Paulo Coelho.

On almost every book of his, there are claims of it being "the international bestseller". Now that just goes to show how shit people's taste are.

I read his book, The Alchemist, a few months ago and detested it. Now, upon Gunny's recommendations, I have decided to give him a chance and started reading Veronika Decides to Die, "the international bestseller".

Bad choice.

I am still not sure why I his books suck though, because unlike Lichen, I prefer fiction to any other genres of writing. Paulo Coelho must be really unique in some ways.

But with that said, Veronika's personality reminds me very much of yijing's. I can almost hear her complaining about how shit the world is; and of course, the peaceful tranquility of daily life that bores everyone to insanity.

2010-10-24T02:13:00.001-07:00

THROAT VIBRATO IS SOOOOOOOOOOO HARD............. where can I find someone to teach me?!????

musing

2010-10-23T22:48:00.001-07:00

I am halfway through reading Albert Camus’ book, The Fall, and I must say it set me thinking about a number of things. There is a strange intricacy in his writing, as though everything is interwoven into a series of webs and nothing ever seems as simple as is.

It questions our definitions of what is right, and eventually leading to the perennial question of how we should live our lives. Humans are portrayed as selfish and insecure individuals perpetually searching for praises and positive judgements; and yet upon receiving them, we find them lacking substance and frivolous. Of course, men’s virile nature also shapes his behaviour to a great extent: his desire for power, his love of heights, his affinity for domination, all of which shapes the course of his actions. But is that all to humans? Are we mere creatures who sought to achieve nothing more than the tangible and the urgent? Do we have any higher imperative? Camus dismisses the existence of God in a very rational and emotionally detached manner, thereby giving an explanation for the perspectives of the protagonist due to the lack of “final judgement” that many people view, as an incentive to be moral and nice.

As the monologue unfolds, we realize that Clamence’s life is not as perfect as it seems. On the outset, he carried himself with dignity and grace, not once doubting his actions and the repercussions of his actions. However, as we read on, Clamence starts to indulge in courses of self-doubt and vices that are seemingly contradictory to his notions of a good life. However he tries to justify himself, his attempts are seen as feeble and meek.

I have not finished reading the book yet. However, there are some burning questions in my mind.

One of the major issue that Clamence brought up was the notion of judgement. Judgement by people, to be specific. At first, Clamence thought that he had friends all around the world upon whom he could easily control at his will. However, after realizing (in a self-derogatory and doubtful manner) that he had no real friends, he starts to think that every single action of his is being judged negatively by people’s accusing glares.

Does judgements really matter? It would be stupid and absurd to deny its importance to an individual. People judge others by actions, by physical appearances, by his status and personality. Clamence drew a picture of a hell where everyone is labelled under a conforming category, as an alternative to the burning hell that we know. The notion of him being a Judge-Pertinence (I still am not quite sure what that mean) serves to enhance the irony: a professional, trained judge, who, in the modern context, has prerogatives akin to that of the God, is facing a conundrum that he himself cannot solve. He appears to be in control, yes, but deep inside, he is deeply insecure and lost. Why does matter in this world? How should we live a life?

There was this one question that I would really like to discuss about. It hit me on the face during lunch…let me try to recall. It is something along the lines of why. Why…oh yes, why should we know? Wait, let me phrase it in a more lucid way. Why should we know anything at all? Hmm…the question seems vague now, yet when it formed in my mind a few minutes ago, it was crystal clear and traumatizing. If, in the end, we are all going to be slaves of passion and desire, what good will it do us if we think about how to live at all? Is it worth thinking? What IS a right action? And finally, while on my way to the toilet, is it worth being good? Logically, it is indeed worth being good since you want others to treat you that way. What is the purpose of seeking the “truth”, if there is any?

It is all pretty ironic that I am questioning the value of knowledge and yet trying to ask you guys out there what you think, when the whole process is already an acquiring of knowledge. But if we do not think and simply do, then what difference does it render our actions? Will it become more significant, or every action will simply be meaningless and insignificant?

Also, have you guys had the feeling that sometimes you’re searching for a certain word to convey a particular nuance but cannot find any due to your meagre vocabulary =/

2010-10-22T21:14:00.000-07:00

I hope this fortunate stroke of serendipity prolongs till tuesday. =D

It is now or never.

