Category: My Abstract Life

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Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 34 – Love And Obsession

It is time of the year, when love is in the air.  Valentine’s Day is round the corner, and I have a little something for you towards the end of this entry.  I hope though, you have the patience to read through this.

1. Friendship Matrix

Some say no man is an island.  We are social species that feed on relationship.  We require constant interaction with one another in order to survive and thrive.  Is that so?  Here is a little exercise for you.  First, take out a piece of paper and draw a table of four columns.  Then, go through the following steps.

  1. On the first column, list out your friends, love ones, and the significant few whom you have met in the last one to three years.  You may extend to five.  My memory does not seem to go that far.  Yours may.
  2. On the second column, put a tick to those who would go out of their ways to catch up with you or proactively set up an appointment with you.  For example, I have friends who would drive all the way to where I live and meet me.  Or overseas friends who would make a detour in their traveling plan to order to catch up with me.  Or we would meet somewhere midway, away from our work places or default habitats.
  3. On the third column, put a tick to those whom you would go out of your way to meet them or proactively set up appointments with them.
  4. On the fourth column, put a cross to those whom you have not met in the last six months.

It is a good self reflection exercise.  It should come as no surprise that friends who would go out of their way to meet you and you to them are the precious ones, even though you two may not have met in recent days.  What happens to those crossed entries with one tick?  In my opinion, reciprocation sustains relationship.  There is only that many times someone would go out of his or her way to meet you, to bug you for a catch up session.

Or it could be a sign whereby you are not that hot on their matrix, or they not in yours.

Who knows?

2. Free Time

Last week, I lunched with my friend who works in the same area as I do, who brought along two of his colleagues.  Jolly good.  I love meeting new people.  One looks so young and she is a mother of two.  Woah.  I did not ask but she told me that her first child was born when she was 25.  I envy her for starting young.  She envies me for having so much free time.  It is true.  Almost every young parent I have met pours his or her entire life essence and every breathing moment onto his or her children.  One friend of mine has indefinitely retired from the computer gaming scene.  Every time when I hear someone telling me that having a child is a joyful experience and that I should have one.  Inevitably, at the back of my head, I keep wondering if it is a conspiracy theory among parents who want to get more onto the same boat like they do.

One friend recently asked how my free time is allocated.  I don’t have a kid.  So my free time besides eat, pee, and sheep is basically spent on video gamming, blogging, reading, watching TV (because Cynthia loves it), playing music, and studying Spanish – in that order.  I consider my free time utilization pretty much balanced between active and passive activities.  I suppose in another time dimension, of a different me, I might have traded these for raising a kid.  Perhaps, looking from ten thousand meter above ground, it does not matter how we spend our free time.  So long as we are not killing each other, it is OK.

3. Escapism

I seldom meet her these days.  Maybe she is busy, maybe I am busy, or maybe our friendship matrix has fallen apart (which I hope not).  One day, she told me that in her opinion, gamers who indulge in video gaming are not happy with their work, their life, or with both.  Playing video games is a form of escapism, to hide away from real life, she said.

She is not wrong.  Recently, there is a study showing that among all the gaming genres, first-person-shoot and role-playing-game – especially online type – are the most addictive ones.  I can’t shoot for my life.  But I enjoy role playing.  Role playing is a form of escapism.  What about reading a fantasy book?  Or watching a fantasy TV series or a movie?  We want to be taken to that magical place once in a while.  We want to be that Viking who rides on a Night Fury and defeats the most fearsome dragon that terrorizes the land.  We want to know … how to train our dragon.

Unlike a TV program or a movie, video gaming is an active entertainment.  You don’t sit back and watch the story unfolds.  You participate as the story is being told making tons of little tiny decisions along the way.  In as much as there are studies against it, there are studies for it.  It is a hobby with a divided view.  A taboo in most work environment.

4. “No Makeup” Makeup

When we are not playing an online game together, Cynthia spends time on YouTube and on TV.  I don’t get it.  Almost every episode of Dog Whisperer we see Cesar Millan, his well mannered dogs including Daddy, one or more problematic dogs, and their respective human victims.  Almost every makeup video in YouTube starts with a stunning end result, a shockingly plain looking girl applying makeup, and after what appears as an eternity, she arrives at the end result as foretold.  Deep inside, I don’t mind peeping onto those YouTube videos playing in Cynthia’s computer occasionally – like I peep onto Dog Whisperer.  Because some of these girls are quite pretty.  I often say to Cynthia, to master the application of makeup, one must start with the very fundamental – learn to paint and learn to work with colors.  If you cannot paint on paper, how then can you paint your face?

Cynthia and I recently have two hot debate topics.  One is “no makeup” makeup.  Another one is those-are-natural those-are-not.  Let’s start with “no makeup” makeup.

Cynthia insists that there is such a thing called “no makeup” makeup.  It may take hours to achieve such end result that starts from no makeup and finishes with “no makeup”.  You can even Google “no makeup” makeup.  To me, it is a myth.  But it seems to exist.  “No makeup” makeup baffles me.  When I watched YUI’s concert recording or alan’s music video – both are young Japanese – I swear I cannot see any makeup.  I would scream “See, there is no makeup!”  Cynthia would reply “Look, that is ”˜no makeup’ makeup!  The makeup is so thick!”  She would ask me to pay attention to the eyelashes, the contour, the light and shadow around here and there, the concealer, the eye shadow, and that there is not a single drop of sweat on YUI’s face under bright flood light.

Nope.  I still don’t get it.  I say it is good genes with good skin.  Like those naturally gifted ones who possess visually pleasing physical profiles, from head to toe.  She would say, “Those are fake!”.  And I would say, “Those are not!”

I am a man.  I know what is fake and what is not.

I think.

5. Love and Obsession

Remember those who drove you crazily in love?  Remember those moments that seemed so magical back then, moments that were not orchestrated but happened out of the blue?  Remember those days when you felt so hopelessly obsessed, your poor mind was kneaded like a dough?  What is love and obsession?  Where does it come from and where has it gone?  Are you missing that little sparkle in your relationship?  Well my friends, little do you know that you could gain some insights by playing an online video game.  Fortunately you do not need to play one to gain some.  Here is my observation for sharing.

In that game, there are routines that a group of random people meet regularly to achieve a common objective.  The routines have become such a chore that most would go through the journey in silence, do their job for the hope of a reward.  Within the community, it is joked that we are like married couples having sex.  Why then are people so obsessed with the routines?

