Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Don't lose your head...
Something that just made me laugh, while pretending to study :
"Tonsillectomy may be carried out by dissection, or by the guillotine..."
Riiii-iight.
Oh, wait. Turns out the guillotine is the name of a surgical instrument... heh heh heh.
*****
He turned his eyes briefly as he drove, and glanced at her as she slept.
She was at her most peaceful, her most simple... her most honest when she slept.
He felt it almost a pity.
*****
"Didn't sleep till four..." she said.
"Gosh. What were you doing?" his hands on the wheel, the question erupted unpremeditated, reflex-like. Just a simple question.
a pause.
"Things that I like."
He waited.
Silence.
*****
Reading her blog for - he will confess - the first time (although she was a very, very famous blogger... he was never really into chasing down fame... in fact, in a strange way the media-love was almost enough to make him not want to read) he discovered a solemn truth.
A growth, the doctors called it, near the pancreas. Benign, on scan.
He wished he had known before he met her; heck he wished he had known who he was going to meet but with his typical goldfish memory, all he knew was that he was meeting two cute dogs and a warrior woman. Plus a few other people...
So now he knows. Good luck with that operation, LMD. I know a bit too much to be able to not worry... but I hope everything, and I mean everything goes smoothly. Before, during, and after.
And for heaven's sakes next time don't eat or drink before the CT... it can screw up the scan results. :) For all you know, the growth they saw was a piece of popiah...
Just kidding.
"Tonsillectomy may be carried out by dissection, or by the guillotine..."
Riiii-iight.
Oh, wait. Turns out the guillotine is the name of a surgical instrument... heh heh heh.
*****
He turned his eyes briefly as he drove, and glanced at her as she slept.
She was at her most peaceful, her most simple... her most honest when she slept.
He felt it almost a pity.
*****
"Didn't sleep till four..." she said.
"Gosh. What were you doing?" his hands on the wheel, the question erupted unpremeditated, reflex-like. Just a simple question.
a pause.
"Things that I like."
He waited.
Silence.
*****
Reading her blog for - he will confess - the first time (although she was a very, very famous blogger... he was never really into chasing down fame... in fact, in a strange way the media-love was almost enough to make him not want to read) he discovered a solemn truth.
A growth, the doctors called it, near the pancreas. Benign, on scan.
He wished he had known before he met her; heck he wished he had known who he was going to meet but with his typical goldfish memory, all he knew was that he was meeting two cute dogs and a warrior woman. Plus a few other people...
So now he knows. Good luck with that operation, LMD. I know a bit too much to be able to not worry... but I hope everything, and I mean everything goes smoothly. Before, during, and after.
And for heaven's sakes next time don't eat or drink before the CT... it can screw up the scan results. :) For all you know, the growth they saw was a piece of popiah...
Just kidding.
All in the Eyes
It's a strange experience - or so it seems, now, after so many months on the toil - to luxuriate in the warmth of my bed, hovering guiltlessly between the realms of somnolence and wakefulness.
No alarm clock about to assault you to life. No need to throw back the covers and hurtle haphazardly to work.
No work, today, or tomorrow. Or the day after.
I'll just roll over and drowse a little more...
I'm on study leave, and instead all I can do is relax and chill out. My first holiday in ten months. I'm toying with the idea of going on a diving trip (thank you xena for perverting me from my path of solemn study...) - or maybe I'll just go lie down in the garden for a while, or wander to the gym and drowse on the deck chairs by the pool...
I'm sitting here at the computer pretending to be a freelance writer; perhaps this is what life feels like, waking up late, sitting down unhurried and unstressed before your computer with a warm cup of coffee, and embarking on a journey of words.
*****
Only for some reason - perhaps simply because I am so unworried and unflustered - the stresses of the workplace, complete with the pangs of a mini-scandal gone wrong... - far from my mind. No grief to bear for others, no guilt to wear for myself... just time, space, and absolute freedom.
The two things I value most in a lover - or even just a friend :
honesty, and directness.
The one thing I yearn for in life, more than any other : Freedom.
*****
Call it what you like, introvert, extrovert, mover of worlds, watcher of thoughts.
There are different types of people in this world. That's why personality quizzes abound, and people delight in taking them. They learn something about themselves - or so they think - by clicking little check boxes about what colour shoes they wear...
But the secret in really telling who a person is at heart, is by watching their eyes.
Watchers can be movers, and movers, watchers... all it takes is a motivation, or a need. Yet a person is not defined by his actions, but his thoughts and his inclinations. That's what you see, when you watch someone's eyes.
Watchers are usually passive, introverts, and movers, active, extroverts. Yet again, in a group of watchers some assume the role of extrovert, and some lie back still further and watch.
Watchers have the upper hand when it comes to empathising with and understanding people, by sheer dint of being watchers to begin with. Movers tend to see the world through self-centred eyes - they see how their actions can influence others, but don't watch to see who the others around them may be, and how they feel. They have to - because they would not be movers otherwise... they would not achieve their objectives without the will to use other people.
Watchers are also the far rarer of the two - at least here in this country. And perhaps the world over.
It all sounds very silly, because we all think we can do it... what are you talking about you demented fool, I get things done and I can suss people out pretty well...
... but can you, really? Or is that just your ego talking? For all the times you were right about people - how many times were you wrong?
Watch the people around you the next time you're in a group, watch their eyes flit from face to face, or glance moodily into the distance and feel what I'm writing about. It will come with practice - you'll notice who are watchers, and who are not. It doesn't take a genius.
It struck me the other night, as we sat with sand in our sandels by the sea that a chance gathering of watchers was a near impossibility... yet it had happened.
And as I watched them, and myself, I discovered added subtleties to a previously clearcut (and till then somewhat boring) distinction between personality types.
There are different kinds of watchers as well.
There are naturally communicative watchers who emote with their eyes, and assume the mantle of leader by habit, intent on speaking their thoughts as much, or more so than watching, but watching, nonetheless.
There are the more silent watchers who stay back and passively observe, emoting not quite as much - without quite the same sparkle of life or humour in their slightly hooded eyes. Intent on watching more than speaking, drinking it all in to the secret sanctuaries in their minds.
And then it becomes more complex as you watch still harder... and you notice the many moments when exuberent eyes turn a lighter shade of grey as thoughts preoccupy their owner - or when cooly withdrawn eyes suddenly flare to life in that secret moment of connection, then die yet more suddenly away to stillness.
The sheer quantity of inconstancies makes you begin to wonder if perhaps they are the one, pretending to be the other?
And then, in a fit of self-centredness, you begin to wonder who you may seem to be, through their watching eyes.
No alarm clock about to assault you to life. No need to throw back the covers and hurtle haphazardly to work.
No work, today, or tomorrow. Or the day after.
I'll just roll over and drowse a little more...
I'm on study leave, and instead all I can do is relax and chill out. My first holiday in ten months. I'm toying with the idea of going on a diving trip (thank you xena for perverting me from my path of solemn study...) - or maybe I'll just go lie down in the garden for a while, or wander to the gym and drowse on the deck chairs by the pool...
I'm sitting here at the computer pretending to be a freelance writer; perhaps this is what life feels like, waking up late, sitting down unhurried and unstressed before your computer with a warm cup of coffee, and embarking on a journey of words.
*****
Only for some reason - perhaps simply because I am so unworried and unflustered - the stresses of the workplace, complete with the pangs of a mini-scandal gone wrong... - far from my mind. No grief to bear for others, no guilt to wear for myself... just time, space, and absolute freedom.
The two things I value most in a lover - or even just a friend :
honesty, and directness.
The one thing I yearn for in life, more than any other : Freedom.
*****
Call it what you like, introvert, extrovert, mover of worlds, watcher of thoughts.
There are different types of people in this world. That's why personality quizzes abound, and people delight in taking them. They learn something about themselves - or so they think - by clicking little check boxes about what colour shoes they wear...
But the secret in really telling who a person is at heart, is by watching their eyes.
Watchers can be movers, and movers, watchers... all it takes is a motivation, or a need. Yet a person is not defined by his actions, but his thoughts and his inclinations. That's what you see, when you watch someone's eyes.
Watchers are usually passive, introverts, and movers, active, extroverts. Yet again, in a group of watchers some assume the role of extrovert, and some lie back still further and watch.
Watchers have the upper hand when it comes to empathising with and understanding people, by sheer dint of being watchers to begin with. Movers tend to see the world through self-centred eyes - they see how their actions can influence others, but don't watch to see who the others around them may be, and how they feel. They have to - because they would not be movers otherwise... they would not achieve their objectives without the will to use other people.
Watchers are also the far rarer of the two - at least here in this country. And perhaps the world over.
It all sounds very silly, because we all think we can do it... what are you talking about you demented fool, I get things done and I can suss people out pretty well...
... but can you, really? Or is that just your ego talking? For all the times you were right about people - how many times were you wrong?
