i met a boy

I met a boy in March 2013, in the little town of Bath Spa. It was near the start of my solo journey to Europe to extricate myself from the thick dust of a heady past. A time to explore a corner of the world on my own, to meet interesting people, to see the places I have only imagined. It was liberating, because i had been selfish about it, admitting to myself and God that I really truly wanted to go, for myself. I had anticipated that this short adventure could somehow change a part of me to be bolder, less dependent on companionship and more comfortable with being alone in general.

And then, I met a boy on the second day of my adventure.

Technically, we met in Bristol among friends on a cold drizzling night. We had both journeyed solo to bunk in with friends in the same house. It was a rather quiet but electrical affair, in a way I had thought only resided in movies and the far corners of my girlish imaginations. But it did happen, and have not ended on that kind of half hearted note that seems to accompany every potential affair. He was quiet with a strong build and he seemed to study me with interest from the time we sat down in an italian restaurant. The first thing I noticed about him was that he ordered wine with his meal too, an extravagant thing to do for a backpacker. It happened that we were planning to head to Bath Spa the next morning and it was natural that we made plans to go together after the long walk home after a heavy dinner.

The rain brought with it more romantic overtures the next day.

The weather in Bath Spa was horrid with unrelenting winds and dreary rain. He had an umbrella and offered me his arm as we braved the wind to see the old town together. Honestly, I remembered nothing much about the large Roman bath I was so excited to see, nor the city that housed it. One thing was that Ephesus in 2012 had been too impressive and a single Roman bath in Spa cordoned off like an exhibit seemed to lack lustre in comparison.The second was this stranger I was holding on to, who seemed mysterious and interested in who I was. From the time we were on the train towards Bath from Bristol, he had taken the initiative to talk to me and asked me why I was travelling alone. Being in an adventurous and friendly mood myself, the conversation had flowed on its own. I barely noticed the harsh weather conditions nor the town itself as we chatted and walked around.

We didn't have much time together, just one morning as he was headed to Stonehenge and I had a train to catch to London. Before we parted ways, he asked for my number to stay in touch and gave me a hearty bear hug. It was nice and warm and I found myself hoping that we would see each other. It was all very strange.

I thought frequently about this boy i met for the rest of my trip in London and Paris. He texted me now and then even as he took his trip around the other parts of Western Europe. He sent me pictures of the food he tried, the car parts that seemed to excite him as he travelled to automobile shows. And i thought to myself, this is a boy who had a hunger for life and colour. A boy who travels. But at the back of my mind, I thought this friendship would very likely end at some point, when we ran out of common topics to talk about, when Europe became to me a faraway place once again, when my own journey ended.

But it wasn't so. We continued to chat, we continued to share the bits of our daily lives over the 14000km that exists between the cities we live in, me on the sunny tropical island and him in the grey and cloudy part of Europe. I learnt that he cooks and had a liking for grease in workshops. He was in his own words, a grease monkey. He came back to Asia to visit family in September 2013 and we met up twice. A part of me had expected the strange spark between us to have faded, by the time we met again. But our second and third meetings, though brief, seemed to have given the spark fuel to keep it burning for a while longer.

There is something special about this boy, though I have not quite figured him out.

poster girl

Week 3 of being back, still positive, happy to be where i am. Lots of space to write and read, with a decent physical space to call my own, awesome. It had been a rough two weeks of hearing stuff about my return through the grapevine, but I chose to overcome with my head held high, with all the poise of that woman of class in heels. The woman that I always wanted to be, at least on the outside first. The little girl will always be lurking on the inside, but she knows when to surface and when to hide behind that demeanor of quiet confidence and be utterly impervious to the rubbish of other homo sapiens. I like how strong I feel compared to three years ago - and I have to say that the wardrobe and porcelain skin matter. Much as it is a chore working towards perfection, the external is just as important as the internal. I always thought it was great being a woman. There might be others who hate the trouble and limitations, but I embrace it through and through. It was colourful being me. 

A rude reminder recently, however, of why we could not be. Basic human respect dictates that one should not be calling another names, when one does not agree with a certain viewpoint, no matter how diabolically opposed those views are to one's own. It's just not cool on a human level and it violates my basic values of being welcoming and open to all kinds of views and perspectives since everyone has imperfect information upon which to form their opinions. I'm very much a democrat when it comes to information and ideas, even if I have strong opinions about certain things. I desist from dismissing another's viewpoint, even if it irks me. I  tend to challenge and pick at loopholes, I admit, but never dismiss. It would be pure intellectual blasphemy. 

