Being the Singaporean Dude

I hate playing tour guide. More specifically, I hate being the local guy, the supposed-to-know-it-all. I hate being asked where Singaporeans hang out. I hate negotiations with hawkers at a food centre to make sure we're not being fleeced. I hate being quizzed on where to pick up cute chicks with non-too-serious commitment issues. I hate racking my brains over which are the hot nightspots to be checking out. I hate showing people how to eat crab like a Singaporean should (you JUST eat it lah!).

Well, its not like I had much of a choice. Having decided to do a post-grad course at a predominantly foreign institution, there is no choice but to hang out with all these foreigners (and I don't mean ang mohs only) and play the local guy. The local guy has to make recommendations: where to go, what to eat, what to look at (Look! Sir Stamford Raffles looking like he's trying to hide a hard on!). Thankfully though, there were 2 other Singaporean gals in the class and that helped (I would never know where to book a table for seafood and chilli crab!)

Okay, to put things in perspective, what happened last week was that I got to attend a pre-MBA course to get myself acquainted (and re-acquainted in some cases) with basic accounting, finance and quantitative stuff like statistics. Being the world-class institution that my school is, there were other students from overseas as well - in total, we made up 12 folks: 3 Singaporeans, 3 French, 1 half-Jap half-Italian, a Hongkie (Hongkonger just sounds funny!), a Brazillian who's spent most of his life in Switzerland, an English, and 2 Indians. The 4 days spent in classes, discussion and partying with these folks was the most fun I had the latter part of this year.

Kenji (the Jap-Italiano) was the most interesting of the lot, especially since we managed to talk about stuff, and this guy has a whole lot of opinions. He quizzed me on nightclubs and girls in Singapore to no end, having had little luck picking up a local for a semi-serious, non-commital, somewhat-friendly time in town. I thought that it wasn't a problem if you looked somewhat like Keanu Reeves (on a bad day). Maybe he just had to be a little less direct in his propositions (hehe).

On another note, the faculties teaching the course were right though: we had a headstart, and a taste of what's to come. Furthermore, there is already a cliche of people we now know even before school actually started. Somehow, we all felt like the money paid for this pre-MBA course was well spent, considering what we learnt, and what we gained out of it.

In any case, if anyone out there wants to bring out their hidden SPG natures, do let me know: I think you'll be far better in showing these fellas a fun time come next year - and there'll be more of them when the actual school term starts. Playing Local Guy is really too tiring when I'm not too into good food and the nightlife to begin with, so help me out yah?

A Command Prompt and an Active Imagination

Like most boys, I grew up playing computer games. Never got too obsessed with them though, but the immersiveness of it all did creep into my life sometimes. There were so many times I've gotten myself so deep into a game that neither sleep nor food matters. And games these days follow a somewhat staid formula: you do a whole bunch of shit, mostly repetitively, and with some variation in storyline; at the end of all that shit which you had to do (some shit are more interesting than others), you get a 3D video clip as a reward to nicely tie up the story. After that, credits roll (doesn't it make you wonder why games have to be end like movies?)

Well, back when I was a kid, games were much simpler - technology hadn't introduced us to 3D animation as of yet, and games relied a lot more on your active sense of imagination. Like now, games were immersive - you can seriously get yourself lost in one. But they had less whiz-bang graphics and tinny sound effects (I remember the first time I heard sound coming out of a soundblaster and thought that it was the coolest thing on Earth to hear bloodcurling screams of a banshee getting hacked to death in a D&D game).

The really stripped down game was the text adventure, a very early form of the RPG on a PC. In the text games, the player is typically an avatar, and things are seen through the eyes of the avatar. However, the scene around you is described in text form - it is very much like reading a book of fiction. The difference though is that the avatar tends to go over the same ground while walking around, and repetition does set in when you keep reading descriptions of the same scene.

The interface is really simple - all you're presented with is a command prompt:

>

That's it! How simpler can a game be? The learning curve isn't that steep: all you have to do is type in commands such as "Go north", "Examine door", and "Talk to Edmund". What's more, the commands can usually be shortened, so gameplay is a whole lot easier. And like any RPG, its easy to get stuck: it's really bad to get stuck in a text-based game not knowing what to do, as there's no visual cue, and hardly any option other than to refer to a walkthrough.

It may not sound like much to people these days, but some notable text-based games that I remember playing were The Hobbit (of Lord of the Rings fame) and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (I got stuck walking around a spaceship with Marvin the paranoid android).

Oh, on a side note, the text based adventure later took on a more interactive element as MUDs (Multi-User Dungeons) in the Internet, but are now long forgotten due to the likes of whiz-bang online games like WoW. Most MUDs played like a D&D game, but with a computer describing the scene for you rather than a dungeon master. Dice rolls were truly randomly generated by the system as well.

Over time though, this kind of games lost its allure. It's not hard to see why: the demand was for more graphic intensive adventures, with sound effects to add to the realism of it. Technology kept up and the result is the plethora of games we get nowadays deluged with moving images and mindblowing sound effects. Hardly anything is left to the imagination anymore: the world of computer games took the same route that movies did, by moving beyond imagination and text to visualising directly for the consumer.

Thus, it was interesting for me then to discover that the text-based game isn't dead though. There is a small pool of enthusiasts keeping it alive via a competition. The Annual Interactive Fiction Competition is an annual competition to see who can create the best text-based adventure, with judging entirely done by the public. The best games read like a well-written book, with descriptions that are vivid and characters with distinct personalities (most game characters these days are cardboard cutouts - after all, you can't really delve into their minds like you do in interactive fiction).

Much as these games bring back a sense of nostalgia in me, they aren't likely to ever become mainstream again - the dynamics of the gaming industry have shifted to the ever more visually appealing. Sadly, this means that the text-based game (or interactive fiction) is relegated to the cottage industry that it is, supported only by enthusiasts and individuals with a love for words. Still, I like to think that such games have so much more 'soul' than the whiz-bang stuff I see nowadays. Oh, that and the fact that I can actually play them at work without attracting too much attention - long live the text-based adventure!

New Year's Eve - before the day is over...

There were so many ideas that I wanted to have penned out. I owed Stripey a short note on an interesting site I found (about something which has taken a whole lot of my time). Last week's shenanigans as well - haven't had the energy to pen them down. Plus, the GF returned and left again, leaving me with NYE's alone (only metaphorically, since there're plenty of friends to hang out with). Oh yah, and there was this draft of a post about Losing Winners - that one hasn't seen the light of day. Yet.

The idea was to do each of these in their own short little note, which you should see in the entries above this one. Initially I was lazy: I wanted to dump them all onto this post. But hey, what better way to up my post count huh? :)

Happy New Year! 2006 is happening too soon...

When Winning Hurts

If you're at the top, there is only one way to go: down.

Winning is not good. When you win, things happen which serve to undermine what you acheived when you won. People are too eager to please, and compliments rain upon you like November showers. And when there are dissenting voices, you tend not to hear (you're a champion after all, what's there to criticize?). Criticism isn't welcome, and genuine advice isn't that forthcoming when you are a winner.

Perhaps one reason why one listens less is because of the ego. The ego boost that comes from being at the top is blinding - the winner is seldom humble after having beaten the competition. The inflated ego only serves to reinforce one's own sense of superiority: what else is there to learn from others, especially the failures? The path carved out by the winner is surely the 'right' path.

Winners are really losers: they do not understand the importance of the lesson that is learnt with a loss. Only when you have lost before can you become a better winner. When you're winning, you may have a formula for why you're always doing that. But unless you learn what the wrong formulas are, you're never going to figure out why when your so-called winning formula doesn't work anymore (and you lose).

The lesson that comes with losing is well learnt, if learnt at all. That is why winners learn the most when they can learn from losers. That is why case studies of the losers tended to be more interesting that those of winners, for, after all, it is the pitfalls to avoid which are more noteworthy, and not the back-thumping self-congratulatory flatteries which add value.

Winners are unhappy unless they win again, and therein lies the problem: they're hard to satisfy. A loser will be really happy to have won, even once. A winner cannot abide by anything other than the champion's podium. Woe is the winner, for he can't see no other way in life. To win all the time is to be blind, obsessed, un-interesting. To win in an endeavour is to lose in most of all other pursuits in life. The winner loses more because of that, while the loser pursues other means of self-satisfaction.

Yes, I know this is turning into one big meaningless rant, but hey, see it from my point of view: I think the initial winners I have seen in my life don't adapt: they think they'll always be champions, and nothing brings them more back to earth when they realised that what they had achieved counted for little in the end. I'd much rather learn, adapt, and become a better person through my failures - not all battles are meant to be won: you need to know when to fight, when to concede, and most importantly, when to walk away.

Life isn't Linear

I've closed a chapter in my life and am opening a new one soon. Working in a consulting firm has been one heck of a rideand the best part about it had always been the people I got to work with. I'm sad to leave; I'm happy to depart. :)

Strangely, I did not feel too weird about moving on: it seemed natural. There are folks who leave with moods of lingering resentment, joyful elation, or seeming indifference. For me, I leave knowing that I'm leaving behind people whose lives I have touched, and whose actions have molded me, whether these actions were positive or not was another matter.

I do not feel like this is the end though - life is not a series of milestones that we set ourselves to achieve. The end of primary school may signal the start of secondary school. The departure from one job may signal the beginning of another (well, in my instance, it meant going back to school). But if we were to live life as breakpoints that we are to hit, then we're missing the point about living.

