Category: My Abstract Life

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Announcement Diary Reflection

Merry Christmas, And A Brief Summary Of 2010

What a year 2010 has been!  By the time you read this, I am very much on my way leaving town, looking forward to meeting Cynthia’s family and enjoying the serenity of an Internet blackout.  Back to basic, somewhere in Indonesia.  I can imagine how I would hear the ringing in my ears at night, be greeted by the rather cool air in the morning, the prayers from a mosque nearby before the break of dawn.  I would have so much time to exercise, to read, to revise my Spanish, to take a walk in the neighborhood, and to taste the local food.

The official announcement was out yesterday.  My entry of “Sea Turtle” has won over the judges from the HP team, against some of the stiffest competitions.  I have read some of entries written by fellow bloggers showcased at the HP Singapore Facebook page, and they are good.  I am thrilled, very thrilled that the judges were won over by – quoting from the email – my creativity, relevance to the topic, and the originality of my story.  And I dedicate this little achievement of mine to you, my readers.  Especially those who think that I should take up writing more seriously, and the encouragement I receive when I venture outside my comfort zone – in terms of writing.  Also, thanks to Amelia from Waggener Edstrom who has been encouraging and reminding me to complete the entry.  Your positive energy is a blessing to those around you.  You should be my agent, should my writing career takes off.

I enjoy writing “Sea Turtle” a lot.  Because it took me a few good weeks to research on the subject matters down to how sea turtles hear and what sea turtles do.  And it took some good thinking in order to put together a folklore, as inspired by Italo Calvino and his lecture notes “Six Memos for the Next Millennium”.  I am not literature trained.  I wish I was.  Having said that, I would probably hate writing if it was so.

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This doodle of mine (on top of this post) is titled tentatively as “Rain of Heaven and Fire of Chaos”.  It started as a ginger bread man – Cynthia can vouch for it.  But I tossed the idea away and started afresh, with something more complex.  Because that ginger bread man and Christmas tree composition was going nowhere.  I am not sure if anyone would get what this drawing is trying to say.  It is a rather private piece of composition.  Hence the zipper.

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Instead of spending time to write a batch of posts to be released while I am away like I used to – which I suppose most readers would be busy celebrating the festive season and new year with family and friends – I dedicate my time going through all my year 2010 posts.  OK.  Retract a little.  Before I went through my posts this year, I tried to recall what I did in 2010.  Nothing significant came up.  The other day, I had lunch with my good friend Shauna.  We concluded that time flies, year 2010 has disappeared as quickly as it arrived.  Cynthia and I had dinner with our good friend Tong Kiat two evenings ago for his birthday celebration at Dempsey Road.  We also concluded the same.  Now, when I did take time to look through what I have done, here are some of my favorite entries that you may or may not have read.  Some, I have even forgotten that they were written.  Back to the first practical reason of why I blog.  Time does fly.  But not without leaving behind some of the fondest memories.

In no particular order, there is a brief summary of my year 2010.

  1. My niece Bethany was born in January!  When I look at my little sister, who is so full of heavenly joy, it is hard to believe that she now has a little daughter.  My photo is seldom featured here.  The one taken on Bethany’s 100th day birthday still melts my heart whenever I look at it.
  2. I do many silly things in life.  Regardless, these would have been my talking points if we are to meet face-to-face.  Like that toilet bowl incident.  Like that little operation I had on my toe and my buddy still thinks that it was not a piece of hair.  I should have kept the specimen, as what my doctor has suggested.  And like that hard sales incident that till today, whenever I am inside Thomson Plaza, I try to avoid that counter.  Cynthia would say: Don’t worry, you are with me and no one will touch you! Yep.  I feel so much protected with Cynthia around.
  3. If I have to pick one post I enjoy writing the most this year, besides that sea turtle post, that would be the koala post.  Or the one on Indonesian forest fire.  The style is similar.  It takes effort and tons of luck to chain up the stories.  What if I fail to chain them up?
  4. Well, the materials would turn into the “Snippet of My Life” series, which has been running for more than three years.  Snippet without a doubt holds a special place in my heart.  Of all that I have written this year, episode 27 is my favorite.
  5. Our band has performed live gigs in Bali Culture, which unfortunately the land that the restaurant sat on has been repossessed by our government.  Our band has not been doing much lately, due to a missing drummer, and subsequently, lost in momentum and motivation.  Sometimes in life, there are something that I wish.  And there are something that are out of reach.
  6. Writing travel journals takes so much time and sustained concentration.  However, I am glad that I do.  My favorite albums would be Gorges du Verdon in France and Lamma Island in Hong Kong.
  7. Counting how much time and money I have spent on learning Spanish is, scary.  From time to time, I use what I have learned from my Spanish class as an inspiration for my posts.  When I was 18 is one good example.
  8. What else?  Of course, for many years to come, Cynthia and I would still be laughing about how we spent our 10th wedding anniversary.

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Yesterday I was on leave.  Ever since I have been relocated to the east, hardly do I have the opportunity to meet my sister for business lunch.  Because she works at the west.  So I was thinking: Why not gang up with Bethany – my niece – (together with Benny of course) and  have a Surprise!! lunch with my sister?  The logistic turned out to be more tedious than I thought.  So instead of a Surprise!!, we have a “surprise”.  Lora was fully aware of our visit.  Still, it was a fun day.

Below is a photo taken with my niece Bethany possibly mouthing and gesturing “I am number one” or “My mama is the best” or “My papa is the coolest” or “Hey, pass me that camera of yours, would you?”  In the middle is my sister Lora, and by her sides, Benny and Bethany.  Now that I look closer at the photo, I am very much convinced that Bethany was mouthing MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 29 – Pigs And Sheep Estate, With A Marketplace

This is a story of Dooku, of which the prequel you may have already read.  Dooku was a farmer, a chef, but not any more.  At least for now.   While the story may be inspired by the people at work, all the characters are works of fiction.  If you feel that I am writing a story about you, you should buy me a drink.  Because you are about to get famous.

Kidding.

