Hello

I changed and switched

2010-07-07T21:00:00.003+08:00

I left this behind to try out wordpress.
http://tantujin.wordpress.com
We'll see how it goes. haha.

Scribblings from a diary

2010-06-20T22:14:00.003+08:00

5th March 2006

6:55 am
I enjoy watching the sun rise. Every time I see the light peeking out from beyond the clouds, it seems to me like there is hope once again. That little bit of hope keeps me going back to watch it every morning, just to feel like my life is headed somewhere brighter than it looks.

Today is no different. I am sitting here on my usual bench at Plaid's Park, waiting for the darkness to fade again. This is the only time in the day when I feel relaxed and free of frustration. Yet I dread the sunrise. It marks the start of another day in my pent-up life; another day spent lamenting my fate; another day spent lumbering around begging for work to do.

Some people say that the watching the sunrise is the most enjoyable thing in the world. I beg to differ. I believe that the moment just before the sunrise is way more beautiful. It is at that moment that you realise that everything that you had been waiting for was about to happen. In that fleeting instant, you enjoy the warmth of hope infused with the certainty that your hope will be duly rewarded. You know that intense happiness will follow. And you know you will feel hopeful and beautiful again.

That is the most enjoyable thing in the world.

Words from a foreign land speak with such beauty

2010-06-15T23:29:00.003+08:00

Ah, isn't Italian beautiful?

Non c'è - Laura Pausini

c'è means 'there is', non c'è means 'there is not'.

Sometimes when I sit and wonder, I realise that I have wasted a lot of time. Like half of my June.

Scribblings from a diary

2010-06-13T23:35:00.002+08:00

April 25th 2006
7:43 pm
The nurse just handed me this little cup of bitter medicine. She said that it would help to stop the pain that I had been complaining about. But I hate that stupid little cup. The black water inside swirls around like the dark snake in my nightmares. I haven't been able to sleep well lately because of the pain. It feels like someone is constantly jabbing from the inside with a blunt knife; a dull, throbbing pain that never seems to stop.

I had a visitor today. An old man with horn-rimmed glasses came by the ward earlier in the afternoon. He didn't enter, but I could see him through the glass window. I wonder why he stood there looking at me for such a long time, I don't even recognise him. Of course, I don't recognise anyone at all, besides Anne and the other people who come in here everyday.

I hate not knowing. In fact, it gripes me with such a shuddering vice-like grip that I feel extremely annoyed every time I feel that way. Every person who comes in here, every person who looks at me, everyone who seems to recognise me, everything they say to try to jog my memory again; I don't get all of it. And I hate it. Terribly.

Why won't someone come and stop my pain?
ti odio

A series of pictures

2010-06-01T21:07:00.003+08:00

This is a video I made with clips recorded using a Panasonic LX3. I know it isn't great, but it's my maiden try and hopefully I'll be able to produce better-quality stuff soon.

Making a video was probably something I had to try someday, alongside tons of other things. It's June. May wasn't that good, and now it's June. We'll see.

Scratch that itch

2010-05-30T00:27:00.002+08:00

I was browsing the internet for clever business ideas when I chanced upon a remarkable idea (at least, to me), a female urination device, Go-Girl. Quite obviously, I am no expert in waste expulsion, but this idea had me captivated. At the beginning, I had no idea how this concept could be applied. While the thought of a portable urinal was slightly appealing, I couldn't see how people would take to that idea.

Then it hit me. You see, it is a common mistake to use ourselves as a reference in our thoughts and imagination. When you think of a task, you rate its difficulty according to the probability of you completing it. When you see a new tool, you rate its usefulness by thinking about how it could add to your life. This is a fundamental flaw which waters down the many ingenious ideas that we have. It was therefore natural for me to assume that this device had no place on the shelves.

As I pushed those bigoted thoughts aside and thought about it, this could actually be immutably useful. Not to me, of course, but to females who might find themselves in circumstances where a privy is either unavailable or undesirable. The adventurer, the traveller, the hygiene-zealot, the concerned mother, the person who always needs the restroom at the worst times; they could all use one of these (each).

If nothing else, this has given me a crucial lesson: scratch your own itch. It is much easier to solve a problem when you know it inside out. Just as extraordinary things are done in extraordinary situations, the best ideas you'll have come from the problems which plague you most. If you want an idea you'll feel passionate about, scratch your own itch. It's the best way you'll know what feels best.

2010-05-23T12:37:00.002+08:00

In our big quest to attain what we think are the ingredients for a good life, we often forget to actually live. I came across an interesting blog, http://www.fourhourworkweek.com/blog/, created by Tim Ferriss, author of "The Four-hour work week". He advocates living your life the way you really want it to be, and not be trapped by your own dreams.

Reading about his life and methods made me think about my own. What have I been doing to further myself, to bring me closer to my dreams? Have I lapsed into a mechanical subservience, something I'm so strongly against? What have I done to change the world around me, to make it a better and more enjoyable place? And when answers return, mostly negative, I ask 'why not?' Why haven't I tried to make my life a little happier, even when I know how I can do so?

There is something odd about how people perceive happiness. Happiness is such an abstract concept that we try to place it into definite terms, by associating it to goals and targets that we set for ourselves. We tell ourselves that if we achieve 'this', we will be happy; if we get 'this', we will be in a better place than we are at - we will be happier.

Look 2 years into the past and think about what you wanted back then. Those were the fluffy 'dreams' that consumed us 2 years ago. These goals and targets could've been anything; the job you had wanted, the grades you yearned for, the windfall in the lottery, the new gadget on the market, the clothes you wanted to purchase. I believe at least some of these goals, especially the practical ones, have been fulfilled and checked off your list. But how much happier are you, compared to 2 years ago?

We have an ever-changing list of things to check off, and we tell ourselves we will be fully happy when this list is completed. But therein lies the problem; we are open to stimuli every day, shaping and changing this list of goals and targets along the way. We are yearning for a happiness which is determined on the completion of a non-exhaustive list. We are chasing the end of a race which doesn't end.

Goals are not evil. They allow us to put deadlines and craft the path to meet our dreams. It is not the result of an action which changes the course of our happiness, but our perception of this path towards this action. A happiness derived from enjoyment is much more fulfilling than one derived from attainment. Understanding this frees us from the chase in an unending race. Real happiness is within ourselves, and learning to overcome the plague of associating happiness to something else is what prevents us from experiencing it.

Good day, May!

2010-05-13T21:58:00.002+08:00

Hey guess what?! I was right! My May is turning out a little better already. Today I received some good news which made my day immutably better.

Nonetheless, it does not remove the fact that I have become a lazy person after lazing around for a few days too long. Not only has my urge to exercise waned into a sombre slumber, I found myself with zero desire to be productive while I had some time at home. Instead, I gave in to easy entertainment and carefree (and careless) humour. This is not right; this has to stop.

While my May has skidded up a little ramp, I'm going to have to put in a little more effort so that June will be just as fine. And that I shall do.

May rolls around and says hello

2010-05-11T22:11:00.002+08:00

And for the first time in a long while, tu jin felt unwell (enough) to go to sleep at 10pm! It isn't especially good when he's already on leave tomorrow and has the day available, but life is tough, isn't it?

It's May! Time moves quickly when you don't really do anything substantial with it. I almost don't recall anything that happened between April 11 and tonight. Well one course which I (vaguely) conducted ended, I started going for parade rehearsals, I quit a potential small business at its infancy, I began watching comedies and became mildly addicted (they're addictive, aren't they?), and this period of time was plagued and tainted by procrastination. Lots of it.

Now that it's (mid)May, there's only fewer than six months before the big day comes around. Like so many other people, I am full of hope that I will be prepared for when it arrives. Such moments happen not too often, and many times we are bogged down by no one but ourselves. Alright that doesn't sound right, but it'll do.

Guess what? I think I've learnt quite enough in the last 16 months to call it pretty worthwhile. Not that this means I'll convert it into a life-long career or that I've actually used what I'd learnt, but it has let me go through things that not many people can say they have. (Don't you just hate how we forget stuff just when we're trying to remember them, because that's what just happened.)

There's two-thirds of May remaining and they're going to be awesome. But I bet everyone's May is going to be just as great, so.. we'll see!

2010-04-15T19:13:00.003+08:00

Burn saturdays, burn
Like the summer sun you'll burn.
Scorching, torching, however willing
The pain, the heat, still pinches.
On a whim and a fancy, life takes a turn
For good or for worse, a chance not spurned
It snakes and slithers, creeps upon you
Like a sunny storm, it plays on surprise
Raring, raging and baring its teeth
Its mind bent on writhing agony
Yet all it takes to persuade such a demon
Is the curl of the lips, a smile unwavered

Now to alleviate the pain of reading that, here's a picture!
Oh well, going to get busy soon, and I'm not doing anything (much) yet! This is not right. It's already mid-April! Ah, the plight of a lazy person.

Zipbras

2010-04-06T20:56:00.004+08:00

moo..

I'm losing my focus. I can't let that happen, can I?
They lied when they said people could multi-task. I don't seem to possess that ability. I think I'm a thick, slow-brained freak of nature. It isn't good when everything seems to catch your attention. When that happens you just can't do anything well. You get distracted by little things, dragged back by tiny details, held behind because you don't spend time on the important things. Now the important things seem more important than ever, and I have lesser time than I had before. What a waste, I say.

The littlest things

2010-03-27T00:41:00.002+08:00

Sometimes we get frustrated by the smallest things.
Sometimes the best day is ruined by a little mishap.
We view happiness as an ideal, as a perfect emotion to work towards.
We pour all our effort into trying to achieve happiness.
Yet the smallest hiccup can diminish all that, and we feel sad again.

Does it work the other way?
Why is sadness viewed so negatively?
Can we be sad just because we are?If
We view sadness as an ideal, as a perfect emotion to work towards,
We pour all our effort into trying to achieve sadness,
The slightest hiccup of happiness happens,
What will we feel, happy or sad?

wouldn't you like to be a child again?

Making the most out of nothing

2010-03-21T21:18:00.004+08:00

Hit on several ideas recently, some of them feasible, others not that feasible. Some of them hold great opportunities, some of them are closer to my dreams, some of them are beautiful ideas, some of them are pragmatic money-makers.

But all of them share one great thing in common; they started from nothing more than a figment of my imagination. I'm glad that I've begun thinking bigger and thinking wider, and now I can't wait to start.

Today I added a new experience to my huge collection of vague abilities; making a photo-montage-video. To other people it might seem like nothing, but believe me when I tell you it took me a lot of work to get my head round it. So here I have my product, scaled down to make its size much more manageable. It isn't the greatest piece of work, but hey, it's mine!

When I'm more competent at doing that I'll move on to videos, so buckle up, sit tight, and prepare yourselves! Okay maybe you can relax now, it'll probably take a month or so for that to actually happen. And sitting so tightly for that long isn't good for the body. Loosen up, my friends.

I'm continuing my work on all my other endeavours. It's going to be really hard work to learn so many things in such a short time, but I'm going to try anyway. Wish me luck! (Maybe several months down we'll see the product of all this work. Either that, or you'll see me depressed and begging for money. Hmm...)

Was this once yours?

2010-03-16T23:59:00.000+08:00

2010-03-14T09:03:00.003+08:00

Ever got frustrated when people go for the nice-looking and interesting, instead of the dull and staid, even though they might be exactly the same thing/person/idea?
Ever thought about the difference between the stories of NTUC Fairprice and ShopnSave?
I have the answer!
Would you go for these,

or these?

----

Grabbing and going

2010-03-10T13:34:00.000+08:00

Neglect?

What did you look at first, the coke or what was beyond?
Would you go for the coke?
Or would you look at what's behind?

Go where the grass grows..

2010-03-08T22:20:00.005+08:00

Watching the cow give a bucked-tooth grin at me while his face was getting pricked by the thorny grass made me realise one thing. It wasn't about the grass, and how it appeared to so many other cows that mattered. It was about how our dear friendly and happy cow felt about the grass that mattered. Many times we face obstacles constructed not by ourselves, but by those around us.

Negativity is a powerful tool. In a crowd of optimistic cows, all it takes is a small, negative cow to say no, to drag them back to pessimism. The happy cow told me this,"This world is full of all types of grass. You must learn to find your own grass. Stay with the herd, and the only grass you get will be the same grass you have been sharing with the herd all this while. They may tell you it is tasty, but only because that is all that they have.

"In your quest for your perfect grass, you will taste the most bitter grass ever grown. You will taste the sharpest blades known to all cows. You will tread on rocks and sharp stones. But the day that you find your own pasture with your favourite grass, all that pain will be worth it. Seek your own pasture, for there is where you'll find the best grass."

I have been part of my herd all my life. They have provided me with shelter and grass, companionship and support. Many cows in the herd speak of the grass we have as being the best there is, and talk about the perils of wandering beyond, about the dangers that make a journey out hardly worth the effort. But after listening to the happy cow, I began to look at the lives of the cows within the herd.

Mandy was one of the cows whom I'd known all my life. She was a hardworking, determined cow who loved to offer her milk for contribution to the herd's total. Mandy was one of the most loyal cows I'd ever known. She was a staunch believer that the leader cows were the ones who had proven themselves with their knowledge and experience, and she listened to every word they said. Because of this, she had the firm belief that the grass our herd now grazed on, was the best there was. I remember she told me once, that she once thought of venturing to look for new pastures, but never did so. Maybe it was because she felt safe here, with those leader cows looking over our pasture. Yet when I saw her again that day, she seemed weary and tired, but contented. Perhaps it was because of the dreams she had sacrificed, just to spend her life producing milk for the herd. And looking at her, I didn't know what to feel; respect or regret.

Carl, on the other hand, was one of the laziest cows I'd ever seen. He was fat and sloppy, with reams of skin bulging from beneath him. I hated him. Often, when all the cows were busy giving their fair share of milk, he would be laying down in the shade somewhere, slowly grinding several blades of grass with his lazy teeth. He was a delinquent, a burden and a total slob. It was only because of cows like Mandy, who worked extra hard, that we managed to meet our monthly milk targets. Carl wasn't always this lazy. I remember him being energetic and bubbly when he was younger. Somewhere along the way, I guess Carl realised that he could get away with being a total loser. He probably thought that since he could just drift through life without putting in any hard work, he would. Honestly, I hated cows like that. There was this one time where the leader cows tried to scold him and nudge him along, but all he did was grunt and roll over. It was because of cows like Carl, that the other cows who deserved better, cows like Mandy, had to work harder and suffered at their expense.

--will be continued-

Seeing is believing

2010-03-08T13:25:00.001+08:00

Perspectives
do you believe,

or do you doubt?

Go where the grass grows.

2010-03-07T11:59:00.006+08:00

That Gut Feeling
If someone tells you that you cant, will you believe him?
If somebody told you to give up, would you?
If some person said you could never make it, would you still try?

If someone comes up to you and says you can, will you believe him?
If somebody tells you that you're on the right path, will you doubt him?
If some person said you could change the world, would you try?

What if that somebody was someone you have trusted your whole life?
What if that someone was inside of you?

We are so affected by other people sometimes we forget that the best person to guide ourselves might have been residing inside all this while. Sometimes being obstinate might be a good thing after all.

When you think that it can be done, would you try?
When you think it needs to be done, would you attempt?
Would you be the first to try, or the first to follow?

The movers shape the world for the others to follow. When people complain and criticise, it's time to look into what went wrong. When groups of people with opposing views complain and criticise about the same issue, it's time to think about using your power wisely.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?
Or how about this,
What did you see yourself becoming, 5 years ago, in 2005?

To be honest, I didn't think about that at all when I was 15. I am an advocate of dreams. It is only when we know where we want to go, that we know where we should be headed. I was talking to one junior bank officer (I came up with that term myself) recently, and she told me that it's easier to specialise if I'm choosing what to do.

If I read accountancy and get a job as an accountant, I would command a paycheck of 5 thousand in 5 years. If I was the sort of person more innately associated with banks, take banking and finance, and work in a bank. If I'm looking for a good pay, find a big company, such as Keppel, and work for it.

But it got me thinking. Have we become mechanical cows grazing on the grass of life till it runs out? Do we all work for money? Do we know what we really want?

I have utmost respect for people who know what they want, and who are driven towards it. Recently, I have heard stories about people breaking out of the vicious social cycle, and striking it out on their own just to do what they love, and meeting with success along the way. I believe we are programmed to slink into what is comfortable and stay there. In this case, it is going along with where the grass leads us to, without the urge to seek pastures which might suit our taste better, or which might be more opulent.

We will all die someday. Our feelings, emotions, dreams, hopes, thoughts will all be trapped in a soul-less carcass, all that powerful energy unknown to all but ourselves. It is your birthright to have dreams. It is your power to find joy in what you do; or the other way round, to do what you find joy in doing. It is important that we look for a pasture to call our own. It is vital that we seek our niches.

I am a mechanical cow now, and I will not deny that all my life, I have been one. But a happy cow walked by and told me about the green and fresh grass he eats everyday, so I walked over, and saw this field of thorny blades which repulsed me. He stood in the middle of this giant field, chomping happily without a care for how those thorns pricked his face and feet. And then it hit me. What works for someone else might not work for you; I had to find my own brand of grass, a pasture to call my own.

-- will be continued -

Regards
TJ

i will wait till the colours fade

2010-03-02T22:33:00.003+08:00

the world goes speeding past
the cars fade like streaks
but she waits
patiently.

legs crossed, bag clutched tightly under her arm
a whiff of wind speeds past
swirling airs catches the wisps of stray hair
another car disappears from sight.

time is stone still
around her the world moves
serenity is peace, inside herself
and she waits
patiently.

Free advert

2010-02-27T01:58:00.002+08:00

finding work? want a job but can't seem to get one? Don't fret, we have a solution for you! Call now for an interview! But remember, it's only a pant time job... you've gotta find the rest of them apparel yourself.

borrrred. work harder, work harder.
yes master, yes master.

just another day

2010-02-23T22:25:00.004+08:00

I was walking down the road
when i saw this little toad.
he was slimy and a little green
but boy, did he look mean.

he stared at me with those beady eyes
spread apart and kinda over-sized.
he growled and snarled, throat bursting at the seams
and boy, did he look really mean.

as i gazed at him it reminded me
of a little man that i once went to see.
he was three feet tall with really huge feet
with a big top hat and a mole on his cheek.

'Howdy!' he said, as i went up to him
his chins trembling like a nervous limb.
there was a shaky grin which stretched across his cheek
his brilliant white teeth lined up and neat.

i remember his eyes; oh how full of emotion they were!
full of joy, laughter and sinister anger.
they spoke volumes and tomes of words
but those eyes were dark like turds.

from afar you could see the black swimming sea
twirling and swirling like a buzzing bee.
they shook and vibrated as he teemed with anger
while his mole was still pushed by the stretch of his lips.
--

i was walking down the road and i walked past this.
and did it look familiar! hmm...

bumper cars

learning focus

2010-02-21T21:32:00.002+08:00

too much telly

i'm getting old!

someone teach me how to focus properly.. please?

The forgotten men

2010-02-20T11:18:00.006+08:00

There was a bell in the hall. It used to ring everyday at 7 in the morning, a reminder that well, it was 7. The bell was bright red in its heyday. I remember the curved and shiny figure hanging by the door of classroom C-5. People loved it. In its time, there were banners hung all around it; words and greetings scribbled by its side; lovers pledging their love across the bell at 7. Sometimes I wonder how those poor lovers are doing now.

The bell lay hanging from the two rusty screws that still held onto the powdered brick wall. It cut a solemn figure, its once-bright hues now faded to a pale pink. From where I was standing, I could see the houses that age and decadence had built on it. Strands of silver webs and gray flecks of dust had sprouted like weeds all around its lonely shape, like a grand king brought down by age and the shaking of his hands.

Below the bell was a wall, and a wide open space which served as the subway to our classes. The sparkling floor dutifully scrubbed each day was the tarmac from which our lives slowly took form from. I leaned forward to take a closer look. There were the little signs of its brilliance beneath the film of age that had taken its toll. It was like looking at treasure in murky waters - its shape and beauty reduced to but the slightest and occasional peek. How many years had passed!

The daylight used to swarm in swathes into the corridors, bathing the hallway in a warm, orange glow, as the shadows painted a silhouette of life, its pictures jumping around with laughter and caprice. It was in the shadows where lives were created. If you looked closely, you could see the emotions in the little black men that inhabited the floors. They smiled and cried; laughed and teared - they were the people of the halls.
----

I must learn how to use a camera properly - now it's all random pictures of everything. Hah.

climb and fly; run and tumble; but get up and you'll do fine

Baked pigs can't snort

2010-02-16T22:18:00.004+08:00

Hello I'm sorry, kind-of lazy to update really (which is another way of saying my life is too boring it'll wrinkle dry the eyes of whoever sets his/her set of brimming jewels onto a clump of alphabets which describe the staid fable of my days)

Up for some.. ham??

hmmmm...

A dream and some faith

2010-01-31T23:47:00.002+08:00

patiently waiting for the seats to fill up.
it won't be quick, but it'll be worth it.

oh how i hate it sometimes

2010-01-17T23:16:00.002+08:00

We think about many things in the course of our day. I know I do. Every tiny decision, every random thought, every visual or audible observation, they all seem to give rise to these questions.
We are philosophers, every single one of us. Often that side of us goes unnoticed, quietly humming away at the back of our heart (or brain, or liver, or kidney, or spleen, depends on which era you belong to), but we cannot deny his/her existence. It seems too important that we have a reason for whatever we are doing; we seek a basis for our actions. We receive knowledge and advice, opinions and thoughts and we ask why. We are practitioners of philosophy, whether we know it or not. Some find philosophy a distant movement, a blur too far away to comprehend, but is it really so? The very basis by which we live, be it individual, societal or universal, can and should be questioned, if only to understand ourselves better. Your opinions count simply because they belong to you. We are servants of ourselves, and we can hardly deny that.

I'm working on something new, but it's really long, and so it'll take really long, considering I'm past a large number of words, but I'm still on the very first point. Now that I've got to do up answers to questions posed to me in 2 weeks, I'm guessing that big piece of work won't be up until a little while later, but it's all good.

Are you an idealist (not in the idealist vs materialist sense), a pragmatist, or a realist? Sometimes I have really high hopes for myself, hopes that come in varied and numerous forms, many of which I subscribe to, keen on pushing myself towards that end result I so cherish. But when you have too many things that you love on your plate, what do you eat first? Can you finish it all? What happens if one of them turns out rotten?

'happiness is self-inducing; it is up to us'

2010-01-11T22:23:00.007+08:00

Hey

we've gotta be a little happier!

even the chilli's smiling!

alright, some guy who has years of experience said wordpress is many times better, maybe i'll go try it out.
working on a new post.

2010-01-10T00:24:00.002+08:00

Hello

I just found out about a stupid advertisement by 金坷垃, some chinese fertiliser company promoting their product. haha how bad can an advert get?

alright, i really have the urge to make a lengthy post soon, so maybe i'll do it tomorrow. i've just witnessed one of my long-term dreams taking a hit, but i won't be held back by my failure.
I'm beginning to think i need to organise my time better from now on; i'm wasting too much precious time away on redundant issues, and there's absolutely no time to waste, especially right now.

2010-01-07T21:22:00.003+08:00

headlights flashing
we keep running
from a plague
of sadness here

there were those high hopes
of a great tomorrow
all crashing down
like the waves at sea

i dream, i feel
i thought.. i could
but it all comes down like a wall
burning,
like the dry autumn leaves
feeling,
those hopes all dashed and dead
a soaring bird who's lost his way
bluffed by crows and humming bees

--
Whirr of leaf blades
scything through the summer wind
a towering sense of misfortune
or a poor judge of biased emotions

2010-01-07T20:51:00.001+08:00

ahh, life is too tough.
i'm feeling sad and disappointed already.
my god, today's not a good day at all, is it?