In any endeavour, the best part about it (as I have said before) is that we are given the opportunity to make friends. The business phrase is 'Networking', but that word does injustice to relationships that we build (it subtly suggest that we stand to gain something from it). The relationships we build do not end when that particular endeavour (a project, school year, NS etc) concludes. Rather, the relationships endure and we seek to build on them. Well, some of us do anyway.

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In many ways, we touch those around us, and those around us help shape what we become. It is more than the web of relationships we build - it is what we are.

Sorry seems to be the hardest word?

Well, that is according to some, but I don't think so.

Last Saturday, while hanging out with the guys, I went into one rather meaningful discussion with Stripey. We sometimes chat about more cerebral stuff whenever Stripey gets in the mood (I think he's into grown-up and marriage mode - something the rest of us juveniles should seriously give some thought too).

We talked about that important precursor to marriage - the proposal. I think the proposal as we know it nowadays is a modern construct. That means to say that, like the concept of dating, it really is a recent phenomenon (Yes, dating is modern too!). In the past, the proposal took the form of a suitor seeking the permission of the parents of his intended partner to marry (cultural and periodic differences aside, I think this is mostly true). The suitor - oh if you insist - the groom, does not ask the bride directly.

Nowadays, this would be somewhat unromantic. The proposal has morphed to become something more elaborate, something worth remembering... a kind of story that you tell your friends and your children about. In other words, it has to be romantic.

Therein lies the problem with the proposal - the romantic aspect of it. Because the proposal is a romantic occasion (or meant to be so, given today's expectations), it needs to be 'perfect'. The proposal event (I was about to call it 'ceremony') becomes something of a Kodak moment - it cannot be ruined by a rejection.

But you ask - isn't a proposal just something of a question? Surely the proposee reserves the right of refusal. Certainly so - there is no law or doctrine that dictates that a proposal must be accepted. However, there is a certain expectation that she (he?) accepts the proposal - a kind of emotional blackmail takes place whenever one proposes. It is almost as if a 'No' is going to ruin all the effort, all the romance, embarass the suitor in front of the audience he chose to witness the spectacle.

The more spectacular the proposal, the greater the compulsion to say 'Yes I do'. Ironic what a little romance can do to screw you up.

Oh yes, to get more to the point of what I'm leading up to, the proposal is somewhat similar to this other regular occasion. While the proposal has changed from a simple affair to the elaborate set-up it now is, the apology has been much reduced in pomp.

There are cultures where the apology is a truly elaborate affair for the sorry one: Saharan Bedouins require the apologiser to sit in camel dung and recite the Koran; South American pygmies demand that apologies be written out in the apologiser's blood; and when seeking forgiveness in medieval Turkey, one is required to postrate himself before Allah and tremble in reverential awe.

Yup, I made all that up. :) The thing I'm trying to get at is that the apology these days are really too simple: "I am sorry". 'Sorry' is too easy to say - you don't have to mean it, you don't have to be sincere. The Japanese say 'Sorry' like it is a punctuation. 'Sorry' has become a polite word, uttered to make utterances sound polite and sincere.

There's really nothing wrong with saying 'Sorry' and meaning it - I'm always appreciative when one is sincerely sorrowful (incidentally, the words 'sorry' and 'sorrow' have the same root). However, the bone I have with this issue is that the culture in which we all live in now assume that uttering 'Sorry' puts a finality to the issue. It is as if uttering 'sorry' means that all is forgiven, and all should be truly well and forgotten.

That is not so. Depending on the severity of the issue, whether one can forgive or not is hard to say. Despite time, I've not been able to forgive a particular person for a painful past hurt. My feel is that most of us are internally like this too - we may say our bygones and move on, but the memory of the hurt sticks, and it occasionally digs into one's consciousness and causes new pain.

And for the apologist? Culture dictates that the only obligation he has to the wronged person is the common courtesy of saying 'Sorry'. Sure, he may do more to atone for his perceived sin, but the very fact that it was commited in the first instance is testament to the fact that he has no perception of the pain or hurt he can cause. Where an apology isn't accepted, it is now common to label the wronged party as being unkind, being unforgiving. We are conditioned to see that person as reveling in the fact of himself being wronged.

I know my statements are not entirely fair (I apologise, but I don't care if you do accept that apology). There are people who sincerely mean to apologise, and there are those who find it easy to forgive. Life is so much easier to live if we have short memories - there's little history to dwell upon and wallow in.

Perhaps, as apologisers, we should all understand what we are apologising for. As forgivers, we should seek to forget as much as possible. The word 'Sorry' has no meaning at all - don't say it. Do it.

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On that note, my dear, I am sorry for what I have done. However, I hope you are sorry too.

An Aspect of Expectations

Human beings are such selfish creatures.

(Author note: Before I go further, these comments don't apply to you, foccacia... views expressed here are born of the active imagination of a stilted mind)

(Hehe...)

There're so many ways for a person to be selfish, one of which, ironically, is through the setting of expectations.

The ironic bit is that some expectations are born out of good intentions. Supposing that I want you to improve, to perform at a higher level than the one you are at now. What I will do is to set some expectations of where I want to see you at, and thereby, you have something to work towards. It is a kind of win-win situation: I have standards which I want to see in you, and you know where I expect you to be.

However, an expectation, as I have learnt the hard way, is a double edged sword. Much as it serves to set a bar, it also sets a limitation. The expectation may be beyond what my abilities can achieve. The expectation may require too drastic a change in me. What then? It becomes something unattainable. The expectation becomes that little seed, when sown in such lethal ways, which blossom into the bloom of failure known as disappointment.

I don't think we expect people to change - we change our expectations knowing full well that people can't change. So many little hurts, disappointments, and broken promises litter the trash heap of junked expectations. We don't help build people by telling them what we expect of them: we are bringing them down.

Think about it: isn't the expectation a way of saying that you're inadequate now? Won't expectations hobble any dreams, perhaps lower the lofty heights that the 'expectee' might achieve? An unattainable expectation may serve to discourage, while an attainable expectation might mean undermining one's abilities - expectations, after all, aren't made with the expectee's interests at heart.

Therein lies the problem with an expectation - it is selfish. It is a creation of the expector, with little or no consultation from the expectee. Even in the instance where the expectee's opinions are sought, the expectee's views and critique invariably shapes the expector's expectations, whether or not the expectee liked it or not.

In other words, he has been judged even before the formal process (if there's ever such a thing) of expectation setting is concluded.

The question then, is: should we expect anything at all then, knowing that we open ourselves to the possiblity of disappointment, knowing that we limit the achievements we hope to see?

One can only hope (have faith; it is far better this way).

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

Perhaps it is much better to throw in the towel, quit trying and admit that "YES! I'm not strong enough. I don't deserve YOU!". But having accepted the lifeline, I acceot that there is an opportunity to change how you feel.

Perhaps you will be impatient, you won't wait. That is fair - I shouldn't be the reason why you're being held back.

Perhaps I'm fundamentally unchangeable. This means that no matter how hard I try, I cannot pass off being something I am not.

Perhaps you've seen me for who I really am: insecure, weak, defective. I am not all these. I am sometimes these and I am sometimes something else. Are you sure you really know me?

Perhaps you will give me a shot at redemption. I wanted to traverse the course with you since the beginning, and you gave me the assurance that you wanted to do the same. Why can't we work together on it now?

Perhaps I shouldn't wonder - what good comes of asking what if? Live life with no regrets, and perhaps 'perhaps' will no longer be a word muttered this often.

I don't have the conviction now. I'll prove to you that there is one.

A fork in the middle of the road

Qn: What do you do when you come to a fork in the road of Life?

Ans: Look for a spoon.

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Well, it isn't funny, of course, but it seems like a large part of my last 2 years of existence have followed that principle: screw the fork in the road, I'll sit on my ass and chew on it.

Not any more.

Life does not wait for one to idle. It does not wait for one to think things through and sit on one's rear end. Life takes the approach of a relentless assault onwards. It forces you to make decisions, and when you don't make those damn decisions (like... left road or right road) it'll take the (likely) unfavourable one for you.

So here I am, led unwillingly along the path of Life, standing at the cusp of no return. The signs that led me along this road were obvious and loud; on my part, I was blind and ignorant, a show of blatant disregard for the obvious. Now I face a difficult task ahead: I have to change or lose that which is so important to me. There is no alternative.

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So, how is it possible to change one's nature? It certainly does not happen overnight, and it does not happen without a fundamental re-wiring of one's internal psyche. My only recourse is to pray about it (God answers prayers). It's not a coward's way out - it really is the best antidote to salve the pain.

Try. I always try. "Do. Or do not. There is no try." so said Yoda.

So right you are.

Why I haven't written

I haven't written in a while... events from the last few weeks have overwhelmed me and I've not had the heart to write anything.

Until today.

What have I been busy with? The first thing to have overwhelmed me was the change I tried to describe in my previous post (on change). Well, being cryptic didn't make me very popular - I think no one would have understood what happened. The big change happening is that I've accepted to do an MBA in January at INSEAD. INSEAD!

It is kind of prestigious - the pedigree of the students there alone is fantastic. Having had a brief run-through of the student profiles, there are a lot of consultants, investment bankers and some such in the course. There're also the technical folks - your engineers and IT professionals - and the somewhat less often seen ex-military or ex-police person.

Having decided to do the MBA meant a whole slew of things to be done: I needed to sort out my finances and take a loan to finance the MBA - it is tiring to call banks asking about interest rates and loan tenors. It is also tiring persuading friends to be guarantors - that is probably the hardest part.