Have the guts to put up your beliefs for scrutiny if you are confident it's the only logical conclusion - and be man enough not to resort to name calling when you are losing ground. 

I'm surprised how strongly I react to such things; to a point where I find it difficult to be friends with narrow-minded people or to tolerate bigotry; it's the cornerstone of my belief system upon which I choose to understand and navigate the world and if my partner cannot meet this baseline, it would be  fruitless. Even if we were (and still do, from time to time) utterly, blissfully enamored with each other's childlikeness and love for life. It's not a sad thing i suppose, just an inevitable one.  

kindled

I have made it quite a point to buy that one thing which my heart lusted for, on every trip. Something substantial, fascinating yet functional - those things that made a trip memorable. I never quite expected my purchase of the North America trip to be a Kindle keyboard but boy am I happy. It re-Kindled (it's more poetic than a pun, really) my love for reading, which had quietened down quite a bit since I left school. And now it's singing melodic tunes to me once more. It's truly wonderful to be able to bring my library wherever I go; bye to those dilemmas of "oh i want to read this again, but how about that one for now?" whenever I stood in front of my bookshelf or the public library. I could have it all! Even good websites for study of the classics like Johnstonia could be converted into ebooks for reading wherever. And the inbuilt dictionary made it easy for the aspiring wordsmith to learn new words and concepts at the touch of one key.

I am fighting the tide that threatens to silence my love for reading, my ever-shorter attention span with the invasion of video, youtube and all that mindless entertainment. The dearth of book reading in our generation represents the death of knowledge and birth of frivolous snippets of information invading mindspace and virtual reality. The internet may have made news, bits of information and convenience fast-food-like forum answers available to all, but it's really through books that real knowledge could be gleaned, mulled over, incorporated into one's worldview. No shortcuts and no googling to skip over the necessary time-consuming pain of following through a complex idea or theory. Even fiction is usually better represented in a novel than a two hour mind-numbing session in a darkened cinema.

Of course, one might say that e-readers take away part of the reading experience. The book lover in me rejected e-readers/tablets for a long time. I love the smell of new books, thumbing through my favourite pages, tracing an intruiging line with my index finger in a mock attempt to dissect it physically. But the Kindle proved to be a worthy substitute when I first laid eyes (and hands) on it. It mimicks a real book, and fulfills the book lover's fantasy to bring her entire collection with her, so she can fish out her favourite passage whenever she wished. It even has page next buttons situated at the side of the reader like a real book. Love it to bits. Just wished I had a bimbotic white one instead of the sturdy oldish graphite one. Oh well. One pays for real knowledge not aesthetics :P

adulthood

The freedom milestone seems bigger and nearer as time passed. People come and speak to me about my impending departure, out of curiosity rather than concern. And as they asked about the possibility of transfer rather than departure, i share with them information and decision points to varying degrees. Yet I haven't bothered to explain all the facets of my career decision, for it was of no point. No one was in my shoes experiencing all that I do, no one else in the world. I had the sole right to decide what to do with those experience, emotions, feelings and thought processes that belong to me alone, in career as in life.

A friend and a well meaning stranger commented that my lost love was only 8 months long, as if time was an accurate measure of how invested the heart could be. They have no idea, how intense love could be, an intensity that has nothing to do with the passage of time at all. That there was a kind of love that seared its indelible mark on your life, that you could never and would never want to forget it all. Perhaps I would feel less as time passed from this point on, but time can never wash away the memory of passion. I have loved with all my heart and no one can tell me it was nothing because it wasn't decades old.

And this realization that no one else can truly understand, that only I can make my own decisions (and live with the consequences alone) over the past year has caused me to be lost and wandering in the wilderness of my mind. For having no one else that I can trust to give the ULTIMATE "right" advice, I was left to my own devices. Perhaps that was what pre-adulthood was all about; preparing your foundation for future decision-making. That our personality, motivations, notions of what is good./bad/right/wrong had been continually shaped, up till the mould that represented us solidified into adulthood. The more grounded you become as you grow, the more solid that adulthood mould becomes. The more open and fluid you are as a pre-adult, the longer you take to reach the stage where you can be sure of all your decisions because your mould for decision making has not taken form and too much whim and fancy cloud your perception of current situations and future scenarios.

