Choices in life...

Imagine you are faced with 2 choices. You can either choose to be burnt alive or you can choose to jump out of the burning building. You might ask... wtf... what kind of questions are you asking? Are you nuts?

It's not funny.



Look at this picture. Sept 11 2001. This man chose the later. He made an heroic choice and did it with dignity and grace. He was caught in this photo, whereby he tucked both his hands by the side of his body and left leg bent at the knee, plunging to his death.

Title of the photo is aptly: "If he were not falling, he might very well be flying".

So next time when you find yourself stressed over choices, think again. Your choices are not that bad after all.

Self-Help

When you have a problem. You learn to deal with it yourself, fullstop.

Do you expect your friends to help you solve your problems? Do you think that they understand you more than you do? Do you feel that they should provide you with a listening ear? Do you expect them to show some concerns on you when you feel down? Do you expect a reply when you ask a question? Do you have expectations? Can you have expectations at all? Does anyone care?

Oh my god, I am surprised that I can ask myself these questions again and again and again.. but what for?

When will I learn to ever grapple with my own expectations?

When you have a problem. Learn to deal with it...Cos only you can solve your own problem and that it lies with you, lies in you.

Carefree Childhood:)

I've always liked music and envy those with good vocals and can sing really well. I know where I stand in this category. I cannot sing for nuts. And in those days when I was growing up, learning music was a luxury which my family couldn't afford. My mum did let me learn to draw when I was young. I guess she might have thought that, that's the next best thing she could do for me; to at least try to develop the "artistic" side of me (think the simple reason was that learning to draw in the community centre was cheap back then). But then again, it was money down the drain as I still cannot draw for nuts.

So I can't sing, I can't draw..sad right? And I was poor...so so sad right? And so how to satisfy my love for music? No money to buy cassette tapes, so how? Go rent lor. Rent cassette tapes? Where?! Unheard of now right?

Haha, cos in my era, each library had an audio/visual section, where you could rent cassette tapes to listen to, in one of those cubicles as well as shows to watch in the form of video tapes. I used to like to listen to classical music (why? anything wrong with that?) and watch movies, action packed movies such as "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade", "Rocky","Godfather" etc. But interestingly, my all-time favourite then was "The Sound of Music"! Haha shocked right? I have lost count of how many times I have watched this show.

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages, tied up with strings, these are a few of my favourite things"

"I am sixteen going on seventeen...."

"Doe a deer a female deer, ray a drop of golden sun, me a name I call myself, far a long long way to run. Sew a needle pulling thread. La a note to follow so. Tea, a drink with jam and bread, that will bring us back to do (oh oh oh). Do re mi fa so la tee.."

And so I used to go to Queenstown Library a lot, during my primary school days. I was quite independent back then and would go to the library by myself. Now that I recall, my dad and mum had never accompanied me to the library! (Dad was busy for obvious reasons and mum had to stay at home to sew to earn extra bucks)

I spent most of my free time in that old double storey building. Boring childhood, you might say. But to me, some of my happiest childhood days were spent there. I could borrow my favourite books, books on war/history, the Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys series. Books by Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl etc. I could listen to my favourite music and I could watch my favourite movies.

On top of that, especially on weekends, Mum would give me extra pocket money to buy snacks or treats for myself from shops around the library. (I guess she was glad that I was going to the library instead of wilding my time away playing at the void deck with kids from the neighbourhood). I still remember that one of my favourite snacks was this chicken burger from a confectionary near the library.

Life was simple but very fulfilling back then, when policeman was just starting to wear long pants, when we were still sucking "ice tube"/ "冰包” , when we were playing block catching and when we were using student bus stamps which allowed unlimited bus rides around Singapore.

Looking back, though the distance from my home in West Coast to Queenstown was quite far apart, I always enjoyed the bus rides to and back from the library; especially on my way back home, happily chomping away on my favourite chicken burger.. life was really really simple and carefree back then:)

Sundays.. never the same again

Really miss those sundays when we go to the supermarket in the afternoon to buy ingredients for our dinner. Spending a few hours preparing dinner on a lazy sunday is simple fun and joy...Lost the passion for it now but hope to rekindle it one day...

When it comes to cooking, the most important ingredient is "the heart" to cook for your loved ones.. then whatever you cook will taste good no matter what:)

And I always remember every single meal that you'd cooked for me. This is one of them "爱心chicken porridge ” （you cooked it the way that I'd taught you, constantly stirring it with love) , "Chai Po Egg" and "Braised pork with onion and potatoes".


And your simple and super yummy salad:


And the most memorable meal that you'd cooked for me was when I visited you in Sydney while you were studying there. I had just touched down from Singapore and was very cold and hungry, You cooked a bowl of tomyum instant noodles for me. It is still the best tomyum noodles that I've eaten in my entire life... cos it warmed my heart instantly.

Healthy Living

Sigh, got my health check-up report this afternoon. Cholesterol on high side, 246. Got to do something about it.

1.) Exercise more
- Came back home; swam for 10 laps. Water is freaking cold, but worth it. Feel refreshed.