Goodbye

2010-01-02T00:49:00.002+08:00

Journeys begin and journeys end
time is relentless; fate unforgiving
luck is selective to courage
probable dreams crumble on fear
the yonder times seem hopeful and pretty
but they rot with reality
whispered wishes of together lives
hushed tones of regrets

there was this child
hiding in caves
swiftly, smoothly
he moved within the shadows
fear consummated his failure
the boy licked his wounds
his cries echoed
within the hallowed walls
and only to his ears

REVELRY

2009-12-31T22:02:00.002+08:00

Hello

Happy new year!
It's 2010 already, though somehow the years seem to be so mashed together it doesn't really make a difference anymore; just an opportunity for people to revel in a common festival, and an excuse to relax and party away, not forgetting another extended weekend for some rest..
Some people will be glad that a new year has arrived, others, perhaps not so much. A new year can herald the end of a good year to some, or the start of a new beginning to some others. Don't you see that all this thought about how things are good, bad, angelic or evil are merely concepts which exist in the minds, something personal and almost completely subjective?
An evil or a sin might be the culture of another, practised with much pride and passion. The sweet dreams of one might just be the feared damnation for another. It all lies in.. perception. What you see is perhaps an extension of what you think and what you feel. After all, the eye cannot think.

I think I've finally found an explanation for revelry or group gatherings and the like, or at least one of the many reasons which attract people to such joyous, ravenous, un-Puritan behaviour. Social equality.
These are occasions which force even the most bigoted or esteemed individuals to partake in a common set of social behavioural rules which might otherwise be unbecoming for people of their status (or for some, think that way, where others unanimously oppose that view). Take for example, the voracious and rapacious methods that people have developed in their quest to have crabs as part of their diet. Honestly, isn't watching your superior, whom you might usually consider someone perhaps a class above yourself, or who usually acts in a way befitting of his position, plunging his fingers into a pool of chilli to get at the last kingly pincer and appearing like an overgrown kid exposing his avaricious desires, such an enjoyable way to pass time?
Beyond simple dinners, occasions which call for active participation by these 'higher' individuals, which for a short time, deprives them of the high horse they usually ride on, are perhaps well-liked for exactly this reason; the chance to see them in situations one wouldn't normally get to explore. At it is at these moments that one can see the essence of social equality, when everyone does the same things, everyone eats the same food, breathes the same air, and it is during such situations that can help make or break those tender relationships between the supposed upper echelon and the lower ranks. And don't think the bosses don't know that ya.

charlie

2009-12-30T22:56:00.002+08:00

Hello to nobody in particular, happy new year! (since probably only random people who visit the wrong site by accident come here)
It'll be a new year soon, and I think that deserves some mention of sorts. But today's not a good day, considering it's almost bedtime now, so I'll put in something soon, alright.

2010 will be great, just wait and watch ya.
Cheers

2009-12-06T18:16:00.003+08:00

Time has browned
as the clock looks down
at the little twinkling bits
of shiny saccharine things
the tears have fallen
those years weren't forgotten
but a whole new fresh wave
of a different sound of faith

there've been moments of laughter
cries of despair
but when it mattered most
he gave a silent toast
thrills and broken tills
the crashing of flattened heels
each giant cluck
like a great grand rug
just seems to hold you close
the ticks have quietened
those summer times thrown astray
as the winter brushes off its coat
here comes a brand new day

2009-11-22T23:21:00.001+08:00

food fair at expo

i really need to start doing something with my life, eh?
hmm

Singapore!

2009-11-22T03:24:00.002+08:00

I'm back!
haha from a really hot place, the hot season must really be a killer.

took some photos, i like my camera haha

floating market!

tired, sleep.

inanimate adoration

2009-11-05T21:00:00.002+08:00

Okay, goodbye now!

poor lonely bicycle..

2009-11-01T21:06:00.002+08:00

Gonna go off to thailand soon! hope i don't die there, honestly, think i probably would, considering how i've forgotten most of field stuff already.

it hasn't been a good week - didn't end very well - but at least the week's over, and now i'll have a 16k walk in ecp on tues before i jet off for thailand on thurs night!
how exciting.
it'll be over soon..

dream big

2009-10-25T14:46:00.002+08:00

Just finished reading By the River Piedra I sat down and wept, by Paulo Coelho.
Well, it's a pretty decent book, and I believe it'd suit someone more inclined towards religion. There is the constant rallying cry for faith, a belief in something you might not understand yet.

'By the River Piedra I sat down and wept' tells the story of Pilar, a woman who re-acquaints herself with her childhood love, and his belief and religious orientation rubs off on her, allowing her to rediscover the faith that she had hidden all the while.
And while us readers begin to understand her story, Paulo Coelho urges us, through Pilar's thoughts and re-alignment of faith, to discard the urgent tugs of the 'Other', a illusory image of our faith-less sides, entirely fearful and pragmatic. This book will remind you of your childhood innocence, your childhood dreams, and how every dream you had, each one you thought entirely possible, was gradually eroded, deemed to be impossible, impractical, every bit of it shredded by fear.

It will grant you the chance to rethink your dreams, and realise that perhaps you have shut yourself to the opportunities that flash at us all too often, that perhaps you have immersed yourself too deeply into fear, been too practical, been too worried. Have you had dreams of late? Felt that you aren't anywhere near them yet? Feel like dreams are but far-fetched hopes, figments of your imagination? Take a break, read a book, read this book. It's a pretty short book, very easy to read - my brain can hardly take anything more than this, really - and he writes in a simple manner without the extravagance of ornamental language.

This is an author who is focused on his beliefs and understands his beliefs, and his works are characteristic of that. So be open, and acknowledge his viewpoint, even if at times you might find yourself at odds with it.

*Some quotes from the book*
-The universe always helps us fight for our dreams, no matter how foolish they may be. Our dreams are our own, and only we can know the effort required to keep them alive.

-A divided kingdom cannot defend itself from its adversaries. A divided person cannot face life in a dignified way.

I swear I'll be a good clerk if my mediocrity consumes me.

stop studying, start thinking

2009-10-19T19:56:00.002+08:00

We lead our lives thinking we have a purpose, but sometimes, many times, what we're doing is pushing ourselves towards a set of checkpoints, checkpoints we assume will lead us towards our ultimate purpose, one which perhaps we attempt to quantify, or put in human terms.

Some people say they want to be rich, others say they want to be happy, and even a great many other say they live for their family. What is your true purpose? Is wealth, happiness, or even your familial ties merely checkpoints in your life to affirm a true direction towards something greater? When will it stop, when will you finally serve your purpose?

Many a time we canalise ourselves into a channel of goals; targets to meet in order to make our lives fulfilling ones, at least in our own terms. So what of these goals, dreams, hopes that we set for ourselves? Are these our personal aims in life?
We must accept death will consume us someday, at least from a rational viewpoint. You might be tempted to argue that there is life after death, that death is not the final tape we cross, but please, go with me for now, that even if there is, death must still occur, our physical being will still perish.

So think again, do we have a purpose? Let's just conduct a little experiment for ourselves. A purpose is an underlying intent, one which can hardly be quantified. Let's say, for instance, you deem your reason for living to be your family. Take that away, what remains? Your friends, perhaps. Remove that, what else? Money, health, happiness, take all of that away. When you have removed all that you can, what remains? What supports all these 'checkpoints' (so i term it) in our lives? What gives rise to them?

What are you living for?
What a disturbing question, I say.

pee by the old frail tree

2009-10-04T19:03:00.004+08:00

to mankind, mankind is holy (seneca)
look around and within, have we put humankind on a platform, dusted off a mouldy pedestal for him to stand on? but is he worthy, is he deserving?
we take ourselves as the meridian of evolution, the by-product of years and years of biological testing, all before us merely experiments to concoct a perfect organism - us. but are we?
years later will the future look upon mankind and chortle at our foolishness, laugh at the clouds we shroud ourselves with, speaking of ourselves as the epitome of Nature's will? we might turn out to be the next step in evolution, and nothing more than that. history reminds us of our ability to fool ourselves. civilisations past have collapsed upon the tenets from which they are constructed, images and illusions of never-ending empires, each one fooled by self-belief. what is to become of us then?

'i think, therefore i am' (cogito ergo sum)
-descartes
it is rather irksome to constantly see this being wrongly interpreted as saying: what i think, i become. it is important to note the background behind this statement, descartes finding a basis for all his philosophical thought, and proposing doubt as a starting point. and when all was doubted, he was left with one thing he couldn't doubt, which is that he could doubt. from this came about this famous, often wrongly construed statement. to put it another way, it can be said to mean: i think, therefore i exist.
of course, you might scoff at his conclusions, and at how there is a missing piece in his jigsaw (the link between thinking and existing).
what can you really know..?

2009-10-04T00:14:00.002+08:00

do you have a conscience?
what is moral and what isn't?
is morality guided by a certain set of natural laws, or simply the environment we live in?
what makes us think we're right; how do we know?
what can you be sure of, and what can you only believe in?
is knowing that you believe in certain concepts and issues the only thing you can know?
what about axioms and tautologies..?
what is your purpose, is there one?

2009-09-27T13:35:00.002+08:00

when something is not correctable, is there a deviation?

what happens when you die?

2009-09-07T10:27:00.000+08:00

nothing much really.
not long left
haha yea right.

boom boom bomb
explosion!
face torn limbs shredded genitals lost identity unknown
people fight to fight the people who fight
ouch, cruel.
could you bear to kill another?
maybe only when it matters. but even then, could you?
it is an awkward thing. when you shoot to avoid that someone shooting you, to him you are but him to you.
when rpgs, bullets and big fat rounds start flying
your vehicle's trapped
who do you think of, pray for?

a rock apiece

2009-08-15T19:17:00.000+08:00

i feel like my life has stagnated.

it's august today. that's the ninth month after finishing pre-university formal study.
which leaves me, nowhere, basically.

things have changed, people have moved, the elements of my life rearranged.
glance back.
what have you done? what are you doing?
i see progress aplenty; progress not always desirable or planned for, but it's still progress nonetheless.
why do we treat progress - moving forward - with such heft?
is it our inability to freeze-frame the current, or to relive the past?

immured, incarcerated, trapped?
i watch excitement with a florid, bubbly demeanour.
it's natural to compare.
juxtapose my wan life with those i see, and watch it pale in a plebeian pallor.

look upon yourself. what do you see?
stand atop a busy street, and watch the buzz and shimmies.
what do you see?
are we not mere serfs of lifeee?
calloused bruises but a sign of enlightenment. innocence, ignorance.

2009-08-08T16:31:00.000+08:00

oh well

it gets pointless after awhile.
like a direction-less, aimless, pursuit of nothingness.
wan effots
fuzzy pictures
vague lifee

The moviegoer

2009-07-21T20:37:00.000+08:00

I've finally finished the book I set out to read quite a long while ago, after much procrastination, confusion, appreciation and somnolence. 'The moviegoer' by Walker Percy.

I got to know the book through its reputation, as one worthy of a read and a dash of thought to go along. So now that I'm through with it, I feel compelled to write my thoughts about it, which some people like to call, a 'review'.
So here goes (it's gonna be a pretty long one, just close the window if you wish to)
//
The moviegoer
//
Just over 10 pages into the book and you begin to realise that the story just isn't that important. There are many digressions along the way, flighty, fleeting, lightly tottering insight into the main character, Binx Bolling's, everyday life and what he thinks of it.

There is a lot about his thoughts. Each event or activity that happens is creased with what he thinks of it, even the slightest bits unnoticeable to the average eye. He is uncompromising in detail. The omission of a greeting cannot be based on mere habit or forgetfulness, but must be because of something greater; an emotion, an occasion, a perception, something.

There is (within the writing) a sense that Binx is not too focused on his search, as much as the book does not concentrate on the story itself. There are frequent digressions into moments in the past or underlying thoughts that accompany Binx's encounters, so much so the main idea of the 'search' has been reduced to the occasional mention. But alongside these constant digressions are the moments of deep thought which serve to incite and inspire.

Time passes slowly. A simple situation is observed and elaborated with a detailed, insightful touch, much like a pass at how much we're missing in our own rushed and messed up lives. Each moment is almost excruciatingly slow, tender enough to explore, but not too much to cause pain.

There're times when it gets almost too slow, or too far-fetched, especially if you are one who prefers to follow the plot. I wouldn't recmomend it if you love action and thrillers, for most every scene, even one as urgent as an accident, is dissected ever so carefully, played over in slow-motion.

But perhaps this gentle unfolding makes for a greater appreciation of other matters, like how self-absorbed our own lives are, and how much can go on in the seconds we so willingly and unknowingly pass over.

There are several remarkably note-worth concepts and perceptions mentioned that make you ponder about their veracity, something which gives 'The moviegoer' its value.

It is written in a fiercely observant and descriptive manner, and even the most intense of conversations are interjected with the immediate thoughts or observations that Binx has or makes.

Walker Percy writes in a very flitful way, hopping from situation to situation, occasion to occasion. Even so, it does not mean that this book makes for easy reading. It is one best enjoyed not by a brief perusal, as with many other books, but with careful consideration of the words used and ideas raised.

In his own special way, the author manages to capture the essence of each scene in his unique, clever way, making full use of well-placed adjectives, tonal inflections and keen comments.
'the blue stare holds converse, has its sentences and periods.'
'Seeing him strikes a pang to the marrow; he has the urgent gentle manner of an emissary of bad news. Someone has died.'

If nothing else, Binx's keen careful observations force the reader into contemplating his own attitude towards the little frivolities of life, or lack thereof.

Certain occurrences, which one would normally pass over, he manages to catch hold of, even placing it in its own context and category. Take his idea of 'repetition' and 'rotation', for example.
'a rotation I define as the experiencing of the new beyond the expectation of the experiencing of the new.'
At first sight this might seem confusing, but think again and it all starts to fit in. A rotation is but a bonus beyond what one has expected, be it an outcome, an experience and the like. And such interjections allow the reader to explore his own life and personal experiences, to look for commonalities, like his very own 'rotations'.

Perhaps to the layman, such phenomenon may not be apparent at all, and the beauty of watching Binx's thoughts unfold is exactly in that - drawing us to the realisation that in our own superficial living, we might just have missed such deep, underlying patterns or meanings.

However, it does get tedious at times, especially when in pursuit of a mere fictional traipse. It isn't a piece of light reading, I cannot reiterate further, but one best accomplished with perhaps a pen and notebook in accompaniment, just so Binx's knack for detail and insight can be reproduced in the same fervent manner.

The level or amount of new discoveries, introductions etc. does not dwindle as the story moves along, and while that may displease some, perhaps seeking familiarity and an actual outcome, it does help in keeping things fresh and nimble.

Binx's initial intentions (the 'search'), are kept to a mere afterthought or rather, a secondary consideration, which at moments seem to be what the entire story will revolve around. It seems like the 'search' is only apparent when nothing else in his own life can keep Binx occupied.

This book doesn't disappoint - I had high expectations of it - and it is a welcome breath of fresh air, or antiquity, whichever suits you better, when juxtaposed with the more plot-oriented books so often seen on the shelves today.

I'd recommend 'The moviegoer' if you're looking for a thought-provoking book, or simply a break fromt he typical book which skims the surface of thought. Or perhaps, to a much, much smaller extent, a romance jaded and fresh all at once, articulated in quick dispensations.

If you enjoyed 'The moviegoer', perhaps Jonathan Swift's 'A tale of a tub' might appeal to you as well.

-End-
//

Icicles

2009-07-15T23:47:00.002+08:00

I put a banana into the freezer for fun this afternoon. haha then i took it out and ate it at night.
and it actually tastes quite decent!
though if you don't skin it properly there's a weird aftertaste which lingers for quite awhile.
(i skinned it with a kitchen scissors after it was frozen, please don't try that)

try this:
1. skin a nice medium to large banana
2. melt some chocolate of your favourite kind - milk, dark, liquor-laced, 80%, 90%, 97%, milo-mixed choc, white, whatever.
3. dip the banana in the pool of melted chocolate, or coat the banana with chocolate.
4. sprinkle nuts of your favourite kind - almond, cashew, groundnut, macademia, blablabla - or coat it with cereal. or if you're game, sprinkle some cinnamon powder haha, or pepper. or tabasco sauce. or the wrinkled milk of a thousand year old cow.
or the ground horns of a angry old bull. or the fine powder from the beard of a 100 year old farmer. or the flecks of mystery gold gotten from the nasal cav... okay i'll stop.
5. do whatever else you want with your pre-frozen banana that you think will make it nice to eat.
6. (optional) poke a stick into the banana so it's easier to eat after it's done.

lastly, freeze the banana!
for say, a few hours, depending on a lot of various factors, like whether you coat it or not, whether you turn on the refrigerator, whether the banana's medium or large, what you coat it with, et cetera.

And finally, step 8: eat the frozen banana!
if you want to, you can slice it up into smaller bite-sized pieces, like if you're serving to friends or whatnot. but i'd recommend making more bananas instead, because it really tastes pretty decent, especially as an after-meal treat.
Oh oh, you could try using cream/ whipped cream as well, plus jam or whatever to serve it with. or ice-cream. or dip it into hot, melted chocolate (makes for a good contrast).

if anything, it reminds me of the 'ice pops' i used to have at a younger age. ah. nostalgia. haha hope you like it.

Men on stage

2009-07-13T14:12:00.002+08:00

You've probably watched some made-in-singapore films, gone to performances by local bands, glanced at the occasional advertisement about the latest Singaporean plays (Army daze, Sing dollar, anyone?).
But have you ever attended one of them?

I'm glad to say I've attended a few, including 2 starring Hossan Leong (he's nice to watch, honestly). Army's a pretty accessible and convenient topic to do a play about. The thing about making a successful play, writing a popular book, directing a famous film is how the audience relates to it.

By making use of the army, you immediately have a large chunk of potential play-goers who are able to relate to whatever anecdotes, tales or cultural references you wish to use. And hence the constant stream, no, trickle of army-related plays available.

The latest one is, of course, 'Own time own target', which I viewed with a newfound perspective, the eyes of an NSF. And I found it to be a delightful little comedy, honestly.

Being someone (finally) able to relate to and understand the inside jokes and frequent references to the military 'vernacular' (or lack thereof), I think I was better able to see the funny side of the play, and in turn appreciate the ability of the scriptwriters.

There are a multitude of references to various recent occurrences (Mas Selamat, the runaway gun, remember?), especially in the first of two short plays, which provide for a good irreverent laugh at the expense of solemn authority.

The constant nonsensical chatter between the occasional strangers and the armymen, and among the armymen themselves provide for a good steady flow of laugh-fodder. One scene, concerning a sergeant and a petrol pump attendant, was especially memorable for me.

'Own time own target' consists of 2 separate plays, the second of which chronicles the difficulties and differences a new enlistee has to face. It tells of the tale of 5 bunkmates who each have different personalities and backgrounds, facing their fate, which is in turn controlled by a sergeant who favours a recurring profanity, and another who speaks in a blase overtone.

They each have their own lives, and maybe even secrets they don't want to reveal to each other. It is a hideously funny play, helped on by the catchy songs the characters sing of their army lives, and I think it can provide some welcome nostalgia to the days in the military, for those who have already served their time.

One word of warning, though. Please, don't make this a family outing for the kids. As I was leaving, I saw a family with both their boys (probably of about lower-secondary/ upper primary age?), and I immediately felt for the parents.
How they must have regretted their decision when the characters started spouting strings of military-style obscenities, or during the frequent sexual references and crude comments made by the characters in the play.

So please, do watch it if you have the time, it'll be enjoyable. Sure, it can't compare to any of them Broadway musicals, or Tony Award-winning plays, but it can be a welcome relief from the office or school.

And you'd be supporting a Made-in-Singapore play as well. While you're at it, Sing Dollar (with Hossan Leong), Spelling Bee, and the show by the Reduced Shakespeare Company are coming out soon, so if you have the time (and money..), go watch one of them, it'll do you good, promise.
//

a little speck of excitement

2009-07-12T00:49:00.003+08:00

(Reduced Shakespeare Company's coming to singapore, go watch!)

She shrugs. My mother speaks of such matters in a slightly abrasive way. In fact I haven't heard a single polite reply since my 13th birthday. She speaks with an overtone neither presumptuous nor exceeding humbleness, but rather a blase, monotonal vernacular.
//

He placed his hand on the engine. I see his face retch out in pain, but the maiden is none the wiser. His fingers curl around the little spanner she holds out to him, and his face reeks of a stagnated smile.
It reminds me of Aunt Emily. Aunt Emily lived with us back at Fifth Street. She used to carry an unusual cabbage stench about her, which made all the kids groggy whenever they got near. We never got to know her well. All that I knew was her visit to the doctor (a witch, we all assumed) every Tuesday. I'd never heard of anyone receiving such extreme unction before, and after.

It was the norm for us to have dinner Tuesday night. If anything, Aunt Emily's absence was just the perfect excuse for us to be herded around the dining table. Aunt Emily was a constant chore.
The kids had to rewrap her bandages by the fireplace, every evening without fail. I had the luck of being eldest, which came with some special privileges. Anything I didn't want to do I could simply pass on, my best excuse to keep my eyes free to watch over the rest of 'em.

Summer had come again. From the recluse of my little office I can hear the songbirds chirping their way. Sometimes I wonder what they're so delighted about. I ask Desiree if she knows. She looks up with her usual nonchalent look. 'What a weird question,' she says.
She doesn't exactly say that, but I can tell from her eyes. Desiree has the most pleasant eyes. They loved to twinkle whenever the frequent shard of light streamed in through the blinds. They aren't almond-shaped like Sharon's or lined with the long streamers like Wyona, but they seem special.
I will confess. I didn't think through much when hiring Desiree. She had strode in, dressed in a shawl-covered dress, that summer morning. Sharon had just left me for a bigger firm. Good for you, I'd told her, hoping she might change her mind. But she never did, and I was left with a Sharon-shaped void to fill.

'I'm not sure, Mr Walters.'
''Why, I told you, don't call me that.'
She flits her eyelids. My sight is immediately drawn to her eyes. What beauty.

She snaps her fingers.
'Mr Walters. Jack. Hello?'
I realise she's looking right back at me all this while. There is a slight thump in my chest. I wonder if she notices.
//

Pete hops into the M6 with much ease. At his age you wouldn't expect him to move with such agility. He swings open the passenger door for me, and I wonder if he think I cannot repeat his acrobatics.

The bucket seat is comfortable. In fact, it reminds me of my own WD convertible. I love cars. Occasionally I walk or take the bus to go elsewhere, but only when I feel an inexplicable urge to do so. I hate the thought of being so open. It makes me feel nude in the outdoors.
In a car it's different. In a car I feel surrounded and safe, and nothingness. Nobody can see me looking, nobody knows I'm there. I could twist and distort my features as much as I want to and no one would know. No wonder I live alone.

Pete looks over and grins. His fingers rattle against the dashboard, indicating his eagerness to move. Pete is a former race-car driver. He used to boast about beating the likes of Michael Schmutzer and Jason Gavins, everyday, everytime. But I maintain that it was only because they had mishaps. He says it's part of the race.

I can hear the gears shift. Pete has his appendages firmly attached to his M6. He makes a swift motion with his feet and immediately I regret being in his car. We were at the courthouse today. Quite unusually, the takeover papers were settled in less than an hour, and my transport home hadn't arrived. It might have been a better idea to walk back to Fifth Street alone, but I couldn't turn down his offer.

The trees whiz by, fading quickly, much faster than they lined up ahead of me. Sometimes I feel like stopping to smell the air. I do not think there is a better smell than fresh leaves on their leashes, each one clinging on tightly by the sliver of a stem. But I seldom do.

There is always something going on. In a typical day I have my attention reserved by at least 4 clients. And Desiree of course. There simply is no time. But that's just an excuse.
//

Okay, that's just a small test of a new style of writing I'm trying to pick up. as you can see, i'm pretty bad at it. oh well.
comments, if any.

garbled obfuscation: time for change

2009-07-10T01:43:00.003+08:00

I need to get better.

There're times when you feel inspired, like all the world was behind you, conspiring to lift you to whatever your imagination can conjure. Those are uplifting times; moments where you feel no task is too mammoth, no story too hard, no word or phrase hiding in the crevices, every syllable hopping in greedily like a hungry elf, each one only too eager to present themselves before you.

And then there are ruts.
Which is precisely where I feel I'm in. I am.. uninspired. These are woeful times, when the occasional thought which pops up is too puny or insignificant, where words decide to sheath themselves from me, where even a paragraph seems too tough to produce.
I feel myself stagnating, perhaps dumbed down by my occupation. There is no.. fire anymore.

