Fly on the wall

Me: Whoa! You are staying over the first day you meet parents
Him: You are no better lor...

Heh. Yeah hor.

I challenge you

Ladies, would you give up your pads for tampons?

Tell me what you think!

http://nusbschool.qualtrics.com/SE/?SID=SV_42Sk7FWKQ3OO4ao


Yeah la, it's for a school project la..

Thank you for coming into my life

He, is my shelter and my warm blanket. My anchor in the stormy seas, and the one God so beautifully brought into my life. Every time I recall the events that brought us that one important step closer, I can't help but smile and wink at God's ingenuity.

He reminds me of who I am when I say things that others would judge at face value. He never rushes, never pressures, never sees me for anymore than who and what I am. I don't have to even consider about how I look or what I wear, what I've done or who I was. He cares for me like how I thought love himself would do, but now there is an added sense of security.

He is genuine, and it shines in his eyes. He never despises, never judges, never pries, never minds. He is really, the prince from the fairy tale, the hero from the idol drama that I had always prayed for.

I ever did wonder if at anything at all, it was only to spite the nightmare I had only just come out from. That if I did not embrace this, then I would be letting myself down. But God somehow set my heart at peace in this. There is the familiar sense of rest and reassurance that can only be divine.

I know you read this, and you'll probably say there is no need to. Well, thank you for coming into my life, and being more than just a blessing :)

See you in Heaven, Mrs Lee

Mrs Lee makes her final journey today. As with many Singaporeans, I feel like I lost a role model, a teacher, an inspiration. She is who my mother taught every lady should aspire to be, and someone I have learnt to have a deep admiration for.

Beyond her intelligence and immense capabilities, I admire her for her humility and heart for others. I admire her for her steadfastness and devotion to her husband. Something I am not sure I can do myself.

And her husband has the same deep love for her, something I know most men can't do themselves.

Watching the tributes to her these few days, I can't help but feel proud that Singapore has such a fine daughter. It takes a lot for any person to have such achievements in their careers and family, but even more for one to hold it down as her husband shines.

I am deeply sentimental that she has left us, but prouder than I was of what she has accomplished by being the wonderful lady she was.

Aha! Take that!

Wahahaha I have finally found the answer to people who tell me to look at Job and that "God can answer prayers in many ways. He can answer yes, He can also answer no" and whatever whatever I should stop asking for blessings and stop being so happy about it all because "Blessed is the name of the Lord. He giveth and He taketh." And when that happens, I should not blame Him.

-_-" Yes yes sure. How much more distorted can you read the Bible manz.

STOP TELLING ME MY GOD IS NOT AS AWESOME AS I THINK HE IS!!!

PHTTT.

Potong Pasir

I ventured into a non-PAP dominated ward yesterday, the difference just hung in the air. There was an immediate calm that descended on me the moment I exited the MRT station and the area felt so serene without bordering on dullness. Shopkeepers were uninterested and bored apparently, but it didn't seem to bother me I don't know why.

A walkway cutting across a field displayed Chiam See Tong's contribution to the people in 2008, and I couldn't help but ponder what the residents did in the 24 years before. But hang on, the station wasn't there for all of the 24 years anyway.

The residential blocks were quaint. The architect seemed to have a distaste for the right angle, opting instead for a weak attempt at designing it as such, probably in a bid to fall within construction regulations.

The entire neighbourhood is powered by invisible economic forces for surely with such a sparse crowd, there must be sufficient market attractiveness to fill up every square foot of shop space, even to the point of dividing the floor area to incredible proportions.

There is a very silent and powerful lure to the area as you just wish to turn that same corner one more time. Everything is different when it is really the same, everything is fascinating when nothing has changed. It is unspeakable how the place makes you feel, and how it has been deliberately forgotten but has stubbornly survived.

I'll bring my camera there one day.

The Family Court

The Family Court is.. whoa. I don't even know what words I have for it.

There is no expected suspense in the plot whatsoever, but the ending definitely twists.

A straightforward case between an irresponsible father and a grown-up son becomes entangled with human emotions when a low IQ brother is added in. A prostitute turns out to be an abandoned woman who just wants her son back but only for impossibly selfish reasons but then is actually a doting mother.

Videography is excellent as well. It's not cliched, or excessively revealing. The viewer is put in an interesting third-first person position, where we are well aware that we are watching a story, but we are seeing it as the characters would.

You are kept thinking by the people, wondering what on earth they are, paying less attention to the plot per se, but still second guessing yourself nevertheless. The people are extremely real and their stories are close to life; it's almost like a group of your friends who get hit by events in life and they have to deal with it just like we humans do. Strong acting compact it further and it is for sure that despite the beautiful people they are, the show does not thrive on what is only skin deep.