2.) Eat Healthy
- Bought apples, bananas for breakfast and lunch tomorrow. (apples?! no choice)


- Already prepared the main ingredient for my pasta tomorrow: Plum sauce, chilli chicken breast strips with onion and garlic. Taste Good!
- Wake up early to stir fry the chicken breast strips with pasta.

3.) Sleep early
Gonna sleep by 11.30pm.

Hope I can persevere.. let's see..

A Good Read #2: What the Modern Woman Wants

Another good article, another first prize in the Commonwealth Essay Competition.. both young ladies have done Singapore proud:)

By AMANDA CHONG WEI-ZHEN

RAFFLES GIRL’S SECONDARY SCHOOL
SINGAPORE

FIRST PRIZE, CLASS A
IN THE 2004 COMMONWEALTH ESSAY COMPETITION

WHAT THE MODERN WOMAN WANTS

The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance', 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.

'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.

'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.

'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking.

Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.

'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten.

'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.' Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.

'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!' The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence.

The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.

'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense. The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods. Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true -she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault. The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes. She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.

Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name. Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.

She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it. Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that.

The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes. Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness.

The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything. She had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there -down.

The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of bee hoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar. The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.

Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway,
this time not as fast as she had done before.

'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road . Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...'

The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang -it's a Christian home, a very nice one.

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.' 'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself.

This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers trace the white seat.

'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?'

What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.

'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.

'I knew everything would be fine.' Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down... Yes, she was free.

Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!' Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her... And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.

A Good Read#1: Unlikely Friends

When I first read this article, I was impressed by its quality as well as its originality. Here you go:

By CHEW CHIA SHAO WEI

RAFFLES GIRL’S SECONDARY SCHOOL
SINGAPORE

FIRST PRIZE, CLASS A
IN THE 2009 COMMONWEALTH ESSAY COMPETITION

UNLIKELY FRIENDS

There was something vaguely sad about the rock. It was as old as it
looked, standing weathered and lonely amidst the stretch of sand,
and its thoughts were quiet as it listened to the waves.

The wide unconquerable sea touched the edges of the land like a
curious animal in the way it rolled forward eagerly onto the shore.
It left the land unwillingly, pulling as it went, grasping for what it
could. The sand in the shallow water swirled.

The sea was no stranger to the rock on the beach. The sea came
often to the rock, rushing up wetly against its warm grey, and
always as it swept away it took an infinitesimal part of the rock with
it. The rock had known the waves for a long time, and learned it
was in is nature to erode.

One day, the sunlight on the rock was interrupted by a brief
darkness in the blurred shape of a bird. The rock, interested,
observed the bird winging its way uncertainly about the sky, then
landing, presently, on the very rock that wondered about it.

“Where am I?” said the bird, largely to itself, as it gripped the
surface of the dark grey rock with its feet and peered out at the
sea.

“What are you?” countered the rock.

“I am a bird,” said the bird in surprise.

“You are a rather rude sort of bird,” the rock pointed our calmly. “I
was enjoying the sun when you came and blocked some of it from
me.”

Birds exist for a very short while in comparison to rocks, and have
less time to develop the exceptional serenity that rocks possess.
The bird hopped from one foot to another, flapping its white
wings in annoyance.

“You are a big, stupid rock!” the bird cried, its beak clicking
irately. “Funny you should feel so important, when one of these
days you will have been reduced by the sea to a tiny grain of
sand!”

“Yes,” agreed the rock, surprising the bird yet again, “I shall feel
rather sad when that day comes.”

“Wait, no – you are confusing me – we are in the middle of an
argument!”

“I made a comment, and you responded rather explosively, after
which I shared with you a private thought in concurrence with
something you had said. That was not an argument at all.”

The bird paused mid-hop, disgruntled. “Well, you are a very well-
spoken rock,” it conceded, “and not at all stupid; I’m sorry.”

The rock hummed peaceably in response and returned to its own
thoughts. The bird, feeling wholly ignored, allowed itself to settle
down on its newfound perch, and examined mentally the
conversation that had just taken place.

Some time passed before the bird spoke again, hesitantly, as if
now remembering its manners and unwilling to intrude upon the
rock again.

“Rock, will you truly end up one day as nothing more than a grain
of sand?”

“I expect so,” the rock rumbled. “The sea works at me constantly,
you know.”

“Is that awfully sad?” asked the passionate bird, who, while given
to tempers, was intrinsically kind hearted.

“Only to those who care,” the rock admitted, “only to me.”

The bird was deeply moved by this, by the loneliness of the rock
and the seeming inevitability of its fate. The bird considered the
situation, and felt it must do something to aid the rock. Although
their acquaintance had gotten off to a bad start, the bird found it
rather liked the warm, rough rock, and was unwilling to leave it
alone to the hunger of the sea.

“I care,” volunteered the bird, “I will do something to help you,
rock, if you will let me.”

“No,” said the rock, laughing in a way that did not mock the bird.
“Don’t waste you time.” But the bird had found a cause.

“I am your friend now, rock,” it said, and the rock was touched.

“You are just a bird,” the rock said, “and you will be able to do
nothing.”

The bird did not disagree. “I will try.”

Over the next few days, the bird tried a variety of ways to get the
rock out of harm’s way. It started with simple pushing, which had
proved futile, and progressed to increasingly creative ideas. On
the eighth day, the bird had looped several lengths of seaweed
around its friend, in the hopes of being able to pull it further up
the shore.

