pencil&Paper

Rural Jurong

2010-11-05T19:02:00.000+08:00

Escaping the clutches of the comforts of home, I jump on my bicycle to try out the new Park Connectors to see where they link to. I took the nearest entrance and went wild, exploring places I've haven't been to in years. Really feels great to cycle peacefully, without any distractions, cars, people, whatnot. The path looks abandoned though, a pity. More people should use the park connectors, which will lead to more of them being built! A bicycle highway, stretching all across the country, what fun!

Uh oh, road block. This wasn't here when I last came; my favourite railway bridge is blocked! Now I'm cut off from the other side of the park connector! A pity, I wanted to cycle to Clementi from here, a less stressful route then the usual. I can still squeeze past, but I'll have to carry my bike across, not so fun when it weights a fair bit. I crunch through the lalang, where my bicycle awaits me in all its shining glory. But I know that it's a pain to maintain, wielded by monkeys and fixed up by gorillas. But it doesn't take away its splendour as I behold it through the grass. Until the next maintenance schedule...

Onwards to Bukit Batok then, since the way to Clementi is blocked. On one side, the products of capitalism, tall buildings, offices, factories and containers. On the other, tall grasses, the remnants of a once vibrant forest. Cool and peaceful, only rotting railings and concrete banks mark it out as a canal instead of a river. Riding past the canal, I see the water level falling falling falling till its a trickle(?) The (mostly) dry canal entices me to take a walk down to explore, like the old days. Cartoon figures bearing stern messages signs along the pathways beseech me to think otherwise. I cycle on.

What ho! I spy three kids playing in the dry canal, sliding along the sides slippery with moss into the water. The air is filled with laugher and joy as they carry out their simple pleasures. They remind me of a past that wasn't too far removed from what they're doing, happier and simpler times. Headless of the dirt and injuries, they run down, gathering speed for a slippery slide into the water. Grey factory buildings; concrete, utilitarian and square, loom over them, a ghost of the future.

Up, up and away! Easier said then done, especially on a single speed steel roadster weighting about a hundred tons on the upslope. But where there's an upside there's a downside and I gather speed while moderating with careful applications of the brakes and a sharp lookout for obstacles. Signs on the side exhort me to get off and push, a thousand dollars in fine if not. I whizz past said signs without a care, paying as much heed to them as they do to me.

Bukit Batok, here we are! Yet I have a journey more to return home. Spending not a minute there I head on back home; the journey, not the destination the real pleasure. On my way back I encounter a heartwarming scene, a little boy cyclist rushing in aid of a fellow cyclist, his friend, whose chain has popped off the crank. Slowing down to give them space, I'm shocked to behold their size. Was I ever so small? So little? How did I manage to grow this big? Gods' grace indeed. Looking again at the little men, one chinese and the other malay, they remind me of times past when I did just the same. Cycling around with Fadhli with me, Liang Liang on the other side, as we took all obstacles in our stride, pedalling onwards till the day grows dim and even beyond. Alas alas, the bulldozers come, chewing up our homes; an obstacle we unfortunately could not withhold. But a good memory it remains and one that brings a smile on my face even as I cycle by towards home.

Down and up, left and right, the path now familiar. Another sight once was familiar but strange now to see; a chicken, yes a chicken strutting for all to see! Spotted it down the canal, innocuous in its presence. No bigger then a pigeon, black as charcoal but no stranger to me. It brings back yet more pleasant memories of roosters as beloved pets. It looks up as I past by it but doesn't utter a sound. As I stop and look back it carries on its task. I smile and carry on.

Last stop, Jurong Library, its cool air welcoming to all. I park my bicycle nearby as I stroll to a favourite seat, all but collapsing into it. Taking advantage of the excellent air-conditioning, I cool down before beginning a hunt for books. Some successful, some not so, I haul my catch to the counter and scan them in. Taking the time to secure them to my bicycle, I set off to my last destination, home.

Darker and darker it grows, my lamp chasing away the shadows, its white ghostly glare lighting the way home. I finally reach my door step, my journeys' end. As I enter, I let in fond memories and ghosts of the past yet of the present. They gather around and tell me of a time not so long ago, of a Jurong not of steel and concrete, but of brimming jungle and muddy swamp.

Rural Jurong.

Its been a while, thanks for waiting.

2010-08-03T04:37:00.000+08:00

Cycling Expedition!

Well, not quite. Was on an impulse cycle around the neighbourhood today; didn't expect much, just hoping for a workout. Was supposed to cycle to the city for a test run but was lazy so this short trip was in compensation.

Didn't tire till the end of the course, averaging 25-30km/h weaving through the throng of people around Jurong Park. Then I came to the stop point where I last turned around due to the lack of light, pressing ahead I went onto an abandoned road and on till I came to a loop with an abandoned jetty at the side.

Abandoned jetty! The excitement in me grew as I approached with great expectations... To no avail. It was all fenced up and no exploration could be done. The spindly concrete piers and the forlorn steps leading to the open ground (the wooden flooring long since rotted through or removed) looked cool though, so it was frustrating to see and not being able to touch; but I managed to frighten a foreign worker nearby. It must have been my brand new Birkenstocks.

Moving on, I took a wrong turn and ended up along a semi abandoned stretch of road, connecting the former glories of the Japanese/Chinese Garden, several eateries and a turtle(!) farm. Now only the turtle farm and a few scattered eateries remain, the rest reverting to grassland with the odd patch of asphalt and decaying fences holding the ground. I cycled into a eatery/KTV outlet, still shorn in its gaudy 1970's heritage, imagining the time where only the well heeled (and amply endowed) parked inside, the rest having to fight for the lesser spaces outside. Now only the fading neon lights (Chivas 12 years, XO Martin) sigh at the glories long past.

I moved on, bypassing more empty lots, dreaming of lost places and imagining a better time. No trouble, I had the entire road to myself, not a car was present while I was on the road selfishly hogging two lanes to myself. I passed by an old eatery (excellent zi char, really must push my parents to return there for another meal) and a quaint old public toilet, straight from the pages of a 1970s' photo album. DO NOT TAKE WATER FROM THIS OUTLET, says the fading blue and white sign. The combined urinals, still proudly bearing their manufacturers' logos (so and so from Manchester, England, a relic from our colonial linkage) Chrome tapes polished by a million hands. Those awful squat toilets, hell to pay on the knees, with the water closets reaching to the ceiling. As I looked back, I could see my father at my age, walking out from the toilet, shaking the water from his hands onto the floor like how I did, climbing onto his motorbike and riding away. Nothing has changed from the scenery, except ourselves.

I wonder how long more can I enjoy this memory, what with the redevelopment of Jurong Lake park to a Hotel and lifestyle district. Hotels in Industrial Jurong! Mr Goh Keng Swee must be ever so proud at his little redeveloped swamp land.

I pedal on. A red structure caught my eye, a rope pyramid! And beside it, a skateboard park! Currently used by a toddler trying to scramble up the sides of the curve. Those skaters using the overhyped scape youth park would be better served using these facilities closer to home, honing up those skills before showing off in the city. But onto the Rope Pyramid! Scrambling up the sides like a little kid before lying on the ropes to enjoy the view and the breeze, what fun. Looking at my bicycle from above, all shiny in black and chrome (and sandy/muddy tires) makes me realise that yes, it has been far too long away from the saddle, away from the excitement, away from the thrill that used to drive me.

I miss my first real bicycle, a 100000kg steel Martin bike. With its cheesy SHIMANO logo (but with the cheapest components in place), no doubt remade into cars and tableware after I abandoned it for a life of computer games. No doubt I have spent the last few months repenting, cleaning up bike and bike parts from other similar abandoned bicycles. Their owners leaving them from another love, and I, picking up the pieces, restoring them to their former glories.

Then it was time to go back, whizzing on the asphalt again, past joggers, past other cyclists, past couples. jiggle through cars, up the ramp and down again. My legs are aching, my back strained, my heart is racing and I think:

So when's the next time?

Ride on.

th-ink

2010-06-13T02:54:00.002+08:00

Thoughts and connections, frustrations and setbacks, ending in realization and liberation. Sometimes the mind has to be controlled, its hand held like a naughty boy, to prevent it from running down a metaphorical busy street.

Because with freedom and liberty comes a lack of discipline, structure and organisation. Ironically the things we fight most to break out of is the very thing we long for. The jail cell we thought we were in; a villa in actuality.
But what controls the mind? Can the mind control the mind, fighting it out like a endless civil war? Or are external factors, influences beyond our sight that are directing this charade, sitting behind a throne playing chess, playing out the pieces that comprise our lives.

But in the end, who gave them this power over us, if not voluntarily; in pursuit of dreams, goals, religion, fashion, love, sex, money.

th-ink. My thoughts out on electronic ink.

End-Joy

2010-05-26T18:59:00.000+08:00

Pretty much sums up my Taiwan Trip.

---

$200 & Pride

2010-04-22T20:58:00.001+08:00

Attained a marksmanship award during my Advanced Train fire Package. Total score 31/36. Coincidentally, I attained a score of 31/32 during my Basic Train fire Package back on the Island. Some things never change?

The difference is, besides the lower % score, I get to wear a 30c piece of cloth with crossed rifles. Specifically, Lee Enfield No.4 rifles, the rifles used by the British Army during WW2 and very accurate and effective weapons. A legacy of our colonial times imprinted in olive and black thread. (Its amazing how much information - useless it may be - one collects over a period of time.

What's more enticing is the $200 bounty attached to the award, slightly less then half of what we servicemen get, so its pretty decent indeed. Should have a shoot every month if it were up to me.

Predictably, some didn't quite make the grade and lost the opportunity to wear the badge or get the money. Others won the badge but because of re-shoots lost the chance of the money. But for most of us, the cloth badge wasn't part of the scheme of things at all. The $200 though, was very much in our minds.

A lack of pride? Not quite. A lack of proper motivation is how I see it. Being a small cog in a very big machine means you're often left alone. Most of the time, this is a good thing as we men can fly under the radar. However, it also means you're up for all the hard labour, mental work and general labour. The word "saikang" or literally, clearing up fecal matter, comes into mind. This is not too bad unless you consider the general lack of concern and understanding we are given. This is true among the sgt and officer class although they also get more ways to take care of themselves. Privilege of rank.