2010-10-21T23:05:00.000-07:00

Now is the time to go intense on practice. 3 hours of guitar a day. 3 hours of piano. 1.5 hour for harmonica, 1.5 hour for singing.

If I were to break it down into manageable pieces of half and hour each, it would be 6 "periods" of guitar and piano each, and 3 for harmonica and singing. Piano and guitar kinda have a double period, see what I mean.

I have around 3 months of free time before the start of next semester-which would be very busy indeed. Improving is a must.

Any time not spent practicing is time wasted.

I shouldn't be emotionally disturbed by my results since, up to this point, they have been rather satisfactory. I just hope that I get a decent grade for english so that I can have a higher chance of applying for KI. But even if I screw up badly or something, I would still give it a shot. Promotion is certain. OSA and scholarship is out of question, since my demerit points far surpassed the outrageous limits only achievable by pussies. Sorry if you are one, but I have nothing against you, honestly.

I hate to think that after these three months, I would have to start studying like crazy again. But we don't have much of a choice, do we?

At least this time, the results proved that I am capable of getting good grades at the subjects that I work hard for, and that is comforting. But besides that, grades are nothing. My parents were wrong to judge me by my shitty term results a few months ago-it will be wrong for them to judge me by my grades again this time. That's why I shall act nonchalant about the results which I do feel, to an extent, a little proud of, and not mention both the good ones and the bad ones to them at all.

Time to practice.

Weeeeeeeeee

2010-10-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

This is a tune that is stuck in my head for quite some time now. I actually had it before the exams but did not have to time to consolidate it...

And as always, I couldn't be bothered to amend the mistakes in the recording. I screwed up the last line of each verse (which is literally the best part...) by singing it out of tune, and I messed up the harmonica solo. but DAMN this is fun!!! will be posting some of the music I made through SELF JAMMING with lichen's godlike loop pedal soon. !!!

I reactivated my facebook. I am NOT ashamed of myself, since I've lost my phone and that is the only way to connect with my friends, no matter how fickle it is. =D

Roses are red, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet and so are you.

2010-10-19T21:42:00.001-07:00

A simple enough love poem isn't it? Well, apparently not. According to this article, , this poem is about deflowering of women, or in his words, " the roses can be seen as the analogue of the female sex organ, penetrated by busy bees and invisible worms, and bleeding". That isn't all folks. The violet even hints "virginal and dead flesh" while sugar seems to entail the notion of your pretty little girlfriend being "engulfed, eaten whole, a sweetmeat, or sweetheart for amatory cannibal."

On further analysis, red symbolizes totalitarian imperialism and communist politically, while blue suggests pain and grief of slavery. How lovely.

It is 12.50pm on a wednesday afternoon and I am thinking about why on earth deconstructionists even exist. Yes, it is interesting, I must say, but the article- apart from being a slice of intellectual pie- is really going too far. It is one thing to just immerse in the simplicity of the poem and admire it for its aesthetic value and another to dissect it and draw abstruse linkages between a simple love poem, written as a nursery rhyme in 1784, and totalitarian imperialism. What is the point? Lets assume it is an expression of our sexual desires to penetrate virgins, that it isabout the communists--will that matter when someone you love say that to you? (ignore how hackneyed or cheesy it may sound) There are many other ways to release your inner genius and creativity that doesn't involve false analysis. You may argue that this is just one reading of a poem but then the nature of this poem is so pure and simple-logically it would not mean anything more than a pleasant 4 liner love poem? Well if deconstructionists insist that it is something more, then maybe they just have too much time to spare.

But it is still a good effort though, just that make sure your girlfriend doesn't read this, because if you ever say that to her on valentines day, you can forget about getting laid.

Damn

2010-10-19T10:04:00.001-07:00

Before the exams:

"Holy fuck...how I wish all these could end and my misery will be alleviated"

After the exams:

"eh..you mean this is it?"

Last paper. yawns

2010-10-18T03:06:00.000-07:00

It is quite normal for a boy of 16 to celebrate the ending of exams. Or rather, it would be abnormal for one not to. For reasons not known to my boring mind, I feel a sense of jadedness that I was--before the exams-- oblivious to the presence of and am very much feeling ashamed now. I don't feel alive.