The rock had never observed with much significance the passing
of the days, and entire years blurred in its long memory, but this
had been a week that would stand out forever. The frustration, the
laughter, and the gratitude that the rock had experienced along
with the bird would be preserved as colour images amidst a wash
of sepia recollections.

The time had come, however, to begin to dissuade the bird of its
altruistic notions, lest it exhaust itself with the efforts of the fruitless
undertaking.

Bird was picking the rope of seaweed up in its mouth for the
seventh time that day when the rock addressed it.

“I do thank you for your efforts,” it began, “but I am beginning to
feel that this was a hopeless enterprise. I know you have expended
much energy over it, and it has not gone unappreciated, but
perhaps we must stop here.”

The bird dropped the end of the seaweed and made to protest,
but the rock would not allow it.

“You have been a faithful friend, but it seems that here I am and
here I will remain. The sea works slowly, and I have much time left
yet. One day, I will be sand on the beach, but the idea does not
bother me so much now.”

The rock did not add that through getting to know the bird, it had
realized exactly how much more ephemeral was the life of the bird,
and begun to feel selfish for being unsatisfied with the idea of
eventually ending up a small grain of sand.

“Let us abandon this pursuit, and instead look to happier things,”
the rock ended, hoping to mollify the bird. In truth, it was unsure
that the bird, now robbed of his cause, would stick around for
much longer, and the thought made it feel a shiver of
unhappiness.

The bird, wordlessly, began the task of unwrapping the seaweed it
had covered the rock in. There was resignation in its wingtips.
When it had finished, it glanced at the rock with which it had spent
eight sun-drenched days, then flapped slowly into the distant sky.

The rock watched it go.

The beach was blanketed by night when the rock once again felt
the feet of the bird sharp against its surface.

“I am sticking around,” the bird told the rock, “so you won’t forget
me, even when you are just a grain of sand.”

The rock said nothing, but it was happy.

The years moved on, then, like they always had. The rock stayed in
the same place even as the world changed around the little beach,
and the bird, going off frequently on expeditions to see the world,
returned always to the rock it had met so long ago.

“Tell me a story,” the rock asked once, attention to the bird as it
landed lightly.

“But you are so old and wise, no story would interest you,” teased
the bird. It was older now, and it knew ever so much more about
the world.

The rock chuckled, and the bird complied. “I will tell you about the
strange things I saw the last time I flew past these cliffs…”

Sometimes, it was the gird that asked for the story.

“The earth was young once,” the rock would begin, in a vivid story
of the colours of the wind. And always, imperceptibly, the years
moved on-like they always had.

One morning, a long, long time from the day the bird and rock
had first met, the rock was abruptly aware of a different quality to
the day. There was something in the air, maybe, or something
about the sea, or the sand – the rock was uncertain, but something
was different and wrong. The colours felt wrong, for instance, the
sky felt green and the sand was turning white, and the sea when it
touched the rock felt hot and cold and hot again.

“Bird"

That was a strange thing for the rock to do, for it never spoke
aloud when it was alone. But it called out anyway, tentatively, “Bird…”

The word was snatched away by the wing, but it seemed to echo in
the dark beach. The rock was very still, and began to feel
something it had never before felt: fear. It spread slowly and coldly
like the pink sun rising softly over the horizon, and the rock found
that it knew that its friend the bird had died.

“How and why,” the rock murmured numbly to itself, to the sand,
to the sea. “How and why and how and why and why. Goodbye,
goodbye, oh, goodbye.” So saying, it slipped gently asleep.

The bird never returned, just as the rock never again expected it
to. The rock became silent once more, unused to conversation as
it had once been. Its thoughts were numerous but never aired
now, and frequently, it thought of its dearest friend, the bird.

As for the years, they moved on like they always had, and the
world changed around the rock, just like the world was wont to.

Centuries passed, and there was something vaguely sad about the
rock that was as old as it looked, standing weathered and lonely
amidst the stretch of sand. And as it listed to the waves, it thought
of the sun on its surface, and the bird-shaped shadow that fell just
so across the warmth, warmer than the sun itself.

Death is Nothing to Us - Epicurus (341-270BC)

Just came across this ancient branch of philosophy "Epicureanism" as I am super bored now and need to read something that can put me to sleep. I've been coughing incessantly, especially at night due to this super irritable throat. Feel like ripping it off and disassociate it from my head. Anyway, while flipping through this boring book, saw this diagram that depicts what Epicurus, an ancient Greek Philosopher, had taught about human's fear of death:


(sorry, iphone cannot zoom properly, click on the diagram to see it close-up)

