Currently I find myself chatting with a rather reflective and contemplative hamster while having my cousin behind my back.
I don't really find any words to speak. I don't really know if she's staring this way either. Occasionally I wonder what exactly goes on in her mind and what exactly she thinks of me, but I suppose it goes the other way round as well. And on a larger scale, that's not a very unique feeling; it's something that applies to everybody anyway.
She just went up. By that reaction I can't tell whether she was staring this way or not, but I can find out. The only thing keeping me from doing so is that such an action caused a lot of foolishness on my part three years ago. Perhaps I should continue even then?
If she were here I would have found out whether she was staring this way by the end of that paragraph.
The feeling of how others view you is generally reflective of how comfortable you are with the person, at least from the way I see it. I do not really consider much on the impression I make on the friends and acquaintances around me, yet I do moreso for my family.
There's another person I consider much of, a friend I consider myself; yet I've been making an effort to ensure that I get along well with myself.
There're those whose personalities feel consistent with their outward self. There're those whose personalities are to an extent farcical and need their true colours to be revealed. And then there're those whose true personalities only exist towards themselves or perhaps only to the Wired, Lain-like and unlike at the same time.
Am I selfish? Am I doing this correctly? Am I doing this wrong? Am I going to get blamed for this? Am I currently being stared at by someone for whatever reason? Atypical questions really, and the fact that I might have considered myself to be unique for such reasons can count towards a sin, one of the ego and a rather guilt-inducing one at that.
I write stories to get a message, convey a meaning, and so on. Yet all this has a target audience in mind, be it a group or an individual. Yet all my target audiences lie within my mind now. What's a child to do?
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Family
8pm. I stare at the fountain just outside Belt 18 and 19. Staring. Various thoughts run through my mind staring at the fountain, yet none of them really make much of an impact, rather lingering around more like a mere afterthought rather than something I focused on.
My mind keeps drifting back to an individual - a particularly recent fragment of my past. Somehow my mind stays on the individual despite the clear lack of reason for it to. Thinking too much about it begins to hurt. Yet the sound of water calms me down, just enough for me to keep my cool.
8.30. I move back to Belt 16 where they're supposed to appear. My mind still drifts back to her. Occasionally it goes back to the matter at hand. How should I greet them? What do they look like now? How're they? What should I do? It feels uneasy remaining on this subject, yet whatever my mind drifted to wasn't much of a better choice.
8.46. The plane lands. I glance at the passageway where everyone comes down the flight of steps, waving at anyone past the glass wall whom they recognize. The few that come out are either flight attendants or people I don't recognize.
5 children hug the glass wall, all looking intently past it and hoping to see the face of someone they have been away from for a period of time, long or short. Families and friends around me look up, anxious to see anyone they recognize. Compared to the laid-back person leaning against the railings and staring half-heartedly past the glass, they really must miss whoever it is they're looking for.
9.10. The baggage starts unloading. One of the 5 children, a girl of around 9, starts waving. For once my line of sight with the passageway is blocked. Yet I feel nothing for or against her enthusiasm. She has something to be enthusiastic about, and she's sincere about it. What about me? Slowly but surely I feel more confused. More questions start floating around my mind. And yet my mind still finds time to drift towards her.
9.15. The girl runs towards the entrance to greet her sibling or friend. Soon enough I see the two I was waiting for. All the questions start coming up in my head. Then I saw something.
For a moment, I suddenly saw them act like the way they were, 3 years ago. Right there, I nearly laughed, but kept it to a smile. That's right. They were still them. And I was still myself. Just say what I would say. Just do the things I would do.
9.30. The three of us are on the car. The two of them talk to each other for a while. I keep silent. A few hours back Mom was commenting on how she missed Godwin when he went to Brunei for NS. I decided to butt in, saying that I didn't really miss him and all and got used to his absence pretty quickly.
It takes loss for you to suddenly realize what it was you had gained, and how easy it was to lose it. It takes other people for you to suddenly realize what it was that you had lost in the first place.
Did I talk like that with my brother? Was it really like that?
And that moment I realized that I actually did lose something 8 months back, when he left.
And that moment I realized that blood may very well be thicker than water.
And yet, despite all that,
my mind still drifts back.
My mind keeps drifting back to an individual - a particularly recent fragment of my past. Somehow my mind stays on the individual despite the clear lack of reason for it to. Thinking too much about it begins to hurt. Yet the sound of water calms me down, just enough for me to keep my cool.
8.30. I move back to Belt 16 where they're supposed to appear. My mind still drifts back to her. Occasionally it goes back to the matter at hand. How should I greet them? What do they look like now? How're they? What should I do? It feels uneasy remaining on this subject, yet whatever my mind drifted to wasn't much of a better choice.
8.46. The plane lands. I glance at the passageway where everyone comes down the flight of steps, waving at anyone past the glass wall whom they recognize. The few that come out are either flight attendants or people I don't recognize.
5 children hug the glass wall, all looking intently past it and hoping to see the face of someone they have been away from for a period of time, long or short. Families and friends around me look up, anxious to see anyone they recognize. Compared to the laid-back person leaning against the railings and staring half-heartedly past the glass, they really must miss whoever it is they're looking for.
9.10. The baggage starts unloading. One of the 5 children, a girl of around 9, starts waving. For once my line of sight with the passageway is blocked. Yet I feel nothing for or against her enthusiasm. She has something to be enthusiastic about, and she's sincere about it. What about me? Slowly but surely I feel more confused. More questions start floating around my mind. And yet my mind still finds time to drift towards her.
9.15. The girl runs towards the entrance to greet her sibling or friend. Soon enough I see the two I was waiting for. All the questions start coming up in my head. Then I saw something.
For a moment, I suddenly saw them act like the way they were, 3 years ago. Right there, I nearly laughed, but kept it to a smile. That's right. They were still them. And I was still myself. Just say what I would say. Just do the things I would do.
9.30. The three of us are on the car. The two of them talk to each other for a while. I keep silent. A few hours back Mom was commenting on how she missed Godwin when he went to Brunei for NS. I decided to butt in, saying that I didn't really miss him and all and got used to his absence pretty quickly.
It takes loss for you to suddenly realize what it was you had gained, and how easy it was to lose it. It takes other people for you to suddenly realize what it was that you had lost in the first place.
Did I talk like that with my brother? Was it really like that?
And that moment I realized that I actually did lose something 8 months back, when he left.
And that moment I realized that blood may very well be thicker than water.
And yet, despite all that,
my mind still drifts back.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Sorry in Advannce
What words does one have for another he will no longer speak to?
What words does one expect to hear when he cannot offer to listen?
How can one wait for time when time waits for none?
Wise men say only fools rush in. Were their children on the verge of death?
Yet of the three descriptions for the last statement, only one would apply to me. I'm not on the verge of death (At least the way I see and hope it to be) and sadly neither is my father a very wise one. All that can be said that is true of me is that I'm a child.
Mom says I think alot. Really, it's just been in the recent 113 days. Just about twenty past a point where I decided to act out of my own personality. A point where I realized that justification for a foolish action had no bearing on the extent of its foolishness.
Yet after over a hundred days of thought, I suddenly find myself running foolishly again. Perhaps it's just in my nature to be an idiot. But really, I do hope that this is the last stupid thing I do for a while.
The things one does to stay alive, huh.
What words does one expect to hear when he cannot offer to listen?
How can one wait for time when time waits for none?
Wise men say only fools rush in. Were their children on the verge of death?
Yet of the three descriptions for the last statement, only one would apply to me. I'm not on the verge of death (At least the way I see and hope it to be) and sadly neither is my father a very wise one. All that can be said that is true of me is that I'm a child.
Mom says I think alot. Really, it's just been in the recent 113 days. Just about twenty past a point where I decided to act out of my own personality. A point where I realized that justification for a foolish action had no bearing on the extent of its foolishness.
Yet after over a hundred days of thought, I suddenly find myself running foolishly again. Perhaps it's just in my nature to be an idiot. But really, I do hope that this is the last stupid thing I do for a while.
The things one does to stay alive, huh.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Life's Company
Personally, I hardly have any idea as to why I threw away 3 weeks of my holiday to work.
Is it because a good number of friends are going overseas as a reward for a long mark in their education? Because I may actually be one of the only few who's staying in Singapore?
Is it because I could use the money to cover my personal expenses? Because there's stuff I might want to buy, things I might want to do, games I might want to play, and the like?
Is it because I've nothing else better to do? Because staring meaninglessly at the world around me could very well be replaced with far more meaningful things?
I don't know, really. My sis told me to treasure these last few holidays since, as she rightly pointed out, they were the last few holidays. This one, the next one, the one after that. And then everyone around reading this will be more or less pretty much on their way to being a grown up adult.
A more random question. Do you consider yourself to be a city-side person or a countryside person? There're those that clearly seem to be more city-side, and though more rare, there're those that seem to be more country-side as well.
There're those who love the group, living and walking down crowded streets. Cheering and laughing together, working with one another, a rather fun lifestyle. There're those who keep to themselves, seeing and just appreciating everything they have their sights on. One whose best company is more his own thoughts than anything.
In either case, likely there's a particular shared feeling by either sort of party if placed in a situation they dislike. A feeling of being dead, of not being alive, I suppose. The kind of feeling that some people consider akin to a meaningless existence.
The feeling of being alive. Of being more than just a breathing entity. Be it emotion, ideology, religion or routine, it's this feeling that keeps people from changing and doing other stuff. A profession or line of sorts where they truly belong.
For some this particular black and white area doesn't exist. The kind of people who can't live on eternally socialising, eternally writing, eternally working. Something new just entertains them for a while, and when it finally stops they move on to something else.
An acquaintance commented that working on your own accord was to a certain extent a sign of having nothing better to do. I kind of understand him now.
Anything to stay alive, I guess.
Is it because a good number of friends are going overseas as a reward for a long mark in their education? Because I may actually be one of the only few who's staying in Singapore?