Pampered? Perhaps, but in all the wrong ways. The spring mattress, washing machines and electronic teaching aids are nice but common decency between men (more intelligent punishments, less tekans, less heavy handedness), proper allocation of roles (to make use of our individual strengths), more explanations to let us see the bigger picture (do and die, don't ask why - so last gen-) and general understanding between everyone from general to private will make everything better. It'll even feel good sleeping on even the sponge and spring contraption of yesteryear when you are imbued with a sense of purpose and belonging in the fabric of this nation. Then maybe Prime Ministers won't have to implore citizens for leaving the country and generals worrying that their National Servicemen will cut and run instead of heeding the call to arms.

Its been a mixed response to my first 8 months as a soldier. I have experienced plenty, gone through much and will go through more. When I relegate my uniform to the closet, will I remember to don it once again when my country calls?

Or will the passport and the car keys be more handy? Hmm.

---
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld from M1.

Unintended consequences

2010-04-13T10:17:00.001+08:00

Friday. Book out day. Also area cleaning day. As my bunk mates and I tidy up our little home away from home, trading cleaning secrets and discussing future purchases of cleaning equipment, a sudden line of thought sparked:

"If nothing else, the Army is a very effective teacher of cleaning."

Doing 20 push ups for a speck of dust is very motivational to get the right tools and skills to combat dust and dirt. Even items like vacuum cleaners, Magiclean mops, wonder sponges (I kid you not, and it really works!) find their way into our bunks. Through painful trial and error we have also learnt how to polish windows, toilet bowls, urinals and scrub floors of boot stains. Officers, Sergeants, Men; all went through it before and have their own secret method to clean.

My friend returns, complaining that the only mop on our level has been misappropriated, probably by the guys at level 5. He storms up the stairs to liberate it as I note down in our purchase book: "Next book out, remember to buy mop and pail"

---

Watching paint dry

2010-04-13T10:15:00.001+08:00

The paint on my bicycle frame is takes a week to dry! What's up with that! Isn't drying its only job? Its Unbelievable that paint can chow keng (slack off)!

Outsourcing the whole affair to the pros for a proper powder coating. That should solve matters for a good long time.

---

Running (wild)

2010-04-08T18:36:00.001+08:00

Did 10:06 for my 2.4km today. Hmm, not too bad considering my relaxed schedule and that I have been averaging 10:30 - 11:10 for the past few days. Last time I did 09:55 was in BMT and in H(ell)awk company so things has improved, thank goodness. Not going to let the flab win the fight!

My bike is now in a terrible condition, the paint refuses to dry on the damned thing even though it has been days... I have been yearning to ride for such a long time that I forget how it has been to sit on the saddle and gun it out, just like the old days. I guess what I miss the most is the sense of freedom cycling presents you, aggravated by the National Service.

5km run tomorrow. I dread the feeling but know that once my feet pound the asphalt it takes a life of its own. Never mind the sweat, the ache, the pounding of my heart as I take the slope; chasing the wind, that's the only thing that matters for now.

Running wild. And free.

---
Sent from my BlackBerry Wireless Handheld from M1.

random short.

2010-03-16T09:39:00.012+08:00

I woke up from a dream with a start, my mind shifting gears like a racing car to get me back to speed. My limbs felt stiff after lying at an awkward position for too long. The harsh air con seared my throat while I was resting and now felt as if it was sandpaper. The air, cold and stale rubbed past the sandpaper in my throat. I need to take a breather, I thought, out of this damned coffin.

Stumbling from the truck, The air was cold and moist, clinging to me like a damp towel after showering. The sunlight was heavily filtered through the thick clouds, creating an almost halo like glow around the surrounding vehicles. It was almost like I was in Langkawi, back on a beach resort I've been to when I was 10. Of course, I wasn't in Langkawi, but on a hilltop and just climbed out of a command centre perched on a truck, not a luxurious beachfront hotel.

I leaned against the splotchy, olive green surface. It felt cool, despite the late hour. Men in green, like myself, scurry all over other vehicles, adjusting antennas, set up cables and go about their routine, while I observe them like as if they were in an exhibit in a museum or projected out on a large screen in a movie.

If this was really a movie, I would have lit a cigarette; watching the thin, wispy smoke trail swirl around until it was blown away by the wind while taking in the cold air and the gentle breeze. However it wasn't a movie. I wasn't observing a exhibit, but was part of it. Observed by others crowded in the sky, watching how our little lives play out.

---

temporary reprive

2010-03-10T09:25:00.001+08:00

Its raining now, manna from the sky dropping on the parched earth. Dry grass soaking up its goodness, trees sigh their relief.

We stay in bunk, temporary confinement, as we wait out the weather. The cool breeze blows through, emitting their siren call. We, mere men, powerless again their magic, heed their call; to rest, to sleep.

Our men in their rooms, our sergeants, plot our doom, our ruin. Other men in green plough through the jungle, soaked to the bone, chilled to the heart. The siren call goes unheeded, blocked out by the shouting of the RSM and their own pounding heart, as they trek to one checkpoint after another.

But we lie in our bunks, books, phones, PSPs in our hands, knowing all too well it is a temporary reprive. An uneasy settlement.

---

approximations

2010-03-08T21:29:00.001+08:00

Many National Servicemen buy bolsters.

Many National Servicemen are lonely.

Its not as unrelated as we think.

---

don't sign random pieces of paper

2010-03-04T19:24:00.001+08:00

Officer: (plonks down forms for CL and S)
S: (stares at form) what's all this sir?
Officer: Never you mind, just fill it all up and return it asap.
CL: (peers at form) But sir, haven't we already handled this particular form in?
(The officer has, a mere few seconds earlier, made his getaway)
S: No use mate, he's made a run for it. (shrugs) I guess we've better get cracking.

- Couple of hours later -

S: Here are the forms that you wanted sir, both CL's and mine.
Officer: Ah, thank you.
S: (ahem) Sir, wouldn't you tell us a bit more about what the forms are for?
Officer: Oh, the other lot is short of men so we're posting you out during the exercise. Personal signalers to their Master Warrent (Officer) I believe. (Looking slyly at S) Wonder why they're short though...
S: (...) Would it be too late to take back the forms sir?
Officer: (vague smile before making his exit, down stage left)

*footnote* Warrent Officers, are the terror of the army, their main job being to enforce discipline, something they do very well.

S: (sadly informs CL about the outcome)
CL: (shakes head) can't trust 'em officers, not one bit.

---

commitment issues

2010-03-02T20:28:00.001+08:00

"You have commitment issues, I understand"

Sharp, slightly condescending and painfully brutal; especially when it means so much to me, more then the dreary job I'm forced into, when it forms a part of the world of hope and dreams I escape into when things gets too boring, too hopeless, too painful.

But yet I understand, perfectly well, logically sound. The issue has spun on its inevitable route; one man cannot serve two masters.

The long wait continues.

---

Ace sets the pace!

2010-02-19T23:29:00.000+08:00

Got into my new unit a few days back, the 2nd Singapore Infantry Brigade, Signal Company. The Brigade with a Ace of Spaces as a logo. Interesting. However, that isn't our final destination, which is the ever elusive 16 C4i Battalion, which is forming up in JUNE! Till then, we listen to conflicting orders, advice that might not apply to us in the new unit, promises of doom as we switch over and a lack of blankets to cover us at night.

And we're participating in the YOG! Although we don't know whether we'll be deployed as ground staff (sir, the toilet is that way) or as mass dance teachers(!!!) Yes, the newest skill a signaler should be able to master, mass dance techniques! And apparently, a fuse blew somewhere in someone's mind. If it happens though, we are gearing up to fight to the death for the JC and poly slots.

We are slated to shift thrice in 1.5 years which means our house building plans (ie settling in and growing roots into our bunk) is delayed for a long while. Bureaucracy. Sucks. But after so many changes, we are quite used to the chaos. I think we'll grow to the place, after all it is quite a comfy hole we have here.

Many changes, the end is not yet in sight. I am thinking of gearing up for my Combat Skills Badge, an award normally awarded to SGTs and officers but available for us too. My left chest is feeling rather drafty...

---

Oh? Oh! Oh....

2010-02-11T18:55:00.000+08:00

Best Trainee.

And I was the last person to know.

---

Good bye

2010-02-11T11:29:00.000+08:00

Our bunks are empty.

Our beds lie bare.

The windows are firmly shut.

The shadows, starting to claim back what is rightfully theirs.

Only dust, and fast fading memories remain

Of what was Platoon 2, Batch 13/09, Tactical Communications & Training Company, Signals Institute.

Speed Through Skill, Signals!

---

the road to hell is paved with good intentions

2010-02-10T09:06:00.000+08:00

I realised I'm too uptight about many things!

Money / Finances; because the guy has to bring home the bacon, a preprogrammed chinese application that can't be deleted.

Friendship; too choosy and somewhat neglectful.

Relationships; No money, no time, no desire.

Then it hit me, I'm such a boring person then! A scrooge with no friends and no relationships.

I set out with the best of intentions to transform myself through a hip and young campaign!

...

Then I realised that that would be exactly what a boring old civil servant would think of. Truely the road to hell is paved with good intentions, all the way to the fire pit.

here we go again

2010-02-09T16:37:00.000+08:00

Hustle and bustle all around, packing bags and moving things about.

Leaving this home of carefully arranged towels, highly polished boots and blue sheets.

Happy yet apprehensive of the Big Change.

But our time is up and off we go.

Memories and stories packed carefully in our duffle bags

As we set sail to our latest port of call.

---

Mandai Hill Camp

16 C4i Battalion

Here we go again...

Boobs and Brains, or the deprivity of men stranded among other men for too long a period.

2010-02-08T21:44:00.003+08:00

Scene: Parade Square. Private S,C,M,J sitting in neat rows and awaiting orders with the rest of the platoon. A platoon of OCTs, Officer Cadet Trainees, marches by, a female OCT within causing much commotion.

S: (Stares at a female OCT marching by)
C: (Observes S's intent look) Whattheheck dude!
S: Hey now, at least she's easy on the eyes then the rest of the dudes here.
C: Easy on the eyes? What, are you blind? If it came to that choice I rather be gay!
M: I would bang anything that moves!
S/C: You would. S: What happened to character and smarts and whatnot? Brains! Thats what attract me!
J: But didn't you go leering at her? Don't tell me were staring at the size of her head?
M: (snicker) Its pretty much flat country we've got there!
S: You're getting it all wrong! I believe in everything, there is a balance. Thus, if a girl's too pretty, she loses out someplace else.
M: I prefer bigger boobs to brains!
C: You would.
J: Actually, I like girls like that too!
S: Is everyone mad? Doesn't anyone appreciate character anymore?
C: ... Too much character is bad for health.
M: And it works for ugly girls too! Cover the top, screw the base!
S: How did this conversation turn out this way?