For this aspect of the game, two kinds of rewards are given.  Three if you count the “no reward” reward.  One is like a paid wages.  You do a lot, you earn a little every time you do it.  There is no surprise as in how much you will get.  If you are the persistence type, over time, you will be rewarded accordingly.  Not handsomely, but accordingly.  The second type of reward is a surprise payout.  You know what you are after.  But there is no guarantee that you are getting it, or when you are getting it.  Think of your first kiss, or the first time you hold that someone’s hand.  You go through the journey in hope for a non-guaranteed reward that you know exactly what it is that you want.  It is constantly bouncing in your mind and your hope over time is high.  When you are rewarded with that something you have been dreaming for so long, you experience an emotional spike (and I hope that you partner does too).  Then you ask, what’s next?  Such obsession only terminates when there is nothing more to hope for or when you lose that hunger of that yearning inner desire.

If you stop and think about it, this is similar to being in a relationship.  Are you creating those moments of impromptu rewards of significance for your partner?  Do you still have that hunger to desire that loving feeling from your partner?  Have you played a part in putting back the sparkle in your relationship?  Have you played a part in creating the opportunity for such to happen?  Even though life may seem like a chore at times, aplenty [manmade] rewards are just round the corners ready to be unlocked.  That is how I see it anyway.

Now, before I forget, I shall drop a note to my friend’s wife telling her that my buddy is secretly hoping to receive a boxer shorts gift from her.

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Reflection

A Time For Thanksgiving

I am not an American.  My version of thanksgiving as such.

I am thankful for this country where I call home.  She may be tiny; her citizens may have plenty of complaints (myself included); but Singapore is still one of the few miracles in our modern world that continues to draw people of different origins to visit and to contribute.

I am thankful to still have a job, continue to be productive.  I am thankful that after 16 years of working, I have found a place whereby everyone around me – local and overseas – are friendly and professional.  Not a single one gets on my nerve, and certainly – to my best knowledge – no one wants me dead.  That is rare and can definitely be classified as a miracle in its own right.  I am thankful that my strengths are leveraged and recognized, and my weaknesses are known and played down.  There is no point asking me to mix a cocktail when I make the best instantly brewed coffee in the world.

I am thankful to have friends whom we are constantly in touch, doing things together.  Be it as dinner or movie, online gaming or simply catching up.  I am thankful that some place their trust in me and brainstorm with me how best to tackle their current situations.  I am thankful that when my car battery went flat, I can call upon someone to jump start my car engine, and when I feel hungry but lazy to drive out, someone would pick me up and let me decide where to eat.

I am thankful to have a group of friends who after all these years, still stick to each other and continue learning Spanish.  I confess that I dread Tuesdays because I sucks in Spanish.  And every lesson reminds that I should have studied more, making me feel more and more inadequate.  But two hours of solid laughter and fun reminds me that learning should be fun and we should learn at our own pace.  I am thankful to have a teacher who is extremely encouraging and motivating, despite – perhaps – knowing at heart that I am a gone case.

I am thankful that my family – in-law and out-law – loves me for who I am, without bothering too much on what I do.  I have two beautiful nieces and one commanding nephew.  They remind me the deep meaning of life and through their eyes, I sense a glimpse of what heavenly happiness is.

I am thankful of my wonderful wife.  She who makes breakfast for me every morning (except some weekends when I have to order McDonald’s breakfast online for the two of us while she is still sleeping), she who does our laundry and irons my casual clothes, she who never gives up on learning to cook better (and in return, I have to wash a mountain full of plates).  As I said to her time and time again: Don’t worry baby, I will eat whatever you cook.  And I will like almost anything that gets out of the kitchen (except that tomato and cheese snack).

I am thankful that some of you still read what I write here.  And I have a website to call my digital home.

Last by not the least, I am thankful of God’s blessing.  Through Him from whom all good things come.

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Fragments of My Dreams

Fragments Of My Dreams Episode 16 – Curse of Ten Thousand Years of Hideousness

“In fire I burn, and what keeps me going is the distant memory of Alicia whom I love and miss so much.”

Alicia and I had chosen Forrestville to settle down, temporarily, because this small town was well embraced by nature’s beauty – a forest decorated with colorful flowers and endless streams of river, animals docile in nature not afraid to mingle with the few inhabitants who lived in our small town.  At times, rain drizzled in mid afternoon that in turn called upon the arrival of the rainbows.  Almost every evening, a large blanket adorned with a sky full of stars would gently cover our town.  It was spring throughout the year and there were dreams of nectar bestowed upon our dreamless nights.  In this heaven of serenity secluded from the rest of the civilization, Alicia and I lived in a humble cottage that we called home.

In front of our cottage was a generous garden where many tea parties were held.  The villagers thought that we were sisters.  Both of us had long blonde hair, fair skin resemblance of porcelain, and in a ripe age of twenty four, we drew attention, inevitably so.  In this world of interlaced dimensions and possibilities, we belonged to a reality whereby witches not only survived the Inquisition but also thrived.  Alicia and I could well be sisters, bounded by our vows to the craft of art and spirit.  We had stayed that age for far too long so much so that we could no longer remember our real age.  Mother Nature has the secret remedy of life renewal.  Many shamans and witches and poets and storytellers had spoken of it.  Only few had grasped the true path to immortality.

Not long ago, a new family had moved into Forrestville.  That was when our trouble began.  We seldom met the middle aged woman with red curly hair.  We however often played with her little girl in our garden and sometimes, in the little girl’s.  The little girl was never introduced as the woman’s daughter.  We simply assumed so, as the villagers had identified Alicia and I as sisters.  It did not take long for us to spot something odd about this little girl.  She seemed eerie.  It was like she was there but not quite there.  There was nothing visually incoherent per se.  She seemed well-mannered and friendly, intelligent for her age.  She seemed docile, almost too docile for someone of her age who should be screaming and dashing about, throwing tantrums and asking endless number of questions.  Or simply put – making noises.  None at all.  She seemed to enjoy our companionship in her calm and docile manner.  Always being polite, always being considerate.  When we were not interacting, she would fall into a dreamy state.  Was she here?  Was she not?  This little girl was eerie, adorably so.  We grew fond of her.

One day, the little girl asked, “Would you like to see where I live?”  Alicia and I were surprised because we had never been invited inside her cottage before.  We looked at each other and Alicia smiled, “Sure sweetie.  We would love to.”  Her mother was not at home.  In fact, we seldom see her mother in Forrestville.

It was a typical cottage filled with wooden furniture that combined practicality with aestheticism.  In the living room, while the little girl was showing me some of her drawings, I heard Alicia gasped next door.  She shouted, “You better take a look at this.”

I joined her in the study room.  I too gasped at the rows and rows of photos displayed on the wall.  The photos were ancient, from a different era.  There were photos of the little girl and there were photos of Alicia and me.  What were these?  The little girl appeared at the doorway looking gloomy.  And the little girl said, “She has been looking for both of you.”  I asked, “Who is she?”  The little girl replied, “She who found me.”

Alicia and I exchanged a cautious look and Alicia jumped in, “What do you mean by ”˜she who found me’?”