Is it because I could use the money to cover my personal expenses? Because there's stuff I might want to buy, things I might want to do, games I might want to play, and the like?
Is it because I've nothing else better to do? Because staring meaninglessly at the world around me could very well be replaced with far more meaningful things?
I don't know, really. My sis told me to treasure these last few holidays since, as she rightly pointed out, they were the last few holidays. This one, the next one, the one after that. And then everyone around reading this will be more or less pretty much on their way to being a grown up adult.
A more random question. Do you consider yourself to be a city-side person or a countryside person? There're those that clearly seem to be more city-side, and though more rare, there're those that seem to be more country-side as well.
There're those who love the group, living and walking down crowded streets. Cheering and laughing together, working with one another, a rather fun lifestyle. There're those who keep to themselves, seeing and just appreciating everything they have their sights on. One whose best company is more his own thoughts than anything.
In either case, likely there's a particular shared feeling by either sort of party if placed in a situation they dislike. A feeling of being dead, of not being alive, I suppose. The kind of feeling that some people consider akin to a meaningless existence.
The feeling of being alive. Of being more than just a breathing entity. Be it emotion, ideology, religion or routine, it's this feeling that keeps people from changing and doing other stuff. A profession or line of sorts where they truly belong.
For some this particular black and white area doesn't exist. The kind of people who can't live on eternally socialising, eternally writing, eternally working. Something new just entertains them for a while, and when it finally stops they move on to something else.
An acquaintance commented that working on your own accord was to a certain extent a sign of having nothing better to do. I kind of understand him now.
Anything to stay alive, I guess.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
A Mother-Son Conversation
A few months back I talked to my mom about a bunch of stuff. Life, depression, love, moving on, not letting setbacks push you down, and the like. She talked about how she was perfectly fine with facing cancer since being sad or angry wouldn't have changed the situation in any way whatsoever, and how that attitude helped her face it better than other relatives who went into slight depression upon finding out that they had cancer.
My mom has always been a rather strong person. Dealing with cancer, an elder son who failed his A's, a younger son who did nothing but fight in his childhood, a pair of two who really seemed like a pair of loner siblings in the world, a child which makes her even wonder whether said son viewed her as a liability or not, yet she still does everything with a smile. A strong attitude that I rarely see in people, save a teacher I know who probably faces an even worse situation medically but still stands so firmly.
All this goes in contrast to my dad. My elder siblings both had issues with him, and really, shouts and screams did fly by around in the house every once in a while. When my sis married and moved out of the house just before secondary school life, the house became more quiet, but it was always so often that I heard my brother complain to me about my dad's attitude, and so on.
Did my dad do anything wrong? Not really. He's pretty much a stereotypical Asian father - strict, seemingly uncaring, and breadwinner. He also makes a fuss rather often and complains a fair bit, a trait my brother and I can't seem to adapt to. But because of that we never really got along.
In my conversation with my mom she talked about how men really were from Mars and women from Venus. How their mindsets differ, and so on. Stereotyping in a gender-equal society, perhaps, but I hardly disagreed with her thoughts. So, she remarked, that's why there're those women out there who are successful in everything but just ended up falling in love with the wrong guy. And that's why everything goes downhill.
It was a queer feeling I had, that there was something slightly more to that statement than she said. But such things weren't really meant to be spoken out, and I just replied with a 'mm'.
A friend of mine later on had a conversation with me about family. She asked me if I ever asked my parents why they married. I replied no, and she just asked why, saying that she did. I answered that it wasn't something that I should ask her about since it wouldn't change my opinion of her in any way. But I kept that thought in mind.
A few days ago, a couple of friends wanted to stay over at my house. I informed my mom, but forgot to do likewise for my dad. Suddenly realizing that, I called over to my mom in the living room about that while making something for myself in the kitchen. She commented that it would be fine as long as my friends remember to greet my dad when he comes around. After all, she said, my dad was a rather simple person who just required other people to respect him (Personally, that's a very uphill task for me but I do my best not to make that obvious).
Suddenly the opportunity just presented itself and I remembered about my friend's lingering question. Almost insensitively joking, I decided to ask her about it.
"那么Mummy啊,你为什么会嫁给这么样的人呢?"
"只能算是生活的错误吧."
It was a reply that induced guilt and depression, if anything. For a moment I felt very stupid for asking that question and for expecting an answer that would surprise me. From the kitchen, that voice seemed just like a few months ago when she talked to me. A very casual comment. I didn't get to see her facial expression. Was she serious? Was she joking? Was she crying inside?
Without my mom I'm rather sure that the entire family would break apart, given how my sis and bro get along better with my mom than with my dad (Undeniably, me too). I might actually extend it further and daresay that I might've just went ahead and committed suicide long ago if not for my mom constantly being there.
Was she revealing her weaker side to her youngest son, the only one left in the household while one is married and living elsewhere and one is overseas serving his two years? I honestly don't know. And likely the opportunity will never present itself again. Really, I feel like a fool for asking in the first place.
I sincerely wish, that if my mom was serious, that I do not end up an emotional liability to others. But I'm rather afraid that it's too late to make such a wish.
My mom has always been a rather strong person. Dealing with cancer, an elder son who failed his A's, a younger son who did nothing but fight in his childhood, a pair of two who really seemed like a pair of loner siblings in the world, a child which makes her even wonder whether said son viewed her as a liability or not, yet she still does everything with a smile. A strong attitude that I rarely see in people, save a teacher I know who probably faces an even worse situation medically but still stands so firmly.
All this goes in contrast to my dad. My elder siblings both had issues with him, and really, shouts and screams did fly by around in the house every once in a while. When my sis married and moved out of the house just before secondary school life, the house became more quiet, but it was always so often that I heard my brother complain to me about my dad's attitude, and so on.
Did my dad do anything wrong? Not really. He's pretty much a stereotypical Asian father - strict, seemingly uncaring, and breadwinner. He also makes a fuss rather often and complains a fair bit, a trait my brother and I can't seem to adapt to. But because of that we never really got along.
In my conversation with my mom she talked about how men really were from Mars and women from Venus. How their mindsets differ, and so on. Stereotyping in a gender-equal society, perhaps, but I hardly disagreed with her thoughts. So, she remarked, that's why there're those women out there who are successful in everything but just ended up falling in love with the wrong guy. And that's why everything goes downhill.
It was a queer feeling I had, that there was something slightly more to that statement than she said. But such things weren't really meant to be spoken out, and I just replied with a 'mm'.
A friend of mine later on had a conversation with me about family. She asked me if I ever asked my parents why they married. I replied no, and she just asked why, saying that she did. I answered that it wasn't something that I should ask her about since it wouldn't change my opinion of her in any way. But I kept that thought in mind.
A few days ago, a couple of friends wanted to stay over at my house. I informed my mom, but forgot to do likewise for my dad. Suddenly realizing that, I called over to my mom in the living room about that while making something for myself in the kitchen. She commented that it would be fine as long as my friends remember to greet my dad when he comes around. After all, she said, my dad was a rather simple person who just required other people to respect him (Personally, that's a very uphill task for me but I do my best not to make that obvious).
Suddenly the opportunity just presented itself and I remembered about my friend's lingering question. Almost insensitively joking, I decided to ask her about it.
"那么Mummy啊,你为什么会嫁给这么样的人呢?"
"只能算是生活的错误吧."
It was a reply that induced guilt and depression, if anything. For a moment I felt very stupid for asking that question and for expecting an answer that would surprise me. From the kitchen, that voice seemed just like a few months ago when she talked to me. A very casual comment. I didn't get to see her facial expression. Was she serious? Was she joking? Was she crying inside?
Without my mom I'm rather sure that the entire family would break apart, given how my sis and bro get along better with my mom than with my dad (Undeniably, me too). I might actually extend it further and daresay that I might've just went ahead and committed suicide long ago if not for my mom constantly being there.
Was she revealing her weaker side to her youngest son, the only one left in the household while one is married and living elsewhere and one is overseas serving his two years? I honestly don't know. And likely the opportunity will never present itself again. Really, I feel like a fool for asking in the first place.
I sincerely wish, that if my mom was serious, that I do not end up an emotional liability to others. But I'm rather afraid that it's too late to make such a wish.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
A Dark And Stormy Night
I guess that somewhere out there there's someone who thinks that songs about snow falling and sitting by the fire roasting chestnuts are as out of place as a nun in a whore house, considering the Singaporean landscape.
Walking back to the bus stop next to church, I couldn't help but notice.
There was a certain forlornity in the sky. It's queer, but it was a sky that seemed sad. Was it contrast? The lines and lines of Christmas lights across the streets just came across as lonely. Where someone would be greeted with neverending pristine snow against a backdrop of still darkness; scattered yellow streams across the streets and a breath of white to warm your hands - a scenery of yellow sparkles against black. As if an entire colour was missing from the picture.
Was it company? Thoughts that wouldn't even have appeared in my mind had I been distracted by conversation with others. The fact that everyone was on their way back home, and mine happened to be different from the other two. Was I just projecting my feelings upon the view presented to me by the world? A mere coincidence that I happened to see this alone?
For a while, though, it just felt like I was the only person around. Really, I was. Being around in the SMU campus where there are large open fields of nothing when no one is around isn't the best way to give you the impression that there are fellow humans around.
But for the most of it, it was just me and the pitch black sky. A sky that made you think, wonder and awe. Perhaps Christmas' lingering feeling really is more artificial than I have imagined it to be.
Walking back to the bus stop next to church, I couldn't help but notice.
There was a certain forlornity in the sky. It's queer, but it was a sky that seemed sad. Was it contrast? The lines and lines of Christmas lights across the streets just came across as lonely. Where someone would be greeted with neverending pristine snow against a backdrop of still darkness; scattered yellow streams across the streets and a breath of white to warm your hands - a scenery of yellow sparkles against black. As if an entire colour was missing from the picture.