Doing an MBA also meant quitting the job: I've decided that an LOA (Leave of Absence) is out of the question. The firm needs to justify keeping me; rather, it needs me to justify it for them. And I don't think I'm up to it. I have thought about an exit for so long, and this is the best I've had so far. I'm leaving - but I might be back, so never say never. (I will so miss my colleagues - all in, they're the best people that I've had to work with, ever).

As if I'm not having enough worries, the project I was on finally decided to kick into 2nd gear. A real pain in the neck, this project. Now, I've had to organise sessions to review my design, listen to nonsense about how bad or good my design fits the business model, review and re-design, log issues and generally get shot for shoddy work (at times). However, through it all, I've felt comforted that the users appreciate the effort - they have a generally good feel about where we have progressed.

However, I wished I was on the project full-time though - that would have made things easier. As it is, I've also had to go for in-camp training for 3 weeks in Tuas - a major schedule wrecker of a reservist. Being on reservist meant that the social life is ruined: Book in at 3pm, leave the next day at 4.30pm. What can one do with the time in between? It's like what one of the guys said: it's a bu4 san1 bu2 si4 (Chinese for not 3, not 4) kind of timing.

So there: MBA, project, reservist. Project and reservist I can't do anything about: after all, I'm quitting, so the project's drain on my body is only until mid-Dec. After that, whether the project is chugging along nicely (or dead to the water) is not my concern anymore. Reservist has to be served - and it meant time away from work, so it isn't such a bad thing totally.

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The above matters aren't so bad. However, another big thing happened yesterday which really saddened me: the GF wants to break up. :(

It seems like there are fundamental problems in our relationship, and even though we love each other dearly, the problems we have now might mean that we will never have a meaningful long term relationship, i.e. a marriage meant to last.

She feels that I'm not spiritually mature... I don't have the strong Christian conviction which she is looking for in a husband. It's true in a sense: I've not lived as a good Christian person for a long time, and it isn't fair to have us marry if I can't lead the family we eventually build in a Christian way of life.

To be fair, I was a good Christian once. I remember myself being diligent with my quiet time, and being faithful in my walk with Christ - it was the period of my life when I was attending JC. I was fervent, but I was no evangelist (I've never been one). I also participated in church, serving in the youth fellowship committee.

Things changed when NS started. Things really changed when I went to Uni also. I think those were the formative years of my adult life - they shaped me to become more or less what I am today.

But the weak Christian in me isn't the only aspect of our failure in this relationship: we've lost that spark somewhat. That initial surge of optimism, passion, and faith in things to come. The feeling that we've found that someone special.

I tried to re-create some of it for her birthday: she wept. I hope she was touched by what I did. (still sorry about what else I did though...)

On her birthday, she suggested we break up. The world came crashing down; the legs became weak. Information which came to me while I was in-camp, and all I could do in response was stare at the sea for a whole 2 hours (an hour each before/after dinner). Called a close friend who comforted me somewhat with her views (jaded as she is, she is not me) but did not salve the pain.

Is there any salvaging this relationship?

If she needs me to be a better person, can I change?

I know one thing for sure: I really do love her and I want to do what I can to keep us going.

So lost... so lost...

Can you spare some change?

Delirium says in her orange voice balloon: When you say words a lot they don't mean anything. Or maybe they don't mean anything anyway, and we just think they do.

Being a purveyor of change (in my line of work), it was with some surprise that I found myself in a reactionary mood when given the chance to change. I've been given a ticket out of purgatory that is my job; instead of jumping for joy at the prospect, I've been racked with by hesitation and... the fear of change.

Ultimately though, I've decided to go for it. It is a good change after all, and it means I come out of it (hopefully) a better person. This journey of change will begin with the new year, and it will be the first time I've made a move out of my current job situation.

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It is understandable that we all fear change to some degree - I've always advocated change if it was for the better, or was necessary for improvement in the current circumstances. My change though, won't improve current circumstances in the short term. It will, in fact, be really hard to cope with for a year or so.

The truth for me is, if I don't change, I'll die. No, I won't die literally, but I will die spiritually. The longer I stay in my current steady state, the more I find myself dug further into a hole, stuck like that frog at the bottom of the well, entrenched like a World War One infantryman. I believe that we do not play dice with God - if He gambles big, so do you. And that's where I am - I'm putting everything on the line for this one.

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Caution is a bane - it binds you to a set of principles you've defined to limit yourself. Caution is option - the option to back down, take the well-trodden approach. Caution is to live like today will be repeated tomorrow, tomorrow being as certain to turn out the same as today.

Caution is also living to expectations, doing enough to meet demands. Caution is to regard change as the work of the devil - what good is there in uncertainty? Can you measure it? Cautiously?

Tread with care and you'll dread to bear (the pain).

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A wise man told me once: God gave us free will because He loves us as a father loves his children. It would have been so much easier for God to have been absolutely dictatorial in His creation - rob us of free will and reign over our lives, dictating every move from the point of creation till the end of time. But what good is that to his creation, if they can't chart their own destiny? Humans would never have learnt to explore and experiment, and they would never have found God on their own.

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The most absolute form of love you can give your children is to set them free - give them that opportunity to explore and experiment. Advise, but don't dictate - for isn't that what God does? Prayer to God isn't about making demands or prostating oneself in deference to a mighty being. Prayer is about communication and hearing the voice of reason.

I think we ultimately choose our destiny - though it does appear there is someone to guide us along.

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If a chance for change should come your way, jump at it with all your heart and don't look back. If I don't change, I might as well die for lack of enthusiasm. It may be a black hole now, but you might come out the other side pleasantly surprised.

I don't want to play dice twice.

It's fine except that it never happens

I had my encounter with the Exception Monster today.

See, the first thing about our line of work is that there will always be exceptions. Exceptions are those things which nobody wants to really care about, but some stupid user will bring up nonetheless.

Exceptions are those things which some people insist can happen, and will happen, and must happen just to prove that they will and can happen. I have this nagging suspicion that these exceptionistas create the scenarios for exceptions to happen just to prove a point.

See, most people don't want to build complicated system processes just so that you can take care of that once in a year exception. Why? Because most people pay good money for complicated system processes. For that once in a blue moon thing? Don't bother - cross that bridge when you come to it. However, more than one client that I've been to insist on getting that 'bang for the buck', and so exceptions need to be handled.

These irritating exceptionistas don't have half a brain: Its either "Cater for it! I don't care how!" or "Document the exception handling processes, all 20,000 of them". I'm sick of it all - the world isn't ending just because your stupid exception is not being handled. And please wipe that stupid smirk off - I am not really impressed that you're able to find exceptions to throw in my face; I'm appalled that you're not helping with the situation by screaming at me about it.

Anyway, it never ends and that's why I sometimes hate system implementation. No matter what you do, and no matter how much you try, you WILL leave shit behind, and someone else has to clean it up. There are just too many things to juggle, and invariably, some unfinished business gets left behind, tucked nicely away for some unsuspecting soul.

Exceptions are one of those things I'm fond of sweeping under the carpet, so good luck to whoever's looking under the carpet! (you have my sympathies)

(Note: reproduced this post from my post here)

You can't win this battle

2 weekends ago, an event occurred which spelt tragic consequences for the rest of my life. It was to cause never-ending grief, locked in an eternal battle against relentless enemies. And yes, it was to make me enemies in places where I never previously thought possible. It was too late for regrets - the doorway has been walked through and the door slammed shut behind me. Locked in, I have no chance to reverse the chain of events which have led up to where I am now.

Oh, that event? I collected my newly purchased car.

:)

Yup, sure I'm now a happy car owner, but I've made enemies. Presenting here, in no particular order (though they are all annoying and irritating to different degrees), the rogues' gallery:

1. Trees - My tree hugging days are over. Trees mean leaves. Leaves fall when the wind blows, and this means leaves can fall on my car. Add in rainwater and damn do they stick like superglue. It is a nightmare walking towards my car and seeing the profusion of yellow and brown leaves plastered all over. No, I don't really need trees for shade - I don't often drive around noon anyway.

And the worst part about leaves? Those buggers can find their way into every nook and cranny of your car. I've had to dig them out of spots where my pinky couldn't even fit in. The moment I dig a leaf out, some other leaf manages to dig its way in. Argh...

2. Birds - These... these... fowl beasts. I don't think I need to describe the indignity of what these... fowls can inflict on one's precious. (oh do curb that Gollumic behaviour). White, brown shitstains with a touch of the acidic. The worst is when they land on windshields - the shit trails (depending on how wet they are) are just plain horror to clean off.

I keep wet tissue packets picked up from restaurants for the sole purpose of wiping fowl shitstains. And I'm already running out (four shitstains cleaned thus far - I'm an unlucky guy).

3. Lorries (and other big vehicles) - They go slow. They don't signal. I'm impatient. They're a nuisance. They don't look out for the little guys. They're big and they block my view.

Ok, I'm just impatient.

4. Hurricane Katrina, Saddam Hussein, OPEC, George Bush, the Middle East, Muslim militants etc - if nothing other than for the fact that all of the above tend to inflict upward trends onto oil prices. I should not pay THIS much for dead dinosaur mulch.

5. Rain - The worst thing the weather can do to a black car is to rain on it, then cook it dry. Something about the rain we have in Singapore is that it leaves behind this white residue-y stuff which clings onto a car and forms a film of whiteish stains. The only hope of salvation is for the next heavy rain to wash them off (with fingers crossed that this one doesn't leave white stains too).

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I think the battle with the elements of nature is one we are bound to lose - the car will always get dirty. I've realised that the moment I cleaned the car, I'm inviting a whole new host of dirt and other undesirables to invade my car. It is the leaves that are especially annoying - they find their way into the unlikeliest places, stick in there, rot, and refuse to leave.