The OCTs leave for lessons. Our sergeant turns up for our own.

M: Sergeant, would you want that Female OCT to stay on?
Sergeant: No way, her Boobs are far too small.

---

EDIT: Unfortunately, this story is based on a true story...

...

there, hiding in between the sentences, there lies meaning!

2010-02-07T22:20:00.001+08:00

S: Good Morning

M: Hey there

S: Actually, I didn't mean what I said; I'm sorry.

M: ? What are you trying to say then?

S: What I wanted to say was, I. Love. You.

But, its far too late for that.

---

positive(!) thinking(?)

2010-02-07T13:46:00.000+08:00

"When the Israelites saw Goliath, they were all cowed by his size and strength. When David saw Goliath, he thought, "This man is so big, I can hit him blindfolded!""

Something learnt in church today. Postive thinking, use it.

good / bad day

2010-02-04T22:16:00.000+08:00

Its a good day when you rest for 15 minutes, when you've been up and on for 15 hours.

Its a bad day when a guy rope snaps, bringing down a 9m antenna (but good that its not you).

Its a good day when you sit in the shade, drinking ice water while the rest still flounder in the scorching sun, struggling to raise an antenna.

Its a bad day that you had to do the same in the blazing sun, sweat dripping off you and metal scorching hot.

Its a good day when your halyard flies to the highest branches that many don't reach.

Its a bad day to hear an ambulance flash and horn past you for someone else. Thrice.

Its a very good day when you end it all on your bed, taking a good long nap.

---

Its a bad day when you realise you've slogged for 23 hours for a 26cent piece of cloth.

random quotation

2010-02-04T22:11:00.000+08:00

"Mackie? M16? Whats the difference? They still end things with a bang!" - Han

Awesome.

the night before, or, impending doom.

2010-02-02T20:58:00.001+08:00

The storm clouds gather, confering for violent action;

Lightning rumbles in the distance, promises of bad returns.

We huddle a little closer, an illusion of safety.

It, it approaches....

under fire!

2010-02-01T21:54:00.000+08:00

When I was young, I longed for the excitement of war, the exhilration of battle, fought out in my backyards with sticks, stones and a great deal of imagination.

Those days are over, but the excitement remains. Instead of imaginary conflict, real crisis has taken over with snap decisions taken and given under fire. A Mackie instead of a M16; the equipment is different, the battles the same.

Some people think spending 6 hours of your hard earned break on show is a waste. When you're having that much fun, you don't count the hours. Just the experience. And the cash. And the girls. What more can be asked for?

A slight shuffle of feet for mankind, but a giant step for me.

2010-01-28T17:14:00.001+08:00

I passed IPPT! Finally my training has paid off for my pull ups. It remains an obstacle but much less so then before. Not quite He Man but its gratifying to see the results of your labour :)

procrastination

2010-01-27T21:42:00.001+08:00

I must be the laziest person in the world. My bicycle project lies in pieces, months after I've salvaged the pieces. The materials clog up the common hallway and only the patience of my neighbours allow it to remain, a car wreck of parts.

My room looks like a tornado went through it, after since I've rearranged everything to be more sensible. Scattered parts of a hundred projects, all waiting their turn to be completed.

Even my photography materials, my cameras and film lie forgotten, just shy of being abandoned. Hundreds of dollars of equipment, left to waste.

Time is short, time is tight, no time for anything at all I lament. I book out on friday and book in on sunday and everything happens in between. But time, so precious and hard fought for is spent needlessly, in front of the computer, lazing around, wandering in futile pursuit. Like a beggar, upon finding himself a gold coin, wastes it on beer, wine and women.

Time waits for no one. My self discovery, self learning, self adventure through the world of books and magazines starts tonight. Salvaging the wreckage of each day by learning something new, every day.

random contemplations

2010-01-26T19:18:00.003+08:00

I decided today would be washing day. Armed with the necessary items, I strolled to the washing point. For the discerning clothes washer, there are three locations to work from, namely in the toilet where 5/6 ventilation fans don't work, a trip down 6 stories (and back up again) to the washing machines or a steel sink with a view. Steel sink it is then. Wetting my clothes, I then sprinkled a goodish amount of soap powder (ATTACK! brand) before scrubbing away. I also took advantage of the view to admire the setting sun with two of Singapore's National Birds (Construction Cranes) still hard at work on the horizon, building yet another condominium unit not 6 inches away from my camp. Land is scarce in Singapore, yet we have maybe 5 golf courses here. The irony. A platoon of men march pass towards the admin block. OCTs, judging from the volume. Us men and SCTs can't be bothered to do more then the minimum, the norm.

Then a thought inserted itself in my mind; how are we going to defend this country of ours without grievous loss? An invading army can bombard us and we will lose by the sheer economic loss. And so my friend argued too, bravely, at the board of judges during her SAFOS (scholarship) interview, maybe one of the most prestigious in Singapore. Taking the initiative, the First strike was another possibility; as the old saying goes, 30 minutes after country M declares war, we'll be hundreds of KM inside her! But in this age of terrorism, how can you be assured of the first blow and a quick and swift victory?

I am been avoiding the obvious answer to this question, an answer drummed into me through the various educational institutions I attended. Mao, Stalin and Hitler would be jealous of what we have in the latest brainwashing techniques. Not fear, nor values or hate drives it, but money. Economic progress, everything else is sacrificed to this alter in the temple of Singapore. Hence why I link the economic downfall to be Singapore's defeat. But I digress.

We, we are the saviours of this land! But what poorer saviours there are, none can fathom. Our education system, vaunted for its high quality of graduates also has a track record of one faced, answer driven blanks rolling off the assembly line. Neither are we as physically strong as the previous generation, the privilege of motorised vehicles, escalators, elevators and other mechanical advantages. Our westernised and international outlook has backfired, resulting in a brain drain that has the Prime Minister appearing on print and on screen, begging for them to stay.

A lot to think about while doing the washing. In the end, I mused as I washed up, we are what we choose to be unless we choose to follow whatever circumstance "forces" us to do. It is up to us to change this state or to abandon it. Whatever happens, I am proud of Singapore and wish to serve and protect this nation of my loved ones and friends.

I hung my clothes to dry at the drying racks. They still felt a bit soapy.

in the pits

2010-01-25T21:54:00.001+08:00

Its hard to keep enthusiasm for something you never meant to happen. And thats keeping you away from your dreams. We all kid ourselves that its for the country, but what are we anchored if not solely our loved ones and money? Everything else has been prostituted in the name of progress. I see like minded people, with lofty dreams and visions, high achievers forced down, eclipsed by this spectre. A spectre is apt as the darkness ahead is gloomy and I cannot see my way forward. Nothing is celebrated except skiving, a perverse communism that oppresses hard work and rewards the unjust. But time and time again I see the light, praise the Lord! I refuse to drop mu standards and work now to reap the harvest later. No one may appreciate my work, a simple humble soldier; but I am determined to show my worth, to hold my head high and proud of my duty. Training perhaps for difficult times ahead.

lazy afternoon

2010-01-23T13:13:00.003+08:00

the fans are turning 'round and 'round, issuing man made wind.
little blessings to an army boy just off duty.
a forgotten book lies ajar, its owner off on patrol;
a chattering of little sounds from the card game just below
making me feel comfortable yet strangely all alone.
its time to rest, time to sleep, not time for any other;
for duty calls once again all to early, but never too late.

2 shifts up, 2 more to go...

Guard duty, or why I am lying in bed in full uniform, in camp on a saturday

2010-01-23T08:51:00.004+08:00

Guard duty.

I'm lying fully clothed on my (designated) bed, boots on (with blue! covers to protect the sheets). Ready for a turnout(!), or my shift, whichever comes first. My mates all around me, similarly clothed and lying in similar beds. Like blue and green peas in a pod. Its breezy as I type this message; through the wonders of technology; through my phone. The body is inactive, but the mind is in overdrive. Strange things happen when you're bored. Not when you're busy, I guess because your mind is focused, limiting its options to roam. Or as a compensation for my physical confinement in barracks, my mind gets to wander out through the wilderness of space and time to explore and contemplate. Or maybe its just that I think for too much for my own good.

/I stalk you/

2010-01-17T20:28:00.003+08:00

I'm interested in people / its been a while
Addicted in reading blog posts / my own little library of surprises
People near and distant / the internet web drawing everyone closer

Heartbreaks

Clashes

/slashes/

Joys & Desires

Written on electronic parchment / for everyone and no one to see.
?interesting? / yes, definitely

love/sex/drive/lust/hate/envy/deceit/terror/mayham/joy/sadness/hurt/fulfillment.
All (results of) emotions. The same with the humble blog post.
Like a storm in a teacup, so they write about civil wars, physical and mental torture (that'll make the Gestapo puke) hurt, hate, extreme gladness and sadness. Contained in words to form miniature worlds, alternative universes.

USA vs Japan

2010-01-16T13:14:00.000+08:00

I must stop switching authors too many, too fast; reading Chuck Palanuik and Haruki Murakami one after another gives one a headache. Imagine American styled in-your-face brutality, sex-drugs-rock'n'-roll with Japanese contemplation, patience, calm and quiet but with an equal punch. Akin to an All-American Muscle car vs a fast, flowing river. Both bruising with power but in totally different forms.

Quite enjoyable until your brain gives way. Ouch.

Abandoned Places

2010-01-16T09:11:00.002+08:00

This blog has not been updated in a while. For there is nothing to update.

The earth spins on its axis, around the sun. The moon, around the earth.

And I am yet again in the army. The days are fast; the hours, long.

Oh, I do actually like my vocation here, its just the lack of purpose, the lack of will the lack of spirit from those around me (even myself). Dragging us all down into a cesspool.

Less whining, more work. Leaving us with a lot of personal time has its perks: I can (have been) read actively, work out personally.

I have no energy to end this post. Thinking about the army leaves me drained of spirit.

Bah.

reflections from 3 months of island living

2009-12-04T22:27:00.003+08:00

From 3 months to 3 days. I am strangely bittersweet about a part of my life I enjoyed (perversely) but don't wish to go through again.

Some regrets:

- Not passing IPPT (failing the chin-up station by 1 mark, epic fail) More should and could have been done sooner but I was lazy. Lazy is generally a bad thing in NS, especially when you are the lowest life form there.

- Not keeping my temper as well as I could. I am a hot tempered person with the ability to control it pretty well. Most of the time. When I choose to. Sometimes, I choose not to for the wrong reasons.

- Not doing my best when I knew I could. I know I can go the extra mile but don't and now unfortunately will never be able to forever more.