Writing a diary builds humility

I remember my early attempts at writing a diary when I was a kid. Taking literally the instructions of people further in life, I wrote down the exact happenings of the day earlier. It was almost a transcription of real life minus the feelings, thoughts and emotions.

I remember an entry sparked by a random inspiration to write and fill up a new notebook, and thinking that the day had not turned out the perfect way I think all things should be. So I re-wrote that day's history to how I want future generations to see it. And then mum read it.

I remember her asking me why I wrote things that way when they happened another way and I shrugged it off with a clumsy "Aiyah, just anyhow write la", receiving a sharp "How can anyhow write one" in return.

I remember thinking obviously that was not the real reason and what was real could not be told.

Writing a diary is stripping yourself naked and looking at your own body in the mirror. Your imperfect body parts, awkward proportions, random blemishes all staring back at you without any disguises. You have to face it and take it head on or you'll never know what the body can do beyond standing there as it is.

Writing a diary builds humility. It makes you admit you are the way you are.

Tweetfest!

Just thought I'd concentrate all my microblog posts here.

I need to have more running away dreams. I am running slower and getting caught already!

Bliss is having a pair of strong arms to hold you tight.

Rain is the biggest blessing from Heaven.

Being able to shit when you should is awesome!

Why does my dad smell like a baby?

I can't get enough of idol dramas!

Escapism is my heroin.

Give me a few more episodes and I'll give a damn good review of the The Family Court.

Channel 8 dramas hasn't seen such quality.. in a while!

I am just totally itching to carry a baby.

Hi Dav

Well Dav, I think you should find out the whole story before you decide what's a shame. Thank you and your cell very much for praying for me, but I hold on to the belief that it's nothing more than a hypocritical act that he is praying for me.

I have learnt from before, during and after the trip that he is good with words, with professing his love for God and doing things that benefit only himself, then proclaiming it in God's name.

It is true that I hate him, and it's not as easy to let go as you say it is. I am praying, definitely. But don't simplify the whole matter and the hurt I've experienced.

I cannot, anymore, think that there is anyone more in his heart than he and himself. I have seen too much that even when I intentionally close my eyes, I am still blinded. And in no surprise at all, the person who gave the final blow was he himself.

You may think that post was hurting to read as a friend of his, but what brought you to this blog in the first place? You and I, who never met? Do you know what happened on my side of the computer before I finally wrote it out? Did you think it was just a post immaturely written without a blink of an eye?

But don't be mistaken I am leading an angry and hateful life. I am happy, yes. The various unhappy episodes throughout all the time I've known him have finally stopped playing in mind, no doubt in part thanks to you and your cell's prayer :)

But if you ask me now, I still have absolutely no wish of seeing and talking to him. His actions and words have overwhelmingly convinced me that he is the centre of his world, and anything else is only to raise himself higher on his own pedestal.

I have been emotionally beaten up by him, and I know better than to let myself be hurt by him once more, and somehow this is something I know will definitely happen should he start appearing in my life again.

If you think that this is not true, and I am biased, I do not deny. But I know I have not jumped to conclusions. I am just choosing to protect myself and preventing me from pulling myself back into that abyss of anguish.

We both have our sides of the story, and you might be better acquainted with his side. Don't bother sharing it with me, though. I am sick, and tired, of hearing him explain himself.

Why I'm writing this to you, simply is because my blog is my shout-out, and sometimes, that is what I need to do. I am not talking to people about this, you know. And really, your comments are just pulling me back to what I'm trying to leave behind. If you think that I'm immature, inconsiderate, conceited, and everything else bad (or in his words, sinful), then please kindly refrain from this page. It will do the both of us good.

God bless you too :)

Pink flower

Pretty pink flower, lovely pastel hue.
Daintily imprinted, invisibly dyed.
Drawn to grow upwards.
Or downwards however you see.

Wonder. What child could that have been.

The cat behind the door

From the story: The Dog Behind the Window

The girl came home one day, and the tabby cat knew everything has changed. The girl had a longing and passion in her eyes it never knew - the tabby was no longer number one.

Six years ago, the tabby remembered being lifted out of a box to a riot of pastel colours and the squeals of a girl. It remembered staring into the girl's face long and hard before timidly allowing a meow to escape from its mouth, the tightness of the hugs that slowly became reassuring, and the knowing touch of the girl as she ran her fingers down its body. Everything has changed.

It finally knew why. The door flung open one day, and an excited labrador bounded into the sitting room. The cat saw the fire in the girl's eyes, and smelt the joy that filled the air; a kind of festivity that never occupied the house. The dog was adorable alright. It made friends with the tabby, and willingly shared its bed and mistress. But the tabby knew the girl would never share her heart equally between the two.