In any case, if you do see a shitstained rain-splattered Mitsubishi Lancer with leaves stuck on like post-it pads zipping around with an SFY plate, be sure to wave --- it could be me. :)

Be with Me Part 2 - Where is the Love?

Be with Me has the trademarks of an Eric Khoo film - the nymphet, the ghost, the despairing man, the down and out lowly-educated guy, the suicide case, the mother figure.

Remember 12 storeys? Nymphet - Lum May Yee (yummy - she looked real delicious in that film). Ghost - er... you know that guy who killed himself in the beginning of the film? He's also the suicide case. Despairing man - ooh, too obvious to miss this one, go watch the film again.

Be with Me: Nymphets (!!!) - Ezann Lee and Samantha Tan (and I thought at least one of a pair of lesbians has to be a butch; how unfair to men). Ghost - the despairing man's wife, who died in a nursing home. Mother figure - Theresa Chan, deaf, blind and expressive, her thoughts on love are beautifully crafted. Suicide case - lesbian loses love and tries to kill herself. Down and out guy - security guard lusting for some of Lynn Poh.

Ed note: Hmm, there's too much name dropping back there.

In any case, I liked the idea of having Theresa's text from her book typed into the subtitles, without any voice over. For once, I truly focused on her thoughts and her recollections of her life - without her talking about it. One reads it in the text, with the subtlety all in the scene being played out.

And isn't it somehow familiar to see Ezann get jilted like this? Unrequited love - I think we've all gone through it at some stage of our life, but to feel it so poignantly in smses is something new. Our modes of communication has changed so much that one experiences real pain when one sends an sms... and the reply never comes back.

'Be with me my beloved love, so my smile will never fade'

Be with Me Part 1

I saw Eric Khoo's Be With Me today by myself.

Actually, I was glad that I saw it alone - I couldn't bear with having to discuss it with anyone at all; this thought having come out of what I heard as I left the cinema.

"That scenario will never happened" - it's a movie, so enjoy the movie for what it is, don't diss it for an improbable 'scenario'. Yes, I know it is unlikely that a girl committing suicide will end up hitting someone below (well, she should have looked, etc), but heck, it's part of the plot. Do try to say something more intelligent next time.

"Ezann's uniform didn't look right - I think that JC's skirt has a pleat" - Haha its the first time I've met a JC uniform purist. He thinks the uniform is somehow wrong (oh, is it the wrong shade of green?) and couldn't stop describing it to his friend.

"That woman playing the deaf and blind woman didn't act like a deaf and blind woman" - Bimbo of the night said something as silly as that. With all the publicity this movie has been getting, you would think that all Singapore knows that Theresa Chan was... well, played by Theresa Chan, a real-life deaf and blind woman. I think she was being herself - especially when playing a deaf and blind woman. Didn't the words "Inspired by the Story of Theresa Chan" appear in big bold arial font at the commencement of the movie? Oh, even better still, didn't the name Theresa Chan appear in the credits?

People should quit acting intellectual; I would have hated discussing this movie with anyone at all, because:
a) I'm going to hear about that lesbian kissing scene
b) I'm going to have to cringe at talk of 'what it all means'
c) someone's going to say 'Nobody really understands Eric Khoo like I do'
d) someone will think he's wasted his money
e) a certain friend would preferred to have seen less brainy fare - the Longest Yard for example ;)

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To be honest though, I would rather have seen the movie with a friend. The GF is out of town and it was too late to call someone (anyone at that point) out. And another night having dinner with my dad and mom would have driven me nuts (I need time away from my parents - they suffocate).

On the other hand, watching a movie is mostly a solitary experience. You pay an exorbitant price to sit in a comfortable seat, eyes riveted to the big screen watching drama unfold. Unless you're in the cinema to make out or snuggle with a loved one, you're unlikely to have much interaction with anyone else, save for the occasional comment shared or elbow being nudged.

It was with this ideal that I spent a lot of time during my uni days watching movies by myself. About a third of the movies then were watched alone, with nary a friend accompanying. Frankly, it would have been difficult getting someone to come along sometimes - I wanted to watch the less mainstream stuff (it's mostly to indulge the perceived arty side of myself; arty being a misnomer, I realised).

It's with this thought that I urge you to do this the next time you watch a film such as Eric Khoo's (whether it be the raw gritty Singapore film-maker kind or the pretentious arthouse Wong Kar Wai-esque kind or the Zhang Yimou pretty colourful sights kind):

Don't discuss the film.

Just remember it for what it showed you, and the story it was trying to tell. Your memory of it suffices - the words of another just taints the picture you have drawn of it.

Poor from the richness of the Earth

"India is the poorest country in the world. Therefore, to see its poverty is
to make an observation of no value; a thousand newcomers to the country before you have seen and said as you. And not only newcomers. Our own sons and daughters, when they return from Europe and America, have spoken in your very words. Do not think that your anger and contempt are marks of your sensitivity. You might have seen more: the smiles on the faces of the begging children, that domestic group among the pavement sleepers waking in the cool Bombay morning,
father, mother and baby in a trinity of love, so self-contained that they are as private as if walls had separated them from you: it is your gaze that violates them, your sense of outrage that outrages them.

...

Stay six months. The winter will bring fresh visitors. Their talk will also
be of poverty; they too will show their anger. You will agree; but deep down there will be annoyance; it will seem to you then, too, that they are seeing only the obvious; and it will not please you to find your sensibility so accurately parodied."

So wrote V.S. Naipaul in his excellent book 'An Area of Darkness'. Naipaul has made a wry observation about people from developed countries visiting a poorer neighbour (and none poorer than India, in his world-view). The visitor is outraged, impotent with rage at the widespread poverty and incensed that people can be subjected to such adverse conditions anywhere in the world at all. (All right, I exaggerate; perhaps this is how I usually feel visiting Third World countries, like when I visited Myanmar last June).

But there's a twist to it: the visitor does become numb to it. We are all sensitive creatures, and something as staggering in its obviousness (India's poverty) shock us into emotions in the extremes. I will certainly feel a sense of compassion mixed with depression, a certain futile and resigned feeling when it overwhelms, and finally, consoled that I am lucky to be born in a different place and time.

At some point though, it doesn't do to state the obvious - everyone can see for themselves. We are inured and our sensibilities dulled by daily contact, and that resigned attitude gives way to an indifferent air. As a human being, we adapt too well to our surroundings - we often don't make that effort to change it anymore, and instead, grow to accept it. V. S. Naipaul points out that once in a while, someone new to such sensations - as you have been numb to them, they are still raw - could make the 'error' of pointing the obvious out to you.

And that is the tragedy, the comic error of our ways. Our reactions vary - we wave it off, we shrug, we exclaim unsolicited insults "Been there, done that, got the stupid T-shirt". It's cruel to the newcomer; it's crueler to yourself I feel, for you've lost that naivete. I want to keep seeing things afresh and anew - poverty is poverty, and yes it should shock us. Let us stay shocked though - for it doesn't go away even when our sensitivities do.

Short and Sweet - Haiku

Even before it started

Wondering how it will end

Not how it plays out

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For interesting haiku comic strips, go to Haiku Circus. It's great read for attention span challenged folks.

Possessed

Do you remember the first camera you owned? Suddenly, you have a tool with which to capture the sights and sounds around you. Life has a whole new definition - the camera becomes the focal point of your existence. You want to capture certain sights, keep a snapshot of a memory. You'll even invent reasons for using the object (Let's take a picture of mum cooking for keepsakes!).

Probably not everyone had a camera fetish though...

What about your first handphone? Do you remember? Life re-orients itself when you own a communicative device such as that. Your friends' handphone numbers get stored in it, and it becomes the centre around which appointments are arranged. Accessories such as handphone covers, little stringy attachments and downloadable ringtones accompany it.

How about that ultimate object - the CAR? Do you remember when you first owned a car? This is as opposed to driving your parents' car(s). When you truly own a car (like paying the cash for it and driving it), you have arrived. The car empowers you; you have friends you never knew you had and parking becomes a sport. Money suddenly flows like water - petrol, parking, accessories, car washes etc.

Certain postive feelings are created whenever we own a new item. It creates in us feelings of elation to touch and hold something postively useful; to wield it and show it off to our friends (sometimes on a sub-conscious level, but it is there). Comparisons are drawn between the haves and the have-nots, and there is a certain satisfaction to gain from owning an object that is, in one way or another, superior to someone else's.

But there is a dark side to ownership. When a person regards the object as important and precious (think poor misunderstood Gollum), that person's sense of worth becomes somewhat warped.

Have you ever dropped a friend's brand new camera? That friend turns unfriendly - the slightest scratch, the smallest perceived misfunction of the equipment can drive wedges into a friendship. A grudge, unforgiving stares, numerous reminders that afore-mentioned item has been damaged by you. The object takes on more importance simply because it was paid for. Simply because it is precious.

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I used be obsessed over my new handphone. My first one to be precise, for all the others following it generated less excitement and awe. It wasn't a great handphone - a Nokia 5110 I think. But it served me well and I was fascinated with it. It will be kept in as good a contdion as it possibly can be - that first time a scratch appeared on its panel, I was sore just rubbing away at it. At the same time, I also started to get acquainted with all the handphone models out there on the market - I knew what the good models were, how much they costed, even some of the other features they had that mine doesn't have (this was possible in the older days).