A tint of emotion seemed to have wavered in the little girl’s eyes and the little girl continued, “She who is a Witch Collector; she who reanimated me; and she who will reanimate you two.  My soul has left my body long time ago.  I yearn for what it was like to be living again.  Through your companionship, I feel alive.  I remember what it was like to breath and to smile.  But I am afraid your time is running out.  She is on the way home sooner than I have anticipated.  I can feel her presence.”

Her words sent a chill down our spines.  Witch Collectors were witches who enjoyed collecting witches of exceptional quality and beauty.  To take ownership of a witch’s physical body was to expel the witch’s soul from her body and to continuously reanimate her empty shell via the dark energy channeled from within the Collector.

Alicia and I could sense that the Witch Collector was fast approaching.  There was nowhere to run or hide, little time to waste.  We needed to buy some time.  Alicia prompted me to think fast.  I conjured a mental picture of I flipping through our Book of Witchcraft.  Immediately, the spell “Curse of Ten Thousand Years of Hideousness” had crossed my mind.  Alicia read me and she cringed, “Must it be ten thousand years?”  No, I mentally replied her.  We could modify the spell as long as it rhymed.  So we invoked “Curse of Ten Bloody Hours of Hideousness” just before the soon to be furious Witch Collector stepped into her home.

We were ugly, really ugly.  Our faces were ugly like a tree bark.  Hundreds of small spores like mushrooms that emerged after a morning shower hang loose on our faces.  We did not need a mirror to confirm our ugliness.  We simply looked at each other’s face.  The Witch Collector spotted us and screamed, “What have you done?!  What have you done?!”

Her fury had no end.  Soon, a mist of swirling grey particles conjured around her as she chanted, “Wolves of the Ancient hear my call. Shred these witches to the core!”

Alicia reacted quickly and invoked a spell.  A portal that led to our safe haven was opened and we promptly stepped into it.  So did the little girl seconds before the portal was closed.

“Why do you follow us?” Alicia gasped.

“I do not want to live as a living corpse no more.  And I don’t care where you are taking me,” cried the little girl.

“But we have no clue where we will go next, or do next,” I said.

“And we are really ugly,” Alicia added.

“For ten hours,” the little girl interjected.

She too read us.  Perhaps deep inside this soulless body of hers, the gift of witchcraft remained.  But the urgency of the matter prevented us from any more debates.

“How much time do we have?” asked Alicia.

The little girl pondered a little and replied, “You have till midnight until the moon rises.  That is when the Wolves of the Ancient become most ferocious.”

I could see Alicia frowning, drown in deep thoughts.  I could sense that she was thinking of that Ritual of the Black Portal.  A portal that was powerful enough to suck every being within its proximity and dispose them into a different realm.  Would the two of us be sufficient to open such ancient portal?  There was no time to think.  We needed to gather the materials quick.

Alicia turned to the little girl and said, “Listen.  This is very important.  We will attempt to obliterate the Witch Collector and her Wolves of the Ancient.  It is a dangerous ritual.  We want you to run as far away from us as you can.  If we succeed, there is a hope that your body may be able to reunite with your soul.  We don’t know how this ritual will turn out.  But we want you to stay away.  Do you understand?”

“No, I want to stay!” screamed the little girl.  She was human enough to throw a tantrum after all.

“Please.  We need to focus on this ritual.  We will not be able to protect you,” added I.

I did not pay attention on how the little girl eventually departed.  She vanished when I was not looking.  Alicia and I were busy gathering idols and dried animal parts, precious liquid of rare plant extracts, exotic dried insects, and rare incense.  We gathered the materials inside a hut not too far away from our cottage.  We prepared candles and enough dye to draw an ancient mysterious pattern on the ground in order to start the ritual.  It was almost midnight and there was one essential ingredient that we were still working on – two pieces of rope coated in ox blood mixed with tears of dawn dried slowly by the smoke of the earth.  Ox for its strength to hold us onto our current realm and the tears as love, hope, and compassion.  When the rope was ready, we tied one end around a tree and another end on our wrists.  It was close to midnight.  Ten hours have passed and almost instantly, we returned to our former beauty.  Not too far away, we heard the howling of the wolves.  We looked into each other’s eyes and nodded.  There was no need for words, no time for words.

Alicia and I joined our hands and we started the Ritual of the Black Portal.  Our breathing intensified.  The cracking of the candle wicks around us slowly counting down to our midnight doom.  Nothing happened.  I looked around mentally checking all the ingredients.  Nothing was missing.  Everything was in order.  No matter how hard we focused, the portal did not appear.  The Witch Collector appeared on the other side of the river, and soon, her Wolves of the Ancient.

“My children.  Look at you two.  Such fine beauty.  It would be a pity to tear your hearts out,” screeched the Witch Collector in her mad laughter, “Yield now!  Release your soul and let me grant you my version of immortality!”

Alicia and I were determined.  We would rather die fighting till the end than being reanimated as living corpses.  Although we were powerful witches in our own rights, the ritual somehow could not be completed.  We were perplexed and desperate as the Wolves of the Ancient drew near.  It was once said that the way to kill a witch is to eat her heart and burn her body.  It looked as though our end was fast approaching, as the moon rose from the horizon.  Did I have any last regret?  I had no regret and I had plenty of regrets.  I regretted not being able to spend more time with my beloved Alicia.  I looked at my beautiful Alicia.  And there and then, I sensed the feeling of mutual reciprocation.  Tears were running down our faces.

As the pack of wolves crossed the river, we felt a third pair of hands joining ours.  Power ran through our veins.  Just like that, the Black Portal was opened.  A grand translucent egg as tall as a tree emerged, pulsating with dark energy ready to devour all that were not secured to this realm.  The sky was blackened, roared with thunders.  The portal grew stronger and there was only a small window of opportunity before it collapsed.  The little girl – a former witch – has returned for us and helped us to complete the ritual.  Alicia screamed, “Why do you come back?”  The little girl fought back her tears and did not say a word.  “You will be sucked into the same realm that this Witch Collector and these wolves are heading!  Is that what you want?” I shouted.  The little girl was shivering, but did not utter a single word.  Her lips were tightly closed and her eyes were widely opened.  In one quick movement, Alicia untied her rope, put it around the little girl’s wrist and smiled, “Live well.  You deserved it.  Thank you for completing our ritual.”  The little girl screamed, “No!  Please let me go!”

There was no time to think, no need to think.  I untied my rope, wrapped it around Alicia and said, “I love you.  And see you in another life.”  I turned to the little girl and said, “Take care of Alicia for me.”  Before they could react, I jumped into the Black Portal.  Soon, the Witch Collector and the rest of her wolves followed.  As magical as how the Black Portal appeared, it vanished suddenly leaving behind a veil of silence that embraced what was lost and what was gained.

