Back with a Vengeance...

A whimper of a vengeance - there's nothing to be vengeful about, and there's certainly nothing to cause a ruckus about either.

But I'm back nonetheless. I'm sorry (to all 10 of my loyal readers) - after I went to Goa on my grad trip, I just felt a lot of inertia and was not too eager to start sharing thoughts (though I had many). I blame Goa: white sandy beaches and amazing food meant that sloshing myself with food and alcohol at the beach proved more fun than tapping away writing meaningful stuff. I'm kinda regretting it: there's a ton of material during the last two weeks that might not get blogged about as a result (time waits for no man).

So how about a short update on what I've been up to? Then perhaps I can launch into something less mundane and more thoughtful...

1. I think I left my friends dangling with that last post: what was it about??? Well, I wrote this essay for my Ethics professor and decided that I wanted to post it here also. Although it is an academic discourse, I do think it is a pity that only an audience of ONE professor, a certain de Bettignies, is going to read that paper.

2. After that dangling post, I went for my grad trip to Goa - it took almost a week and I came back early morning last Wednesday, for the purpose of... (more on Goa in a separate post, with pics)

3. GRADUATION! I'm now a newly minted MBA. The class of December 2006 graduated last Wednesday (in Singapore) and Thursday (in Fontainebleau) and we never felt happier, nor sadder. In my opinion, the goodbyes started long ago: at the end of P4. However, I think the most poignant farewells were at the graduation ceremony and the subsequent...

4. Graduation party at MOS. Drank, danced, hugged friends and shook hands all night. I can't believe that INSEAD is at an end.

5. Over the last few days, I've been catching up with friends and clubbing rather more often than I wanted to (sloshed with alcohol some nights). Also, I'm having too many late nights, either up with friends chatting or partying. It's a little too much to take: I need to go back to what is probably a lot more important...

6. Which is my job search. Ack - I'm still looking for a job but half the world is busy with their holidays. I guess it will have to be in Jan 2007 when I start in my honest earnest quest for a job (and a paycheck).

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In other news, since I've had a little too much free time, I've updated the look and feel of the blog. Actually, it looks pretty much the same, but the advent of Blogger's new functionalities meant that I can now tag (Blogger calls it 'label') my posts.

For a long time now, I've toyed with the idea of tagging my posts using Technorati's tag feature. It isn't too difficult, but the hassle of tagging old posts as well just turned me off the prospect of playing around with too much HTML (I wanted to avoid that - I may be techy at times, but I'm lazy too).

Then when Blogger introduced Beta, I thought it was a godsend, but they didn't allow bloggers who also do group blogs (alas) to use Beta. Without wanting to relinquish my membership in that particular group blog (guys there hardly blog now), it was only recently when Beta became a full version that I started tagging posts.

So, while happily tagging away, I realised that finding the right tags to use increasingly becomes a problem:

1. First of all, you want your tags to express exactly what you mean in your post. Therefore, you come up with very descriptive tags that encapsulate in one or two words what you're trying to say. Simple tags like 'Photography' will include photos, and 'Travel' will be about your trips.

2. Then, when it comes to posts which consist of more topics, you try using two or more tags to express the idea behind the post.

3. But the problem comes when you started to realise that you're having too many tags (the problem I'm facing now). You need to be economical about your tags: after all, there are some tags that reference only ONE post, and what good is a tag if it only references ONE article? It's like, if each and every article is referenced with its own tag, the tagging system makes no sense.

4. So you start being economical about your tags... and that's another problem because you then start force-fitting your posts into your tags. That's not what blogging is about: you're supposed to write what you feel, and THEN decide what your tags should be.

Yuck. I hate tagging, but I'm doing it nonetheless. Tagging is an afterthought: you write a beautiful novel, with all thoughts and ideas expressed as per your plan, but you've conveniently left out the title of the book and now wrack your brains thinking about a suitable title, something that concisely encapsulates the main thrust of the novel, a short phrase that tells the reader all he needs to know about whether he should be reading the book or not.

So, with those thoughts in my head, I took on the onus of tagging all my old posts (to aid you loyal readers! All 10 of you!). I could only do 50 without collapsing from tag piling - I keep introducing new tags and failed to be economical about them. Sighs - there're guys who're able to be really efficient with tags, but I don't belong to that club.

Anyhow, the tags are there to help YOU. Yes, YOU the reader. I hope you find the reading experience enhanced as a result!

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PS: Will be posting pictures from my Goa trip (not many, but I think they're nice) and the said Ethics essay in due time. I just want this catch-up post to sit around for a day or two before proceeding with more catching up!

Framing the Great Casino Debate as an Ethical Issue - Prelude

It was 10pm Sunday night and I was at a friend's place in Dover Road. An ethics paper is due on 5pm Monday afternoon, and I don't want to spend Monday night working on it. Given the time constraints (and other factors), it meant I had only about 18 hours to work on a paper I have yet to start writing.

I had thought about the paper though, and spent about an hour on Friday bookmarking certain sites I wanted to revisit to bone up my knowledge of the topic. But the fact is, it was 10pm, Sunday night, and I had to deliver a paper in 18 hours.

I didn't sleep until 6am Monday morning, and was in school by noon. All I did during my waking hours between that time and 5pm was spent writing the damn ethics paper. And the topic? I thought it was topical to revisit the hotly debated IR issue from a year ago, given the recent award of the Sentosa site to Genting. Nope, I'm not talking about the ethical dimensions of the current award, but about the great debacle from about a year ago.

Given the time constraint I thought it was a decent effort - so I'm going to put it up in my next blog post. Provided I remember to do it. Before I leave. For Goa.




I must be high on the cappuccino... 8)

Wrapping Things Up

This is going to be largely about me: I'm getting so ego-centric these days...

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The year at INSEAD is almost over: for most, today heralded the last day of school. The Strategic Pricing prof was nice: he provided champagne, toasted to the success of each and every one of us, and bid us a good life ahead.

It has been a bittersweet year for me. I started the year a rather ebullient personality, enjoying every moment of it, but I ended up alienating a certain section of my network in the process. I'm ending the year on a somewhat depressed note: I'm sad to leave, I'm also happy to go to the next phase of life at the same time.

A friend said that I haven't been very social all period (P5) and it's true. I've shied away from contact with most INSEADers, sticking to the ones I know better and just hanging around with people closer in ethnic terms (the Asians, largely). On the whole, it was perhaps a strategy of withdrawal: to slowly distance myself from INSEAD and the wonderful time it has been. Ironically, because it has been the experience of my life for the last 5 years (or so), I wanted it to end as soon as possible. Because, in my most twisted opinion, it is artificial.

This year is not like life as I know it to be. This year has not been progressive in terms of achieving my life goals (I did get my MBA, but I believe I regressed when it came to being a better human being). That, for me at least, is why I will always regard this blip (of a year) as something of an anomaly in my existence. It was fun, it was great, and the experience was wonderful. But it isn't my life: and that's what I so desperately want to get back to.

Someone said that my reaction seems somewhat escapist in nature, it's like a retreat from all the fun and enjoyment everyone else has been having. An utterance that is not entirely untrue, but also 'reflective' in a way. I'm not escaping: INSEAD itself has been the escape for me.

In the grander scheme of living, I didn't really need this MBA at all, nor the one year away. I just wanted to escape from mundanity, conformity, perceived lower sense of self-worth and a non-too-exciting career. I could have plodded on and not 'seen the world' (albeit through rather biased eyes), but I chose to live this one year of wretched debauchery - oh I exaggerate, it is a fun year, with everyone placing emphasis on different aspects of it.

I chose this year at INSEAD to escape, but I found myself wanting to go back now. My colleagues will probably think that this is a regression, a retreat - something quite like a tortoise who stuck his head out and wished he'd never left the comfort of his shell.

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The cabaret was last night and I wished I'd gone for it. The cabaret is an INSEAD tradition brought over from the Fonty campus that is meant to showcase student talents. One can perform, dance, sing or just croak on stage in front of fellow INSEADers. Can't say much else though because I wasn't there: from what I heard about it, the performances were funny, superb, and there was a lot of fun all round.

Another INSEAD 'tradition' is also taking place: The End Game. This one is somewhat more interesting, but again, I'm a non-participant (not by choice alas!). The End Game came about because of a gender disparity in INSEAD. Primarily, the problem with B-schools is that there are more males than females enrolled: in INSEAD, the males outnumber females 3 to 1.

Thus, when it came to the general dating pool, the INSEAD female is faced with 'choice', and the INSEAD male is faced with little choice and too much competition. And if you've read my take on the game theory aspects of the dating scene here, you quickly realise that with competition being stiff, girls find it hard to fend off the die-hards they don't fancy, and find it difficult to approach the ones they do.

Hence, the premise for the End Game - the game to end all games (yuck, I hated how that sounds). The End Game is a party to which only 'certain' guys get invited to go. The invitation can only come from one girl i.e. one girl gets to invite one guy (whom they fancy / had the hots for / lusted after), and everyone gets an equal chance to hook up. No competition, no guys blocking each other out, and more attention given.

The rules (for the gals): 1) you cannot invite your boyfriend; 2) If a guy is already invited by another girl, the girl has to choose another guy to go (the 2nd choice, or 3rd or whatever); 3) you're supposed to keep it a secret, i.e. not to reveal it to the invitee nor other invitors.