Was it company? Thoughts that wouldn't even have appeared in my mind had I been distracted by conversation with others. The fact that everyone was on their way back home, and mine happened to be different from the other two. Was I just projecting my feelings upon the view presented to me by the world? A mere coincidence that I happened to see this alone?
For a while, though, it just felt like I was the only person around. Really, I was. Being around in the SMU campus where there are large open fields of nothing when no one is around isn't the best way to give you the impression that there are fellow humans around.
But for the most of it, it was just me and the pitch black sky. A sky that made you think, wonder and awe. Perhaps Christmas' lingering feeling really is more artificial than I have imagined it to be.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Change
ノボル「ねえミカコ？ 俺はね」
ミカコ「私はね、ノボルくん。懐かしいものがたくさんあるんだ。ここにはなんにもないんだもん。例えばね」
ノボル「例えば、夏の雲とか、冷たい雨とか、秋の風の匂いとか」
ミカコ「傘に当たる雨の音とか、春の土の柔らかさとか、夜中のコンビニの安心する感じとか」
ノボル「それからね、放課後のひんやりとした空気とか」
ミカコ「黒板消しの匂いとか」
ノボル「夜中のトラックの遠い音とか」
ミカコ「夕立のアスファルトの匂いとか…。ノボルくん、そういうものをね、私はずっと」
ノボル「ぼくはずっと、ミカコと一緒に感じていたいって思っていたよ」
----------------------------------
Christmas has always been a time of peace and serenity for me. Carols down the shopping aisles, bells and decorations hung high, strings of lights shining along and adding to the beauty of the nighttime city scene. Silent and holy nights of peacefully staring out the bus window, seeing couples walk hand in hand, seeing shoppers struggle with big bags, seeing children mesmerized by a gargantuan Christmas tree at Takashimaya, seeing smiles everywhere.
Back then this time was about a cousin I held dear. Moving on to the next year which was going to be the same.
Then she didn't come for a while. This time was about playing with a sibling I held dear. Games and on and on and on. Getting a PS2 on Christmas Day and finishing FFX before my secondary school life began.
Then he left for NS, and suddenly Sec 3 was very much to myself. IBA brought my mind to work. The prospect of it all was admittedly rather interesting, and it's been on my mind rather often. This year is rather similar, in some ways.
But this year there's the issue of not actually knowing who I'm going to be with next year, yet I guess that really is just a small issue in the end, isn't it.
It's been a while since I've seen one of my cousins, a long while since I've seen the other. Honestly, it's almost like that feeling I had waiting to see someone's face just that once a year. The kind of feeling that I used to live on for a long time. A kind where you recognize the vanity of something yet just hope positively, never letting the futility of it all change anything. Who knows; it's very likely this will be the last time I ever see her as a teenager. Maybe the next time I'll see her is when she's begun work. Maybe the next time I'll see her is when I've begun work. But who cares about the maybe? At least there's an eventual ending.
I remember forlornly the weak smile I had facing a person whom I knew saw me the same way I saw her: a mere fragment of the past. The sort of thing where you cared about but it just faded away anyway.
Anyone around remember This lil' thing over here? Certain little things that just weren't exactly central to our lives, yet weren't completely insignificant either. A certain kind of amusement and entertainment that really belonged more to the community than to the individual. Really, rather similar to our $20 notes today.
Anyone around remembers the feeling of bare foot upon mosaic tiles? A feeling I'll never have unless I head over to my Malaysian relatives' house. The feeling somewhat akin to walking on a path of smooth pebbles, yet still rather different. Various sorts of feelings that never held central place in your life, but just existed there anyway.
Perhaps it's precisely due to the nature of such things that one only actually remembers about (or even notes the presence of) them when they're no longer existent. Perhaps it's even wrong to say that one even remembers about it. Forgetting about the trivial things that made life back then not unique as an individual, but maybe at a more communal level. The feeling of monsoon, of summer and autumn, of the evening train's wheels in the nearby yet distant tracks.
And gradually you realize that even if the individuals around you are the same, the culture, livelihood, and many more other things are already rather different.
And then you realize how much more alien it is without the individuals around you there in the first place. And perhaps, by then, the world is no longer merely the region in which your SMSs can reach in less than an hour.
ミカコ「私はね、ノボルくん。懐かしいものがたくさんあるんだ。ここにはなんにもないんだもん。例えばね」
ノボル「例えば、夏の雲とか、冷たい雨とか、秋の風の匂いとか」
ミカコ「傘に当たる雨の音とか、春の土の柔らかさとか、夜中のコンビニの安心する感じとか」
ノボル「それからね、放課後のひんやりとした空気とか」
ミカコ「黒板消しの匂いとか」
ノボル「夜中のトラックの遠い音とか」
ミカコ「夕立のアスファルトの匂いとか…。ノボルくん、そういうものをね、私はずっと」
ノボル「ぼくはずっと、ミカコと一緒に感じていたいって思っていたよ」
----------------------------------
Christmas has always been a time of peace and serenity for me. Carols down the shopping aisles, bells and decorations hung high, strings of lights shining along and adding to the beauty of the nighttime city scene. Silent and holy nights of peacefully staring out the bus window, seeing couples walk hand in hand, seeing shoppers struggle with big bags, seeing children mesmerized by a gargantuan Christmas tree at Takashimaya, seeing smiles everywhere.
Back then this time was about a cousin I held dear. Moving on to the next year which was going to be the same.
Then she didn't come for a while. This time was about playing with a sibling I held dear. Games and on and on and on. Getting a PS2 on Christmas Day and finishing FFX before my secondary school life began.
Then he left for NS, and suddenly Sec 3 was very much to myself. IBA brought my mind to work. The prospect of it all was admittedly rather interesting, and it's been on my mind rather often. This year is rather similar, in some ways.
But this year there's the issue of not actually knowing who I'm going to be with next year, yet I guess that really is just a small issue in the end, isn't it.
It's been a while since I've seen one of my cousins, a long while since I've seen the other. Honestly, it's almost like that feeling I had waiting to see someone's face just that once a year. The kind of feeling that I used to live on for a long time. A kind where you recognize the vanity of something yet just hope positively, never letting the futility of it all change anything. Who knows; it's very likely this will be the last time I ever see her as a teenager. Maybe the next time I'll see her is when she's begun work. Maybe the next time I'll see her is when I've begun work. But who cares about the maybe? At least there's an eventual ending.
I remember forlornly the weak smile I had facing a person whom I knew saw me the same way I saw her: a mere fragment of the past. The sort of thing where you cared about but it just faded away anyway.
Anyone around remember This lil' thing over here? Certain little things that just weren't exactly central to our lives, yet weren't completely insignificant either. A certain kind of amusement and entertainment that really belonged more to the community than to the individual. Really, rather similar to our $20 notes today.
Anyone around remembers the feeling of bare foot upon mosaic tiles? A feeling I'll never have unless I head over to my Malaysian relatives' house. The feeling somewhat akin to walking on a path of smooth pebbles, yet still rather different. Various sorts of feelings that never held central place in your life, but just existed there anyway.
Perhaps it's precisely due to the nature of such things that one only actually remembers about (or even notes the presence of) them when they're no longer existent. Perhaps it's even wrong to say that one even remembers about it. Forgetting about the trivial things that made life back then not unique as an individual, but maybe at a more communal level. The feeling of monsoon, of summer and autumn, of the evening train's wheels in the nearby yet distant tracks.
And gradually you realize that even if the individuals around you are the same, the culture, livelihood, and many more other things are already rather different.
And then you realize how much more alien it is without the individuals around you there in the first place. And perhaps, by then, the world is no longer merely the region in which your SMSs can reach in less than an hour.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Three Drinks, The Final
Albert: Martin, can I ask a simple question?
Martin: Of course, old friend. Customers don't come in this hour anyway.
Albert: I know you've been doing this for some time and all, but what really made you want to be a bartender?
Martin: Hahaha, shouldn't you have asked this question sooner?
Albert: I don't know, I just never really thought about it.
Martin: Well then, have a drink first, will ya?
Albert: Sure. What's this one?
Martin: 1 measure Dry Vermouth, 1 measure Sherry, 1 measure Dubonnet, 1 measure Gin, and 1 dash Grand Marnier. What do you think is so special about this job, Albert?
Albert: Beats me, seriously.
Martin: For one, the job doesn't pay that well. It's more than a waiter, no doubt, but I'm sure my customers usually make more than I ever will. It's not the social networks, for sure; I would need to work at a bar more famous than this small adobe will ever be.
Albert: Then what is it, Martin?
Martin: Ever done a cocktail party before?
Albert: Haven't got the skills.
Martin: It's a rare feeling you get, something akin to giving a present. The moment where that one sip of your creation touches their palate, savoured, tasted and appreciated; the smile on the customer's face as he talks to his friends, swirling slowly the cup in his hand, occasionally bringing it to his mouth for another sip, with it a brighter smile. It is the smile of service, Albert, that keeps me here.
Albert: Why not anything else, then, Martin?
Martin: Because this, Albert, is nearly the pinnacle in service. A salesman delivers with his trademark smile products that are not his own; a waiter hardly any different. A chef serves a wonderful dish, but may never see the satisfaction of the diners who eat it. This is the pinnacle, Albert. There is true responsibility on my part, for I know the face of each and every single one of my patrons. I cannot betray them.
Albert: Betray?
Martin: Few other professions have it as serious. Have you ever seen a doctor prescribe a wrong medicine? This drink can be an elixir for the soul, or a poison feeding on the heart. Here's a question, Albert. I'm sure you remember this.
Albert: What is it?
Martin: If there was a drink out there that truly signified that you have matured, what would it be?
Albert: Fancy you asking me that question. Tea, coffee? What do you say?