Watch the people around you the next time you're in a group, watch their eyes flit from face to face, or glance moodily into the distance and feel what I'm writing about. It will come with practice - you'll notice who are watchers, and who are not. It doesn't take a genius.
It struck me the other night, as we sat with sand in our sandels by the sea that a chance gathering of watchers was a near impossibility... yet it had happened.
And as I watched them, and myself, I discovered added subtleties to a previously clearcut (and till then somewhat boring) distinction between personality types.
There are different kinds of watchers as well.
There are naturally communicative watchers who emote with their eyes, and assume the mantle of leader by habit, intent on speaking their thoughts as much, or more so than watching, but watching, nonetheless.
There are the more silent watchers who stay back and passively observe, emoting not quite as much - without quite the same sparkle of life or humour in their slightly hooded eyes. Intent on watching more than speaking, drinking it all in to the secret sanctuaries in their minds.
And then it becomes more complex as you watch still harder... and you notice the many moments when exuberent eyes turn a lighter shade of grey as thoughts preoccupy their owner - or when cooly withdrawn eyes suddenly flare to life in that secret moment of connection, then die yet more suddenly away to stillness.
The sheer quantity of inconstancies makes you begin to wonder if perhaps they are the one, pretending to be the other?
And then, in a fit of self-centredness, you begin to wonder who you may seem to be, through their watching eyes.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
With, and without Words
Hanging out with the motley crue the other day made me realise how much I miss words.
Words have always come effortlessly to me; perhaps too effortlessly - I am discovering much to my chagrin that in this country when you use too many words... you cannot get your point across.
It's odd, there're different tiers of communicators in Singaland... and with some, augmenting your thoughts with words that attempt to capture the moment, the intensity and intent of what you're feeling and thinking - is appreciated. Some find beauty in the words; others find beauty in the thoughts.
Yet there is another tier where words fail entirely, where, bewildered they wade through unfamiliar waters of thought and become rapidly frustrated, and angry.
I've always gravitated towards people who love the English language. My mother is one such (although I'm not entirely sure I gravitate towards her... laugh) and my grandfather was, before he passed away - if nothing else, a Pedant.
The first woman I fell in love with had a far greater command with the language than I; where I am a tinkerer, she was a mastercraftsman and simply being in her presence was inspiring; she brought out more in me than I knew existed, and in between word-associations (for that is how we thought, and spoke) we laughed, and shared banter, and exchanged quips and evil jibes.
Words are important to me more than I understand, or comprehend. It's like when I play the piano - I don't really know what I'm doing, I just put the pieces together, I feel a certain way, and I try to make it happen on the keyboard -- I'm certainly not as good at it as I am writing. But in expression, I find comfort.
I've found comfort recently in a different experience, and it surprised me. The presence of another, her proximity, her warmth of... physicality gave me comfort. I cannot comprehend that, because I would have expected it to have intoxicated me... but instead it gave me a sense of calm. Perhaps those were just pheremones at work. Xena explained it as... "more than words"... skin on skin - so sayeth the intimate stranger. Her silence was calm, an soothing oasis within the madness of the daily routine.
But the one thing this creature did not have, was a magic with words.
I wondered how silence, and words could both appeal to myself - surely you have to choose a stand?
I remembered other moments in time :
A stranger, seated across the table from myself; we, barely saying a word to each other as her sister verbally assualted everyone else, but simply gazing into each others eyes, a little bashfully. (Silence.)
Watching a watcher, her face in shadow but her eyes bright as we both observed the others around us, and catching her at times searching my eyes. (Silence.)
Watching another watcher, much younger now; her face pristine with youth, her eyes avoiding mine, but yet we felt our gazes lingering upon each other, as we turned to catch the other hurriedly dropping a gaze. Later, in the car as our parents cross examined her (she was the "catch" for the older brother... the age difference being respectable back then) she, opening her mouth to answer a question about her extracurricular activities and I, intuitively blurting out an answer which I did not know how, or why I possessed. Her gaze lingering on my face for an instant, puzzled.. I did not need to turn to see it; I could literally feel it. Later still, she, watching as I prowled through her room and my gaze fell on a painting, coming close to me, the warmth of her presence intoxicating as she asked only the words, "Do you like it?". I nodded. (Silence.)
There have been many silences, wordless moments in this life that have burnt themselves into my verbally incontinent mind.
Yet were times once...
*****
They, laughing over old times, quipping and counter-quipping, battering each other with words and then laughing as the other attempted a weak comeback, thoughts flickering effortlessly through the air like silvery flying fish... (words)
... and then as he looked into her eyes, he found himself overwhelmed. He paused, in mid sentence.
She looked back, not expectantly, not in puzzlement. She just watched. (silence)
And after a long while, he spoke again.
*****
She, eyes dark with foreboding as he painfully bled out the words, her tone warning : Are you sure you want to do this?
He : I must.
He stumbles through the unfamiliar words, the significance of the moment halting his truths which so desperately need to be said, her eyes impassive, watchful.
And then he flounders :
"I'm trying to say the three hardest words a guy can ever say to a girl, K. You know what they are."
Her eyes blaze to life then, laughing uproariously at him, teasing him. She speaks.
"No?"
(Silence. Words. Silence.)
*****
She opened the box in the chill of the night, standing in a halo of orange-light beneath a victorian lamp.. she chose the moment quite unconsciously... and created a movie memory that he will never forget.
She dropped the box and pulled out the bear, gushing effusively. (Words. Words. Words.)
Almost girlishly, with enthusiasm, thanking him.
And then they walked, and spoke seriously and at length, mundane words, not of the (Words) variety.
They paused, and sat upon the steps of her university in wait of her mom's car. He prepared himself for the walk home, as they sat shoulder to shoulder in silence. He listened to her breathing.
Silence, but not of the (silence) variety. Just a simple absence of sound.
Her mother arrived, and somehow he was being bundled into the car and given a lift home. More silence... this of the awkward / uncomfortable variety.
And then as they neared, she turned around and her eyes met his, and they were...
... there are no words for this.
(words/silence/words/silence)
*****
I understand now what I loved about You, and Us.
We had the best of both worlds.
*****
Comprehension gave him the tools with which to fight himself; when he at last understood the truth, he found - at last - the ways to navigate the convoluted thoughtways of his fragile mind.
He'd gotten over Her a while back...
... but now he knew what he had been searching for, all along.
*****
Ps : many thanks to the pornographer, for introducing me to blogrolling :)
Words have always come effortlessly to me; perhaps too effortlessly - I am discovering much to my chagrin that in this country when you use too many words... you cannot get your point across.
It's odd, there're different tiers of communicators in Singaland... and with some, augmenting your thoughts with words that attempt to capture the moment, the intensity and intent of what you're feeling and thinking - is appreciated. Some find beauty in the words; others find beauty in the thoughts.
Yet there is another tier where words fail entirely, where, bewildered they wade through unfamiliar waters of thought and become rapidly frustrated, and angry.
I've always gravitated towards people who love the English language. My mother is one such (although I'm not entirely sure I gravitate towards her... laugh) and my grandfather was, before he passed away - if nothing else, a Pedant.
The first woman I fell in love with had a far greater command with the language than I; where I am a tinkerer, she was a mastercraftsman and simply being in her presence was inspiring; she brought out more in me than I knew existed, and in between word-associations (for that is how we thought, and spoke) we laughed, and shared banter, and exchanged quips and evil jibes.
Words are important to me more than I understand, or comprehend. It's like when I play the piano - I don't really know what I'm doing, I just put the pieces together, I feel a certain way, and I try to make it happen on the keyboard -- I'm certainly not as good at it as I am writing. But in expression, I find comfort.
I've found comfort recently in a different experience, and it surprised me. The presence of another, her proximity, her warmth of... physicality gave me comfort. I cannot comprehend that, because I would have expected it to have intoxicated me... but instead it gave me a sense of calm. Perhaps those were just pheremones at work. Xena explained it as... "more than words"... skin on skin - so sayeth the intimate stranger. Her silence was calm, an soothing oasis within the madness of the daily routine.
But the one thing this creature did not have, was a magic with words.
I wondered how silence, and words could both appeal to myself - surely you have to choose a stand?
I remembered other moments in time :
A stranger, seated across the table from myself; we, barely saying a word to each other as her sister verbally assualted everyone else, but simply gazing into each others eyes, a little bashfully. (Silence.)
Watching a watcher, her face in shadow but her eyes bright as we both observed the others around us, and catching her at times searching my eyes. (Silence.)
Watching another watcher, much younger now; her face pristine with youth, her eyes avoiding mine, but yet we felt our gazes lingering upon each other, as we turned to catch the other hurriedly dropping a gaze. Later, in the car as our parents cross examined her (she was the "catch" for the older brother... the age difference being respectable back then) she, opening her mouth to answer a question about her extracurricular activities and I, intuitively blurting out an answer which I did not know how, or why I possessed. Her gaze lingering on my face for an instant, puzzled.. I did not need to turn to see it; I could literally feel it. Later still, she, watching as I prowled through her room and my gaze fell on a painting, coming close to me, the warmth of her presence intoxicating as she asked only the words, "Do you like it?". I nodded. (Silence.)