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One day, Dooku has entered a city.  Not the biggest city on earth.   But one that is sophisticated enough to have people working on a desk that comes with a chair.  An office, as the city dwellers may call it.   Dooku chuckles whenever he hears the word “office”.   An office or a farm – in Dooku’s simplistic mind – mean the same.   In a farm, you wake up early, plow the soil, add some cow dung if need to, do more plowing, and when the time comes, you harvest your produce; the cycle continues.   In an office – as Dooku observes – people wake up early, push some paperwork around, create more work for others if need to, push more work to each other, and when the time comes, collect their paychecks; the cycle continues.

In this new office, Dooku loves to ask people what their roles are.  That seems to piss people off.   Because most people prefer to keep their roles as fuzzy and vague as possible.  But in Dooku’s defense, he asks because he wants to know what he needs to do.   Back in his farming days, if Dooku knows that no one is going to clean up the excess cow dung left in the farm after the fertilization process, Dooku would clean up the cow dung himself.   All farmers do that.  Why?  Because too much cow dung piled up under the sun attracts flies.  And it especially intrudes Dooku’s olfactory senses.   Dooku is a simple man.  A helpful simple man, who is often misunderstood at work.

One day, an unfinished piece of work is handed over to Dooku.  No matter.  Work is work, unfinished or not.   There is an architectural model large enough to fill up a boardroom that needs some touchups.   Dooku takes a closer look.  First at the signage.  It says: An estate for rapid evolution with the goal of galactic domination! He then stares at the proposed housing units for the pigs, and at the proposed housing units for the sheep.  The marketplace for the pigs, and the marketplace for the sheep to trade their produces with the outside world.  Where are the weapons of mass destruction?   How do the pigs and the sheep envisage the means to dominate the galaxy?   Dooku then takes the liberty to rename the signage to: An estate for the pigs and the sheep with an efficient and hygienic marketplace for trading purposes. Satisfied with what he does, Dooku goes on touching up the aesthetic aspect of the model.  The look-and-feel.  Correcting some obvious design flaws like sheep do not need handrails, unlike the pigs that at times, walk on two feet.   Just like how it is documented in the “Animal Farm”.

Next, Dooku takes another look at the model.   As it is, the estate looks like a DMZ between the pigs and the sheep.  Such obvious demarcation between the two races.  What gives?  The pigs and the sheep suppose to co-exist in one allocated area.  Are they not talking to each other?   (Dooku, a simple man as he is, may not aware that pigs and sheep do not normally talk to each other.)   Again, Dooku takes the liberty to slightly rearrange the housing estate, making it more like pigs and sheep living in harmony.   He then combines the two marketplaces into one by knocking down some walls, clearly labels the “Vegetarian” section for the sheep to sell their vegetables.   And the “Meat Lover” section for the pigs to sell pork chops.   As an icing on the cake, Dooku even illustrates how the outsiders should be led into the marketplace, how money can be exchanged, details that were not available in the previous model.

The peace loving sheep look at the polished model, love it, with no further question.   The war raging pigs look at the same model, hate it, and spit on it.  Because it looks superficially different from what they have seen before.  But surely this is a more polished design, Dooku asks.  Besides, what lie inside the houses and the marketplace remain unchanged.   Unfortunately, the pigs cannot be reasoned with and insist that something major, other that cosmetic, has been modified.   Flabbergasted, Dooku is asked to organize a town hall meeting that involves a large team of people and pigs and sheep to iron out the differences.   In the meeting, Chief Porky goes on and on about not able to verify the interior design of the houses and of the marketplace for the mere fact that the model looks different.  And he has no time or found it too tedious to reconcile the two, unlike his sheep counterpart.  More and more time is poured into this pointless discussion whereby in the good old day, Dooku would have seen his maize grow beautifully, day by day, taking in the sunlight from the sky and the water mixed with the cow dung from the ground, turning into something so yummy in salad and in soup.   As this pointless discussion carries on, in this farm now called office, Dooku wonders what does time and effort turn into.  The pigs talk louder, more and more.   Chief Porky bangs onto table going into all four (instead of the usual civilized standing posture).  Dooku cannot help but daydream.  In his dream, he sees a parallel universe.  In this dream, he is a bird.  An angry bird.  Together with his fellow birdies, they have launched an angry attack against the pigs.  Because enough is enough.   One flying angry bird threatens to pulverize the home of the pigs.  Two flying angry birds threaten to penetrate the pigs’ last defense.  As more and more angry birds rain down from the heaven, the pigs are squashed into oblivion.   Mashed together with the cow dung, this enhanced pig-cow dung serves as a rich fertilizer to the maize nearby.  What was so irritatingly useless in pig form becomes so useful mixed with dung.   Maize grows and grows, getting taller and taller almost touching the heaven and bum!

Dooku wakes up.  It is dinner time.  And he orders a pork chop served with corns feeling a whole lot better already.

Categories
Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 28 – A Matter Of Perspectives

1. Making Potions

Lily Allen once wrote in her MySpace, “Most people don’t know how to make love.”  I chuckled at her observation.  What if she is right?  What if most people simply mess things up in bed?  Is it profound or is it stupid?  My guitarist once told me that talents are innate in nature.  You either have it, or you don’t.  Combine the two, greatness in bed would only be for the special few.

If I could create a potion, I would make one that erases our knowledge of how to make love.  Better still, make us forget how to kiss too.  So every few months or so, we have to relearn and rediscover the joy of getting to know the how.  Now, think about it.  Really, think about it.  This forget-how-to-make-love (FH2ML) potion, you have got to admit, is a quite a jolly good idea.  I can’t think of any undesirable side effects.  Unless one is making a career out of …

OK, next topic.

2. Putting on Make-up

Every morning, there is a jam on part of the highway.  To kill time, besides chatting with Cynthia sitting next to me, I observe the things around me.   The debris on the highway resulting from previous crashes, the flowers and the plants on my right, the scratch marks and the dents on the railing that prevents us from banging onto the cars traveling from the opposition direction, and the access areas that I didn’t know they exist.   When you are moving at such snail speed, the time-space continuum seems to get punctured.  You tend to see the world around you in a whole new perspective.