Slowly by slowly the cat ventured out of the house, as slowly by slowly the bond between the girl and dog grew. Little by little the cat familiarised itself with the dangers beyond the house, and little by little the girl got used to not seeing the cat. Eventually the tabby left the house for the final time, taking along only memories and the collar bestowed on it by the girl.

Hunger set in with the rise of the moon, and the cat decided to scavenge an unclaimed dumpster. It licked up all that looked edible before choosing a corner for the night. In the forgotten alley of rank and dirt, the cat's breath peacefully weakened as the street lights dimmed from its open eyes. It hung on to the memories only the girl shared, and smiled its final smile as its life left into the silent night.

Of lids, bags and rings

Opened my eyes this morning pleasantly surprised time had waited for me. Finally found that dormant drive in me to do something regardless of state of mind. It has been a while. Everything has been a while. Since Beauty and the Beast was a movie, since Britney broke up with Timberlake, since I touched a camera, since I wore a school uniform. What will the next shower bring?

Imagination 2

I am deeply inspired by beautiful writing to produce something of equal standard. But my mind is blank. I have no opinions on the ongoing youth olympics, or the disastrous floods in Pakistan, or the pesky politicking of North Korea. My mind is a silent abyss of nothingness. Perhaps a quick recount of one of my various daydreams would be an easy way out.

I often try to keep my cool to the best of my abilities when someone steps on my toes. Some people do not understand, and when you move your feet away, they delightfully take a step forward to rest their shoes on yours. Latent anger often accumulates to ignite at a time well after the event and often when I am without company.

I know of one such person, together with twenty other like-minded people. And I can't help but picture a day when he gladly imposes himself on a gathering planned deliberately without him. He is not unaware of his socially jarring ways, but does so anyway to dispense healthy doses of discomfort. Group members quickly shoot each other uneasy glances as he sets out to relive unhappy memories.

He blabbers on in rhetorical questions and attempts to explain his transgressions in falsely confident ways, while everyone else tries to tell him in perfect body language that his presence was a complete nuisance. I, unsuccessfully suppress a smile as my eyes play a daydream on him.

Eventually someone notices and asks for the reason of my delight. I snap out of my trance, jump to my feet and declare to all who would hear, "I'm sorry, everybody. I am having awesome fantasies of kicking him in the balls. Please excuse me, before I really do."

I can't imagine for sure how the reaction from the rest will be, but I know with absolute certainty: blogging this scene out is one hell of a cathartic moment.

Where would you be?

If you were given a choice to be anywhere in the world today, where would you be?

Eric Khoo replied Singapore instantaneously.

Would I have chosen the same?

In all honesty I am inclined to name a temperate country.

Where everything is foreign, and family becomes a shelter.
History does not burden, while memories do not fade.
Most importantly, the weather does not frustrate.

But if Singapore were to have today's weather all year round, I do think that home is still the best place on earth.

My Dad is awesome

I truly appreciated Dad's way of parenting over the weekend. I had decided on what furniture I wanted since June courtesy of Ikea's 2010 catalogue and website. Dad always distrusted Ikea but he freely said ok when I told him of my choices.

At Ikea, I took a wrong turn and we walked a long way. Dad said nothing and just walked ahead of me (for a man sixty years old, he walks damn freaking fast). Finally I reached the bedroom section and showed him the chest of drawers I was eyeing but was supposedly out of stock, according to Ikea's hotline.

He said "Ok la, just get this."
Me: But it's out of stock.
Dad: Never mind. Just tell the salesman you want it and see what he says.
Me: Orh... Excuse me!

And I miraculously got the order!

Back at home when we were assemblying the furniture. Dad let me do most of the work with a teacher's patience, making sure that I knew how to do it more than what to do and watching my back for everything.

Then when we were fixing up the chest of drawers, I accidentally made an irreversible dent on the top. My reaction was a gawk and a remark "!!! Just like that???!!!". Dad just looked on without a change in expression. No reprimand or reproach. Just a reassuring look that says "It's ok."

Instantly recalling how mum would use a pen to tap on my head and ask "Why are you so stupid?", I felt so immensely grateful for Dad and his way of parenting.

My Dad is awesome :)

Pseudo urban myths

Do you think that if I rolled out a few statements off the top of my head assertively and authoritatively, people might actually take truth in it?

Let's try.

Computers are made to spoil, otherwise money won't roll in for the big techies.

Handphone radiation was just a concept by the pager companies. They were trying to keep competition off their backs.

Strawberries have been found to cure cancer, but scientists rejected it cos they think the solution is too simple to be true.

Japan and Germany surrendered during WWII only because they had the guaranteed promise of USA to be the no. 2 and 3 economies for the next fifty years thereafter.

Society is degrading because people in the past were hired just to think. Now people are hired just to do.

Theatre came before novels cos people learnt to speak before they learnt to read.