There have been many silences, wordless moments in this life that have burnt themselves into my verbally incontinent mind.
Yet were times once...
*****
They, laughing over old times, quipping and counter-quipping, battering each other with words and then laughing as the other attempted a weak comeback, thoughts flickering effortlessly through the air like silvery flying fish... (words)
... and then as he looked into her eyes, he found himself overwhelmed. He paused, in mid sentence.
She looked back, not expectantly, not in puzzlement. She just watched. (silence)
And after a long while, he spoke again.
*****
She, eyes dark with foreboding as he painfully bled out the words, her tone warning : Are you sure you want to do this?
He : I must.
He stumbles through the unfamiliar words, the significance of the moment halting his truths which so desperately need to be said, her eyes impassive, watchful.
And then he flounders :
"I'm trying to say the three hardest words a guy can ever say to a girl, K. You know what they are."
Her eyes blaze to life then, laughing uproariously at him, teasing him. She speaks.
"No?"
(Silence. Words. Silence.)
*****
She opened the box in the chill of the night, standing in a halo of orange-light beneath a victorian lamp.. she chose the moment quite unconsciously... and created a movie memory that he will never forget.
She dropped the box and pulled out the bear, gushing effusively. (Words. Words. Words.)
Almost girlishly, with enthusiasm, thanking him.
And then they walked, and spoke seriously and at length, mundane words, not of the (Words) variety.
They paused, and sat upon the steps of her university in wait of her mom's car. He prepared himself for the walk home, as they sat shoulder to shoulder in silence. He listened to her breathing.
Silence, but not of the (silence) variety. Just a simple absence of sound.
Her mother arrived, and somehow he was being bundled into the car and given a lift home. More silence... this of the awkward / uncomfortable variety.
And then as they neared, she turned around and her eyes met his, and they were...
... there are no words for this.
(words/silence/words/silence)
*****
I understand now what I loved about You, and Us.
We had the best of both worlds.
*****
Comprehension gave him the tools with which to fight himself; when he at last understood the truth, he found - at last - the ways to navigate the convoluted thoughtways of his fragile mind.
He'd gotten over Her a while back...
... but now he knew what he had been searching for, all along.
*****
Ps : many thanks to the pornographer, for introducing me to blogrolling :)
Beware of Pedestrian.
There's this sign as one drives out of the building that houses my gym.
"Beware of Pedestrian".
It always cracks me up a little. Mental images of a huge foot stomping the car as I drive out...
*****
"Hello," he said, standing on her doorstep, awkwardly in the youth of his years but somehow freed tonight for the first time, more at ease than ever before - in the presence of a complete stranger.
She smiled uncertainly, her gaze holding his, her left hand holding the door ajar.
The words flooded into his mind, unbidden, replacing the devastating silence that could have been, or the trite plesantries that he had been expecting.
His eyes never left hers.
"...Don't move...
...I'm memorizing your face."
"I'll never forget your face."
She raised an eyebrow, her face registering bemusement.
But her eyes said something very different.
They held each others gazes for a while more, laughing silently without words; touching each other without need for physicality.
He broke the spell, and spun around on his heel.
"Goodbye."
*****
Many years later they stood apart at the base of the stairwell that joins the underground to the Barbican centre.
She, angry and impatient to leave to her play, and her life.
He, sad beyond measure.
Words deserted him this time; there were no magic words to heal the rift which he was creating - intentionally this time.
He sensed she needed that, and this was his one last gift to her.
She frowned at him and he heard her chastising words, remembered her sliding down the wall not so long ago telling her friend that her world was falling down.
"Don't move, K.
I'm memorising your face...
... I'll never forget your face."
Her eyes met his, and they smouldered.
She turned,
and left, forever.
The very same words. A beginning, and an end.
"Beware of Pedestrian".
It always cracks me up a little. Mental images of a huge foot stomping the car as I drive out...
*****
"Hello," he said, standing on her doorstep, awkwardly in the youth of his years but somehow freed tonight for the first time, more at ease than ever before - in the presence of a complete stranger.
She smiled uncertainly, her gaze holding his, her left hand holding the door ajar.
The words flooded into his mind, unbidden, replacing the devastating silence that could have been, or the trite plesantries that he had been expecting.
His eyes never left hers.
"...Don't move...
...I'm memorizing your face."
"I'll never forget your face."
She raised an eyebrow, her face registering bemusement.
But her eyes said something very different.
They held each others gazes for a while more, laughing silently without words; touching each other without need for physicality.
He broke the spell, and spun around on his heel.
"Goodbye."
*****
Many years later they stood apart at the base of the stairwell that joins the underground to the Barbican centre.
She, angry and impatient to leave to her play, and her life.
He, sad beyond measure.
Words deserted him this time; there were no magic words to heal the rift which he was creating - intentionally this time.
He sensed she needed that, and this was his one last gift to her.
She frowned at him and he heard her chastising words, remembered her sliding down the wall not so long ago telling her friend that her world was falling down.
"Don't move, K.
I'm memorising your face...
... I'll never forget your face."
Her eyes met his, and they smouldered.
She turned,
and left, forever.
The very same words. A beginning, and an end.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Honesty, and Directness...
...Are forgotten values.
I won't pretend that I've always been honest and direct.
Something happened once in my past... that will probably haunt me forever. It was a very long, and stupid story.
And in the aftermath, She was gone, forever. An ideal... near-terminally wounded.
Since then I've been chasing shadows, questing for personal honesty to the level that I can be quite hurtful, and hateful to those that know me, and even those I care about...
...and - I did not realise this till now - searching for that someone with that same honesty. Who, yes, I will admit it - also attracts me on some - indefinable level - quite probably starting physically... with a pair of eyes.
That alone is rare, and apparently that alone - somewhere in my male psyche - is now enough for me to begin the hunt.
The "hunt" however is often caught short by a fatal flaw, born of some stupid mechanism in my head... idealism, I think the term is.
I learnt today that one of the fatal flaws can be a lack of honesty.
Not dishonesty per se, but white lies... or half truths. A slightly less sophisticated mode of thinking meant to smooth over the cracks for someone else, and give her an easier life.
But to someone like me...
... a fatal flaw.
That alone... is rarer still.
*******
He couldn't help but notice over dinner, and drinks.
She too, had watcher's eyes.
In truth, everyone at the table had watcher's eyes.
But her eyes were slightly different from the others.
Hers were quick, sudden, and very subtle, and fading out quickly when required. Alive, but hidden away. Guarded, at will.
They were... intriguing.
*******
What do you get when you put together sun, sand and sea, a petite little lady together with a musclebound, heavy breathing thug, and a pervy purveyor of fine erotica?
Heh heh heh. I'll leave that to your imaginations.
*******
Okay, so it wasn't actually a pornographic movie shoot, but actually a... I hang my head in shame... blogger meeting - of sorts. All very high-profile bloggers (I was not worthy to be in the presence of such greatness...) yet all like-minded individuals.
Not so much bloggers, as true writers.
*******
As he posed the question about takes on Premarital sex, he watched.
He saw a lot that night.
But only one person truly understood the question... while the others pondered at a superficial level, or tried to let the answers slide quickly off them... she knew enough to find the hidden question beneath.
He wondered why.
*******
So. Premarital sex. (Necessary) Compatability testing tool? Or outmoded ideal.
But ideals - and idealism lead to many places. And sometimes they foreshadow the future.
And what of the spirit of romance - not "romance" per se, but its essence...
... embodied in the ridiculous plots that crop up over and over again in arthouse B-movies, of a purity of love that transcends the physical, or that is prematurely terminated before it can graduate on to the physical...
... but remains eternal?
The answer, ultimately is as always -
- it depends on what you, as an individual, burn for.
Me? Well, I don't believe in Santa Claus... but I still get Christmas presents. :)
*****
Would you cheat... if the sex was bad? Would your eyes turn astray, and your bodily bits follow suit? Would your mind relinquish its hold for a brief moment of ecstatic passion, for a fire that burns and flares, but fades quickly into the past?
Would you be tempted by the serpent, and the apple?
Or would you stay, the "loser", always holding back, always wondering what if...
... but always having something eternal - or so you think - to comfort yourself with. Something magical, and empathic. Something to give you... significance, in this troubled life.
Again, the answers lie in the minds of the answerers.
Windows 95...
Who do you want to do, today? ;)
*****
9:56!
*****
postscript
Yes, I did write about it after all.
It deserved a mention. The evening was significant : from the magnificent understatedness of the blood-red sunset fading to death far away on the forgotten horizon - unseen and unnoticed by most of the revellers around us intent on only enjoying each other close-up -- to the pleasant company of we four watchers -- okay, three-and-a-half since one of them only had eyes for her doggy woggy - four individuals utterly disparate in their life's paths, yet bonded somehow by something indescribable..