In other words, I became a handphone junkie. I will stare into shop windows, longing to own one handphone or the other, feeling inadequate because my 5110 just doesn't cut it (too chunky, can't program ringtones, etc). I became that kind of materialistic person where the object of affection, notably a device such as the handphone, exerts a certain control over my wants and desires. It's like Maslow's hierarchy of needs reaching it's lowest rungs.

At some point, all of us feel that attachment with an object, be it a handphone, camera, PDA, MP3 player. It extends to other expensive stuff too - Hermes handbags, Tag Heuer watches etc. It's the forces of materialism I suppose, and there's no denying that it drives us. Our wants drive our sense of self-worth, and we're driven to accumulate the cash to attain them.

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Gollum and his obsession with the one ring is perhaps the warning of where our materialism can drive us (well, think metaphorically here - I know Gollum's mind was warped by the ring et al but if you think about what JRR Tolkien might be telling us, you can draw the connections). Life is not measured by what we own. Life should be measured by the relationships we create. And the legacy of what we leave behind is not in monuments such as that house or car - they fade, rust and get buried in the sands of time. The legacy we leave behind is our children, our DNA so to speak.

Possessions are not the ultimate measure of one's worth, so stop the obsessing, please.

Distances between Us

Nothing beats the physical presence of your loved ones. Technology has allowed us to keep in touch over long distances - phone, email, instant messenger, and - a new toy - webcams.

But nothing beats the physical presence of you. We're apart and yet I can still see you. That little camera and broadband access - another toy, albeit with monthly payments - allows us to 'see' each other. Yes, please stop picking your nose, and try to ignore the living room ornaments you see hanging from the ceiling.

Nothing beats the physical presence in a hug. Sure, I can send a "*hugz*" over IM, or heck, one of those fancy schmancy animated smileys (can't really call some of them smileys these days). That is not a hug - it's just an icon, a (mis)representation of a hug. A hug says so many things and soothes so much hurt.

Nothing beats the physical presence of a kiss. Exchanging saliva is therapeutic. After all, in a more biblical age, saliva was thought to have healing properties. It's not the same when you send kisses over a communicative media - it's just not the real thing.

Nothing beats the physical presence in a touch. Staying in touch - that phrase is such a misnomer. When you say "Stay in Touch", you may be communicating with each other, but you're not really in touch. What's a touch? Bunch of nerves telling you that your skin is in the presence of something else - when something else = other skin, usually, that is a pleasurable touch.

Nothing beats you and me, touching, kissing, and hugging. That's the most obvious expression of love, isn't it?

Yes, the physical expression of it.

On Forgotten Passwords, Book Warehouse Sales, and Blink

You know you've been gone too long, when your password eludes you.

Thankfully, it's the same as all the other passwords you've used, but it still eludes you. Why?

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I was at that book warehouse sale at the Expo over the weekend, rummaging through piles of books (neat piles though, thanks to the Time temp staff), looking for that odd gem or two to bring home to read. It is sad to see, sometimes, that certain titles tend to keep showing up.

The books were spread out neatly on several tables, each helpfully marked with bright yellow cardboard cards - 'Fiction', 'Non-Fiction', 'Food', 'Children's Books'. Fiction has the most tables (naturally) but the selection of titles left me with something to ponder on.

For one thing, there seem to be too many copies of the following titles (you see them on more than 3 tables, they're appearing too often):
The Lake of Dead Languages - Carol Goodman
Blood Canticle (The Vampire Chronicles) - Anne Rice
Wolves of Calla (The Dark Tower Book 5) - Stephen King

There're several others, but I can't recall their names, nor the authors. The above were somewhat reasonably good book-moving names - Times the Bookshop probably over-rated their saleability, and ended up with excess stock. Pity - I have no beef with Anne Rice or Stephen King, but I guess in writing books with the intention of creating sequels, you tend to lose steam at some point.

I did bring home some books though - I found a copy of Thomas Keneally's Schindler's Ark, a couple of V.S. Naipaul gems, Susanna Orlean's Orchid Thief (made into Adaptation starring Nicholas Cage, go watch it!), this book titled 'Transistor Radio' (I read a couple of chapters once) and a book on gift ideas. Not a bad haul for cheap books, though it is kind of disappointing not seeing some of the more popular titles. Being a virgin book warehouse sales trawler, I went with the expectation that there might be Booker prize-winning titles there (and returned without any).

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Do you know that having more information about a case or situation does not mean you necessarily make a better decision? (regarding the said case or situation that is).

I learnt recently that you've got to trust your intuition at times. That little unconscious part of the brain that compels you to feel a certain way or direct you to action; it acts quickly and unconsciously, and often, it is not wrong.

Of course there is the other tack - to analyse and gather as much information as possible, so that one makes an informed decision. I don't think having more information makes for better judgement (people call this analysis paralysis) - you can't very well conduct a meeting to decide on the appropriate course of action when in the midst of... well, fighting a fire for example. All you have are your instincts, and the ability to thin-slice.

Thin-slicing (nothing to do with potato chips) is one skill that comes with experience. The more you're exposed to analysing and making decisions in a certain field, the more you're able to come to quick decisions based on limited, but vitally more influential, factors.

Alas, what I've learnt is just that: it is good to trust your intuition. I never learnt how to develop that kind of intuition though (the bit about gaining experience doesn't count really... like some old guy telling you those 'when policemen wore shorts' stories).

Go read Blink (Malcolm Gladwell, now my favourite read) - you'll find a whole new way to see how thought works.

Slacker for a day

It's nice to call in sick, without actually being sick (there is that hint of a cough), and sit around at home, pottering around the entire day.

It's nice when no one calls you to ask for that impertinent status report, or bug you about that deliverable you owe.

It's nice not to be able to retrieve your email, cos the client is so sensitive with their information and stuff that they don't allow vendors to VPN into their network. Ah, such is the bliss of isolation.

I asked myself what I achieved for today? Nothing. Zilch. I've done nothing, no work, no nothing. Well, I did make some progress in that old game I've been tinkering on, but that's not real work. I've totally wasted (let me see...) 8 hours of the day doing absolutely meaningless stuff.

And the best bit? I love it. Well, I don't think I can do this for a really long time. The problem with having worked in a job like mine long enough is that you're conditioned into looking for things to do. It's this little itch that gets to you in the worst possible way - like when you really need to scratch your pubes but you're in public (and in full view of a lot of genial old ladies).

Anyway, I head back to the grind tomorrow. Hey, perhaps the best bit is having been able to update this blog. Not a total waste of a day then.

Traffic Woes

This site isn't generating much traffic eh? :)

It got me thinking - what's the point in blogging if you aren't attracting the kind of hits those big blogger boys (or girls for that matter... sidenote: girls make more interesting bloggers) are getting? After all, most bloggers are doing it for the attention. Oh yah, forget that crap about writing their inner thoughts and feelings, and not being exhibitionist. You do not publish your thoughts online if you weren't into some attention. (another sidenote: use less double negatives, it confuses readers and the folks here aren't your dumbass clients).

Maybe its because I just feel compelled to write (oops, I like to do this don't I? sidenote: every goddamn blogger is compelled to write too, so what say you?). Maybe I just need an outlet to talk to myself. Maybe its just to talk shop therapy - you write what you think you want to write, and feel better as a result.

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Its weird - the compulsions we feel. Sometimes, those little voices give you little ideas about what to say. You feel that little tug to do something - clean that table, say a compliment, write your thoughts down. Sometimes you act on the urge. Sometimes you don't. But those little buggers never go away, and you're left with that empty feeling that having done some things somehow make your life somewhat improved.

Sometimes, the sum of your somes dilute the somehows somewhat. And then some. Urgh...

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I was in the zoo two weeks back (screaming kids and hassled parents; avoid the zoo during June hols!) and do you know what's the best part about being a zebra?

Ans: Having colour co-ordinated ass.


Now I know what a tail's true function is...

Of all the animals in that stinking zoo, I think I liked the zebras best. They have the most composure, and are real cool to the folks gawking at them.

Oh, and I didn't know zebras come with hair on the neck.



I think I like the fact that they come in black and white.

Frankly though, I think the whole zoo thing is kind of disappointing. I think I enjoyed it more when I was a kid. I remembered a screaming kid and his fascination with the kangaroos at the zoo. He was yanking on his mum's arm and excitedly yelling that he's seeing kangaroos.

His mum's reply in Mandarin would have killed any young eager tendencies to be a zoologist: "I see until don't want to see already lah."

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She'll be back soon and needs the table space. I go now.

Two much is too much

For two nights straight, I had buffet. Two different groups of people, two different places, two different kinds of food available, two different kinds of conversations.

One wallet that bled cash, both days.

Thursday was dinner with the small group from church. Usually we would be doing our bible study stuff on Thursdays, but due to poor attendance last week, Vincent (the leader of the group) decided to have a catch-up eat out session instead. Not surprisingly, attendance was much better for the pig out session. Even less surprising was the fact that it was buffet.

Vincent likes his usual catch-up talk - it was a roundtable of what-have-you-been-up-tos, and how-have-you-beens. I usually talk about work and I told them about how busy things are, and the kind of shit the client just dished me. We talked about the upcoming IOC meeting, seeing as it is that one of us is going to be covering the event (for a kid's magazine).

We chatted and ate - buffet is not my forte alas. I found myself unable to do thirds or fourths - it was meat stuff first, sashimi stuff later, and dessert stuff sat nicely on top, leaving no room for more.