And so my plight. I feel truly that I am an adult now. A lost, wandering, not so well formed adult. The price of my whim and fancies, openness and thirst for new experiences in life. Yet it was me, and it might be me for the rest of my life. I can only hope that the consequences I am living with, gives me the confidence to make firm decisions in the future. I find it difficult to ascertain if leaving is a pull or push factor. I'm pulled and pushed in all directions simultaneously. And I've long abandoned the whimiscal "pray and ask God where" approach ever since the supersitions of a well meaning friend had overwhelmed me and stomped all over my feelings. I can only go ahead in the direction I am headed, till the next roadblock or crossroads, while learning, albeit too late, how to read the map and navigate through life, using a whirling compass as my guide.

Without love, or a true friend in the world.

View from Ciragan Palace hotel, Turkey

Kusadasi, Turkey

The view from the Bosphorous was one of the things which was supposed to make the job, the trip and experience worth it. But I had taken too few photos on my own. in part due to my own laziness and a queer, mild distaste for photography. The act of phototaking always seemed to frame my view and memories artifically, as if it were someone else's travels i am capturing. Alas, it was a pity, for my memories become faint too quickly, and only photos can give me a little solace, a little remembrance of my travels. I must remember to take more photos. i must remember every detail and every emotion. 

Hello NYC, once again. 

Paramount Hotel, NYC. Right beside the Church of Scientology.

I have decided to give up the official globetrotting life, in exchange for stability and freedom of my mind. My travels shall belong to me alone, and no one else has the right to demand of my time or energy just because the company paid for my flight and first class hotel. The luxuries were intoxicating, the opportunities to see so much in so little time a godsend, the all-paid-for travels so to-die-for. Yet it was not mine to have. The corporate world reeking of profits and loss, opportunism and phony exchanges leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. For my sanity, I had to leave. A mundane existence, dotted with my chosen colours and unlimited personal space is more welcoming than the shackles of the glamorous corporate world. bye riches and glory, bye slavedrivers and corporatespeak. I appreciated tasting all of it, thanks for the chance. 

 Along with the new life I sought, I lost another person in my life. And so here I am, lost. Without love, or a true friend in the world. I've loved much, lost much and experienced much  in the span of six months. And now I do not know who else I can love and depend on, what else there is to lose and when I can experience the comfort and joy I'm thirsting for, again. I only have my writings to bring me a little solace and comfort that my emotions can take some legible form at last, and yes, the silent, tearful musings that come on unexpectedly.

Was it all meant to be? I hate to be (seen as, mostly) superstitious of any kind, but it was the only way I can convince myself that this heartbreak was not something I could have averted. The alternative is too destructive to bear.

Big Fish

I was explaining to KL about surrealism as an art movement and as I was thinking about my options in life and that fork in the road, I remember a movie i watched from years ago. I liked Big Fish, because it was pure surrealism - it was a movie that toed that thin line between fantasy, lies, and reality. I am not entirely sure what this movie meant to me, but it reminded me of a few things:

1) I am drawn to art in a metaphysical way that’s hard to convey to someone else in words, but it’s ok because what other people see as inconsistent and illogical in art is to me the exact beauty of it. I am entirely comfortable with - or should I say prefer - (seeming) chaos, uncertainty, unexplained nuances because it gives me the chance to navigate those ideas and images with my own compass and interpretation. i like open-endedness and endless debates so movies with indefinite endings don’t bother me. (but i do have a certain threshold for nonsensical movies that pretend to be arthouse - i usually diss those with no relent)

2) You know those movies where main characters do stupid things like follow a bunny down a rabbit hole, eat something that shrinks her and then follow the same bunny around? Or the other where the character follows an iffy looking witch down a deserted path leading to nothingness and end up having the adventure of his life? Those characters who are the main protagonists of any good fantasy/sci-fi movie but might be the outcast of society, victim of crime and deception in real life. I am somehow predisposed towards choosing adventure, taking risks and making leaps of faith as the years pass. I suspect it might have to do with my strict upbringing and structured life path thusfar that gives me the confidence to take risks, knowing that I can always bounce back and get back on the safe road to mundanity. Or it could simply be a suppressed part of me bursting out to take risks and to venture into the unknown. Or it could be a function of age where risk-taking is the norm. Whatever it is, it’s hard for me to be satisfied with the safe road to security - I need a good challenge, an awesome adventure or simply room to explore uncharted domains.