One morning, stuck at a traffic jam, through the rear mirror, I saw a young girl putting on make-up while her partner was playing stop-and-go with me.   She has a face that resembles the seed of a melon (it is a Chinese compliment, trust me), a mouth that resembles the blossom of Sakura (again, a compliment).  Her hair is long and luscious, wavy and carefree.   Our cars were heading south so naturally, the morning sun shone through the passenger side of the windows perfectly lit up the subject of my observation.   So, that morning, in between the stop’s and the go’s, instead of the debris and the flowers, the plants and the scratch marks, I watched the girl inside a car behind my car powdering her face, coloring her cheeks.  I might have hallucinated on the application of her outer-V.  But for sure, I saw her curling her eyelashes.   Left first, and then right, checking the mirror in between with subtle smiles of satisfaction.   That transformation – of which women putting on make-up (almost) daily – a transformation from which a natural form of raw beauty turns into an art of color and vibrancy that blends into the clothing they wear, into the four seasons, and sometimes, into the festive occasions.  I do the little I can in return.  I stop, and admire.

Of the many forgettable morning rides (memorable rides often involves some terrible road accidents or massive jams due to fallen trees or some drivers doing something very stupid on the road), I enjoy watching the girl putting on make-up through my rear mirror that one morning.

3. Business Class versus Economy Class

My company forbids me to share pictures of my workplace online.   But it does not seem to forbid me writing about it, so long as I make it clear that my view does not represent the view of my company.  So here we go.

Some friends tease me that I now work in a factory, which may not be far from the truth.  Consider that all skill sets get commoditized over time, I could well be a modern day farmer, or a modern day meat packer.   I believe that so long as we keep ourselves productive – in return – our society takes care of our daily needs.  And if I am properly clothed and fed, I am happy.  How my friends’ perceive I making a living does not affect me.   I work on the third floor.  Our canteen is on the sixth floor at the rooftop partially exposed to the sun and the rain.  From six o’clock onwards, our main lobby is transformed into a mini-bus terminal.   Private buses from a public bus company, school buses from an university, and shiny buses from a casino – all eager to earn some extra cash by fetching our staffs home.  Paid by my company.

I cannot say in certainty how many people we have in our department versus how many desks that are allocated to our department.   I suspect we have lesser desks than we would like (collective wisdom somewhere in my company observes that not everyone works in office everyday).  We – as corporate citizens – are given a mechanism to book seats online.  And we – as human beings – tend to be territorial when it comes to workspace.  Some of my colleagues prefer to sit at the allocated hot desk area.  I am a peace lover.  And I hate to bump people out of their seats, or get bumped for that matter.   So I prefer to sit at the landing area that contains rows and rows of long wooden benches with movie director type of seats up for grab on a first-come-first-serve basis.   Not many like the landing area, especially the full time staffs.   It is an area for our vendors who do not have a designated sitting area.  It is cramp with seats that cannot be adjusted.  It is next to the pantry.   One time, over the phone, a friend of mine overheard the clinking sound from the mugs and kitchen utensils and he asked, “Are you working in a restaurant?”  In any case, I love the vibe in the landing area.   People are friendly.  The best things I love are the windows.  I enjoy natural daylight and I enjoy watching the planes fly by.   In a good day, through the windows, I can see many planes in different shapes, silently coming down in different speed.  FedEx planes, Singapore Airline planes, planes with logos that I don’t recognize, private planes.   The only type of plane I do not see is warplane.   You should try to catch a glimpse of a plane landing under a heavy raining condition.  What a majestic sight!  A modern day giant bird coming down from the heaven, a rainy heaven.

Whenever my good friend at work and I part from our meal breaks, at the lift lobby, I often joke with her, “Now you go back to your business class while I return to my economy class!”   She prefers to work at the department’s designated area if she can.  And I, by the windows.

4. I Feel for You Man

Our Spanish teacher has been expecting a baby, for five months.  I got shocked out of my socks, figuratively.   I mean, if she did not announce, I would not have noticed.  OK, she looks – how shall I say – fuller overall.   But I guess I was not paying attention to the right area – her tummy.   I mean, most women have a bit of tummy here and there and that is OK.   Yes?

Onto the ninth lesson of this season, we are taught the difference between ”˜para’ and ”˜por’ in Spanish.  I suppose many students find that confusing.  I often pick the wrong one.  It turns out that for aim and purpose such as “I did it for love”, we use para.   To address someone such as “Guns are not for kids”, we use para.   To indicate a deadline or a specific location, we use para.  So, when do we use por?   One lollipop for each bull eye shot, that is por.   One lollipop per kid, that is por.   To indicate an unspecified location – be it as time or space – we use por.   The expression of “through which” and “because of”, it is por (I did it for [para] love, I did it because of [por] love … so now you get the drift?)

To help us to internalize ”˜para’ and ”˜por’, our teacher asked each of us to take on a sentence with a missing word.  To guess if the missing word should be a para or a por.  It is 50-50 really.  One girl got a sentence with three missing words and she got it all correct.  Respect!  Girls are better at languages.  That is an indisputable fact.  When it came to my turn, Cynthia on my right helped me out.  Next, when it came to my good buddy’s turn, he struggled.  I too struggled.  Out of nowhere, Spanish words poured out of my mouth, “Lo siento para ti, tío” that literally means “I feel for you man”.  OK, I used por instead of para.  Even Google Translate gets it wrong, I found out today.   But I am surprised on what I randomly made up in class makes Spanish sense (”˜lo siento’ also means ”˜I am sorry’).

In Spanish, mañana means morning.  And it also means tomorrow.  So how to say ‘tomorrow morning’ in Spanish then?  Mañana por la mañana.

Categories
Whacky Thoughts

Sea Turtles, I “AMP” You!