On the other side the portal was the realm of Nebula Inferno.  I had no recollection thereafter.  In this fire I burned.  In this fire we burned.

Categories
Diary Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 33 – How Have You Been?

There are so many words I want to write.  So many ideas stuck inside that my head figuratively exploded in my bathroom this evening, while I was showering.  Instead of putting shampoo onto my hair, I used shower gel.  It smelt good, it smelt different.  And then I realized that my ‘shampoo’ shouldn’t smell different.  Smelling different was not good.  Times like this makes me wonder what I was thinking.

Lately, a multitude of events and activities have happened.  Some directly, and some indirectly hinder my usual pace of update in my website.  Before I pour out my words in a random relevance, there is one good news to share.

1. News of An Amiable Scale

Amelia is a beautiful name.  That is the name of my guitarist and my band manager’s 3.3 kg baby girl who arrived yesterday morning at 9.30am.  Three and a half years ago I was the emcee for their wedding.  That memorable day seems so far away.  Reminiscing the key events that happened from then till now can easily make my brain goes kaboom.  For those who have missed our band’s public performance one and a half years ago, that could well be the very last gig of No Eye Candy.  Our drummer falls in love.  Our guitarist and band manager now have a baby.  The only ones who stay relatively stationary are Cynthia – the bassist – and I.

Amelia, our Spanish teacher, is back from Spain.  People are gifted in different ways.  She must be one of the most cheerful person in the world.  With her in our classroom, our spirit lights up 10,000 watt.  Amelia speaks so much faster than our replacement teacher Gloria.  All of a sudden, I find myself standing on the quicksand of audio retardation.

2. What If All These Words Were to … Vanish?

It is not the first time my website is hacked.  The last few times that happened, I changed my blogging engine.  Now that I am using WordPress, I am unsure where else to turn to.  In the last couple of weeks, my website was hacked at least twice.  During the time when the fate of my website was unknown, Cynthia seemed to be more affected than I was.  She asked, “What if …”  It did come across my mind that all my close to 1,500 posts written since 1996 could vanish into a digital black hole.  If that did happen, what else could I do?  So I replied, “Well, I will have to start from the first post again.”  Cynthia was shocked by my calmness.  To be honest, it sucks thinking about it.  Thank God, while this tiny digital space of mine was somewhat violated, it is still alive with its legacy growing one post at a time.

3. Online Gaming and Work, Online Gaming and Life

The barrier of our imagination is often defined by our experience.  It is hard to describe what online gaming is if one has not immersed into one.  Recently, I have new observations in life and work that are revealed due to my experience in online gaming.  I will not write too much about the gaming bits that may be hard to relate.  Instead, I will focus on the life and work bits.

My work is getting busy lately.  I belong to a reasonably sized team.  In theory, workload should be evenly distributed among us.  But in reality, some may be busier than others.  Different people take this situation differently.  Some may make it a point to announce to the world that they are the busiest one.  Some may start to criticize and openly examine what others are doing.  I am the easygoing one.  If I am the only one working while everyone around me is taking a break, I am OK with that.  If I am one of the few who is taking a break while some are burning long hours, I am OK with that too.

When we play an online game, essentially we are playing a team based game.  Almost everyone has a meter to show how each of us is contributing on a real time basis.  Because different people come with different skills and levels of commitment, come from different age groups and genders, I have seen all sorts of patterns displaying in my meter.  At times when everyone is contributing at their maximum, it can be an exhilaration experience.  At times when one or two under-perform, I often do not mind carry them through.  However, it is not uncommon to see these under-performers being openly picked onto and humiliated by the high-performers.  Even being removed from the team.  If you think that this sounds like work, there is little difference between work and non-work.  There are no two hats we are wearing.  It is the same person at work or not.

One morning on our way to work, Cynthia and I chatted about our new online characters.  There will be new old challenges to overcome (the challenges are old to us but are new to our new characters).  Cynthia cringed thinking about it.  I pondered for a moment and said something like this: “It is the constant need to overcome challenges that keep us going.  That sense of thrill – the thrill of potential failure and defeat – is what makes life [or this game] interesting.  Treasure it because once we can comfortably overcome them, life [or this game] becomes another routine, a chore perhaps.”

4. Social Network and I, Social Network and You

Thanks to Google+, in the last three months, I am off the hook from the social networking scene.  It was a reset that got me off Facebook.  And I hardly spend the same amount of time and effort in Google+ like I did in Facebook.  This does bring some imbalance to my life.  It is as though a chunk of my life has been torn away.  I feel less inspired these days because I was used to a high level of online social stimulation and interaction.  I reckon it may take some time before my digital hormone returns to normal.  But it is a good thing, in the long run.

Today, I read a CNN article and it wrote:

Of course, if [the Facebook users] stopped and think about it, they would realized that Facebook is work … The hours Facebook users put into their profiles and lists and updates is the labor that Facebook then sells to the market researchers and advertisers it serves … We’re not the customers. We are the product.

Now that I am outside the social network, I do not deny the wisdom of the writer’s observation.

5. News of An Amiable Scale – A Prologue

Amelia is a beautiful name.  Yesterday inside our car, on the way home, I said to Cynthia, “If our baby does not come out fast, all the beautiful names will be taken.”  She giggled.  I believe that God has plans for us.  We may not understand why certain things do not happen at the time we think they should.  Perhaps the answers we sought after are less important than the contents life has presented to us on a daily basis.  Perhaps answers are to be earned in the form of rewards.

In short, this is how I have been lately.  Now, tell me, how have you been?

Categories
Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 32 – Don’t Let That Dumbbell Falls Onto Your Balls!

“You are much smaller than how I imagine you to be,” said one colleague of mine from India whom I have not met before in real life.  We were having lunch at our office canteen.  It was a bright and sunny day with the glory of the afternoon sun flooded into our dinning hall through the long row of floor to ceiling glass windows.  Caught off guard by his comment, I was unable to response.  You see, from where I work, we have tons of cross border voice conference calls.  Most of the time we recognize people by voice.  Most of the time, we visualize how the person may look purely by our imagination.

I have fallen in love with Adele’s voice.  Her song “Rolling In The Deep” lifts up my spirit whenever I hear it played on the radio.  When I watched her music video on YouTube, she was not how I imagined her to be.  Nevertheless, I adore her music and I love her voice.  I hope I have not disappointed that colleague of mine too much, by not being as physically big as how I may have subconsciously portrayed myself to be through the phone.

The other day, after yet another conference call, an Indian colleague from the same office building commented that I have a commanding voice.  Perhaps I do sound different when I am on the phone, versus when you catch me on the lift.  You see, I don’t think conference call should be long and painful.  Because too many people have spent too much time listening to the topics that are of little interest to them.  Updates and clarifications should be concise, actionable, and to the point.  Get your 10 seconds of fame and pass the mic to the next one quick.