Fear of Death
"One of the obstacles to enjoying the peace of a tranquil mind, Epicurus reasons, is the fear of death, and this fear is increased by the religious belief that if you incur the wrath of the gods, you will be severely punished in the afterlife. But rather than countering this fear by proposing an alternative state of immortality, Epicurus tries to explain the nature of death itself. He starts by proposing that when we die, we are unaware of our death, since our consciousness (our soul) ceases to exist at the point of death.
To explain this, Epicurus takes the view that the entire universe consists of either atoms or empty space, as argued by the atomist philosophers Democritus and Leucippus. Epicurus then reasons that the soul cannot be empty space, because it operates dynamically with the body, so it must be made up of atoms. He describes these atoms of the soul as being distributed around the body, but as being so fragile that they dissolve when we die, and so we are no longer capable of sensing anything. If you are unable to feel anything, mentally or physically, when you die, it is foolish to let the fear of death cause you pain while you are still alive"
(The Philosophy Book by DK, Pg64-65) [in my humble opinion, they could have used a more interesting name to this book]

With all due respect, due to my limited wisdom, I cannot understand the second paragraph with regards to "atoms" and how the soul can be associated with these lil' atoms and what's this occupation that I've just learned "atomist philosopher" and does it earn a lot of money, but..... the last part makes some sense to me (in bold)

And so... let me try to interpret... the gist of the matter here is that (the diagram best explains it), Epicurus argues that the goal of life is happiness and that our unhappiness is caused by fear and our main fear is that of death. So if we can overcome fear of death, we can be happy.

And death is the end of sensation, so it cannot be physically painful. Death is also the end of consciousness, thus it cannot be emotionally painful as well. So, there is nothing to fear about death and again if we can overcome fear of death, we can be happy.

Agree? No? Let me think.. wah.. worse.. cannot sleep.. bad idea to read such heavy stuff before bedtime:(

Reflections (1) - Hatred

Is it easy to hate someone? Imagine you hate someone so much that you wanted so badly to thrust your 10 fingers into his/her throat every single moment of your waking hour. And if the chance comes, when you're given the immunity to fire a bullet into his/her head, would you dare to do it? You might hesitate a bit cos simply.. it's not in human's nature to want to destroy or kill. If it's that difficult, why can't you just choose not to hate?

Oh ok... I'm thinking too simplistically again. But that's me... why make it so complicated when it can be that simple? 拿得起就要放得下。Wait.. you sure it's so easy for you to "放得下？"



Ok let me prove my point by telling you a story... long long time ago in China, in central China to be exact.....

Ok much easier to use an analogy than to tell a story. Today someone told me about this analogy that makes me see a whole new perspective in life. Let me try to regurgitate the same analogy as much to you and see if you can see my point:
Try holding on to a cup of water. You might think that it's a piece of cake. Try holding it for 5mins, you'll start to feel the discomfort. Hold on for another 5mins, you'll start to feel the strain. Hold on for another 5mins, you'll start to feel the pain. Hold on for another 5mins, you'll start to feel the agony and think that you want to die.
So what about after holding it for 5mins, put the cup of water down, rest for a while, flex your hand muscles and then hold it back up for the next 5mins. Isn't it easier to do it this way; taking a min's rest before you continue to do what you're supposed to do?

The cup of water can be your responsibility in life or at work or it can be cups of water in broader sense when you juggle a few "cups" with both your hands or on your arms and knees, all at the same time. Some of us carry or choose to carry upon ourselves, many cups of water. We just need to learn when to put them down for a while before putting them back on us again. Thus we're not talking about throwing the cup or cups of water away; it's about understanding the balance and the need to know when to "放下“,"let go" for a while so that we have the physical or mental strength to achieve what we want to achieve in the longer term; towards achieving our ultimate goal.

In my humble opinion, in a similar context, when you miss someone who's no longer around, you'll need to let the feelings go once in a while or for an extended period of time, simply because you'd need to take a step back and reassess your priorities in life. Makes no sense to mire yourself in self-pity or sadness and forget about your priorities in real life. It makes no sense either, to push away your caring family members or friends who are still around you, giving you the support that spurs you on.

Having said that, our innermost, innate feelings are still intact; the very feeling that you still have for the very special person who lives in your heart forever. So true to the essence of the "holding the cup of water" analogy, it's easier to miss someone this way than to either think about the person every single moment of your life or to forget the person totally and move on.

Back to our main topic of the day about hatred or hating someone. And so... even if you hate someone, you'll need to take a break once in a while to take a well-deserved breather. Get that irritating person out of your mind for a while, so that you can hate him "longer" without feeling the strain!

Then again, isn't it easier to let go of this cup of water which you can choose to let go? Unlike responsibilities in life or someone you love whom you'd want to hold on to, you can easily throw away this cup of water which is causing you so much pain and agony.

That's about all; my humble 2 cents worth. Oh ok.. I knew it; you gonna say, it's not that simple after all lah! I would just retort again..."Why make it so complicated when it's so simple lah!"

Rene Descartes' "I think therefore I am (cogito ergo sum)". Sounds familiar? It's all in your own state of mind; you're what you are thinking. Choose to feel angry or choose to feel happy? F!@#$% it's your damn choice lah!

Great Expectations...

Hey Dear,

Remember this show? Great Expectations starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethane Hawke. Remember the classic scene whereby the young gal gave the boy a "wet" kiss at the water fountain? And many years later, she kissed the shy boy again at the same water fountain? Hmmm.. you know what I'm thinking now? *wink*


Talking about "Expectations"... a good friend of mine reminded me about the dangers of having expectations on friends, especially good friends. He's totally right and I'm ashamed of myself for sometimes having "lofty" expectations on my friends. When you expect a "certain behaviour" from someone and if he/she fails to conform to the "standard", friendship suffers. Come to think of it, it's so silly... as friends, we are supposed to just be ourselves and enjoy each other's company; definitely not to "judge" one another. Thanks bro... for reminding me, if you're reading my blog.