And that's why we need change.
I need to get better. I need words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, stanzas, passages, statements, ideas, opinions, thoughts, creativity. I need so much more.
But I'll have to start somewhere - back to basics.

Words. Five a day; that's basic enough. Take a look at the words I'm using - too plebeian for anything substantial. (plebeian - pertaining to the common people/ common, commonplace) I want something beautiful, something special, not just any old sophomoric work. (sophomoric - suggestive of the traditional sophomore: intellectually pretentious yet immature)

Reading. I haven't been reading enough. Sure, it's easy to say I don't have the time, but I''d be partially lying if I said that. I've been stuck on the same page of the same book for the past few weeks already, and my guess is I should do something 'bout it. Alright so here's the plan, I'll finish up my book by Sunday, I promise. Have some faith in me, I'll try.

I don't want to end up an egregious (extraordinary in some bad, glaring way) failure in writing the stuff I try to write. There's my dream waiting to be fulfilled y'know. Someday, I'll get it done, someday.

It's mighty morphing time! No wait..

2009-06-28T14:41:00.004+08:00

It must be a Singaporean thing. I saw this queue just the other day and I couldn't tear myself from it. There's something oddly alluring about queues, it's like Winnie the Pooh and honey; a panda and his bamboo; singapore football and the world cup. (no wait, scratch the last one)

I joined in - gladly - and it turned out unlike all the other queues, this time I had to actually pay for something. And so I ended up straining my neck right way up front, for a peek at giant toys frolicking on Earth, praying there was a free gift or something - we only queue for free stuff, no?

I will proclaim loudly that I am an updated person. I have the newest gadgets, I know the latest news, I have the latest heat-sensing thermometers, and I watched the latest, hottest, most popular movie. Not that it was any good for me, though.

Well, for starters, all of the transformers know how to speak English. Which actually might not be so bad, or we wouldn't know what they talked about in their cute, zany voices. But of course being a person so fessed up with details, I was naturally quite disturbed with the English-spouting toys. Shouldn't they have some extremely complicated alien vernacular to converse in, instead of this odd, jumbled up language that we have..?
(Note to director: just between us, try using alien language in the next film, you might just get another oscar for best foreign language film or something.)

The old toys. Yes, this time round there're old-er metal pieces trying to carve a career for themselves.
(Note to transformers: Quit trying so hard, just do some drugs or get a scandal and your future's all taken care of.)
I was pretty puzzled by the intricate metal things around their mouths; it looked to me like a unique new design by the producers. Until.. someone pointed out that they were there to represent facial hair. Or facial iron, whatever.

I wonder how they actually grow out, though. At first I thought it looked pretty intriguing, y'know, having some realism in those robots. But having giant metal plates swinging towards you everytime they appear in a scene isn't exactly the most pleasant sight.
(Note to self: Start shaving.)

Action movies aren't my favourite genre, that much I'll admit. I don't exactly like paying to get a throbbing brain and watching people (and aliens, robots, cars, etc.) run around either barren deserts or crowded streets with this 'augrhhh' look permanently etched on their faces. Don't get me wrong, most films are fine. But there's always the occasional one which drains my brain cells at such an alarming speed I only pray my hairline doesn't follow suit as well.

Now, you might say I'm just a lonely loser who can't appreciate nice action films starring enlarged toys (and I won't say you're wrong). But to each his own, as optimus prime would say, so please don't get too enraged at me. I just don't like the idea that someday I'll wake up and watch the Toyota Corolla parked downstairs morph into a gun-wielding beast. And especially if he turns out to be an effeminate alien; that's just freaky.

And no, there wasn't any free gift. Darn it.

menthol-flavoured hikes

2009-06-28T00:39:00.003+08:00

goosebumps raised into little hills
pouts and tears and sobbing sniffs
prams and arms a fort around
the little one languishing in his little town

prancing with the little feet
muffled patter of dancing tips
each step blistering with lingering tweets
a sound too soothing for mums' lips

snowtopped knolls and cloud-covered malls
children playing and daddies yell fore
climbing mountains; wrapped in a suit
mask in hand, and gloves to boot

billowing soil and flying shards
pieces aplenty and always too large
walking on water with big bad trucks
heavy and crumbling on bloody big ducks

borders afalling, shameless pretences
hot-blooded fools and muttered expressions
parked wishes, highway of dreams
leaving a land, regrets and hope

3862, 5003
heaped up mountains and a life thus free
7266, 3550
pointing to the gates of a returning hero

illy rides and jimnated rules
of eating tangerines and big beaded spools
fried upon crisps of rust-covered tools
and the lightly tossed salad of a maiden lamb's wool

teacups filled with brimmings of wheat
showered heaps of hay-covered meat
fluffy twirls, lovely and raw
each one topped with the grilled dragon boar

a mighty dense cake made from ground-tasted flour
grated lemon rinds, just a little sour
quasi smoked bacon, bits too dour
in its place, a mint-tipped flower

baked to perfection, choc-tipped snowballs
swirled like a sommelier, bitter in fall
soft and fruity, a little less salt
lest it be weathered, nibbled with malt

writing bored lines, meaningless fancies
just like fritters, fried up by pansies
effeminate dishes, words chose with care
kilimanjaro and choclate hair.

ohwell, goodbye!
don't try to read anything into the words above, they really are random, not a summary of my life or anything, honest.
but it's been a decently nice week, let's all hope (call me selfish) the next two are just as fine, eh?

shooting the moon

2009-06-21T12:11:00.004+08:00

a spinning susan - a summary

squeaking babies and tarnished floors
pointless dresses and rickety doors
screaming guns all boys adore
of darkish suits and the coastal shore
hand on bag and au revoir
riveting aches and ankles sore
with duties atop and tiredness galore
a big loud boom and skirting soil
the sun beats down, amid the toil
plagued with dirt and topped with grins
a table set and flashes dimmed
funny man, his sheepish smile
a newfound place, we all will go
lingering, misses, hits and hisses
swept beneath the grand ol' dame
of buried clothes and brand new names
driven with the scent of thought
beings to find a pleasant yoke
from jaunts loved, and dreams fought
with blueberries and british milk
a land best known in b and m
the ground of wars for swathes of legs
a pleasant black, and mystery smoke
an idol of faith, pillars and walls
parapet to unsheath a massive lore
flecks of uneven dirt on every surface
each one cleaned with remarkable grace
people lost and friends unmet
the past numbed in vats of sweat
braced efforts and tireless frolics
in happy smiles and tied up treats
a mache pinata of wildering sweets
waiting atop the tiresome leaps
dreads and fears tidied and kept
with a soulful hand, a life he led.

and that's exactly how my week went, pretty well i guess.
now i'll be sent elsewhere for the next few months, and getting all weak again.
it really isn't much of a big deal, all this shit with the ranks, because from the outside it looks all preppy and neat, but then dig a little deeper and the fake tresses all fall out. but it isn't nice to air the warts here, but i'll be glad to share.

planes and trucks, grime and muck
moving wheels, summer chills

goodbye

Walking with a twang

2009-06-15T15:06:00.002+08:00

twang.

i somehow managed to live past the few excursions to the jungles in the past weeks, and only dying once, which is actually rather surprising considering how weak i am, so i guess i'll have to be pretty glad about that.
going off to someplace else soon (hopefully), and off to fight giant ants in a foreign land. reminds me of a song actually.

-to a foreign destiny
where fate left you to be
the world just isn't certain anymore..

there're burglars round the corner
guns and knives around
but all that matters
is that you're leaving now.

to a land far away
how much i wish you'd stay
but no, no, no
you have to go.

the ants are big and strong
their feelers thick and long
fight them with every ounce
kill them by the pounds

their claws are like blades
which could make a lemonade
but be strong and fight on
and we'll meet at the promenade

someday you'll be back here
by my side where you belong
where you know i'll be near
where we'll laze and sing this song

and the ants...
they're forever..
gone.

okay so i made that up, but what the heck.
i guess i'll leave with a nice little quote from the book i'm reading, the moviegoer by Walker Percy, pretty interesting book ya.
"A rumble has commenced in my descending bowel, heralding a tremendous defecation"
Amazing how he puts the situation in his place. oh well, till the sun sets again.

suntanning with the squirrels

2009-05-31T01:29:00.003+08:00

I'm detached from the real world.
I realise I don't know anything anymore, I think I'm probably getting dumber by the day. Quite a bit has happened so far, now I'm left with just.. 28 weeks more, I think.
June is starting, and I hope it'll be nice.
I promise to work harder at keeping myself in touch with the outside world.
There's this book I'm reading by Walker Percy - the last gentleman - and I actually had difficulty reading it even though it ought to be just another normal book, not one of those crazy types full of big words in every sentence.
Oh well, haha.

Corn of thought

2009-05-03T12:06:00.001+08:00

*cue corny contemplative music*

What is a mathematical world? Are we living in a mathematical world, a world ruled and regulated by mathematics?
"The visible world is merely an illusion that hides the real mathematical reality of things."
This is what Pythagoras said, in a different language and a long long time ago. Now the main idea behind this 'mathematical world' is that mathematics seems to be embedded in everything. Numbers, e.g. pi, fibonacci numbers, appear in odd, random and common places. Is it then only intuitive and right to say that math is a logical necessity or entity inherent in everything?

Let's use an example to illustrate this. The table I'm writing on is round, and its every property can be summed up using a list of mathematical forms. The paper I use is rectangular, with right angled edges, the chair is tilted to a certain angle, my pen moves at a certain speed and direction in accordance to whatever amount of effort I put in. Pi, especially, appears in so many problems it seems nothing can escape its grasp.

But math is but present only with human perception. It might exist as a logical entity without the perception of humans, that is, independent of our mind, or an objective fact which doesn't need our affirmation, but we cannot prove it. The world was set in a pre-defined way, humans coming after and looking at the world in our own odd way, and in that, introduced mathematics.

Did we then discover mathematics? Some might say we discovered math, and I then ask, who put it in place for us to discover? This of course, might have some links to religion, but this question is highly pertinent to the issue of a mathematical world. If I say that math was a discovery, then it must be that mathematics existed before humans, and we in turn, managed to uncover it with our intelligent minds. Can mathematics exist, if it isn't discovered (i.e. before we 'discovered' it)?

Let's look at say, a design of a chair. If I have a design of a chair, and I have constructed this chair, it is only fair to say that the chair exists. But what if I have yet to construct this chair? Does it then exist, because I have the design for the chair? Similarly, the discovery of mathematics is like the construction of this chair. I might have the design of the chair (the components I need, circles, right angles, for me to discover mathematics), but without actually constructing this chair, can I say that it exists?

If then, mathematics is an inherent property, existing objectively and within objects, then we cannot 'discover' it, because we would then intuitively 'know' it. Discovery, in this case, would refer to the acquisition of new knowledge, due to the chance encounter with previously unknown entities (which may not always be fact).

There is a certain flow to this concept of a mathematical world. If I am willing to, I can put patterns to every single thing. I refer to the idea of pi or fractal numbers in explaining or predicting patterns and occurrences. In that case, can I not simply use the idea of numbers as evidence enough for me to say we live in a mathematical world? There is a table in front of me, I make use of a mathematical entity, the number one, to refer to it. Is that proof enough that we live in a mathematical world? It is easy to force patterns onto anything, possibly because I have no set rule to how much actually constitutes a pattern, and whether extending this pattern into possible but non-existent entities is accepted. So in that case, is math then simply the result of us trying to eke out a logical and rational explanation to everything?

Take a logical equation, 2+2 = 4, for example. It seems that this is purely synthetic, an axiom which in effect is a tautology. It appears that this equation existed and will be true before humans and will survive the extinction of humans. But is it not apparent that it only exists because of human perception? If I were the ruler of this world, and I changed 4 with 5, 2+2=5 would then be totally logical. We can see that it is logical only because I set it to be, and not because this world made it so. Mathematics might just be a language for what we cannot yet put into words, or we cannot explain otherwise.

Language is universal only by definition. Its use does not in any way mean that it has to be equal and same for every living thing or person. Likewise, mathematics is seen to be universal, but is it as open as language? Let's take, for example, the concept of angles. I must first clarify that I am terribly poor in mathematics, and so I hope any mistakes would be viewed upon with forgiving eyes. Perhaps I might see a wall - a rectangular wall - and I'm immediately inclined to think that the angles between perpendicular lines which make up its outline form an angle of 90 degrees, in accordance to the popular theories of mathematics. Would I then be wrong to say that this angle can be 180degrees, as long as I work on a scale of 720degrees instead of half that?

If you agree that I'm right, that it is only logical that this angle can be multiplied by two, as long as I adopt this new scale and make sure I'm strictly working with 720 degrees instead, then mathematics no longer seems universal. Perhaps in this way, it might bear a greater resemblance to language, where the issue of personal relevance will always butt in. That then derides the proposition that we live in a mathematical world, for that must mean an objective boundary or set of rules inherent in everything, which, if cannot be confirmed, must then not be accepted.

If you decide that my views are flawed, then you would have your own stand totally separate from mine. Now, if I can convince everyone else to adopt my system, who's right? Looking at it in this way, is mathematics not just the common consensus on a particular way of viewing this world, and not the perception-free ideal that it is so often marketed as? If half the population takes up a certain way of mathematical thought, and the other half adopting a totally contrasting method of thinking, who is correct? And if mathematics is open to such a dividing split, it does not then seem to be that we live in a mathematical world.

Going back to the idea of a system of 720degrees instead of 360degrees, I see that adopting this system would mean having to change my understanding of everything else, i.e. area, circumference, etc. We can see, by extension, how one form of mathematics, or rather, a certain theory of mathematics, depends with much rigidity on another. If I tweak one, I must change the rest to suit this new set of mathematical rules. Is it not then evident that all this is merely a form of circular reasoning, much like the Cartesian circle? The truth of my proposition is dependent on postulating the basis of this proposition, and vice versa. Such a method of proof does not even vaguely seem concrete enough to warrant acceptance. (Of course, we must be sure that this does not mean it warrants falsification, but merely the fact that as of yet, it cannot be proven sufficiently to goad my conversion.)

-End

I tear your paper!

2009-05-01T00:34:00.002+08:00

Ha, so now NUS has taken my philosophy away from me. Okay, so it isn't exactly their fault, but still.. how could they!? Alright, now I have only one choice to choose from, which actually means there isn't a choice, or perhaps I have only been offered one course from which to make my decision, and in this case the range in which I am able to make my decision in has been revised downwards.

Okay enough. So now I'm no longer a potential student of philosophy, but rather a potential 'business administration & communications and new media. (note the & and and) student, after they somehow considered me capable of dealing with a doubledeg, which seems more like an honest mistake than an elaborate ploy to kill me by stressing me out. But (right now) I don't want to take canm, I'd prefer my philosophy (and I'm actually quite proud to say that, which isn't a good thing because I think I might just be a bloody fingfang in it). So oh well, we'll see, there's still time, ha.

Now now, I'm glad I'll have 2 (hopefully) long weekends before my overseas trip soon to acquaint myself with nature. I guess the many (relatively, c'mon) long (again, relatively) weekends this year can't be a bad thing, not at all. It's only just starting (even though I have only done five weeks), so it's still fine, but that might not last, so I just hope I'll be either too occupied to even think about it, or too occupied with my own stuff to even think about it.
And apparently I received some undeserved awards from tjc, too bad I'll be overseas, aww.

Untitled

2009-04-25T23:56:00.004+08:00

He strode into the room, stride after stride, each step resounding with a little more oomph than the last. It was a grand, old ballroom; one of those he used to see in the picture books his gramma used to show him when he was little. There were creaking, rusty chandeliers hanging from the flaking ceilings, chipped and blunt where they used to glitter.

There was a large mirror at the far end of the ballroom, standing proud and upright like an old dame looking over the marbled floor. From where he stood, it was flawless, an expansive mass plastered onto the greyed walls, just like it always was. The man shuffled towards the mirror. It was inch-coated with a layer of fine dust, covering its shimmering beauty beneath. He put out his finger and swiped it across the smooth glass, tearing underneath his fingers a stroke of glimmer, from which he could just make out his own reflection.

The corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly. He had been here before; the man could still remember the days he spent, feet gliding over the smooth marble, each click of his heel answered by a spin, a turn, a toss, oh! Those were the days...! His hand moved across the face of the large mirror, caressing the places his reflection used to inhabit years ago; he could just make out the tails of his coat pinching the tips of another black dress, flirting with the flutter of feet flittering across the ballroom. A gust of resignation fell from his lips. Those days were over, he thought to himself, as he turned away, his fingers disobediently hesitant as they finally parted with the shining glass, coated with the dust of nostalgia.

He had a dream, but was he dreaming?

2009-04-19T00:53:00.002+08:00

Haha I have only a precarious 34 weeks more to go, so let's all hope I get to get through it.

So I guess I'm going to forsake going down the path so many other people take, just so I can do something I'm actually hoping I have enough interest in.
I'm going to study philosophy.
I think it's a really tough decision to make. Sure, I can give you an entire list of what philosophy can do, but it isn't exactly an orthodox path, at least here. And frankly speaking, I'm afraid I'll end up a grumpy old git trapped in a nursing home.

I wouldn't have minded taking something more... traditional, conventional, maybe even practical; business, medicine, law, economics and the like. But it took some effort to convince myself that I didn't want to be 35 and thinking about what might have been. Other people will probably look down on me and say I'm just doing something people go into simply because they have no choice, or that I'm not being pragmatic enough to understand what's good for me (and my future?).

*Almost everyone thinks I'm joking when I tell them that's what I want to read, and probably very few actually know what philosophy is all about. (Too many confuse it with psychology) Philosophy is something beyond, or beneath. Philosophy is in everyone and everything. Philosophy is whatever we want answers to. It is knowledge and ignorance. It is everything and nothing at the same time. It is viable and unusable. It is something and it isn't. *

And I won't disagree with them. It doesn't take much to realise that on the surface, it's a pretty impractical decision. Peel off that skin-thin layer, and it still looks like a really rash choice. But I think I'll never be able to live in peace knowing I passed on this chance to do something I felt/wanted to do. I mean, I'm not bright, I don't have much up there, all I'm doing now is just praying I'll actually be good (at least decent enough) at philosophy.

I guess I don't know what to expect or what I'll become (probably some boring, wonky person stuck behind a desk somewhere). Oh well, tell me I made a good choice.

Purple oranges

2009-04-12T17:34:00.002+08:00

Meh, I swear I'm getting dumber by the day...
There's this book I randomly picked up (The tale of a tub, Jonathan Swift) to bring into camp and I swear I couldn't even get past the first five pages without incessantly re-reading and re-reading, and I still don't get what it's talking about!

Seriously, at this rate I'm going to morph into a mindless rabbit in a permanent seizure in no time.

Anyway.. at least I'm getting used to whatever we're doing. Anytime I'm doing something I don't really like doing I just tell myself to look at the brighter side, and it usually works. Or look over at the darker side (which is the building across) and be happy I'm not there.
Oh well, it'll all be over soon!

Once upon a time..

2009-03-18T22:11:00.004+08:00

Men are disturbed not by things, but by the view which they take of them.
-Epictetus

Reality does not affect us. Reality is objective occurrence, which we cannot avoid or change, for the simple reason that it has occurred. We cannot deny this reality, but we can choose not to accept it. It is simply an unfeeling situation which befalls us, subjected by time. It has no preference, no feelings, no ideas, no bias. It simply is.

Reality will be processed. What we think we have thought. The thought which you now think does not occur in the present, but in the past. Views form when reality is processed. Thought consists of only the subjective. Realities when processed, are no longer realities. (But that is a reality in itself) If man was void of thought, there will be no joy nor sorrow. Processing of reality results in formation of subjectivity. Subjectivity is borne by thought. Thought is subjective. Subjectivity is not thought. Thought is not objective. Thought is not reality, but it can be a subset of reality. Thought makes us the way we are. We see through thought. We hear through thought. We sense through thought.

Thought affects everything we know, because all we know we have thought. (Don't fight with the premise of knowledge here, please) We know emotions, because we sense it, because of thought. Thought causes emotions, not reality. Processing of reality causes thought. Processing of reality causes emotions. Men are affected not by reality, but by thought.

Thoughtless v5.0

2009-03-18T01:10:00.000+08:00

Do facts actually have any value in philosophy? When we derive facts, we make a proposition, and dig out these facts in order to support this proposition. A typical process would thus go: I think this works, I try it out, it works, I try it out a few times, it still works, fact is it works. But are they actually useful? When we look at a proposition, should we not question the root, and not the product of this particular proposition? For example, when I look into an argument, should I be concerned with what the argument says, or what the argument bases itself upon?

By looking into what the argument claims, I am already accepting the basis of this particular argument. Could this blur my view of the argument in question? I believe that in an ideal scenario, we will look into the foundations of anything we wish to question, and that will be the only way we can constructively criticise or appraise any argument or proposition, and I might even go so far as to say that without such a process, all propositions become assumed (There is a word for this, datum, if I am not wrong), and it no longer can be said to be right or wrong.

Is reality a concrete figure, made up of its parts? Or is it non-existent, the general 'reality' simply a group of 'realities', all coming together in a confluence to form this ultimate 'reality'? This may seem confusing and contradictory, so I will try to clarify as much as possible. By using the analogy of a concrete figure, I'm asking if reality fixed, a universal umbrella which will not exist if any of its constituents were missing. In the second question, I mean to ask if there were smaller umbrellas underneath this universal 'umbrella', whereby even without a small umbrella, the other small umbrellas would not cease to exist, but simply that they would be unable to interact properly in the right way to form the original universal reality.

Let's assume reality is as it is. That is, that everything we experience is reality; I see a cup, the cup truly exists without question. In the first scenario, when someone removes this cup by some outworldly means, will everything collapse? Will all reality simply cease to exist? If I accept this first scenario, everything will end because of this missing cup; all reality will fall apart, and nothing would exist anymore, because this particular reality requires all its constituent components to be available and interacting, such that they interact in perfect harmony to make up this ultimate reality.

In our second scenario, with the assumption that 'reality is as it is' still applicable, we see a different outcome from this change. When the cup is removed, it effects a change in only one of the many smaller umbrellas of realities, and not all of reality, since this cup is an entity in only one of these smaller realities. However, does this mean that the universal reality will fail, because one of its entities is incomplete?

Next, on to free will. What is the smallest 'unit' endowed with free will? This question may present itself in many forms, but all of them concern one basic problem. What is considered free will? Can I say that a random protozoan is any less free than I am, simply because I am endowed with the ability to criticise it from a third-person viewpoint (i.e. I can watch it and observe it, I can comment on it without reply, etc.), or because I am apparently more complex than it is?

Wow wow I left this as a draft for so long. I'm a wee bit lazy to continue, so terse, banal statements will have to do.

Where was I?
Without free will, would all motive be simply imagined?
What separates 'dead matter' from life, is it consciousness? Are we then no bigger or different when compared to a supposedly mindless protozoan? And since a protozoan is living, does it then have a 'soul' similar to Man, if you're into that kind of stuff?
Perhaps the ideas of life, motives, abilities are merely an attempt to place Man above the rest, when in truth we are no greater than anyone/anything else, except maybe having a slightly greater amount of grey matter.

Are we not just another evolutionary step, and not the zenith of all the history of this world (which is probably what we make ourselves out to be)? I find that this statement brings out a lot of contemplative thought, because the equivalent of mankind before us was the meridien, until humankind took over. In the same way, we are but another step to a greater being, and myself simply a pawn on the chessboard to advancing our species.

If you accept free will, must you then reject God? (By God, I do not refer to any specific entity, just to be clear about that. Rather, I am pointing to a belief, a theism, the idea of a divine being.)
Can free will exist with laws?
Simply 'feeling' free is in most ways useless, as it does not confer any reality, or knowledge about being free. Its only use is perhaps as a delusion.

The thought that our own states of mind or thinking is more 'real', is simply an imagined illusion, which cannot be proven true. It is this way only because it gives the illusion of personal control. We seem to have greater control/knowledge of ourselves than any objective fact/object that we see around.