It is time like this when I feel like I am staring in the movie “Troy”.  Not as Brad Pitt of course, but rather one of the many soldiers who gets his point-one second of camera time.   But that is OK.  As someone who is reborn into this new generation of whoever participates wins, I am happy to contribute, fully aware of the likely outcome.   For yet another contest this time invited by HP, I hope the panel of judges will get what I am trying to say (sometimes even I don’t).  We know how the last contest turned out.  So I am going to stick with the drawing bits and leave out the music bits.   The title of this drawing is “A Sea Turtle Butchered – What Santa could do with the help from Wilfrid who in turn needs some money from HP to make a difference”.

One folklore goes something like this: For many years, the inhabitants of the underwater village Da’Touk Thump have lived a relatively peaceful time.  They spend most of the time frolicking in the sea, eating jelly fish, and mowing sea grass.   Once in a while, some females get knocked up and they take care of their “business” on dry land, away from Da’Touk Thump.   No one knows why eggs have to be laid in a place so far away.   But the sea turtles are not complaining.  They treat it as a seasonal holy pilgrimage.   Religion always manages to explain all the unknown unknowns, even for the sea turtles.

No one knows how the bipeds come into existence.   One sea turtle legend goes something like this: Once upon a time, there was a royal dispute in Da’Touk Thump.  Two princesses were fighting for the throne and eventually, Princess Ho’Mos-Api was ousted out of the palace.   Feeling the rage inside her turtle shell, she heaved herself out of the sea and vowed never to return.   Once she reached the shore, with super-turtle effort, Ho’Mas-Api yanked herself out of the shell.  And the unthinkable happened; she began to walk on two legs!   Over the years, the descendents of Ho’Mos-Api have populated the shore and named the village Aa’Rr Pop.  One day, they discovered fire.   Since then, they have incorporated sunny-side-up sea turtle egg and roast sea turtle steak into their menu of fruits de mer.  It was a sad day for the Da’Touk Thump inhabitants.

One morning, Tortu’Aga-Mari realizes that she is pregnant.  And she prays to the gods.  A rabbit appears and says, “Say no more!   I hear you!  Many times I’ve told you sea turtles the importance of abstinence.”  “What should I do now?” Tortu’Aga-Mari implores.   The rabbit pulls out a magical collar from his furry chest and says, “My child, you have two choices.   Wear this on your neck.  You may still face the choppers of the Aa’Rr Pop villagers but the wounds inflicted upon you will be amplified in a mysterious way.   However, if you choose to wear this around your tummy, all the fertilized eggs inside you will vanish.  But no sea turtle will bear any eggs in Da’Touk Thump – not today and never in the future!”

A hero or a zero, what is it going to be?  Visualizing how to take off the turtle suit is tedious enough.  Obviating the entire turtle race?  That is genocide in a turtle sense.  Tortu’Aga-Mari  gives it a little thought and has decided to wear the collar onto her neck.   At nightfall, Tortu’Aga-Mari tiptoes under a starry night onto the dry land where many of the sea turtles lay their eggs and some end up on a dinning table.   The bipeds are waiting.  Tortu’Aga-Mari does not stand a chance.   As the turtle-sacrifice is being chopped into pieces, the collar works its magic; all the women back in the Aa’Rr Pop village magically feel the blade and disintegrate into chucks of flesh.  Each time a piece of Tortu’Aga-Mari comes off, pieces of the same proportion come off from the women in the village.  There is bloodbath at the shore; and there is bloodbath in the Aa’Rr Pop village.   The men happily chopping the poor turtle have no idea that they are indirectly chopping their own women back home.   Soon, news of the village travels to the ears of the bipeds at the shore; scent of the shore intrudes the Da’Touk Thump inhabitants in the sea.   Shocked, the bipeds return to their village moan at their mishap; the sea turtles swim all the way from the sea and stare at a bucket full of turtle meat, shocked.

There are many versions of how this folklore ends.  Amongst all, this is my favorite: Out of nowhere, a rabbit materializes at the shore and screams, “Say no more!  I hear you all!”  The rabbit curiously looks into the bucket and in his surprise, sees a pounding heart.   The heart of Tortu’Aga-Mari.  He digs his furry arm into the bloody bucket, stirring vigorously as though he is a chef marinating the meat.   The sea turtles gasp at the scene and cry in silence.  The rabbit clicks his tongue, rolls his eyes to the night sky, and says, “I still hear you!”  After what seems like an eternity, in one swift motion, the rabbit pulls something out from the bucket.   It is the magical collar.  In one majestic gesture, the rabbit carefully wraps the pounding heart with the collar.  A blinding light immediately radiates to all directions, momentarily dazzles the sea turtle audience.  Metal zippers grow from the collar weaving their ways along the wounds of the mutilated limps and body of turtle-sacrifice.  In no time, Tortu’Aga-Mari becomes whole and in one orgasmic ending, the final piece of the collar – or what is left of it – permeated by the prayers of millions of sea turtles wraps around the newly mended Tortu’Aga-Mari, hardens and becomes a golden, grandiose shell.   The sea turtles are in awe of the miracle, a miracle they have unknowingly partaken.   The rabbit lets go a sigh of triumph and smiles, “My work here is done!”   And poof, he disappears.  Tortu’Aga-Mari is reborn.

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Both my drawing and this posting are inspired by the CNN Hero of 2010 nominee, Oscar Aranda.   Oscar in the category of defending the planet does not win.   Voters seem to be touched more by the thousands of girls saved from sex slavery than the many mother sea turtles saved and thousands of baby sea turtles released back to the sea.  HP wants to know how I would make my Christmas holiday better than before (or in their technical lingo: How I “AMP” my Christmas).   With HP’s full financial aid, I am happy to spend two to three weeks in Mexico with Western Ecological Society, document the sea turtle preservation effort, and share with the online community my photos and journals.  Keep a look out on HP Facebook page.  I will need your votes to become Brad Pitt for a change.

PS. No sea turtles or turtles of any kind are harmed during the drawing of this featured picture.  I wish I could credit the folklore to some ancient civilizations that worship sea turtles, like the Moche people of ancient Peru.  But any resemblance to real life creatures alive or dead is purely coincidental.