... something, methinks, to do with word - and thought.
*****
Bugger. We forgot to play pool.
I won't pretend that I've always been honest and direct.
Something happened once in my past... that will probably haunt me forever. It was a very long, and stupid story.
And in the aftermath, She was gone, forever. An ideal... near-terminally wounded.
Since then I've been chasing shadows, questing for personal honesty to the level that I can be quite hurtful, and hateful to those that know me, and even those I care about...
...and - I did not realise this till now - searching for that someone with that same honesty. Who, yes, I will admit it - also attracts me on some - indefinable level - quite probably starting physically... with a pair of eyes.
That alone is rare, and apparently that alone - somewhere in my male psyche - is now enough for me to begin the hunt.
The "hunt" however is often caught short by a fatal flaw, born of some stupid mechanism in my head... idealism, I think the term is.
I learnt today that one of the fatal flaws can be a lack of honesty.
Not dishonesty per se, but white lies... or half truths. A slightly less sophisticated mode of thinking meant to smooth over the cracks for someone else, and give her an easier life.
But to someone like me...
... a fatal flaw.
That alone... is rarer still.
*******
He couldn't help but notice over dinner, and drinks.
She too, had watcher's eyes.
In truth, everyone at the table had watcher's eyes.
But her eyes were slightly different from the others.
Hers were quick, sudden, and very subtle, and fading out quickly when required. Alive, but hidden away. Guarded, at will.
They were... intriguing.
*******
What do you get when you put together sun, sand and sea, a petite little lady together with a musclebound, heavy breathing thug, and a pervy purveyor of fine erotica?
Heh heh heh. I'll leave that to your imaginations.
*******
Okay, so it wasn't actually a pornographic movie shoot, but actually a... I hang my head in shame... blogger meeting - of sorts. All very high-profile bloggers (I was not worthy to be in the presence of such greatness...) yet all like-minded individuals.
Not so much bloggers, as true writers.
*******
As he posed the question about takes on Premarital sex, he watched.
He saw a lot that night.
But only one person truly understood the question... while the others pondered at a superficial level, or tried to let the answers slide quickly off them... she knew enough to find the hidden question beneath.
He wondered why.
*******
So. Premarital sex. (Necessary) Compatability testing tool? Or outmoded ideal.
But ideals - and idealism lead to many places. And sometimes they foreshadow the future.
And what of the spirit of romance - not "romance" per se, but its essence...
... embodied in the ridiculous plots that crop up over and over again in arthouse B-movies, of a purity of love that transcends the physical, or that is prematurely terminated before it can graduate on to the physical...
... but remains eternal?
The answer, ultimately is as always -
- it depends on what you, as an individual, burn for.
Me? Well, I don't believe in Santa Claus... but I still get Christmas presents. :)
*****
Would you cheat... if the sex was bad? Would your eyes turn astray, and your bodily bits follow suit? Would your mind relinquish its hold for a brief moment of ecstatic passion, for a fire that burns and flares, but fades quickly into the past?
Would you be tempted by the serpent, and the apple?
Or would you stay, the "loser", always holding back, always wondering what if...
... but always having something eternal - or so you think - to comfort yourself with. Something magical, and empathic. Something to give you... significance, in this troubled life.
Again, the answers lie in the minds of the answerers.
Windows 95...
Who do you want to do, today? ;)
*****
9:56!
*****
postscript
Yes, I did write about it after all.
It deserved a mention. The evening was significant : from the magnificent understatedness of the blood-red sunset fading to death far away on the forgotten horizon - unseen and unnoticed by most of the revellers around us intent on only enjoying each other close-up -- to the pleasant company of we four watchers -- okay, three-and-a-half since one of them only had eyes for her doggy woggy - four individuals utterly disparate in their life's paths, yet bonded somehow by something indescribable..
... something, methinks, to do with word - and thought.
*****
Bugger. We forgot to play pool.
The Fallen
Save me, for I have fallen
Pierced, in the side through mine own obsession for truth
Falling, flailing-out through bewildered spite
and bringing down around me those whom I cared for
We lie, bleeding upon the plains of anger
our saving truths
too late to salve
the poisoned wounds in our embittered minds.
White lies and half-truths
where most would pass over
I obsessed, and pushed too far
past care, past time; past redemption
Please forgive me.
Pierced, in the side through mine own obsession for truth
Falling, flailing-out through bewildered spite
and bringing down around me those whom I cared for
We lie, bleeding upon the plains of anger
our saving truths
too late to salve
the poisoned wounds in our embittered minds.
White lies and half-truths
where most would pass over
I obsessed, and pushed too far
past care, past time; past redemption
Please forgive me.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Hole in One
9:57!
Now it's payback time today...
*****
While doing a routine abdo-abscess examination pre discharge, he encounters a tiny perfectly circular piece of tissue that looks a bit fishy...
... pick... pick...
it turns into a little cylinder...
... pick...
it turns into a tube...?
Wha..?
Oh. uh oh.
Time to call the reg...
*****
So I've received a request to "kindly remove my link from your blog".
It irritates me a little. Where does one get off, telling someone else what to do with his or her blog?
It also, for a while back there, nearly inspired me to write my piece of the story, my unspoken side of the coin, which I had kept silent about out of decency... with some difficulty.
And sometimes I'm still tempted to write about it.
So rest assured, I will take your link down eventually when I find the time and energy. Right now, between calls and exhausted after a ridiculously fast sprint on the treadmill (well, fast for me) I really can't be arsed.
*****
Nice little old lady comes in with a bump on her head. Just standing around, suddenly woke up in hospital, hows that for a complete history?
You're just about to send her home when you idly flip through the ECG, which has become so foreign its like a little alien television set, not that I've ever encountered one of those.
I've never been fantastic with ECGs. I was brought up in A&E, meaning the checklist goes like this :
Rate. Uh huh
Rhythm. Regular. Uh huh
Axis. Can't remember how to calculate that, looks vaguely okay (up, up, down)
Sinus? Uh huh.
Q waves? Uh uh
ST segments? Uh huh.
and then most importantly,
what does the computer have to say about this ECG? (which is often good for a laugh.)
When the computer babbles something about a prolonged QTc, though, it's time for alarm bells to start going off. It's time for that chill to run down your back, which you never experienced even after a year in A&E (except maybe at a double-stabbing, or maybe at the knife sticking out of chest episode although that was actually kinda funny...)
I don't know the first thing about QTcs, except that long QT syndrome can make people keel over unexpectedly... and sometimes even die.
Now it's payback time today...
*****
While doing a routine abdo-abscess examination pre discharge, he encounters a tiny perfectly circular piece of tissue that looks a bit fishy...
... pick... pick...
it turns into a little cylinder...
... pick...
it turns into a tube...?
Wha..?
Oh. uh oh.
Time to call the reg...
*****
So I've received a request to "kindly remove my link from your blog".
It irritates me a little. Where does one get off, telling someone else what to do with his or her blog?
It also, for a while back there, nearly inspired me to write my piece of the story, my unspoken side of the coin, which I had kept silent about out of decency... with some difficulty.
And sometimes I'm still tempted to write about it.
So rest assured, I will take your link down eventually when I find the time and energy. Right now, between calls and exhausted after a ridiculously fast sprint on the treadmill (well, fast for me) I really can't be arsed.
*****
Nice little old lady comes in with a bump on her head. Just standing around, suddenly woke up in hospital, hows that for a complete history?
You're just about to send her home when you idly flip through the ECG, which has become so foreign its like a little alien television set, not that I've ever encountered one of those.
I've never been fantastic with ECGs. I was brought up in A&E, meaning the checklist goes like this :
Rate. Uh huh
Rhythm. Regular. Uh huh
Axis. Can't remember how to calculate that, looks vaguely okay (up, up, down)
Sinus? Uh huh.
Q waves? Uh uh
ST segments? Uh huh.
and then most importantly,
what does the computer have to say about this ECG? (which is often good for a laugh.)
When the computer babbles something about a prolonged QTc, though, it's time for alarm bells to start going off. It's time for that chill to run down your back, which you never experienced even after a year in A&E (except maybe at a double-stabbing, or maybe at the knife sticking out of chest episode although that was actually kinda funny...)
I don't know the first thing about QTcs, except that long QT syndrome can make people keel over unexpectedly... and sometimes even die.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Exhibitionalist
This is taken from an email, because the recipient of it thought for some strange reason that I should post it on my blog.
... so, okay. Here goes.
"
>When I was a medical student, I was attached "out" to a GP practice in
> a small village near birmingham. He was an old, old GP and he housed
> me with his family on his farmhouse (he owned a large plot of land
> with 4 farms on it)
>
> one of his patients, a young seventeen guy did just that. He walked on
> the tracks into an oncoming train, in a tunnel. The driver said he
> didn't even flinch up to the moment the train hit him, he just kept
> walking forwards.