Come to think of it, it also reminded me of my expectations of life in general and also expectations on my family and you. I had taken a lot of things for granted. I am guilty of hurting the feelings of my loved ones by sometimes passing insensitive remarks or venting my frustrations on them. I'm so sorry my dear as I start to recall now... some of those moments when I hurt your feelings deeply as a result of my gross insensitivities..

So to hell with expectations and just enjoy life as it is!!

Hang On Little Tomato

A good friend of mine recently introduced me to this song. I like the song; not only the catchy tune but also the lyrics. The lyrics are very meaningful.

My lil' interpretation...

The Abyss
All seems to be lost. Hope is gone and you feel as if the whole world is against you. You feel so lonely and helpless. Murphy’s Law rules and problems seem to be piling up. To simply put it, it doesn’t rain, it pours.

The Awakening
At your lowest point, someone.. it may be someone you know or not. He comes by and offers you some words of wisdom. He offers another perspective to your situation. It may also be something you see, hear or experience. Through your mundane routine, something out-of-the-ordinary happens… may be an innocuous event that is not supposed to mean anything to anyone but helps you gain some insights. The calm surface of the sea belies the undercurrents beneath. The loss that seems so hard-hitting, did floor you but it knocked some sense into you.The blessings that you start to count, seem so rewarding now but it might come at a price later.

The Actualization
You dig deeper than ever; you explore your inner sanctity. You are surprised. You find something that you thought you never had. Inner strength… you overcome your inertia and start to help none other but yourself. You turn thoughts into actions. You will yourself forward. Tide suddenly seems to turn in your favor. Light comes at the end of a long, dark tunnel. The rain simply stops.

The Answer
Do you want answers? Closure? Listen to your heart. It talks to you when you need answers. Painful but truthful. It tells you something that only you would know. Up close and personal. Like the lil’ tomato, “your sunny someday will come one day soon to you”. Soon...



==========================================
Lyrics to Hang On Little Tomato by Pink Martini

The sun has left and forgotten me
It's dark, I cannot see
Why does this rain pour down
I'm gonna drown
In a sea
Of deep confusion

Somebody told me, I don't know who
Whenever you are sad and blue
And you're feelin' all alone and left behind
Just take a look inside and you'll find

You gotta hold on, hold on through the night
Hang on, things will be all right
Even when it's dark
And not a bit of spark
Sing-song sunshine from above
Spreading rays of sunny love

Just hang on, hang on to the vine
Stay on, soon you'll be divine
If you start to cry, look up to the sky
Something's coming up ahead
To turn your tears to dew instead

And so I hold on to his advice
When change is hard and not so nice
You listen to your heart the whole night through
Your sunny someday will come one day soon to you

Hachiko: A Dog's Story

Hey Dear,

Remember Hachiko? We saw his bronze statue outside the Shibuya Train Station when we visited Japan during our honeymoon?

Just watched the movie "Hachiko: A Dog's Story", the American version starring Richard Gere. I was really touched by the show.. At one of the very last scenes of the show, Hachi went to the train station in the middle of the night. He would go there actually at around evening for many years to wait for his owner, Parker Wilson (music professor), to come out from the train station after work, even many years after his death.

So that cold lonely night, Hachiko fell asleep for one last time outside the train station. He saw Mr Parker coming out of the train station to fetch him for one last time... bringing him up to heaven. Hachi looked so contented.

I broke down when I saw this scene.. don't ask me why... you know me best my dear. You know how I feel now. The day will come...

The Cat Whisperer

Hey Dear,

I have a very interesting story to share with you. It happened just this Sunday morning. It’s about 2 things that you are always very scared of… it’s about cats and ghosts. Morbid topics that will make your hairs stand…

It was a cold Saturday night, early Sunday morning to be exact. Around 4am. The wind was building up as it howled through the streets. It was going to rain.

We had just celebrated Gavin’s birthday again, after a previous night out at Timbre@Old School the Thursday before. This time round we had all drank much more. Everyone left Filter by 4am. I wanted to drive home so I decided to walk around the vicinity of Gallery Hotel until I was sober enough to indeed drive home safely. Come to think of it now, it was not a smart decision after all. But at that point in time, well, I made that seemingly unwise decision and I’m still ok now.. so it was risk taken.. nothing happened and so I thank whoever , who was watching over me that night. And I am glad that I did stay there a while longer.. I will come to that later.

Armed with my iphone, I snapped a number of interesting pictures, here and there and uploaded them to Facebook after taking each photo. I was having so much fun. Usually after a party ends, most people’s mind should be clouded, intoxicated beyond reasoning after a hard night of drinking. I was on the contrary, alert but perturbed, full of thoughts and emotions.





What do I mean by that? Well, I guess sometimes when you had a drink or two or too much, you will enjoy the night albeit initially. Sense of feeling high… chatting, partying, drinking with your friends. You feel that you are on top of the freaking world… but when the music stops, reality sets in and if you’re intoxicated, you are fine. But if you are not, you’re in trouble.