It all sounds fun until you think about the poor guys who don't get to go. So, in the spirit of all things to do with parties at INSEAD, there is another element added on top of it: guys have to campaign for that 'coveted' invitation to the End Game. Wow... and I thought there was no competition. :)

I think decisions have been made and invitations sent out: Have fun all End Gamers! And if you've ever lusted after someone, tell them.

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The end is nigh and I've got another location update to... well, update on. I'm going on a grad trip to Goa next week onwards, and then will return just in time for the graduation ceremony. If I don't blog in the meantime, it is because I didn't drag my laptop along, or I was just having too much fun to drag myself in front of a PC to hammer away on a keyboard.

Also, since I started using StatCounter on this blog, I've noticed certain discernible patterns among my readership: applying what I've learnt from Marketing classes, there are 3 main segments among the readers of this blog:

1) The Friend / Relative / ex-Colleague / fellow INSEADer who I've told about this blog;

2) The click-througher from another (more popular) blog that links here (Thanks to whoever links me!);

3) The ones searching for 'Markstrat Tricks' - seriously, I have so MANY of these guys that I'm seriously considering posting up a solid article that actually espouses the tricks behind Markstrat (there is ONE and only ONE trick I know: when it's time to kill babies, you have to KILL babies).

There: my segments. :) Which are you?

Drafted and Shafted

There were things which I wrote halfway and abandoned some time ago for one reason or another. Sometimes, I'm just not motivated enough to continue something I started (a familiar refrain alas). At other times, I don't structure my thoughts coherently enough to deliver something worth reading. I also sometimes fear that what I was writing might affect some friendships in certain adverse ways.

Here's one of those posts I started writing and never finished. It's been in the blogger draft folder since October:

The Night of a Thousand Fucks (Only the Verbal Kind though)

It was not a night to remember. I recalled sitting on a bench, and the next memory was 8 hours later waking up in a housemate's bed without any idea how I got there.

Well, it wasn't just about me not remembering - I was a big nuisance and I sure did not leave any fond memories for the folks I troubled that night.

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Piecing together the events of that night took a while - my fellow South-East Asian saw most of the action, and the blow-by-blow account blew me away. (he took some literal blows as well, poor sod)

First off, I was already drunk by the time he found me.

And then, he fed me more of the vile stuff.

The vile stuff makes one feel vile. But prior to feeling vile, I became the quintessential angry drunk, and that's when the litany of 'fucks' started.

I see someone familiar, and the first issuance from my mouth was 'F*** you'. A friend started keeping count, and from the time I started the f-ing rant till I dropped dead on the living room floor, it was a ceaseless F-fest.

Yup. Certifiably an angry drunk.

Oh yes, there was the hurling bit as well, and that's when it did not become that fun for my fellow South-East Asian friend. (It is always fun up to the point people get sick) Hurled on his jacket, his car, his shirt. Even violently tore up the hurl bag wrapped around my mouth. Punched and abused him as well.

The amount of verbal and physical abuse they had to endure. Ouch...

So there was sick in his car, and on our clothes. The guys dragged me home, pulled some sheets over the small living room area, and left me curled up on the floor.

I don't know how I ended up in my housemate's bed - and telling him had been the worst thing I had to do today.

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Yes I was drunk sometime in October. And drunk in only the kind of way one should be drunk: irresponsibly unconsciously dead drunk.

Another one I tried to write a few days ago didn't get anywhere beyond two points:

Question and Answer / Echo and Bounce

1. Why is it that conversations necessarily follow the Q&A format? I ask you a question, you say something in response, and we both think we are having a conversation. It seems otherwise impossible to elicit information from anyone else: it's all about getting a response.

2. A 'Plop' is an utterance that is greeted with silence. Actually, it is more like an unacknowledged comment. It is a painful thing being a plopper: you never know if it is because what you just said is the single most stupid comment in a conversation.

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Like the above painfully lousy drafts that never got published, some things are really better left unsaid. In the 'Better Left Unsaid' (BLU) bin, I've shafted a whole bunch of ideas which will probably never see the light of day.

For instance, I'd always wanted to write a travel blog that would go by the ostentatious name of 'Heart of Asia' (oddly enough, inspired by a particular techno chinois song). Unfortunately for me, I never did travel all that much - not during the time when I was earning a regular salary, and not even now when I'm a student. Not in Asia at least.

Then, there was the other idea about writing political trish-trash, something ala sammyboy forum clap-trap (like there isn't enough coffee shop political commentary already). I feared being flamed and ridiculed for what I think would most likely be naive commentary: better leave it for people without the common sense to shut up then.

The BLU bin is also filled with the (true) thoughts I have of the friends around me, and they are seldom very flattering. I generally don't see people optimistically: this means that I usually have the view that people around me possess more negative traits than positive ones. For instance, a friend of mine who is effusive and good natured to most other people; in my mind, he will be typified as being irritating, obsessed with unnecessary information, and choose inappropriate topics for conversations (think of that annoying kid who talks about the extent of his knowledge of various species of cockroaches while his parents are gagging over dinner).

I just can't see the positives in most people. What I really think about them thus are better left unsaid.



Like I said before, I'm too risk-averse.

Closer

"If you believe in love at first sight, you'll never stop looking"

Are we close friends? As with all vague notions, there is no metric with which I can measure the distance between us. I can't say that we're close friends because of reasons A, B, C... and so on. I certainly can't claim we're close friends because we see each other more often than others within our circle (well, outside my circle, there are friends who're indeed closer).

Can I build criteria? I think I've tried:

1. How often do we see each other a week?
2. What is the amount of time we spent exclusively in each other's company?
3. When we need to confide / talk, how often do we think of calling each other?
4. Are we... just friends? Or is there some other underlying attraction?
5. If so, is this what close friends do, or is this because other emotions are at play?
6. Have we fought?
7. How did we make up after that?
8. Do you love me? Does that still make us close friends, or something worse?

Vague notions and vague answers at best - when something as tenuous as a friendship needs to be defined along quantitative measures, what does one make of it?

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I have a friend - close enough, but not close enough to touch rub my emotions raw - who is very good at one thing: she is good at asking questions. She asks questions relentlessly, and her style of presentation is to shoot questions at her audience, make them ponder, and rattle off more questions in quick succession. The questions always demand an answer, and the way that it is asked, the answers are proffered in no small measure. The questions are always good, but the answers to them always seem to invite her to probe more, like a hungry unsatiated hippo (eating up those balls... hehe... pardon the slight digression into the 80s).

But although she asks questions well, she doesn't seem to give answers. It is a one-sided relationship: she asks the questions, you give the answers. And there's no point in asking questions of her because she doesn't have answers. Or it might be that the answers she's collected, she's keeping them for herself, unwilling or unable to share them. Perhaps she cannot distill the answers she hoards into something that someone else can understand. So the questions always come flying, but the answers don't. And in such a relationship, the answerer always feel drained, like he's being sucked dry of knowledge without any replenishment in return.

"Ask and it shall be given unto you" but can one ask incessantly? Very unchristianly behaviour to be expecting reciprocity on this account, but one can't help feeling like he isn't getting a fair bargain.

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"If you believe in love at first sight... take a closer look"

You must be wondering, do I have a point to all this? Like with all good things, I'm getting to my point - in my fashion.

I think that, with regards to how close a friendship really is, one can only ask vague questions of oneself and invite unwillingly qualitative answers. As with my inquisitive friend, the questions one can ask only invite further questions, until such a point when no answers can be elicited.

A close friendship cannot be one without some measure of attraction (my opinion). At some base level, one has to be attracted to the other - with same-sex friends, it doesn't necessarily mean you're gay. The attraction has to be of a kind where one finds a quality in the other that one desires, whether it be that the other is beautiful, or smart, or in possession of some such attribute.

The thing is, the level of attraction cannot exceed a certain (vague) point - beyond that (vague) point, it tilts towards something more akin to attraction and liking, where one party comes to desire the other. When Desire plays the matchmaker, that friendship isn't close anymore: it is means to an end, that end being one of desire, and at its most debased, lust.

A close friendship does not need frequent contact, nor does it need two people to spend any significant amount of time with each other (again, my opinion). In fact, when two people spend too much time with each other, it's more likely they will end up detesting the other, finding each other's bad habits beyond reproach and letting familiarity breed contempt.

Time apart from each other allows room in which one can grow, and change in ways that only a close friend can appreciate. Being in frequent contact means the subtle changes go unnoticed, and that is always a loss to the unobservant one.

Finally, getting closer doesn't mean one should not fall in love with the other: it just means that such emotions need to be embraced and expressed - with much grace and some acceptance of the fact that the friendship might not be the same thereafter. Never, ever, bottle up your emotions - when one does, the time will come when emotions burst forth in a torrent and there will be no way to pretend one never felt them.

And when it comes to that point, can one remain close?

George Michael sings it thus, and it speaks for me: 'I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye.'

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"Those who love at first sight are traitors at every glance"






Notes:
1. Quotes in italics were taken from taglines for the movie Closer (2004).
2. Hungry Hungry Hippos is one of those meaningless games from the 80s. You take the lever of one of 4 hippos and manoeuvre it to 'eat' as many balls as possible. The player with the most balls eaten wins.

3. The George Michael song? That line's taken from the song 'Last Christmas' by Wham!

Me 11/2006

I reckon this has to be the easiest thing to blog about. What is harder than talking about yourself?

If you've ever attended a toastmasters' meeting, this will be the first thing that you have to do. Talk about yourself for 3 minutes (I think... I can't really remember now). Back in NUS 1997, I attended one session with the toastmasters there, had a panic attack and never returned. I wished I'd stayed: perhaps I could have gone on to become a better public speaker. It must have been the law students scaring me away with their vocabulary.