External Links: An article by CNN on Oscar Aranda, Western Ecological Society Website (in English)

Categories
Linguistic Photography Reflection

How I Met My Mother (At A Dumpster She Said)

In one Spanish class, our teacher Alejandra posed a question: How did you meet that someone important in your life? For those who have kids at home, you must have been bombarded by soul searching questions like this.  What a way to relive your childhood.  As for me, attending a Spanish class is as close to reflecting on my childhood education as I can get.

My mother often said: I found you in a dumpster. Looking back, that must be one of the most profound things I have come across at that very young age of mine.  A simple statement that encapsulates so many concepts.  I found you in a dumpster creates a disassociation, a resignation, and a diversion to the million possible emotions that went through my mother’s head when I was hopelessly naughty, when life seemed unbearable.  Often, I saw my mother silently staring out of the window in tears for hours.  And all I could say was I am sorry.  I guess back then it was hard for my mother to explain to her son how disappointed she was, how heartbroken she was.  Hence, I found you in a dumpster is a good proxy to sum up all her emotions.

Besides, I as a small kid would probably understand that statement better than her trying to tell me what she was going through.  Looking back, I guess it was also her way to teach me the notion of a two-way love.  Not just from her to me, but also I to her.  When I first conceptualized I found you in a dumpster, I thought it was a cool thing.  Monkey God (from a Chinese legend) came from a piece of worthless stone.  And I, from a dumpster.  But thinking deeper, I realized that the conveyed message was: You are not like me and hence you are not my son. Even as a very small kid, that blew.

I cannot recall how exactly my thinking process went.  I suppose my optimism has imbued in me since young.  All of a sudden, I have a mission in life.  I vowed to prove to my mother that I am indeed her son and I am going to make her proud.  What a long journey that became.  Over the years, my mother has subtly taught me that love is a two-way highway.  I too have to reach out to her.

Now that I am older and a little bit wiser, I am more and more convinced that she could well be saying I found you in a dumpster to herself, especially when the going got rough.  A reminder of how close she was to lose me in a hospital when the doctors and nurses informed her that my chance of survival was slim.  And that it turned out to be a blessing for her even if she has to accept me in whatever condition I was, so long as I live.  In another word, I was indeed lost and found, not in the most glamorous way.

I am not as articulated in Spanish.  The Spanish version of the story is as follows.  Thanks to Alejandra who corrected my grammar.  I think the Spanish tenses are intense.

La persona más importante en mi vida es mi madre.  Sin ella, yo no existo.  Sé que parece una tontería.  Cuando era joven, mi madre me decía de dónde venía, sobre todo cuando estaba enfadada conmigo.  Ella me decía que me encontró en el contenedor de la basura.   Cada vez que era travieso, me contaba la misma historia.   En el fondo, sé que ella me ama.  La metáfora de que me encontró en un contenedor de basura puede ser cruda.  Pero es un recuerdo constante del dolor que perdura para hacerme lo que soy hoy.

This entry has prompted me to work on a set of photos taken in my 2009 trip to Hong Kong.  My parents, Cynthia, and I have visited this garden.  If I remember correctly, the fossil stones and trees come from China.  My dad used to visit the garden often and he knows where the good spots are for photo taking.  Unfortunately, my photography skill was inadequate (I just bought my dSLR).  And I wish I had the white balancing card with me.  Nevertheless, for memory’s sake, below is a set of photos of the garden.

And another set for my family.

Categories
Reflection

I Blog Because …

My blogger buddy Walter has written an excellent post on why he blogs regularly.  I have been wanting to write a similar topic for ages.  So why not do it now?

I blog because … I am highly imaginative?

  1. I have this special ability to look pass the pathetic statistics and number of comments in my website and visualize millions of fans waiting eagerly for what I am going to post next.  You hear right!  I do it for the people.  In fact, I am so psyched by my vision that I manage to psych those who are around me.  Some think that I am a celebrity blogger.  Erm.
  2. I have this vision that one day in the very distant future, when our planet would be populated by another species that replace homo sapiens, in one of the dig sites, they would discover a hard disk that would date back to our present era.  Inside, they would find my website.  And I would have become legendary.  Pretty much like the dinosaur bones now displayed in the museums.  Note: This inspires my doodle above titled “Original Disk”.
  3. I love to do voluntary work.  In the old days, people were happy to pay for things that they consumed.  Nowadays, from music albums to books, from recent movie blockbusters to daily news, people want to consume things for free – legally or illegally.  Most bloggers write for free.  Because we love what we do.  In fact, I have this vision that at the pinnacle of our civilization, none of us would work for money.  Money would vaporize.  How nice?

I blog because … I am a dreamer?

  1. I have this dream.  One day I will be a writer.  Like a real writer who writes books that people read and critic.  I have no idea how to get there although I do have millions of ideas in my head.  I reckon if I keep writing, every other day, if I keep on practicing, by the power of some cosmic random events, I might have my dream comes true.  And then I can quit my day job, do my writing in some exotic locations sponsored by my publisher.  Wouldn’t life be lovely?
  2. I see my website as the incubator for my budding hobbies, my decades old hobbies.  Publishing my work online forces me to keep doing it and doing it better.  Sure, some hobbies may take a nosedive.  Like the gazillion number of fans and friends who recently ask: What happens to your band?  Do you still jam? Sure, it feels crap every time when I have to explain why our band is in hiatus.  But in the long run, this invisible support, my commitments made public, all crystallized into an invisible cane that keep me going.
  3. Oh yes.  If my writing career does not work out, may be I could be a musician?  A professional doodler?  A Spanish video blogger?  Well …

For all practical reasons and beyond …

  1. I keep a website to keep track on what I do over the years.  I would feel empty if decades pass by and I have no recollection on what I have done, what I have tried to do.  Sure, we should live in the present.  But the past is just as important.  That is why there is a degree called History.  Uh huh?
  2. The difference between an offline diary and an online diary, to me, is vast.  Because I have an online diary, I strive to live an interesting and inspiring life each and every day.  Otherwise, I would have nothing interesting and potentially inspiring to write online.  Yes?
Categories
Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 27 – Some Kind Of Diary

A list of random thoughts and observations that bombard me lately begins with a comment made by my good buddy whom I met for lunch at Changi, somewhere so far away that colleagues aside, I have only got two lunch buddies to hassle with and naturally, they have become – again, colleagues aside – the second and third person I see most often, first being Cynthia of course.  Fortunately, both are guys.  Otherwise, Cynthia would be very suspicious of my activities in this faraway land.