I was in trouble that night. For some reason, I was feeling very alert. It was scary to the extent that you start to observe things around you more keenly. You start to look at your surrounding and try to make sense of everything around you. You start to think about your life, you start to think about your past, you start to think about the future, your loved ones, your anguish, your sadness…think about you my dear… I was depressed.

As I have always asked. “What’s scarier than death?”Answer to me is simple. “It’s losing your mind, losing your sanity.”

We are as good as dead if we lose it. Luckily that night, somehow, I was able to maintain my sanity, did nothing stupid and continued taking photos merrily along the river.

As I approach the bridge entrance beside Filter @ Gallery Hotel. I noticed a strange silhouette. Against the dimly lit backdrop of the bridge tunnel, I noticed this hunched silhouette.. a man, I realized, carrying a huge backpack and an equally bulky waist pouch. He was holding a “gadget” in his hands. For a moment he was squatting down, peering intently into some bushes. Then he was moving around the bushes slowly, as if looking for something.

I find it fascinating at first. “What on earth is this man doing at this unearthly hour!” I asked myself. I whipped out my iphone and started to take picture of this interesting sight.

That was when the guy suddenly stood up and started walking towards me.

“Hey!” he shouted. I replied instinctively “Yes, bro!”. Don’t know why I have been greeting everyone bro these days.

“Do you know it’s very rude to take a picture of someone without his permission” He chided.

By this time I could see clearly. Standing in front of me was a bespectacled man in his thirties, with a boney frame. He was wearing a hand bracer for his injured left hand. On the other hand, he was holding a camera. One you expect a professional cameraman would carry.

“Bro, sorry about that. No offenses intended. I find the image of you interesting so I decided to take a picture. That’s about it. Just wanted to capture the essence of that moment” I replied, looking squarely into his eyes.

He can sense my truthfulness. “Well said, capture the essence of the moment”

“What are you doing at this hour? What are you looking at in the dark bushes?” I asked curiously.

Immediately, he turned his camera towards me, put on the review mode and voila.. a wonderful picture came up.

It was a very well taken, closed-up shot of a cat peering into the camera.

“Wow! That’s such a beautiful shot! Seriously, how did you know there is a cat in those bushes?” I queried in jest.

“I know quite a number of cats living around this area. I know where to find each of them. You know, Cats, they can see things human cannot see. During the Chinese Ghost month they have this heightened sense of alertness. They will react to “things” that they can see…” William quipped with a funny smile. (yup we introduced each other)

“Oh yeah, interesting” I replied.

I am never afraid of ghost. I enjoy watching horror movies, listening to ghost stories, but since I know you, I have not watched a single horror movie cos’ you simply refused to watch any such shows with me in the cinema. (hehe now I have started to watch such shows again.. started with The Final Destination the other day). I am not afraid of the dark or being alone in the dark.

“But cats do have their lovely moments. They will purr gently at you, they will pose for you if you know them”. The subject turned lighter. “So what are you doing at this unearthly hour?” he asked.

“Oh, I just partied with my friend at Filter. Everyone left and I’m just chilling out here along the river. I wanted to be sober enough to drive home. I was lying there on the ground at the bridge to take this photo” I pointed to the bridge and showed him my photo from the iphone photo gallery at the same time.

“This is well taken. Using natural light to take photo is most fascinating. It brings out the natural color of your subject matter. You know, the picture of this colorful bridge structure that you just took. The paint job was designed by my friend (I cannot remember exactly about the order now, whether it’s the wife or the husband who designed the paint patterns on the bridge). The wife passed away due to cancer. Husband was devastated and is now devoting his time to charity work; incidentally in the fight against cancer” he said with a sigh.

I was struck by a familiar sense of sorrow as he mentioned the subject of… untimely death.

It began to pour and so we scurried to find shelter. We sat by an outdoor table outside a Jap restaurant.


I had this sudden urge and began to share with him about my personal loss of you as well. I shared with him about us, recalling fondly those happy moments we had and the proud contributions you made as a teacher. Weird it may seem, sharing your inner thoughts with a stranger. But somehow, I felt so much better after talking about you. Dear, I am still so proud of you, always proud of what you had done in your life.

William said something that stuck to my mind since our encounter.

“You know. When you take pictures, it’s about, as you mentioned just now, capturing the essence of the moment. Every picture has a meaning to the person who takes it. One guy might not be seeing what another see in a particular picture. So when I take pictures, I do not care about or worry about what other people think of the pictures that I took. What matter most is, in fact, how I see it myself; what it meant to me personally. Likewise, no one will understand the pain that you’ve gone through. Only you would know. But what matter most is how you see and treasure what you had with your wife. That’s good enough”

We talked for a while more about life, death, religion and photography. As the heavy rain slowed to a drizzle, I shook William’s hand. It was about 5.30am. I guess I was sober enough to drive home then.

“Nice knowing you and talking to you bro” I quipped. “I have learned a lot from you tonight, not only about photography. Anyway, I am getting into photography and if I’ve any questions I will call you!” waving his namecard in my hand. “You take care and don’t injure the other hand while taking photos” I pointed to his injured left hand in bracer. (cut by glass while going for a shot)

“Sure and nice talking to you too” William replied as he turned and walked the other way, intent on continuing his hunt for the elusive cats.