Anyhow, if you want to compare the me now and the me in 2005, I really can't see much in my psyche that has changed: I think I am still me essentially.

But... let's start anyhow.

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The Me in November has been a student for 11 months. I am currently an INSEAD participant (they don't like to call us students, the adminstration). Unfortunately, this status isn't lasting for much longer, probably warranting another update soon in 2007. See, I'm going to be graduating soon - next month - and then I can truly call myself an alumni and MBA.

Being an MBA hasn't done me much good financially: I've gone into debt and my finances are strained beyond what they can bear. The MBA also hasn't given me any better an idea what I want to become: the kiddy dreams of becoming the CEO of some MNC remains that - a kiddy dream.

But hey, I can still dream, and dream big.

:
:

Come to think of it, the MBA gave me the dreams in the first place. And the MBA taught me many things which I would never have learnt in a less formal context: there just isn't the kind of room to learn the things you learn in an MBA while on the job. So a one year break to learn, to recharge, to rethink, and to find myself: priceless.

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The Me in November is also in a rut relationship-wise. There is nobody. Zilch. Not any romance in sight. Having concluded a relationship during summer, the me now just cannot muster enough resources to mount another 'offensive', i.e. search for a new girlfriend. Partly because life is still in a state of flux, and partly because I'm just not motivated enough to. Another reason was also because any romantic interests I harbour didn't get past the 'reality-check' stage.

That stage goes like this: OK, now I know I like this girl. What next? Shall I tell her? No, not yet. Only when I am sure we can have something that will last - like your last one, you don't want to make the same mistake right? Ok, but it won't last, and you know it won't. Am I sure? I don't know. But what if she doesn't like you back? Hell, then I can't tell her can I? Don't want to risk getting all hurt and such. Ok, hold back on those emotions and just be all rational: it won't last, she won't like you, and what's the whole point of it all?

Right. So the reality check was a huge jumbly mass of thoughts that did not materialise into concrete action. The fact was that I did do something about it in the end, but I did the minimal. All that thought of 'risk' just screws one up.

Oh, where was I? Yes, I'm in a relationship-rut, but then, that kind of suits my mood nowadays. It lets me simmer in dismay and brew in mild discontent at the (perceived) unfortunate circumstance. It allows me the room to play out fantasies, and not risk getting disappointed with real-life. It lets me withdraw into my own space, like a turtle in his shell, away from disappointment and hurt - why go through all that shit again, right?

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The Me in November has one grandparent less than the Me in 2005. On my dad's side of the family, this meant that there were no more old people... The mantle of old people has passed from my grandparents to... gasp... my parents.

My dad hit 60 in October, sometime after the death of my grandmother. I now think a lot more about getting old and living out the twilight years. I think more about how I want to live when I get there. The more I think about such nonsense as the future, the more I worry that my father never lived the dreams he had when he was a 30-year-old lad.

My father certainly didn't foresee himself failing in business at that age. I don't think he saw himself as getting too old either. I don't know if he ever was disappointed: with his career, his life, his children, his marriage. I don't know if he ever felt elated with the age he has lived up to. He always found solace in religion, and it has been that way since he was a teenager.

I admire that about my father: the ability to have that much faith. Perhaps I ask too much of my faith. Perhaps I ask too much of God and what he should or should not have done to this world (and me in the process, but I feel so small).

Nevertheless, my father is still the person I look up to. (I've got to speak for my mum too... but that's another long story for another time).

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The Me in November just realised how jaded I have become. Reading the post of me back in June 2005, I seemed more carefree, more at ease with myself in the world. Now, I think I am more uptight and frustrated. More bogged down by the mundane and meaninglessness of existence. More questioning of my self worth and what my station in this world is.

The Me in November can't look beyond November and regain the optimism that the Me in 2005 had. There was more hope then, and more clarity on my purpose in life. What I have now is a little less desire, a little less hunger for success. Hitting 30 must do this to you, I posit. Hitting 30 must give you that sense of dread that life just isn't the same anymore, and downhill is the only way to go.

Crap.

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The Me in November wants to walk out of December 2006 into a new year with his head held high and his future straightened out. Granted that I am not the most happy person to be with now, I do hope to be happy, and I do seek happiness.

That's why I don't like the risks that I have to take sometimes, but that's part and parcel of life.



Living it a day at a time...


The Me in November apologises for the utter lack of references to persons other than himself. This is an ego-piece and, although it does not live up to its promise of describing Me in November, it does serve its purpose of acting as an outlet for venting some frustration. Me in November is a frustrated, sex-deprived, uptight, unhappy, and screwed-up son of a bitch and he admits it readily. It's a wonder that he still has any friends, and they're absolutely gourmet when it comes to being friends. Top notch. He also wants to say that he loves you all.

All Saints Home, Block 1, Room 2, Niche 194

... is the final resting place for my grandmother.

(until the lease runs out at the place sometime within the next 30 years and pending whatever actions the authorities might take)

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I have never had a close experience with death before. The passing of my grandmother last month brought it home to me, but even then, I was a few thousand miles away when it happened.

There was already a foreboding that it would happen sometime soon - before I left for France at the end of August, I made sure I saw her again at my uncle's place. She was weak and not able to say much to me. I don't even know if she recognised me. And like the numerous occasions on which I had visited her, I said my greetings and my few words of tepid encouragement, then proceeded to chat with my uncle and aunt from whom I could understand her condition better. After a while, grandma got tired, and the maid wheeled her back to her room to get some sleep.

Sleep. She was always sleeping.

That was the last time I saw her alive. That was the last time I saw her in any physical form (I see her in my sleep sometimes - a younger, more sprightly person - the grandmother who brought me shopping for toys as a little boy). That was the last time I said goodbye, and I did not even say it to her because she had gone to her room to rest.

Then I went to France and about 3 weeks into the French immersion at Fontainebleau, dad hit me with the news that my grandmother's condition has gone bad. She was hospitalised, gone into the ICU, and doctors gave the prognosis that she has less than a month to live.

I remember being stunned speechless and unable to respond, the voice wavering and about to break. I forced back tears while talking to dad, and my housemate driving the car seemed to sense something wrong in my demeanour: I was always acting so tough in front of her. I made sure from that point on to always call my dad - every couple of days or so. He was my only link left to grandma. And he was her favourite son: he will feel the loss THE most.

A couple of weeks later, the bad news hit and she passed away. I remember vividly that night. There was a party at some chateau, one of those themed events in INSEAD, and I didn't feel up to going. I came home from a dinner with a friend, and promptly logged onto the internet, doing the usual job application and surfing around that characterised the period of September and October 2006. Then the sms came and I sighed a sigh of relief and anguish: she has died.

Last saturday and it was time to go see her, yet it felt like there is no point anymore. She has died, with a plaque and fake flowers to mark her final resting place, filed away among other remains like in a library. Little was I to know that, when you visit the dead, it is not just about the one dead person you're going to see. It is about much more and I am glad I went.

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So what of visiting the dead?

I learnt about memories we keep as human beings, memories we retain of people we have lost. A lot of emotions get invested in our friends and family when we live, and when one passes, the loss is felt so tangibly by the people around one.

Many people try to retain that memory, and I saw it so much at All Saints Home (in Punggol). Even while this is a place housing urns of ashes, people still managed to build up shrines in memory of their loved ones. Fake flowers adorn every niche; some leave post-it notes behind, cut in the shape of hearts; soft toys for those who died young; little adornments with much love behind them; pictures; tributes - some left behind obituaries pasted up beside the niches. Physical manifestations of their love for the departed, hope perhaps that the dead might see, that the dead might hear their prayers.

There were other things that were visible among the dead: birth dates... and death dates. What is it about the human compulsion to note the two dates, however meaningless to the rest of the world, that bookend our existences?

But I saw patterns... me? I always see the sad ones.

A girl who lived a mere 9 years. The picture showed a young lively person in her school uniform.

A boy, aged 18 when he passed away. The items decorating the niche indicated a girlfriend in his life, and parents who miss him a lot. Him in his army No. 1 uniform. I can't help but think it is an accident while he was serving NS.

A family of 4 occupying an entire bottom row of a column. All died on the same day. Perhaps a suicide pact? Car accident while on holiday? Did the father face financial troubles and decided to end it all? Did it make the news? (a cousin who was with me couldn't help muttering something about it being in the news...)

An old woman, her niche unadorned with fake flowers (the caretakers do not clear away items from the niches and thus discourage real flowers). The plaque is yellow with age and lists simply her birth, death, and the typical "Gone home to be with her Lord". No one has visited it.

Physical retentions... and the pain is very real. But when I depart, what do I want to leave behind?

Pics on my Phone - Set 1

There are a bunch of pictures on my phone that I seldom look at or even bother with. Some were taken using my phone (an old battered Nokia 6260), while some were sent by others. All are, alas, low-res pics that will only have some esoteric value to me. In no particular order, here's a set of 5 of them:



I took this picture illegally. Camera phones aren't allowed in camp, but I snuck mine in nonetheless. This is a pic from the top of a watchtower, looking down the chute and ladder from which you climb to access it. It was night, there was nothing to do, and my poor myopic eyes couldn't make out stuff moving in the dark anyway - in other words, I was so bored that I resorted to taking pics of the surroundings (and got this).