Reward is a peculiar thing.  It motivates you to move forward.  It nullifies the pain of your daily grinds.  Your hope and anticipation builds up as you are closing in.  The moment you get your hands onto your reward, the happiness seems to last for only a split second.  And then you ask, what’s next?  It is as though the reward itself seldom matters.  What matters is the journey of getting there.

I see this in my online game.  I see this in my real life.  Suffice to say, the moment I do not see any reward in sight, I would feel restless and lost.  I have a theory.  If you are bored at work, that would likely to make you a duller person outside your office.  If you are too busy at work, that would make you a workaholic that frankly speaking, I do not know who would love you except your bosses.  Or rather, who you would love besides your work.  Striking a balance is never easy.  Consistently attaining that balance seems almost impossible.  Nonetheless, that is the ideal.

Like it or not, our society pigeonholes us into buckets of similar attributes.  We may end up having a similar set of milestones in life, doing similar things in life, and going through similar set of daily grind.  This is rather unfortunately, in my opinion.  We could be so much more unique.  The point is, there are many things in life that we should be doing them because we want to, rather than because everyone is doing them.  The journey is the same.  But the experience is different.

I enjoy meeting this buddy of mine over at the east for lunch during working days, at the airport.  One fine day after our food, we were browsing magazines at a newsstand.  One particular magazine, or rather booklet, caught his attention and he passed it to me.  It was a guide on how to exercise with the dumbbells.  How appropriate.  I have always want to get a proper guide on how to do weightlifting.  I flipped through the pages seriously considering to spend ten bucks purchasing it.  Then I stopped at one particular routine.  In the picture, a man was lying with his back on the floor and he was using his feet to do the heavy lifting.  The dumbbell was locked in between the arches of his feet as he pushed it up into midair and let it down.  We gasped.  What if the dumbbell or pieces of it, for whatever reason, fell off?

Ouch.

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Memorable Events

One Milestone Down: Participate In A Writing Competition

My sister commented last Saturday, “My brother has many milestones [that he wants to achieve]”.  OK.  I don’t have that many.  But participating in a writing competition is certainly one that is high on my list.

I wish I have studied literature, instead of engineering.  Having said that, I am not sure if I would be any good.  Or if I would hate the subject so much so that I would not want anything to do with it.  If I could write novels for a living, that would be ideal.  But I also know that such business has no place for an average writer.  Hence for now, I stick to what makes a living – writing business documents.

Every working evening, I drive from my workplace in the east to pick up Cynthia in town.  In my car, I often listen to the radio.  One evening, while listening to the radio, I chanced upon a writing competition organized by National Arts Council sponsored by Singapore Press Holding.  I checked the deadline and I have two weeks left.  There are two genre categories: Short Story and Poetry.  In the category of Short Story, there is a word limit of 5,000 while for Poetry, there is none.  Immediately, I thought of Iliad and Odyssey.  I don’t think I am good at writing poetry.  If I was to submit one today, it would look something like this.

I saw a plane today
Flying by my office window
I thought about my buddy
Who used to call me Willie

I cannot recall when
My buddy left his job
I sort of miss the days (and I sort of hated too)
When he called me Willie

We used to take a walk
After we’ve filled our stomachs
He would tell me stories
And I would tell him mine

Now that he’s not around
Well, no one calls me Willie
I saw a plane today
In it I thought I saw my buddy

Not very convincing, is it?  So I stick to the Short Story category.  5,000 words is quite doable.  Each blog entry of mine has an average word count of 1,000.  All I need to do is to write 5 entries at one go.  Hence, if you notice, I have not been productive in blogging for the last two weeks.

Since I only have two weeks to submit my story, I wanted to choose a topic I am comfortable with.  I thought about writing something similar to that “Sea Turtle” post, which is one of my favorites.  I have this idea for a long time.  Instead of sea turtle, it is snail’s turn.  But I got stuck in the research bits.  I reckon it would take ages in order to study how snails behave, how fast or rather slow they move, what they eat, and etc.

The next thing came to my mind was the Dooku series.  Avid readers may recognize this character that is by and large inspired by the things I observe at work.  I renamed the character at the last minute because Cynthia told me that Dooku is a character in Star War.  Writing the story only took a day or two.  Editing it took ages.  Need I say, I feel so relief after I have submitted my manuscript for the Golden Point Award 2011.  At the submission counter, the lady who received my entry was helpful.  She checked through my documents making sure that everything was in order.  When she looked at my application form, she gasped.  Is everything OK, I asked.  Yes, yes, she replied.  She then told me that the title of my work warmed her heart.  How I wish she is one of the judges.

After I have stopped working on my story, I took a look at the quality of work from the winners of past years.  God oh God, the quality is super high!  I am so glad that I wrote without knowing what I was up against.  Since the chance of winning this Golden Point is super slim, I would like to take this opportunity (rather than wait till the result is announced) to thank the few who agreed to provide feedback on the initial draft in such a tight timeline. It is a humbling experience and I have learned a lot out of this.  So you know who you are, thank you, thank you, and thank you.  Even if I don’t win this competition, I have a polished story that I am proud of reading again and again.

Japanese writer Murakami once wrote the following words.

“To put it in the simplest possible terms, I find writing novels a challenge, writing short stories a joy. If writing novels is like planting a forest, then writing short stories is more like planting a garden. The two processes complement each other, creating a complete landscape that I treasure.” – Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Haruki Murakami

I find writing short stories a challenge, writing blog entries a joy.  To extend his analogy, writing blog entries is like taking care of a pot of plant.  It may be tiny, but it has its charm in its rawest form.  Writing blog entries is a joy to me because most of the time, it is write-and-forget.  In writing a short story, I have to think about how the pieces flow to each other, the consistency of the overall plot.  I have to clinically vet through the words to see if improvements can be made, mistakes can be corrected.  It is spontaneity of writing a blog entry versus the meticulous crafting of a short story.  I lose quite a bit of spontaneity when I edit the story too much.  But refining the story does make the final product looks more professional.

One commented that my short story reads differently from my usual blog entries.  My short story does not have the same level of readability and lightheartedness.  It is a valid observation.  Immediately I thought of Madeleine Wickham.  The books written under the name Wickham are not as engaging and entertaining, despite the fact that they appear to have a higher artistic value.  However, the chick lit written under Sophie Kinsella – by the same author, I literally worship them.  Or perhaps I have read Wickham writing as Sophie Kinsella before she writes as Madeleine Wickham.  So I would say, the stuffs written here in this website tend to be lighter and have the elements of entertainment in mind.  When I write a short story, I am often more ambition in tackling some of the tougher topics in life and mask them under the characters of my story.  At least that is my intent.  I suspect there is a fine balance somewhere.  The next story I write, I may be nearer to the bull eye.  Who knows?  If I keep on doing it, I may hit the sweet spot some day.