If you travel into a black hole faster than the speed of light, you will enter the fifth dimension.

Wireless internet has made the world more daring, but more stupid.

It is cheaper to live in Singapore than in Korea because we don't have winter.

The government will announce a marriage bonus, then a dating bonus as they start to realise the baby bonus seriously does not work.

Facebook will be bought over by Google in time to come, at a never-before-heard price that will spell the biggest acquisition that will spell the biggest failure in the IT business.

The confidential military files on wikileaks come from Google.

Google earns most of its revenue from their espionage deals. The only real business in the search engine field is Yahoo.

The Chinese-accented English is actually the most common accent on the face of the Earth.

Do you think any of these might one day become urban myths?

So much for a gracious Singapore

YOG is here. And motorists have to give way to them. This, the news showed that we have done with a video of vehicles parting in a sea of traffic.

It was an unusually moving video for a country infamous for rude and impatient drivers. Positioned at the front in a YOG bus, the footage showed how vehicles began flashing their signals one by one to clear the way for the looming bus behind. How touching.

And then, the report ended with a non-chalant statement that "All drivers who do not give way to YOG vehicles will be fined $130".

Poof! Singapore is once again a country full of unscrupulous, selfish and all things obnoxious drivers.

Is the fine absolutely necessary?

Come on, tell me. What is the penalty for not giving way to an ambulance? Or a fire engine? Or a police car? Do you know do you know? I know you might get summoned. And I know, dead sure, what the penalty is for not giving way to YOG vehicles.

The government has that much faith in us, huh. Totally makes me wanna obstruct a YOG vehicle in defiance. Ptewy.

A colour blind Singapore

For quite some time now, I have been thinking of the possibility of a colour blind Singapore. A point in time and from then onwards when I look at a fellow Singaporean and I see only a fellow Singaporean.

I fully understand why politics in Singapore had to be run along racial lines early into independence. We had no sense of nationalism, and we were at best a patchwork of cultures. We were kicked out by Malaysia, our independence was shoved down our throats and we can only take it from there trying not to look back.

But now the red dot has done it. We've proven our worth in the global economy, somehow became the leader of Southeast Asia (I mean, what would SEA do without Singapore??), and is the island four million proud Singaporeans call home.

Just to prove my point. My granddad came from China, and I would love to visit Swatow one day, but I don't see myself holding anything more than a tourist visa. And I am damn proud that we have left Malaysia to play catch up even though they were the ones who were obviously at a better advantage in the beginning. Take that Tunkus something something I forgot your names!

And this tropical island has moved on. I think our politics should too. I didn't really understand the big fuss about the double-barrelled race thing, or why MM Lee said Singapore is still not ready for a non-Chinese Prime Minister. Aren't we all Singaporeans?

I know it is difficult for us to look past our skin colours, I sometimes do that too. That Channel 8 is the most popular channel here isn't helping.

Surely there will be salient racial characteristics. The beautiful eyes of Indians and Malays, usually fair skin of the Chinese, acquiline features of Eurasians, occasional accents, and our various linguistic abilities. I wish that this is as far as it will go.

My dream for Singapore is simple. It will be that when we look at another person, we will not see the stereotypes on them and we will not be affected by what we know of the country their grandparents originate. Everyone grew up on the same soil, maybe some on reclaimed land, sing the same national anthem, recite the same pledge, and love the ndp song "Home". The guys served the same army, and the girls talked about the guys who served the same army. Why should skin colour change anything?

I wish Singapore would stop being described as a multi-racial, multi-ethnic, multi whatever country. We are a small country of 4 million citizens (so small that those 9 letters are really why you can spot us on the map), often known as the garden city, with safety so incredible you can walk out alone in the middle of the night and still be unharmed (please don't take it for granted). We are not perfect and we know it. But we are 4 million Singaporeans. Period.

Exodus

Fell ill over the weekend. Totally cowered under my blanket for the whole of Sunday. Left a lingering bitter taste in my mouth for the whole of Monday.

Went to work today. Noticed a wake at a block near my office. Noticed it was a different person from last week. This time, it was a granny. Saw that the granny had young grandchildren (her photo did look quite young anyway), and their parents had brought them to the wake.

Finally reached home after an hour. Saw another wake at my void deck. This one very brightly lit for some reason. Saw two red pieces of paper stuck on the walls next to the lift. This person had the fortune of passing away at home.

Came home, had dinner, bathed, opened my laptop and continued working. Dad came out and told me second granduncle from Tampines passed away. We'll be going to the wake tomorrow.

I am somehow reminded of the exodus. When the people of Israel finally left the wilderness and entered the promised land. I don't know why this scene enters my mind, for none of the grannies or grandpas are saved. But yet, this is what comes to mind. For some reason, I feel comforted.