- Not passing IPPT. It is a sore spot really, seeing how my other stations are of a silver to gold standard and my all my efforts towards the goal remaining unfulfilled.

Things I am thankful for:

- My section mates, who are never too critical nor serious about anything much (except girls which is a evergreen point of topic). They pick you up when you fall and laugh at each others mistakes. Never the earliest, nor the fastest, neither the best in (most) of the multitudes of stuff the army throws at you, we manage to survive and thrive even in this constant state of flux. Each and everyone of them are unique and different, in their own way.

- My commanders who run much too fast, talk cock much too loudly and are much too good for us. I feel confident that my commanders will go the extra mile for us and more, together. Surprising, given that they are not much older then us at all. Too bad we did not give of the same effort or we might have been better then what we thought possible.

- 3rd Sergeant Prem Neshvin, section 4's section commander. Unfailingly cool and suave, he never raises his voice over what it needs to be, cuts the right corners (and at the right time). He says it as it is and doesn't try to hold back reality from us. Someone who cuts his own path and almost demands you follow it, or look like the fool for it.

3 more days left for Hawk Company, Batch 4, 2009. After which much administrative changes and schemes, Hawk Coy will not be Hawk Coy of the old anymore. So we are the last of the Hawks, the few and the brave.

Grenade!

2009-11-15T01:08:00.002+08:00

“I, NIRC, RANK & NAME, Right Master Hand, No Sweaty Palms request to enter the bay sir!” I announce my presence to my Platoon Commander. He leans to the side of the bay, cap off in surrender to the hot and humid air that affects one and all here in Tekong.

“Samuel eh? Step forward into the bay and prepare your grenade” he orders. I trot up the bay area, a elevated reinforced concrete semicircle designed to protect one from the blast of a awry grenade. Or at least that’s what they told us.

I glance at my PC, 2LT Zhi Rong. Before me was 48 recruits from Hawk Coy, Platoon 3. 48 prime opportunities for a surely gruesome death. His trademark smile was missing, replaced with an impatient frown. A 20 year old man, the same age as me, separated only by educational qualifications and rank. Just as scared as me.

Standing at the prescribed legs at shoulder width apart, I stretch my arms beyond the reassuringly thick concrete barrier and follow the regimented steps.

“Safety Ring Twist!”

“Safety Ring Pull!”

I tug at the ring. Nothing. I tug again. Not a budge. Only after my 4th pull then it gives way obediently.

“Safety Pin Out!”

I turn to pass the expanded Safety Ring to my PC to find him wearing his usual grin.

“Why Samuel? Too scared until no strength to pull the ring out?”

Smiling back, I politely reply in the negative; his grin and friendly teasing reassuring me tremendously.

“Grenade prepared and ready to be thrown Sir!”

A pat on my back was the signal. My right arm arched backwards while my left arm hung onto my rifle as I swung as hard as I could. All while shouting “GRENADE.”

A muffled scraping of boots informed me that Zhi Rong already took cover in the bay. Time for me to do the same and to count down.

1-thousand

2-thousand

3-thousand

4- I never quite managed to say the thousand as the air around me seemed to explode from the force of the grenade. Even though I wore earplugs, I could hear ringing in my left ear. My joints ached from the blast, was it really so terrible? I shudder to think of the destructive force of artillery, many times that of a hand grenade.

Counting two seconds more for the fragments to clear, I peek out to survey the damage. Zhi Rong was already standing, cap on head looking at no mans land.

“Not bad Samuel, you threw the grenade. Call up the next guy quickly, its bloody hot in here.

Mumbling my acknowledgements, I stumbled out of the bay area aching but with a sense of accomplishment. I threw a hand grenade today, how many people get to do that?

---

Running High

2009-11-10T22:27:00.001+08:00

My lungs scream for oxygen

even as I gulp in air.

My legs tremble

with every step.

I feel like I’m dying

but I’ve never been this alive before.

All this while I’m running 2.4.

---

10.38 best timing yet, attempting to break the 10min barrier at the next IPPT mark…

National Service

2009-09-10T23:53:00.000+08:00

Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

Winston Churchill

the inevitable, but tragic, conclusion

2009-08-28T01:44:00.001+08:00

after many hours pouring over graphs and charts;

frantic bashing of the calculator crunching figures;

to endless searching of online forums and auctions;

The conclusion:

$500 +

$300 +

$70 +

$200 +

= $1070

= Cost of running a lower market Toyota Corolla per month.

---

pretty girl pretty swell

2009-08-26T02:12:00.004+08:00

I met a pretty girl today while catching up with my friends from secondary school.

We've been around for quite a while, sticking together from primary to secondary school, past the tertiary gap and now bonded together by National Service.

One served, one serving and one yet to serve.

We took turns on updating ourselves on whos who and whats what. Mostly though, they gave me the load down of National Service, pearls of wisdom passed down generations through word of mouth.

Not realising we had to write down our orders on the form provided, I approached the cashier, a pretty young thing in her 20's, with the menu in tow.

Excuse me, could I have drink X?

Oh sir, you'll have to fill in the order form first

Flustered, my eyes darted around for the elusive form in question. Noticing my confusion, she took charge of the situation.

Not to worry sir, just tell me the order numbers for the items you want and I'll just type it in.

Ah yes, thank you. I'm really sorry for the confusion, it's my first time here and I'm not used to the system.

I was distracted from ordering the drinks as I was looking at her. Not at her bits mind, but at the radiant smile emitting from her face as she took down my order.

Smiles are addictive, so I ended up breaking into a smile myself as I thanked her before returning to my seat. The smile carried on throughout the evening, lighting up my mood even as I bid farewell to my friends and we made our way home.

---

I realise that beauty to me is all about the inside. Sure, she was pretty on the outside, but what made her stand out was the warmth as she served me and her addictive smile. Without this qualities, she would be as lifeless as any person on the street. Qualities to think about as I wander in search of a companion.

two - zero

2009-08-18T00:11:00.002+08:00

The root beer bubbles happily in its glass case, awaiting the next sip.

The fluorescent tube glows brightly, sending rays of light over the room.

My laptop hums away as it quietly processes a million and one programmes.

I'm on the phone with my friend, talking about everything and nothing.

I take a sip.

The BlackBerry shows 12pm.

16th August 2009.

Happy Birthday.

people; love

2009-08-05T00:13:00.001+08:00

I fall in love with many people every single day.

On the train, in school, over the air, everywhere!

I love staring into their eyes and losing myself into the depths within.

Or at their legs; so slim, smooth and silky.

But what I like most about them is what’s deep inside.

Their humanity, their humility, their poise, composure, self confidence

and everything in between.

I get a nice fuzzy feeling when I encounter these people.

They make my day, my week, my year!

At least, until the next person comes along, restarting the process.

---

awkward…

2009-08-03T22:09:00.001+08:00

I enter my new class with trepidation.

Already they’re staring at me, sizing me up.

I set down my books perhaps too harshly. The wooden desk moans in protest

A girl starts giggles nervously before stopping abruptly.

My throat is dry, my shoulders stiff.

A manage a grin.

The staring continues.

I give a sigh and give up trying, before looking at my class timetable.

4 more weeks of this hell. I can do this!

I wonder… if my students feel the same as well?

---

a new day beckons; it’s going to be alright

2009-07-17T00:31:00.002+08:00

the alarm’s ringing, breaking the rush of dreams

sunlight filters through your window, ending their long journey from the sun.

the birds are chirping; people are out practicing tai chi

it feels like you’ve ran a hundred miles while you struggle out of bed,

yet once you’re on your feet you feel you can run a thousand more.

a new day beckons, with bright new possibilities outshines the old

and where many adventures abound.

“Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero”

Seize the day and place no trust in tomorrow

Dedicated to G & Yan, who made today a reality for me and many others.

---

flummoxed

2009-07-03T02:15:00.001+08:00

"I willingly become weak, uneducated and stupid, because love is too beautiful a thing to miss. Love is beautiful not because it makes you feel good all the time. Love is beautiful because sometimes it warms you, and sometimes it is painful. That's what makes us human. And being human is beautiful."

Yan, 2009

I cannot understand this. It’s not the words, nor the meaning behind the words, all of which I grasp readily. I’m not deprived of love. I give and receive it often and freely to the best of my intentions.

My parents, my relatives and my friends all love me and I love them back. I just don’t understand loving someone in an intimate sort of way. I liked many girls before and have even chased a few. But in hindsight, what I appreciated was their friendship and warmness; love evaded once again. I did try to love someone. Tried my best, but it wasn’t to be, never to be.

I’m not miserable. In fact, I’m having a great time being single. I am hindered by no one except by God driven conscious. I don’t find a need for another person in my life now or in the near future, not now.

Not ever?

This is not the end to this discussion, just the first round. (3/7/09)

---

digital emotions

2009-07-03T01:15:00.002+08:00

Can you tell from Twitter that I'm sad?

So that you can comfort me through Facebook?

Do you read my Blog to know me?

Post in Cbox to know how I feel.

How can I tell that you Digg me?

You seem so aloof in Myspace.

Is there a way to compute love?
Or bluetooth your feelings?

---

Lingering memories of Perth

2009-07-02T01:27:00.000+08:00

Cyan blue skies up above, tainted here and there by cotton wool clouds
The road winds through a forest of trees, casting long shadows on the road
The rented Hyundai whizzes through, oblivious to the beauty surrounding it.

A cottage facing the ocean, built when Britain Ruled the Seas.
The cold breeze taking you by surprise as you breathe in each glorious breath of air.
The view, spectacular of course.

I could get used to this.

---

i wonder…

2009-06-28T23:56:00.001+08:00

I wonder what is it like to fly like a bird,

to see the world from up high,

to swim with the clouds?

I wonder how would it feel if I turned into a girl,

to be chased at by guys at the mall,

to give birth to a child.

I wonder when will we achieve our dreams,

to protect the weak

and to save a country’s Soul.

I wonder, I wonder…

---

The king is dead, the king is dead! Long live the king!

2009-06-26T21:41:00.000+08:00

Michael Jackson,

1958 - 2009

Front page news when I woke up in Perth today.

Everyone seems to have something to say about him,

how he was a genius, a born star, a legend.

And how they admired him, loved him, worshipped him.

One wonders where were they when he was in the courtroom defending his honour,

or whether did they comfort him when he went through one, then another divorce.

Or what they said when he had to sell his home, his prized collections, even his white glove for cash to pay the lawyers fees.

Do him a last favour and leave him alone. Vultures.