>
> his funeral had six pall bearers, large men (in the UK they usually
> are) with shoulders broad enough to bear a coffin with dignity. they
> played Chariots of
> Fire as they slow marched down the aisle.
>
> His girlfriend was tall, blonde and very beautiful. She stood still
> with her head up, and she didn't even sob. but her eyes were so sad,
> and the tears ran down her cheeks throughout.
>
> The GP sat next to me, his head down as if in prayer, but I wondered
> if perhaps he was asleep (he was very, very old and sometimes he dozed
> off in clinic)
>
> then I saw a teardrop fall, just one.
>
> It was one of the saddest days of my life, watching this story that I
> didn't even vaguely belong in being played out in front of me.
>
> I could never do that to anybody I loved... not my parents, or even
> some woman (who doesn't exist at the moment).
>
> And I couldn't help but wonder... that young man. What could have made
> him do that, when he had so much?
"
... so, okay. Here goes.
"
>When I was a medical student, I was attached "out" to a GP practice in
> a small village near birmingham. He was an old, old GP and he housed
> me with his family on his farmhouse (he owned a large plot of land
> with 4 farms on it)
>
> one of his patients, a young seventeen guy did just that. He walked on
> the tracks into an oncoming train, in a tunnel. The driver said he
> didn't even flinch up to the moment the train hit him, he just kept
> walking forwards.
>
> his funeral had six pall bearers, large men (in the UK they usually
> are) with shoulders broad enough to bear a coffin with dignity. they
> played Chariots of
> Fire as they slow marched down the aisle.
>
> His girlfriend was tall, blonde and very beautiful. She stood still
> with her head up, and she didn't even sob. but her eyes were so sad,
> and the tears ran down her cheeks throughout.
>
> The GP sat next to me, his head down as if in prayer, but I wondered
> if perhaps he was asleep (he was very, very old and sometimes he dozed
> off in clinic)
>
> then I saw a teardrop fall, just one.
>
> It was one of the saddest days of my life, watching this story that I
> didn't even vaguely belong in being played out in front of me.
>
> I could never do that to anybody I loved... not my parents, or even
> some woman (who doesn't exist at the moment).
>
> And I couldn't help but wonder... that young man. What could have made
> him do that, when he had so much?
"
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Wordless
It's funny, I had all these things to write over the weekend, but right here, right now, I don't feel like writing about them anymore.
Somewhere in there are vague memories about sunlight, warmth, water, and a tan that didn't materialise.
There are other memories too, memories of emotions that I didn't particularly relish; memories that should belong to someone else... foreign, younger, angrier emotions that I am unaccustomed to.
There are memories of glancing askance in a taxi at a sleeping woman and feeling... something. Something that always feels on the fringe of memory - strange, since it's happened a few times now, recently, as I glanced askance with my hands on the wheel... strange that it always feels like a half-awakened memory.
There are slightly fresher memories too of lying on a deckchair overlooking the city skyline in the utter still of the Singaporean night, with a slightly bemused friend nearby trying to persuade me that Yoga is addictive...
*****
Words, Unspoken
Stolen from another blog...
"Watching her swing around and stalk away, her long hair billowing slightly with her body movements in the utter still of the humid Singaporean night, his gaze lingers for a moment on her shoulders - that perfect shoulder to hip ratio... he thinks to himself. I must be clinically insane, to pass up someone like that.
I hope she finds someone who can love her for her hidden wit, and for her patient silence.
Somewhere in there are vague memories about sunlight, warmth, water, and a tan that didn't materialise.
There are other memories too, memories of emotions that I didn't particularly relish; memories that should belong to someone else... foreign, younger, angrier emotions that I am unaccustomed to.
There are memories of glancing askance in a taxi at a sleeping woman and feeling... something. Something that always feels on the fringe of memory - strange, since it's happened a few times now, recently, as I glanced askance with my hands on the wheel... strange that it always feels like a half-awakened memory.
There are slightly fresher memories too of lying on a deckchair overlooking the city skyline in the utter still of the Singaporean night, with a slightly bemused friend nearby trying to persuade me that Yoga is addictive...
*****
Words, Unspoken
Stolen from another blog...
"Watching her swing around and stalk away, her long hair billowing slightly with her body movements in the utter still of the humid Singaporean night, his gaze lingers for a moment on her shoulders - that perfect shoulder to hip ratio... he thinks to himself. I must be clinically insane, to pass up someone like that.
I hope she finds someone who can love her for her hidden wit, and for her patient silence.
Friday, August 19, 2005
To infinity and beyond
Each forward burst bringing with it a renewed sense of exhiliration and purpose... the rhythm steadily quickening... muscles slowly bunching up, tightening to the point of pain... but still you persist, the moment is near...
...motions becoming more ragged; breath burning through your lungs, the world swims before your eyes,
and then the moment of release...
10:01
2.4 click.
What did you think I was writing about?
tsk tsk.
It felt really good to run again, after a fortnight off.
One second. One bleeding second.
...motions becoming more ragged; breath burning through your lungs, the world swims before your eyes,
and then the moment of release...
10:01
2.4 click.
What did you think I was writing about?
tsk tsk.
It felt really good to run again, after a fortnight off.
One second. One bleeding second.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Fishy
I guess it's time to worry when my own mother starts telling me to buy life insurance...
Mmm. Time to employ a food-taster.
*****
Quandry : how do you fight a rumour?
Two solutions spring to mind.
1) With another rumour; create a larger, flashier, more extravagant rumour to eclipse all memory of the last. Do something startlingly unusual.
Success rate : 99%
Unfortunately, sometimes the wisdom of women's magazines gets in the way. All this empathic, bridging-the-gender-divide stuff... mutter.
2) With the truth.
Success rate :
... 0.1% Beware of side effects.
******
Funny, I've always advocated the being direct, and telling the truth.
Welcome to the real world.
******
So dinnerless, and gymless, our protagonist slunk back home last night feeling most unfulfilled.
And guess who's on call again today?
I know it's not the intention of The Person who Plans the Rota, but this endless chain of one in three / four on-calls is enough to reduce anyone into a whimpering wreck...
whimper.
whimper.
shiver.
Mmm. Time to employ a food-taster.
*****
Quandry : how do you fight a rumour?
Two solutions spring to mind.
1) With another rumour; create a larger, flashier, more extravagant rumour to eclipse all memory of the last. Do something startlingly unusual.
Success rate : 99%
Unfortunately, sometimes the wisdom of women's magazines gets in the way. All this empathic, bridging-the-gender-divide stuff... mutter.
2) With the truth.
Success rate :
... 0.1% Beware of side effects.
******
Funny, I've always advocated the being direct, and telling the truth.
Welcome to the real world.
******
So dinnerless, and gymless, our protagonist slunk back home last night feeling most unfulfilled.
And guess who's on call again today?
I know it's not the intention of The Person who Plans the Rota, but this endless chain of one in three / four on-calls is enough to reduce anyone into a whimpering wreck...
whimper.
whimper.
shiver.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Because we care
And through a sheer and bizarre turn of events, suddenly the well being of someone we care about is under threat.
Rumours spread like wildfire, and trivial coincidences in time - late nights at the office preparing for a morning meeting coinciding with night shifts... moments spent on the ward doing ward jobs - and worst of all, a complaint made by an unreasonable patient first against a horrible staff and then an unpleasant doctor (some patients are impossible to please... even the most glib of tongues can bounce uselessly off the feet of a stonewall of anger and resentment) and the rumours are flying thick and fast like a hailstorm of arrows.
And so our hand is forced, and something drastic must needs be done.
It seems almost childish; rather.. sad... Perverse.
*****
Thankfully I can always count on one of my friends to help me out. heh.
I'm gonna so owe you bigtime for this...
Rumours spread like wildfire, and trivial coincidences in time - late nights at the office preparing for a morning meeting coinciding with night shifts... moments spent on the ward doing ward jobs - and worst of all, a complaint made by an unreasonable patient first against a horrible staff and then an unpleasant doctor (some patients are impossible to please... even the most glib of tongues can bounce uselessly off the feet of a stonewall of anger and resentment) and the rumours are flying thick and fast like a hailstorm of arrows.
And so our hand is forced, and something drastic must needs be done.
It seems almost childish; rather.. sad... Perverse.
*****
Thankfully I can always count on one of my friends to help me out. heh.
I'm gonna so owe you bigtime for this...
Thursday, August 11, 2005
UnWet Dream
I suppose I should write about how I spent national day eating breakfast at the botanic gardens (complete with flickr pictures) and how I saw Jacelyn Tay and... some dude... shooting... some movie... over there (complete with poor acting), and how I learnt a valuable lesson - botanic gardens + public holiday = no free parking, or about my poor breakfast companion who, after a long night's work, was threatening to keel over into her waffles and haagen daz ice cream. For a fleeting moment there I was worried my Seek Save Serve! ORDLoh training would have to come into use in getting her home... how do you do a fireman lift again...