This one is from INSEAD, specifically during a time in June when I was on the Fontainebleau campus. My assigned exam number was 44 which, to the Chinese, is about as unlucky a number as you can get. The exam numbers determine where you sit in the amphitheatres during the exams. As you can see, I have a good view of my fellow MBA's exam paper from where I sit (didn't cheat though... no time to).



This is a metro station in Barcelona. In most parts of Europe, their metros (from my perspective) are little more than 'holes-in-the-ground'. There's a hole, you climb down, and - voila! - trains. I like the train stations in Singapore better: at least they can be considered to be buildings, or have the semblance of a station - they're also far easier to locate and find (you tend to miss holes-in-the-ground).



My ex-colleague and his opinion on me using my phone to take his picture. Not the most flattering shot I'm afraid, and if he ever finds out about this blog, he'll be screaming for that pic to be taken down (I doubt he'll sue - he does have a good sense of humour about such things).



A pretty girl, coffee, and a picture taken without my notice. Never leave your phone behind while you go to the washroom: some beautiful lady might decide to leave her pictures on it. (of course it helps if you were dating her...)

Where have you been?

Right here - I'm still thinking stuff and thinking about writing stuff. I still have an insatiable urge to write stuff down and to voice my opinions to the world.

The problem is that I am unable to structure it properly very well these days. It is kind of like my consulting interviews: I show up and they ask me (another) one of those case interview questions where they don't care about the answer, just how well you 'structure' the discussion. So you hatch up some stupid framework and then methodically step through it even though both you, and the interviewer, probably already has some idea where to go.

But that's beside the point: the point is, I can't structure my thoughts well nowadays (explains the dings?).

A commitment is one nonetheless, and having started this blog, I'm not about to kill it due to a lack of commitment. So here is my commitment to you (my loyal readers! All... oh let's say 10 of you!). I am going to write posts on:

1. The familiar theme of the succubus - I think I have succumbed to the charms of one of late and have lost my soul (and countless energy) to one such vampire. I want this post to be a metaphorical allegory (to my own situation wherever applicable), and I want to discuss succubi and the havoc they wreak. Unfortunately though, I've yet to think about the sub-themes I want to explore, and the whole idea (of succubi) is plagiarised from an introductory lit text that I read a long time ago.

2. A useful strategy dictionary - there are so many useful buzzwords taught in the strategy courses at INSEAD that I was thinking about collecting them into a useful compendium for current INSEAD P2s - any who happen to read my site anyhow (I never did). Just the other day, I was in this strat class and one comment I made literally used 8 strategy buzzwords in one sentence: "A first-mover advantage is only useful if a company has achieved critical mass among its installed base, such that it is able to influence the willingness-to-pay of the consumer, deliver a viable value proposition that cannot be eroded through...". You get my drift.

3. P5 Life in INSEAD - which... as it is... there really isn't much to talk about. School is like an afterthought now: the primary drivers are jobs, travel and recreation while studying is that nuisance which happens during certain odd hours of the day. Sad times indeed, P5.

4. An update on myself - Back in June 2005, I wrote a short piece about myself. The intention was to keep it an ongoing project of sorts, to see where my life has led me by doing a similar piece every so often (it was supposed to be every 3 months I think, but the slacker that I am...). It is probably a time for an update: so many things have changed in my life, so many things haven't. I still don't think I can write a decent post about myself without talking about the people around me, but there has been a general trend to be more egoistic of late (I blame the MBA) and I am finding myself to use the first person pronouns - 'I' and 'Me' - a little too often. Discomforting thought...

5. Thinking and Acting - a class I took today showed a video clip of our ex-dean Hawawini talking about the 3rd INSEAD campus in the United States (which was an initiative that he had a lot of passion for, but it won't happen... not for a while). I thought something he said made some sense and its definitely something worth sharing in a little post when I can bear to structure it.

So there, 5 things I promise; 5 things I shall deliver.

Soon.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles; A new Period

A combination of a few things put me out of blogging action for a while:

1. I've gotten lazy.

2. I was catching up on anime I haven't seen. Anime freaks out there should go catch Kanon and Death Note (the anime, not the movie, though I've heard good things about the movie too).

3. I started re-playing this very long-winded turn-based time-consuming ego-feeding empire-building game which took too much time (because I had too much of it currently). It distracted me from one true purpose of having this laptop (which is to blog with)

4. I was on holiday... with my ex... it was really fun hanging out with someone you know well, but you may never know people well enough (I've come to realise that people can change - someone you think you know now won't be the same person you know later). That makes life interesting, but I'm not looking for interesting experiences nowadays. I just want a life. Period. (punctuation notwithstanding)

5. I was suffering from a writer's block of sorts - there were things I wanted to blog about, but I couldn't put them into words.

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There was an idea to talk about one oft-cited topic: Love. Or rather the reasons for love. I think that love is based on a primal urge to procreate, and as human beings, we are driven to find love because we want to have sex and to reproduce (from a biological point of view, of course). It just gets complicated that we develop feelings along the way: stupid things going by names such as jealousy, hatred, ecstasy - you know them well.

But then, I thought about the fact that too many people have expounded on this topic already, and what can I add to the people who actually read my blog? (I think my regular readers have reached a number that I can count with both my hands!).

So I shan't discuss love - I don't have it now, and I certainly am hungry for it, though I'm beginning to think it is a function of a biological urge.

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There is this post that I wanted to do regarding Singapore Airlines though - I even took notes while the incident was playing out. I was flying out of Changi Airport (Singapore) to Bangkok on an SQ flight (my first in years) and a situation occurred which prevented me from boarding the plane for a long while.

It started with me queueing to check in at Terminal 2's Row 7 check in counter. The first irritating thing is that there is actually a very long queue: it was a rope-lashed snake with 4 bends, which meant one having to navigate an airport push trolley onto people's ankles at least 4 times. One snaky queue feeding something like 12 counters (or positions depending on whose choice of words you chose), of which some were available and some were intermittently closed. I soon found out why there were positions that had to be 'intermittently' closed.

There was actually a lady, not in the usual SIA counter staff garb (the one counter staff wear with the distinctive SQ kebaya pattern for a top and a schoolgirl skirt), standing at the head of the queue directing people to the various counters. She looked authoritative, and she even 'selected' people to skip ahead to the front of the queue, depending on how late they are for their flights. There seemed to be a bias - she seems to move Caucasians ahead of the pack more often than not, but I was probably just being too sensitive. Maybe these ang-mohs just have a thing for checking in late.

Anyhow, this was the situation 2 hours prior to my flight. And I finally got to the counter to check in. I presented my passport, the girl tapped away on the keyboard. I was kept there for something like 5 minutes before being told that a situation had arisen where I might not get a seat on the flight.

Time-out... Now, typically, I think the usual SIA customer will be outraged and suitably angry at this point. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CANNOT PUT ME ON THAT FLIGHT?" might be something I have uttered in utter desperation. With my Outraged Customer Hat on, I might have made a scene or a huge fuss out of the fact that I come 2 hours early to find myself not checked onto the flight. Not impossible yah?

But I am not a usual SIA customer: this is my first SIA flight since I was 10. So I put my
Operations Consultant Hat on instead and decided to find out why she said that.

The reason, oddly enough, actually made sense operationally. SIA is an airline that connects people via Changi airport between people flying out of Europe and Australia going to destinations in Asia (and vice versa, though it was the former case for this situation). A flight out of Sydney coming into Singapore was delayed, and a bunch of the passengers on this particular flight missed their connection in Singapore to other destinations in South-East Asia like Bangkok, Manila and Hanoi.

Knowing that these people are going to miss their scheduled connections, the system did the next best thing it could for them: it put them on the next available SQ flight out to these destinations. One of these next best flight happened to be SQ62 to Bangkok: my flight. All this probably happened even before I showed up at the airport. It made sense then and there to secure the next flight out for these folks, but obviously some things have not been well thought through.

For one thing, the flight was already overbooked - this is a typical airline practice: there is some complicated system to actually calculate yield rates and airlines know that they can overbook an aircraft because there will be cancellations. However, I was flying out on a Hari Raya-Deepavali holiday weekend, which probably screw things up a bit because complex booking algorithms can seldom account for irratic holiday weekend travel patterns.

So while pushing delayed passengers on subseqeunt connecting flights made sound business sense, the fact that the flight was OVERBOOKED, and that it was a HOLIDAY WEEKEND meant that there WILL be people actually boarding that flight in Singapore and one cannot discount that they WILL want to get on the flight.

But... Singapore Airlines, well-known for providing the BEST service to customers put their delayed customers on the next flight out nonetheless. So what was the effect of this happening?

You should have seen the scene at Changi Airport Terminal 2 Check in counter Row 7. Customers were told they needed to wait while the front counter staff scramble to get them seats. My bag was checked in: my bag could actually get on the flight while I had to wait for my turn. I sat on the seats next to the check in row, observing other passengers suffering the same fate. Irate ang-mohs are a sight to behold: this lady was frustrated, furious and screaming at one of the supervisors. Quite understandable: this is Singapore Airlines you're talking about, and what level of service is it that you cannot check in someone who's arrived two hours early?

In providing the best possible service for the folks boarding a delayed flight in Sydney, it has made it impossible for the folks boarding a confirmed flight in Singapore. Pretty well thought out for a world class airline, I must say.

Now, let me assume the Front Counter Staff Hat and see the real victim in all of this. I make no bones about the fact that the real victim isn't myself, the customer. The real victim is the Front Counter girl and mine is named Elline (I never found out her last name). It's a good thing I have had an opportunity to work behind a counter myself (A&E, NUH, something from my previous life as an IT consultant) and I understood what she was going through - I think I was the most reasonable customer for her all of that busy morning.