Then, conversation drew towards movies and TV. It is always about movies and TV with Singaporeans; how paltry our entertainment scene. Let's see what's hot: War of the Worlds (all I need is the air that I breathe...), Batman Begins (oh yah, 'thanks' for telling me Liam Neeson's the real Ras-a-Gul), Lost (think Gilligan's Island crossed with Jurassic Park crossed with Survivor), Arrested Development (bail disallowed) and Battlestar Galactica (I must be the only guy out there who doesn't know what a Cylon is).

Amazing isn't it - we watch so many TV shows and movies.

Friday's buffet was a lot more expensive. This time, it is The Line at the Shangri-La hotel. It came to 80 bucks a pop. 80 bucks for dinner!

Well, the food was fantastic though - the oysters and lobster, the chocolate fountain, the sashimi, and more. I'm real bad at describing foodstuff (and besides, this is not a food blog) so that'll be all I'll say about the food. Oh, but I'll say this though - all I ate was seafood (sashimi, lobster etc) and dessert (chocolate coated strawberry and marshmellows - heavenly!). Little else. I'm a small eater and I really lose out whenever buffet fever strikes my friends.

Friday's bunch of buffetholics is my start group - these are the guys I started work with at my first and only job. And Friday marked our fourth year in the firm (some of us has left).

Meeting my start group is always a unique experience - our conversation always end up isolating some one within the group. Invariably, I ended up the one isolated the most. My demographic just doesn't fit in with the others too well: I'm not from RJC, I'm not from the same operating group, I'm not interested in golf, I'm not a foodie, I'm blase about the food I eat, I'm not so into my job, I've not travelled all over Europe (only parts of it), I don't drive a car (don't own one that's why), I don't work the same shitty hours, I can't gossip about the people you guys do (that's to do with that different operating group thing) and I'm quite tired of the rat race.

I want out. No, not out of the start group, out of the rat race that is.

We went into reminiscing mode - that time we went to Malaysia, our first day at work, the projects we were at. War stories and spooky tales. Talking is a consultant's prerogative, and we talked as consultants do - that sly, more than it actually seems kind of talk.

We also gossiped - why did that high flying executive leave under such mysterious circumstances? It makes for interesting conversation to indulge in tales of conspiracies and office political skulduggery. The things we do to get at each other, the little petty jealousies we bear.

Tired. I'm so tired...

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I miss the more innocent days - we were once fresh faced and out of school, looking to make something of ourselves in this world. We're now jaded folk, eating over-priced food and telling each other stories about life and work.

Anxious about the immaterial

Have you ever felt like there isn't a point to anything you're doing? Does it strike you that when you die, all that you've ever attained in life has no bearing on your afterlife? Does it seem like all that you have in this world means little spiritually?

Of course you have, but you still act the same nonetheless.

Why?

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People I know are consumed by the material - that car, the latest handphone, the wealth creation strategy. Much of our status in this society are tied to that: the cash value of what you've attained. Perhaps it is the simplest way to rank yourself - in a civilized world, our only measures of each other's worth are through that simple denominator known as money.

I don't know if that is a sad state to be in. It does drive one to succeed though, and I know that one of my main motivators where my job is concerned is the money I get. Getting that house and car just seemed so much more important when you know someone else is getting it too. And they're telling you about it.

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It's worse when it bites you - you're letting it get to you that you don't have that car, house, phone, and what-not the other person has. The little voice says "its a fabrication, you're being sucked into that dimension known as envy again". But why do you feel like it is natural, even acceptable, that you desire those things too? What's with those pangs of desire when a friend waxes lyrical about his latest acquisition?

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Desire is such a coy toy - it teases you and entices you. It mocks you for your lack of courage. It sucks your energy in mindless pursuits. You want it, and you think that it wants you too; but what it really wants to you is to reward you if you're worthy, and destroy you when you're not. And when you finally realised that Desire has played the inattainable game with you, her twin Despair engulfs you in waves of anguished pain.

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So has it struck you that when you die, none of it really matters? Of course it has, but you're too young to care - you think you'll live forever.

A sick game, and we're none the wiser.

Me 06/2005

I realised I've never really talked about myself. Here, I shall dedicate a post all to talking about myself. Me, myself, I. After all, most blogs are really ego trips - why shouldn't mine be one as well?

I am 29 years old, male, and Chinese. I live in Singapore, on the western part of it, in a little known area called Teban Gardens. Teban Gardens is mainly known for housing foreign workers, its MP Tan Cheng Bok, and celebrity blogger Wendy Cheng aka Xiaxue. Quiet little neighbourhood without the pretensions of places like, oh, Jurong East.

Oh, this isn't about where I live. Its about me. In any case, I work in the consulting line (one of my earlier posts should have made this obvious). I don't think I'm particularly good at what I do, but I get by. Its been my first and only job, and come 2 July, it will have been 4 years to the day that I started work. 4 fricking years spent at the same firm, slogging away so somebody else can get rich. My work really goes to pay that big boss's salary, and I get some slap on the back for doing good work.

Woah... steady tiger. This is not the forum to get pissed with work. Its about yourself. I live with my parents (most Singaporeans do, until they get married; or die; whichever happens first. Of course, we all know marriage causes death as well, but...). My parents are getting crankier by the day. My father should be retired, but he took out all his CPF money and gambled on a business that tanked. Now, he is wrecked by that failure, and spends his nights watching TV to sleep on the sofa. My mother shows more gumption - she reinvented herself into a masseuse, from being the housewife that she is. She now kneads the necks, feet and shoulders of JAL air stewardesses and ang moh men. I wouldn't mind touching air stewardesses all over either, but that's my mum's bread and butter.

Me. Focus. Me. Of course, my personal life is kind of shot - since I hardly have much of it outside of work. One saving grace (hehe) is my girlfriend. We've been together for a year and 4 months (and counting). The relationship goes well - its kind of on some kind of plateau (I know you read this, but you know what I mean). She shows lots of spunk, juggling many responsibilities at the same time. I myself cannot struggle with holding a demanding job, a part-time scheme, two bickering grandparents, and a family dependent on your income. My universe was very empty until yours decided to collide with mine. It feels like we're like two revolving stars, headed for a messy collusion of lives.

Finally, me. I like to read. I'm a Christian, though I wished I was a better one - largely, I'm not apathetic, but I'm not proactive either. Kind of like sheep. I watch movies voraciously - certain scenes from movies stay stuck in my head (just as certain lines in books do too). I can instantly recall important scenes from movies I have liked. I used to keep a journal, but it only contained mostly my sad thoughts - so I put it aside. I confess that I mine it occasionally for inspiration.

I'm not a smoker. I sometimes drink when I'm with friends. I'm a Gemini, but it doesn't make a twat of a difference. I like to take pictures - my digital SLR is my biggest investment in this area and although I do not expect to ever be a pro, I do enjoy taking beautiful pictures. I love sunsets. Raising my arms and forming a cross with my body while facing an on-rushing wind gives me a cheap thrill. I enjoy playing Mahjong - and beating the crap out of my friends at it.

I am me, and now you know too.

PS: I don't think that's all, but its kind of late. Maybe I'll update next time yah?

The Week in Review

Ha I haven't updated in a while. Been busy. Work. It's not like I'm sitting here just thinking of things to say.


Alright, I am sitting here thinking of things to say, but hey, it's while I'm at work thinking of things to say. I guess I've got enough to say, especially with the rubbish I've spouted so far. So I shall keep saying it. Hehe...

Work is the shits (what else can it be?). I'm practically swimming in shit. Imagine being stuck in a cesspool, and you're given a little bowl. All the while you're in the cesspool, some celestial being is dumping shitloads of ... erm... shit on you. You're busy scooping shit and getting them out of your cesspool. But it keeps coming. Oh hey, after all, what's a cesspool for, right?

So you're shovelling shit. And nobody cares that you are. (Some do, but when they care, they give you more shit, even if they don't know it, and they apologise about it).

I don't need more shit - just some peace of mind will do.

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So, life takes a turn this weekend - a new member in the house (not by birth though) and new tussles over bathroom priviledges. Wardrobe space got cut in half - I finally managed to dump those old clothes - into another part of the house.

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Stuff never gets thrown away where I live. They just relocate to another part of the house. Mum has this thing for never throwing away stuff - they get re-stuffed into other parts of the house. That old set of books gets boxed up and stacked on top of the cupboard. The old bed is dismantled and lined up nicely under the new bed. My sister's old toys fill up those cupboard drawers which lie unused.

It's a karang guni paradise - frankly, 50% of the stuff should go - can you imagine living with a broken down TV for more than 2 years? Ok so there's a replacement set from a relative (still working, has colour, and works with our cable). But hey, that old TV is spoilt. It's beyond economical repair (haha... where I work, we call this BER). So throw it away. Dad says he might be able to fix it. When he has time (he never does, he's busy watching TV).

I've never felt more like moving out.

Memory - or the lack of it

I write to remember. I write to forget.

I pen things down so I can recall them later, like the notes I write when I listen to people speak. They're there so that I can later recollect the thoughts that went behind what they said. It helps to reinforce information that I've filtered through, my thoughts and my analysis of its arguments. That's why I write. The day I turn an amnesiac (and it isn't far off), what I've penned down will serve to jog my memory into recovery.

I also want to forget. If I were to write it down, it is as if the thoughts were channeled through my thin arm, tingling nerves in my fingers, and finding release through pen and ink. Thoughts flowing freely, black ink on paper. Thus these children of mine leave me, and I can forget. I can free my mind for other things - it is unencumbered by the past, the truly trivial (though I seldom write anything I consider trivial down). Oh yes, I can also forget the hurtful memories.