Or perhaps I should write about how I spent all day yesterday dreaming about going for a nice relaxing swim after work before class... and how it almost didn't happen because some stupid ward called me at four fifty-nine (my time of obligation ends at five) to clerk in a new case... but luckily for me I'd got the class time mixed up and it started at eight instead of seven thirty. So a rather rushed clerking and consent later, I was zooming out of the hospital in the zoom-zoom mazda, when suddenly the mobile phone goes off and it's one of the bosses (who, at fortysomething with a wife and kid, should really know better than to try to flirt with the pretty nurses) asking if I'm still in hospital and can you come back and do a round. (answer, weakly... no i'm not... must i... oh okay then)
So there we have it. my wet dream (ha) disrupted.
Nevermind, if I had the time, I'd write about ceroc class, and rhapsodize about how much fun it is to dance again.
But I don't.
Time for work. sigh.
Or perhaps I should write about how I spent all day yesterday dreaming about going for a nice relaxing swim after work before class... and how it almost didn't happen because some stupid ward called me at four fifty-nine (my time of obligation ends at five) to clerk in a new case... but luckily for me I'd got the class time mixed up and it started at eight instead of seven thirty. So a rather rushed clerking and consent later, I was zooming out of the hospital in the zoom-zoom mazda, when suddenly the mobile phone goes off and it's one of the bosses (who, at fortysomething with a wife and kid, should really know better than to try to flirt with the pretty nurses) asking if I'm still in hospital and can you come back and do a round. (answer, weakly... no i'm not... must i... oh okay then)
So there we have it. my wet dream (ha) disrupted.
Nevermind, if I had the time, I'd write about ceroc class, and rhapsodize about how much fun it is to dance again.
But I don't.
Time for work. sigh.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Looking for Love
Actually, no, re-minisce is (most emphatically) not looking for lurrrve.
This post was inspired by a conversation this morning that I don't really remember anymore (sleep deprivation and too much swimming can do that to a guy. I think some of the water got into my brain, and my shoulders are hurting so bad...)
So it's hard for a guy like re-minisce to fall in love, because, well, he just doesn't do it often. And while we're being honest, re-minisce also gets tired of people after a while (men and women both, policy of non descrimination applies) and usually chooses ridiculously silly things as the reason to go off them (in his head... he doesn't tell them of course, else he'd have fewer friends than he does now)... things as silly as having hairy arms.
Problems arise when he meets a girl with hairy arms that he likes, (headcount so far, one) in which case the clear and present Double Standards become apparent to him. But no matter, he just doesn't think about it that much. Universal coping mechanism - head in sand technique.
So falling in love, then, is a factor of time (too tired to illustrate with graphs tonight, and I'm on call tomorrow...) and continued... err... likingness, right?
But no, re-minisce is also the type of guy who wants to fall in love early, if not at "hello2. (Or, in very rare and select instances, at "Bang, you're Dead, man!")
That ought to be pretty dang obvious, no? Guy meets girl, guy falls head over heels over her. How much more simple can it get.
Unfortunately, re-minisce is unnecessarily complicated (see below).
So when he does fall head over heels (headcount so far, 1.39, the .39 being the cumulative "yes! sorta... almost... nahs" that have occurred to date, aka transient crushes) for a woman, what he automatically does is go into denial.
So he can't even tell himself when he's falling, because his midbrain tells his cerebellum that he's not. He's not. Ok? Not. And being gullible like he is, he believes it.
So that's the problem. Someone asks him if he's falling for a girl...
1) if he isn't, he pauses, and says, naaah I don't think so
2) if he is, he... pauses, and says, naaah I don't think.. so.
It can be pretty subtle, them five dots. Too subtle even for re-minisce to discern.
*****
Unnecessarily Complicated
Experience tells me that nobody is going to understand what I'm going to try to get at here.
Some of you may even take offence.
I don't care, my shoulders hurt and I'm on call tomorrow and I'm tired. So there.
Anyway, it struck me recently that our education system here is unnecessarily... complicated.
It has hoops for you to leap through, in order to achieve a different tier in society.
Yes, I know these tiers are artificial constructs, and sometimes in certain industries (eg modelling, where beauty transcends brains, speech, and rationalthought) being a diploma or degree holder counts for nothing.
-- disclaimer
And I know that these tiers don't come into play at all when gauging the measure of a person. NS taught me that great people come from all walks of life, and fools are born, not made.
Air level people aren't any worse than primary six dropouts - nor are they any better. It's not the size of your paper that matters - nor how you use it - but whats in your heart.
--
But by and large, in this society we live in, the tiers exist for the layman. Not everyone can be a Sim Wong Whositwhatsit. Not all of us get the same breaks, or form the same contacts.
And that's why the eternal paperchase in Singapore - to secure a better future, to cosset yourself with, or coddle your kids with.
But think about it. The tiers come into play long before we develop the will to choose our destinies.
Streaming encompasses -
Normal
Express
O level
A level
JC
ITE
poly
It's almost bizarre, to my mind. Do we really need so many different streams? Who came up with it anyhow -- who died and made them God?
And more importantly, and more telling - are any of them poly grads?
The divide, to my mind, is artificial.
Run back several generations, and most of us have more or less similar migrant parentages (some rich, many poor, all arriving to build uncertain futures for their progeny)
Then suddenly a brave new generation emerges and there are a gazillion tiers, the products of each being shunted off into "appropriate" careers with "commensurate" pay brackets.
One "mis-step" as a child in secondary school... one moment of fatigue, or of laziness, or missing one's friends, or being born into less-than-affluence - and your destiny is altered forever.
Oh yeah, and climbing up the ladder from a "lower" to "higher" tier is of course in theory possible - but in reality nigh unachievable - because the societal "tiers" also encompass mindsets and stereotypes which are difficult to escape from.
I dunno, but in a country as affluent as ours... with such a low unemployment rate and an efficiency index of just about 21024120, I don't see why a free education for everyone isn't possible. A uniform and default free education, say up to JC, with the option of continuing to uni, or not.
The counter arguments are obvious.
Money, money, and money -- but I think we all know by now just how vast the country's reserves are, and heck, with the advent of government sanctionedgambling dens um whorehouses of sin err Integrated Resorts (haha, you integrate your money into their coffers) one suspects the reserves will grow even larger.
Aren't these the kinds of things reserves are meant to be spent on? Healthcare and education?
The other argument is that not everyone is smart enough to go through JC.
And I think there's some small merit to that argument... but so what? So what if people drop out of a free education, and go on to become unskilled labour? Why do they need to be pegged early-on as potential unskilled labour, and trained into... slightly more skilled labourers?
The questions just keep bubbling up inside me. Why, why and why? And who dreamt up the system?
And the answer, of course is You are Not a Politician, so just stop asking these stupid questions.
(ie, 42.)
*****
Once upon a time, re-minisce's mother forbade his brother from (hypothetically) even dreaming of marrying the Sarabat Stall Owner's daughter.
I believe the idealogy was in keeping with "Love the woman you marry, don't marry the woman you love".
When faced with the usual stoic silence, but with a new and uncharacteristic derisive laughter (and a short voiceclip that in short, spelt out that she was crazy), she turned to re-minisce for moral support.
And was stunned when re-minisce backed-up his brother. (although, at the time re-minisce was madly in love with a woman who not only scored a ridiculous number of A1s at her O levels, but went on to become some very important doctor somewhere out there in the world)
After the stunning-by-proxy wore off, the tongue lashing she delivered was quite spectacular.
Anyway, re-minisce is much older now, and much more world weary.
And you know what?
If he fell in love with the Sarabat Stall Owners daughter...
... he sure as hell would marry her, anyway.
We only have one life to live...
...I want to live mine my way.
This post was inspired by a conversation this morning that I don't really remember anymore (sleep deprivation and too much swimming can do that to a guy. I think some of the water got into my brain, and my shoulders are hurting so bad...)
So it's hard for a guy like re-minisce to fall in love, because, well, he just doesn't do it often. And while we're being honest, re-minisce also gets tired of people after a while (men and women both, policy of non descrimination applies) and usually chooses ridiculously silly things as the reason to go off them (in his head... he doesn't tell them of course, else he'd have fewer friends than he does now)... things as silly as having hairy arms.
Problems arise when he meets a girl with hairy arms that he likes, (headcount so far, one) in which case the clear and present Double Standards become apparent to him. But no matter, he just doesn't think about it that much. Universal coping mechanism - head in sand technique.
So falling in love, then, is a factor of time (too tired to illustrate with graphs tonight, and I'm on call tomorrow...) and continued... err... likingness, right?
But no, re-minisce is also the type of guy who wants to fall in love early, if not at "hello2. (Or, in very rare and select instances, at "Bang, you're Dead, man!")
That ought to be pretty dang obvious, no? Guy meets girl, guy falls head over heels over her. How much more simple can it get.
Unfortunately, re-minisce is unnecessarily complicated (see below).