I am happy to have participated in a writing competition.  And I take suggestions on what I should do next.

Categories
Reflection

What Does Corpus Christi Mean To Me?

Try this out the next time you and your partner have an argument: Hold his or her hands while you argue.  I first heard about this idea from Wedding Encounter years ago.  Holding someone’s hands or even hugging that someone while trying to be mad at him or her is, believe it or not, very hard to do.  There is something special about physical touches.  And that extends beyond the scenarios of confrontation.  Couples, siblings, parents and their children – those who are in constantly physical contact grow to be more like each other.  Yes, there is this ‘couple-look’ when two people from different family backgrounds become similar in gesture and look.  It is as though the regular act of touching someone facilitates an exchange of positive characteristics between the two.  I am not suggesting that you should all of a sudden go out and hug everyone you see.  We have to be mindful about something called cultural norm.  When I was working in Malaysia, I found that the people in general are a lot warmer.  Guys and girls, they like to hug each other.  Or perhaps I was blessed with warm people around me.  What I know is that I do enjoy getting hugged once in a while.

To me, this idea can be elevated to a spiritual level.  How so?  While it is easy to have physical contact with our loved ones, how do we have physical contact with God in today’s world?  We could say, God is everywhere and similar to love, we cannot see God but we know God exists.  Well and good.  But can we touch something we cannot see?

Catholics faith has quite a few mysteries.  The transubstantiation of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ is one.  The bread would taste the same after the transubstantiation.  So would the wine.  But during the Eucharistic celebration, the bread and mine is made holy.  If we believe that the bread does become the Body of Christ, the act of consuming the bread – to me – is a powerful physical contact with divinity.  Now, what do I get out of this?  To be more like Jesus would be a good start.

Last weekend, Catholics around the world have celebrated the Feast of Corpus Christi, or in English, the Body of Christ.  In our Church, we have a guest priest to deliver the sermon.  He seems old and he has a caring voice.  I wish he could speak louder because the kids at the back of the Church were yelling non-stop.  Once in a while, I come cross good sermons.  Recently, I have started this habit of writing down a good sermon for my future reference.  And for sharing too, because I reckon some of you may be able to benefit from it.

The story started with the priest being assigned to India.  In his spare time, he looked after the honey bees.  Every day, he took out the honeycombs, cleaned them up, and removed the moth eggs if any.  According to him, the honeycombs can be eaten away by the moths if left unattended.  One day, while he was meticulously cleaning the honeycombs, he felt something knocking at his knees.  Because bees do sting, he carefully put down the honeycomb before finding out what it was.  It was a lamb.  Since then, every day at the same hour, the lamb would come up to the priest and they would play with each other.  This went on for quite some time.  It was soon known to the community that our priest has a new friend – a lamb.

One Easter morning, the priest did a round of making sure that everything was in order.  Inside the kitchen and from a distance, he saw a meat dish with a decoration that resembled a sheep.  His heart sank.  As he approached the kitchen table, he saw balls of cottons surrounding the dish.  The priest smiled to the cook and said, “You nearly got me there.  I thought it was a mutton dish!”  The cook replied, “Father, it is your lamb.  We do not want to tell you because we know that you would not let us.”

It was meant to be a day of celebration but the priest could not help but feeling down.  The mutton dish was delicious, judging by how delighted the dinners looked.  The priest could not bring himself to eat that dish.  I can only speculate the conflicts on his mind back then.  Towards the end of the meal, the priest took the last piece of mutton.  He ate it with gratitude and reverence.  At that point, he realized that he would not have felt the same had he not had a special bonding with the lamb.  The relationship he had with the lamb has triggered this sense of gratitude and reverence.

The question back to us is: When we receive Holy Communion, are we filled with gratitude and reverence?  This is an important question because how we receive the Body of Christ says everything about our relationship with God.  Think about it.

Categories
Diary Reflection

On A Night Of Insomnia – A Little Diary

Every night, the moment my wife slips out of my embrace is the moment I am briefly woken up, if I am asleep by then.  That happens all the time because living beings do not stay still when sleeping.  Do they?  One time, I observed my dog back in Hong Kong.  I think he dreams.  He would snuggle into a heap of blankets mom and dad have put together, feeling all comfortable on his bed.  Another moment, he would sleepwalk to my dad’s bed, rest his body on the cold hard floor, and closed his eyes falling back to sleep.  Once in a while, he would wake up, walk to the front door, make some scratching sound, growl a bit (someone outside?), and then head back to his corner of the living room, sip some water before returning to his heap of blanket – just like I do.  Not the scratching and growling bit, but the drinking bit, and perhaps the peeing bit.

Cynthia often tells me that I do spring out of the bed at times, make some strange body motions, and speak some random words before heading back to bed.  I often deny such absurd behaviors of mine.  Like she often denies the fact that in extremely rare occasions especially after a long tiring day during our holiday, she is capable of  snoring, however light and gentle, barely inaudibly and certainly adorable her heavy breathing may seem.  Lucky for me, I have once recorded her dreamy symphony.  The next morning, I played the recording back to her.  And we had a good laugh.  She has yet to have caught me doing such weird stuffs on camera.  Hence, for now, such a claim is still a myth.

Fish do not stay still when sleeping.  When I was young, our family was used to have a huge water tank full of gold fish.  I cannot recall if fish sleep with their eyes closed.  I have this fascination with fish inside a fish tank.  Fish mating is one of the most beautiful things to see on earth.  I could stare at fish all day long.  I could trick my fish to kiss my fingers thinking that I was showering them with food.  And when I did shower them with food, some got so excited so much so that they would leap out of the water.  Heck.  My dad’s friend could trick my fish to surface and he would then exhale cigarette smoke onto the eagerly opened mouths of my gold fish.  Then inhaled his cigarette and let go a long slow stream of smoke into the sea of open fish mouths.  Rinse and repeat.  What does nicotine do to fish?  I do not want to know.  Cynthia does not have the same level of fascination.  People say that opposite attracts.  Since I am not a dog lover, I think that makes us even.

Turtles, on the other hand, sleep motionlessly, to my best knowledge.  So motionless that one of them died in my home because none of us remember to feed him with food and water, after his long hibernation.  We were used to keep birds too.  Birds are so active that I am unsure if they ever sleep.  I have seen them dosing off.  That was about it.  I could not tell if a caterpillar sleeps.  It either eats or stops eating.  When I was young, my dad would bring home some caterpillars found at the rooftop of the cinema he worked in.  He would then breed the butterflies using his Japanese doll glass container – a wedding gift of my parents (that Japanese doll to be precise).  It was magical to see a caterpillar turning into a butterfly.  My sister and I would hold the butterflies in our hands and we would release them from our seven-storey tall apartment.

