Two much is too much

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

One wallet that bled cash, both days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tired. I'm so tired...

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

Anxious about the immaterial

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me 06/2005

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am me, and now you know too.

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

The Week in Review

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've never felt more like moving out.

Memory - or the lack of it

I write to remember. I write to forget.

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

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

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

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

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

When work sucks you in

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

Much to learn...

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

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

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


Keep your clothes on please!!!


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


Long road home...

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

Wow its nice to be regarded as an expert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Space Opera

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

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

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

Did you spot...

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

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

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

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

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

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

A space opera indeed.

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The answer to the earlier question? Spoilers.

Sweet dreams are made of these

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bits and bytes.

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Sweet dreams



Photo: Bali at sunset (circa Nov 2004)

Tyranny of the Taxis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why wait in queues? Sighs...