So when he does fall head over heels (headcount so far, 1.39, the .39 being the cumulative "yes! sorta... almost... nahs" that have occurred to date, aka transient crushes) for a woman, what he automatically does is go into denial.
So he can't even tell himself when he's falling, because his midbrain tells his cerebellum that he's not. He's not. Ok? Not. And being gullible like he is, he believes it.
So that's the problem. Someone asks him if he's falling for a girl...
1) if he isn't, he pauses, and says, naaah I don't think so
2) if he is, he... pauses, and says, naaah I don't think.. so.
It can be pretty subtle, them five dots. Too subtle even for re-minisce to discern.
*****
Unnecessarily Complicated
Experience tells me that nobody is going to understand what I'm going to try to get at here.
Some of you may even take offence.
I don't care, my shoulders hurt and I'm on call tomorrow and I'm tired. So there.
Anyway, it struck me recently that our education system here is unnecessarily... complicated.
It has hoops for you to leap through, in order to achieve a different tier in society.
Yes, I know these tiers are artificial constructs, and sometimes in certain industries (eg modelling, where beauty transcends brains, speech, and rationalthought) being a diploma or degree holder counts for nothing.
-- disclaimer
And I know that these tiers don't come into play at all when gauging the measure of a person. NS taught me that great people come from all walks of life, and fools are born, not made.
Air level people aren't any worse than primary six dropouts - nor are they any better. It's not the size of your paper that matters - nor how you use it - but whats in your heart.
--
But by and large, in this society we live in, the tiers exist for the layman. Not everyone can be a Sim Wong Whositwhatsit. Not all of us get the same breaks, or form the same contacts.
And that's why the eternal paperchase in Singapore - to secure a better future, to cosset yourself with, or coddle your kids with.
But think about it. The tiers come into play long before we develop the will to choose our destinies.
Streaming encompasses -
Normal
Express
O level
A level
JC
ITE
poly
It's almost bizarre, to my mind. Do we really need so many different streams? Who came up with it anyhow -- who died and made them God?
And more importantly, and more telling - are any of them poly grads?
The divide, to my mind, is artificial.
Run back several generations, and most of us have more or less similar migrant parentages (some rich, many poor, all arriving to build uncertain futures for their progeny)
Then suddenly a brave new generation emerges and there are a gazillion tiers, the products of each being shunted off into "appropriate" careers with "commensurate" pay brackets.
One "mis-step" as a child in secondary school... one moment of fatigue, or of laziness, or missing one's friends, or being born into less-than-affluence - and your destiny is altered forever.
Oh yeah, and climbing up the ladder from a "lower" to "higher" tier is of course in theory possible - but in reality nigh unachievable - because the societal "tiers" also encompass mindsets and stereotypes which are difficult to escape from.
I dunno, but in a country as affluent as ours... with such a low unemployment rate and an efficiency index of just about 21024120, I don't see why a free education for everyone isn't possible. A uniform and default free education, say up to JC, with the option of continuing to uni, or not.
The counter arguments are obvious.
Money, money, and money -- but I think we all know by now just how vast the country's reserves are, and heck, with the advent of government sanctioned
Aren't these the kinds of things reserves are meant to be spent on? Healthcare and education?
The other argument is that not everyone is smart enough to go through JC.
And I think there's some small merit to that argument... but so what? So what if people drop out of a free education, and go on to become unskilled labour? Why do they need to be pegged early-on as potential unskilled labour, and trained into... slightly more skilled labourers?
The questions just keep bubbling up inside me. Why, why and why? And who dreamt up the system?
And the answer, of course is You are Not a Politician, so just stop asking these stupid questions.
(ie, 42.)
*****
Once upon a time, re-minisce's mother forbade his brother from (hypothetically) even dreaming of marrying the Sarabat Stall Owner's daughter.
I believe the idealogy was in keeping with "Love the woman you marry, don't marry the woman you love".
When faced with the usual stoic silence, but with a new and uncharacteristic derisive laughter (and a short voiceclip that in short, spelt out that she was crazy), she turned to re-minisce for moral support.
And was stunned when re-minisce backed-up his brother. (although, at the time re-minisce was madly in love with a woman who not only scored a ridiculous number of A1s at her O levels, but went on to become some very important doctor somewhere out there in the world)
After the stunning-by-proxy wore off, the tongue lashing she delivered was quite spectacular.
Anyway, re-minisce is much older now, and much more world weary.
And you know what?
If he fell in love with the Sarabat Stall Owners daughter...
... he sure as hell would marry her, anyway.
We only have one life to live...
...I want to live mine my way.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Watered Down
I went for a swim yesterday.
No, wait.
I went for a swim yesterday.
Perhaps you don't quite get it.
I went for a swim yesterday.
See, I've been land-based for all the... many... years of my life (cue the oh shit I'm so damn olddddd line)
I like to run.
I hate water.
I don't know why, maybe it's some repressed memory of myself as a very small child swimming across an olympic sized pool at night to grab onto my dad (he trawls really slowly and infinitely through the water like an oil tanker running on energizer batteries) and latching onto the wrong man's back, and almost dying of shock, shame, and inhaled water.
I haven't swum in the last nine years.
So it was kinda weird, after working the usual mundane weight thingies yesterday at 75% efficiency (that's the best I can manage after an on-call... anything more makes me go home and die in bed instantly) and ogling the runners on their treadmills (Still can't run at the moment thanks to my posterior talofibular ligament injury, see below) I suddenly decided I'd like to have a swim.
Fortunately, my gym has a pool, and even better, they let you swim in the gym shorts (which come with an inner lining and all)
I gotta say this. You really can forget how to swim. The first steps into the pool were like stepping into outer space. I couldn't breathe... there was all this... like... water. Scary.
(man, now I'm beginning to write like the nutplane. Just kill me now.)
First few laps involved me learning how to breathe again, and inhaling small quantities of water thanks to sheer ineptitude and incoordination (its a lot easier to hit someone with a sword than it is to wait till you break the surface to breathe again)
And then it all came back, and... I started enjoying the feeling of... power? One gets pulling oneself through the water.
Since everyone was doing the breast stroke, I did likewise. Only, unlike everyone else I was blind in the water sans goggles; no matter, with the breast stroke you just follow your hands and you go straight.
Decided to try to remember how to do the crawl and it was great till I hit the side wall. The OTHER side wall across from where I started... how embarrassing. Cough.
An hour later, I was relishing the feeling of... what exactly I can't put to words... There's something about getting all the timing's just right so that you cut through the water at optimal speed with minimum effort -- my eyesight suddenly went fuzzy. It felt like a fog had rolled in... everywhere.
Then it hit me then why we really wear goggles.
It's the stop the water getting into our eyes... and diluting down our corneas.
I couldn't see right for the rest of the evening. It was like having astigmatism (which I do) only 100 time worse. If the friend I went for Rochor Dao Huay had only known how bad my vision was dodging doubly-dangerous taxicabs (with pretty psychedellic halos around em)... I think she'd have wanted to drive instead. Heh heh.
But I had fun.
And I never thought I'd write about swimming one day, of all things.
*****
Sway
Speaking of ogling the runners, there's this one girl I really like to watch at the gym while she runs.
It isn't because she's slim, graceful and pretty (which she is), or her long, long auburn hair. (having lived in the land of the dyed for half a year now, I'm finally learning how to tolerate synthetic hair colouring... especially since my mum is doing it too...)
I like to watch her... sway.
Most guys would nod and go uh-huh... ougha ougha.
But that's not what I'm talking about (although the lucky girl is endowed, and does sway like that too)...
it's the way her shoulders move when she runs, perfect rhythm. So relaxed, almost disjointed - yet with just a touch of tension and control.
Perfect.
Power, and freedom. She looks so free when she runs, so... uninhibited. So infinite. Like she could run like that, forever.
Someday when I recover my ability to run, I reckon I'll tell her as we run side by side - This isn't a pickup line or anything, but I really like the way you run.
Bet she falls off the treadmill in shock. heh.
No, wait.
I went for a swim yesterday.
Perhaps you don't quite get it.
I went for a swim yesterday.
See, I've been land-based for all the... many... years of my life (cue the oh shit I'm so damn olddddd line)
I like to run.
I hate water.
I don't know why, maybe it's some repressed memory of myself as a very small child swimming across an olympic sized pool at night to grab onto my dad (he trawls really slowly and infinitely through the water like an oil tanker running on energizer batteries) and latching onto the wrong man's back, and almost dying of shock, shame, and inhaled water.
I haven't swum in the last nine years.
So it was kinda weird, after working the usual mundane weight thingies yesterday at 75% efficiency (that's the best I can manage after an on-call... anything more makes me go home and die in bed instantly) and ogling the runners on their treadmills (Still can't run at the moment thanks to my posterior talofibular ligament injury, see below) I suddenly decided I'd like to have a swim.