3) Random thought that came with remembering the title of the movie: At this point in life, I would like to be a small fish in the sea than a big fish in a pond - because the small fish can only have enough space to grow in the sea. the pond is a little too crammed.

4) my indication of a good decision is one where i'm listening to my heart and there's an adrenaline rush to my brain after deciding. keep me away from casinos hor.

Write.Right.Rite

A twitter account to amuse myself with (but it's really trashy - whoever thought of putting a 140 char limit on words clearly doesn't love words enough), a tumblr blog to store my more philosophical musings and my trusted blogspot to pour out my deepest darkest. Only old friends who still remember will bother to visit this humble abode and I feel a sense of camaraderie whenever one of you tell me, "hey, I read your blog". It matters to me, that you want to be updated about my life and participate in my rite to write, right.

the JD

i had the most informal session today, with talks of travelling the world to seal agreements, living the "high intellectual and governmental life" of meeting people, going places, charming my way to make a difference for a greater good. i did well i think, granted that i didn't have much time to rehearse my lines or organize my thoughts. but a part of me remains lucid and cynical of the fulfillment that a younger me might have envisaged. this opportunity in the horizon was after all, still a part of the mammoth system that sustains the city-state, with strings attached and glass ceilings thick as walls. the JD always sounds awesome, challenging and sexy - but reality is closer to the pendulum oscillating between boredom and hectic activity, with the sword of Damocles hanging over one's head, ready to set some heads rolling at the whim and fancy of some big shot in the system.

I dislike the system - how it has always streamed people at some early point in their lives, divided into gold, silver and iron by some Noble Myth which has ceased to be noble for a long time. the glass ceiling for the silver caste (who made it there through a longer and more arduous route) was solid as stone. yet the guardians of the system like to polish that ceiling, thinking that it makes it more transparent and less of an eyesore. but no, we silvers feel it rather acutely as we try to become more upwardly mobile.

I have to concede though, that the city state is too small to escape its clutches. every other opportunity that I hear (with remote Prospects) was linked to the system some way or another. I have increasingly lost patience with a regimented existence, but it costs too much to be an outcast of the system. financially, socially, emotionally. until.... i find that which motivates me beyond the fat paycheck, flexible hours and a comfortable obscure existence. I seek to find it, but the city-state might be too small to house it.

Scholarly stress

On my way to language exams.. I ask why I'm subjected to such scholarly stress once again, but last night I had a dream. In my dream I was explaining to 2 university students the importance of good essay writing, reminiscent of my PS Peers Writing Center days where i explained tirelessly the need for good topic sentences strategically placed in their appropriate paragraphs. And strangely I was comforted, reminded once again my love for words and good communication. And I thank God that even in mastering a new language, I see how the language ability given me was trans-culture and trans-language somehow. Writing an essay in English or Malay was the same enchanting process for me, to make myself understood loud and clear, using the most appropriate words my vocabulary would allow me. And I find much joy and satisfaction in doing so.

I ask myself how to harness this passion. The impatience inbuilt in my gung-ho personality arises again. But perhaps, this time I shall leave it to ferment and grow. God plants and He will grow it. A season, for every activity under the sun.

the path.

Sometimes i deliberately avoid knowing about human suffering and injustice in tbe news and in books. Because i fear the weight it will have upon my heart, and that regret and shame of knowing that i can make a difference somehow.. And i hadn't. I have always felt all sorts of human suffering as my very own for as long as I can remember.. And weighing on my shoulders that overwhelming responsibility of making this world a more comforting place to be in. I think God has a calling for me in that aspect, and perhaps of all His children as well, that in our own ways we love, care, nourish and protect all that He cherishes.. You, me and the rest of humankind. I have that strong sense of calling to channel my energy and my talents into doing that. But I do not yet know how.. And hence that constant low level of trepidation and introspection continues precariously.

I was overwhelmed by many thoughts over the past few days. Of human government and the religion we have created to replace faith. First of all, i find myself deeply disappointed that a wanted fugitive's family was hung out to dry, partly out of necessity (to uphold the law and as a deterrence) of course, but I read b/w the lines, deliberate political rhetoric to damage control and draw attention away from the oversight on the part of the authorities. And so a family was condemned, for the purportedly greater good of national security.

And another government shells its brother nation to shore up its precarious rising leadership. In the name of national interest and self defense. This is indeed politics as we have seen through history. Men are deceitful and gullible creatures at the same time.