---

Day 2, Lucy Lane Perth

2009-06-22T21:22:00.001+08:00

It's cold in the morning.

There is a heater in the shower, the toothpaste is cold in the tube.

I ate the least processed breakfast in years thanks to free range food and my wonderful aunt.

The air is crisp and dry as you step out fully clothed to face the environment.

At the shopping centre, I was stopped by the security guard because I was taking pictures of the mall.

But his manners and words immediately 9/10 of all Singaporean Service Staff to shame.

Wow. I'm not a morning person so naturally I felt grumpy. It's not every day a brush with the law improves and not spoil your mood for the day.

Before that, a person approached me for help with resizing his photos because he saw I was using a camera. You don't get that much in Singapore.

The shops are all selling winter gear. Not very useful in Singapore.

Organic (they call them free range here) food / drinks are on par with or even cheaper then the usual soft drinks and processed food. I'm certainly not complaining.

Shops all still selling winter clothing. Shoes are not too hot.

Got a few shirts and a bag. Total expenditure? AUD$51. Can you see the halo on my head? Look harder.

Ate one of the best tasting Japanese food I had in my life in Perth, Australia. Before that, I shopped at a Seoul supermarket. Globalisation never felt so real to me before.

News is all about their internal politics with a short footnote about Iran. Whatever happened to a global outlook?

It's a bad habit to compare and contrast Singapore vis a vis the country that I'm at. It's sad to find Singapore losing out.

Oh, interesting observation about the Australian funeral service, will share with the Veronica crew when I get back.

---

foreign soil; alternative lifestyles

2009-06-21T22:15:00.000+08:00

This is Samuel reporting from Lucy Lane, Perth where I am staying at my aunt's place till I move to my hotel cottage tomorrow.

It is cold, very cold, at least to a body used to humid 33 degrees heat from morning to night.

Heck, just this morning I work up at 3am in the morning sweating even though my fan was blowing at full blast.

But its a nice change from the heat, the crowds and the bustle.

Here it's nice and slow, peaceful and wide. Nothing really stands above 1 story and flat wide lands are the norm rather then the exception.

Things we take for granted, like public transport and street lamps is a luxury here.

Things we deem as luxury, like housing and cars isn't so much of a big deal here.

It's a joy, to be away from the home country for a bit at least, to see what else the world has to offer.

Because one man cannot be a island.

The air is fresher, the people different, the streets wide, the attractions many and the picture opportunities plentiful.

Oh yes, I think it's going to be a great trip ahead.

---

the strangest thoughts; in the strangest moments

2009-06-18T00:43:00.001+08:00

It is while standing at the edge of the most exciting rollercoaster ride in my life that I remember the strangest stuff.

In an instant, I was transported years back, to when I was Primary 5.

I was standing at a bus stand, shoes scruffy (just how I liked them, comfy), uniform orderly disorder. I wasn’t waiting for a bus though, but a girl.

She would take the 11.45pm 198 bus that brought you to the outskirts of Fairfield Methodist Primary School 30 minutes early. I would then board the same bus and sit next to her.

She wore the all blue tie that signified a prefect stature. Her attire was orderly, her coiffure neat and her features, flawless.

I didn’t notice that then of course. Girls then were at best friends, at worst enemies. To be handled warily and not to be trusted.

Not this girl though. We talked naturally, without the awkwardness of puberty or gender.

---

5 years on, we grew up. Both went to the same secondary school, classmates for the last two years. We hardly noticed each other.

She lost her prefect tie, attire in a orderly disorder and gained an aggressive attitude. I did my best to present a good outlook of myself in school, mild and meek.

We did talk, but it was shallow and drivel. Gone was the touch of friendship.

I last saw her a year after I graduated from secondary school. I went through a second round of puberty (!!!) and grew taller and slimmer. While walking with a friend in Dover, I ran into her. Her hair was all done up, face painted and a accessory guy beside her.

A glance. A flicker of recognition. No change of pace. No halt in conversation

We pass each other by and the flashback faded to black, to reality.

A shame, oh a shame, to have grown too old and critical for friendship to flourish.

---

Steady on!

2009-06-15T01:54:00.001+08:00

Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential.

Winston Churchill

---

love & attraction; what about it?

2009-06-12T02:10:00.001+08:00

What attracts a women; what attracts a man?

The size of her breasts; the colour of his eyes?

That cute smile; that lovely grin

The way she holds you; the way he holds you?

Slim legs; Chest hair?

The way she speaks; the way he says things?

Are we that simple to fall for such a trick, an illusion, a mirage? To fall from grace like Adam and Eve for that forbidden fruit. So sweet yet so dangerous.

How Ridiculous!

However, as it is human to err and sin,

it is also human to love. To want to care and protect a stranger who you’ve just met for eternity.

A flick of her hair, fiddling with his keys,

an awkward glance, a shy smile,

A reluctant good bye. And a million words were left unspoken, but yet never understood so well.

We are fools for thrusting ourselves into this charade over and over. But once tasted, it never goes away.

So love, loved and love again.

How Ridiculous! only if you’ve never experienced it before.

---

keep it simple, silly!

2009-06-08T22:48:00.001+08:00

When you bog down with problems, hassles and worries,

always remember to keep things simple, silly!

---

jostling and yelling, squeezing and arguing; just another day at the thieves market

2009-06-07T21:47:00.001+08:00

Blasts of indian music, hollers of chinese sellers all beckon the passerby towards the thieves market

where everything and anything is for sale.

Piles of goods haphazardly piled up or strewed on the floor not unlike a corpse of an animal

while we, the vultures disembowel the still warm corpse.

Whispers, shouts, yells, conversations all happen simultaneously

a hundred at a time, in a dozen different languages.

A item catch my eye, gleaming lustre showing through the grime.

I pick it up, twilling it through my fingers before enquiring about the price.

Yes? No? Maybe? I ponder as the seller squats, already forgetting about me.

I stand up, a hand reaching for my wallet as I make a purchase.

The seller looks up, a smile spreading on his sun beaten, aged face.

Another purchase, another day at the thieves market.

the laptop’s humming, stale coffee accompany a dying cigarette as the author works on; late nights

2009-06-02T01:23:00.001+08:00

Soft music sung by long dead singers fill the air;

as the fan attempts valiantly to move the hot heavy air around.

The laptop’s humming, stale coffee accompany a dying cigarette as the author works on.

Outside the world’s asleep, reward for a long day of labour;

but the author struggles on for love, glory and monetary benefits.

The deadline’s ticking, the clock that never stops;

tick tick tock tock goes the seconds, followed by minutes and hours.

A early rise is in order tomorrow;

Jeez, is it already 3am?

3 hours for a period of rest, Nirvana before the rush starts again;

already it feels too short.

The bed beckons, singing it’s siren call;

calling out to this ship to wreck itself on it’s shores.

Eyes drooping, closes and forced open again;

10 minutes, an hour, 30 seconds more…..

Late nights.

-Dedicated to all fellow owls of the night.

---

late night driving

2009-05-27T00:24:00.001+08:00

The traffic light flickers Green, Amber, Red as we stand in the yellow glare of the streetlamps.

We hold ICs, PDLs and the all important white attendance sheet in one hand; the other a cigarette, a forgotten book, a handphone.

Awaiting the arrival of the Ladies and Gentlemen in company white polo tee, black trousers, black shoes; an army of uniformity.

“Here they come”, the unspoken announcement sounds as we shuffle to our feet to our vehicles / to our masters.

IC and PDL please, goes the call and as easily the order is given, it is followed. A hundred imaginative minds immediately recall the inmates at Auschwitz.

A glance, a quick smile and the documents are handled back.

The order is given: “Take the drivers’ seat”

We shuffle in our seats.

We adjust the mirrors.

We take a deep breath.

We go for a late night drive.

---

newsFlash!

2009-05-20T21:16:00.001+08:00

It’s perfectly acceptable to complain, whine and gripe

if it’s balanced with hard work, duty and purpose.

For when one complains without working hard,

whine with no sense of duty,

and gripe without purpose,

he shows himself to be the very person he chooses to avoid.

---

Familiar faces in the gloom

2009-05-12T22:09:00.000+08:00

It's a nice feeling to meet a friend while you're taking a walk in the mall.

But sometimes there's an awkward silence

You shuffle your feet,

Answer questions haltingly,

Toy with your handphone

and stammer out an obvious excuse, anything to escape.

And sometimes you walk all the way around the mall to escape an ex-lover, that irritating high school friend or a weird guy in your driving class you caught leering at you.

Target spotted, plotting avoidance route

Sneaking at the corridors hiding your size

Hiding in stores to bid your time

And the old "oh look, I have an sms and have to read it intently" dodge

But most of the time it's a pleasent surprise

You stop, smile, approach and talk

"How are you?"

"Wow, I like what you've done with your hair!"

"You've lost weight!"

"Congrats on the promotion!"

"You have a wonderful wife"

We go through life much too quickly with nary a second to spare.

So why not spend the time with an old friend when it is God's will to bring you together for that moment. Talk through that awkward moment and soothe the long ruffled feathers.

There might not be a next time for either of us.

---

Acting | Life

2009-05-08T22:37:00.000+08:00

Acting is about life.

Life is about acting

Acting is Life

Life is Acting

If you act while acting, you become a bad actor.

But if you live and breathe the character, till it becomes you and you him

Then, that is the true form of acting.

---

with bloodshot eyes, I update

2009-05-06T21:58:00.000+08:00

I apologise for the long wait for updates. Reason being, I have been staring at primary school kids for the past three days.

No kidding.

Monday harked the opening of the auditions for Unity Primary's Musical, entitled, "Dare to Dream"
Over a hundred eager contestants competed in the Singing, Dancing, Acting segments in order to clinch a role in the musical. The odds are high; the main cast have to sing, dance and act reasonably well and also have the X-factor in their acting. But there were surprises in the lot that came:

Unity Primary's very own Susan Boyle!

In entered a short, plump and shy girl with a prominent birthmark on her face. She stood in front of the judges (G, Yan and myself) shuffling her feet.

Name and Class went the order, not unlike a drill sergeant addressing a soldier

Karen Chew, 5C was the shy response (Names have been changed to protect privacy)

Again a command was given; Do you have a song?

And again a shy response; Yes, Yes I do

Please begin then:

And she did.

Ok, I'm sure her standard would not have passed many auditions as of yet, much less tying her name with someone as illustrous as Susan Boyle. But in the context of a primary school, and indeed even when you bring in the secondary school sector in, she certainly stands out of the crowd.