Fortunately, my gym has a pool, and even better, they let you swim in the gym shorts (which come with an inner lining and all)
I gotta say this. You really can forget how to swim. The first steps into the pool were like stepping into outer space. I couldn't breathe... there was all this... like... water. Scary.
(man, now I'm beginning to write like the nutplane. Just kill me now.)
First few laps involved me learning how to breathe again, and inhaling small quantities of water thanks to sheer ineptitude and incoordination (its a lot easier to hit someone with a sword than it is to wait till you break the surface to breathe again)
And then it all came back, and... I started enjoying the feeling of... power? One gets pulling oneself through the water.
Since everyone was doing the breast stroke, I did likewise. Only, unlike everyone else I was blind in the water sans goggles; no matter, with the breast stroke you just follow your hands and you go straight.
Decided to try to remember how to do the crawl and it was great till I hit the side wall. The OTHER side wall across from where I started... how embarrassing. Cough.
An hour later, I was relishing the feeling of... what exactly I can't put to words... There's something about getting all the timing's just right so that you cut through the water at optimal speed with minimum effort -- my eyesight suddenly went fuzzy. It felt like a fog had rolled in... everywhere.
Then it hit me then why we really wear goggles.
It's the stop the water getting into our eyes... and diluting down our corneas.
I couldn't see right for the rest of the evening. It was like having astigmatism (which I do) only 100 time worse. If the friend I went for Rochor Dao Huay had only known how bad my vision was dodging doubly-dangerous taxicabs (with pretty psychedellic halos around em)... I think she'd have wanted to drive instead. Heh heh.
But I had fun.
And I never thought I'd write about swimming one day, of all things.
*****
Sway
Speaking of ogling the runners, there's this one girl I really like to watch at the gym while she runs.
It isn't because she's slim, graceful and pretty (which she is), or her long, long auburn hair. (having lived in the land of the dyed for half a year now, I'm finally learning how to tolerate synthetic hair colouring... especially since my mum is doing it too...)
I like to watch her... sway.
Most guys would nod and go uh-huh... ougha ougha.
But that's not what I'm talking about (although the lucky girl is endowed, and does sway like that too)...
it's the way her shoulders move when she runs, perfect rhythm. So relaxed, almost disjointed - yet with just a touch of tension and control.
Perfect.
Power, and freedom. She looks so free when she runs, so... uninhibited. So infinite. Like she could run like that, forever.
Someday when I recover my ability to run, I reckon I'll tell her as we run side by side - This isn't a pickup line or anything, but I really like the way you run.
Bet she falls off the treadmill in shock. heh.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The Beep Dream
I had the strangest dream last night.
I dreamt my phone went beep. Yeah, just that. Only it was on silent mode when I woke with a start; I picked it up, and it was ringing (silently).
So I answered it.
In retrospect, that might have been a dream too. Only I feel slightly knackered this morning so I rather suspect it wasn't.
I have vague recollections about a conversation about
men
women
reasons for hesitancy
being psychoanalyzed
and
kissing someone till her toes curled.
(How heck do you know, by the way, when you've kissed someone till her toes curl, unless um you've got your feet or your eyes on her toes?)
Oh yeah, and sustaining mortal tongue injuries during kissing.
Um.
Yah. I guess in retrospect it musta all been a dream.
Haha.
I dreamt my phone went beep. Yeah, just that. Only it was on silent mode when I woke with a start; I picked it up, and it was ringing (silently).
So I answered it.
In retrospect, that might have been a dream too. Only I feel slightly knackered this morning so I rather suspect it wasn't.
I have vague recollections about a conversation about
men
women
reasons for hesitancy
being psychoanalyzed
and
kissing someone till her toes curled.
(How heck do you know, by the way, when you've kissed someone till her toes curl, unless um you've got your feet or your eyes on her toes?)
Oh yeah, and sustaining mortal tongue injuries during kissing.
Um.
Yah. I guess in retrospect it musta all been a dream.
Haha.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Ankle of Fire
I've forgotten what the earth-shaking world-changing uber-cathartic realisation I had today was, so we'll just have to settle for more random dribble from the incontinent wordsmith, Re-minisce.
So three hours of sleep (and many, many menial chores; and many, many new admissions - for those not in the know, I just did an on-call) later, I find myself sitting alone by marina bay at sunset pretending to study human anatomy. (out of a textbook. get your minds out of the gutter)
"Waking life is too precious to waste being asleep"
As an aside, it is truly amazing how many mainland Chinese tourists this country is attracting these days.
So I'm sitting there with my ankle on fire, right.
Oh yeah. My 10:03 mini-miracle did not come without a price. Something bad has happened to a ligament in my ankle. (For the select few who just have to know, its the posterior talofibular ligament.)
It doesn't help that I know the name of the ligament, or that I know the treatment. Putting it into practise is going to be a, well, pain.
RICE - Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation.
Ah... rest. Mmmhmm. Yep. Nice thought, that.
So now I'm contemplating taking up swimming at my gym instead, since two hours of weights is well, very nice and all, but doesn't give me that extra high that is probably, at the moment the sole reason for my existence.
*****
Two light taps on his shoulder, and an airy Hello!
He doesn't recognise the voice as he turns, not immediately anyhow. It's not one of his old friends, so.. his brain crawls into gear... it must be...
Someone from Work. (SFW)
SFW : Hullo! This is my husband X!
R : Oh, hello X (handshakes, insincere smiles)
SFW : Eh... (cocks head, winks) ... your girlfriend ah.
R: Um... err. I'm just helping her buy a handphone lah (don't turn your head, don't turn your head, don't... argh. She turned her head.)
Stunned silence.
SFW : (blurts) nevermind... can be girlfriend... (clearly a weak spacefiller)
Okay. I've said this many times before, and I'll say it again - Singapore is really too small for comfort.
ps : no this is not re-minisce coming out of the closet and declaring himself a member of The Other Team, much as it sounds like it. In retrospect, perhaps I could have written this all a little more clearly...
But hell, you try writing on three hours sleep.
*****
Likes shiny things, and chews on ice.
Funny, that. Vaguely reminiscent of... re-minisce.
*****
Oh yah, it's all cum back to me now... oh, hoho, weak pun. bleah.
My not-so-cathartic meanderings :
So I was just thinking what a clever play on words Her friend had made... minuteman, ohhoho.
Then I stopped to wonder...
... do they even know who the original minutemen were?
Well, but honestly, who really gives a fuck when there's a story about some girl going down on some guy, and someone else coming in someone's mouth hey?
Um.
Remember kids, always use protection. And don't do drugs?
So three hours of sleep (and many, many menial chores; and many, many new admissions - for those not in the know, I just did an on-call) later, I find myself sitting alone by marina bay at sunset pretending to study human anatomy. (out of a textbook. get your minds out of the gutter)
"Waking life is too precious to waste being asleep"
As an aside, it is truly amazing how many mainland Chinese tourists this country is attracting these days.
So I'm sitting there with my ankle on fire, right.
Oh yeah. My 10:03 mini-miracle did not come without a price. Something bad has happened to a ligament in my ankle. (For the select few who just have to know, its the posterior talofibular ligament.)
It doesn't help that I know the name of the ligament, or that I know the treatment. Putting it into practise is going to be a, well, pain.
RICE - Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation.
Ah... rest. Mmmhmm. Yep. Nice thought, that.
So now I'm contemplating taking up swimming at my gym instead, since two hours of weights is well, very nice and all, but doesn't give me that extra high that is probably, at the moment the sole reason for my existence.
*****
Two light taps on his shoulder, and an airy Hello!
He doesn't recognise the voice as he turns, not immediately anyhow. It's not one of his old friends, so.. his brain crawls into gear... it must be...
Someone from Work. (SFW)
SFW : Hullo! This is my husband X!
R : Oh, hello X (handshakes, insincere smiles)
SFW : Eh... (cocks head, winks) ... your girlfriend ah.
R: Um... err. I'm just helping her buy a handphone lah (don't turn your head, don't turn your head, don't... argh. She turned her head.)
Stunned silence.
SFW : (blurts) nevermind... can be girlfriend... (clearly a weak spacefiller)
Okay. I've said this many times before, and I'll say it again - Singapore is really too small for comfort.
ps : no this is not re-minisce coming out of the closet and declaring himself a member of The Other Team, much as it sounds like it. In retrospect, perhaps I could have written this all a little more clearly...
But hell, you try writing on three hours sleep.
*****
Likes shiny things, and chews on ice.
Funny, that. Vaguely reminiscent of... re-minisce.
*****
Oh yah, it's all cum back to me now... oh, hoho, weak pun. bleah.
My not-so-cathartic meanderings :
So I was just thinking what a clever play on words Her friend had made... minuteman, ohhoho.
Then I stopped to wonder...
... do they even know who the original minutemen were?
Well, but honestly, who really gives a fuck when there's a story about some girl going down on some guy, and someone else coming in someone's mouth hey?
Um.
Remember kids, always use protection. And don't do drugs?