Laws - 'laws are not set in stone'
Laws are records, not guidelines, however much they seem to be that way. The only laws which appear to be guidelines are unnatural, man-made laws. In that case, are laws in place before they are discovered, or do they come into place upon empirical discovery? (A very vibrant example of this is the idea of gravity and Newton)
If the former is true, are laws still laws if they serve no purpose?
Or are laws merely subjective descriptions of things as they exist, possibly a subset of the 'natural' law, but restrained so they serve a self-serving purpose? Let me explain briefly: let us assume that a natural law exists, a natural way followed by everything. However, this law is only apparent to me to the extent to which I can experience it. I do not understand the law of another galaxy because I do not belong there. However, even with this natural law, it remains 'restrained', because parts of it do not serve my purpose. I only understand the portions which correspond to my experience and my intention, and forsake that which fail to reflect my motives.

Does motivation (motives) already distance a person from free will? (since his motives are already a factor pressing on his supposed freedom)
Motives are the result of character and personality. And so, can any man be truly 'free'? First off, what do we refer to by 'freedom'?
Is it independence from external influences? Since our personality is what determines our decision, and any decision we make is probably affected by every aspect of our lives, and every aspect of our lives, in turn, were caused by factors beyond human personal influence, we cannot have total free will, for we can never escape external influence

Do laws describe, explain or cause?
*(I quote) 'the law is nothing but a compedious description of these motions'
Even natural law as told by humans are but descriptions of collated empirical observations.
Without these observations, the law is nothing, but without the law, these observations will still remain.
In this way, laws only show not what is supposed to happen, but rather what is predicted to happen, based on what has already happened. (I limit laws to merely 'natural' laws, and not human laws)
I can change the law to reflect any changes in observation, but I cannot change the law and EXPECT a subsequent corresponding change.

Cause and effect work in both directions, and any observation will only tell us about expectation.
A cause is just as important as the effect it creates, for without this effect, the cause would not be as it is, or even associated with this effect, and hence be seen in a different level altogether. Hence, what I mean to say is, a cause NEEDS its effect, as much as an effect NEEDS its cause.

It is easy to assume freedom simply based on sheer introspection. 'I am free to choose my path', for instance. It seems awfully clear that that alone allows freedom of volition, yet we miss out, besides the naturally endowed, the fact that our choices are limited, that the scope to our freedom is not one that we can freely choose from. For example, being a male, I cannot select paths which are exclusive to that of a female. But one thing must be made clear, that this 'freedom' in question is that of self, and not any collective group of individuals, objects, etc.

If freedom can only go as far as it is limited, perfect freedom must clearly be separated from complete freedom. For example, I am free to move from (a hypothetical) point A to B or C, but I am still limited by the inherent limitations, that is, I am not free or able to fly from A to B or C. There are a lot of angles from which to view these limitations, i.e. I cannot move to a point D, because it is not an option available to me.

*We are free in proportion as we are self-determined, and we are self-determined in proportion as we are in harmony with the whole.
Our freedom requires a condition, that is, harmony with the Universal Will.

The complex interaction between and within our desires make it hard for freedom of will to be possible (complete freedom), if it is taken to mean the satisfaction of these desires, for every deliberate action is made with its end in mind, and for each action there is a high probability that more than one desire is involved, which may be in conflict with another governing the very same action. And so, even if the most satisfactory route is taken, not all desires can be satisfied. If one universal all-encompassing desire, that of satisfaction of all desires, is taken into consideration, then all desires can never be fulfilled.

*Virtue consists in harmony with the will of the Whole, and in harmony with the whole lies the secret of perfect freedom.

*Science tells us what we can know, but what we can know is little, if we forget how much we cannot know.

When not subjected to artificial laws, that is, when a man is bound only by 'natural laws', which can be said to be initiated or conformed to without conscious action, what is the man like? Does he then create his own set of artificial laws to live by? Is that the reason behind the rising of 'deviants'?

Of course I realise no one would read this post, but still, I had to do it. Forgive me.

2009-03-11T00:14:00.002+08:00

Life doesn't always go your way.

Familiar? Perhaps you've read it somewhere before, or heard it from someone, because I know I have. Now then, let us examine this statement in greater detail. Life. What is life? I cannot exactly pinpoint it to anything particular, because I cannot define it. As much as I try, all definitions I give are only mere images, and understanding life requires intuition, something beyond my ability. So how do we then give life, at least in this statement, a proper common boundary? Let me put it like this; life is like a painting, ourselves being either bystanders or painters, depending on whichever school you belong to, as we watch it unfold. This may actually be a rather poor attempt at trying to describe life, because it is apparent I'm skimming past so many other factors which affect this painting; external occurrences, the nature of the paintbrush, the way each stroke is formed, the intricacies of the painting, the inspiration behind the painting, etc. All of these factors conform to a certain facet of reality which indubitably affects our 'life', and which in turn lend 'life' its uncertainties, its uniqueness, its beauty. But nonetheless, let's just overlook all of that.

Next up, 'your way'. What do we mean by 'your way' or 'my way'? When I use this term, am I implying control over my life, or do I mean it in another way, a desire, perhaps? My way. These two words strike up a certain picture in the mind, a subconscious belief (or desire to believe?) that I am able to control my own life - I choose the way it pans out, I choose my paths, I choose my route, I decide what happens. There are occasions which lend weight to this argument; whether to eat an apple or an orange, whether to turn left or to turn right, whether to pick up a phone call, etc. It is easy to understand this path of thought, which is that 'my way' implies that I can, at the very least, choose how I want my life to turn out, that is, my desire to exert control over my very own life, the way I would like it to be.

Life doesn't always go your way. Do we then truly know our way? We are so often seemingly forced into circumstances which apparently are against us, and luck is a common victim of blame. When I say that life doesn't go my way, am I referring to a deviance between the way my life is, and the way I wanted it to be? To be honest, that is probably the way most people see it. But do we really know what 'our way' is?

We are affected by our experiences, each new stroke of the brush controlled by the past, the present and the future. In our lives we collect these experiences, albeit subconsciously, and these serve as the handrails of our lives, orientating us towards the next path to take. When we speak of desire, it does not necessarily reflect reality, because true desire (must) exist in the absence of external complications, where only the intuition speaks. Perhaps this is what they mean by the unrepressed mind, unstrained by external restrictions which impose themselves onto us, a plague on all our thoughts and decisions. This polluted cloud of thought is what we see as our desire, tainted by foreign entities which serve only to perhaps deviate us from our true desired path. And so, if true desire cannot be discovered, am I right to say that I will not know the truth of the statement, 'Life doesn't always go your way'?

Let's look at it from another point of view. Life, and your way. Assuming these are the two entities we are interested in, each of them separately independent of the other, I can use an analogy to describe this statement, which is that life is a railway track, of a length possibly equal to that of your way, another railway track. These railway tracks intertwine to form a complex criss-cross of tracks, each intersection demarcating the points in life where 'life goes your way'. However, I am immediately inclined to question the truth of this analogy. Does my way not depend on the past, which, since life tends towards reality much more than 'your way' does, follows the track of life? In that case, am I not right to say that 'your way' must follow the path of 'life', or it will be thoroughly incomprehensible, since the future depends on the present and the past, the present of which is an intersection between both tracks, the past being an overlap of both tracks?

At this point, I am rather confused by what I am saying, because it hardly makes any sense (note I used hardly, because I want to think that it makes at least some sense). But what I'm trying to say here is, we cannot say that life doesn't always go 'your way', for they are not independent entities like what we make them out to be, but most certainly dependent on one another. This statement cannot exist without the existence of 'my way', but its veracity is questionable. Perhaps when I have time, yes?

Thoughtless v4.2

2009-02-22T13:01:00.002+08:00

"That all the great men have been great by reason of some one molecule hitting up against some other a little oftener than in other men"
Am I free of blame for my ineptitude?

"We are free in proportion as we are self-determined, and we are self-determined in proportion as we are in harmony with the whole."
"Virtue consists in harmony with the will of the whole, and in harmony with the whole lies the secret of perfect freedom."
Am I free to blame my lack of freedom?
Or is that freedom in conflict with 'the will of the whole'...?

Thoughtless v4.1

2009-01-06T10:05:00.002+08:00

I guess we need a break from time to time. Call it a brief hiatus, or a fortuitous absence, but I'd prefer to call it a break.
As one plan is put on hold, the wheels of another start to turn.

So this is a final bout of thoughts.
First off, back to the talk about rights. Are rights not important only to those who are able to exercise these rights? That is to say, what is the distinction between having these rights and being able to exercise them? Am I correct in saying that only when I am able to access and exercise rights, do I truly 'have' them? For example, let's use the example of a slave (draconian, but it'll do). Person A has power over a slave, B. B, being a human being, is naturally conferred the 'right to live' (assuming its existence). But B's live is entirely in the hands of A, as A has total power over B. In this case, B is unable to exercise this 'right to live', since B's life is in the hands of A. So does B actually have the 'right to live'?
Perhaps what is not important is whether or not these rights exist, but whether they play any important role, or are of any significance at all. If I am not able to access my rights, what is the use of even mentioning them? Is a 'right' still a right if I'm not able to claim them? So right now perhaps this is moving into the questioning of what we mean when we say 'right'. Is it a factual thing? As I have questioned before, is morality factual? In that case, are all rights pre-determined by someone/something, or are they simply figments of the mind, passed down through the ages?

The same right may appear to different people in different ways. I'll raise the example of a dying patient, who is unable to make an independent decision, and relies on his relatives on the decision whether or not to end his life (euthanasia?). Half of his relatives believe that they should relieve his pain and let him die, whereas the other half thinks that they should preserve the sanctity of life and allow him to live. As you can see, this is a classic case of subjectivity when it comes to human rights. The first half believes in the 'right to die', whereas to the other set of relatives, this appears as the 'right to live'. So this same right appears concerning the life of the patient is viewed in two different ways by two different set of relatives, which represents two different types of minds. As you can see, both conflict each other, yet they are both valid arguments to make. Ultimately, their opinion takes into account personal relevance, a term I have often been using when touching on morality. The importance of subjectivity must not be overlooked, for very often things are different for different people.

Of course, you might have missed it, but it is just as important to note that I used the words 'let' and 'allow'. In both cases, the decisions, or opinions of the patient's relatives appear to them as 'letting him die/live'. In other words, they are talking about exercising the rights conferred upon the patient, regardless of whether this right appears to them as inherent or artificially conferred. The common ground here is that both set of relatives believe that they are doing the patient a favour by offering to claim the patient's rights on his behalf, and at the same time, both believe strongly in the patient's claim to these rights. This is exactly what I mean by the level of subjectivity which needs to be taken into account when looking at rights. I may look at a certain 'right' or subject differently, but I can look at it with the same vigour as another person whose view differs from mine. In this case, I am right, because the others are wrong. But to them, they are right and I am wrong. So who can decide who's right or wrong?
The only thing I know is that I can decide if I'm right or wrong. But no matter what I say, no one ever needs to believe me.

Oh well, byebye! See you after my short vacation overseas!

Thoughtless v4.0

2009-01-04T22:41:00.003+08:00

Is it easier to make a decision or to justify it?
By reducing a decision to its components, we can see exactly where all that difficulty comes from, or can we? In the decision-making process, we first try to understand the underlying situation in which the decision is to be made. Of course, the extent to which information about the situation is available to us is limited, but we make do with whatever information we have. For example, let's say A looks at a bag, and is considering buying it. The situation in which this decision is to be made is quite clear. Firstly, there is the bag. The 'underlying situation' here hence includes the features of the bag, its design, its capabilities, etc. depending on how the bag presents itself to him (through a shop window, as a picture on the web, etc.), the availability of other bags, blabla.

The next component is his subconscious personal mind. This is where A's character comes in. The situation here includes things like whether A is a thrifty person, whether bags excite A, whether A has any particular affinity with the design of the bag in question. The third component is more obvious, and appears to hold the largest weightage (note: appears), and that is the physical, visible, tangible circumstances preceding any purchase of the bag. This includes stuff like A's financial situation, whether A really needs a bag, etc. Next up is the mental justification. For simplicity's sake, let's assume A wants to buy the bag, because the one he has has been stolen. This step of the decision making process involves trying to justify his intuitive choice to buy the bag. In this case, it is pretty simple. My bag was stolen; I don't have a bag to use now; I'll buy a bag; this bag appeals to me; I'll buy this bag; my decision is justified. So even though it may be a split-second decision to buy the bag, there are many underlying factors that result in this decision. However, the problem sometimes presents itself post-decision.

To use this example, A's mother asks him for the reason why he bought the bag (let's just assume it's relatively expensive). A immediately puts his personal justification he did in his head, in words, and tells her that he needs it because his old bag was stolen. Now immediately, this justification can be seen to be blatantly single-sided, that is, the justification failed to cover all possible bases. As a result, it is open to much questioning. A's mother can ask him questions such as the reason why he bought that particular bag and not a cheaper one, why A had chosen that particular design, why A didn't visit a different shop, why A didn't just use his father's bag...

As you can see, it might seem comparatively simple to make a decision, as the only justification needed is the justification to oneself. However, it is justifying this decision after making it which may seem more troublesome. Perhaps the supposed need, or potential need for justification makes decision-making such a hard process, as compared to the justification during the decision-making process. Nevertheless, I acknowledge that the justification done during the decision-making process may not be an easy feat as well, but that of course differs from decision to decision.

Now I'd like to refer to the 'majority' concept I mentioned previously. There is an inherent flaw in this 'majority' concept, and with this it cannot be applied universally. First of all, it cannot be denied that much as we would like to think of ourselves as united as humans on Earth, we aren't. There are different societies and communities and hence, cultures and traditions, etc. So this majority concept is thoroughly flawed when viewing this world in its parts and not as a whole. A particular community may have a certain majority opinion about something, which may differ from the opinion of another community. This is particularly evident in religious circles. Certain actions may be seen as typical of a religious heretic in a particular religion, but may be the tenet of another. So as much as this majority concept may seem readily applicable, it isn't.

Are rights conferred or naturally inherited? That is, does everyone have a set of basic rights they are entitled to? And what do I mean by 'entitled'? Does that mean I can reject these rights?
Again, by rights, what do I truly mean? Everyone has a different perspective pertaining to human rights, so my 'need' for basic rights is more definitely different from someone else. In that case, how are we to know which rights are 'God-given' (speaking from a completely secular standpoint), and which are man-made? By even accepting that we, as humans, have rights, I am accepting that there are inherent rights, and not externally conferred. How do I sieve out and recognise these rights?

These rights have no means of being tested, unless I put myself, or am placed in a situation which calls these rights into question. For example, I will assume that one of the inherent rights I possess is the 'right to live'. Right now as I live, the presence or absence of my 'right to live' is not questioned, and in fact it doesn't even seem to be worthy of my attention. It is only when I am placed in a situation where these rights seem to be of importance, however trivial, that they become apparent. If I suddenly go into a coma, only supported by artificial means, perhaps this 'right to live' will then become important and hence, be questioned. So does that mean that this 'right to live' is always present, or does it become present only in situations where it has utility? In other words, can I call it a 'right', no matter inherent or artificially-conferred, if/when it serves no purpose?

Take the 'right to live' as mentioned above. Is it an inherent right, or is it imposed by mind? What then gives us the power to decide rights, not just for ourselves, but for others, and other organisms as well? When do these rights become 'valid'? Is it when we are capable of thought, when we are able to make rational decisions? Take abortion, for example. Does the unborn foetus get the rights that post-birth babies have? By extension, do newborns have the same amount of rights as compared to an adult, seeing how they are different (the differing ability of seeking sustenance)? And by further extension, does a disability affect the extent of my rights?

Let's move away from our rights, and look at our conferring of rights upon other organisms. Euthanasia may be a hot topic when viewed in terms of humans, but it isn't as hotly contested when it is done to animals of other species. This is seen in the case of euthanasia of horses, dogs, rats, among others. In that case, since we, as supposedly more intellectual beings, are able to decide on the rights of other organisms, am I not right in saying that this is living proof of elitism, that the fit and strong are inherently entitled to a greater power/amount of rights over this world?
That is to adopt an elitist attitude and say that we, as humans, are subject to Natural Selection, that the strong can progress even as the weak suffer? That since we appear stronger in the face of science and nature, we have more inherent rights, we have more power, we have control over the weak?

Of course, that then toes the line of morality. Is it moral to be elitist? For every weak person, there is a strong one. For each strong person, there is a stronger one. Case in point, there is a natural hierarchy in society, which is both indubitible and ineluctable. This ladder is naturally headed by those with the ability to do so, and those who do not possess this ability are naturally relegated to the lower rungs of this ladder. Even in the least fascist societies, those who practise communism, there needs to be that initial spark to trigger this communism, the leaders. So is this world not then elitist, unless each person is accorded equal amounts of power, power of rule over this world, power to decide? The leaders hold this power, and as ordinary citizens, we are unable to wield any power over this world. Sure, they may be people who say yes, we can change this world even though we are simple ordinary citizens.

Yes, we can change this world. But only to a limited extent, as long as we do not hold any power. Let's use an example to illustrate this. I am unhappy with a certain law in my country, and I want to change it. My voice alone cannot travel far; I can raise a suggestion, I can voice my opinion, but chances are it will not be heard. (And even then, do these leaders who receive my opinions not hold the final say in changing this law?) Perhaps the only logical way I can change the law is through a petition, through a large gathering of like-minded people to contest this law. However, is that not accepting that it is only in large numbers can my voice be heard, which is simply a way of 'gaining' power?

Since we are 'naturally' practising elitism, does that make it moral? An argument against this case of elitism, is that even as the strong progress, it is only right and moral for them to not leave the weak behind, but is that not contradicting our stand of supremacy over all organisms? However much we shape ourselves to appear 'non-elitist', we are already adopting that approach by saying that humans are superior to all other organisms. when looking at this statement, some might argue that this does not hold for vegetarians, since they do not consume the meat of other animals. But are plants not organisms? It is a fact of life, a natural phenomenon we have no way of stopping. Are we not naturally elitist? Of course, opponents to this viewpoint can easily argue that even as we are elitist in terms of our stand of supremacy in this world, we can still reduce it as much as possible when in terms of our fellow human beings. And they're not wrong. Being the 'thinking' beings we are, we can exercise control over our natural elitist attitudes towards others of the same species, but what is clearly apparent is that humans as a whole will never be able to relinquish elitism, not even when everyone is aware of it. It remains both natural and necessary for progress. We, as humans, only survived because we were the stronger species compared to those who died off. And no matter how we try, we can never change that. (Of course, save a new 'popular misconception', which I mentioned previously)

Who decides who is weak, and who isn't? How is this decision made? Each 'strong' person may have his own niche areas, but is weak in others. How then do we decide if he's weak or strong? Can a 'strong animal, say a very talented and clever chimpanzee, be stronger than a weak human? If so, is he then entitled to more rights than this 'weal person'? For example, if a chimp is taught how to recognise alphabets, words, and how to use a computer, and is fit and able, is he then 'stronger' or greater than a person who's say, in a vegetative state and requires artificial support for survival? In our quest for personal values, moral values, etc, I believe one must explore all possibilities before coming to a final point. These are controversial issues, and everyone may have different views, but the importance of recognising these differing views cannot be understated.

Thoughtless v3.0

2009-01-03T01:16:00.002+08:00

Nothing, except for tautologies which require the use of language to create, can be wholly explained by language.
So in effect, language limits the ways in which empirical data can be expressed. No?

Are we free to be moral, or is morality pre-determined by factors we cannot control?
Is there a middle-ground between these two 'extremes'?
Is any decision we make actually conscious? Or does it merely seem that way, because we want to think we have free will? So in effect, the question I ask here is whether we are truly able to have freedom of will. When I speak of conscious, I mean the part where we feel we're making a personal input, where we consciously and actively go through our options, values, etc. before making a decision. But is this decision not affected by circumstances independent of conscious control, such as upbringing, wealth, even location of birth?
And what is free will anyway? Is there such a thing?

Is morality factual? Is it a science?
If it is, what decides its boundaries? And if it isn't, can anything be moral, since there are no clear boundaries? What constitues morality? Is morality then meaningless?
Is morality questioning the basis of an action, or the result of an action? For example, when I look at the statement, 'He stole a pen', am I asking if the act of stealing is correct, or whether it has negative implications, or simply whether 'he' is good or bad (moral or immoral)?

What are the boundaries of morality? Is a statement such as 'The cat walked across the road' as open to morality as something like 'He stole a pen from the shop'? Does it take into account certain circumstances? Is he as 'immoral' if he is either rich or poor? How about someone who steals in order to survive? Is he as immoral as someone who steals just for the fun of it?

One view amongst many is that morality is highly subjective in nature, and each person has a different view of what is, or isn't moral. This takes into account personal relevance, personal purpose, etc. And so it is what you think is moral, and not what is moral by definition.
This morality may be affected by group demographics. If you have been exposed to the idea that something is bad, there is a high probability that you will think that it is so. This may have its basis in sociology and psychology, but it closely affects how we view things, and hence how we determine morality.
And so what society accepts as moral may simply be what the majority sees as moral. And perhaps that is the source of all controversy about morality, when the majority is simply not 'majority' enough, or when the minority begins to speak out.
For example, most of us 'know', or think that stealing a car is bad. But on occasions where personal ideals are called into question, such as in the debate about euthanasia, we find ways to present our own opinion as right, but in truth, all these opinions are not right, but they aren't wrong either.
**Disclaimer: This is merely one view of morality, and not necessarily my view of morality. And of course, there isn't any blade by your throat to force you to take up this view of morality.**

What are the features of a situation where morality is called into question?
Let me give you an example of one.
There is a train on course to hit a brick wall, which will probably destroy the whole train and kill the passengers. The only way to stop it is divert the train by changing the tracks. However, there is a person tied onto the other set of tracks. The train will hit and kill him if the train is diverted. What do you do?
Clearly, there are four choices which are immediately apparent, but not confined to these three.
A) Divert the train, save the passengers, kill the person.
B) Do nothing, and the person lives, but the train hits the brick wall.
C) Throw yourself in front of the brick wall and kill yourself together with the passengers.
D) Divert the train, then lie beside the person and die with him.
Options A and B seem the most obvious, as you get to live. However, the problem comes when trying to decide which to kill. Do you sacrifice a life for more lives? But in order to do so, you have to make a conscious decision to divert the train. Sure, it is easy to justify when looking at it in a superficial way, a life for many other lives, but how then do you live with the agony of knowing you 'killed' him? That's where options C and D come in. They offer you the chance of sparing yourself the need to justify your decisions by killing yourself as well. But do you really want to do that?

From this example, perhaps a moral situation is when the person in question is called upon to decide. It may be two extremes, or just two very similar choices, but it is still a choice. This choice may decide the fate of others, or it may simply add to the weight of the majority/minority view. But this is open to much question.

How about a situation where the train is on course to run over the person, but you're able to divert the tracks so it hits the wall? As you might see, this situation is very different from the one described earlier. The first situation required a conscious action in order to perform the 'sacrifice' on the man's behalf, whereas in the second situation, there is no need for the diversion of the train. Assuming I decide to sacrifice the man tied to the tracks to save the passengers, am I any less moral in the first situation than the second? And what makes it any less/more/equally moral? If I subscribe to the view that morality is set in stone, then both situations should appear to be an equal test of morality. But I'll deal with that later.

Back to the issue of a moral situation. Is morality simply a case of responsibilty, of self-interest?
Let's go back to the situation involving the train. Would you prefer to be the fate-decider (the person who chooses whether or not to divert the train), or the person whose fate is decided (either a passenger on the train, or the person tied to the track)? Perhaps the person lying on the track watching the 'fate-decider' would feel more comfortable knowing that he would be free of responsibility no matter what. If the tracks are diverted, he dies knowing he saved many others. If the tracks aren't diverted, he gets to live without needing to explain himself. But the 'fate-decider' has to justify his decision, no matter what he decides to do. How then, would you justify your decision? Is the man's life less worthwhile? What if the man tied to the tracks was the president? Would he be worth the lives of say, 200 passengers?