Martin: What do I serve best? A person who can take this without the ill effects is one of self control, Albert. People have sought the elixir of eternity, but they search in vain, instead finding the poison of greed sucking at their very souls. Where is the line drawn? Where do the shades of grey end? This drink is proof of one who knows where the line ends, Albert. And it is my job - no, my life - to make sure that they do not cross the line unknowingly. And only when this is achieved do you see service done, Albert.
Albert: Your spirit is strong, Martin. This glass I hold here shows dedication; and more importantly it shows a beautiful sense of service.
Martin: 1 measure Dry Vermouth, 1 measure Sherry, 1 measure Dubonnet, 1 measure Gin, and 1 dash Grand Marnier. The drink of utmost loyalty to the customer. The drink to show the effort put into developing tenderness in the bar. The drink of servitude.
Albert: Apt words indeed. Might I be enlightened as to the name of this cocktail?
Martin: The Bartender, Albert.
Martin: Of course, old friend. Customers don't come in this hour anyway.
Albert: I know you've been doing this for some time and all, but what really made you want to be a bartender?
Martin: Hahaha, shouldn't you have asked this question sooner?
Albert: I don't know, I just never really thought about it.
Martin: Well then, have a drink first, will ya?
Albert: Sure. What's this one?
Martin: 1 measure Dry Vermouth, 1 measure Sherry, 1 measure Dubonnet, 1 measure Gin, and 1 dash Grand Marnier. What do you think is so special about this job, Albert?
Albert: Beats me, seriously.
Martin: For one, the job doesn't pay that well. It's more than a waiter, no doubt, but I'm sure my customers usually make more than I ever will. It's not the social networks, for sure; I would need to work at a bar more famous than this small adobe will ever be.
Albert: Then what is it, Martin?
Martin: Ever done a cocktail party before?
Albert: Haven't got the skills.
Martin: It's a rare feeling you get, something akin to giving a present. The moment where that one sip of your creation touches their palate, savoured, tasted and appreciated; the smile on the customer's face as he talks to his friends, swirling slowly the cup in his hand, occasionally bringing it to his mouth for another sip, with it a brighter smile. It is the smile of service, Albert, that keeps me here.
Albert: Why not anything else, then, Martin?
Martin: Because this, Albert, is nearly the pinnacle in service. A salesman delivers with his trademark smile products that are not his own; a waiter hardly any different. A chef serves a wonderful dish, but may never see the satisfaction of the diners who eat it. This is the pinnacle, Albert. There is true responsibility on my part, for I know the face of each and every single one of my patrons. I cannot betray them.
Albert: Betray?
Martin: Few other professions have it as serious. Have you ever seen a doctor prescribe a wrong medicine? This drink can be an elixir for the soul, or a poison feeding on the heart. Here's a question, Albert. I'm sure you remember this.
Albert: What is it?
Martin: If there was a drink out there that truly signified that you have matured, what would it be?
Albert: Fancy you asking me that question. Tea, coffee? What do you say?
Martin: What do I serve best? A person who can take this without the ill effects is one of self control, Albert. People have sought the elixir of eternity, but they search in vain, instead finding the poison of greed sucking at their very souls. Where is the line drawn? Where do the shades of grey end? This drink is proof of one who knows where the line ends, Albert. And it is my job - no, my life - to make sure that they do not cross the line unknowingly. And only when this is achieved do you see service done, Albert.
Albert: Your spirit is strong, Martin. This glass I hold here shows dedication; and more importantly it shows a beautiful sense of service.
Martin: 1 measure Dry Vermouth, 1 measure Sherry, 1 measure Dubonnet, 1 measure Gin, and 1 dash Grand Marnier. The drink of utmost loyalty to the customer. The drink to show the effort put into developing tenderness in the bar. The drink of servitude.
Albert: Apt words indeed. Might I be enlightened as to the name of this cocktail?
Martin: The Bartender, Albert.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
November Bells
Suzu: Soon the bells will be ringing, Innocia.
Innocia: Christmas is still a month and twenty-five, Suz.
Suzu: Yes, little Christmas girl. But the Church rings them twelve a year, and tomorrow the eleventh.
Innocia: I don't think that many people go around marking the occasion if it's so often each year, you know. Is it that important?
Suzu: What makes you think it's important? It is merely a mark of the beginning again, isn't it? To one such as you. Something so trivial that people regard it as a mere amusement every first.
Innocia: A mere thought indeed. But I suppose the renewal of months is at least of certain significance.
Suzu: Why a bell, Innocia? Have you ever wondered?
Innocia: ...not really. Is it not its clarity and loudness that rings like the cawing birds? Why the question?
Suzu: Because you don't really think about it. Listen carefully to what the bells sound like. A cry of loneliness from high above, unable to ever be alongside people. A wish for those so far below to ascend from the depths they have sunken to. A mourning for the world which has been abandoned by mankind. Listen to it, Innocia, and reflect. Its call is crisp but sad, and strong but frail. Each cry is a tick closer to the end, and each chime is a mourning for them all.
Innocia: Why do you take such a negative view, Suzu? Can't you see it the other way round?
Suzu: I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean.
Innocia: It is because it is a new month, Suzu. A chance to renew oneself; a time to start again; a way to make up for the mistakes of the past. For this chance nothing rings louder than the bells of the church, hanging high atop, their resonating chimes a relief and a call for one to firm up. And moreso, a call for worshippers to enter and give praise for this chance to redeem themselves, to worship. Each call is beautiful yet firm, joyful yet stern, and soft yet powerful. Give thanks, Suzu, for you can still hear the bells for time to come. There are those who are deaf to its ringing, and there are those for whom the bell no longer chimes for. Each sound is a month for you to relish, and each day of its silence is one you should never take for granted.
Suzu: ...I suppose it is like you to see things that way.
Innocia: What do you think it feels like to stare down at everyone the way they do? It isn't always a sad feeling, y'know. I'm sure they chime for hope and not for mourning. How about this? I'll treat you to a drink tomorrow, a toast to November. Albert'll pay. And we'll walk around, and then you can see it. I'm sure.
Suzu: See what?
Innocia: That whoever it is, whenever it is, and wherever it is, the bells will not bring a message of sadness to them. Promise?
Suzu: I guess I have to.
Innocia: Christmas is still a month and twenty-five, Suz.
Suzu: Yes, little Christmas girl. But the Church rings them twelve a year, and tomorrow the eleventh.
Innocia: I don't think that many people go around marking the occasion if it's so often each year, you know. Is it that important?
Suzu: What makes you think it's important? It is merely a mark of the beginning again, isn't it? To one such as you. Something so trivial that people regard it as a mere amusement every first.
Innocia: A mere thought indeed. But I suppose the renewal of months is at least of certain significance.
Suzu: Why a bell, Innocia? Have you ever wondered?
Innocia: ...not really. Is it not its clarity and loudness that rings like the cawing birds? Why the question?
Suzu: Because you don't really think about it. Listen carefully to what the bells sound like. A cry of loneliness from high above, unable to ever be alongside people. A wish for those so far below to ascend from the depths they have sunken to. A mourning for the world which has been abandoned by mankind. Listen to it, Innocia, and reflect. Its call is crisp but sad, and strong but frail. Each cry is a tick closer to the end, and each chime is a mourning for them all.
Innocia: Why do you take such a negative view, Suzu? Can't you see it the other way round?
Suzu: I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean.
Innocia: It is because it is a new month, Suzu. A chance to renew oneself; a time to start again; a way to make up for the mistakes of the past. For this chance nothing rings louder than the bells of the church, hanging high atop, their resonating chimes a relief and a call for one to firm up. And moreso, a call for worshippers to enter and give praise for this chance to redeem themselves, to worship. Each call is beautiful yet firm, joyful yet stern, and soft yet powerful. Give thanks, Suzu, for you can still hear the bells for time to come. There are those who are deaf to its ringing, and there are those for whom the bell no longer chimes for. Each sound is a month for you to relish, and each day of its silence is one you should never take for granted.
Suzu: ...I suppose it is like you to see things that way.
Innocia: What do you think it feels like to stare down at everyone the way they do? It isn't always a sad feeling, y'know. I'm sure they chime for hope and not for mourning. How about this? I'll treat you to a drink tomorrow, a toast to November. Albert'll pay. And we'll walk around, and then you can see it. I'm sure.
Suzu: See what?
Innocia: That whoever it is, whenever it is, and wherever it is, the bells will not bring a message of sadness to them. Promise?
Suzu: I guess I have to.
Monday, October 22, 2007
A Message To An Ex-Friend
Riezz: Saisell Rumerl, the outcast. Left from the Academy?
Saisell: Indeed I have. As much as I respect and hold the place in high regard, I feel that I had no choice but to leave for a better place.
Riezz: And where would you find this better place, Saisell?
Saisell: Where there is peace, o traveller, where I can write in peace.
Riezz: And where will you find this peace, Saisell?
Saisell: Where there are my kind, o jest, where I can be with my kind.
Riezz: And where will you find your kind, Saisell?
Saisell: Why do you continue?
Riezz: Because you realize that you can no longer answer the question so easily.
Saisell: I do suppose I need to give such an issue more thought, but such thought has little bearing considering I will be leaving anyway.
Riezz: Do tell on that thought, then.
Saisell: It's culture. I don't fit in. I find myself more comfortable with those from elsewhere, and yet I can't even feel remotely at ease with those nearby me. It's like every word of mine here is judged for lies. Can you live in this suffocating environment?
Riezz: Do you even make an effort to fit in? Or perhaps you are among those who complain but do naught?
Saisell: What jest do you speak, Riezz? Have I not joined their councils, societies, and their mockeries of clubs? Is that not the effort made to associate with them, and the same effort that is completely ignored and rejected? Whatever I have done for these groups they have not reciprocated.
Riezz: Your friends?
Saisell: Few, but they are important. They are the only few in the entire academy I feel comfortable talking with, and I think it were the greatest loss that I fail to have more time with them.