The clincer was during the acting auditions on wednesday. It was held in two stages; Stage 1 was a simple reading of a script. Clearing Stage 1 would enable you to move on to Stage 2 which was to express an emotion, any emotion to the judges.

The little Ms stood in front of us and said a few lines;

And She Cried.

Not only that, her eyes were drawing us in, pleading with us to hear her story. I felt the music room dissolve away as we were shown a little crack into her world.

And then, it was over. She dried her tears, bowed meeky and left.

Yan looked over at me and said simply,

"I want her for the main cast"

Through the force in her words and the resolution in her eyes, I knew that come what may, I will see a short, plump, shy but outstanding girl named Karan Chew from Unity Primary Class 5C sitting in the room when we come for the next session.

---

Camera + Bicycle

2009-04-26T23:23:00.000+08:00

The modeling thing didn't work out since neither of us (producer and myself) were free on the right days. It was a nice surprise for my bicycle to be spotted for one, like a compliment paid by a stern teacher. Granted, it's one of it's kind here in Singapore being extensively modified from the stock model. I've realised that I own a grand total of zero photos of it since I've obtained it! Time to make amends...

Flying Pigeon! Produced from a Nationalized "Anchor" brand Japanese Bicycle Factory which copied it's models from a 1933 model Raleigh. Incidentally, it was on bicycles that the Japanese managed to stage their (in)famous invasion of Singapore. Were some of the bicycles Anchor brand? Hmmm....

I managed to break my normal handlebars so I swapped them with this. It's a North Road handlebar mounted upside down to mimic a 1930s' "moustache" drop handlebars.

The lamp came with the light dynamo that I bought even before the bicycle. After extensive modifications and an accident with a van, it's now battery operated.

I removed my rear rack and full chaincase as it was ponderous and heavy. What transpired is now a 1930s racer bicycle. Wanted to go without a chaincover as well, but my trouser cuffs didn't think very highly of grease and dirt.

Because of the modifications, it has been out of service for the better part of a week. High time to give it (and myself) a spin.

---

Modeling

2009-04-26T00:14:00.000+08:00

My Bicycle got spotted for a modeling gig!

The Chinese Low Educated but Highly Skilled Professional

2009-04-24T20:09:00.000+08:00

I spent 10 hours on my bicycle and managed to break a handlebar, strip a very important nut and mount my brakes the wrong way. After the chaos, I decided to leave it to the professionals and brought my bike to the nearby bicycle store. While cycling to the store, it was creaking and squeaking the entire way.

When I was there, it was manned by the full crew, an old chinese man, lady and a old grandmother. After handling the bicycle to the old man he gave it a one over and said to me:

"Ah boy arh, you rammed into a wall before?"

I did hit a van at full speed a few weeks before but I never told him before.

"See see, the front fork is bent! One more time and you can't ride it anymore! Never mind, still can ride but must be careful."

I gave it a once over and.... couldn't see anything. Walking towards the rear of the of the bicycle, he looked at the nut only once and said

"This nut is a special nut, from a Raleigh"

And it was. It only took be 2 hours for me to find it out on the internet. He then looked at the bicycle as a whole, looked at me and said

"You fixed this bicycle yourself right? See la, this thread is stripped. Boy ah, must be more careful next time."

He fixed the brakes, back axle and found the nut after searching the entire store for it.

Total cost: $13. And $10 was for a plastic red rear light.

When I cycled back, the bicycle was like new. No creaks, groans or scrapes at all. Excellent. :)

---

A strange encounter of the Other Generation

2009-04-24T19:55:00.000+08:00

The people one meets on the streets.....

I was approached by an old man today to assist him to carry a chair to his table.

Old Man: (speaks in prim and proper english) Young man, could you assist me in carrying a chair to my table?

Me: Oh sure sir. Over here?

Old Man: Yes, thank you. Say, its that an army shirt you're wearing, what battalion are you from?

Me: Er....

I was wearing my Singapore Polytechnic Polo Tee. But we continue to chat for a while about the army.

Old Man: (eagerly) So, have you joined the NS yet?

Me: Nope, not yet.

He misread me and thought I was skiving my role. Naturally, I defended myself.

Old Man: Skiving the army! Why I never...

Me: No no no, I said I haven't gotten the letter yet!

Old Man: Oh oh, good good. Remember, Singapore is just a red dot, we all have to defend this country.

Old Man: Remember hor!

After rambling along for a while more, he left us to our food in peace.

Friend A: ..... That was a strange man

Friend B: Yea, what a loony

Me: No, just a lonely one.

---

Woe woe woe

2009-04-21T23:07:00.000+08:00

I am frustrated and it has to do with the quality, or more specifically the lack thereof, of my bicycle.

The problem is simple to understand;

Quality Chinese "Engineering" that saw me go through two sets of pedals and a set of clotters in a month. The first set of pedals gave way when I was pedaling back from the store at Lavender, the second is giving way as we speak. Is it a general thing or did I just win the lottery?

Assembling by an "Expert" team of workers that managed to forget to grease the seatpost and front stem of my bike, or basically anything at all. After the first day of my ownership (and a drizzle getting back) I find my bicycle chain covered in rust. Also, while attempting to fix my bicycle after knocking the handlebars askew, I find that the interior front stem is covered with rust with nay a grease in sight. The dirty four letter word, Rust rust rust rust.

"Quality" components like screws that strip faster then the experts from Playboy, leaving me with no steering whatsoever and leaving me with only the option to push my bicycle the 4 miles to the nearest bicycle store on foot to get it repaired.

For a bicycle that is reputed to be a workhorse, this is piss-poor performance. I don't pamper my bicycles but expect it to keep up with me in my daily routine. As it is, a $50 Martin or Urata MTB is much more reliable (and attractive) then my Flying Pigeon. If I wanted a project bike, I'll get a knocker Raleigh from an ah pek and start from there. In fact, that sounds bloody decent to me now.

Bleedin' heck.

---

In the pursuit of good spoken English

2009-04-19T21:46:00.000+08:00

Frequency Modulation 88.9

BBC World News

I find it only fitting that to speak the Queens' English, it is only proper to learn it from those who invented it the language.

---

One in a million, really

2009-04-16T01:35:00.000+08:00

Photography by: Samuel Koh

One in a million, what are the odds, that we are alive in such a time and place;

We are called for greatness, everyone of us;

To make a difference, no matter stature or rank;

And to benefit other people, whether young or old.

...

If only we first make the choice to take the first step, to turn the wheel, to ignite the fire.

---

Endjoy

2009-04-08T23:27:00.000+08:00

End-Joy

The uplifting, happy emotion that comes from seeing a long drawn project nearing a successful completion.

Also, an alternative term for suicide.

---

Steady on men

2009-04-05T03:55:00.000+08:00

never was there such An Accomplished Day then today.

the School;

the Production; Looked Over and Improved

the Teacher; Listened, Questioned, Shocked

the Squad; Comment, Thought, Implementation

the Store;

the Front Porch; Categorized, Arranged, Secured

the Hall; Painted, Lighted, Ventilated

the Rear; Lighted, Ventilated, Planned

the Relaxation;

the Dinner; Flavourful, (Small) Portion, Closing

the Game; Irritation, Transpose, Set Back

the House;

the Room; Discussion, Debate, Direction

the Squad; Direction, Deduction, Selection

the Ride;

the Road; Fatigue, Training, Strength

the Home;

the Bed; Rest, Relax, Recharge

---

The Greatest Book in the World!

2009-04-04T00:32:00.000+08:00

While browsing for books at Bras Basah Complex, an interesting book came into my purview.

It was all moldy and worm eaten, falling apart and dusty but it's title, highlighted in Gold remained;

"The Greatest Book in the World"

Indeed a most eye catching phrase, bold and brash words reaching out and demanding it's just audience.

Interested, I picked up the tome and turned past the first page, finding myself reading.....

the Bible.

Gotcha!

But a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

---

The strangest things

2009-03-22T21:52:00.000+08:00

Baptism

A religious sacrament marked by the symbolic application of water to the head or immersion of the body into water and resulting in admission of the recipient into the community of Christians.
A ceremony, trial, or experience by which one is initiated, purified, or given a name.

Originates from the Greek work "baptizo" and which originated from "bapto" which means to dip. Evidently, it was used in the second part of a ancient Greek process for pickling vegetables, the first being to boil the vegetables and the second to dip the vegetables in vinegar to change the composure of the vegetable and to kill the bacteria within. Similarly as Christians, when we go through water baptism, we go in with our sins and leave a changed person, leaving our sins behind.

So, have you been pickled yet?

---

Stories that transcend time

2009-03-22T21:01:00.000+08:00

Mansfield Park, arguably Jane Austens' best work and now firmly in my favourites list.

I bought an unedited version, complete with arcane English words, phrases and speech. Set in the early 18th century, it brings us to a gentler time, a time of manners, culture and uprightness where ladies wore petticoats, horse carriages abound and fathers were addressed as Sir. This story is now in it's 195th year of existence, but remains surprisingly readable and the characters actions, motives and weakness, shockingly modern.

The heroine is Miss Fanny Price. Fragile and pure, sweet and sensible, yet firm and unyielding in conduct and position. She does not give way to evil for pleasure but stands up to it firmly as it backs down before her. Everyone else plays a supporting role to her, ironic as in the main part of the book she is silent as a mouse, neglected, overworked and under appreciated. Yet with quiet strength she manages to persevere and win her place in the sun where she so rightfully deserves. The story ends well, almost wearyingly commonplace as the hero once again marries the heroine and all is right with the world. But after her many trials and tribulations, tests of courage, fortitude and willpower, the ending is justly rosy and not with a sigh of relief that all is well with her. A timeless classic well worth a read.

---

A thought;

2009-03-19T21:50:00.001+08:00

Shakespeare, Jane Austen and Charles Dickens I adore, but it is not progress if I cannot even engage my own grandparents in casual conversation.

---

Winston Churchill on the tough times ahead;

2009-03-18T23:04:00.000+08:00

"If you are going through hell, keep going."

On Books and Simplicity

2009-03-17T00:28:00.000+08:00

Because over thinking more often then not hinders rather then help a person.

I have in hand a copy of Jane Austen's Mansfield Park printed by Penguin Books as part of their Penguin Classics Collection. But what matters most is the price tag: £2. That is a lot of book for the price. Sure, it's printed on toilet paper and the print type is ancient and squashed but there is a certain charm that belies it. I pick up a book and I feel much more connected to the original author then any other collector's edition series. The english script used, while modern (I'm sure it was tweaked), is styled in the late 19th century, so it takes a bit to get used to it. I enjoy reading British Authors, especially the classics, because they all have a certain way to approach the subject; through over elaboration and skirting the issue while remaining relevant.