Maybe it is the lack of sleep last night? Maybe it is the screwing up of my chemistry paper, which, in all honesty, I couldn't care less about (self-denial). Or maybe it is just the monotony of my life? I need something more. Something more than just school and music or sports.

Now that we're talking about sports, it just struck me that i really DO need sports. Maybe it's because of the lack of sports in my life that I am feeling completely bored (so much so that I had been going onto omegle for cheap thrills). I need adrenaline. Previously, the source of adrenaline came from basketball competitions and matches, especially after you score a beautiful or fantastic shot. Nowadays, much of my adrenaline comes from the fear of failing my exams, or the prospect of a better tomorrow (which, I now feel, is bleak) or...come to think of it, I don't exactly experience much adrenaline nowadays.

Now I see the problem.

Life is just like Omegle

2010-10-18T01:38:00.000-07:00

It's filled with 2% chicks

and 98% dicks (literally)

pulsating shades of blue

2010-10-15T23:04:00.000-07:00

Went to play pool at 12am this morning. Walked back from IRC to Bukit Batok, along with guang and cindy at around 3 haha. Talked bout having awkward moments of erection, girls getting wet and chemistry. Cheryl went to hang out with her bad/cooler/legal-aged friends and left the 3 of us-the goody, still-give-a-fuck-about-our-lives, and innocent friends- to walk home alone. She was paranoid that they would fuck her though. well hope she's fine.

Those taking O-levels around me are seriously crazy. They sleep for a few meagre during the day, and study overnight. Honestly, we are pretty fortunate to exonerate ourselves from such an abhorrent lifestyle due to the decision that we made when we were 12.

Guang is going to A JC; he has already applied for DSA. Still as hyped up about basketball as ever, aiming to become the rookie of the year in A division, when there's no such award.

"If you don't play basketball now, you're going to regret it. Think about it, in a few years time, your joints will start giving you all sorts of problems and then even if you want to play, you can't."

Yeah true, but I think i've had enough. At least for the moment.

Ohhh one more thing!! Honestly, I am the king of pool. I sliced a solid at 60 degrees (immaculately calculated) and my white ball bounced off to hit another solid and BOTH WENT INTO DIFFERENT HOLES AT THE SAME TIME! holy shit. I was so shocked at my inherent talent at pool that I stoned for 5 seconds, unable to believe what I had just done. That was the highlight of the night, I am telling you.

Omg I've found a new idol

2010-10-14T03:28:00.001-07:00

when will it be

2010-10-14T02:00:00.001-07:00

hhhh

Society treats trannies like shit. I agree. I did.

birthday

xinjiang

It's the glimmer in her eyes

words from my subconscious

Jazz Masterclass

the sheer amount of work

On your weakness.

On the Wonders of Having a Good Earpiece

Debating

David mitchell

It's one of those nights

ideals

where's the fucking passion

i'd never thought

my daily dose

Epiphany at 1 am

It's a fine line between contentment and stagnation.

Some thoughts

Go make some friends

Nothing is stopping you from being a rock star--apart from your staggering indolence.

The reason why I do not like academic science and why you shouldn't too

Love is a state of mind

Over.

It's quite crazy really.

Thoughts about things that came too fast.

I can't sleep

Reasons why this relationship feels deeper but not necessarily romantic

Thunderous afternoon

Things are turning just a little too revolting.

incomprehensibility

oh man

Riches

A glimpse into Idiocy

Discipline (or the lack of it)

Incredible true story of a collar bomb heist

Interesting day

Beautiful places

New Year Resolutions

Language

I keep forgetting

New Year

Merry Christmas!!HOHOHO

Adventure indeed.

Stupid philosophy

An Afternoon at Jo's

Motivational Monday

oh fuck this

holiday

we did cartwheels on the field

change

Slalom-

Oh you knew I'd do this again

Rock Star Poet

Rock Star Poet

update

God bless Youtube

Not doing much, really.

Geez

musing

It is now or never.

Weeeeeeeeee

Roses are red, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet and so are you.

Damn

Last paper. *yawns*

Life is just like Omegle

pulsating shades of blue

Omg I've found a new idol

when will it be

Last paper. yawns