But surely the human spirit can be more than that? That surely we can do more than destroy each other in the quest for personal agenda and gains? I remember the times I had argued fiercely against the realists in my political science classes, their purported "practical" and "right" answers to international relations and good governance never convincing me. And i don't think i will be convinced by those arguments, ever.

And on religion. One of my language teachers is a kind pious old man who is also a religious teacher in the masjid. I love and respect him much for his tenacity and piety. In his 70-odd years, he has had to bury his teenage son, care for his daughter who developed a psychiatric illness after a sour divorce, battle his ailing body while moving onward with God as his compass. Through him, I find myself attracted to some aspect of his religion, the parts that Christianity also advances abt God as Creator, to see an imperfect man seeking to do what is pleasing to God, hanging on to God in the midst of adversity and pain.

But I also find disturbing that the basis of the Islamic faith differs from Christianity in innocuous ways that lead brothers onto vastly different paths.. And I see in my head a fork in the road, one Islam the other Christianity, one to Heaven and the other Hell.. And on each road the followers are convinced the other brother had strayed from the path and only his own shall lead to God Himself. Was Abrahim asked to sacrifice Isaac or Ismail on that hill? Or does that not matter in the end because neither brother can be utterly sure (using reason) that his path was the right one? I'm faced with my own questions about faith.

And of course, Kierkegaard. The more I read that existentialist philosopher, the more I understand why CS came to know God through his writings. More on him later, if i can crystalize my thoughts on him.

Born free, but is everywhere in chains

I think there's something unnatural about confining masses of ppl to a chair for 8hrs, fixed timings each day. A repulsive dreadful feeling arises when I imagine the days repeating ahead of me as i stand emotionless in a public transport vehicle during the peak hr shoulder to shoulder with many more emotionless faces heading to their dreadful dungeons pretending to be cubicles. I need to be free from such invisible shackles, that Rousseau meant, when he said man is born free, but is everywhere in chains. I never had a fascination with that man as my fav political philosophy prof Putterman did, but some ideas abt freedom that the man had is most poignant.

No, I shall not work

Written by Adrian Tan.

...It’s a wonderful honour and a privilege for me to speak here for ten minutes without fear of contradiction, defamation or retaliation. I say this as a Singaporean and more so as a husband.

My wife is a wonderful person and perfect in every way except one. She is the editor of a magazine. She corrects people for a living. She has honed her expert skills over a quarter of a century, mostly by practising at home during conversations between her and me.

On the other hand, I am a litigator. Essentially, I spend my day telling people how wrong they are. I make my living being disagreeable.

Nevertheless, there is perfect harmony in our matrimonial home. That is because when an editor and a litigator have an argument, the one who triumphs is always the wife.

And so I want to start by giving one piece of advice to the men: when you’ve already won her heart, you don’t need to win every argument.

Marriage is considered one milestone of life. Some of you may already be married. Some of you may never be married. Some of you will be married. Some of you will enjoy the experience so much, you will be married many, many times. Good for you.

The next big milestone in your life is today: your graduation. The end of education. You’re done learning.

You’ve probably been told the big lie that “Learning is a lifelong process” and that therefore you will continue studying and taking masters’ degrees and doctorates and professorships and so on. You know the sort of people who tell you that? Teachers. Don’t you think there is some measure of conflict of interest? They are in the business of learning, after all. Where would they be without you? They need you to be repeat customers.

The good news is that they’re wrong.

The bad news is that you don’t need further education because your entire life is over. It is gone. That may come as a shock to some of you. You’re in your teens or early twenties. People may tell you that you will live to be 70, 80, 90 years old. That is your life expectancy.

I love that term: life expectancy. We all understand the term to mean the average life span of a group of people. But I’m here to talk about a bigger idea, which is what you expect from your life.

You may be very happy to know that Singapore is currently ranked as the country with the third highest life expectancy. We are behind Andorra and Japan, and tied with San Marino. It seems quite clear why people in those countries, and ours, live so long. We share one thing in common: our football teams are all hopeless. There’s very little danger of any of our citizens having their pulses raised by watching us play in the World Cup. Spectators are more likely to be lulled into a gentle and restful nap.

Singaporeans have a life expectancy of 81.8 years. Singapore men live to an average of 79.21 years, while Singapore women live more than five years longer, probably to take into account the additional time they need to spend in the bathroom.

So here you are, in your twenties, thinking that you’ll have another 40 years to go. Four decades in which to live long and prosper.