To be moral does not equate to being right. The best that being moral can reach is being 'appropriately right'. And even then, the usage of 'right' must be questioned. Absolutes in terms of morality are only as certain as the person who accepts them. As his perception changes, this 'absolute' he holds may change as well. Now this is already beyond the boundaries of morality, and into that of the non-permanence of thought, etc. But we can see how morality is affected by so many other factors, it's hard to point to morality as being a single issue.

Even with such 'absolutes', morality is still open to misinterpretation and the issue of personal relevance. Take this absolute statement: Murder is always wrong. At first sight it may appear clearly defined. Murder is always wrong. But what constitutes murder? What makes murder different from say, accidents? For example, if someone (A) decide to jump down a building with the intention of killing himself, but lands on someone else (B) instead. A doesn't die, but B dies. Is that murder? Okay, so maybe you'll say that murder must involve intent. If I take a gun, shut my eyes, walk into a busy street and start firing away, causing the death of several people, am I guilty of murder? I had no intention to kill, even though my actions resulted in death.

Could there be concessions when the person in question has a direct vested interest? This is not aimed at the talk about murder, but about absolutes. What if the person who holds these 'absolutes' does something which offends this 'absolute', but would be perfectly moral as long as he tweaks his absolute? This only shows how morality isn't just the sum of absolutes, in my opinion. It involves issues of circumstances and personal relevance. Of course, it'd be a massive project to investigate every single decision involving morality, but if we did, what would it be like? Take the question about the president and 200 passengers, for example. In 'absolute' terms, the president is merely a person, and a person's life is valued at less than that of 200 people. So is it moral to sacrifice the president? Now, when this situation is reviewed taking into account the circumstances, this president is highly influential, and his life could be worth more than the lives of 200 passengers. However, this is not the only factor. What about the president's personal choice? Would he prefer to sacrifice himself? How about the opinions of the passengers?
As you can see, there is much difficulty in setting a common ground for morality. Much of what we think, believe or see as moral or immoral is not a law of nature, but subject to much personal interpretation and many other factors.

Thoughtless v2.0

2009-01-02T00:09:00.002+08:00

Here's a compendium of my latest thoughts. Again, this comes from a benighted amateur, so please don't take offence.

What does the 'physical' encompass? When we speak of 'the physical', what are we really referring to? Does 'the physical' include thought? Is it referring to the body and everything that happens within it, or do we exclude everything that is the product of stimulation? Can the physical work or grow without the mind?
Does an external body link thought to the physical, such that one controls the other, whereas the other dictates what it can control?
For example, I see a 1-tonne car, and I want to lift it. (The mind is in control here) I go ahead and try, and I fail. Immediately I see 2 possibilities (where my stand of intermediate dualism is assumed true). The first is: The mind limits itself. My mind 'decides' that the car is too heavy for me to lift, and so I fail to do so. The second: They physical limits the mind. The mind is willing, but its intentions are limited by the 'capabilities' of the physical.

There is another stand I've been thinking about, and I'll use this example of a village to illustrate it. Life is like a village; a village where there are limited stocks of food and water (the physical), and hence I can only support a limited number of people (the mind is limited by the physical). I may want to support more, but I am held back.
However, over time, as I grow more crops, I find my supplies increasing, and thus I'm able to support more people. and as these supplies begin dwindling because of either a drastic disaster (natural disasters or external occurrences, e.g. accidents, ill-fated disasters) or loss of cropland (natural death), that is where a fork between opposing views occurs.
1: Being already able to grow crops, I move away from this village in search of another.
2: Without food or water, all the citizens die off, leaving behind a deserted village.
As you might already have realised, the first is a classic case of 'traditional' dualism, where the mind and body are completely distinct entities which interact to give life the way we know it. Upon death, they are separated and no longer interact. The mind thus leaves the body in search of another. The second is one where there is no definite 'mind'. Upon death, all that remains is a corpse incapable of mental functions.

Next, can the mind exist without a body? Is it nothing at all without a body? That is to say, without a body, the mind cannot express its 'identity', and without an 'identity', can I be anyone at all?
So even as we assume the mind and body are separate, this problem of identity arises. Am I who I am outside of my body? Is my identity not shaped by my body, my limitations?

The mind sees things through their functions and uses. If I look at a chair, my mind associates it with the action of sitting, or in other words, how I relate to the chair, how that chair relates to the world, and how the chair is like all the other chairs I've seen. It might not even be a chair, but based on my experience with chairs, their functions, their shape, etc., it appears to me like a chair, and hence is a chair. Upon further questioning, testing, observing, I may realise that it is not, but at first sight I'm inclined to immediately think it is. When I look at something I don't know, something I have never experienced before, I look at it in terms of its use and function first. I may look at its shape, structure, etc., but those are only after I have assumed a function for that particular item. For example, I pick up a piece of bent metal. I think about what it resembles, what item it looks like, whether it resembles anything I've seen before. I try to fit a particular function to it; I ask myself, is it a paper clip? Is it an ornament? It is only after I have established the (assumed) function of that piece of bent metal, that I look into the features of the items that fit/give it this function.

Everything exists in thought. The only fact about something that I can be sure of is not that a particular thing exists, but that I think it does. I cannot know anything else other than what I think. Of course, the obvious flaw here occurs when I try to 'unthink' something. If I put all my effort and thought into thinking something does not exist, will it disappear completely, such that my new sense data will no longer record its existence?

It is hard to live with the 'self', but it is equally hard to live without it. This view of mine is harder to explain, but what I mean to say is that everything is meaningless with or without the 'self'. By 'self', I refer to self, I cannot find words to adequately express the meaning of this word, but it basically means the thoughts that you think, the intepretation of everything, the act of being you, the process of living, the processes of personalising everything. 'It is hard to live with the self'; By this I mean to say that by living with the self, everything we know is not necessarily everything that is. All data picked up by our senses are subject to personal subjectivity, and so because of this, we can never know experience true certainty in knowledge, and hence everything is meaningless. It is equally hard to live without it; this means that since there is no 'self', nothing is seen in terms of the 'self', and when all sense data have no referral point, no space for comparison, no personal relevance or purpose, than are these data not meaningless?
And so, being in a position where I am living with the 'self', I may think that not knowing anything is meaningless, and hope to live without it. Of course, it is only in absence that we desire. And maybe it is only when we live without the 'self', that we realise that living with it isn't so bad after all.

Is it better to be A or B?
A will not accept anything as absolute, that is, that anything is the best, or the only, or be overwhelmed by things that may excite B. For example, he may accept something as existing, but he will understand or know that something may exist that is even greater than that. A will hence not accept anything, or most things, as perfect, for example, in the knowledge that something out there can be, and is, more ideal.
On the other hand, A may not be able to find satisfaction, in the knowledge that he can never reach the zenith of whatever is in his interests. So B, being the ignorant one, may instead be better off 'foolish'.
It is hard to put an analogy here, as I find this to be rather flawed, being hardly applicable to analytic propositions, and only applicable in the presence of certain boundaries which limit its usage.

That's all, byebye.

Port Johan: diciasette

2008-12-29T23:59:00.001+08:00

Jenny clambers up the short flight of rocky steps and stops under a small tree. She reaches down, her hands flitting through the arrangement of pebbles at the foot of the tree before scooping one up.
'This is gorgeous,' she exclaims, her eyes twinkling with fascination.
As I stand at the bottom of the steps, enjoying myself just looking at her get all excited over that single pebble, I feel a sense of joyful satisfaction. It's almost like the pieces of my life are finally falling in place.

It wasn't long ago (to me, at least) when I was single, available, looking, and desperate. I can still recall those times spent gazing out the window from my office, trying to catch a glimpse of Rita as she walked over to Port Johan for coffee. That feeling of loneliness that moment I realised I was stood up; it remains so close I can just reach out and touch it, as though it was only yesterday. Of course now, the important thing is that that was yesterday, and today is today. And today, I have the honour of having the perfect lady by my side as I lounge on the park bench, my arms holding her close to me.

It's almost surreal, and honestly, I have only just gotten round to the fact that I'm no longer the wonky bachelor I was before. As much as I may try, there are no words able to describe this feeling; it's more like a mix of emotions, each one begging to show itself. But I like this feeling; I like this feeling of having someone to care for, having someone to hold, having someone to turn to, and who will turn to me. I know it sounds odd, but it's almost like I'm falling in love with a younger 'version' of my mother.

There is a slight shwish, the wind picking up slightly, sprinkling a dash of soft leaves onto us. A small drop comes gliding down, gently landing on her fingers, shining in the morning sun. Several other droplets find their way down, and the sky slowly eases open the taps, releasing a light blanket of fine rain upon us. As I reach over to drape my coat over her, I catch Jenny staring into the horizon, between the beautiful city view and the remarkable skyline. It is only after several seconds that a smile breaks out on her face.
'It's a twizzle!' She says, her smile extending as she turns to look at me.
'A twizzle?'
'Yes, a drizzle that twinkles. Just look at how the sun makes all of them twinkle and shine. Isn't it beautiful?'
And I have to agree with her on this one. There haven't been many occasions which warrented me calling it a 'postcard' moment, but this is definitely one of them. It isn't just about the glowing raindrops, but there is a certain harmony between them, as if each drop knew its place in the rhythm of the 'twizzle', as Jen calls it.

I begin to get worried, however, when dark storm clouds begin gathering behind us. We're at Hill Cottage Park, at the exact park bench where I used to sit as a child. The bench is right at the top of the hill in the middle of the park, so I'm guessing it's probably an unsafe place to be in a storm. And by the looks of it, this is going to be a big one.

Jenny is still gazing into the rain, somewhat oblivious to the charcoal puffs closing in on us. I nudge her gently to try to rouse her, but her eyes remain fixed on the widening droplets of rain, their glow now tainted with a rough and unpolished tint.
'Jen?' I offer, a part of me wondering whether she had fallen asleep.
'Jen? We'd better go, this storm looks bad.'

Despite my most vigorous attempts at waking her up, Jen remains as interested in those peanut-sized raindrops as she was in those tiny slits of rain. There are intense webs of lightning streaking across the sky, and the loud scowls of thunder that follow, each booming drumbeat only heightening my fears, but Jen is still motionless. My pulse is racing, each lash of rain coming down on me like a iron whip, as I struggle to stand up, my arms straining to carry Jenny. I can see the car in the distance, my mind trying hard to focus with each burning step I take, but my feet sink into the mud, the rain having mixed it into a slimy batter. There is a loud crack as my knees buckle beneath me, a sharp pain coursing through my entire body, as a white bright cloud envelopes us.

My vision is blurred when I jerk upright again, my senses confused in that single instant. The plant by the door is gone, and I can hear the faint tap of knuckles rapping on the door. Pat enters, dressed in her usual work outfit of a blouse and slacks, a concerned look on her face.
'Is everything all right?'
I slide off the armchair in the office, my feet reacquainting themselves with solid ground.
And as I stagger towards the door, I have one thought on my mind.
I need a pee. Badly.

----- Port Johan, Part Seventeen -----

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Note: Port Johan will end at Part Seventeen. I hope it hasn't been too painful a ride...
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Note 2: In case you still haven't realised, this story ends with Joseph Wilson Peacock waking up from a midday nap on his armchair, the contents of Parts 1 to most of 17 being simply a dream. I just had to write this ending; I had it in my mind since the first part of Port Johan. Oh well, maybe some last-minute action to compensate for the lack of it in the earlier parts.
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Note 3: It's hard to end a story. It feels good to let go of a responsibility, yet it feels terrible to know it's over. (Case in point, the last 3 to 4 paragraphs were pretty much added it just for the sake of not reaching the end. )
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Note4: I've realised during my editing that structure of my sentences can only be described using a word which begins with s. But forgive me, I'll improve, I promise.
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Note 5: I thought 5 would be a nicer number than 4.
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Thoughtless

2008-12-28T15:49:00.002+08:00

Woohoo, I was bored and frankly quite lazy to write out the next part of the story, so I'll give a demonstration; an insight into the mind of the mediocre.
So here are some questions I thought of. (Note: questions, not answers.)

Now firstly, dualism, the idea that mind and body are separate and different things. A large number of forms of dualism take up the idea that mind and body (mental and physical) interact to give life. An example would be Descartes' view of 'I think, therefore I am.' There hence exists a point, or points of interaction by which the mental can affect the physical and vice versa. So here's my question.
Is the nervous system, characterised in the physical as neurones firing, the flow of physical currents, etc. truly a part of the physical?
Can there be a nervous system without the mental? And in that case, is the nervous system a clear-cut example of either a physical or mental state, or simply a product of the interaction between the two?
Then what about reflex actions? Reflex actions are involuntary responses to stimuli. Are they purely physical, since the mental cannot affect their effect? (then what of the trained reflexes?)
Is the mental or mind available in time and space, or an entity beyond it? That is to say, does it take on an invisible/visible existence, or does it transcend physical presence? To rephrase again, where is the mind?!

On death, what then happens? Does it occur because the interaction fails, which may mean the separation of mind and body, or simply the breaking down of either one.
Is this where the 'heaven' we speak of enters? Where the mind travels to after this separation, where the mind is elevated to a realm where it takes on a physical existence in time and space? If the mind exists beyond time and space, how then does 'heaven' work? Is it simply a coagulation of 'forms', understood by minds even in the absence of physical entities?

Emotions. Can there be emotion without this interaction between mind and body? Are emotions merely substances released in the brain (or the triggering of certain areas of the brain, etc.), or are they the result of these substances interacting with the mental being? For example, can I feel pain or happiness, emotions commonly felt by all, without my physical body, without these substances? Then without a physical body, I wouldn't be able to feel emotion. I'd be painless. Is that what nibbana, or nirvana is all about, where no pain can be felt?

Resurrection. Certain faiths speak of resurrection in that the supreme and higher being raises the soul after both the body and mind has died, and which then adopts a new body to inhabit. This is to say that individuality is expressed when given a body. Then in undergoing resurrection, do I retain my old self? That is, am I an ongoing summation of my experiences, or am I just simply a 'refreshed' form of my old self? And if resurrection occurs, is there a limit to the number of souls inhabiting this world? And if creation is continuous, when does it happen, and what happens, when the saturation point is reached? When this world can no longer accomodate new creation. At this point, does creation cease, or does destruction take place?
If individuality can only be expressed within a physical entity, then is the mental emotionless without this interaction? Unable to feel? Void of personality?

And so, is the mind truly separate from the body, or is one a subset (proper or not) of the other? For example, is the mind distinct from the body, or does it simply describe the physical, when its organisation and workings are included? In this case, the mind is thus greater than the physical, and the physical is essential for the mind to be present. The mind cannot be simply the physical alone, but it is the physical and more, when the physical produces consciousness. To understand this better, I'll use the analogy of a computer. I can lay out all the parts of a computer, side by side, but I cannot say that it is a computer. It is only when I put all these parts together, in a particular way, link them together, provide the necessary electricity, that it becomes a computer. So in the same way the mind, being the computer, requires all its constituent parts (i.e. the physical) in order to function, but I cannot simply say that it is the mere sum of its constituent parts. Perhaps this is an example of where 'the sum is greater than its parts' may actually be vaguely feasible.

When I speak of emotion, do I speak of true emotion, or am I simply speaking of the actions ascribed to them? For example, when I see someone with a wide smile on his face, I say he's happy. But is he truly happy? Since I cannot know his thoughts, or even the fact that he has thoughts, all that I can do is try to organise actions into understandable terms. That is, to place pre-determined boundaries to certain actions which have a high probability of actually reflecting a certain emotion. To show this, I will re-use the example of happiness. There are many actions (some crossing over to other emotions) that reflect happiness, yet they may not actually be necessary for happiness to be present, but simply a good gauge of when it is. So in effect, we're trying to fit happiness (or emotions) into restrictive boundaries, when in truth they can never fit.

I could be happy but not show it, and others may say I'm not happy, but the truth may be that I am. Yet since my actions (not showing I'm happy) do not conform to the accepted boundaries of being happy, I am not 'happy'. What about someone whose actions differ from the norm, say someone who smiles when he's angry? Then when he smiles, can I say that he's angry? Since I have no idea of telling what exactly is going on in his head, and that his actions do not conform to the traditional confines of 'being angry'.

These confines are dictated by expectations, all relative, and nothing set in stone. This may be harder to grasp, but I'll try to place an example to explain my point. Assuming there are two men, each one physiologically different from the other, one having a naturally wider smile (A), and the other only able to purse his lips in a vague-ish smile (B). When both of them stand side by side and smile, I am inclined to think that since A has a wider smile, he is happier. This is because his smile, when compared to that of B, is relatively closer to what is described as being happy, yet B may in truth be 'happier' than A. Then if I place A beside C, who has an even larger and wider smile, I am then inclined to think A is not as happy as C. So what I mean by this, is that the confines of emotions are subjected to expectations. I expect a person who is happy to have a wide smile, and since A fits that expectation more than B, I conclude that A is more wholly within the range of being 'happy'.

Then what of falsity? It is only with proper, truthful and objective knowledge of underlying circumstances that I can truly determine who is the happier man. Yet when I say objective, it is something that I cannot achieve, since mental processing is required. For example, if you tell me man B is facing a certain problem, at work, for instance, I immediately think of B as not being happy, since my personal perception of this problem is such that it makes me unhappy. In that instant, I am reminded of past problems I've had at work, and how unhappy I was when facing those problems. Because of this subjective processing, I cannot see B as being happy, yet the truth may be that B is actually happy, since he enjoys challenging himself at work. Or perhaps his work entails deep research into his favourite hobby, or a project in which he is highly motivated to finish, yet which has many inherent flaws to sort out. Hence, I cannot truly say, even with knowledge of the preceding or underlying situation, that a certain emotion is stronger in one, or that that emotion is even felt. (note: felt, and not expressed)

This brings me back to the idea of falsity. If you don't tell me A is an actor, and that he is acting, I may immediately assume that A is happier since he has a wider smile. So as I may have mentioned earlier, the action (wide smile) is accepted as one of the features or characteristics of happiness, and I immediately think he's happy. If I do not have knowledge of this falsehood, I will never understand or realise that he is merely trying to play out an emotion. However (big however) at the same time, this is a clear show of how un-objective we can be. When you tell me A is an actor, I am inclined to think his actions are borne out of falsity, that is, he is acting happy. But being an actor, he may be happy acting, but in my subjective mind, I may immediately say he isn't really happy, and it is only in afterthought that I might actually doubt he isn't.

Okay, that's a whole lot of what I thought about, so it's time for a short break.
-----

If the mind expressed itself only through a physical medium, such as the brain, then what about organisms without a brain? This brain is essentially the point of interaction between the mental and physical, where the physical gets translated into the language of the mental. So where is this input entering? My example (a pretty weak one) is that of sound waves and music. Without the mental, there is no music, only sound waves. Music can only be defined upon processing of these waves, comprehension of these waves as something melodic and understood to be pleasing. It is subjective; music to one person may not be music to another, music to us may not be music to an elephant.

Sound waves form music, converted from the physical to the mental medium after process by the 'object' controlling their interaction (in our case, the brain). It goes through the physical medium of the person, through the ear canals, being transported somehow (don't take offence at this, I'm unsure of the exact mechanism of hearing) to the brain. Throughout this journey, it may take on intermediate forms, forms not exactly mental (since it is observable and exists in time and space; again, I'm blatantly unsure), but it reaches an end-point which is mental. But what is this journey like for organisms other than those with a brain? Where is their point of interaction? To argue that they don't is to argue against the existence of a mind in ourselves, since they too, have a physical existence as well. But even in organisms with brains, are all of our points of interactions the same?

If we're to, say, cut out some nerves in a person's brain such that he is incapable of thought, but is still able to keep himself alive, is his mind then dead? What is a mind exactly? Is there, or can there ever be, a single definition of 'mind'? What can be used as evidence of a mind? Is it thought? Is it emotion? Is it opinion? If I restrict it to these boundaries, then is not the person mentioned above devoid of a mind? Then what is keeping him alive? I cannot say that the mental is completely separate of the physical, because then he would be a completely inanimate object, which is essentially a poor euphemism for 'dead'. Is the mental in the aforementioned person simply unable to interact with the physical, or at most only partially interacting with the physical? This is to say, the mental grants the ability to survive, nothing else but the simply sustaining life. In this case, is he a person? Is he a person when he cannot think, which probably makes him unable to feel? Does this reduce him to merely a living thing; living, but not thinking?

And on a side note, without my mental, can I know I have a stomachache? The physical acts, it sends signals to my brain to tell me the truck is full and ready to despatch, but is the act of sending the courier a conscious decision by the mental? Or can it simply be physical, in that if the mind is detached, the physical can still do the job?
Back to the part about reflex actions, if it involves the mental, then does rigor mortis involve the mental? Since it occurs once the mental and physical are supposedly detached...

Is the doubting of the mental not the very sign of the presence of the mind? Or is it simply a fortuitous assembly of certain chemicals, substances, neural signals, that result in these thoughts appearing? Then what about 'forced' thoughts? Thoughts that appear in the times you want them to, such as while studying, reading, watching the news, etc.?

Alright, I'll end here. If you'd like to comment, just email me as suggested on the right, goodbye!

Another red tie

2008-12-27T11:00:00.002+08:00

If you're at the wrong place at the wrong time, does that mean you're possibly at the right place? But if you got the time right, but the place wrong, that'd mean you're most certainly at the wrong place. So in this case, can two wrongs make a right?

Port Johan: seidici

2008-12-26T22:44:00.002+08:00

Just a note of caution, this part's a 2.5k monster (relatively), so I hope you (whoever you are) don't get bored halfway. Here goes.
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There is a feeling people term "cautious optimism", implying faith in the backdrop of fear. And right now, that's exactly what I'm feeling. I have a table at the Kempt, with the same scenery to accompany me like the last time here, which pretty much ended up a disaster. But I'm hoping that I can be second-time lucky. It took me some time - a very long time - to get over my last outing here, and today I might just be able to exorcise those spirits.

"Would you like another glass of water, sir?" I hear a strangely familiar voice, and I look up.

It's Paul, the waiter who stood by my side that fateful day.

"A new date today?" He has a look of genuine concern on his face.

"Yes," I try to sound confident. "But today's different. Today she'll be coming."

I arranged to meet Jen at 7:30 today, and as the hands on my watch creep past that magical number, there is a slight tinge of worry. For me, worry is a special word, varying through so many degrees it's hard to even keep track. There's the nonchalant worry, which tells me it might be better if something happens, but I don't really care. Then there's the useless worry, where something is pretty much set in stone, but I still worry so I have something to think about. Right now, it's 'worry' worry. This is a complex one, but basically it entails bucketloads of perspiration, placing it as a life-or-death occurrence, and dreading every next second.

Paul makes another trip to my table at 7:45, delicately balancing a glass of water -my third. In my defence, it's hard to keep still and relaxed when you're in 'worry' worry mood, and I'll need water to stave off dehydration, with the rate at which I'm sweating.

He looks at me with a concerned expression, probably preparing to console me, but he turns and leaves.

It's eight, and I'm bordering on giving up. Not that I want to, but it's just that when you've been stood up once, you really don't feel like going through all that again. As I take another glance at my wristwatch, which my eyes have molested for at least a thousand times this evening, a flicker of disappointment starts to build within me. It isn't just about not turning up; it's about seeing all my high hopes come crashing down on me, looking at them fade with each passing second. That feeling is quite indescribable, and somehow it brings back memories of my childhood - the times when you got so excited over a promised cookie, only to find the jar was empty.

Paul looks over from the waiter's counter, probably trying to hide his amusement. But this time he's waving wildly and frankly, with the way he does it, he doesn't seem like the kind who'd get a part in Cats. I'm looking at him, bemused yet concerned, when he begins to move his lips. With my minimal experience in lip-reading, I'm able to make out a Jo..ze..rf. Jozerf, Joseph! He's trying to get my attention! There is a momentary look of disappointment on his face, which turns to an eager exertion of his neck muscles, gesturing for me to look at the entrance. And believe me when I say that in that instant, five different emotions immediately engulf me.

Relief. There is something special about feeling it surge over you, beginning from the tip of the head and slowly spreading out to every extremity. It is warm, like a cup of hot tea on a cold winter's day, snuggling under the skin and staying there. Relief washes over me the moment I turn my head, triggered by the image of a resplendent young lady clad in a dazzling white dress. 'She's beautiful,' I mutter under my breath, my ears picking up the occasional thump of my heart.