The best thing about the book? (other then the outrageously low price)

Simplicity.

It's a pure book, minimal advertising, mini reviews and no flashy covers. The authors name and the title dominates the cover of the book; A page seperates the reader from diving into the main content of the book. Certainly, I can see myself bringing it on the train and the bus to while away the time with old friends that I've never met, but through their words have shared something dear from their hearts over to me.

---

Slurring speech, aching knees, tired body but a clear mind

2009-03-03T01:25:00.000+08:00

Hello all,

I'm chatting from the stupor of approximately 12 shots of vodka, tequila and whiskey, mixed with orange, mangosteen and cola. Not together of course. Please forgive my English, as while my mind is clear, the transmission to the fingers is a bit... well muddled. My actions, while not angelic, is certainly permissible.

School is over. I can't bloody believe it. After 3 years of tertiary and 10 years of compulsory education, it's over. Education and I have swapped roles; once it was my master, having complete control over me. Now it's my slave, moving along to my whims and desires. I choose what I wish to study, not what it wishes to teach me. I like that.

Then of course there's the army. The rite of passage; A mans' journey; The two years of hell; Where ones' opinion does not matter, only the will of the Overlord. Sounds familiar? Some see it as an opportunity to serve ones' country. Some see this as a burden to oneself. I am of the former. I am idealistic about this, but it's just the way I operate; not about myself, but for the greater good.

Honestly though, even though this is what I've been dreaming about for the past few years, I am still apprehensive about the unknown. Cowardice? Maybe, but I am still going to have a hack at it.

Then afterwards? Work Work Work. All of my friends are talking about university placements and the such. Bah. Education is my bitch now, not my master. I'll decide what it can teach me, not take what I can now, thank you very much. I'll rather take a break from the druggery of studying to something else more exciting and real time. Sure I'll fall, sure I'll fail, but I'll pick myself up, brush off the dust and run ever faster.

And the future? Whether it be a nuclear catastrophe, a environmental collapse, or another 2 million years of steady slogging ahead, Only the lord knows.

But I dearly hope that I can have a chance, in this world, to make a difference, to someone, somewhere, somehow.

---

2009-02-25T20:30:00.000+08:00

Straits Times Forum, 24th May 2009

"Where did you go, my Singapore of old?

I AM a 45-year-old Singaporean much in love with this country, which I am proud to call home. Over the years, I have visited a few other beautiful countries, but I cannot see myself living anywhere else but in Singapore.

However, as much as I call Singapore my home, there is almost nothing of it I can connect to when I try to look back in memory.

A few weeks ago, I decided to drive my parents around to revisit places to try to recapture the fond memories of our earlier years. There was almost no place familiar left to go. Almost everything has been eradicated. It was a sad morning.

I am sure, to the zealots of change and development, this means nothing at all, and others may say people like me are like a broken record (nostalgia) that gets stuck and plays the same thing over and over, but I feel it is very sad.

The little we have left is also about to go: the last kampung in Buangkok, the New Seventh Storey Hotel and so on. Who needs the kampung in Buangkok when there is the shiny plastic version in Geylang Serai, right? After all, it is clean, safe and pristine.

With reference to last Monday’s letter by Ms Lisa Healey-Cunico, ‘Let Singapore shape itself naturally’, I fully agree that Singapore has lost much of its soul. It truly seems we have an unquenchable need to wipe out and develop anything and everything. Alternatively, if a place is deemed worthy of heritage, redevelopment sets in with the original tenants, who contributed to the colour of the place, removed because of high rent and commercialisation.

Maybe I am just getting old, but I would like to be able to visit some places in Singapore with nothing added but a few coats of paint over the years. I resort to flea markets for photocopy pictures sold at three for $10. I used these to share old stories with my parents and daughters. That is all there is. Needless to say, one of my favourite haunts is Sungei Road. I am certain it is already in someone’s plans for eradication.

I appeal to whoever can make the difference, please leave some things as they are.

I love you, Singapore, but I fear I do not remember you.

Vincent Paul Carthigasu"

This is something I feel very much about, being a student of history and my opinion is as such:

I take the view that home is where the heart is. How can the heart stay here when your home and supporting buildings is demolished? Also, where else has it to go when your entire environment is in flux, constantly changing and moving?

It is arguable to say that the people's hearts should belong to the country, not just a housing estate or a just a building. However, what that is more intimate to you will be remembered and cherished, even if it is a boring old block of flats. We do not always go to historical sites like Cityhall or the Istana, but we do go back home every day. The feeling of familiarly and safety is hard to relinquish and not easy to regain.

I am not opposed to progress, in fact I do admit that the only constant is change, but this massive and constant upheaval can only do harm to a young nation which has precious few roots of it's own. Case in point, I was moved from my previous home of 10 years, where I made good friends and moved into Jurong East, into a condominium. Fast forward 10 years, and I have adapted to the area and it's surroundings. It would be difficult to uproot myself from this area and move another place. I might be inclined to move overseas then and the loss is on Singapore. This is also why I will block any moves to en bloc. Anyone that treats my place as a monetary opportunity can jolly well move out him or herself.

In conclusion, the bulldozers will come, the shopping malls will come and the shophouses will come down. But for pete's sake, lets have some stability, especially in our homes. The alternative to slower progress is worst; a squeaky clean city, all shiny, new and bright...

but hollow and empty inside.

---

Readers, your views please?

Running so fast, that you feel everything's slowing down

2009-02-20T00:06:00.000+08:00

Running so fast that you feel everything's slowing down

Working so hard that you feel you're not

Training so hard that you feel you're slacking

Moving so quickly that you feel you've stopped.

---

Mischievous behavior

2009-02-17T12:30:00.000+08:00

I am doing absolutely everything instead of what I really need to do. Study!

2009-02-16T10:52:00.000+08:00

The Flying Pigeon

First built in the 1950s, it is based off the 1932 Raleigh roadster and mass produced for the population. Simple, robust and highly adaptable, this was the vehicle that moved millions in China. Even now this model, the PA-02 is still in production to cater for the demand locally and overseas. Its classic lines and sleek design from another age hides the strength of an ox.

And I want one. Badly. D:

What is lacking

2009-02-16T09:29:00.000+08:00

Professionalism
In the way things are handled

Responsibility
To yourself, others and the world

Courage
To stand up for your beliefs, and for others

Pride
In the service you provide

Duty
The show must go on, no matter what

Passion
In the work you do

---

Addendum

I've been reading a amazing montly aptly titled: Monocle, a briefing on global affairs, business, culture & design. The magazine is substantial, more so then some books I have. The articles are well written and has a global outlook in which I enjoy. Photographs are carefully taken and some using film, a supposedly extinct medium that Monocle still supports. Even the advertisements are well designed and selected.

What I enjoy most of it is that they celebrate all the values (and more) of what I have stated above, both by themselves and the people and places they visit. Professionalism, Responsibility, Courage, Pride, Duty, Passion, incidently the same values my company, Les Thespians Drama Production House employs. Anything less is false economy, shortchanging yourself and your customer.

Law

2009-02-13T00:19:00.000+08:00

Reading Law is interesting at times;

Case in point:

If you're below 21 years old, your guardian (parents or appointed person) can legally send you for sterilization!

But if you're pregnant, you and you alone have the choice on whether you want to abort the baby or not, no matter your age.

Curious world we're in

abstract

2009-02-04T20:28:00.001+08:00

There's never much talk but touches and looks, smiles together, curses for parting.

It is marginal, hungry, chilly

but it's something they want to keep,

so much that to keep it they will take on much more then propaganda has ever asked them for.

They are in love. Fuck the War.

It's not where we start, it's how we end.

2009-01-28T14:53:00.001+08:00

I met an interesting old man during the long CNY break.

I was drinking with my mates after a long day of visiting relatives(more exhaustive then a day at the gym!) at Brewerks, the makers of awesome awesome beer. We chatted for a long while before parting to make our way back home.

That was where I met him. No, not the transsexual "ladies" that came out in force that night(for a change of environment or fishing a better catch then army boys I guess) but a old men well in his seventies.

Over the years, I've trained a good listening ear, mostly from listening to too many GF/BF/Political stories from my friends which typically lasts for hours on end. This man looked like he was bursting with stories to tell, so I allowed him have the opportunity to do so.

To cut the story short(as it was a good long talk), I found out that he was a rather accomplished man.

Made it into the first batch of Officer Cadets in a fledgling SAF back in 1967. (A very rare opportunity back in those days)

One of the first batches of Singapore Polytechnic graduates. (In an era where a PSLE was something, a diploma was equivalent to a degree or higher)

An Economic Development Board scholar (Again a very rare opportunity back in the bad old days)

His command of English was top rate, with a smattering of British phrases and words as it must have been taught to him back then.

He was however a bitter old man, complaining about his life, how scholars this days were simpletons, the nation treating us as second class citizens, the army, and many more.

There was a lot more that I wanted to ask him about but alas, I arrived at my stop. So I paid the fare and left.

Because you see, "He", the officer and the scholar, was my Taxi Driver.

In addendum,
I do not wish to belittle this fine old man I met as he has already done and seen so much as compared to myself. I do however find it a shame that he, with all his knowledge and expertise, ended up in this manner. Retired but forced to drive a taxi, an occupation one does not take up for leisure but as a last resort.

A new beginning

2009-01-24T01:20:00.001+08:00

Is what you say when you start a new day, bright and early and raring to go.

It wanes as you see the mountain of junk you have to clear.

It tends to zero (very close to, but not just yet) as you see and hear the whole closet shaking with cockroaches as you approach.

It increases as you charge in with your battle roar, two cans of bug spray and a very loose trigger finger.

It wanes again as you clear out the items inside liberally laced with cockroach dung and empty egg casings with your bare hands.

It soars as you find a rare item in working condition, bug dung or not.

It dips as you see the mountain of rubbish that you have cleared but now have to sort and pack, ready for disposal.

It rises as you look back at 20 heaping bags of trash with a sense of achievement.

It gets hard when you think of the work tomorrow, the week after and the month ahead.

Shame on you, random (insert job description here) service provider!

2009-01-23T00:34:00.000+08:00

Had a cup of the most awful tea-o (Chinese inspired English Breakfast Tea) today. It didn't wait to try to kill me, no it went straight for the throat. Approximately 5 seconds after I drained my cup, I felt nauseous, the kind where you feel like puking.

No, seriously.