I write so I don't need to write no more. I write so I don't hurt from remembering. I write so that I can fly free - my thoughts can leave me, and rejoin me later if need be.

I write because I write - when life offers you little else, what you write leaves others a legacy of stars. Writers are unselfish people, for they willingly expose their bare flesh to the reader's torment. Writers are deceitful people, for they lie and hide their real thoughts, obscure the facts.

I regret that I started writing, for it will never stop. No wait... it did.

When work sucks you in

A new guy finally joined my team of one (now its two! - a master and his apprentice) last Friday.
Colin my young padawan: much to learn you have. The dark side of the force beckons, and we are few in number. The enemy assails us relentlessly. We have to be vigilant (or quit caring). We have to fight the good fight.

Much to learn...

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It is a welcome relief - the addition of a new team member takes some of the pressure of me, allowing me to do what I do best: design the solution. Seriously speaking, I love designing an IT solution, especially when it is totally customised. You have so much room to be creative, solving problems and figuring out means of handling exceptions. Also, the knowledge that your design will bear down significantly on your client's revenues (and its staff's efficiency) does add that slight hint of pressure to what you are doing.

Oh, and having Colin in the team doesn't mean I have someone to bully - the onus is on me to develop his potential. So far, he's been showing initiative, and has strived to add value every step of the way. Sighs - I'm getting old. It gets hard to keep up with young punks like Colin when you know they can do your job at half the price and twice the speed.

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In other news, I finally published some of the pictures I took in Myanmar online. Of all the things I liked about my trip to Myanmar, the best has to be the children I encountered. Here's some photos taken while stopping over at a nondescript village (I think it was somewhere near Lake Inle).


Keep your clothes on please!!!


These kids have never seen a digital camera before. Seriously...


Long road home...

Check out the rest of it in my Flickr if you can. I think they're pretty decent pictures. :)

Wow its nice to be regarded as an expert

People who know me know me well. I think they do anyway, cos I don't know myself at all.

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It feels good when someone wants your opinion on a matter. Of importance. To a whole lot of people. Whose job scope depends on that comment you're going to make.

So you don't screw up and say something stupid. Like "Hey, you have snot clinging to your moustache".

You're conscious that there is audience, hanging onto your words, your actions. After all, you are a consultant. After all, they can blame you if things go wrong. After all, you're paid a load of moolah for dishing out half baked knowledge.

"Clients I have worked with generally do not use that functionality." Friend, don't bluff lah. You have worked at only 3 client sites, and you screwed up at that last one. Which is why you have learnt your lesson, and can say with mock confidence that it doesn't work.

"This is not the best practice. The best practice is to do it by..." Uncle, that is not original man. You think you can fool me? You obviously checked in your knowledge database to get that shit, most of which are derived out of some business school. Oh, thanks for telling me what is common sense. Hope you're not saying I'm lacking it.

"That won't happen 99% of the time. We should not be building too much to handle exceptions." Riiiiiiight... See how you feel when you're that guy who has to deal with that 1% of cases, and no one knows what to do, and that half-baked design you did up seriously screws up any hope of salvaging the situation. Oh, thanks for leaving us that shit - we really love shovelling it out of the way.

Sorry guys - I'm a con and I know it. You don't know it yet because I'm a real hardworking con - I actually bother to look and sound intelligent when I'm meeting you guys. And half the time, its the use of the right words at the right time (and of course, avoiding the wrong words at wrong time thing). I'm no genius in this area - I just happen to have had learnt what went wrong, and am trying not to do it again.

Anyway, you guys love me - when I speak, you actually listen. Oh yah, I do say the wrong stuff, but when corrected, I know how to make myself sound good (eh, easy... just repeat what you said, with authority and lots of gravitas).

Hehe... my job is so much fun...

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I feel lighter all of a sudden. Oh. Wait. That's cos I just lost my soul.

Space Opera

Question: What do you call those things fitted onto a car bonnet, making it look kind of out of shape, so that it can stabilise a speeding car by countering Bernoulli's effect?

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I saw Revenge of the Sith (ROTS) yesterday night and never felt better that the saga is finally over. Most fans were disappointed with the earlier prequels; I think things were wrapped up nicely in this very last instalment of the space opera (big fan I am not; know story I do though).

Anyway, I just thought I do a 'Did you spot that?', just for the heck of it. I have this knack for keeping a whole load of movie moments in my head and Lucas leaves blatant references in ROTS which screams for your attention. Here goes:

Did you spot...

1. a younger Grand Moff Tarkin? He was supervising the construction of the Death Star, together with Vader and Palpatine at the end of the movie. This is the same bad guy who says that line: 'Leave? In our moment of triumph?' moments before the Death Star is blown to bits in A New Hope. Strange - even in the Star Wars space age, should it take the time for Luke to grow up for that Death Star to be fully built?

2. the father of Wedge Antilles? Wedge is this hot shot rebel figher pilot instrumental in blowing up the second Death Star. You see him leading the Rogue squadron in Return of the Jedi. His father (I think, not sure) is the guy who got handed C3PO by Senator Organa, and was told to erase the droid's memory (wrap up plot device - C3PO is to become comic relief fodder in subsequent epis).

3. the same diplomatic ship that Leia was captured in? That will be the fist shaped ship Bail Organa travelled in, right down to the spick span white corridors. Hmm... it appears that they haven't gotten their crew round to wearing those aerodynamic helmets yet. When I first saw those helmets as a kid, I remember asking why fellas in a space ship needed to protect their heads with that ridiculous headgear.

4. Obi-Wan picking up Anakin's light saber? Crucial plot device, cos Obi-Wan will later give that same light saber to Luke. Not so subtle, of course, but without that scene, fans will be baying for Lucas's blood.

5. really lame explanation for why Obi-Wan and Yoda can come back in 'ghostly' forms in Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi? This comes from that secret training to gain immortality bit. I kind of just like the mystery the way it is - when you try to explain a mystery, it comes off kind of cheesy if you do a half baked explanation (such as that midichlorian thing).

In any case, I enjoyed watching the movie. The title should really be: Emperor kicks Jedi butt (its not my movie alas). My favourite Star Wars movie in the entire franchise remains Epi 5: The Empire Strikes Back - nothing in whole story beats seeing Darth Vader saying 'Luke, I am your father'. Its like, suddenly, a swashbuckling romp through space is turned into a family drama of galactic proportions.

A space opera indeed.

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The answer to the earlier question? Spoilers.

Sweet dreams are made of these

I think I'll start with my conclusion (kinda like that movie Memento): We're a generation that stores memories in bits and bytes. We're not the same anymore - we're digital.

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Imagine this: our photographs are digital images. They've been manipulated, shrunk / blown up, enhanced, and generally tweaked with. Photos can be altered, distorted and they no longer speak the thousand words they used to. We cannot believe what an image tells us anymore (hence that thousand words might lie). Online, pictures you see of good looking people lie - Photoshop has made us equally beautiful (or equally ugly - if everyone were beautiful, ugly ceases definition).

Take a step back (favourite consultant phrase): in our parents' generation, memories are hardware - diaries are written in a book (well, they take another form now, and are not strictly diaries anymore - mr brown presses this point mercilessly) and photographs are solid (some of them have that glossy feeling). Memories are made of hard stuff - real stuff. Not bits and bytes. Not pixels. Not magnetic media.

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The speed of change is extraordinary (ok, this isn't news, but bear with my $0.02). In the short space of a generation, we've moved from the real world to a 2-D screen. Photographs were touchy feely things - I can hold it, lament the age of a faded photo, look at the rawness of it (badly taken photos if you're the kind in my family... with those old wind up compacts).

What do we have now? We now interact with an image through a mouse - point, click and drag. Well of course you can always get it printed out on that glossy paper and stuff, but the whole point is that, like those clones in the Star Wars universe, it doesn't quite have the same soul.

We interact through an interface now, not directly anymore. Its just one small step away from those babies floating in ruby red goo ala the Matrix, their sole interaction being electric impulses to their nervous systems. Oh well, its a stretch of course, but isn't any interaction through a computer really just interaction through an interface?

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Our memories are, more often than before, electronic. They reside in your HDD, CD-ROMs, thumbdrives, and in the internet (someone else's HDD, strictly speaking).

We remember less and less - we store more and more.

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Our brains are incapable of retaining memories for very long periods of time. We are selective creatures, and we colour our rememberings; we're like a neural network, adaptive and fluid, changing itself to better get the output it is required to. We remember an image of an event, and it changes and morphs over time. We gloss over the details, glorify the victories, portray ourselves in a better light.

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The harsh march of time leaves a mark on us and our memories. Our consciousness is a battleground: we cannot be conscious of everything, or rather, we cannot always keep in view things which we've once been conscious of. That fleeting moment of clarity should be treasured, because it isn't coming again.

Write it down. At one point, it was important. At some point later, it will be important again.

It might not be important now, but what is now but the present? A gift of prescience - now is now, and not now later, for later now will be history.

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There is nothing of permanence in a digital world - our thoughts are in easily retrievable formats. They are digital media, and are easily carried everywhere; always ready for consumption.

What do we leave for historians of the future then? Our HDDs?

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Like all things, it began with good intentions. Revolutions start out that way, and when they become the establishment, the rules change (some say, the rules only appear when revolutions become establishments). We've moved online and it scares me - what do I leave behind?

Bits and bytes.