As he trudged away, I turned to take a last look at this interesting character who I just had a very interesting conversation with. A hunched figure, an unlikely person you would expect to meet early in the morning on a Sunday. Yet we had such a wonderful exchange of thoughts.

A lot of things are unexpected and unexplainable in life; it’s tiring to find an answer for every question that you have in mind. Our life is played out in a way that you take things as they come. You cannot prevent those bad ones from happening or choose to re-live the good ones again and again. Good, bad, happy, sad, tragic, joy… you will experience them all along the way but somehow, life still goes on. Like it or not, you have to face up to it everyday.

Dear, I hold comfort to the thought that we had lived a significant part of our wonderful life together; in a manner that mattered most to only both of us. I still miss you much. I know you were watching over me that night as I sped home in the rain. Yes I sped home. Sorry to let you worry; I promise I won’t do it again.

This Christmas...

Hey Dear,

How are you? What have you been doing lately? Must be planning for your Christmas trip right?

Every year, around this time, we would be eagerly discussing plans for Christmas. You know… before I know you, Christmas to me does not have any real significance. My family does not celebrate Christmas so as a child, no special treats or presents.

Ever since I know you in University, I started to celebrate Christmas with your family… every year since then. For once I start to look forward to Christmas… I really enjoy the warmth and bliss of a simple Christmas gathering with our loved ones, enjoying the sumptuous Christmas meal, games and gift exchange eventually.

You brought meaning to Christmas, especially to me.

This year, the first Christmas without you for the longest time, will be a very, very painful affair for me. I don’t think I can take it… I have to leave Singapore… I really cannot bear the thought of not having you by my side during Christmas.

Without you, Christmas has no meaning to me anymore… I will be going for a trip during this period. To where? No plans yet, but when I have my plans, I will share them with you.

I have never travelled alone. But this time round I will do it… I just need to get away from it all…

Movie "Firsts" & "Lasts"

Hey Dear,
Suddenly remembered my first ever movie in a cinema, which I watched alone.. It was Beetlejuice (1988) at the now defunct Capitol Cinema ... It was so funny! Come to think of it, I should watch it again. Since then, I have not once watched a movie alone in a cinema.. Usually watching with friends and eventually.. mostly with you...

Our first movie together with friends was Michael Jordan's Space Jam.. And our first movie together, only 2 of us, was "White Squall"... Don't remember about the movie much because throughout the movie I was just staring at you.. come to think of it now.. it's so corny lor:)

On Saturday, for unknown reasons again, I decided to go watch a movie alone... "Wallstreet" ... after so so many years.. about 22 years to be exact since I went to watch a show alone. It seemed weird at the start; I saw couples or groups of friends around me. And there I was.. a lone soul sitting at one inconspicuous corner. I tried to keep myself happy with nachos with "EXTRA cheese" and a large ice lemon tea. But when there were exciting scenes which I wanted to talk about, I turned around me, seeing unfamiliar faces everywhere... I drifted into memories of us watching various movies together.. cannot concentrate...
I recalled our last cartoon together was "Up", a very touching one, which you cried during the show. After the show, we talked about the most poignant part of the show.. when the old man after many years found a note from his wife... asking him to start a new journey...........Our last movie was "Avatar" 3D. We both loved it! And I badly wanted it to win the Oscar.. which it surprisingly didn't...

By this time, the show was nearing it's end; it was a happy ending.. everyone celebrating the first year birthday of the baby girl... Dear, don't ask me what happened before this scene because I was with you throughout the show... as usual...

Enjoyable Reads #1 (by Low Wai-Lin aka momokopeaches)

Dear,

Again, thanks to Huibin's blog, she'd posted an excerpt of the article which you wrote about how you wished that you'd the chance to learn ballet. I can attest to it because I heard you repeated this regret countless times....

Excerpt of the article:

I loVe Ballet!

Of all the art forms, I think dance is the most beautiful and sensual. Of all the dance forms, I love ballet the most. The strong powerful leaps and twirls and splits... The use of body and music to communicate to the audience...

The ballet flats, tutus and the pinned up bun, the grace and poise...

I could stand outside a ballet studio and through the glass walls, gaze and gaze in wonderment at the kids learning ballet. It was a childhood dream which I never had the chance to fulfill...

There was always the resentment that Ma had opposed to me learning ballet and any other forms of dance. It was so ironic that she was quite an accomplished dancer in her younger days. She felt that it was too romantic, too distracting. (even too much injuries...)She would rather we learn music and art.

I was so glad that I learned Chinese (it was so fun to dance with the fans and ribbons!) and folk dance when I was in primary school and it has always been my regret that I never had the chance to pick up ballet. Dance had given me so much joy when I was a child. It came naturally to me even without any formal training- I had a flexible body and love to contort it in various forms,. I would split my legs, flip over to do a full back arch turn and lift my leg straight by the side to touch the tip of my ear. Everything came to easily and naturally. Even Ma had to accede that if I were to pick up dance, I would have an advantage.

Maybe because I never had the chance to learn ballet, I find it all the more beautiful...