Dogs, fish, turtles, birds, and caterpillars.  Some move during their sleep.  Some I do not know.

Last night, the moment my wife slipped out of my embrace was the moment I was woken up, quite permanently so, at least for that night.  I tried to go back to sleep but I could not.  The noise from the street seemed to have magically amplified, as the time entered deeper into the early morning.  Not a single moment of silence.   I thought of renovating my home with thick soundproof windows; I thought of renovating my home with new cabinets and a fresh layer of paint; I thought of the dust we have to deal with and I have to clean up; I thought of the what, when, how, and soon, it became more tiring trying to sleep.  I thought of moving to a new home that has complete serenity.  But where in Singapore do we have such serenity?  I got out of the bed, retreated to the living room, and now what?  I pictured myself inside a plane, like I was a week ago.  Now what?

I finished reading a book recommended by one of my blogger friends.  The book is about a Jew’s interpretation of the biblical story of Samson.  While as a Catholic, I do not disagree with the author on theological ground, I must say that his interpretation borders on being imaginative at best and far fetched at worst.  Maybe he is right, reading the scripture in his perspective.  Maybe the word ”˜came’ in Hebrew does have a sexual connotation.  Hence when the angel came to Samson’s supposedly barren mother, his mother was in fact impregnated by a stranger.  Maybe the word ”˜grind’ in Hebrew also has a sexual connotation. Hence when the blinded Samson was imprisoned, the locals offered their wives to him hoping that he could perform the miracle of getting them pregnant, treating Samson like a ”˜stud bull’.  Maybe it is also true that when Samson was called to entertain the crowd in the temple, he was asked to perform sex acts.  Who am I to argue with a Jew who reads the bible in Hebrew?

After reading, I tried to sleep again.  But my mind was filled with a film staring Samson in a Eyes Wide Shut style, with my eyes wide opened.  To be honest, I spend more time reading the New Testament than the Old Testament.  To the Christians, Messiah has come.  Old Testament is there to foretell the coming of Christ and Christ is here to fulfill the scripture.  To the Jews, the Messiah has yet to come.  And our New Testament is not at all relevant.  Still, the Jewish author’s interpretation of the story of Samson has kept me awake.  I got out of the sofa, dragged my tired body to the bookshelf in another room, and dug out the Catholic Study Bible.  I read in depth the writing structure of the Old Testament and how the books were organized, the theological value of the Book of Judges (judges are heroes who were significant in the Israel history before the era of the kings), and in particular, the chapters on Samson.  I read the Bible slowly, and in greater detail, including the study notes.  Fortunately the story of Samson is not long . I sought peace in my faith and peace has fallen upon me by four in the morning.

Do you believe in spiritual food?  I felt so refreshed after meditating on the scripture.  One friend of mine once told me that he meditated one hour in the morning every day before going to work.  I used to think that such action would put any sane person to sleep, unless you are a saint.  Come to think of it, maybe spiritual refreshment for the soul works with the body too.  Not during wee hours, for sure. Perhaps during daybreak.

I still could not sleep so I pondered: What would I have done if I was on the plane?  I have got another book to finish.  But the topic is heavy.  It has something to do with psychology and how our brain works.  Cynthia would have switched on the in-flight entertainment.  I took out one of the Blu-ray discs that I have been wanted to watch.  It was a Cantonese movie, a two-hour show.  My reasoning was that I could get bored and tired watching a movie and however little the number of hours left before seven, I could at least catch some.  Besides, I have so many unwatched discs that are no longer funny.  Why do I keep buying when I am unable to consume them in time?

I was wrong.  The movie was engaging, heartwarming and wrenching at the same time.  The movie is called “Break Up Club”.  I bought it during my previous Hong Kong visit because Fiona Sit is staring in it.  It is extremely hard to find good and recent Cantonese movies in Singapore.  I miss my mother tongue immensely.  How the actors behave on screen, all the little quirky movements, the dramatic dialogs, and the facial expressions, they struck my inner core like no other languages do.  I laughed and cried with the actors.  I was more awake every passing minute.  Despite the fact that it is not a perfect film, it perfectly warmed my heart.  And it perfectly failed to put me to sleep.

By six, I retired to the bedroom, where Cynthia was fast asleep.  I might have caught half an hour of nap before the alarm clock rang.  Added to that half an hour of nap before my wife slipping out of my embrace, I had one hour of rest and a bunch of activities in between. Insomnia is a strange experience.  Some time during one to six, I felt as though my consciousness has left my body. Will I be rewarded with a solid eight hours of sleep tonight?  I will have to wait and see.

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Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 31 – Round And Round In Circle

When I told other men1 that I drive an extra 34 km2 a day through the rush hour traffic and tolls to drop off and pick up Cynthia in town every working day, a common reaction would be: Why don’t you drop her at a train station near your home and she can make her way to work from there?  To be frank, it does not come across to me as an option at all.  So day in, day out, we have earned at least an hour – depending on traffic condition – of quality time, of us-time inside our car.  We crack jokes, talk about the music scene, talk about our investments, our nieces and nephew, sometimes talk about more intelligent topics like the stuffs we read from the Internet or the books, or something geek-ish like the gaming mechanism of World of Warcraft.  I could spend the entire journey talking about Formula One; and her on make-up.  Or she could spend the initial part of the journey trying to tell me the fairy tale of Princess and the Pea, of which upon hearing her version, I retold the story in a more cohesive manner during the remaining part of the journey.  I often think that between the two of us, I am the better storyteller.  And she is not buying into my suggestion that she needs to start blogging in order to improve her storytelling technique.

Picking up Cynthia in the evening at times involves I going round and round in circle.  Because it is quite impossible to find a temporary parking space in town, legally speaking.  And because I hate to illegally park my car and inconvenienced other people.  I am neutral towards this method of pick-up and I am always happy – unless I am really hungry – to see Cynthia appears from nowhere.  I often joke with her that she is – like in the game World of Warcraft – a rare spawn, or a mineral node that I would go round and round to wait for a respawn.  To those who can relate, I am unsure if playing that online game makes me a more patience person.  Or because I am a patience man, I have no qualm going round and round in circle mining and herbing.  I think it is a bit of both.

But surely, you may say, that is not a good way to spend my time, going round and round in circle.  If you stop and think about it, most of us do the same thing at work: going round and round in circle waiting for that tiny and most of the time, insignificant breakthrough.  In my organization and in any large organization I have worked with, heroism is bad.  To be perceived as indispensable is quite possible the fastest way to be dispensed.  How so?  Teamwork, it has always been valued more than heroism.  There are systems, processes, and culture in place to ensure just that.  When I was young, my dad often came home and said how he acted dump at work.  At that age, I could not comprehend why one would want to do that.  Now that I have more grey hairs, I think I do.  I do not act dump at work.  Rather, I prefer to stay low, put my head down, and do my work.  I have learned to stay within my role and to respect the roles of others.  Is lack of ambition necessarily bad?