Often, the Front Counter Staff (FCS) have to handle things on two fronts, both of which are beyond her control in the first place. There is the irate customer on the one hand: the FCS has to deal with frustration, irritation and emotions which are generally beyond their level of comprehension. People hate to wait, and having reached the front of a queue, people hate to be told that they have waited for nothing. The FCS needs to be gentle, reassuring and understanding all at a time when they might be screamed at, shouted at and verbally abused. A crying FCS is a typical sight when things in the backroom get out of hand.

And this is where the FCS faces the biggest ordeal: things happen in the backroom which are beyond her control, and which she might have an inkling of an idea about. The FCS is tasked to provide the best possible service and her KPI is measured based on that - customer waiting time, turnaround time, service etc. But her KPI is affected by backroom events such as the one I have mentioned above.

So, the FCS can try to explain the situation to the irate customer, and at best hope that the customer will understand. It is a tough job with a frequently high turnover, but you do develop a thick hide after facing the worst of them. Elline, my SIA FCS of Row 7, was kind enough to explain the situation, checked in my bag, got me to wait patiently while she put up the sign that said 'Position Closed'. She then ran back and forth between some unknown backroom location and the front counter, all in the name of getting me on that flight.

Me? I was thinking a few things while making notes about the ordeal (I was too free, no book to read, no laptop to punch away on). Firstly, I should have just used SIA's Internet Check-in: much easier, no hassle, and my bag can be carried on. Alternatively, I should have gone in as baggage: bags can get on the flight, passengers cannot. It is SIA, I kept repeating to myself, and it has the best service. Yup, to the irate ang mohs it sure does, since their tempers are well on display. I can still picture this supervisor saying "Sorry... sorry" over and over again to customers who complained.

But I guess there are miracles. Half an hour before the plane was to fly, Elline got me onto the flight. But well, it was the last available seat on the plane - all the way at the back, no choice of aisle or window (I got aisle), near the area where the stewardesses prepare the food. I thanked her, asked her for her name - this is so that I can write this post with a name in mind. The FCS are not nameless assistants to your customer experience: they are also human beings.

I ran, boarded and enjoyed the rest of my trip to Bangkok. But I don't think SIA is that good anymore: Does it make sense that providing good service meant bumping up delayed passengers onto a connecting flight, at the expense of kicking off full-paying passengers who are booked on that flight? I'm tempted to assume my CEO of SIA Hat but I think not: its enough that I blogged about it - if they offer me a job, I think I might even try to help think through strategic imperatives to DEAL with it.

They need some serious re-thinking there... Singapore Airlines.

From one Desert to Another

Where: Dubai Airport

What?: Yup. It is like the busiest airport in the Middle East and it shows. Haggard transits lounge around the coffee joint where I'm enjoying the free wifi and (finally) a real iced mocha blended that the French hiss their disapproval at.

Whatcha doing there?: I'm transitting. I hate airports and crowds.

Again?: Ok, I'm leaving France and on my way home. Sorry I didn't write about it.

You're forgiven. Now where are you going?: That's a no brainer. I'm going home to Singapore where my heart is.

Why?: Coz I'm finishing up INSEAD over there, and see more of my parents before I start on my next big adventure.

Which is?: a secret... Ok, I don't really know yet, but I hope it'll be in China. Shanghai specifically.

Good luck to you: Thanks.

Anything else to share?: Yup. I never said this out, but there was also the matter of a death in the family. My grandmother passed away like... 2 weeks back. I've not blogged about it because I think it kinds of give away my identity and stuff (there's another thing I want to blog about... but I'll keep that for later).

Sorry to hear that: I hear that a lot. Thanks anyhow.

Miss her?: Kinda. See, I also want to be home for my family because of that. Like, you never know when you'll see them again, right?

Ditto: Yup. Batt's running low. Next time!

R&R

Short one. I resolved not to rant and rave in the new year. Ranting and Raving is the easier way to blog stuff, but with so many bloggers doing that on a daily basis, the verbal diarrhoea has to end sometime.

Of course, that is for the new year. Until then, I shall R&R until I can clear my system of the frustration within.

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Just had a chat with the landlady, and like always, there's her screaming at me, and me screaming at her, and then us having a decent conversation about the state of the house, and her worries, and her latin blood, and her bloody problems with tenants like me, and the bank. Endless woes being a landlady: and I thought it was all about collecting the money and sitting in the sun with a pina colada (not much sun in Fall, so I guess that explains the gloomy mood).

Landladies are a breed all of their own. But I still maintain this: don't do business with her!

Out in Left Field: Jealousy and Envy

I figured that a sufficiently oblique post title will wing it, but on re-reading the above, I don't think it'll make any sense to anyone at all besides myself.

Yes, I'm beside myself with envy and jealousy. These are feelings I hate to have, especially when they're also tinged with a little wrath and lust. The potent combination of all of the above leaves me feeling like shit, which, in some sense of the word, is what I am like right now: feeling a little too shitty.

I guess it started with the McDing (borrowed the phrase from a housemate). Kick ass consulting firm McKinsey has decided that its venerated institution cannot house a degenerate like me. Unfortunately, they also couldn't muster the proper interviewers either: my first interviewer looked more like he came from the set of Lord of the Rings where he played one of the orcs. The questions were fast and furious, and I kept getting interrupted. I suppose that's part of the stress interview bit about it, but I don't appreciate being treated like an idiot (two beady little eyes staring out at me isn't making me like him... and how is he expected to like me when I don't like him? Wrong vibes sent bothways kill any rapport that I was trying to build). The result: dinged.

So began my descent into shithood. It got worse when my landlady decided that she is an amnesiac, and now thinks that a conversation that we have had did not happen, and thereby thinks she is entitled to return my deposit to me when I leave. I explicitly stated to our dear Mrs G.U. that we had an agreement (she even sent me an email as confirmation) that she will pay me, in cash, on certain stated dates way before I leave, the full deposit amount. Mrs G.U. has conveniently decided that my email never happened, and her mode of dealing with problems is to pretend that emails I sent her were never received (especially if they were complaints or demands for deposits to be returned).

So... and here I do something that I shall look back as my one big vengeful act even if it probably wouldn't have much of an impact...

Future students of INSEAD coming to Fontainebleau: Avoid any dealings with the likes of ACM Meuble, the so-called company of our very dear Mrs G.U. (who I shan't name because I don't like to be sued, in France or anywhere else). She is inconsistent in her rent demands. She likes to create artificial charges for certain things and do not show you the bills for them. She thinks that rent can be raised and lowered as and when she feels like it. She maintains horrible accounts. She will bug you to pay for broken utensils or crockery that isn't your fault. She is the bitchy empress of the sleepy little village of VLS.

Oooh. I feel better already.

And as if the shitty times aren't over, I suddenly feel left out from parties and dinners. I think it is a function of a few factors: one, I'm not popular enough; two, I'm not social enough (well, can't help it, my nature); three, I'm not a girl (average looking girls also get invited to dinners, shucks). Getting left out isn't so bad, but when getting left out meant being driven home to sulk while your housemate heads out afterwards to all the cool social gigs make it suck. Yes, getting left out = jealousy + envy and the somewhat sick feeling that getting invited meant everything (socially).

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Haha... a case of sour grapes, of course. I'm a sucker for feeling bad about myself, and given the right conditions (3 in fact), I just can't help but start feeling sorry about myself.

Eventually, these things don't matter, but it kind of rankles whenever feelings of this sort bubbles to the surface. It's not possible to prevent oneself from feeling it. Hopefully, other things and events in the long run will smooth out the short term ill feelings that nestle within oneself.

After all, I am myself: my definition of my self-worth isn't in the number of invitations I got.

A Bird in the Hand is Worth Two in the Bush

... and right after typing in the title, I started having dirty thoughts about 'bird in hand' and 'in the bush'. Ack... my state of mind these days.

So anyhow, the topic of the day (as is the topic of anyday with some of the serious-minded-career types at INSEAD) is about the job search. The economics behind the job search plays out like the proverbial 'bird in hand' (give me a moment while I stifle the urge to think masturbatory thoughts):

1. You send out job applications by the truckloads.

2. Actually, this is step 0, but I'm lazy. You think about 3 factors when considering the jobs you apply for and use these like filters: Geography, Function, Category. With Geography (not the O-level subject you're thinking) you consider whether or not you want to work in a familiar environment, or somewhere exotic and new. Like Europe. Or London, which, apparently to some, is NOT Europe.

Then you think about the Category (my choice of word for this): do you want to work in Finance and Banking and not have a life? Or do you want to work in Consulting and not have a life? Or do you want to work in industry and curse the other guys for taking the better paying jobs? Tough questions to answer indeed.

Of course, there is Function to consider: which area of work? HR? Sales? Line Management (as opposed to managing dots which are 'infinite')?

Career Services advise that you don't change more than 2 of the above 3 dimensions with your career switch. I think that's bollocks: you should challenge yourself to do all 3 and leave me with the competitive advantage. :)

3. So, after sending out the applications, you sit, wait and twiddle thumbs. Very soon, one of two things happen:

a) you get an email or phone call telling you to come for an interview. Hooray!

b) you get an email (never a phone call at this stage, mind you) telling you politely to f*** off. A 'ding'. Here's an example of a ding I got (name of company removed to protect myself from potentially harmful repercussions):

Dear Greyscalefuzz,
Thank you very much for your interest in MyKickAssCompany.