Excused myself to visit the bathroom and took a big gulp of water from the nearby watercooler (conveniently placed near a toilet where the aroma will enhance the drinking experience) and walking around for a while till it subsided. Told my friend after and he said it happened to him thrice already! Shame on you, you random food service provider!

And if it wasn't enough already, I was accused of colourblindness when registering for my driver's licence... Yea sure, the results from your $50 machine operated by a untrained admin staff member takes precidence over two recent professional medical examinations that cleared me of any sort of colourblindness.

And her remedy? "Oh, please change your specs before the next examination to correct your colourblindness. Anyway, I'm still going to put your grade as pass."

I refused to comment anymore after what she said.

Shame on you, random counter service provider!

What took the cake was the taxi driver that sent G's dad to the wrong address and insisted it was the correct address before dumping him off at that location, leaving him to fend for himself.

Not much of a problem for a fit 20 year old man like myself, but he's a 80 year old diabetic. However the warrior spirit living in him still fights on and he knocked on a stranger's door to ask for directions back home.

You may not be reading this, but from the bottom of my heart, thank you Mr Brandon for being the good Samaritan to send him back home with your own vehicle.

Evidently, he was also so taken with G's Dad's war stories that he drove an extra round to hear him out longer!

Doubly shame on you, random taxi service provider! I would have sent him (G's dad back) home even if it was for free because this isn't a matter of money anymore. Would you want your own parents to be treated that way or even yourself as you grow old later on in life?

Shame Shame Shame on you, random (insert job description here) service providers!

Many thanks

2009-01-21T01:06:00.000+08:00

A Prayer to the Lord

Dear Lord Jesus,

I thank you for the great works and many blessings you have bestowed onto me.

Thank you especially for putting me in a position where I can help many others and guide them to the right path. And where I too can stretch my wings and do my best.

I ask for your wisdom and strength as I do my best to in that position.

Please teach me where I lack, Guide me when I am lost and Carry me when I tire.

I persevere on to be a beacon of light for you.

In your precious name I pray,

Amen

Gut feeling

2009-01-17T00:48:00.000+08:00

(With no callous intent or block headed emotion to those who have suffered a shattering dual blow yesterday)

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."
-Romans 8:18

There is a trembling in my body

A thunderstorm in my brain

A hurricane in my heart

I find that through the events of yesterday that I am never more driven to succeed.

Never. Not even half.

My hands and legs can't stop shaking as I type this.

We are going to do this, we are going to make it work

And we are going to succeed.

We're in the drivers' seat now and the lights' flashing

3

2

1

Go!

Rollercoaster ride, going up, down and away.

2009-01-16T23:47:00.000+08:00

16 January 2009

A day never felt so surreal.

Nor did I experience so many things happening at the same time before.

To the two people whom I owe plenty but yet do not demand a cent back in return, I hope the both of you take comfort in this verses:

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
-2 Timothy 4 v7-8

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
And saves those who are crushed in spirit.
-Psalm 34 v.18

Weeping may endure through the night,
But Joy comes in the morning.
-Psalm 30 v.5b

---

"When there is destruction, there is creation"

That though keeps popping in my mind.

With death, comes the joy of a new life.

With rejection, comes the drive and fervor to press on to our goal.

With the disruption of plans, comes new opportunities of growth and action.

With the threat of diminishing funds, comes the drive to succeed.

The glass is always half full, not half empty.

---

What you DO not want to hear while on show

2009-01-15T12:06:00.000+08:00

"I hate school it's been really demoralising. I'm not lying when I say that my ASM is a weirdo.... who I can't really work well with because she just smiles...without talking or doing anything else. Technically it's kinda freaky, but I've gotta deal with it aye?"

-Julia

Reading about Julia and her woes with her ASM reminds me of the good old days of school production and your ASM reminds me of my own SM during my first show with G. Imagine on the day of the performance, while it's ongoing and you're the lighting personal.

Characters:

SM - Ryan
ASM - Joanne
Lighting - Samuel (me)
Sound - Sandra

Scene:

Backstage in a school blackbox theater, halfway through show.

Lighting state:

Spot on Lighting, SM and Sound crew, 10%.

Samuel: (quietly) Ok, lights 1 and 2 fade down to 50%, up no.3 to 90%.

Joanne: (quietly) Sam sam!

Samuel: (quietly) What is it Joanne?

Joanne: (quietly) It's Ryan, he's..... (mumbling)

Samuel: (slightly agitated) What? Speak up Joanne.

Joanne: (slightly agitated) It's Ryan, he's SLEEPING!

Samuel: (Quietly Very Agitated) WHAT?

(Turns to position where Ryan and Sandra is located. Sandra is obviously very agitated while Ryan is peacefully sawing wood)

Spot on Ryan, Sandra 50%

Samuel: (hand gestures) WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-HE-DOING? WE'RE-IN-THE-MIDDLE- OF-THE-SHOW!

Sandra: (unprintable reply)

Ryan: Snore~~

(Samuel turns to a now very agitated ASM)

Samuel: Ok, just run as per normal. We did it before so many times and we'll do it again.

Joanne: (nervous but resolute) Ok.

(Joanne shifts back to her position while Samuel signals to Sandra)

Samuel: (hand gestures) CONTINUE-AS-NORMAL-OK?

Sandra: (hand gestures) OK-(Yet more unprintable gestures)

Ryan: Snore~~

-- After curtain call --

Ryan: (cheerful) Hey guys, that was a wonderful show! Great job!

Joanne: (irritated) No thanks to you.

Samuel: (irritated) ...

Sandra: (picks up random blunt object)

(Ryan gets mauled to death with blunt object)

Blackout

---

In the end, we are all alike.

2009-01-14T14:19:00.000+08:00

Two girls

Different ages
Different lifestyles

One living the high life, council, good grades, great school, awesome friends
The other struggling through school, losing friends and hurting those already close to her.

The princess and the pauper.

Both struggling to keep their heads above water,
clinging to their achievements, their friends, their God.
Both constantly questioning their existence.
Both fearful about what others say about themselves.

Both outwardly normal, card carrying Singaporeans
Silently screaming

Save
Our
Souls

Anyone?

Addendum:
I have this really bad habit of reading other people's blogs. It stems from my obsessive desire to read, anything anywhere anytime. It was during one of my exploratory trips into the underworld of the internet that I found this two girls, both so different and yet so alike. One from a N/A class in a neighbourhood secondary school, the other from the top class in a top Junior College. But both oh so fragile.

I sometimes wonder whether I enter this line of work more for my personal enjoyment and excitement or in order that I can perhaps help young people like them in whatever way I can.

Gee, it's the equator and I'm feeling colder then a well digger's ass in Siberia!

2009-01-13T23:22:00.000+08:00

Blow wind blow~

Insane Insane weather, been blowing typhoons and hurricanes over at my place for the past few days. Good for sleeping and saves electricity as my fan is now jobless, but it's strange to be all wrapped up in a blanket while you try to fight the cold in a TROPICAL country.

Of boots, overcoats and random clothing items.

2009-01-13T09:07:00.001+08:00

As a general rule, I dislike shopping.

Having three ladies in the house (2 sisters and mom) means you're dragged on shopping trips whether you like it or not, often for hours on end. I used to dislike it as it was tiring and I didn't like the clothes on display anyway. To be fair, a dress or lingerie won't really fit well on me but you get the idea. More to the point, clothes didn't fit well on me as I used to be quite plump, hence the disdain for them.

I spent 5 hours shopping for polo tees last week.

Why the sudden change?

I realised that I didn't want to walk around in unfitting round neck tees and baggy jeans anymore. I finally understood the reason for the many hours of window shopping the ladies do. Walking around many stores and malls, they have a feel of the designs, material and look of the outfit on themselves in order that they can fit everything without making them look bad. Buying a top to match the bottom, shoes to match the clothes and for the entire outfit to match the event. It's certainly not a case of 5 minute rushes to the store and the rest of the time at the sports section.

But neither did I want to preen myself in front of the mirror everyday.

I compromised with buying classic outfits that last and fitting for most occasions. Polo tees in all shapes and sizes, blazers, well cut long sleeved shirts and proper shoes. These can be worn in many different combinations to suit out the occasion. Being an active guy, my preference was to solid outfits which last and protect.

Cheap is not good, good does not come cheaply.

I never liked spending much on items, only on my toys (games, models and now photography gear) but more of that budget is now diverted to clothing. $400 will not get you a decent lens but it does get you decent threads.

Get to the point!

My clothes fit me better, which leads to:
Me looking better, which leads to:
Me feeling better.

Narcissist?

You decide.

Did I just make you wade through an entire essay about clothing?

;)

To be more then ourselves

2009-01-04T20:14:00.000+08:00

SPINNOVEX in three days.

ASEAN percussion training discussion in two days

Major project set up, briefing and discussion in one day

2 entire circuit boards to solder, check and complete in ZERO.

And I spent the entire day shopping for New Year clothes.

"Sometimes you need to go backward to go forward"

Samuel

There, that is the way to heck.

2008-12-28T21:29:00.000+08:00

So it's been a good three weeks.

Pierrot

Ubin trip

Christmas party

Multiple SNYDS sessions

Photography outings

However it's going to end tomorrow as I join the group of marginalized, conscripted, oppressed Polytechnic students to return to the place we all try so hard to avoid.

Back to school guys, it's going to be a loooooooonng semester.

Here we go.

...

Samuel

Quote of the day.

2008-12-17T23:53:00.000+08:00

"Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential."

-Winston Churchill

"I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly."

2008-12-16T22:19:00.000+08:00

I can stand the ugliness of physical imperfection, but I cannot stand the ugliness of character flaws.

You have your plus points, but the negative outweighs the good.

So all the best in your future endeavors and

Good Bye.

The post that Jackie and Beatrice should read.

2008-12-16T02:23:00.000+08:00

I operate in a world that doesn't care, in a country that gives up on itself, with people who don't bother to fight for themselves and with ideals that are unfulfilled.

And you come in.

You say the right things,
and walk the talk.

Your heart's in the right place,
and you gladly take the stripes for it.

You challenge others to live their dreams,
by living your own to the fullest.

You are not the best,
but you try your best.

You are in a position of not your own choosing,
but do the best with what you have.

You love your parents wholeheartedly,
even as they hurt you.

You cry, weep and wail today,
but tomorrow you stand up taller, stronger and firmer.

You fight for us,
and we fight for you.

I fight for you,
in order that the two of you, and others in the same position,
has a home.

Dedicated to Beatrice, Jackie and to everyone oppressed for their belief, ideal and passion.

Fight on you two,
I love you both.

...

Samuel.