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Sweet dreams



Photo: Bali at sunset (circa Nov 2004)

Tyranny of the Taxis

Why wait in long taxi queues? Sure, that's what taxi stands are for - so that you can stand in line and wait. But why wait? Why not just call for a cab? It's just $3.00, $3.20 (depending on which company you call). Not a lot to ask for the comfort of a cab designated specifically for you. Heave your tired body into the taxi, and take a long hard look at the queueing peasants as your cab speeds by. It wasn't that long ago that you were there, fuming at the 'On Call' signs.

I guess this is something that's been talked to death, but it just irks me. We're being manipulated by the cab cartels. It's economics they say. The consumers are being exploited, I say. The cartel makes money by charging the cabbie a fee for the usage of its booking system. The cabby must therefore take bookings as much as possible - hey, its 3 bucks, 4 bucks more, and he has to pay to use it, so why not? So, to maximise bookings, especially during those peak hours, he should avoid picking up passengers on the street, i.e. those 'flaggers' and 'queuers'.

See, there're a few kinds of cab customers. 'Flaggers' flag cabs down, usually at inconvenient locations such as 1) near a bus-stop; 2) double yellow lined roads; 3) bus lanes. Flaggers sometimes look like they're doing the sport of one-upmanship - the flagger further up the road usually gets the cab (although there's this little known rule among cabbies that the first hand up gets the cab).

Then there are 'Queuers', or what I would call 'the suckers' (especially during peak hours, and at those oh-so-central locations like Raffles City). Some locations are great for queueing - the cabs have no choice but to dutifully line up to take their passengers. My favourite queueing spot is that one near Heeren, round to the side. However, try lining up at Raffles City during peak hour and you'll see why I think queuers have it bad. It's a booking market there - in an hour of queueing there 2 days back, only 3 lucky fellas got into cabs they queued for. Furthermore, it was only because those cabs had to let their customers off there.

The reason? The 'Bookers' of course! The bookers (and I was forced to be one on Friday) are the ones who spoil the queuers market. Bookers look at the queue, look at their watch, and look at the dire lack of taxis (there're plenty available, for sure, but they're not going to those taxi stands). They make the decision that comes so easily with owning a handphone - they call the cab cartel to book a cab. Well listen up, Booker - you're just playing a losing game; the cab company is laughing all the way to the bank; and we have a modernised, connected transportation system that does not reward waiting in line.

See, the cabs do not want to pick up queuers because the booking fee pays more. Thus, they'd rather circle the block, hang on a while, and press that damn beeping machine to take bookings coming through the system. The cabbies win - they get to earn more. The bookers think they win. The queuers lose - it is an injustice, but that is economics for you. If you can pay, you call that damn hotline and listen to muzak for 15 minutes (it gets that long!), while a tinny insincere pre-recorded voice thanks you for waiting.

So why queue? Well, I found out on Friday. Ahead of me was an Indian man, and a Caucasian fella. They were talking animatedly while I looked dejectedly at the stream of 'On Call' cabs that keep coming. The bookers seem embarrassed as they board their cabs - they're acutely aware of the queuers' plight. The Caucasian managed to board a cab that was dropping off a customer. Then the Indian turned to talk to me. He had been waiting for an hour.

It turns out that he's from Mumbai and he's here on business. He was asked by the Caucasian for the use of his handphone, so Mr Caucasian could call a cab. Unfortunately, Mr Indian's handphone was on roaming - making a local call would have been utterly expensive. Effectively speaking, neither Caucasian or Indian could call a cab, because they did not have the resources or means to.

So that's why there're still queuers, I thought. Mr Indian came up with several ideas for the taxi shortage problem (including one where he proclaimed that some taxis should just be disallowed from having the system installed - such is his belief that Singapore can be that tyrannical). His image of Singapore is tarnished from his experiences with taxi cabs that won't pick up queuers. 'An unfair technology, if I may say so. What kind of a place is Singapore if you can't get a cab the proper way?' so he says.

Well, I didn't have much fun queueing that day either. I whipped up my Nokia and called for 2 cabs - insisted that Mr Indian took one of them. He was genuinely happy to actually have met me, enthusiastically waving as the cab sped off. Perhaps, I salvaged something of that tarnished image. I hoped he did not think we're as 'Booker-ish' as he thought we had become.

Why wait in queues? Sighs...

Doggone tired

I thought it would be nice to do a project where I actually understood what I was doing, for once. A project where I finally got to drive, and to have control over. A project where I could truly be a consultant, because I finally knew more about the issue at hand (and didn't look so stupid whenever utterances such as "I'll go check" come rolling out).

Oh noooooooooooo.....

First, the users. They suck. Of all the users I have ever had to work with, they're the worst. They don't know their own processes, tell you in your face that they don't know, then try to bamboozle you with what they think are the processes. Oh, and they do the solutioning as well! I've never had users who give you what THEY think is the solution, and tell you why the system isn't doing it THAT way, as if it has been tried and tested for yonks. Stupid yobs...

Oh, and the IT folks. They suck. IT folks who do not understand the users' processes, and bamboozle the 3rd party vendor with information they have a half baked knowledge of, then turn to you (the eminent consultant) to verify that they did not speak out of line, like you're some stern headmaster ('Um' = nod, yes; 'Uh-uh' = shake head, no). Their saving grace is that they're able to log things down dilligently, and spout lines like 'oh we'll discuss that tomorrow, and eventually get it signed off, somehow, sometime in the eventual future'.

The 3rd party vendor - ah... the only redeeming light, in my opinion. Smart folks, intent on the solution to the exclusion of politics and preferences. At least they have their heads screwed on right. I'm thankful to be working with them, but with the IT folks meddling like Muggles bumbling in a Hogwarts laboratory, there is little hope of a speedy conclusion to this project.

Oh what I would do to have a lightsaber - I can really sever some heads right now. ;)

In the Public Domain

It always interests me how some things start off with one intention or aim, and ends up something else altogether. When I first started work, I did not intend to work in my current workplace for more than 3 years. Now, I'm near my 4 year mark, and work is still interesting.

Anyway, the point I wanted to make was with regards blogs. I remember how, when blogs were first introduced, they were meant to be online journals, kind of online diaries; an electronic record of your thoughts and deeds. Blogs were introduced to allow people to easily create a site where all they needed to do was to pen their thoughts. Of course, the idea is not new - its just that now, some clever folks have created the engine to do it easily (damn I wished it was me).

I think the nature of blogs have changed somewhat. Sure, people still use it to pen their thoughts and deeds, but these blogs are often not as interesting as that other blog variant - the celebrity blog.

Celebrity blogs write for an audience - its hard to keep penning your private thoughts and deeds when everything you write down is in the public domain (Note to self: there are still private blogs in existence, with restricted access, but few folks are that publicity shy nowadays). Instead, people cater to an audience - they write funny stuff, they write thought provoking stuff, they put up pictures of themselves doing all kinda stuff, they write stuff that do not really belong in a diary. Heck, they write stuff like the kind of stuff I write now.

There is a very strong appetite for ideas propounded by ordinary folk such as you and I - we are the free press of the world. Our commentaries, opinions and thoughts are freely available and largely uncensored and uncensured. Of course, the odd blogger or 2 gets sued (defamation extends to the internet too). But by and large, we get off with writing what we want.

So the written word is cheapened. I guess its the price we pay for the freedom of expression - when everyone can express their opinion, and everyone can have a voice, then no one has a real voice anymore. The cacophony drowns out the voice of reason. A parliament of rooks judge the solitary raven.

Some stand out though. Applauded and celebrated for their insights, witticisms and brazen popularity. We are an indecipherable bunch, comprising many differing viewpoints and styles, expounding different manners and expressions.

The grand aim of providing a voice for everyone has achieved that. And more. As before, we have to compete again - when you open the barriers to expression, new boundaries are drawn. The ones who know the terrain and play their chips right get the headstart, and look the better for it.

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Funny how thoughts turn out when you give in and resort to that device known as "stream of consciousness". You can really write rather meaningless stuff with rather zen-like statements this way. I started this post with the intent of saying how blogs were created to be online diaries that morphed into public newsreels. I ended with a whimper of an excuse for my behaviour.

Correction: I end with a punctuation. Some school kids don't even do that.

Tragically Yours

I want to be the tragic hero. Well, in truth, I want to be the tragic heroine, but that sounds a little too gay / transexual / girly. It sounds nicer to say "I want to be a tragic heroine" than "I want to be a tragic hero". And aren't tragic heroines much better at emoting pain than tragic heroes?

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While on a recent flight I saw this Zhang Yimou wu xia pian - House of Flying Daggers. Actually, a literal translation of the Chinese title is "Ambushed on 10 Sides", but that probably won't market very well in the US. "House of Flying Daggers" give it a more mysterious aura (think "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", which was literally translated from its Chinese title).

That movie has a tragic heroine, and 2 tragic heroes! What better way to be a tragic hero than to stand in huge field (pan the camera over the tragic plains), while a blizzard works itself up (zoom in on my tragic face when the snow begins to fall), holding a dripping dagger (I've been stabbed, goddamn!).

Oh yes, I will also have smouldering good looks, wear some Chinese robe thing that must flap wildly in the blizzard. The snow falling around me will add to accentuate my misery as I hug my one true love (who is dying, wilting away).

The plot of the movie needs work - it's based on the premise that people are not who they are. That blind courtesan there is not a blind courtesan, she's the daughter of some pseudo dagger wielding cult. That marshal there is not a marshal, he's a spy sent to infiltrate the government. That movie you're seeing is no movie, its a blatant excuse for some folks to take your money.

Ah, but it is kind of nice to be a tragic hero, if there's a camera there placed aptly to capture that angst and mellow introspection.

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Misery always require an audience.