Following careful consideration of your CV, we regret that we are unable to identify roles that would be a good fit between your skills and our needs at the current time. If you have no objections, we will like to retain your resume in our database, and get in touch with you should there be other opportunities in the future.

We would like to take this opportunity to wish you success in your MBA studies and all the best for your future endeavours.

Best regards,

MyName

That one's from an industry company. Here's one from a management consultancy:

Dear Greyscalefuzz,

Thank you for your interest in Talkalot Consulting Company.

Our worldwide recruiting committees have reviewed the information you sent us. We are impressed with your excellent track record and your demonstrated abilities. However, as we regularly receive a large number of applications, we are forced to make decisions on candidates based on written applications.

We regret that we cannot offer you a personal interview at this time.

We do appreciate your interest in TCC and wish you every success in finding a rewarding and challenging position.

Yours sincerely,
MyName

This one is a personal fave for the sheer pomposity of it:

Dear Mr Greyscalefuzz,

Thank you very much for sending MyConsultingCompany your curriculum vitae. We have reviewed it with interest, and it is clear that you have achieved significant academic performance and professional experience.

The standard of all the applicants from INSEAD and other top international MBA programs this year has been extraordinarily high, and we have been forced to apply a very severe set of criteria.

I regret to have to inform you that, despite your high level of achievement, we have decided not to proceed at this stage with the recruiting process.

We would like to suggest that you keep us informed of your professional moves, so that we may discuss further potential opportunities of working together at a future date.

We would like to thank you for your interest in MyConsultingCompany, and to wish you the very best for the remainder of your time at INSEAD, and for your career choices.

Best regards,
MyName

4. At this stage, I'm going to briefly summarise what happens: you go interview for the first round, sit and wait some more, then step 3 repeats itself (i.e. 'hooray' or 'ding'). Then there's 2nd round, and any number of stupid rounds these recruiters would like to have. At the end of it all, you either end up with a job, or you do not.

And here I go into complain mode once again: say you have a job already (bird in hand, snigger snigger), and you think to yourself 'Hmm, I like this job very much, but I kind of want to know what else there is out there that I can grab'. So you send out more job apps, keep your holing recruiter fan waiting, and, because of your stellar CV manage to get more job interviews. And you ace them. And you then end up with two fistfuls of job offers.

Then what? What's the point of feeding your ego that way? Come on: there are guys out there with mouths to feed (ok, I exaggerate), but you DON'T need to apply and reap that many. You can do with what you REALLY want, and isn't that a lot more satisfying for you? And can you actually face the fact that you're depriving both the company, and another considered applicant, a position through your own selfish actions?

Ah, my rants and raves. So there: the bird in hand is definitely nice. Those two in the bush are good too, and of course you should go for them if they are the right kind (and the bird in your hand isn't). But be a content person - too many birds can only mean too much bird shit, and shit in your face is bad for the skin.

A Man Goes on a Journey - Through His Cluttered Mind

This is strange: I'm supposed to be really busy this period, but I've actually found time to blog more.

Earlier this year, it felt like a good week when I managed to write something, anything, at all. Then when it took two weeks, I didn't feel bad either, because I was genuinely tied up and I actually gave more thought to what I wrote.

This time around though, I'm not thinking that much anymore: I just wrote what I felt and whenever I felt like it. Reading some of that output though hasn't been satisfying: I think I thought I have been thinking less. In fact, I think I've been plagiarising a whole lot more.

And that's what I think I want to talk about: My Plagiarism.

Most written work are derivative in nature: they originated out of one source or another. For example, you will find that most themes have their roots in the Bible, whether intentional or not. Brother kills brother? Read Genesis for the story of Caine and Abel. Small guy beats the odds and thrashes big guy? David and Goliath. There is little in terms of thematic structure or plot that hasn't been written about before.

As an aside, I once wrote sometime back about how it was viewed that all stories take one of two forms. To reiterate, the two forms are: "A man goes on a journey" and "A stranger rides into town". It is too much of a stretch of generalisation to apply such a cookie cutter approach to stories. Using the idea of themes instead of plotlines (which is what man-journey and stranger-town fall into) should be the better way to go.

So why am I coming to this topic then? See, I'm beginning to see that this blog lacks a solid thematic structure: it is trying to be everything and nothing at the same time. I thought giving it the name of greyscalefuzz (used to use that nick in IRC chats I think) was appropriate: generally, it was kind of grey and fuzzy what I thought I wanted to blog about.

The theme? To call it a log of my personal thoughts and happenings seem to fall short in describing it. It's not really about my personal thoughts: it is sometimes about the thoughts of others, and my interpretation of something else I've read or heard or seen. It's rarely my idea or my thought - hence the derivation-driven quality of it.

And it certainly doesn't record much of what's happening (though, of late, I seem to be dumping some of the frustration I've felt at school). I don't meticulously bore people or myself with what's happening in my life. If you really want to know, I woke up this morning, feeling hungover without having drunk anything, brushed my teeth, spent my morning with Ron walking through the flea market, etc etc. Oh yes, come to think of it, if I wrote about Ron's life though, it DEFINITELY will be an interesting blog, but alas, I can't live his life (as he so succintly reminds me everytime, I haven't quite sufficiently screwed myself up enough).

So... the theme again? How about calling it a photoblog? Somehow that doesn't work either. I don't take photos often enough. And I only really start snapping when I'm on little trips overseas, either by myself or with others, but I tended to be more prolific whenever I went on trips by myself. I like some of the photos I've taken, but silly Shutterstock kept rejecting my batch submissions. See, you have to send in 10 photos, and have at least 7 of acceptable quality. Everytime I submitted (twice), only 6 passed their selection criteria. There were even photos which passed through the first time, but not the second (and here I wonder why). So alas, my photos aren't quite stock-photo quality, and I can't call this a photoblog much (not enough photos, no camwhore here I'm afraid).

Food blog? Forget about it. I'm the last thing to being a foodie: I just eat what's on the table. There are four words in my food vocabulary and they are Sour, Sweet, Bitter and Spicy. For one thing, I think Ms X has given up on educating me about the intricacies of French food and the fine dining experience. Food in front of me, I eat. Only care that it is something I've eaten before and it doesn't smell too strongly of garlic. Menu in French? Ok, point here, give me that (of course it helps when I can recognise words like Oeuf, Pomme de Terre, Poisson etc). Oh, okay French-idiots, it's Egg, Potato and Fish respectively.

How about theming this a blog expounding on political ideals and ambitions? Denounce Lee Kwan Yew! Singapore's an autocratic country! Enlightened Despot! Benign Dictatorship! The PAP sucks and all that crap!

Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.

Ha.

I'm just not interested I suppose. I think its fine and all to discuss politics, especially in the arena of the blogging world, given the freedom of expression. But I sometimes don't really care: this little island will take its time to change, and no blogger or other person for that fact can complain enough, write childish Today articles enough, denounce the government from unheard-of American universities enough, hold ineffective demonstrations enough, and a whole lot of other enoughs to accelerate the pace of change in Singapore. It just takes time, and you can already see that it will get there. So patience: the course of politics is not for you or me to alter.

Ah, I digress again. Ok, let's call this the 'Ah, But I Digress...' blog. Shit, doesn't that make a cool name for a blog? Oh, and speaking of names, have I told you about how I came to call this blog 'Greyscalefuzz'? I've not? Must have been busy, and sure as hell, this week was really loaded: I had to send another ton of applications, sift through my dings, go to Markstrat classes...

Yup. I can definitely do that with my blog: Digress. But that's as good as saying that I cannot focus on this blog, and to no small extent, that is very true. I don't focus.

And I think that's why I have friends who read this: they find something they like somehow.

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Focus. I once dated someone who wrote a little poem to the Straits Times about concentrating and focusing. The thing is, we didn't go out for very long: in fact, it was more like 2-3 dates and then I never saw her again. Some things just didn't feel right about it, and I was distracted with things at my university at that time.

So it was with some surprise when I read the little poem in the Straits Times and I remembered her. I didn't try to get in touch, nor made any attempt to find out how to.

I think there are people in life that you just lose touch with, and when given the chance to, you don't quite bother to make the effort to catch up. For, after all, what can you say that is going to make any difference in what you did? (okay, so I didn't call, but here I am now!)

There were times when I passed an old NS friend or other on the street and the face became instantly recognisable. But I never did initiate any form of contact: I always recall the bad things about any relationship where I don't stay in touch, and my NS days weren't exactly the glorious fantasy that is Army Daze (for one thing, I was in the Navy).

So what of it? Lose touch forever? Rather that than an awkward smile and nervous laughter: I always laughed too loudly - it's very unlike myself.

Lose touch forever.

Getting Attached to my Baby

It's not what you think.

The game: MarkStrat *

The Baby: SITH. Again, it's not what you think. SITH was the brand that I was the brand manager for (among other brands) and I named it, nurtured it, and am now watching it die. (sobs) MarkStrat brands follow some naming convention that restricted the first two letters for our firm's brands to SI, so I thought SITH would make a somewhat sinister dark horse brand to challenge some incumbents in another segment. (sorry... lotsa marketing speak there - ask me what it means sometime).