Anxiety. Time slows to a crawl, the seconds holding up as she sashays into the Kempt, her hair bouncing with carefree ease, dancing around like a graceful skater on ice. And that's when it happens. Just a slight sideways glance at the window - my reflection staring back at me - and this unremitting fear grips me like an ice-cold clamp. Am I good enough for her? Can I ever be? It's intriguing how when you're on the verge of something spectacular, you question its very possibility. And honestly, in that one innocent glance, I saw nothing to deserve such perfection.

Excitement. This is my first date since Rita, my first proper date for ages... I have high hopes. Every man sees himself as the answer to the world's troubles, every person thinks he/she's the best there ever can be, and right now, that's exactly what I'm telling myself. She has her eyes fixed on me - too late for my yoga breathing exercises. There're a thousand thoughts buzzing around in my head, each one calling out for my attention. I'm looking for something I can use to open a conversation, something humourous, something unique, something interesting. As a brilliant smile erupts on her face, the only opening line I can think of is: You're looking pretty today.

Nervousness. They say you shiver when you're afraid or excited - they call that 'jittery'. Right now, I'm resonating with such a massive and rapid motion it seems more fitting of an earthquake. I must admit, I'm not the best at this dating game. It's alright when I'm sitting behind my desk, an upcoming socialite on the armchair telling me all about her 'woeful' life story, but it's different when I'm face to face with someone of the opposite sex, trying my best to exude all the charm I have. But it's hard; it's hard when your wrist vibrates so much the coffee gets spilt all over, when the chunk of meat always seems too tough to cut through, and when there's always some of lunch left in your teeth. And with such a beautiful lady about to waltz over to my table, the butterflies are flapping more wildly than ever.

Amusement. Emotions are funny things. They are everything we live for (who doesn't live for happiness?), yet we hate them with every fraction of our guts. They come and go freely, like a wandering stranger, carrying love and hatred around with them, yet too often the wrong stranger raps on our door. I have waited for this day for years, yet amidst this joy I sense fear, sadness and regret, an entire party mix of emotions. A lesser individual - and I use this word advisedly - would perhaps have been terrified, but with a wall of 'experience' and 'confidence' behind me, I feel more... amused.

Jenny makes her way to my table, and as much as I want to say she looks charmed by me, a bemused smile with a raised eyebrow doesn't exactly fit the description of 'charmed'.
'Are you done?' She asks, the other eyebrow making its way up north.
I am puzzled for a moment, before I realise I'm doing what I suppose all the other men in the restaurant are doing - looking at her, eyes wide open, mouth agape, and the path on which the dead cow will travel later completely visible to her eyes.
Jumping out of my seat, I pull her chair out and try to charm her with a romantic greeting, or at least that's what I had in mind.
'I'm sorry. Erm... hi,' I offer, my teeth desperately biting my lip to stop it from quivering.

By the time we're midway through our main course I'm all settled and getting into the groove. Of course, by that I should mean I'm comfortable and back to my normal, sensitive, humourous self, but what I really mean is that I've been sitting for too long, my pants are beginning to ride up, and I'm still the nervous wreck I was earlier. But that's not all. If there's one thing worse than being the bundle of nerves that I now am, it's being that same bundle of nerves when Jenny is completely calm, collected, and seems genuinely interested in me - which means I have to actually talk.

And then it happens.
It's not often I call something a calamity, or a disaster, and usually I reserve it for when there is a great tragedy, such as my toothpaste running out. I don't know how or when, but in that single, excruciating second which just passed, my evening looks ruined. And when it happens during such a rarity as me actually on a date, it's way worse than a disaster.

'Sorry ma'am... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...'
Jen is calm as ever, sitting sagely on her chair, trying to dab at the large red patch on her dress, not looking the least bit flustered. The waiter - Ravi, from his nametag - is cowering somewhat timidly, crouching beside Jen and apparently clueless and helpless. It is a rather odd scene, and as a semi-third-party observer, all I can think of now as I look at Ravi is: Do I look that way in front of Jenny?

It is ten past nine. I'm sitting on a leather seat, a beautiful lady by my side, but I'm wearing a grim expression on my face. And as I coast down the freeway, the only word that enters my beleaguered mind is 'Sod'. A perfect evening... all ruined! To be honest, I had really high hopes tonight, and this was one of the really rare times when I dressed up just for a dinner. Well, at least unlike what happened with Rita, Jen came, which means that I'll still have a next time.

I pull up at the road shoulder outside her house, and this time I'm over opening the car door for her immediately, just in case I begin to stare again. We walk silently up to her house, as I pretend to admire the flowers lining the path. I won't lie, I'm sorely disappointed. Okay, devastated. It's been so long since I went out on a date, and this had to happen.
'Hold on, I'll be back,' Jen says, and disappears into the house.
"Hold on"? She wants me to wait? Could she be tidying up the house for me? I beam, and a smile which just looks maniacal ruptures across my face. For a lady who'd tidy her house for me, of course I'd wait.

I'm in her house, continuing with where we left off at dinner, the room illuminated by candles when her voice rouses me from my thoughts.
'Hey, I'm ready, let's go,' she chirps, having obviously forgotten about the evening's drama.
'Go? Where to?'
'Well, I don't want to waste such a beautiful night. Let's go for a walk.'
A walk? Well, sure I'd take a walk, better then going home lonely, no?
She pushes me into the car playfully, and gets in herself, then goes about ordering me.
'Drive.'
'Where to?'
'I don't know. Just drive, you'll see.'

Walks aren't my thing. I just don't see the point of strolling about aimlessly, when there's a pile of work to be done, football matches to watch, meals to eat, and beers waiting over at Ed's. This time round though, I'll make an exception; it's not everyday that the perfect lady asks me out for a walk.
'There's a lot over there, let's get out here.'
'Where is this?'
'A beautiful place. C'mon, just get out,' Jen points at a small clearing a short climb away, 'you can see the city from up there.'
There is something vaguely familiar about this place, it feels as though I've been here before. I mentally flip through every single date I've been on, trying to recall when I might have visited this place, but there's nothing.

'Hurry up, you lumbering ass,' Jen calls from about ten metres ahead.
I break into a slight jog to catch up with her, but she sees me and starts running ahead.
Jen turns around and chuckles. 'You're slow, Peacock.'
Somehow that reminds me of Ms Lorenze back in high school who, unfortunately for me, was my gym teacher for three consecutive years. I admit, I'm not a 'sport' person, I reached my peak in pre-school, and was never able to return. Usually I get by telling people I have a lung disorder, but right now I'm just regretting putting off my fitness 'plans' for the last five years.

I'm wheezing and trying to catch my breath as I join Jen at the top of the small hill, and what I see immediately jolts me. The city is spread out like a fan of cards, every building brightly lit, a stunning orchestra of beauty. But that's not what made me all alert. My head swivels around, I know when I've been here before; this is Hill Cottage Park. It's my park!

The park bench is still where it used to be, where it was twenty years ago. I walk slowly towards it, looking out for the groove which fascinated me as a kid. This was where I spent my childhood, this was where all my first dreams were formed.
Jenny walks over, smiles, and sits down beside me.
'Y'know Jen, this was where I used to play when I was little Joseph.'
'You know this place?' She looks at me in amusement.
'Well, yea. See this chair we're sitting on? It used to be 'my' chair, my playground.'
All these memories are flooding back, the pictures of my childhood returning to me, frame by frame.
'And that swing over there? That's where I sat every evening, and I never skipped a day, not even when I was sick. You can see the sun set over the city from there, and it's absolutely magnificent. And that swing was where I sat with the first girl I ever liked,' I said, pensive and nostalgic.
'Who was she?'
'I called her Jil, which were her initials.'
She turns to me, disbelief etched on her face. 'You were Willy?'

Several moments pass without a single sound, and an onlooker would have been puzzled by the sight of two people sitting side by side, frozen in incredulity.
'You're Jil?!'
'Yea... Well, unless we're talking about the same 'Jil'. I used to come here a lot as a little girl, for the swings, at least that's what I told my mom.'
'Y'know, life got pretty boring once you left.'
'Not that I wanted to, but my dad got a new job, and we had to move...'
She continues. 'But honestly, I really missed Willy.'

'Willy', short for Wilson, my middle name, was what my grandmother used to call me. Not a very flattering nickname, but it stuck, and I got teased by everyone round the neighbourhood because of that. Almost everyone actually, everyone except Jenny. I never knew what the 'I' stood for, she wouldn't tell me all those years, but all I knew was that Jil was the person who kicked off all the problems I had through adulthood; the hurried pulse, breathless wheezing and intemperate sweating everytime I went on a first date. I remember the day Jil left; it was a Saturday Spring, and I was at the park first thing in the morning, waiting for her to join me on the swings. But she never came.

'So Jenny, you never told me what your middle name was.'
She turns to me and smiles.
'It's Isabelle.'

----- Port Johan, Part Sixteen -----

P.s. Don't mind the back portion of this part, watched too many christmas movies and got inspired.

A red tie

2008-12-23T00:22:00.003+08:00

When I/you view the world with renewed vigour, that's when I/you realise how enervated, impassive rather, I/you once was.
An ephiphany? Not exactly; epiphanies are supposed to be more special than this. I'd call it a deepened understanding. A minor enlightenment. A repetitive reawakening; one which repeats itself pretty much everyday.

But at the end of it all, I ask this question: Does it even matter? When I'm facing questions of this sort, I turn to my stand on knowledge and existence, to subjective perception. Perhaps it's time I explored other alternatives, it's somewhat benighted to keep returning back to the same arguments. Of course, it's benighted to even think my opinion matters, but I'm sure they mentioned something about having your own opinion in the brochure when I was entering this world...

Imagination

2008-12-20T22:20:00.002+08:00

Appearance or reality?
Are we who we appear to be, or do we just appear to be? Now that's a question worth asking. We see, we listen, we smell, we taste, we feel, but we will never know the thoughts going through someone else's head. So in that case, aren't we all judged based on appearance and not reality?

Then which - appearance or reality - truly matters? If our lives are judged by others, then why does reality matter? And if we live our own lives, then why let appearance deviate from reality? Is it an intrinsic, pre-programmed algorithm inside of us, that makes us conform to certain 'social rules', the origin of which we have no knowledge of?

So which matters? Appearance or reality? I could be a low-life, an uncouth, unbecoming individual putting on the facade of a courteous and good-natured person, but if I play my role well, does it matter? Everything is a sham, a theatre of lies, played out with conscious intention, intented to fool and deceive. But one can hardly criticise these actors when moored into similar docks of deceit. What matters, really?

It is not what we do in the eyes of others that matters. It is not the show we put up that matters. It is not what we will do, what we think, the actions and intentions that are conceived in front of others, that matters. It is what we will do when no one is looking; it is what we will do when there won't be any witnesses; it is what we will do when there are no consequences, no repercussions, that matters.

Appearance remains superficial. Truth runs way deeper. Though no one, not even yourself (and myself), will ever know the truth. Then perhaps the best thing to do is to align ourselves with whatever we want the truth to be. Perhaps then that will become reality. Perhaps...

2008-12-20T02:04:00.002+08:00

Here's a statement I've been pondering over: Sometimes, intent is more powerful than action.

It hit me out of nowhere, but here's a question to put that statement into perspective. Which is worse - the intent to lie, or an unintentional lie?

The foreigner

2008-12-14T21:47:00.002+08:00

The clock ticked with resounding precision. Tuk, tuk, tuk it went, counting down the seconds to the next tuk. It went about its task with a resigned vigour, subdued yet determined.

Noon came and went, as the clock whistled for dinner. It was another winter evening, much like all the others since the darkness took autumn away. The air was stale in the house, the musty smell of antiquity lingering about on butchers' hooks. Shadows danced across the wall, fanned by the lone candle on the table, the only light enveloped by the cold winter darkness.

The table was creaky, swaying with each gust of chilling wind, which kicked up the tiny balls of dust and threatened to murder the candlelight. It blew with macabre subtlety, invisible and deadly, swiftly swooping down on the old and lonesome house. A sudden swoosh brought about a sudden rattle, the tormented table shaking on its splintered legs, tossing the alarmed candle with each harsh jerk.

It was the only house for miles; but it had been a home. There once was a kitchen, on the very site where the weakened table stood. The smell of waffles once filled the air, the crisp aroma of generous dollops of jam and butter once made their way across this very room, snogging every nose they could find with their inebriating smell. But that was a long time ago, and now the kitchen stood bare, save for the table, tortured by its loneliness, taunted by the perils which tainted the house.

Shredded blankets adorned the occasional floorboard on the upper floor, or whatever was left of it. The house was once the glory of the family, a jewel amidst sharpened rocks. It captured many a jealous glance from green-eyed neighbours, with its breathtaking magnificence. It had a lovely white sheen, its walls intricately dotted with carvings of Roman gods, each one guarding the home with fearsome pride and courage.

-To be continued

A day amongst many, but no one knows.

2008-12-06T16:19:00.002+08:00

What is a birthday?
Is it of any significant use? Or any significance at all?

Can we ever know?
An hour past the last, a day in a year, a year amongst many. I find myself questioning my very purpose, the purpose of my existence, and what I really am.
Age is but a fallacy; a fraud of truths. It is by no means assured, and that is assuming 'assured' even exists. I am no wiser, and the perils of age, like a dreaded closet, they haunt me. Enslaved, trapped, incarcerated, chained; chained within the confines of myself, I am but a prisoner to life, am I not?

A birthday is just another day, for if it serves no purpose, then it makes for another aimless day of living. What is it? A day to remind us of how many times we've made the trip around the sun? Or is it a benchmark of comparison, to appease that innate need for comparison amongst fellow human beings, or even across species. If I am to exist only within my lifetime, with the areas flanking it lifeless and useless, then it is futile to see this day with any significance, since I am nothing in this world.

I am not a grain of sand on the beach. I am not a wisp of cloud in the sky. I am not a drop of water in the vast ocean. I am less than that. I am nothing. This Earth has existed for about 4billion years. In that gargantuan lifetime, I am only a small part of it. And even as I live, I am amongst 6billion others, hardly worthy of any mention. Even then, there are way more other organisms which live, a number closer to infinity than any number imaginable. If I exist in my lifetime, I am nothing. So why does it matter?

If I am to exist beyond my time as a human being on Earth; which means accepting the theory that we live as wandering souls, our time as a human merely a short journey amongst the many others, then I would have 'lived' beyond my time as a human. I have lived for way longer than what I see, or what I am able to see. If that is true, I have lived years beyond my very imagination. I have experienced things beyond my current 'living' ability. So why does it matter?

It matters only to me, in my current state of mind, in my subjective and completely biased view. By subjecting myself to the mental torture of comparison, a comparison of age and everything else, I am subconsciously or consciously putting birthdays as a benchmark of my age, to use to compare with all around me. This chair is an antique, it is 600 years old. Wow, that's more than a hundred times my age, it is really old. This table is new, it was just made. Wow, that's a mere fraction of my age, it is really new. Do we not see all this is subjective? A 100-year old tortoise sees the chair as merely 6 times its age. A newborn sees the table in all its antiquity. Throwing everything into cosmic time, the chair and table don't even matter. If I clear myself of any thought about age - which is of course impossible now - then will I be happier, freer?

All that we know or think is largely based on what we have experienced. We have experienced life, we think life. We have not experienced death, what we think of death is purely arbitrary and initiated by the thoughts we choose to accept. If I see myself free of the perils of age - each new day being a new life, and not another day in a life - will I be forever young? Young in not simply the emotional sense, but the physical as well.

What we think and understand, or think we understand, is but the most popular misconceptions. We cannot know for certain, but we can proclaim to know in certainty. I cite a powerful example, that of Galileo's announcement that the Earth revolved around the sun. Prior to that, prior to its acceptance, the 'popular misconception' was that the Earth was the centre of everything, and so we (or people then) proclaimed to know that fact in certainty. Right now, we are in the midst of the same mental gymnastics. We proclaim to know the Earth's position, mankind's position in the universe (universe being a set of everything), but can we truly know?

Perhaps everything around merely revolves around you, and when you die in the 'human' sense, everything else perishes. Is that not a possibility? Perhaps we are mere pieces on a chess board played with much detail, controlled by a third-party, all of our experiences, thoughts, emotions simply part of a bigger game. Is that not a possibility? The 'popular misconception' is that the possibilities mentioned above, along with the many others are not possible, and the 'popular misconception' is that everyone is part of something bigger. Similar to the example cited above, all this could change, once the 'popular misconception' changes. Ten, twenty years from now (again, look at how age throngs our every thought), we may look at ourselves in a different light. We may then look at what we know now as mere stupendous bosh, and question the reasons for its very acceptance.

Here I conclude that nothing is certain, all that exists exists only in thought and 'popular misconceptions'. Then again, can I even be correct? Because all that I think exists as I think it, and it may simply be another 'popular misconception', which no one will ever be able to know if it matches the complete reality.

I also proclaim that birthdays are merely days serving no significant purpose, other than to serve as a day thought of to serve a significant purpose. Then again, I don't mind going along with the fallacy of age, accepting that birthdays are special to the person in question, but only and subjectively, to that very person. For all we know, I may just be Mozart (unlikely, considering my musical ability tends towards manslaughter rather than entertainment), having lived through several cycles of 'life', each one beginning right after the previous one ends.

The Boss

2008-11-30T23:34:00.002+08:00

I stared at him, bewildered.

He cut a lonely figure in the snow, pulling his rickshaw through the winding streets. It was autumn and the leaves were browning, twisting ever so slightly to release them from the clutches of the looming trees.

All was lost, or was it?

T

2008-11-25T00:11:00.002+08:00

Hello, today you're spared the agony!

It was a dark and stormy night. This was actually a phrase coming from Edward Bulwer-Lytton, who used it to open Paul Clifford, a 1830 novel.
Such a misunderstood phrase. It seems cliche and old-fashioned, and apparently it is.

Here's an excerpt of the original, to appreciate it in all its beauty.

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

Port Johan: quindici - Wal

2008-11-23T13:22:00.003+08:00

Wednesday. What's with Wednesday anyway? It's a weekday, which means it's a workday, it's close to the middle of the week, it's a chore looking both forwards and backwards. On one hand you made it past Monday and Tuesday, but on the other you still have Thursday and Friday to contend with. What a dreadful day, and that's not all. How the heck is it pronounced anyway? Wens-day? Or Wens-di? Who's right?! I'm debating this issue with myself in the office over lunch, and it pretty much sums up all that I'm feeling right now.

There is something that makes the statement "frustration eats away at hope" sound so darned true I'd be loathe to even doubt it. Right now I'm feeling terribly constricted, unable to keep my hopes up one bit. Here I am having realised I'm a shoo-in for no-hoper of the year, yet still desperately trying to pull myself together. And I don't just mean a smidgen of doubt. It's a full-blown avalanche, my self-esteem crashing and cracking away. Yet I'm supposed to deal with all those issues I thought I had figured out, to the point of actually having people come to consult me about it, and I have no idea of going about it.

The buzzer sounds, and Pat's voice cackles through the speaker. 'Wal's here, I'll send him straight in.'
Wal is seeing me for the third time this week, and today's the fourth day in the week. I don't know whether I should be happy or sad though. Happy because this guy paid for most of my apartment and car, and because at the very least I know there's someone out there worse off than me. Sad because well, I seem to have failed in my job, haven't I?

'Joseph, you've got to help me here.'
Again, I think. I wonder what the problem is now. It's inappropriate, but every time Wal visits, I try to guess what the latest problem is. And this time my bet's on either "Jen's rejecting my gifts" or "Jen doesn't seem to love me anymore". I've had clients coming to see me when they see their businesses eroding, or when they're all stressed up about work, but Wal isn't that kind of guy. He's a great businessman, but where relationships go, I'd just say that God was only being fair.

'Joseph, Jen doesn't seem to love me anymore.'
Bingo.
'She doesn't take my calls, she doesn't answer my messages, I don't see her much anymore. She's avoiding me, I can tell, I'm not that dense you know.'
I hate to disabuse you, Wal, but when it comes to these things, you are.
'And I've tried to make it up to her. I've sent all these brilliant gifts to her, and she just sends them right back. What have I done wrong, Joseph? She hates me, doesn't she?'

'Wal, didn't you just ask me that yesterday?'
This is what keeps my wallet fat and happy. Every time a client comes in for a consultation, I reorganise the facts to make it seem like they're having it all, and they leave happy to part with their money. The very next morning, they wake up refreshed and stuffed with doubt again. They begin to question themselves again, dismissing whatever advice or insight I give them, and revert to seeing things from their myopic point of view. And that's when they pick up the phone and arrange for another appointment. The cycle rinses and repeats, all the way till either they get enlightened, or they run out of cash to throw at me.

'Yea I did, and I went back thinking about what you said. But Jen isn't like that, I know her type. I'm sure she's satisfied with what I've offered to this relationship. I've spent so much trying to make her happy, I don't know what I can do anymore. She hates me, I'm sure of that,' Wal retorts, frustration written all over his face.
'Have you tried spending more time with her?'
'Actually I have. Ever since you told me to, I've dedicated an hour every weekend specially for her.'
Wal continues. 'I know you'll probably say it isn't enough, but I'm so caught up with work I hardly even have time for myself anymore.'
An hour?! Every weekend?! And he probably spends that time doing something she isn't too keen on too.

'Good, Wal. You were right, I was going to say that. And yes, an hour really isn't much, but it's a start, and that's good. Let me clarify one thing though, in that meagre one hour, do you focus all your attention on her?'
He puts on a smug look. 'Yes. Yes, in fact I'm quite proud of it. I shut out everything else in that hour, even the laptop.'
'And the Blackberry?'
He seems hesitant. 'Well, I can't really switch that off, can I? There're so many things going on at work.'
Aha. He probably spends much of that hour just replying emails. I can just see them together on their one-hour jaunt. She'd be sitting there, humming a tune, maybe reading a book, while he types frantically on his Blackberry.

At this point, Wal seems a bit guilty. 'Okay... So maybe I need to get that off too huh? But it's so hard, I mean...' He starts rambling about how tough his work is, and how he's always so busy, but I'm too busy to notice. Busy looking out the window, that is. It was a trick I thought of while arranging my office, place the chair at such an angle that I could just look outside whenever I got bored. And this time, what's outside is far more interesting that what's coming out of the man sitting on the chair inside. I've just seen Lady. Not Lady A, but Lady.

My eyes glued to the window, I could see her sashaying down the street, and by golly, she's beautiful.
'Joseph, are you listening to me?'
I snap my head back to face Wal. 'Oh, yes. Yes I was.'
I can't pass off of this, can I?
'Pardon me, Wal. There's something urgent I have to do.'

Some people run with a certain flair. They have this grace which accompanies their every leap. I'm not one of them. My arms flailing, I scamper out of my chair and down the stairs, almost tripping over myself trying to avoid an old lady going upstairs. When I reach the street, I turn frantically, afraid that I'd miss her again. But she's still walking, and looking at me like I'm a total kook. I don't know if it's the outfit, or the manner in which I bolt towards her, but she probably thinks I'm trying to accost her.

She has this stupefied look on her face as I reach her. Panting, I try my best at a gentlemanly greeting.
'HI!' I gasp, trying my best to breathe.
'Hello?' She offers, somewhat worried about my state of mind and her own safety.
I take some time to calm down, but once I've done so, my words begin to sound clearer.
'Hey, I know this sounds crazy, but ever since I met you on Valentine's Day, I haven't managed to forget you.'
'And... is that a good thing or a bad thing?'
'Good, definitely good. I was thinking, I don't even know your name, and yet I still want to ask you this. Do you want to have coffee sometime... this Saturday?'
'Well, I guess I could... I owe you one for last time.'
She takes out a notebook, tears out a piece of paper and scribbles a number on it.
'I'll call you,' my voice wavering uncontrollably.
This is the perfect moment for someone else to interrupt. Here I am, face-to-face with the girl of my dreams (literally), and Wal appears out of nowhere.
'Jen? Hey look, I really want to apologi-'
Jen?! She's Jen?