Bad news. Read the papers. There are people dropping dead when they’re 50, 40, 30 years old. Or quite possibly just after finishing their convocation. They would be very disappointed that they didn’t meet their life expectancy.

I’m here to tell you this. Forget about your life expectancy.

After all, it’s calculated based on an average. And you never, ever want to expect being average.

Revisit those expectations. You might be looking forward to working, falling in love, marrying, raising a family. You are told that, as graduates, you should expect to find a job paying so much, where your hours are so much, where your responsibilities are so much.

That is what is expected of you. And if you live up to it, it will be an awful waste.

If you expect that, you will be limiting yourself. You will be living your life according to boundaries set by average people. I have nothing against average people. But no one should aspire to be them. And you don’t need years of education by the best minds in Singapore to prepare you to be average.




What you should prepare for is mess. Life’s a mess. You are not entitled to expect anything from it. Life is not fair. Everything does not balance out in the end. Life happens, and you have no control over it. Good and bad things happen to you day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. Your degree is a poor armour against fate.

Don’t expect anything. Erase all life expectancies. Just live. Your life is over as of today. At this point in time, you have grown as tall as you will ever be, you are physically the fittest you will ever be in your entire life and you are probably looking the best that you will ever look. This is as good as it gets. It is all downhill from here. Or up. No one knows.

What does this mean for you? It is good that your life is over.

Since your life is over, you are free. Let me tell you the many wonderful things that you can do when you are free.




The most important is this: do not work.

Work is anything that you are compelled to do. By its very nature, it is undesirable.

Work kills. The Japanese have a term “Karoshi”, which means death from overwork. That’s the most dramatic form of how work can kill. But it can also kill you in more subtle ways. If you work, then day by day, bit by bit, your soul is chipped away, disintegrating until there’s nothing left. A rock has been ground into sand and dust.

There’s a common misconception that work is necessary. You will meet people working at miserable jobs. They tell you they are “making a living”. No, they’re not. They’re dying, frittering away their fast-extinguishing lives doing things which are, at best, meaningless and, at worst, harmful.

People will tell you that work ennobles you, that work lends you a certain dignity. Work makes you free. The slogan “Arbeit macht frei” was placed at the entrances to a number of Nazi concentration camps. Utter nonsense.

Do not waste the vast majority of your life doing something you hate so that you can spend the small remainder sliver of your life in modest comfort. You may never reach that end anyway.

Resist the temptation to get a job. Instead, play. Find something you enjoy doing. Do it. Over and over again. You will become good at it for two reasons: you like it, and you do it often. Soon, that will have value in itself.

I like arguing, and I love language. So, I became a litigator. I enjoy it and I would do it for free. If I didn’t do that, I would’ve been in some other type of work that still involved writing fiction – probably a sports journalist.

So what should you do? You will find your own niche. I don’t imagine you will need to look very hard. By this time in your life, you will have a very good idea of what you will want to do. In fact, I’ll go further and say the ideal situation would be that you will not be able to stop yourself pursuing your passions. By this time you should know what your obsessions are. If you enjoy showing off your knowledge and feeling superior, you might become a teacher.

Find that pursuit that will energise you, consume you, become an obsession. Each day, you must rise with a restless enthusiasm. If you don’t, you are working.

Most of you will end up in activities which involve communication. To those of you I have a second message: be wary of the truth. I’m not asking you to speak it, or write it, for there are times when it is dangerous or impossible to do those things. The truth has a great capacity to offend and injure, and you will find that the closer you are to someone, the more care you must take to disguise or even conceal the truth. Often, there is great virtue in being evasive, or equivocating. There is also great skill. Any child can blurt out the truth, without thought to the consequences. It takes great maturity to appreciate the value of silence.

In order to be wary of the truth, you must first know it. That requires great frankness to yourself. Never fool the person in the mirror.




I have told you that your life is over, that you should not work, and that you should avoid telling the truth. I now say this to you: be hated.

It’s not as easy as it sounds. Do you know anyone who hates you? Yet every great figure who has contributed to the human race has been hated, not just by one person, but often by a great many. That hatred is so strong it has caused those great figures to be shunned, abused, murdered and in one famous instance, nailed to a cross.

One does not have to be evil to be hated. In fact, it’s often the case that one is hated precisely because one is trying to do right by one’s own convictions. It is far too easy to be liked, one merely has to be accommodating and hold no strong convictions. Then one will gravitate towards the centre and settle into the average. That cannot be your role. There are a great many bad people in the world, and if you are not offending them, you must be bad yourself. Popularity is a sure sign that you are doing something wrong.