Riezz: ...I apologize for my crudeness. I have my doubts whether vice versa should apply.
Saisell: Hmm?
Riezz: Look at those photos. Look at these councils you are a part of. Look at your face amongst them, amongst the smiling ones. Have you ever heard people angry about it?
Saisell: Should I care about the worthless opinions of those fools?
Riezz: You should care about their eyes. The eyes of those that stare at you while you nonchalantly continue talking, being a bother while in the presence of others. Look at these photos. Look at your smile, and the smiles of others. Now look at their eyes. Look at your smile. Do you know the curses, the tears, the depth of emotions caused by that smile and for that smile?
Riezz: You probably don't, do you. Never knowing when to stop, never knowing when to keep out, never knowing when you are a nuisance... pathetically ungracious, don't you think so?
Saisell: You speak highly unlike your usual self, Riezz.
Riezz: For circumstances highly unlike human sense. Forget this. You wouldn't understand a single bit of this, Saisell. But mark, you will never find your peace.
Saisell: And at least they may never find theirs with me around. It works either way.
Saisell: Indeed I have. As much as I respect and hold the place in high regard, I feel that I had no choice but to leave for a better place.
Riezz: And where would you find this better place, Saisell?
Saisell: Where there is peace, o traveller, where I can write in peace.
Riezz: And where will you find this peace, Saisell?
Saisell: Where there are my kind, o jest, where I can be with my kind.
Riezz: And where will you find your kind, Saisell?
Saisell: Why do you continue?
Riezz: Because you realize that you can no longer answer the question so easily.
Saisell: I do suppose I need to give such an issue more thought, but such thought has little bearing considering I will be leaving anyway.
Riezz: Do tell on that thought, then.
Saisell: It's culture. I don't fit in. I find myself more comfortable with those from elsewhere, and yet I can't even feel remotely at ease with those nearby me. It's like every word of mine here is judged for lies. Can you live in this suffocating environment?
Riezz: Do you even make an effort to fit in? Or perhaps you are among those who complain but do naught?
Saisell: What jest do you speak, Riezz? Have I not joined their councils, societies, and their mockeries of clubs? Is that not the effort made to associate with them, and the same effort that is completely ignored and rejected? Whatever I have done for these groups they have not reciprocated.
Riezz: Your friends?
Saisell: Few, but they are important. They are the only few in the entire academy I feel comfortable talking with, and I think it were the greatest loss that I fail to have more time with them.
Riezz: ...I apologize for my crudeness. I have my doubts whether vice versa should apply.
Saisell: Hmm?
Riezz: Look at those photos. Look at these councils you are a part of. Look at your face amongst them, amongst the smiling ones. Have you ever heard people angry about it?
Saisell: Should I care about the worthless opinions of those fools?
Riezz: You should care about their eyes. The eyes of those that stare at you while you nonchalantly continue talking, being a bother while in the presence of others. Look at these photos. Look at your smile, and the smiles of others. Now look at their eyes. Look at your smile. Do you know the curses, the tears, the depth of emotions caused by that smile and for that smile?
Riezz: You probably don't, do you. Never knowing when to stop, never knowing when to keep out, never knowing when you are a nuisance... pathetically ungracious, don't you think so?
Saisell: You speak highly unlike your usual self, Riezz.
Riezz: For circumstances highly unlike human sense. Forget this. You wouldn't understand a single bit of this, Saisell. But mark, you will never find your peace.
Saisell: And at least they may never find theirs with me around. It works either way.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Results
And I can rest at last.
As much as I would berate myself for losing out to a number of people, I have rather little idea as to how well the classes did as a whole, so I don't even know if this is a good score or not.
I don't know whether I'm on middle or higher ground, but given how people have gotten 88 and 89 for averages, I'm far. A tad far, if tad were 10 marks and more. Was it effort? Was it skill? I really have no idea what set us apart, even though I really bear no hope at nearing that level.
"Hey, what did you get?"
"Sucks lah, 77 only. You?"
"Same. So don't call it sucky, ok?"
- Between The Eighteenth and Twentieth
Though I do agree secretly. Ironic how much I hated those overachievers who failed to overachieve, when two years down the road I end up the same. That's life for you, I suppose.
I'm thankful for my Amath grade which I do need to thank Rick for. Chem and Physics, not much to say. Geog was a pleasant surprise, Language Arts a rude shock. Chinese and Cmath were, well, well as always. IHS was good, I suppose.
I remember in Term 3 that I needed to work hard. I remember in Term 3 that I did work hard. And those around me probably can testify to that. I remember a wager with a friend over results, speculating that we would do rather equal. He beat my average by 6 marks.
I remember walking up and down the overhead bridge on my way to tuition, a path I chose myself. I remember telling myself that I would work hard so I wouldn't repeat my mistakes in Term 2.
Now imagine that everyone in the examination hall has pretty much as much motivation as you while undertaking the final examinations. While definitely not everyone is like this, and definitely there are those who don't study alot and still get way higher than I ever will, but it's still quite a scary thought in itself how conviction is possibly far more commonplace than anyone actually imagines. Perhaps for differing reasons, but pretty much close to everyone takes tuition. There're those who keep trying to aim for top even when they already are.
It's really hard to actually appreciate the amount of effort people actually put into something until you yourself try to emulate as such. But I'll suppose I'll forget all that soon enough.
As much as I would berate myself for losing out to a number of people, I have rather little idea as to how well the classes did as a whole, so I don't even know if this is a good score or not.
I don't know whether I'm on middle or higher ground, but given how people have gotten 88 and 89 for averages, I'm far. A tad far, if tad were 10 marks and more. Was it effort? Was it skill? I really have no idea what set us apart, even though I really bear no hope at nearing that level.
"Hey, what did you get?"
"Sucks lah, 77 only. You?"
"Same. So don't call it sucky, ok?"
- Between The Eighteenth and Twentieth
Though I do agree secretly. Ironic how much I hated those overachievers who failed to overachieve, when two years down the road I end up the same. That's life for you, I suppose.
I'm thankful for my Amath grade which I do need to thank Rick for. Chem and Physics, not much to say. Geog was a pleasant surprise, Language Arts a rude shock. Chinese and Cmath were, well, well as always. IHS was good, I suppose.
I remember in Term 3 that I needed to work hard. I remember in Term 3 that I did work hard. And those around me probably can testify to that. I remember a wager with a friend over results, speculating that we would do rather equal. He beat my average by 6 marks.
I remember walking up and down the overhead bridge on my way to tuition, a path I chose myself. I remember telling myself that I would work hard so I wouldn't repeat my mistakes in Term 2.
Now imagine that everyone in the examination hall has pretty much as much motivation as you while undertaking the final examinations. While definitely not everyone is like this, and definitely there are those who don't study alot and still get way higher than I ever will, but it's still quite a scary thought in itself how conviction is possibly far more commonplace than anyone actually imagines. Perhaps for differing reasons, but pretty much close to everyone takes tuition. There're those who keep trying to aim for top even when they already are.
It's really hard to actually appreciate the amount of effort people actually put into something until you yourself try to emulate as such. But I'll suppose I'll forget all that soon enough.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
People I Never Knew
An acquaintance left for India earlier today due to citizenship issues. Not that I really know him well or anything, but that's why he's an acquaintance and not a friend, is he? It is somewhat of a waste considering he was probably one of the few who I might've liked to be classmates with in IB, but I suppose I won't have that chance anymore.
I knew he was a smart person and a dedicated one too, but it was quite hilarious seeing his lack of common and trivial knowledge. Almost like Jarrel, except somewhat worse? I remember laughing so much at the thought of Bruce Almighty being a martial arts film, but I doubt I'd be hearing any more amusing anecdotes from him.
I asked if there was anything he regretted not doing. He listed some. Not training next year's team, not going for his primary school reunion, not meeting up with some teachers for the last time (The whole week was holidays save Monday and Tuesday, after all). Then he added that it was no use regretting since he couldn't change or rectify the situation in any way whatsoever.
Was that reason enough not to regret? I asked, but we didn't really discuss that. If he was right, though, regret'll probably be one of the most meaningless things I'll be seeing around. I should speak for myself too XD
A stranger is supposedly leaving the school, apparently to teach in the ACS at Malaysia instead of in Singapore. Strange because I don't know him well, but stranger because he doesn't know me. It was quite a pity because he was among the few teachers I would've liked to be taught by in IB.
I kind of envy the First and the Second batches, because they were the ones taught by this group of special teachers that probably really made ACS what it was. Particularly those with their 12 proud ACSian years, for they were taught even from Year 4. When the first batch of Year 5s came, they moved on to teach this new group, half neglecting us in the process. And then the Year 5s grew up, and they continued to nurture them.
Now as the First IB Batch leaves, some of them decide that the first shall be the last.
I recall seeing him at Serene Center, and the first time we crossed paths there I just bowed. The second time I just said 'Bye, Sir'. Stranger indeed, huh?
I shall never get to know either very well, but admittedly that has never been my concern, and vice versa shall never be theirs. There's nothing to regret, and there isn't any admittedly, but it does feel like a waste every now and then.
I wonder if either will read this blogpost, since both have read it before at least once. Meh, sucks to be the Third, huh.
I knew he was a smart person and a dedicated one too, but it was quite hilarious seeing his lack of common and trivial knowledge. Almost like Jarrel, except somewhat worse? I remember laughing so much at the thought of Bruce Almighty being a martial arts film, but I doubt I'd be hearing any more amusing anecdotes from him.
I asked if there was anything he regretted not doing. He listed some. Not training next year's team, not going for his primary school reunion, not meeting up with some teachers for the last time (The whole week was holidays save Monday and Tuesday, after all). Then he added that it was no use regretting since he couldn't change or rectify the situation in any way whatsoever.