'You're Jen?'
She looks puzzled. 'What's with you two? And Wal, I know it's kind of harsh, but I don't think we'll work out.'
'What?' Wal looks devastated. 'No Jen, we're not. I've just been talking to Joseph here, and I've realised my mistakes. Jen, I know I haven't been perfect, but I can change, promise.'
'He's that "brilliant" therapist of yours?' She asks, and I beam.
'But Wal, this isn't going to work out. I've had enough. You don't care about me, all you know is work. Even in that measly hour on Saturdays, all you ever do is sit there and play with your Blackberry. All I'm asking for is some attention. Is that so hard? I'm not your mistress, for heavens sake!'
Wal looks like he's trying to give a clever reply, but all he does is whimper.
'Wal, you're a nice man. But you have to remember that I have feelings too, okay? You'll find a nicer girl, I'm sure of that.'
This is serious. Every time Wal goes through a break-up, my bank balance shoots up so fast the bank probably thinks I robbed a bank. And right now, I'm morbidly fascinated by what's going on in front of me. My wallet's going to have a heavy meal, and Jenny will be single again.

After a short hug, Jen turns to leave.
'Take care, Wal. And I'll see you on Saturday, Joseph.'
Jen walks away, and I can hardly understand what just happened. It takes a while, but it is only when Wal screams at me, something about stealing his girlfriend, that I finally realise that this might just be the start of my new life.

----- Port Johan Part Fifteen -----

Port Johan: quattordici - velocite data

2008-11-22T22:02:00.003+08:00

There is something strangely satisfying about donning a suit. Maybe it's the feeling of looking clean and sharp, or the thought of matching pants, or even the fact that I can hardly move in an unusually starched suit. Praying nothing breaks, I turn to look at myself in the mirror, but all I see is a scruffy old man staring back. Odd, the last time I looked there was a youthful, vibrant young man in the mirror. What's this world done to me?!

After a nice, clean shave which I hope took ten years off me, I begin to feel this fluttery feeling many associate with butterflies. I don't want to look too nervous or overly-eager, but somehow there's this part of me quietly envisioning myself waltzing in and charming every single lady at the cost of offending all the other men, and leaving with a trail of women (hopefully), all clamouring for my number. But perhaps a suit seems too formal, don't want to place the ladies under any unneeded duress.

Emotions are funny things. Not funny as in "haha" funny, but funny because you (or anyone else) never get the joke. I hadn't felt that confident and prepared since the time I got full marks on a test in pre-school, but right now I'm veering dangerously close to breaking down. I mean, checking to see if anything's out of place is fine, but looking at my fly every ten seconds puts me in a totally different category. Maybe it'll all be okay when I'm settled and comfortable, and mesmerising everyone around me, I hope.

Speed dating is a pretty odd experience. It seems like a summary of your entire emotional life. How many times can you date ten women in an hour? It's almost like an adventure, you get to meet ten different personalities, try out ten different kind of characters, then get dumped by all ten of them. All in an hour! As I sit at the sofa in the lounge, I try to memorise all the exits, just in case I need them.

There is a loud shrill. 'Your six minutes starts... now!'
I'm sitting at a table with a solitary ornamental rose on it, having almost completely remembered all the details of the wallpaper behind. Apparently there is a woman opposite me, and I'm supposed to be talking to her, but she probably doesn't notice the fact that I'm not exactly interested. Though I'll bet she thinks I am.
'And there was this time, when we all went to Belgium together,' she squeals excitedly.
She pauses suddenly, and looks at me. 'Have you been to Belgium?'

A question! Amazing how people can find questions so irritating yet pleasant at the same time.
'Well, actually I have.'
She acknowledges my response with a slight nod. 'You have? It's nice, isn't it.'
Just when I feel that she's giving me a turn to speak, she launches into another deluge.
'I find it beautiful. I like travelling, you see. When I was young, my father...'
I'm beginning to suspect that she signed up for this because no one else wanted to listen to her, and there isn't any way I can get out of this.

I don't know when I signed it, but I have this arrangement with time. It states that time must slow to a crawl exactly when I'm enjoying myself. Of course, in this agreement time decides when I'm having fun, and apparently now's one of those times. Every second is excruciatingly slow, and borrowing a spin-off of a popular saying, like a cold and blunt knife through solid rock. Fortunately, the calming sound of the bell saves me from Lady A- she didn't even tell me her name.

Walking to the next table - and warning the next guy going to Lady A on the way- I am pleasantly surprised to see a young lady sitting there, who actually seems pretty decent.
'Hello,' I try to sound confident and charming. 'I'm Joseph.'
The following response leads me to conclude that either A: I look atrocious and she hates me, B: She was forced to come here, or C: both.
'Nmm hm nm mm hmm,' she mumbles to herself. Or maybe there's a D: I'm crazy because I agreed to come here.

Six minutes of awkward silence follows, with her fidgeting and shifting in her seat every five seconds, and yours truly guzzling another glass of cold water. I wouldn't know what she was thinking about in those six minutes, but I'd thought about my past and my future. And the more I thought about it, the more I began to worry. What if I end up as a lonely old grouch? What if I had to live the rest of my life single and alone? Sure, bachelor sounds lovely, but I'd probably prefer not to go down that path.

This sudden fear grips me, I don't want to end up alone. Emotions truly are funny things. Within six minutes, I'd managed to go from swinging single to desperate and forlorn. Ed is going to have children and they'd probably be all he's going to care about. And to be realistic, my mother's company wouldn't be available forever. Pat's going to find someone and settle down. I'm going to be in my armchair, by a fireplace, mourning the descent of my life.

As I walk over to the next table - after saying goodbye and getting something which sounds like my pie - I see someone who appears to be a seer of sorts, judging from her twined hair, outfit, and a look which shouts "you are going to die someday". She grabs my hand the moment I sit down, and appears to be transfixed on the details of my palm. There is a short pause before she launches into a sorrowful tirade about how I should have died five years ago.

It should be cause for worry, but I'm not listening. There is a plan unfolding inside my head, one which tells me to ask any one of these women out, just so I can feel the thrill of actually having someone to be with. Basically, it involves me picking one of the seven women remaining and actually get them to go out with me. Then she can be my girlfriend until the "right" woman I'm looking for turns up. That way, I won't have to deal with these feelings of loneliness, and find someone who'd fit me perfectly. To be honest, I'm actually contemplating going through with it, and I'm starting to look for a good target when I check myself. This wouldn't be right, would it? For all I know, she could have chosen a more suitable match instead of me, and I'd only be ruining her life. As much as I'd like to, my conscience gets the better of me, and I spend the rest of the evening in a sombre and pensive mood.

I'm sitting in my car and preparing to drive home when I spot Lady A, arm attached to that of another male participant, chatting and gesturing excitedly. And I think: Am I really that detestable?

----- Port Johan, Part Fourteen -----

Port Johan: tredici e mezzo

2008-11-21T20:59:00.002+08:00

Note: This is a filler chapter, to bridge any gaps between parts 13 and 14.

I make myself a nice hot cup of tea, and settle down in front of the computer. After thinking about it, I've decided to sign up for one of these 'blind dates' or 'speed dates' that Addison recommended. Of course I don't expect to leave at the end of the session engaged and buying a ring, but at least I'd get to meet some people, something which I don't really get to do right now.

'Speed dating for people wanting to get married', I type into the search engine. Somehow I'm hoping that out there, there actually are people like me, and we can all gather together to mope over singlehood. The laptop whirrs, and immediately there is a message on the screen, and apparently "no entries were found". Okay so there isn't such a service, but someone should set it up, it'd please all the sorry singles like me.

After trying 'speed dating for people looking for marriage', 'speed dating for sorry singles', 'bleddy darned speed dating' and getting no search results each time, I decide to shorten it to 'speed dating for people', before realising they don't expect me to send any pet monkey for dates. Immediately I get over a thousand results, each trying to vie for my attention with capital letters. I click on the first one, "Dare to Date", which isn't in capital letters and which doesn't sound like anything I'd find in Tinglado. The front page seems innocent enough, stating its rules and regulations, along with several instructions for registration.

I click on "Sign me up", and this sign-up page promptly appears. There are blanks meant for my name, my occupation, the usual stuff. I reach a drag-down box with the question "Why do you want to attend a speed-date?". My eyes begin searching for "to get married" or "because I'm desperate, but apparently there aren't any such options. I decide to select "to meet new people" over "I need a companion", and send in my completed registration. Oh god, what have I done?!

After about a minute, a message appears, telling me to await confirmation of the date and time of my speed date, and sends me to a site with a list of successful speed-dates. There are five couples with their "match made-in-heaven" stories, and they all look pretty decent too. Well I guess if they could find each other there, maybe I might just be able pull this off. Heck, maybe I might find someone who's perfect for me: single, desperate, wants to get married, decent-looking (by that I mean strangers won't come up and say 'whoa, chewbacca!'), and thick enough as to even find me attractive. Frankly, this doesn't sound as bad an idea as it first seemed to be.

----- Port Johan, Part Thirteen and a Half -----

Port Johan: tredici

2008-11-20T21:59:00.002+08:00

There are three types of drinks I like to have when I'm down. Coke, beer and orange juice. Call me queer, but orange juice really does help to lift my spirits up. There's a certain zest to it, a cooling yet oddly addictive taste which just keeps me coming back. It's almost like all your attention is focused on the orangey taste, which kind of helps to take my mind off anything and everything.

Today however, I'm having water. King of all liquids, as Ed calls it.
'Look I'm sorry, I ran out of beer. Must've been that game last Saturday.'
'It's alright Ed, water's just as good.'
'Are you really upset?' I mean, missing out on this one after Rita and all.'
'Don't worry about me, I'm fine.'
'You sure? Want to talk about it?'
He doesn't learn, does he?
'No Ed, I'm fine. Really.'
'You can't lie to me Joseph. I was reading this book the other night, and I learned that whenever someone says that, he has to have something on his mind.'

You know, he's right. Ever since I returned home without any name or number that day, I've been feeling this slight tug of sadness. It's hard to describe, but if I were to give it a score on a scale of one to ten, I'd give it a 5. Neither here nor there. It really cannot compare to the supposed full-blown calamity that being shunned by Rita is. But I can't fully let it go either. Perhaps the best word to suit this emotion would be... disappointment. Yes that's it, disappointment.

Somehow it reminds me of my childhood, the time when I was so eager and keen on this new toy, but it got taken just as I was about to get it. Desperately agonising, but after a while the feeling just went away on its own. Maybe this time it'll be the same. Maybe the sorrows I'm trying to drown with water are just going to fade away on their own. Well, I must admit that I got over the incident with Rita quite quickly. It took just two bouts of hangovers, a long drive on the freeway and lots of listening to the many break-ups my clients tell me about. So here I am, listening to Ed ramble on about what he thinks is the revelation of the century, when he knows I'm not going to tell him anything anyway. And sipping water.

'Seriously, you have to read it; it's amazing how much pouring your sorrows can do. Take this one time, I was feeling...'
No wonder people die from water intoxication.
'Ed, I'll be fine. It really isn't anything much, probably just a little disappointed, that's all.'
He immediately sits ramrod straight, trying to pick at whatever scent he can get at.
'A-ha, disappointed eh? That's a start. Now let's work at it. Why are you getting these feelings? Do you have...'

At this point I'm beginning to wonder if that's how I sound during my consultations. I'd better check with Pat, because I'm feeling mighty irritated by now, and I'm sitting on my fists to prevent myself from smacking Ed in the face. There is a click and the door swings open, announcing Addison's return.
There is a god.
Ed, being the good husband that he is, immediately fills her in on my apparent "plight" and "inability to open up".
'You never fail to amaze me, Joseph.'
'Well this time isn't so bad, is it?'
Addison pauses for a while, her face squeezed in a pensive look.
'Have you considered speed dating? Or having a blind date? They might just work for you.'

I'm not quite sure whether to take that as friendly advice or a masked insult, but I decide to go with the former.
'No, I mean they aren't really useful, are they? It almost seems like a blind stab-and-pray kind of thing to me.'
'It's not! I have friends who only met their dream partners at these events. It might actually work, you know.'
'What are the chances of me finding that perfect someone in a blind date, when I can't even find her with my eyes open?'
'And yes, I do know they don't mean blindfolding myself in a date,' I add, to avoid coming across as a total klutz.

'It isn't that bad, really. Even if you can't find anyone compatible, at least you can make some new friends. Try it out, it'll be fun.'
I have to stop going over to Ed's. Every time Addison tries to convince me to do something I find myself subconsciously siding with her, and it gets kind of disturbing when I seem to have become a social experiment for her. And this time, she gets so excited about speed dating that I begin to wonder if she knows something I don't.

By the time dinner's ready, I'm actually looking forward to signing up for one of these speed dates. As I pick through my food - Addison's specialty; Beef stew with cinnamon and nutmeg, which really is much more delicious than it sounds - I begin to wonder: will it actually work out for me?

----- Port Johan, Part Thirteen -----

Note: Edited a mistake in part twelve.

Port Johan: dodici - il sogno

2008-11-20T09:00:00.001+08:00

I see the last of my clients out the door, and slump into the armchair in the corner. It's been a tiring day, even by my standards. I've had a total of 6 clients today, and when they're all squeezed in after lunch, each armed with their unique whiny stories, it gets pretty distressing.

My eyes slowly slide shut, overcome by fatigue. There is this strange scent in the office today, a tender, fruity smell which seems strangely familiar. It reminded me of... the lady! In my rush to get to the office, I had forgotten to get her number! Hold on, I don't even know her name...

It's a weird feeling I haven't gotten in quite a while. Here I am, having been thinking of that lady -I'll call her Lady - all of today, when she's just a total stranger, and one who's attached too. I admit to daydreaming sometimes in the middle of a consultation, especially when the stories are mostly repetitive. And somehow, Lady managed to feature in all of my daydreams today. Of course, I don't mean dreaming of her in that way, rather all my thoughts centred on the wonderful conversation we had in the morning. Frankly, I haven't felt that way for a long time.

Hold on, maybe she's still at the hospital. A concussion, even a mild one as the doctor pointed out, would take at least some time to recover from, I think. At this point, my overactive imagination kicks in again. I envision myself rushing into her ward, as she turns to face me, just as Chopin rises from his grave and begins to play his first ballade. We begin to waltz across the floor, the ward morphing into a magnificent ballroom. There is a warm candle chandelier above us, and it illuminates her brilliant features as we swipe our feet in tandem. She looks softly into my eyes and...

Darn it! That was 15 minutes worth of more daydreaming, 15 minutes which could very well decide my entire fate. Pulling my coat off the hook, I rush out of the office, past a bewildered Pat, whom I hope heard my goodbye grunt. As usual, the traffic's jammed up just when I want it to be clear, and I spend the next half hour reciting every curse imaginable. The Lincoln Sands Hospital is situated at the side of a winding street, and it takes me 10 minutes just to find a route in. Listing all the curses I know in my head, this time directed at those incompetent engineers, I break into a running motion, making a mental note to exercise more often.

A hospital is a very weird place. When you're outside it looks refined and well-structured, it's almost like a scaled down hotel. But once you're inside, everything looks sad, gloomy and serious. It makes for a depressing feeling, as if you're in the company of dying people and maniacal madmen. Especially when a somewhat demented man bursts through the front doors, screaming 'WHERE IS SHE!?' Which of course, is me.

Walking with a slight stagger from my record-breaking run, I hurriedly charge past several startled old ladies, apologising in case I had caused any heart-attacks. After scaling three flights of stairs (the lift was a universe away), scurrying down four corridors, I finally make it to her ward. I do a body check, making sure I look presentable, which is quite hard to do with sweat oozing out everywhere, ruffled hair, an untucked shirt, and a terrible itch where the sun don't shine. In fact, I'd fit right in on the television, on a news programme reporting on a hurricane that is.

I suck in my gut, and try to walk as gallantly as I possible can manage, a wide and hopefully warm smile creased onto my face as I turn to see her standing over the side table. She's changed out of hospital clothes into a white outfit. Probably packing up to go home, I assume.
'Hey,' I keep my voice as steady as possible, 'I didn't get your name.'
The lady straightens up slightly, but continues packing. 'What do you want my name for?'
'Well I thought we could, you know, go for a coffee sometime?'
When she doesn't respond, I continue. 'I hear there's a new coffeehouse at the Polstrum, we could go there when you're free.'
'But I don't even know you,' her voice quivers.
'Exactly. That's what the coffee is for. I know you're probably seeing someone, so just as friends?'
I try to sound as tactful as possible.

'I guess I'm fine with that,' as she begins to turn to face me.
It is at this moment when my mind begins to launch the fireworks. My life is saved. Thank you, whoever you are!
After some agonising seconds, she's finally facing me.
And then the fireworks fizzle out.
'Who are you?!' I ask, probably sounding overly curt.
'Where's that... that lady who was here this morning?'
'She's gone, and you don't mean all that wasn't meant for me?!' She seems visibly hurt.

There are the occasional times when I feel down. And the times I feel distressed. This time, I've pushed myself into another corner, and I feel both down and distressed. Add desperate to that too. Hoping I can salvage myself, I offer an explanation.
'I'm sorry, I mean I thought you were her, you really resemble her from the back. But I guess I jumped too early, and you seem like a nice girl, but...'
However much I shovel, I seem to only get deeper.
'But I'm not as pretty as her?' She challenges me.

'Yes you are... No, I mean no. I mean,' I feel like I'm taking my GCSEs again, 'you're pretty good-looking yourself, from the back especially.'
It's only when she has this disgusted look in her eyes that I realise what I just said.
'Not only the back, you know, all of you.'
'Forget it, you dirty scum,' she says, with a look that tells me she probably thinks I'm a maniac and a serial rapist.

It is only when I'm coasting down the freeway that I realise; I'll probably never see her again.

----- Port Johan, Part Twelve -----

Note: There is a slight change to the ending of Part Eleven to make it flow better.

A never-ending end

2008-11-17T10:35:00.002+08:00

I was flitting through the web and..

Did you know that buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo is a correct sentence?

Interesting. You'll have to think around the words to get to the meaning though.

It really just means that buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo.
Of course it'd be easier with the appropriately placed capital Bs. Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

And best thing is, it can go on forever! Much like phobophobia I'd think.

Incisive Questioning

2008-11-16T10:25:00.002+08:00

I just wanted to type something simply for the sake of typing it. So here goes:

"You're not going there, are you?"
"What can you do about it?"
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"You haven't been that good as well, have you?"
"Don't you think it's time you grew up?"
"And become like you?"

"Well at least I don't go there anymore, do I?"
"How the heck would I know?"
"Won't you listen to me?"
"Why should I? You aren't exactly that great, are you?"
"And you are?"
"Won't you listen to yourself?"
"Can we keep the focus on you?"
"You're doing it again, can't you see?"
"Doing it again? What?"
"You have issues, don't you? Don't you feel like all you want me to do is
follow in your footsteps?"
"That isn't so bad, is it?"
"Turning into scum?"

"Why must you always look down on me?"
"You know there isn't much to look up to, right?"
"I just don't want you to go down that road like I did, don't you get it?"
"I can plan my own life, okay?"
"You can? After what happened at the Mart the other day?"
"You don't know what I can do, do you?"
"What, wrecking every place you go by? Who doesn't?"
"I've changed, can't you see that?"
"Into what, another of those gun-touting mongrels?"
"Listen to yourself, won't you?"

"Alright, let's forget it, shall we?"
"Fine, can I ask you a question then?"
"What?"
"Why the heck are we talking in questions?"
"How would I know?"

End.

A question of why

2008-11-13T08:31:00.001+08:00

Have you seen the rain at dawn
The rainbow through the spots
The musty spring; a new beginning
A head held high and free

It sprinkles down, like chocolate icing
Caressing the field of green
From within, a jolt from slumber
Upright and receiving

The grace of rain begs some loving
Topped by a dash of sun
It's a brand new day, a day for joy
For life just seems so fun

For every whimper there is a crib
Cries to match each tear

----------------------------------

darn I suck at this.

Xectisene!

2008-11-11T22:46:00.003+08:00

The world exists only as we see it. Existence can only be questioned in existence. If that is so, is questioning of existence not the answer to the question of existence?

That was the question I asked, and I'll try to answer it. I don't profess to have the most thorough explanation, but I do believe I can offer at least a mildly coherent opinion of mine. Do note that it was done independently in a hurry by a total novice, so if there are any loopholes, mistakes or unfounded claims, feel free to tell me about them.

I will begin by claiming that the world exists only as we see it. If we see it in a different way, it would exist in a different way. For instance, if a child was born in a enclosed room, completely sealed with no doors or windows, exits or entrances (no matter how he got there), his world would be the room. The world that he sees is the room, and the world that he knows will only be that particular room. The child's entire world would exist only as a room, because he has no information whatsoever about anything outside the room. So the world, or at least, his world, would exist only as he sees it.

Now then, the questioning of existence can only be done in existence. What I mean by this statement is that if we did not exists, perhaps the question would be whether we could exist, whether we can exist. We would be questioning the possibility of the existence of existence, and not existence itself.

In existence, however, we do not question whether existence exists, but whether existence does not exist. To rephrase, we would be questioning the existence itself, because the proposition that we already exist will allow us to question the basis of our existence. We are questioning not its possibility, but its probability.

I shall now move on to the knowledge of existence. The only way or time that one can be even infinitesimally sure of existence is to experience that existence. This is a form of empiricism, where any deduction of knowledge must arise from experience. In this way, I cannot base myself on arbitrary assumptions which are thought to exist. Without actual knowledge, which may come upon experience, nothing is certain, and all supposed truths are confined to mere belief.

Truth and belief are two separate entities, which must not be confused or thought of as being the same. Without actual truth, belief only takes the form of the imaginary. And without belief, truth cannot be understood. I'll try to give an example to explain my point. Assuming I see a chair 10m away from me. My belief is such that the chair exists, that the chair is there, 10m away from me. However, the truth may be that the chair exists, but it could also be that the chair does not exist. My belief is completely separate from the truth, before any interaction occurs.

It is only when I walk over and sit on the chair, that my belief is justified by the truth. This is in tune with Plato's version of knowledge being 'justified true belief', assuming a situation which fulfils the requirements where justified true belief does count as knowledge. So the measure of knowledge is the extent to which truth and belief intersect.

The knowledge of existence must hence be a belief in existence, justified by the truth of existence. On our part, we can be sure of our belief, depending on whether we question our very existence. But in my opinion, we will never be able to determine the truth, as all 'truths' in the human sense, are mere beliefs. So the knowledge of existence must be questioned, as it is uncertain whether the truth mirrors our belief, or whether the truth opposes our belief.

For clarity, I will attach inverted commas when referring to the false 'truth', which is the 'truth' in our belief.

'Existence can only be questioned in existence'. The latter existence in this statement, however, only exists in belief. It cannot be proven true, but neither is it false. It can shuttle between 'truth 'and fiction, according to the belief we hold. This is because this existence exists only in belief, and not in truth, for the truth is still uncertain.

And so, when we question existence, we are not questioning the truth, but merely our belief, and this can only be done when our belief is tuned to the existence of existence. In other words, we must believe that we exist in order to question existence itself. Our answers to this question of existence, however, does not adhere to truth, nor does it adhere to untruth. The truth remains an unknown entity. Think of it as a set of all possibilities. It is the entire gamut ranging from truth to falsehood, including everything between. The exact location of existence in this set is unknown, as we do not known the true truth. So our anwers merely provide insight into our belief, which may or may not be true.

To question true existence is to make a presumptous assumption that our beliefs are true, an assumption which is neither true nor false. The unknown truth is what causes these questions, for if the truth is known, then existence will become a definite entity, and the exact value of existence in the set will be known.

If the truth is that existence is true, and our belief is that existence is true, then it may be assumed that our knowledge will be that existence is true. Sadly, we will not know this knowledge, even though the truth is that existence exists. If our belief is that existence does not exist, then we will not know that it does, for our existence is merely confined to the way we see it. And in this case, existence does not exist to us, regardless of the truth.

This leads on to my final point, which is that true knowledge can never be acquired, for the 'truth' we use in order to determine knowledge exists only in our belief, and is not the truth. This lack of access to the truth is what prevents us from obtaining any true knowledge whatsoever.