The other side of the coin is this: fall in love.

I didn’t say “be loved”. That requires too much compromise. If one changes one’s looks, personality and values, one can be loved by anyone.

Rather, I exhort you to love another human being. It may seem odd for me to tell you this. You may expect it to happen naturally, without deliberation. That is false. Modern society is anti-love. We’ve taken a microscope to everyone to bring out their flaws and shortcomings. It far easier to find a reason not to love someone, than otherwise. Rejection requires only one reason. Love requires complete acceptance. It is hard work – the only kind of work that I find palatable.

Loving someone has great benefits. There is admiration, learning, attraction and something which, for the want of a better word, we call happiness. In loving someone, we become inspired to better ourselves in every way. We learn the truth worthlessness of material things. We celebrate being human. Loving is good for the soul.

Loving someone is therefore very important, and it is also important to choose the right person. Despite popular culture, love doesn’t happen by chance, at first sight, across a crowded dance floor. It grows slowly, sinking roots first before branching and blossoming. It is not a silly weed, but a mighty tree that weathers every storm.
You will find, that when you have someone to love, that the face is less important than the brain, and the body is less important than the heart.

You will also find that it is no great tragedy if your love is not reciprocated. You are not doing it to be loved back. Its value is to inspire you.

Finally, you will find that there is no half-measure when it comes to loving someone. You either don’t, or you do with every cell in your body, completely and utterly, without reservation or apology. It consumes you, and you are reborn, all the better for it.

Don’t work. Avoid telling the truth. Be hated. Love someone.

that elusive firewood for my passion

it's almost six months since i wrote here.. or anywhere else. perhaps my brain department for self expression has been withering away for that long as well, since i rarely express that much of myself accurately through mediums other than writing. it takes me longer to write and edit my thoughts now. it's almost tragic.

i've been thinking about uprooting myself for greener (overseas) pastures. to get a job which brings travel opportunities and a wider horizon than the distance between my office cubicle and the toilet. the thought is tempting, especially for the ambitious cub inside of me, roaring to fight it out in the corporate world. to be recognized for my capabilities and be differentiated from the rest, unlike the mammoth-like civil service system whose primary function (other than serving the non civil servants) is to equalize the efforts of civil servants who are non-scholars. i'm feeling it a little now, and i have a sinking feeling in my stomach that the hunch is going to get painfully acute as the years pass.

and so i've been checking out management trainee programmes (and other equivalents) and a particular one catches my eye. yet i feel hesitant to apply right now, mainly due to weariness and wariness. a tad too tired to pick myself up, don the corporate armour (not that i had the opportunity) and sign myself up for a job that requires long hours and tenacity. to reignite that youthful undergraduate fervour and unabashed confidence once more.... only that i might be miserable and disappointed once more.

is life a continuous test of our resilience and adaptability? or is there a balance that we might find, like a job that saps our energy but generates much more of it at the end of the day, that elusive firewood for our passion? i really wish to find it.

the light years

the sensation of being light years away from a self that seems so filmsy now.

a certain ache, a sudden nostalgia grips my heart at unexpected moments.

sometimes i dismiss it with the wave of a hand or the shaking of head,

but every of those times i feel a shame that weighs heavy on my heart.

whatever happened to that burning faith and thirsty heart?

a day-by-day simple existence is beautiful in its own way,

yet so wholly incomplete.

there must be more than this, i whisper to myself wordlessly.

but a corner of me fears, the price i pay for that higher plane.

of the things that i have to give up, can i?

of the things that i have to rekindle a passion for, will i last?

of the things that i must start to make a decision for, must i really?

i bask myself in the artistic expression of the past,

of surrealism of impressionism,

or magritte, monet and van gogh.

the masters of colours, light and ideas..

can i ever forge a painting for myself so carelessly,

or am i ever numbing myself with a mirage so far removed from my self?

will it really satisfy that unspeakable, brilliant desire for beauty and truth?

i wander in my light years, wondering about the truth of my existence.

This is what dreams are made of.

Susan Boyle Singer Britains Got Talent 2009 With Lyrics @ Yahoo! Video

I remain very moved. dreams that look like castles in the air, dreams that are made of the fluff of escapism, dreams glamorous but fragile like stained glass, are nothing like the dreams substantiated by the courage to pursue them, at the infinitely huge risk of being public humiliated and scorned at. It's only with courage, that dreams can have any real meaning or substance.