Was that reason enough not to regret? I asked, but we didn't really discuss that. If he was right, though, regret'll probably be one of the most meaningless things I'll be seeing around. I should speak for myself too XD
A stranger is supposedly leaving the school, apparently to teach in the ACS at Malaysia instead of in Singapore. Strange because I don't know him well, but stranger because he doesn't know me. It was quite a pity because he was among the few teachers I would've liked to be taught by in IB.
I kind of envy the First and the Second batches, because they were the ones taught by this group of special teachers that probably really made ACS what it was. Particularly those with their 12 proud ACSian years, for they were taught even from Year 4. When the first batch of Year 5s came, they moved on to teach this new group, half neglecting us in the process. And then the Year 5s grew up, and they continued to nurture them.
Now as the First IB Batch leaves, some of them decide that the first shall be the last.
I recall seeing him at Serene Center, and the first time we crossed paths there I just bowed. The second time I just said 'Bye, Sir'. Stranger indeed, huh?
I shall never get to know either very well, but admittedly that has never been my concern, and vice versa shall never be theirs. There's nothing to regret, and there isn't any admittedly, but it does feel like a waste every now and then.
I wonder if either will read this blogpost, since both have read it before at least once. Meh, sucks to be the Third, huh.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
A Stranger's SMS
I got up the bus, crowded as ever, feeling generally pissed off. It was a rare moment of feeling pissed off with self, acquaintances, friends, family, strangers, institutions, businesses, organizations, concepts, and ideas.
"what did i do wrong? ...Message Sent." Bugger bus. Everyone's crowded around. I look around me, the nameless faceless individuals everywhere. I look over the shoulders of the person in front of me.
"don't do this to me please" and she cancelled it to "don't do this kind of things to me please". A faceless individual, yet such strong words; I can barely take it. So why do I keep looking down, over her shoulder? Why do I expose all her emotions and woes to me in that one instant, bright as day? I continue to look.
"i really can't take it when you do this to me." a single streak flowed down. Her grip was shaking very slightly. For this moment, it was as if I knew more than the other person did. I knew how sad she was. I know the effort she took in writing this short message. Everything that you didn't, and everything that you should have known.
"Message Sent." she closes it for a slight moment, her head drooped slightly more than before. What happened between this girl here and the guy that she's passing the message to? What can I understand from all this? What can I say to her? What can I do to change the situation? Nothing. I can only play observer and bear witness to this minute tragedy unfold before my eyes.
"Message Received. Open?" She fumbles around, fingers trembling slightly, head still low. "what kind of things? i never do anything wad." Almost, just almost, I could have heard something from her mouth that very instant, but it was no shout, rather a slight whimper, and her small cry for help was blocked out by the voices of the majority in the bus, constantly moving down.
"why do you keep saying that you mean nothing to me? just becoz i dun want 2 go with u then u say liddat. if its becoz i behave liddat yesterday then im really sorry please don't do this..." Why did it hurt so much just to read this, a message from a stranger to a stranger? I knew what was wrong. I didn't know what I should do, nor what could be done, nor whether I even had a right to do anything in the first place. Her pain and emotion gets to me just this small bit, yet whatever I feel now I knew that the other person would understand nothing at all.
"Message Sent." she looked up for a short while, and suddenly fumbled around again, hurriedly pushing the stop button. The slight reflection of her face in the bus window blurred every feature but her long black hair. She tried to push that one bit towards the exit.
"You getting off at this stop, girl?" A stranger, one moreso compared to her. She turned, and in that short instance that I saw her face I saw a smiling face that look more sad than anything. And when that face disappeared among the shadows, I knew that whatever I saw I will never see again, and whatever I saw he will never get to see.
"what did i do wrong? ...Message Sent." Bugger bus. Everyone's crowded around. I look around me, the nameless faceless individuals everywhere. I look over the shoulders of the person in front of me.
"don't do this to me please" and she cancelled it to "don't do this kind of things to me please". A faceless individual, yet such strong words; I can barely take it. So why do I keep looking down, over her shoulder? Why do I expose all her emotions and woes to me in that one instant, bright as day? I continue to look.
"i really can't take it when you do this to me." a single streak flowed down. Her grip was shaking very slightly. For this moment, it was as if I knew more than the other person did. I knew how sad she was. I know the effort she took in writing this short message. Everything that you didn't, and everything that you should have known.
"Message Sent." she closes it for a slight moment, her head drooped slightly more than before. What happened between this girl here and the guy that she's passing the message to? What can I understand from all this? What can I say to her? What can I do to change the situation? Nothing. I can only play observer and bear witness to this minute tragedy unfold before my eyes.
"Message Received. Open?" She fumbles around, fingers trembling slightly, head still low. "what kind of things? i never do anything wad." Almost, just almost, I could have heard something from her mouth that very instant, but it was no shout, rather a slight whimper, and her small cry for help was blocked out by the voices of the majority in the bus, constantly moving down.
"why do you keep saying that you mean nothing to me? just becoz i dun want 2 go with u then u say liddat. if its becoz i behave liddat yesterday then im really sorry please don't do this..." Why did it hurt so much just to read this, a message from a stranger to a stranger? I knew what was wrong. I didn't know what I should do, nor what could be done, nor whether I even had a right to do anything in the first place. Her pain and emotion gets to me just this small bit, yet whatever I feel now I knew that the other person would understand nothing at all.
"Message Sent." she looked up for a short while, and suddenly fumbled around again, hurriedly pushing the stop button. The slight reflection of her face in the bus window blurred every feature but her long black hair. She tried to push that one bit towards the exit.
"You getting off at this stop, girl?" A stranger, one moreso compared to her. She turned, and in that short instance that I saw her face I saw a smiling face that look more sad than anything. And when that face disappeared among the shadows, I knew that whatever I saw I will never see again, and whatever I saw he will never get to see.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
All the time
And it's almost over. And the flame is almost out. And soon there'll be the time in the world. And I'd have it all to myself.
And soon that time is gone, but I'd still have it all to myself.
And maybe some of you, of course. Hopefully.
And soon that time is gone, but I'd still have it all to myself.
And maybe some of you, of course. Hopefully.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Halcyon Days
The blogpost was going to be a rather angry/annoyed one, but I guess I can thank two nice people for changing that. As interesting as you said the blogpost might be, I decided against it, haha. Instead perhaps I shall make this something more relevant and serene (At least one would laugh by that word usage, and hopefully that's as far as it goes. Aah what a lie, you're laughing at this too aren'tya.)
何気ない毎日の一秒一秒が 宝石よりも価値がある 宝物
-- you (Cry) -- Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni
It's with certain melancholy that the endyear exams head over towards us. I've worked pretty hard, I think. Compared to past years, at least.
I still remember how much I hated myself in May (How ironic that someone out there must've been so happy while I was in the pits, and perhaps how more ironic of this statement in itself.)
It's interesting how much hating yourself can push you forward, isn't it? But to say the truth it wasn't hate that kept me going.
The first few times I went for tuition I did the homework on the day before. I considered it a burden that I had to go through to make sure I didn't make the mistake that the me in the past would have. It took a while, and more importantly, as much as this sounds fake, it actually took you to place some confidence in me before I actually started to enjoy tuition. (By this point I've called three different people 'you' already. Oh well) Maybe the link isn't clear, but honestly, thanks.
In one term alone, I've really changed alot, haven't I? Honestly, I don't think I've been as happy or as sad as I've been recently in a very long time. I don't think I've had emotions as true as I do now in a long time. And I've already come close to crying twice, once today; and I doubt I'll be this close in a long time.
All this time, have you (Still 3rd, this is a general you) ever considered that this very moment, as ordinary, as pathetic, as stressful, as amusing, as queer, as depressing, as heartwrenching, as broken and fragmented as it is, could be very well your happiest moment for a very long time to come? Let's not even talk about your life ending tomorrow. It could very well get better. It could very well stay the same forever.
It could very well all just disappear in a short moment's notice and you wouldn't even have the chance to try and catch it.
I've always considered the wind to be a beautiful thing because of how you could feel its presence all around you but you were completely powerless in trying to catch it. All of a sudden, the breeze is gone, and as much as you'd like it to stay you just move on.
When you realize the beauty of something, it's always when it's too late and it's about to leave, isn't it? How every single second of every ordinary day bears more value than even gems. And the beauty of it all is that it will never last.
For some reason I watched a simple MAD of Lucky Star and somehow, just somehow, I nearly cried. A friend was telling me about how he was reading A Game of Cards and somehow, just somehow, he just started to cry. It's all association; a very painful one at that.
Life honestly hasn't been so fulfilling as it has been in this semester in some time. Of course it could be more, and of course it could've been less. But for each second and each ordinary day, I don't think I could be much happier. I've been rash, I've been foolish, I've been a bastard and an asshole, I've been happy, I've been glad, I've been serene (the first 'you' would be laughing again), and I've felt horrendously lonely and amazingly loved.
There're the readers who're younger and won't be able to fully understand this feeling. There're the readers who're the same age and probably can associate with this. There're the readers who're a slight bit older and know the feeling, and know that I know nothing about the feeling two years from now. And there're the readers who're even older than that and know what it's like to be me, what it's like to get past being me and know what it's like to be them.
But all the readers probably have something in common, don't they? Times they treasure.
The title of the blogpost was Halcyon Days, a quote admittedly taken from an anime (though a stock quote, I hadn't even heard of it until then) which I don't even like that much. I don't even know how true it is to name this such. I could very well look back at this blogpost and laugh at the foolishness of the me writing this at 1 minute into 30th September 2007.
Come Monday, if rumours are correct, ACSI will no longer be the same again with the leaving of some people. For these individuals, maybe their halcyon days have already past. And as much as I have made nil impact on these individuals, their presence alone have made all the difference. If things go as rumours predict, I fear there will be nothing about the ACSI in 2008 that I can say about the ACSI in 2007. And ironically, there's already so little about the ACSI in 2007 that I can compare with the ACSI in 2006, and before then it was perfectly fine. Guess what changed it all, huh?
