Possessed

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

Probably not everyone had a camera fetish though...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Distances between Us

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, the physical expression of it.

On Forgotten Passwords, Book Warehouse Sales, and Blink

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slacker for a day

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

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

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

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

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

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

Traffic Woes

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ans: Having colour co-ordinated ass.


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

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

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



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

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

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

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

Two much is too much

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

One wallet that bled cash, both days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tired. I'm so tired...

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

Anxious about the immaterial

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me 06/2005

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am me, and now you know too.

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

The Week in Review

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've never felt more like moving out.

Memory - or the lack of it

I write to remember. I write to forget.

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

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

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

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

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