The game started off real fine: you are one firm, fighting five other firms in a marketing battle to the death. You decide what new products to introduce into the market, whether to break into the new innovative product space (read: Blue Ocean) or duke it out in the arena of endless despair (i.e. current product space a.k.a. Red Ocean). You also decide how much R&D (dirty word... dirty, dirty word) you want to do. You also have to decide how many salesmen to hire and fire and how much advertising you want to do. You think about what your stupid finicky customers want, what they think of your product, and whether you freaking care about it. All because you want to position your product at the right time, the right place, to meet their requirements (or they freaking don't buy those damn things!).

It is exhilarating when you're at the top of the game.

It is exasperating when you're not, and guess where my group went today.

Yup. Bottom of the food chain. From being top dog, we ended up being gutter guppies. What the heck happened???

The group kind of malfunctioned: no system to our plans, no system to our approach, no one process to rule them all. So, like the headless chickens of lore, we ran around spewing half-baked MBA marketing-speak by the bloody gushfuls, pretending like we're the best marketing strategists any firm out there can hire.

Well look where we are now folks. "How now, brown cow???" ARGH...

-------------

Ok, there is hope: the game is just half over and there're more rounds to play. Being the constructive nice person that I am (when I'm not being an explosive opinionated jerk), I'm going to work at actually fully understanding the tricks of the simulation. The trick about it all is that it IS just a simulation. The scary thing though is that it is quite close to being like the real world and that frightens me: the thought that the real world can seriously be modeled.

I guess the deal with MarkStrat is this: play it like it is a game, because that's what we do with real life anyhow. Treat it like a game and you won't be afraid to take risks. Play it like a pro and managing risks becomes part and parcel of your existence (ah... but the oh-so-clever finance gurus will say that you should make that decision only after using your risks to VALUE your options... but that's another story).

So lesson learnt: keep it real, keep it sane; it's just a simulation.




(and damned if I can't beat it)


* Here's the brief explanation: MarkStrat is a marketing simulation developed by 2 INSEAD professors using mathematical models based on a theoretical marketing foundation. It is used to learn strategic marketing concepts such as brand portfolio strategy or segmentation and position strategy, as well as operational marketing.
-- MarkStrat Online Student Handbook

Last Words I Take With Me from P4

It's a little early for last words but I think I have experienced one of the best courses anyone at B-school can take. In parting, our dear PIM professor (a.k.a. Foul-mouth Fernando, whom some of us suspect to be gay, but don't quote me because I can't tell straights from bends) has shared the following words with us:

Caminante
No hay camino
Se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace camino
Y al volver la vista atras
Se ve la senda
Que nunca has de volver a pisar.

Caminante
No hay camino
Solo estelas en la mar.

For the rest of us who did not understand Spanish or Castillan (which includes moi aussi), the English translation reads:

Traveller,
There is no path.
You make the path as you walk.

As you walk, you make the path.
And when you look back
You see the path
That you will never travel again.

Traveller,
There is no path.
Only the wake of ships upon the ocean.

----------------

Recall Oasis: "Now don't look back in anger, I heard you say."

Get Off My Case

A job in consulting hinges on aceing that weird thing known as the case interview. Supposedly, a case interview tests how well your thought processes are and whether you are able to think on the spot, have a structure to approach problems, and still be creative enough to find a solution.

Naturally, I feel a need to be honest and frank about what case interviews achieve. My frank opinion... case interviews are nonsense.

In fact, most interviews are. One can learn how to bullshit his way through any interview given enough practice, vault guides, help from career services and sheer hardheadedness.

Likewise with the case interview: you really do know what the other guy is asking for and it is just that well-known S word: Structure, structure and structure. So give that guy a bloody structure, and then watch out for signals that you're on the right path.

See, I think that's the trick with case interviews: you give some kickass hoe-down structure and then anticipate and look for reactions. It isn't about being well structured: it's about picking up on the non-verbal cues and hints that your very nice interviewer drops along the way. And that is why I think some of those people with the most stellar CVs fail at that critical juncture: the case interview.

So what is the interviewer looking for really? Ok, so you know you have to give him that dirty S-word. Three rules right? Rule number one: You don't talk about Fight Club. Rule number two: You don't talk about Fight Club. Rule number three...

Oh sorry, wrong movie. Ok, so the three rules work like this. Think of this as greyscalefuzz's framework for case interview success and someday I might be famous and write some self-help book on aceing that case interview (not that the vault guides, various consulting club manuals and career guides aren't doing the trick already).

Rule number 1: Give that guy a structure. ANY structure as long as it makes some kind of sense and is general enough to encompass whatever he is talking about. The safest structure is the 4Cs, and my version of it goes 'Company', 'Customers', 'Competitors' and 'Conditions'. Well twist it around and also add in things such as 'Profit = Revenue - Costs' and you should be well on your way.

Rule number 2: Be flexible. The last thing you should do is expect to stick to your structure. When you see that something you're touching on is making some leeway, abandon anything that sounds iffy and dive deep into the issue the interviewer has so kindly given you the hint about. So if you struck a chord when talking about the 'Company' and the interviewer mentions something about metrics and KPIs, be prepared to change tack and discuss measurements and stuff. Don't get hung up on your stupid 4C structure and keep harping back to it because, as is already obvious, that isn't what the interviewer is looking for.

Rule number 3: Look out for nonverbal cues and hints. Be one step ahead of the game and when given the slightest hint about something, pick on it and expound on it. The thing is to watch out, listen well, and then talk the topic to death. If you have the glib of tongue (which you should try to have, or you'll just be a mediocre case cracker), then be prepared to talk round a topic until something logical sticks.

Hmm... maybe rule number 3 doesn't sound so well expressed there. See, what I think most of the case interview hinges around is one being able to see that an interviewer has given one a lead. A lead may take many forms: perhaps the interviewer has voluntarily given you data, in which case that would be the most direct way to steer the discussion towards what has been given to you; perhaps the interviewer has mentioned that he would prefer to take a different approach; perhaps the interviewer expressed interest in a particular sub-area of your structure.

Whatever it is, a case interview is not meant to be approached with a formula in mind: take it as a chance to build some rapport with the interviewer and demonstrate your train of thought - always speak out loud.

And I think that is key: to make yourself heard - no, not your airheaded self, but what your brain goes through when solving a problem - and heard for the right things.

Oh hey, btw, I am no definitive authority on case interviews, but heck I think I have heard enough bitching about screwed up case interviews to say something about what went wrong. So there.

Show Your Sensitive Side - Spare a Thought for the Rest of Us

It is a stressful time at INSEAD. We're now in the thick of the 4th period (the penultimate 2 month period before graduation) and the job hunting season is starting to go into its most depressing phase.

It works like this: consulting firms start recruiting really early in the game (don't count the I-bankers - they got their jobs over summer those s****). This means that the 2nd week of P4 onwards, the consultancies came incessantly onto campus to present, mingle, and organize dinners for us. On our end, we sometimes do our best to schmooze and try not to look like we're gulping too much champagne. Some of us can get quite aggressive: the schmoozefest usually take the form of a few guys surrounding one of the company reps (a partner, HR gal, manager or some poor consultant dragged into the affair), grilling the surroundee with question after question. The better schmoozers will ooze so much schmooze: they give out the namecards, they nod in appreciative gestures to indicate 'active listening', utter oft-used phrases and ask the same stupid questions.

But it doesn't end there: the consultancies play a similar game. They have access to our CVs: the database and an INSEAD-Career-Services-published CV book gives them the low-down on their harvesting pool, and from there, they decide that sitting and waiting for job applicants isn't proactive enough: they send out invites instead. What it does create is a certain one-upmanship among the MBAs: "Hey I got an invite to dinner with Booz's Dubai folks" or "Check this out: Bain has invited me to interview without even me submitting an application".

It goes along the same vein: there's a demand, and there's a ready supply. So some folks get targeted advertising and some others don't - CVs are not always up to scratch (and they don't reflect a person's real abilities that pile of crap). There is no period in INSEAD where more envy is generated, not even when folks were doing their summer internship applications. There is also no period where I saw so much frustration, anger, disappointment and shame.

See, not all of us have stellar CVs and track records. Come to think of it, even when comparing profiles among the lot of us, we discern no pattern that suggests what MBAs certain consultancies and their various offices are looking for. Queries into the exact criteria employed drew no replies - at times, it feels like consultancies are selecting their interviewees through a random process (that is, after filtering in the stars, and filtering out the obvious rejects).

On the average, almost everyone seems to have at least one interview with one consultancy (whether it be top tier Bain or second tier Value Partners - oops, I think I just insulted some firm there!). But the law of averages didn't matter shite to the folks that did not get a single interview.

That's right. They exist. My fellow South-East Asian is one example and he is not the happiest camper in Fontainebleau.

Spare a thought guys (that is, if you're reading this shite). I mean, its all fine and dandy telling everyone about your interviews and when they're scheduled, all the hoops the HR buggers are putting you through, and all the damn schmoozing that you had to do. It's all fine and dandy pronouncing your excellent candidature and prominent CV, and your multiple interview opportunities. It just isn't that nice when you're doing it to someone who hasn't got a single call, who hasn't got a single interview lined up, and who has received one 'Ding' upon another.

That's all I ask really, and it's not for me (I've got one interview, thank God!). If your OB lessons never bore fruition, now is the time you can utilize those skills you learnt. Spare a thought for these guys and show that you care.

INSEAD is one family and the family sticks by its members. - we celebrate any achievements and gains that any brother or sister is able to garner. We should also comfort and console those who are worn down and disappointed with the sorry affair.

Roundtable Discussion

A friend I know well, her friend (I don't know that well) and I. A roundtable discussion about life - one of those things you do when you eat cake and drink tea (and nope, this is not the host club I'm talking about).