For some seniors, maybe the end of the journey is their halcyon days. Maybe after 12, 9, 6 or even 2 years, they have walked in the company of heroes (Sorry for stealing the line, Gid), among the ranks of Scholars, Officers and Gentlemen. Maybe this will be the same for me in two years time.
But somehow, I just get the feeling that this is already it.
I've made promises with a few friends. Jarrel would scoff at that, but what's done's been done. I must apologize in advance if I never get to keep my word to them. And honestly, there's still so much I want to say. But I think I should keep it to this.
When you read this, could you leave a footprint on this simple blogpost? In case I ever forget, let this small mark be a proof of a moment's cross between two threads of man in the intertwined web of life, whether you're someone to me, anyone to me, or even no one to me.
Farewell, Halcyon Days.
何気ない毎日の一秒一秒が 宝石よりも価値がある 宝物
-- you (Cry) -- Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni
It's with certain melancholy that the endyear exams head over towards us. I've worked pretty hard, I think. Compared to past years, at least.
I still remember how much I hated myself in May (How ironic that someone out there must've been so happy while I was in the pits, and perhaps how more ironic of this statement in itself.)
It's interesting how much hating yourself can push you forward, isn't it? But to say the truth it wasn't hate that kept me going.
The first few times I went for tuition I did the homework on the day before. I considered it a burden that I had to go through to make sure I didn't make the mistake that the me in the past would have. It took a while, and more importantly, as much as this sounds fake, it actually took you to place some confidence in me before I actually started to enjoy tuition. (By this point I've called three different people 'you' already. Oh well) Maybe the link isn't clear, but honestly, thanks.
In one term alone, I've really changed alot, haven't I? Honestly, I don't think I've been as happy or as sad as I've been recently in a very long time. I don't think I've had emotions as true as I do now in a long time. And I've already come close to crying twice, once today; and I doubt I'll be this close in a long time.
All this time, have you (Still 3rd, this is a general you) ever considered that this very moment, as ordinary, as pathetic, as stressful, as amusing, as queer, as depressing, as heartwrenching, as broken and fragmented as it is, could be very well your happiest moment for a very long time to come? Let's not even talk about your life ending tomorrow. It could very well get better. It could very well stay the same forever.
It could very well all just disappear in a short moment's notice and you wouldn't even have the chance to try and catch it.
I've always considered the wind to be a beautiful thing because of how you could feel its presence all around you but you were completely powerless in trying to catch it. All of a sudden, the breeze is gone, and as much as you'd like it to stay you just move on.
When you realize the beauty of something, it's always when it's too late and it's about to leave, isn't it? How every single second of every ordinary day bears more value than even gems. And the beauty of it all is that it will never last.
For some reason I watched a simple MAD of Lucky Star and somehow, just somehow, I nearly cried. A friend was telling me about how he was reading A Game of Cards and somehow, just somehow, he just started to cry. It's all association; a very painful one at that.
Life honestly hasn't been so fulfilling as it has been in this semester in some time. Of course it could be more, and of course it could've been less. But for each second and each ordinary day, I don't think I could be much happier. I've been rash, I've been foolish, I've been a bastard and an asshole, I've been happy, I've been glad, I've been serene (the first 'you' would be laughing again), and I've felt horrendously lonely and amazingly loved.
There're the readers who're younger and won't be able to fully understand this feeling. There're the readers who're the same age and probably can associate with this. There're the readers who're a slight bit older and know the feeling, and know that I know nothing about the feeling two years from now. And there're the readers who're even older than that and know what it's like to be me, what it's like to get past being me and know what it's like to be them.
But all the readers probably have something in common, don't they? Times they treasure.
The title of the blogpost was Halcyon Days, a quote admittedly taken from an anime (though a stock quote, I hadn't even heard of it until then) which I don't even like that much. I don't even know how true it is to name this such. I could very well look back at this blogpost and laugh at the foolishness of the me writing this at 1 minute into 30th September 2007.
Come Monday, if rumours are correct, ACSI will no longer be the same again with the leaving of some people. For these individuals, maybe their halcyon days have already past. And as much as I have made nil impact on these individuals, their presence alone have made all the difference. If things go as rumours predict, I fear there will be nothing about the ACSI in 2008 that I can say about the ACSI in 2007. And ironically, there's already so little about the ACSI in 2007 that I can compare with the ACSI in 2006, and before then it was perfectly fine. Guess what changed it all, huh?
For some seniors, maybe the end of the journey is their halcyon days. Maybe after 12, 9, 6 or even 2 years, they have walked in the company of heroes (Sorry for stealing the line, Gid), among the ranks of Scholars, Officers and Gentlemen. Maybe this will be the same for me in two years time.
But somehow, I just get the feeling that this is already it.
I've made promises with a few friends. Jarrel would scoff at that, but what's done's been done. I must apologize in advance if I never get to keep my word to them. And honestly, there's still so much I want to say. But I think I should keep it to this.
When you read this, could you leave a footprint on this simple blogpost? In case I ever forget, let this small mark be a proof of a moment's cross between two threads of man in the intertwined web of life, whether you're someone to me, anyone to me, or even no one to me.
Farewell, Halcyon Days.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
A Second Confession
Ruoma: A drink, good Martin! I fear the tides of memory have struck again, and it be but your wine that can calm the storm.
Martin: Of course, good sir, but what is it that troubles you? Are they matters of the heart?
Ruoma: More the past than the heart. But let me drink my drink, will you? I must drown in alcohol before my reminiscence gets there first.
Martin: As your wish.
Ruoma: ...you know, Martin. There used to be a girl I liked.
Martin: Hasn't everybody? What age were you then?
Ruoma: Younger than half yours, young man.
Martin: You aren't much older than drinking age either, sir. What did you like about her?
Ruoma: There was always an air of elegance that was exuded around her, Mart. A style that turned heads. Aphrodite's hair and skin. And
Martin: Please, keep your descriptions to a fitting age. You were but nine to ten.
Ruoma: Tis' the alcohol speaking, not me. But she was one I could not help but admire. It's a strange thing, you know? It was a joy seeing her, whether it was back at the old primary school or at the church. I'd liked her since young, and known her since younger. Then she disappeared.
Martin: Surely you could've found a better word to describe that.
Ruoma: Went away, whatever. I transferred school halfway through, and a year later she transferred too when my church built a second partner church elsewhere. I tried to chase her so much. Convince my parents, go there myself, learn the routes, I tried everything. It never worked out in the end. And there she went.
Martin: And what makes you bring this up suddenly?
Ruoma: Once or twice a year the church would have events together and I would get to see a fleeting glance of her. Do you know how much it takes? The feelings of living your life for a moment a year? Keeping yourself afloat with but a mere thought that you don't even know will be fulfilled? That the mere wish to see someone, not even speak to, were so strong as to keep a person going for years? It is an amazing thought, Martin, that you can live life for the moment though it come so rarely in life.
Martin: I assume you didn't last too long with that.
Ruoma: Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't. Does 4 sound much to you? People grow. Youth dies out by the time you're 18. But come the fifth, and one event came that truly showed me something.
Martin: And what would that be, o alcohol?
Ruoma: Mock me not, though I can't deny the truth of that. I headed over to her church one day, and our parents happened to talk. I just took the chance to ask her one question. "Do you remember me?" "Yeah, you're from my primary school and from church." It wasn't a victory, nor something to be proud of, nor something to be particularly happy about. It made no difference. But let me tell you, Martin, that there is strange value in the mere fact alone that you exist to somebody. You don't even care what you exist as. Lover, companion, friend, colleague, acquaintance, or even a damn afterthought; I can tell you now, Mart, that being forgotten is a curse worse than death itself. And after all that time I realized that still my existence leaves a small mark in the beaches of sand. But I couldn't bring myself to be very happy. I could but force a weak smile. Perhaps, Mart, I already grew up too much. Gave up hope; felt it impossible; learnt that the odds had finally stacked too high against me. I left with a weak smile.
Ruoma: On my way back, my parents confided an amusing fact. They wanted to transfer to the other church too. But they didn't. Why? Because no one my age was transferring except for her. They were worried for me, worried that I couldn't stand not being with my friends. To damn hell with them, I thought! She was enough! But I could no longer say or think that with passion anymore, instead having them as a mere afterthought with a chuckle at the side. It's a very ironic thought, isn't it? A story that might have enraged the young me. But I couldn't, Martin, all I could do was force that bitter-weak smile with the slightest tinge of sweetness inside, not for the future but rather for the forgone past of 'it could've been'. It's... aah.
Martin: Tissue?
Ruoma: It's ok, you didn't add enough salt on your margarita rim. Perhaps you expected that? Perhaps not.
Martin: Perhaps I did, perhaps not. Why do you cry for a girl so long past?
Ruoma: I cry not for her, I cry for myself. For the part of me that I lost while waiting, while hoping, while wishing for a past long lost to a choice of irony. The part of me that could wait for years in crystal hope, that lived on a thought of random meetings a year or less, that was hope in place of sorrowful regret.
Martin: Surely you have moved on.
Ruoma: And I have. But for none else shall I look upon with such lingering regret.
Martin: I didn't mean that, sir, and I believe you have another fancy by now.
Ruoma: Tis' been a month since we talked, and a fortnight since any message. I'm afraid, Martin, that I can no longer look up to the sky with the patience and blind, faithful hope that I bore the years ago.
------------------------------------------
Some people just like to screw my stories up at the last moment. But nevermind, not like I bear anything in regards to that anyway.
Martin: Of course, good sir, but what is it that troubles you? Are they matters of the heart?
Ruoma: More the past than the heart. But let me drink my drink, will you? I must drown in alcohol before my reminiscence gets there first.
Martin: As your wish.
Ruoma: ...you know, Martin. There used to be a girl I liked.
Martin: Hasn't everybody? What age were you then?
Ruoma: Younger than half yours, young man.