May we never lose the courage to dream.

the man of inner and outer strength

The Sanguine has in many ways lived being allergic to shopping lists, to-do lists, check-lists, instruction manuals of any kind. She breaks out in mumps and itches all over, whilst rolling around the floor whining and whimpering. Atlas, it really all boils down to an almost childish fear that whatever is written in words are carved in stone in the heavens, open to ridicule by less well meaning people who stumble upon it, sabotaged by even lesser well meaning people, or inviting perhaps a stroke of bad luck to spoil it all. She used to believe, in her inner being, that there was this cosmic clown going around just to make sure the innocent wishes of children would not be fulfilled so he could jeer and chuckle in their faces. And believing in the lie that what she want she would never get, she resorted to not thinking about what she wanted, whilst placing her best bet in the elusive gift of all called serendipity, where she can effortlessly stumble upon her heart's desire when she's not looking.

Atlas! the journey saw her stumbling into potholes and ditches when she refuses to look in the corners of her heart. detours and merry-go-rounds set her thinking once again, that perhaps in trying to blind the imaginary cosmic clown, she was perhaps only blinding herself. but of course, bad habits take a long time to completely release their grip on her Sanguine life. and she continues to be led by a deliberate purposelessness disguised in the cloak of openness.

but then she remembered that she is after all a princess. A princess of the Most High, that is. Why choose to believe in the curse of the cosmic clown rather than all the power and authority she wields on account of her birthright? With a renewed courage of conviction, she decides to petition the Father with regards to her man of inner and outer strength.

He must exist somewhere, not just in the imaginary landscape where only unicorns live, ya?

life mission statement

we did a little exercise to craft our personal life mission statement today. firstly, i chose about 6 verbs which resonated with me from a long list: believe, brighten, delight, dream, encourage, validate. then I chose 2 ministry areas/fields which again resonated with me: broadcasting and journalism. and viola, after some pondering i crafted a simple one-liner for myself:

"To dream, believe in and validate the worth of every individual through the field of broadcasting and journalism".

pleased with it, because i finally see the connection with the field my heart is passionate about, and the larger desire to touch lives and serve fellow humanity. I believe, that the worth of an individual can be validated, when we care and love enough to listen to his story, when we care and love enough to share in his joys and pains, when we care and love enough to extend help and hope when all is dark.

risk and freedom

To laugh is to risk appearing like a fool
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental
To reach out for another is to risk involvement
To expose your feelings is to risk rejection
To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule
To love is to risk not being loved in return
To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure
But risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.
He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love.
Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.
He has forfeited his freedom.

Only a person who takes risks is free.

where is the magic?

it could be the season, it could be the weather, it could be the long rides home with too little fatigue to take my mind off the strange sense of loneliness and loss. it's almost February, the magical month of the year, where dreams come true and fairies with umbrellas fly in rhapsody. But, the magic sheath is a little thin of late. I hope I won't be disappointed. There are too many wishes that need an extra sprinkling of stardust.

I wish the boy who is my friend would be less of a ladies' men and have eyes for me and me only. I've gotten to realise that I don't like competition of any sort, be it imagined or real. In my world, I have to be the princess. Yes a boy who truly listens and understands is a rare gem but when he extends the attention to every Jane, Mary and Samantha I fume. I knew I had a diva streak in me; I just didn't realise how thick it was.

I wish the boy with eyes for me and me only would become more of a gentleman. I've an allergy to men who don't watch their words yes, but a soft spot for the rough-tumble variety who really speak with their steadfast gaze and the ruffling of hair. But these are externalities no? Arghhhhhhh i never never never learn.

We never get the best of both worlds they say. Or maybe i'm not holding out long enough.

I need some magic.

the sword of damocles

CNY is slowing slipping away as I drown myself in the intricacies of framing perspectives in social movements and Thai politics. I wish I could enjoy CNY more, but i guess there's always CNY next year and thesis-writing just these couple of months more. Thesis research and writing can be a daunting process, when one is plagued by deep self-doubt and the thought of giving up all altogether hangs like the Sword of Damocles over one's head. yet the next moment, the euphoria of finding another elusive but instinctive linkage within the mesh of ideas swirling round dismisses the doubts away and gives new impetus and meaning to the entire solitary process of thinking and connecting the dots. i just wish i could be more lucid for more continuous discrete moments and stop thinking so abstractly. more logic, more power!