My buddy asked, “What do you write in your website?  It is not a diary.  And I can’t find any moment of intimacy* inside!”

* Note: Censored for PG rating.

I guess I am not that good in sequencing my daily thoughts and actions into one neat post.  And besides, something are better left to the readers’ imagination.  Do you consider posts like this one some kind of diary?

*     *     Best Friend At Work *     *

Every year, we have to complete a corporate survey.  Every year, I am amused by some of the questions I have to answer openly and honestly.  The most intriguing question, philosophically speaking, is: Do you have a best friend at work?

Think.  How long does it take for me to acquire a best friend outside work?  One year?  Two years?  Many years?  After working in this company for more than three years, I am still perplexed by this same question.

So I have done some soul searching.  And I have come up with a list of what it takes to be my best friend.

  1. My best friend accepts me for what and who I am and still thinks that I am the coolest person on Earth despite all my shortcomings.
  2. That includes the fact that I am often late for my appointments and I enjoy playing video games a lot.
  3. My best friend is ever so supportive to all my ideas, always keen to listen to my ideas, even though my ideas suck at times.
  4. My best friend and I trust each other with our lives.  When I say “Jump?”, I know I am not the only one who will dive in.
  5. My best friend fixes all my problems and make me the coolest person on Earth.

Tell me.  Do you have a best friend at work?  If you do, I am truly happy for you.

*     *     Who Cares?     *     *

I find the following question equally mind-boggling: Does your supervisor, or someone at work, care for you as a person?

Who cares if someone at work care for me as a person if my boss doesn’t?

Inspired by a question on whether or not my good work has been recognised and praised upon in the past 6 months, I turned to Cynthia for an answer.  She gave me a definite yes.  Her colleagues at work are the supportive kind.  I was in tears.  Happy for her.  When I gave her my answer, she too was in tears.  But not the same kind of tears.

All of a sudden, at a macro level, I think I have unlocked the mystery of why some people spend so much more time at work than at home, thinking about work all the time, and messing with their business phones all the time.  Take me as an example.  My direct competitors are Cynthia’s colleagues, who are showering her with praises and recognition during working hours.  If I am not giving her as much, if not more at home to balance that out, she would prefer to spend more time at work.  Make sense?  Here is a list of I-mean-what-I-say-when-I-say-to-Cynthia for sharing.

  1. You are the best!
  2. You smell great (any time of the day).
  3. You look great (even when her sensitive skin acts up).
  4. I love your hair (even when her hair flies everywhere).
  5. You are the best!

As for Cynthia, she is the lucky one.  She does not need to do much for I am getting none at work.

*     *     Where Are The Aliens *     *     *

We have not found any aliens.  Are we looking at the wrong places?  Or we are looking at the wrong thing?  Recently, scientists suggest that aliens may have evolved into sentient machines.  The pinnacle of evolution.  That, my friends, sound very much like one of my favorite video games Mass Effect.

Are video games art?  Don’t some qualify as the expression or application of creative skill and imagination, typically in visual form, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power – as defined by the Oxford dictionary?

Video games transcend the meaning of art.  Video games foretell our future.

Back to the aliens, if you were to ask me, in my wildest imagination, I think aliens have the following attributes.

  1. Female only species evolved to physical perfection.
  2. After the age of 24, physical appearance stays that way for as long as they live (note: I wanted to write 18 but some of you may think that I am a pervert).
  3. Able to read our minds – when we want it, how we want it.
  4. Long hair, long legs.
  5. …*

* Note: Censored for PG rating.

*     *     Daily Surprises     *     *

Here are something about me that some of you may have observed.

  1. Very easily excitable.
  2. Attack all things with passion.
  3. Appears to have all the time in the world to do different things in life.
  4. Does not appear to run out of things to do …
  5. … even though some of these things that I write and do make me looks like an idiot – retrospectively speaking.

Recently, I have made my first attempt to order Japanese music albums from the Amazon Japan website.  It was an exhilarating experience as I do not read Japanese.  I had no idea I could do it but I did it nonetheless.  Talking about Japanese efficiency, there is only one shipment option: express.  The moment my order was received, the shipment arrived at my doorstep within 24 hours.  I am impressed.  Very impressed.  I was so happy to see the DHL delivery man.  Being a DHL delivery man must be one of the most rewarding jobs on Earth.  I would love to see the smile of people every time I make a delivery.  Talking about recognition and praises at work.

One of the few things that keep the trapped Chilean miners from getting depressed – according to the news – is to give them daily surprises.  Daily surprises destroy monotony and boredom.  Perhaps that is why I keep on creating opportunities to give myself daily surprises.

*     *     Drowning In The Stream Of Consciousness *     *

… and yes, driving away from town – after dropping off Cynthia at her office – away from the traffic congestion, the rudeness and ruthlessness of the drivers, especially the taxi drivers, and away from some of the unpleasant memories of working in town for a decade or so, I feel such freedom when I am propelled to the highway, heading towards the east, towards the blinding morning sun, the smooth traffic, a future yet to be written, and on my way to an office that is less than half a year old, a place dotted scarcely with commercial buildings, a place covered with green turf and palm trees and in the middle of the business park, a man-made lake with a man-made tiny fountain, and yes, even that short palm tree in the middle of the road, which I often have my face poked by its sharp and hard leaves while I am not paying attention – I cannot stop but to think of the many things I have grown to love about Changi: the butterflies, the fresh air, the tranquility, the sun, and the morning dew that wets my shoes when I walk across a long green field as part of my daily walking ritual after lunch for there are nothing else to do in Changi Business Park except to work on the 3rd floor, and eat on the 6th floor, and work, and eat, and yes, it is possible to make the daily routine more interesting by introducing other routines such as the daily lunch time walk, such as staring at the blue sky through the window by my desk and admiring the aeroplanes of different shapes and sizes and airlines take off by the minutes – such are the scenes that will stay the same tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and many years to come, eating up my life one day at a time initially, and when I am not paying attention, one month at a time, one year at a time, one decade at a time …

PS. An experimental piece on the “drowning in the stream of consciousness” writing style as inspired by Thomas Foster’s book on reading novels.