And so he's some kind of a med school student (said friend), and I figured that he didn't have any idea what to do with life. A simpler way to put it would be: there're many things that he can be, most promising of which is to be an eye doctor.

But complex questions asked deserve vague answers at best: what of such a vocation should he make of it?

Me being my helpful self decided to tell the stupid gynaecologist story (which I reserved for those special occasions where a med school student is present: no one has yet caught on that it was a total fabrication). The stupid gynae story goes thus:

A med school friend of mine graduated recently from school and decided to practise in a sex clinic as a gynae. As part of his job, he had to look at a whole lot of vaginas and, other than making him lose his appetite, it absolutely ruined his sex life for the better part of six months. He didn't eat well, he couldn't enjoy any of the hardcore jap porn he collected on his PC, and he definitely found no joy pleasuring himself. Poor sod.

In any case, he got over the initial disgust and now totally immerses himself in the work (which consist of mainly him putting his gloved fingers up very small spaces and getting them wet; the fingers). So as the days went by, he grew more nonchalent about it, and found some joy in making jokes about his patients and derived amusement from the interactions with his various patients: the well-worn prostitutes, the terrified pinafored schoolgirls, the mothers-to-be.

One day, he found himself at his cynical best when a patient walked in, mentioned something about missing her period, and got herself plonked and examined. It turned out that she was 2 months pregnant, and the dear gynae friend decided that congratulatory greetings were in order.

"Congratulations madam. You are pregnant."

"But... but that can't be."

"Yes, you are pregnant."

"It's impossible... I've never had sex before."

"Er... Unless you were artificially inseminated (which you WOULD know about), then you must have had sex. You ARE pregnant."

"It can't be... I've never had sex before."

And so it went, back and forth. Gynae says she's pregnant. She insists she's an innocent virginal girl. Fed up with the pointlessness of it all, said gynae went to the window and shoved it wide open. He looked out, gazing at nothing in particular. After a tense 30 seconds, the virginal innocent couldn't take any more of the nonsense and asked, "What are you looking at?"

Said gynae's wicked reply was "Well, the last time this happened, there was a star in the East."

I did say it was a stupid story...

-----------------

Right, it was a roundtable discussion about life-changing moments, and apparently, for late 20-somethingers, there hasn't been admittedly many of these. The one life-changing moment I brought myself round to mention was a sad one, for which I never gave any details.

I did say it resulted from a conversation I had.

I did say that a month later, it resulted in a friendship lost.

I did say also that losing a friend wasn't all that was lost in that moment, for something of my soul went with it as well.

I also said that life-changing moments are those times when your soul is scarred, altered and marred by an external occurence. Nevermind that it might have been a positive development - at the point life changed, it was nothing more than losing some part of your real self.

-----------------

Yes it is not something to talk about in an MBA class, but the course is something special at INSEAD: the topic was on coping with stress, and yes religion is one way of helping the human psyche cope with the stress of the world.

I also don't deny that having absolute faith is good for the soul: the person with real faith is not necessarily free from stress, but he does have an outlet and a coping mechanism that, bar none, is far better than what any psychologist can do for you.

Plus... its free.

But losing your religion is not a step forward, and there's where I disagree. No matter what creed or faith we bind ourselves to, having no one to build a common belief with is fundamentally wrong. It is like being an island unto oneself, and floating adrift in isolation. For to believe only in one self and one's abilities is limiting - the mind and especially the body are finite. The infinite gives us hope no matter how faint the sound of that voice might be.

------------------

Ah my pseudo-philosophical babble. I consume too much bullshit these days.

Authenticity and Change - To Be or Not To Be

I was intending to reply to a comment to my previous post when I realised that my comment to that comment became longer than a comment merited, and my comment to that comment became its own post.

Confusing? You bet. That's what life's like when you comment too much. Instances of comments outdoing the post are all too common. Commentable comments aside, they somehow have little pride of place in the blogosphere - most comments are given RSS feeds to track back to (thus, comments kind of get... lost).

Still, the comment my friend made was regards authenticity. Bahloo said "If you are yourself and you don't like what you see, should you change or learn to accept it?"

Tough question. But if I can claim to having any pet topics at all, two of them are likely to be about authenticity and change.

My view on change is that it has to be accepted as a constant. It is like one of those undeniably powerful forces in life that shapes and molds one, and denial of, or resistance to, change is typically futile. One has to ride it out, take the punches like a man and move on.

My view on authenticity is that one should strive to be genuine, whether it be in dealings with others, or, more importantly, dealing with oneself. When you can see yourself for what you truly are, and acknowledge your wrinkles et al, then you can truly be comfortable with yourself, and therefore with others.

To change yourself requires a whole lot of courage - for one thing, it means recognising that you are not the person that you want to be right now. To me, it is not unauthentic to change; it is unauthentic though to change superficially. It is unauthentic, and a whole lot sadder, to change what you were born into.

For instance, take fake breasts. Suppose you are a girl and you don't like your breasts because they are too small. So you get implants and in so doing, double your cupsize overnight. What have you changed? Perhaps bigger breasts gave you confidence you never had, garnered you more attention from prying male eyes, and added that bounce in your step. But is that you? Do you really need fake breasts to become a new person?

My honest opinion: if you can face what you see in the mirror, you're authentic. Doesn't matter that cosmetic surgery gave you what you were not born with. What matters is that you re able to live with yourself as the kind of person you manufactured yourself to be. And in your dealings with others, when you can project your self-concept (your idea of who you are) that is consistent with your self-ideal (how you think you should behave), then you are consistent with yourself. There is nothing wrong with upping your self-esteem in artificial ways.

But I do object to people denying what they were born into. To over-dramatise it a bit, imagine a taiwanese Qiong Yao soap opera (complex relationships, prodigal sons, wayward daughters, unfaithful husbands, the works). A boy was born into a humble family, single mother raising 5 kids all on her own. Imbued with a hard-nosed work ethic and the notion that hard work and striving gets him far, he works hard and through his own merit, rose to a position of power and wealth. But when quizzed about his background, he disavows having been born of a single mother and living in poverty. He does not acknowledge his mother, despises the conditions he was born into, and feels disgust at dealing with his hicksville siblings, thinking them to be like moths drawn to the glory of his bright flame.

That is an unauthentic change of self: you may have achieved what you have desired and set out to do. You may have authored your rise to fame and glory, wealth and riches. But if you deny your history, if you deny your family and relations in some vainglorious attempt at attaining a higher state of self, then you do not deserve to be what you are. Assuming and attaining that isn't change of a genuine nature, for it meant change at the expense of denying what you were born with.

I don't like assumed attitudes and I certainly don't like airs. If there is one last thing I can say about the subject, it is that if you are not yourself, you are not doing yourself any favours. Sooner or later, the real self is revealed. Sooner or later, the truth is unearthed.

Authenticity, Careers and Art

Like a track out of Prodigy's best album ('Fat of the Land' I think), this post is probably a wierd mish of skippy beats.

Much as I have learnt from my course in PIM, perhaps the one big lesson that came out of it was that one should aim to be authentic. Being authentic with yourself is the first step in being a better person - when you don't lie to yourself, you will see more of your own flaws and come to view your self-esteem in the right light. In a way, if your ego is the inflated sort (like most MBAs are wont to be) then you most likely need a dose of self-criticism, and see where you really stand as a human being.

Being authentic with other people is a lot harder though. The oft-used cliche of 'putting on a mask' reminds me of how people that I sometimes interact with on a daily basis aren't always being true. Typical casual friends tend to assume a veneer of falsehood as some kind of screen, maybe in some attempt to hide the true self underneath. I guess most people do want their true selves to be 'revealed' in some form or other - they just aren't comfortable enough to want to do that in an obvious way. I believe everyone likes to be heard, and when you can bear to listen to some of the false pompous shit for a while, the true self emerges.

Speaking of revealing, a lot of what I am doing these days is trying to get folks to reveal more - not about themselves, but about their companies. INSEAD's P4s are in the thick of the recruiting season, with 2-3 companies coming every day for this week and next, all in the name of snatching the best MBAs for their firm. The P4s that are job hunting go out of their way to socialise, mingle and network. The P4s that aren't job hunting go out of their way to have fun (and make us job seekers jealous). Cruel, cruel world we live in out here - job search one moment, group meetings the next.

But... somehow, I found time to go to Paris on Sunday. Short trip to see the Musee d'Orsay for free. What struck me about the museum was how they seemed to have a different policy with regards cameras. In contrast with the Louvre (where photography was strictly forbidden), the d'Orsay allowed one to take pictures of the paintings, as long as no flash was used. This meant that one had to grapple with trigger happy tourists taking pictures of other happy tourists standing in front of modern art. How grothesque: go buy the bloody postcards ye cheapskate tourist!

Does it really add to your 'here I am' collection to have a picture of you standing in front of a Renoir or Monet? Like the folks at home are even going to notice. I was really peeved with a particular Brit tourist who shooed me out of his shot while I was looking at a Monet. Like I had no right to be between his phone camera and the painting. Come on... this is an art gallery, not the Eiffel Tower.

Oh, I was guilty of taking a couple of pictures though:

The ground floor of the museum was all sculpture. Rooms to the left and right housed older paintings, some just prior to the impressionist movement.


A clock on the fifth floor of the building offered some interesting picture opportunities. Didn't hang around long though - people just don't like their pictures taken by a stranger that much.