Why no more post in Chinese?

Dear,
Hahaha you know why? Have I lost my literary prowess in Chinese? Nope, it's just that my windows laptop crashed and I'm too lazy to bring it to repair. So with all the Chinese Han Yu Ping Yin software installed inside, there goes my chinese writing tool.

I'm using your MacBook now and I must say I still suck at the Apple interface.. still figuring out how to use the chinese writing tools in Apple.

And of course, if I'm determined enough, I'll be back with a vengeance.. doing what I do better.. writing in Chinese.

Enjoyable reads (Prelude)

Dear,

Again for unknown reasons, I cannot explain why I cannot sleep though it's 3.30am now and my mind is still VERY active. So I reckon that I continue to blog...

Thanks to your influence, I've started to pick up reading more seriously and also learned to enjoy good articles.. from Straits Times columns to award winning articles to simple blog entries that exudes life and joy.

So I've decided to start to post articles which I really enjoy reading and which I think you would enjoy reading as well:)

Here's an excerpt from your blog which Huibin also posted in her blog. You talked about your love for Japanese novels. Ok, I know you've always set very high standard when it comes to writing. I must say, you are good at what you do best.. as a English teacher and in RGS.. that speaks volume:

It has been quite some time since I last read novels by Banana Yoshimoto. In fact it has been quite some time since I last read books by Japanese writers. I think the last I have read was one by Haruki Murakami. He is such a gifted writer and never fails to enthrall me with his extraordinary plot and sophistication in ideas.

I was introduced to the world of Japanese literature when I did Japanese Studies in NUS for a year. Oh how I missed uni days! More so for having the luxury to read the many books I loved. I really must do my PHD someday! I AM destined to be an academic ... ok I shall stop deluding myself...

Then I discovered (really stumbled upon it when I was doing research for something else...) a good collection of Japanese literature when I was studying at Macquarie. It was just wonderful and I read so many of Natsume Soseki works. I love his writing. he has this unique style and strong voice. There was always this sense of isolation and loss; and sometimes -no-often- depressing mood. Yet at the end of it all, there is a sense of hope.

His novels give me an insight into the Japanese culture (and the psychic of the Japanese too in some way.) It was amazing how great literature transcends languages and culture. He died in 1916 - way before I was even born. In fact 50 years before I was born. But I felt I could relate to him. I could understand the protagonists in his novels. Somehow after reading his novels, I tend to think a lot and to reflect upon my own life and the world around me. Just like Shakespeare, I believe his works will be enjoyed by many more generations to come. I wonder how many Japanese actually read his works. I wished my Japanese is good enough for me to read the original versions of his works. How much of what he has to say is lost in translation? I would never know. In particular, I remembered two of his novels most vividly - Kokoro (meaning 'heart') and Botchan ( name of a teacher - maybe because I am a teacher myself?)

The works by Banana are more of a pop culture style that appeals to generation X typically, at least in my opinion. They are usually light-hearted in nature and focuses more on modern day Japanese life. Interestingly, parallels can still be drawn between Yoshimoto and Soseki in spite of the different eras. Well i supposed no matter how a country progresses, there are still fundamental DNA strands that cut across different generations.

So in my current Bananamania state (which really happens out of the blue) , I borrowed three books by Yoshimoto at one go from the library today! I hope the books won't distract me from my marking.

I am not too hopeful about that though...

Poetry-in-MotionS: Love is Simple? No?

Ah Wee’s ExpressionS On Myriad Emotions – AWESOME…

Poetry-in-MotionS (PMS) - Day of the month for me...

PMS 1: Love is Simple? No?
P.S. Layman interpretation will do. Don’t judge my language dear.. pls… afterall who got A1 for English for “O” Levels…hahahaha

Love is simple …but some chose to make it complicated.
Love becomes complicated… but most wanted it to stay simple.
But then again, there are some who succeeded in making complicated love… simple.

Love is non-judgemental...You love her as she is.
Love her as she is? .. You think it’s simple, isn’t it?
But then again, when you set out to love her at the very beginning, you make it … simple

Love her as she is…
Love her idiosyncrasies,
Love her fantasies.
Love her quirkiness,
Love her tardiness.
Love her as she is?

Just love her as she is… simple?
Just love her as she is … complicated?
Why make it so complicated when it’s so simple?
Why make it so simple when it’s so complicated?
Understood? Misunderstood?
Yes? No?
Ah! Huh?

Dear Old Billy

Hey Dear, last night I met up with Nengjie at Kunhui's whiskey bar. We had a good catch up, talking about work, family, friends.. you could have eavesdropped on what we talked about? No? Anyways, Miaoling joined us later and we also bumped into an old senior from River Valley High. Really enjoyed such good hearty conversations with old friends.

When I reach home last night, Billy was waiting for me at the door, my dear old loyal Billy.. Happily greeting me at the doorstep, vigorously wagging his tail, seemingly asking me "How's your day today?

I gingerly knelt down beside him and stroke him by his tummy; an activity which he has always enjoyed.

"Life is tough but you made it good.. Life's good my dear old Billy.. Life's good..."

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BTW Dear.. here's your Silly Billy's latest photo: Still as greedy as ever.. hehehe