Categories
Fragments of My Dreams

Fragments Of My Dreams Episode 15 – A Song That Lingered

For close to a year, I have had dreamless sleep, which is unusual if you know me.  The night before, out of nowhere, Cynthia was conversing to me in purely Bahasa Indonesia.  I suppose once in a while, we have this innate desire to feel closer to our mother tongue.  I tried to hold a decent conversation with my limited knowledge of the language but soon, sleepiness hit us.  And I fell asleep.

It may not seem to be that coincidental when Cynthia’s brother Eric appeared in my dream, outside a hut or a hideout, under a hot sun, conversing with me in Bahasa Indonesia.  In this play, he whom I had not met before wanted to deliver an important message.  How could I, in my sleep, create dialogs of a foreign language convincing enough for me to recognize it as Bahasa Indonesia, I do not know.  The story goes something like this.  Cynthia and I were in some undisclosed locations ranging from a hut to a small urban city to a futuristic spaceship and what have you.  And one of the many bizarre things I did besides plotting to overthrow the incumbent militia was to gamble (!!).  In fact, I don’t even remember the act of gambling.  What I remember though was that this character Eric appeared and delivered a long speech in Bahasa Indonesia.  I referred Eric to Cynthia and later on, in a spaceship filled with blue light, he needed to borrow some cash from me.  For some strange reasons, in order to exchange my winning chips back to cash, I need to pay a commission in cash – a percentage of my winnings.  But I had no cash because I gave it to Eric.  I asked around and no one had spare cash to lend me.  Feeling helplessly frustrated at the chips worthed of $320,000 that could have been mine, I heard a song.

If you have watched Nana, the Japanese animation series, you may be able to better appreciate this part of the story.  I heard a song, a beautiful song.  My guitarist J in real life was playing in my dream, together with a friend of mine from my Spanish class (let’s call her B), on a stage, in front of an audience.  The guitar riff was minimalistic, the drum pattern was simple.  He was on the microphone and instead, that should have been me!  Cynthia – my real life bassist – and I were on our feet mesmerized by the performance – a scene tantamount to Nana and Nana watching Trapnest on stage.  At the same time, I felt as though my pride was hurt as I was not part of the performance, not part of the song creation process.

Maybe the song was not much of a song, no more than the meaningless dialog recited by Eric in my dream.  But I reckon if I was to grab my guitar in the middle of the night, I would be able to compose a song based on the fragments of a tune that lingered in my head.  Instead, I spent the whole day feeling melancholy, unable to get that tuneless song out of my head.

Categories
Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 26 – Maize Farmer And A Chef

The company I work for has recently published a guideline on what not to share in a social networking environment, which includes personal websites I suppose.  It is now officially out of the question to post the photo of that huge condom machine commonly found inside our office toilets a while ago.  Because that is a photo taken inside the building and we are not allowed to share it to the public.  Too bad.  It is one of the cutest condom machines I have seen.

In any case, I am a small fry inside this gigantic organization.  You don’t expect me to write in a coded message from now on, do you?

*     *     *     *     *

One day, as Dooku hikes along yet another random country road looking for something to earn a living, he spots a sign saying: Maize Farmer Wanted.  What does Dooku know about farming maize?  No matter.  His stomach is growling and anything is better than taking another hike the next day, and the day after.

It is a simple business.  At the end of the farming season, Dooku delivers the maize to the factories that turn the maize into different products used by the restaurants nearby.  Dooku works closely with the restaurant owners and knows precisely their requirements, what is needed for each of their dishes.  Juicy, fresh, and pest free maize grown to the highest quality, Dooku takes pride in farming maize even though it is quite a brainless job compares to what he did in the past.  Dooku has become one with his maize.

For reasons beyond Dooku’s comprehension, the factory owners have taken over the farms.  One day, a representative from one of the factories knocks on Dooku’s door.  Dooku being a good host invites this stranger inside and offers him a piece of sweet corn tart.

“We should not be farming maize.  In fact, if it is up to us, the restaurant owners should send in their waiters and waitresses to farm maize,” says the stranger with a smile.  “If I don’t farm maize, what else can I do?” asks Dooku.  The stranger continues with his smile and offers no further explanation.

Perplexed and confused, Dooku works even harder trying to focus not on the uncertainty.  The next day, the factory owners have sent in a few of their workers who doubled as maize farmers.  Dooku feels even more perplexed.  At the end of yet another farming season, Dooku compares his maize to those grown by the factory workers.  Clearly they are different.  In no way the restaurant owners would not notice!  His is juicy, fresh and pest free while others are not as juicy and not as big.

One evening, Dooku has decided to disguise himself as a dining customer and investigate.  He has talked to other customers and he has talked to the kitchen staffs in an attempt to find out if the sweet corn supplied by him is indeed better than others.  One chef shakes his head and says, “You see, these are canned food.  All canned food tastes the same.  Unlike wine that is characterized by the year and region, a can of sweet corn is just a can of sweet corn.  It is merely a mean to an end.  In this case, it is not the sweet corn that makes this dish famous.  It is the freshness of crab meat, the right amount of flour and water, my secret seasoning, together with a can of sweet corn that makes people wanting to pay for this bowl of soup.  Understand?  These are canned food.  Not wine.”

Deflated, Dooku is feeling smaller and smaller.  As though going through a merciless machinery that processes food of one form to another, Dooku finds himself breaking into pieces.  Soon he finds elements of him trapped inside a huge cylinder mixed with elements of others.  The last thing he sees is a lid that seals the container.  And then, all Dooku can see is darkness, homogeneously coexists with others.

The next morning, Dooku is nowhere to be found.  In the afternoon, a new sign is erected.  And it says: Maize Farmer Wanted.