Politics, on the other hand, is quite the opposite.  Recently, Cynthia and I had breakfast with our good old buddy who is running for the opposition party in Singapore.  Tipping point was one of the topics I have initiated.  Wouldn’t I be concerned as a Singaporean if the opposition takes over the government today, he asked?  Or should it be a more graduate approach for the politicians coming not from the ruling party today to first learn the rope?  He, I think, prefers a more gentle approach, a safer approach.  I am not into politics.  I do not know what works, what does not.  In my mind, leaders can also be created by the opportunity that calls for at the most unexpected hour.  Not every leader is to be groomed from young.  A safer approach, no doubt, but by no means the only way.  Towards the end of our breakfast session, I made a casual remark that perhaps all we need is someone charismatic to take the social network by storm.  True enough, weeks later, we have our youngest politician, a 24 years old running for opposition party contesting one of the strongholds of the ruling party.  In the morning when the news was out, her Facebook page has only 500 like’s.  In the span of merely a few days, her page has hit close to 20,000 like’s.  I agree with my buddy that Obama did not win the election by means of the social network.  But I argued that coupling the online channel with substance translates to rapid dissemination of ideals directly to the people on the ground, with little or no censorship.  I still have no idea which party to vote for this coming general election.  I do not watch local TV, or read the local papers.  My news feed comes mostly from the online channel3.  At present, I have received more messages from the opposition than from the ruling party.  And there is this highway issue that makes me start to question certain beliefs I have with our government.

Tonight, I am delighted to learn that Lauren Froderman has won season 7’s So You Think You Can Dance4.  I am so rooted for that 19 years old dancer who was the last woman standing against a season dominated by male dancers.  The same level of delight when I learned that Whitney Miller has won the MasterChef.  It is good to see talented people get to perform at their peak, with no holding back.  In some situations, heroism pays off.

Footnote 1: Women seem to have no problem understand the need to be picked up everyday. Footnote 2: Singapore is tiny so 34 km is relatively long. Footnote 3: The online version of our local newspaper only gives out truncated news bites with the message that the remaining can be found in the printed version. Footnote 4: Yes, we are very slow in broadcasting overseas TV programs.

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Snippet of My Life

Snippet Of My Life Episode 30 – Love, Yusheng, Snail, and Bicycle

How did you spend your Valentine Day?  It was on a Monday, not an ideal day to celebrate.  So we celebrated ours on Sunday instead.  In case if you are curious on what we did on Monday, the picture below says it all.  Something is very wrong about this picture in so many dimensions, I know.  But it is what it is.

This Valentine, one of the gifts I bought for Cynthia got her jumping up and down in pure happiness.  It was a pleasant surprise, because I have not seen her so happily surprised at that euphoric magnitude.  It was something simple, did not take me long to find.  What took me a long time though was to think of what to get for her.  Perhaps it is true that it is the thought that counts.

*     *     *     *     *

No.  Despite the common belief that Yusheng or Lo Hei comes from Hong Kong, this dish is as uniquely Singapore as it can be.  I came from Hong Kong.  I have not eaten something like this before.  Certainly my family would flip if they see me standing, tossing food in mid air, inside a Chinese restaurant, during Chinese New Year.

Lo Hei is a cold dish with mixed vegetables.  I had my first encounter this year inside a posh Indian restaurant with a majority of Indian colleagues and business associates.  In view of the cultural difference, our Chinese hosts took the time to explain the steps in consuming this dish the Singapore way.  I do not remember all the steps in details.  All I remember was a full jar of oil emptied into the dish.  One of the Indian balked.  Me too.  I think the oil signifies a smooth and easy life.  Wow.  That was a lot of oil.

Lo Hei is an auspicious dish.  Tossing the dish with the ingredients high up in the air is part of the ritual.  The higher, the better.  In a business setting, I would presume that we do this in wish for a better career?  As I was happily tossing the dish, I suddenly recalled that my boss’ boss  and I were sharing the same dish, with a few others.  I was unsure if it was OK to toss higher than my boss.  So I quickly readjusted my enthusiasm and observed how high my boss’ boss tossed.  Am I going crazy?  Would you toss much higher than your bosses?

*     *     *     *     *

Ever since I shared this observation with Cynthia, she has stopped eating prawns.  You may skip this section if you are a prawn lover.

To me, prawns are underwater worms with a shell.  Once the shell is removed – raw or cooked – the naked prawn looks like a worm.  It is a lump of protein, which fortunately tastes pretty good – cooked or not.  I am fine with this imagination.  Cynthia is not.

Sea slugs are in essence snails without a shell.  But no one eats marine slugs or freshwater slugs inside a restaurant.  What we do have though is a land snail dish called escargot.  I love this French dish.

We eat land snails (selected species of course) but we don’t eat sea slugs.  We eat prawns but we don’t eat worms (except in some exotic cultures).  I conclude that we prefer eating things that come with a shell.

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My friend R never stops trying to rally my emotion and call for my return to my ‘glorious day’ of being a cyclist.  My response to him is always the same.  I do not trust the drivers in Singapore.  I do not even feel safe hiding inside an encrusted metal when I am driving here.  What makes you think that I am willing to risk my life and share the road with fellow drivers, on a bicycle?  One of our mutual friends accidentally entered into a highway and got himself into an incident.  Another one got his shoulder dislocated on a hit-and-run incident.  Really.  Need I say more?  Fortunate for me, although I have only got to learn cycling when I was in my twenties, I have had the most smashing experience cycling across UK doing at times 120km a day.  After which, all I can say is that I can be happily ‘retired’, as far as cycling goes.

One day, I met R for lunch.  He showed me a badly cracked smartphone and asked, “Guess what happened?”  No idea.  You dropped the phone, I responded.

A few days ago, R was cycling in the middle of the leftmost lane.  Should cyclists stay on the far side of the road or should they occupy the entire road wide enough for buses and trucks?  I do not know which is less dangerous.  One car made a hard left turn from the  middle lane, cut into R’s lane, and they collided.  My friend seemed OK.  And he is claiming S$5,000 from the driver.  Because he has an expensive bicycle; he bicycle has some expensive gadgets; and he was carrying an expensive smartphone.

I do not know what level of damage his bicycle has endured.  But I learn to stay away from expensive bicycles after hearing R’s story.  This evening, at one junction, I saw a horde of expensive bicycles crawling towards me.  I patiently gave way.  If one was to cause a domino effect on them – however remote this could be – that would be one expensive bill to pay.  Not only for the bicycles, but also the attached speedometers.  Maybe GPS devices.  Not to forget to mention the smartphones that cyclists carry when they cycle.