To put this into perspective, the chair that I wanted to sit on existed in my belief. When I sat on the chair, my belief was matched by the 'truth', which however was not the real truth. And so, I will not be able to determine the existence of the chair, because I do not know the real truth, which refers to whether the chair exists.

In my blatant attempt to sound like I've actually accomplished something, I've tried to present a paradox. The 'truth' is a subset of our belief, as all 'truths' are beliefs. But we may or may not believe this 'truth', so belief must be a subset of 'truth' (due to the possibility of not believing this 'truth'). And so, 'truth' is a proper subset of belief, but belief is a proper subset of 'truth'.

So that didn't sound very convincing, but at least I tried. Oh well.

It's a big big world

2008-11-10T07:30:00.001+08:00

It begs questioning, the exact boundaries of the universe.

Can one truly claim to be able to place even our Earth within a self-contained, well-defined fence?

Evolving involves changing. Of which size appears to follow suit in tandem.
Does the world grow bigger with creation or shrink with death?
To create, there must be materials.
To shape something out of nothing goes against the very basis on which creation is based on, which is the notion that a finite body of matter must exist for the world to exist, which may grow or shrink, in accordance to creation and destruction.

With each creation, material is lost with the building of a new object. In this way, matter can be said to be reorganised to take on new forms, seen in the physical realm.
The loss of material is seen as the shrinking of the finite body, a withdrawal of matter to be reshaped. Upon formation of a new existence, new matter is redeposited into this bank we call our world.
It is questionable -the idea of creation - for creation creates nothing. Creation exists merely as a false perception of existence, which is imposed by the desire for order, arguably stemming from a hubris.

Since there is a limit to the resources upon which this rearrangement draws on, is there an additional input of external matter, to add on to the current pool? If so, musn't there be a similar outflow of matter? To make things simpler, let us ring a fence around this herd of material.

If creation is nothing, destruction is similarly, nothing. Death is often associated with a soul. The breaking down of the physical, but not the spiritual. If this soul exists, the amount of matter deposited will be less than the sum used in its creation. The soul represents the difference.
In this case, I would split the sum of life into three parts: the physical, the spiritual, the emotional (the mind). One must then ask, if this soul exists, does it keep its emotional capacity? Or does emotion dissolve along with the physical?

Assuming the latter, what then, is the use of the soul, if it be void of thought? Away from such questions, the purpose and eventual outcome of the soul must be examined. Being the difference between withdrawal and deposit, an eternal soul would only diminish the pool available for 'creation'. 'Creation' must then come to a halt when this pot is finished.

If the spiritual was reused in 'creation', then the soul does not exist. To be formed, broken and reused implies that the soul is merely a means to another soul. Its existence is only carried when accompanied by a receptacle, and fades in the absence of this carrier.

Destruction is merely the opposite of creation. Unpackaging of bodies of matter to be returned to the pool. Creation and destruction occur in opposites and in tandem. One must occur for the other to happen (one negates the other), but when one occurs, it implies the other will occur.

What is used is merely borrowed, and what is lost is returned.
If that is so, the world neither grows nor shrinks, it merely rearranges itself to take on new forms. Like a clump of dough, it can appear larger or smaller, moulded into varying shapes, but it remains what it is, a sum of its contents.

Next (maybe):
The world exists only as we see it. Existence can only be questioned in existence. If that is so, is questioning of existence not the answer to the question of existence?

2008-11-10T05:31:00.000+08:00

Robbie Williams wants to talk to aliens!

Let's wish him luck, good luck!

No Subject: try try

2008-11-09T12:47:00.000+08:00

Let's try something new.

It is nightfall, and the streets are empty in Neschik. Closing the gates, devious ploys awaits.

Chize: Tis' is madness! I'll be damned!

Timlak: If kept silent, no one shalt know.
Chize: Have you no compassion?
Timlak: Not a drop too much, my lady
Do not forget your words last summer.
Chize: The governer ha' done no wrong, why should I help?
Timlak(aside): This scheming shrew, what deceit!
For her anger resides deep within the heart.
I have to wring it free.

Enter Polita
Timlak: (in surprise) Wha-? Polita? At this hour?
Chize: Swallow the gin, I'll pass it on tomorrow.

Exit Chize
Polita: My gracious lord, I fear an empty room, for it speaks of broken widows.
The spiralling winds pull forth my fear
And the shadows of the trees
Come be with me, I plead of thee
Within the songs I sing.

Why Wretched Witches Went Walking Without Wearing Wellingtons

2008-11-07T23:10:00.003+08:00

And they got wet!
But then
Covering themselves in raincoats
Did help to keep dry
Emma hadn't reminded them
Forgetful is an understatement
Going to
Halloween
In the robes of witches
Joan
Kept them waiting
Lost in the woods
Making. A
Nasty potion
Of the
Parsley and
Quantum of ash
Risible
Singed her eyebrows
Tears
Unwavering faith
Vanished
Went the Wretched Witches to
Xanadu
Yet again
Zap...!

Why?
Beats me.
At least they had raincoats.

Oh no

2008-11-06T13:53:00.001+08:00

Oh no, conundrum!

A self-inflicted dilemma which I'd gladly have.

Port Johan: Break time

2008-11-05T12:17:00.001+08:00

Ok, so I wanted to draft out all the way till the ending of the story, but turns out sheer laziness got in the way. I guess I'll just have to continue after a short break, think of it as a sabbatical, a strangely short one. Then I'll finish it up in a few days.

I've realised how tough writing a story/book can be, even though I'm not one of those professionals who totally immerse themselves into their characters' lives, visit places and people, research into every little detail. But I'm far away from the acme of my writing 'career', so I've got a long time to find out about that part.

There's a common misconception about authors and writers, that words just seem to flow through them without much difficulty. It's almost as if they have plotlines, character maps and ready-made stories within their brains, and it seems that they can just sit down and pen a story which sounds somewhat decent or even magnificent.

But the truth, as I've found out, is that it's a tiring job, writing. It requires imagination within concentration, utopia within reality, and a terribly large amount of effort to churn out the proper and suitable words (and great care must be taken not to repeat them too much).

In no chronological order, since it depends on the writer's personal preference, first there's the plot. It has to sound believable yet imaginative, which is kind of hard, considering it has to be inventive and 'special' or 'unique' as well. Plus, there has to be subplots, and the stories behind the main plot, all of which twist around in a special way to support the key story. There has to be that balance between monotony and excitement, because if it's too flat it sounds boring, too many high points and it's tiring and somehow boorish. And of course, all the little details of the story, the 'background', if I may put it that way. The scenes, the landscape, the places, the locations, the key areas where the story unfolds.

Then there's the characters, which are of equal, if not greater importance when compared with the plot. There's that protagonist, who must be easy to relate to. There's also his/her primary group of supporting characters; characters who will appear often to lend weight to the story. Then there's the secondary group, who are more distant but flit within stories to add shape and structure, and a sense of realism. It's not necessary to have so many characters, but it's common, in order to sufficiently develop the main character.

Still within the category of characters, there's also his/her personalities, traits, nuances, hobbies, etc. (which includes history, future, wants, dislikes, fears, hopes, dreams, family, friends, jobs, and most of all, his present) And that's just for the main character.

The supporting cast also each have their special characteriestics, unique to them and them alone. So the author has to create a special world inside his head, create unique, human-like (for humanoid fiction) characters whom his/her readers will be able to understand and relate to. Have you seen, for example, J K Rowling's plot plans? They're detailed, massive, and as she says, they have a lot more to them than what's merely portrayed within the books themselves. It's a whole new universe, a self-created world, and it's fun to do, but requires a lot of effort and time. There has to be links between the characters, all of whom are supposed to intertwine intimately to support the main plot.

Enough about characters. Next is something closely related to the plot, which is, as I've mentioned, the 'background'. The places the characters visit, places of their past, places of extraordinary importance or significance, places where feelings develop, and many more. There is an entire list of such places, even though within the book all you're exposed to is a small fraction of what's inside the author's head. I dredge up a previous example of an author, J K Rowling, to state my case. You may only know several places within, for example, the castle where the protagonist and his friends study and live in. The common room, the dining hall, the dungeon, and those mentioned within the book, but I'm pretty sure our dear author has the entire castle somewhat mapped out within her head, which is a gargantuan task (albeit quite fun sometimes).

The background also includes items, shops, cultural references, etc. It depends if the author is placing his story within real-world geography, with the occasional fictional input, or if the author creates his own environment for these characters to interact in. It doesn't matter which way the author prefers though, because they both involve lots and lots of research. For example, if the scene is say, a small town in Africa. There has to be research on cultures and traditions, the landscape of the particular town. Is there a big city nearby, or is the place a tribal area? If so, what are the indigenous traditions of the Africans? Or the work habits, the working environment, if it takes place near a big city. All this help to place an element of realism into the story, which is crucial, unless of course, it's complete science-fiction. Which then requires the author to be thorough in his imagination, and create every tiny detail of his make-believe world.

Research is not just limited to the surrounding environment. It's also important in character and plot development. For instance, the author has to make sure his story coincides with reality, if he's making a story revolving around real-world occurences. If the character has a particular job or interest, then the author would be better off with knowledge about what it entails. The habits cannot deviate too much from reality (again, only if it revolves around human experiences), so the author has to research into thought processes, tiny details which will enhance his character and in turn, the reading experience. How would my character react in such a scenario? Do the elements of my character fit in with reality? It is, as you can see, a battle between imagination and reality, and the ideal and final goal of the author is to squeeze his ideas within the boundaries of reality, which however, can be quite forgiving.

Those are just some parts of the thought process put into a book, and even though it may sound daunting at first, most of it comes naturally. It's almost like a hot tap dispensing cold water. At first, the tap may seem scary and hot, and the potential pain that you might feel on touching the tap deters you. Yet when you overcome that initial fear, everything falls into place when the cold water pours out, cool and refreshing. Anyone, I believe, can be an author. Sure, they may not be able to match up to industry standards, but the sense of achievement far outweighs that (or at least, for me). The final word you pen down, that final punctuation, is mind-numbingly delightful. The feeling of actually finishing your own book, an amalgamation of all your sweat, tears, brain juices, time, effort, you get my drift.

Of course, that's just for the first draft. There's the editing and rewriting, which frankly, is an ardous and painful process. Painful, because you might have to delete entire chunks which you thought was blindingly beautiful, yet which don't fit in the grander scheme of things. And the longer process of rewriting begins. It might not need to take long, the entire process of writing and editing, to form your final draft.

Some authors prefer to allocate a specific period of time everyday to writing, forcing themselves to write out maybe a chapter, or a pre-determined length of words, which could be tough if the ubiquitous "writer's block" kicks in. Others prefer to take a drawn-out 'vacation', and force out a draft within that period of time, which could range from days to weeks to months. Others like to immerse themselves into the local culture which they're basing their story on, before committing themselves to starting their book. It's pretty much up to personal preference, and it takes some trial and error to get into the writing groove. But once you've started, it's hard to stop. The ideas just seem to flow, and flow, and flow, and flow, and flow, and flow, and flow, and the moment you try to mop up a particular idea, another one appears.

Of course, there are the difficulties. I was reading the Life of Pi, and the author tried to highlight the plight of authors, to show that it doesn't come easy, which I admit was what I had perceived authors to be like. Then a comment of his hit a raw nerve. And I do agree with him. There's always that one time, where you feel that you have the best idea in the world. Every waking second is spent dwelling on it, and it seems impossible to top it. And it's only when you're halfway through, excited and all, that it hits. The realisation that it's empty. The meter's plunged. It doesn't seem as perfect as it did before, in fact, it looks hopeless. The entire chunk gets thrown aside immediately, and this searing pain envelopes you.

Oh well, byebye, wish me good luck.

Postscript. By the way, can you really trust someone who aspires to be a fiction author?

Lexical semantics

2008-11-02T15:42:00.001+08:00

The graceful pulchritude of words must never be mistaken.
A short preface to begin, I do not profess to be a maven in irony, for it too baffles me. And I in turn, distance myself from any mention of it. Not only am I hardly a skilled practitioner in it's literary and literal use, I consider myself to be an inchoate neophyte in rhetoric irony, which can probably be gleaned from the minimal usage of such complex tools in the little stories I weave.
(I must say I hardly use any rhetorical tools, actually. Except unknowingly, of course. Like the occasional rhetorical question, or widespread -quite common to say the least - use of parentheses )

In no way, as you might have noticed, is my thinking a blatant attempt to cross swords with an army, but rather, a miniscule battle with the affront to words.
Words, however, deserve much more mention.
Does every word not hold it's own individual beauty? (ooh, rhetorical tool, hypophora!)
Somehow, every single word seems to yoke itself to a particular emotion, a special shape, a form unique to itself.
Take for instance, share. (first word which came to mind)
The soft start confers a certain soothing quality to the word, much like the hushing of the ocean. (ooh onomatopoeia!) It's followed by a seemingly round end to it, giving the feeling of a soft landing. It's almost like the word is running off a circle, a graceful leap and a smooth slide to a halt. Nonetheless, this only applies when the word is used in a positive tone.
Such as 'let's share', as compared to 'I don't want to share!', and even so, it still feels soft enough to lie in. If it were to take a physical form, I would think only a soft mattress, or a delicate sponge ball can do it justice, but that's just me.

Words are alive. Unless they be used without consideration of its beauty, words hold within them

an unremitting flow of divine life. For the sake of pushing my point across, I shall be neglecting the hubris of Man in his bigotry, and the complexities which twine (ooh personification!) themselves around the innocent use of words. (Note that in no way am I falsifying such eternal truths)
Pushing aside all moral considerations, a lie is, in itself, a beautiful manipulation of truth. A good lie has certain elements within it, one of them being the intricate stitching of carefully selected words together, in order to mime reality in deceit.
Into the boundaries of truth and perception, there are the usual platitudes of philosophical truth, which are essentially a weft of choice words, put together to express a perceptive ideal. Which especially brings to mind the words of philosophers and reknowned spin doctors.

In effect, it is this flexibility of words that bestows such beauty upon it. Anyone can use them, but not everyone can use them. Communication, at least in my book, would mean the transfer of information between people, an exchange not solely confined to truths and reality. The brain is, in itself, a filter. A filter which can be tuned at will. (ooh another rhetorical device, but I'm not sure what it is. Do tell me if you know) And this filter is what determines what comes out.
Perhaps some untruths are arguably justifiable. For the maintenance of national security, for example. Each person, in my opinion, wants to hear the truth.

Ok so not everybody, but most, I guess. But the truth may never be true, for as long as it's replayed after processing, as long as words are being selected to express these 'truths', then the objectivity of truth is questioned. (Which I picked up from the Life of Pi, interesting book, go read) Everything's a sham then? No, not exactly, the truth remains, vibrating within the cavity we call our body. But I digress. Truth is, words are beautiful. Then again, is that a lie?

Port Johan: undici - eroe

2008-11-02T11:06:00.003+08:00

A Plain Veneer Of Nothingness

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There isn't anyone in sight, except the two big trees lining the path, the bench below, and blood trickling down the sides of the small walk. Blood? I jump up, heart skipping a beat, and make my way towards the clump lying by the path. It's the woman I just saw, and she seems to be unconscious. The sight scares me at first. When you're used to looking at living people, the sudden sight of a lifeless body would most certainly scare you. In that fleeting moment of anxiety, I'm paralysed by the shock coursing through me. Is she... dead? What the heck should I do? There wasn't a course on 'What to do with a unconscious/lifeless/fainted/or maybe dead person' in college.

As I sit by the young lady in the ambulance, I find myself admonishing myself for sheer stupidity. In retrospect, it probably was intuitive to dial for an ambulance immediately, but it's easier said than done. Especially when it's your first time. But the fact that I tried to lug her to the nearest hospital probably pushes me right into the 'thick' category. Not forgetting, of course, that the Lincoln Sands hospital was several miles away, and how I looked like a maniacal killer trying to dispose of a victim.

The paramedics have done their job. The woman's breathing, and her eyes are open, though it seems that they're fixated on an unknown discovery on the ceiling of the ambulance. It's the first time I really get to see her up close, and for starters, she's not bad-looking at all. Even with her hair tousled into a mess, and her face covered with streaks of grime, she looked positively radiant. Truth be told, she reminded me of my grandmother. Not now, but in a picture of her years ago. There was this odd feel about her. An uplifting sensation which comes naturally. I couldn't put it to anything, though. Maybe she's just pretty.

I'm waiting in the hospital. I haven't visited the hospital often, and I'm glad I don't. There's this air of gloom around this part of the hospital, the emergency services section. I see someone rushed in every now and then, and some of them have this look of terror on their faces. It's almost like a really scary ride in a theme park. There is a tap on my shoulder, and a shabby-looking guy in a white coat greets me.

'You're her friend?'
'No, I'm just the one who brought her here. How's she?'
'It's only a mild concussion. We'll have to keep her through the night.'

"Just" a concussion? To my home-trained medical brain, it seems like a tragic calamity. Concussion. Sounds serious. It sounds like one of those life-threatening situations on ER, and I can already envision her laying there, surrounded by doctors and nurses, desperately trying to revive her.

The doctor begins to turn away. 'Doc, is she going to... die?' I swallow the last drop of saliva in my parched throat.
It's one thing to have someone else laugh at your joke. But it's another when you're being serious and he laughs. Until the whole waiting room is looking at you. And wondering what you're doing out of the ward.
'It's just a really mild one, nothing much, really.' He tries to stifle his laughter, to little success.
'She'll be fine by morning. You can visit her then.'

I decide to stay by her bedside, in case she wakes up in the middle of the night and wonders what alien laboratory she's been kidnapped to. As I've mentioned, I'm a total cluck when it comes to such things, and I just want to make sure. Thinking about it, that doctor did seem a little incompetent. Just to be on the safe side, I figure I'd better sleep in the ward.
It's strangely comfortable, the small cushioned chair at the corner of the room. I guess fatigue can make a comfortable bed out of anywhere. After calling up my mother can cancelling my Valentine's Day 'date', I settle down for a nice, long nap.

It's irritating when you're in the midst of a beautiful dream, and the light begins to burn up the utopia you've created. I just had the best dream in quite some time, and ironically in a place I dread. There was this stately, regal mansion, nestled in one of the more urbane towns. I was driving a Ferrari, no - a Zonda, along these grand fields of lush mountains. Wait, she's opening her eyes. Ah, I wonder what it feels like after a concussion. Do they see everything like a reborn child? Hopefully not. Or I'll become her mother.

'Hello there, dear lady.'
'She jerks backwards, obviously startled by the face looking back at her.
'Who are you!?' From the look in her eyes, she probably thinks I'm a mad scientist.
'I'm Joseph. From yesterday.' Fearing I'm giving a lewd impression of myself, I try to clarify.
'Yesterday. Remember? I picked you up.' I just can't seem to get it right, can I?
'You what-?' She looks at me in disbelief.

'Sorry, let me start over. You were at the park, and you sort of slipped and fell. I didn't actually see it, but you passed out. So I sent you here, to the hospital.'
I could practically see the light coming back to her.
'Oh, I see. Thanks, I guess. What did the doctor say, anyway?'
'He said you had a concussion. I thought it sounded pretty bad, but apparently it's just a mild one and you're pretty much okay now.'
'Uh-hmm,' she tries to acknowledge my efforts, 'thanks again.'

I feel like a hero.
'No need, for I'm Superman! '
Which would sound pretty dumb, actually. Considering Superman would have much more to do than sit around for a chat, and that I probably wouldn't want to be caught with my underpants on the outside.
'It's no trouble. At least I didn't spend the entire Valentine's Day alone.'

We have a nice, long chat after that, and she seems to be a really nice person.
I rush off to work just before lunch, having spent the entire night at the hospital.
But hey, at least I had a 'date' for Valentine's Day. Even if I'm the only one who thinks that way.

----- Port Johan, Part Eleven -----

The A!

2008-11-02T10:31:00.002+08:00

I thought since I was bored, I might as well do something to bring me luck.

So here goes, all the words beginning with A, from the top of my head, in 8mins. (8 is lucky, you see)
No cheating ya.

A
Aalborg
AAA (automobile)
Aberration
Ab
Abject
Abjure
Abstruse
Abstract
Abate
Abomination
Abhor
Actual
Ack
Acme
Acknowledge
Advertisement
Apt
Affront
Admonish
Adore
Alabama
Alaska
Attest
Arrest
At
Amphere
Amplitude
Avenue
Ad-hoc
Awful
Awe
Ass
Aspartine
Aquamarine
Aqua
Area
Art
Ahem
Ailing
All
Afloat
Africa
Active
Aggrandise
Aggregate
Anguish (anger)
Anklet
Aid
Aol
Apt
Amen
Anchovy
Aviary
Aviation
Aye
Aso (jap pm)
Arse
Arsenic
Arson
Armageddon
Arm
Approchement
Approach
Awful
Acquiesce (wonder if it's spelt correctly)
Audible
Audit
Ape
Application
All
Akin
Aloha
Annoy
Achieve
Adrenaline
Afro
Ark
Aviv
Axe
Axis
Aztec
Alps
Al-paca
Ale
Always
Alternate
Allude
Appall
Appreciate

Meh, so hard to think of the big words, just look at the bottom, all the smaller words. Pardon me if I misspelled any, not on purpose. Here's some more I thought of after the 8mins.

Advance
Authority
Airport
Award
Aware
Afloat
Awash
Amok
Awake
Antiquity
Ambivalent
Amount
Amnesty
Annex
Anemone
Adjourn
Agnostic
Apprehend
Agility
Amenable
Acrimonious (is there such a word)
Ameliorate
Amicable
Amiable
Attract
Agumon hahaha
Ate
Atoll
Attention
Attap
Attic
Atom
Amidst
Asia
Accept
Acorn
Asexual
Accost
Ace
Ache
Achilles
Archaeology
Arcane
Aristocrat
Actiniara
Amir (pretty sure there's such a title)

Ok I'm tired of thinking.
Come to me, my dear As!
Come to Papa!
I'll treat you well, promise.

The ire of irony; doth puzzles the will

2008-10-30T22:38:00.004+08:00

Hello, I'm bored on a Friday morning. So I shall type something. Somehow. Something about something from somewhere by someone written on someday in someplace sometime.

Irony. In the eyes of the benighted.
Irony is teh pwnzzz!!

Irony. Ignorance?
What is it. Exactly?
Is it real?
Does it hide in crevices and spring onto you and ironise you?
Thought and truth, reality and perception.
Oh how they mess about!
Skewed deviance. Skewed deviance?
Irony?
Non lo so.

Language, words, ooh.
Ever had a time in your childhood where you created your own language?
A vernacular only you and maybe your imaginary friends could understand?
Solace within the comfort of privacy?
That's what language is all about, isn't it? The ability to put across our thoughts.
Think about it.

Ok, so now you've thought about it. Were you thinking in words? Were you speaking your thoughts aloud in your head? That's precisely what I'm getting at.
Language, words, I do believe, are a way of putting our thoughts somewhere. It's almost like body language. If I point at a cow, pump my hands pretending to choke myself, then move them in a motion to show 'eating', and start salivating, would you comprehend that I wanted the cow for lunch? Or would you think 'Ooh cow. Ah ha, a necklace. He sprained his hands? Ooh, water!'

Our thoughts need an outlet. Language came up as a way of sharing, communication. Man wanted to share his thoughts with his fellow humanoids. And the many different tongues came about when groups of people decided that it was simply too taxing to remember a private language for each other individual, or when a particularly inquisitive person decided he wanted to eavesdrop. How about the lexicon, then? Where do all these words come from?

Think of it this way. Every action begs to be described. Without creation of new words (which sometimes sound really dumb, like hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, ironically meaning a fear of long words), some actions or emotions cannot be put through, naturally leading to creation of new words to describe these actions. And these words catch on, people discovering they can actually describe the feeling or action in question, and become entities in the lexicon.

On a sidenote, there's actually a fear of phobias! And it's called phobophobia. So I can actually have a phobia, and be afraid of it, which would mean a never-ending cycle really. I'll be phobophobic about phobias. But since it means I have phobophobia, it'll only heighten my phobophobia because I now have phobophobia. And then I'll be phobophobic about my phobophobia due to my phobophobia, which will result in a more pronounced phobophobia, and so on. You can continue it if you're really bored.

Words seem nice enough though.