*     *     *     *     *

Working as a chef you would imagine taking order only from the restaurant owner and the customers.  Not for Chef Dooku.

A waiter, a demanding waiter whom in Dooku’s eyes looks more like a stranger in this restaurant than someone who serves food to the customers walks into the kitchen.  “We need the Royal Seafood Platter,” says the waiter with a smile.  “Today,” adds he.  Seafood is not in season.  Neither does the restaurant has the right ingredients for this grand dish!  Dooku tries to reason with the waiter but the waiter stands his ground and says, “We need the Royal Seafood Platter, today.”

“But who will be ordering it?” asks Dooku.  “No one is ordering Royal Seafood Platter in this time of the year!” adds Dooku.  The waiter consults with another waitress and in unison, they say, “Royal Seafood Platter, today!”

Dooku has seen this before.  And he is seeing it now.  Who is going to eat the dish, even if he manages to cook it?  Dooku is a hard worker.  He seldom complains.  First, he drops by the nearest aquarium store and buys some goldfish.  Next, he visits the garden by the restaurant and pulls out some weeds.  With his magical hands, in-depth knowledge, and a few good drops of sweat from his forehead, Dooku works throughout the day to create this signature dish called Royal Seafood Platter.

Feeling satisfied, Dooku rings the bell notifying the pair of waiter and waitress that the dish is ready.  Minutes have passed and the dish still sits on the same place waiting to be served.  Minutes become hours and in closing hour, Royal Seafood Platter is served into the trash bin.  Like before.

Days later, Dooku has to dash to the nearest aquarium store and buy some goldfish, for yet another Royal Seafood Platter that he bets nobody will eat.  Not because the dish is bad, but it is not something people eat in this time of year.  After the purchase, instead of heading straight to the restaurant, Dooku stops and asks the store owner, “Do you care what happens to your goldfish once they leave your store?”

The store owner looks Dooku into his eyes and replies,”Look, my job is to supply you with goldfish when you need some.  In return, I get paid for selling them to you.  Whether you display them in your living room, or replace them as you are supposed to keep the original ones alive while their owners are on holiday, or feed them to bigger fish, it is none of my business.”

That evening, Dooku has a dream.  In his dream, the goldfish are different.  They have faces that resemble the faces of the pair of waiter and waitress!  To a skilled chef, this poses as no challenge in making his legendary Royal Seafood Platter.  Dooku reckons that this time round, the dish may taste somewhat different.  May even be better.  But who would know?  No one is eating it anyway.

Categories
Reflection

How To Quiet The Prancing Horses Inside Your Head?!

This is a pretty heavy topic.  But I am sure some of you can handle.

Once in a while, some trusted friends of mine would confide in me the situations they faced – at work, in relationship, or life in general – and hope to hear my perspective.  I love listening to stories and answering questions.  In this particular situation, which for obvious reason I am unable to share the details, I could sense that at any point, anxiety would overwhelm my friend, eating up her sleep, and affecting her ability to make the right decisions.  So I offered, “None of these what-if are real.”  “What do you mean?” she asked.  “All these scenarios [you have imagined] are like the prancing horses inside your head, they make you feeling worried.  You have to quiet the noise down.  Take a deep breath!”  “But how do you quiet what goes on in your mind?” she asked.

Good question.  How to quiet the prancing horses inside your head?  How to rid your worries and attain tranquility in the face of an imminent and potentially desperate situation?  To be frank, it is an art that I am still trying to master.

While I am not a big fan of self-help books, there are a few that are life changing to me.  It is an open secret that “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People” by Stephen R. Covey has changed the way I divide my time between work and life.  Begin with an end in mind is a concept that prompts us to reflect upon what we want to be remembered of, by our loved ones.  Since then, for one decade, while working hard during the working hours, I put in an equal amount of effort to live life as purposeful as I can outside these hours.  Once in a while, I have friends coming up to me and asked how do I find time to do this and that.  In this instance, I think the question of why is more important than how.  And now you know why.

The late Randy Pausch is an inspiration and his book “The Last Lecture” has touched my heart.  There are two concepts that stick to my mind like that one single habit from the above-mentioned book.  One is don’t complain and work harder.  I find that extremely useful especially at work.  It works equally well in relationships too.  Another one is to lead life the right way and do the right thing.  My day is full of decision points (and so do yours too I suppose).  It is so much easier to pick the right thing to do when in doubt.  The outcome may not be the most favorable, in the short run.  At least the process is robust.

Back to the topic of prancing horses inside our heads, I borrow the concept from “Happiness At Work” by Dr. Srikumar Rao.  This book has so many good stuffs but like the other two books, I can only internalize a few concepts that stick.  If you take a deeper look at the root of anxiety, it is not hard to realize that the thoughts that create anxiety are purely our imagination.  Not thinking about the what-if does not make the problem goes away, I agree.  But feeling worried does not help in crafting the next course of action, even if the best action is to wait.  Here are my stories to share.

When I was holidaying in France, the workers had initiated a strike.  What if no train will be working tomorrow and how are we going to get to the airport?  What if the airport shuts down?  What if the flight to Nice is canceled?  When my home server that houses my personal data crashed, what if I am unable to bring it back up?  What if the support line is not able to help?  What if more than one hard disks are crashed and all my data is lost?  When new team members are mysteriously added into the team or when there is another round of re-organization, what if my role becomes redundant?

How to quiet these thoughts down?

I agree with some readers that good concepts like the above are easy to understand but hard to execute.  That is why we need time to practice (the first concept has taken me 10 years to work on and I am still working on it).  I admit that while I am asking my friend to quiet her thoughts and stop worrying, I too am not immune to anxiety.  I guess the first step is to recognize and acknowledge that none of those prancing horses inside my head are real.  They are my creation.  And there is no point keep thinking about the what-if.  More often than not, once I will the horses away, immediately I return to my modus operandi of doing the right thing, don’t complain and work harder, and time travel to the end game.  Crisis in life often looks diminished viewing from a faraway time horizon – to me that is.