Martin: You aren't much older than drinking age either, sir. What did you like about her?
Ruoma: There was always an air of elegance that was exuded around her, Mart. A style that turned heads. Aphrodite's hair and skin. And
Martin: Please, keep your descriptions to a fitting age. You were but nine to ten.
Ruoma: Tis' the alcohol speaking, not me. But she was one I could not help but admire. It's a strange thing, you know? It was a joy seeing her, whether it was back at the old primary school or at the church. I'd liked her since young, and known her since younger. Then she disappeared.
Martin: Surely you could've found a better word to describe that.
Ruoma: Went away, whatever. I transferred school halfway through, and a year later she transferred too when my church built a second partner church elsewhere. I tried to chase her so much. Convince my parents, go there myself, learn the routes, I tried everything. It never worked out in the end. And there she went.
Martin: And what makes you bring this up suddenly?
Ruoma: Once or twice a year the church would have events together and I would get to see a fleeting glance of her. Do you know how much it takes? The feelings of living your life for a moment a year? Keeping yourself afloat with but a mere thought that you don't even know will be fulfilled? That the mere wish to see someone, not even speak to, were so strong as to keep a person going for years? It is an amazing thought, Martin, that you can live life for the moment though it come so rarely in life.
Martin: I assume you didn't last too long with that.
Ruoma: Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't. Does 4 sound much to you? People grow. Youth dies out by the time you're 18. But come the fifth, and one event came that truly showed me something.
Martin: And what would that be, o alcohol?
Ruoma: Mock me not, though I can't deny the truth of that. I headed over to her church one day, and our parents happened to talk. I just took the chance to ask her one question. "Do you remember me?" "Yeah, you're from my primary school and from church." It wasn't a victory, nor something to be proud of, nor something to be particularly happy about. It made no difference. But let me tell you, Martin, that there is strange value in the mere fact alone that you exist to somebody. You don't even care what you exist as. Lover, companion, friend, colleague, acquaintance, or even a damn afterthought; I can tell you now, Mart, that being forgotten is a curse worse than death itself. And after all that time I realized that still my existence leaves a small mark in the beaches of sand. But I couldn't bring myself to be very happy. I could but force a weak smile. Perhaps, Mart, I already grew up too much. Gave up hope; felt it impossible; learnt that the odds had finally stacked too high against me. I left with a weak smile.
Ruoma: On my way back, my parents confided an amusing fact. They wanted to transfer to the other church too. But they didn't. Why? Because no one my age was transferring except for her. They were worried for me, worried that I couldn't stand not being with my friends. To damn hell with them, I thought! She was enough! But I could no longer say or think that with passion anymore, instead having them as a mere afterthought with a chuckle at the side. It's a very ironic thought, isn't it? A story that might have enraged the young me. But I couldn't, Martin, all I could do was force that bitter-weak smile with the slightest tinge of sweetness inside, not for the future but rather for the forgone past of 'it could've been'. It's... aah.
Martin: Tissue?
Ruoma: It's ok, you didn't add enough salt on your margarita rim. Perhaps you expected that? Perhaps not.
Martin: Perhaps I did, perhaps not. Why do you cry for a girl so long past?
Ruoma: I cry not for her, I cry for myself. For the part of me that I lost while waiting, while hoping, while wishing for a past long lost to a choice of irony. The part of me that could wait for years in crystal hope, that lived on a thought of random meetings a year or less, that was hope in place of sorrowful regret.
Martin: Surely you have moved on.
Ruoma: And I have. But for none else shall I look upon with such lingering regret.
Martin: I didn't mean that, sir, and I believe you have another fancy by now.
Ruoma: Tis' been a month since we talked, and a fortnight since any message. I'm afraid, Martin, that I can no longer look up to the sky with the patience and blind, faithful hope that I bore the years ago.
------------------------------------------
Some people just like to screw my stories up at the last moment. But nevermind, not like I bear anything in regards to that anyway.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Youth
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, to some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A long four years, and still two to go. Yet maybe by the end of this I'll have already wisened up more than I already have (Self-praise or denouncement for you to decide). Who knows? Maybe I'll really be the rambling old fool that some people have already perceived me to be up till now, and perhaps even more.
There was a very strange feeling involved in climbing into class via the top window. At 11pm of 18th Sep, I've already forgotten what that feeling was. Was it a simple feeling of achievement? One of "That was easier than I thought" or "I should've done this earlier"? Maybe neither. I don't know anymore.
It was rather ironic, wasn't it? XM and I just jumped in, cleaned ourselves off and just think "That was fun" while everyone else is outside. After a while everyone gets into class when the key finally comes back from the hands of the Hoblet, everyone was like GO HERR GO XM and then when I go around myself everyone agrees with me saying that I've been a bad influence on XM.
Ironic, isn't it? How people praise and condemn the exact same things at pretty much the same time. After I went to ask XM whether I influenced him to make that choice in any way, it was kind of with a sigh of relief that I found out the answer was no. But think about it; not much really dictated our actions to not involve climbing into class, right?
I miss a point where our class was slightly crazier. Slightly more without a care in the world. I still remember a short film that a bunch of Sec 1 GEP students made. I still remember the Sec 2 GEP party with all its general happiness, humour, photos and uninvited guests. I can't remember much of Sec 3. Not much of Sec 4.
And completely ironically I myself am also at fault. It's all a certain sort of emotional baggage that pushes us towards this kind of self we are now, right?
Haha, I promised to have a toast with a friend against 5cm/s. Perhaps last year I would've done something else. Perhaps the year before I might not have even done anything. Perhaps next year I'll be serving a drink for him. Perhaps the year after that I'd be with him, couple 'o friends and maybe a teacher or two at a recommended pub, maybe ask for a discount from home haha.
When you look back at all this, you tend to think "Wow, I've really changed since then, haven't I?" but who really actively makes sure that this occurs? Really, how many of us actually consciously lead a youthful life rather than subconsciously?
On 19th, XM and I were walking back from swimming and I ended up bringing up the topic of how we should get others to climb into class, yet I did not know why we should've done that. Then he gave the answer that was always there but always hidden - it was something that we couldn't do in the future as adults. It was truly an action that only one our age was capable of doing. And consciously, that did feel far more like the life of a random youth.
And we did try to climb into class. The simple drill; look left, look right, make sure people pass, then with one at the front door and one at the back door, both jump up and climb in simultaneously.
I got a cramp halfway doing so. XM went in without a problem. He's born in November.
Maybe I really am an old man now, huh.
For Time will teach thee soon the truth, there are no birds in last year's nest
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A long four years, and still two to go. Yet maybe by the end of this I'll have already wisened up more than I already have (Self-praise or denouncement for you to decide). Who knows? Maybe I'll really be the rambling old fool that some people have already perceived me to be up till now, and perhaps even more.
There was a very strange feeling involved in climbing into class via the top window. At 11pm of 18th Sep, I've already forgotten what that feeling was. Was it a simple feeling of achievement? One of "That was easier than I thought" or "I should've done this earlier"? Maybe neither. I don't know anymore.
It was rather ironic, wasn't it? XM and I just jumped in, cleaned ourselves off and just think "That was fun" while everyone else is outside. After a while everyone gets into class when the key finally comes back from the hands of the Hoblet, everyone was like GO HERR GO XM and then when I go around myself everyone agrees with me saying that I've been a bad influence on XM.
Ironic, isn't it? How people praise and condemn the exact same things at pretty much the same time. After I went to ask XM whether I influenced him to make that choice in any way, it was kind of with a sigh of relief that I found out the answer was no. But think about it; not much really dictated our actions to not involve climbing into class, right?
I miss a point where our class was slightly crazier. Slightly more without a care in the world. I still remember a short film that a bunch of Sec 1 GEP students made. I still remember the Sec 2 GEP party with all its general happiness, humour, photos and uninvited guests. I can't remember much of Sec 3. Not much of Sec 4.
And completely ironically I myself am also at fault. It's all a certain sort of emotional baggage that pushes us towards this kind of self we are now, right?
Haha, I promised to have a toast with a friend against 5cm/s. Perhaps last year I would've done something else. Perhaps the year before I might not have even done anything. Perhaps next year I'll be serving a drink for him. Perhaps the year after that I'd be with him, couple 'o friends and maybe a teacher or two at a recommended pub, maybe ask for a discount from home haha.
When you look back at all this, you tend to think "Wow, I've really changed since then, haven't I?" but who really actively makes sure that this occurs? Really, how many of us actually consciously lead a youthful life rather than subconsciously?
On 19th, XM and I were walking back from swimming and I ended up bringing up the topic of how we should get others to climb into class, yet I did not know why we should've done that. Then he gave the answer that was always there but always hidden - it was something that we couldn't do in the future as adults. It was truly an action that only one our age was capable of doing. And consciously, that did feel far more like the life of a random youth.
And we did try to climb into class. The simple drill; look left, look right, make sure people pass, then with one at the front door and one at the back door, both jump up and climb in simultaneously.
I got a cramp halfway doing so. XM went in without a problem. He's born in November.
Maybe I really am an old man now, huh.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
The Colourful World
Three men sat on a table staring out into the sceneries of the hillsides from the safety of the balcony of the cafe. The three looked outside to the world and, unable to turn their eyes away, did not notice that the waitress was passing them their tea until her comment.
"Sir, your tea."
The waitress saw the first man staring out the window. She asked the first man, "Why are you staring out at the scenery? What do you like about it?"
The first man commented. "It is the vivid colours of the scenery, miss, that make me appreciate it so much."
The waitress was confused. Were vivid colours enough to make this scenery what it is? She probed further. "Why is it vivid to you?"
"Because I am viewing it, and because I am in it. The world is beautiful for I am in it, Miss, and I think very much that whatever scenery you view this as, I view this as beautiful and that is enough."
"What's the most beautiful scenery out there, then?"
"Anything, Miss, because I'm inside it."
The waitress gave the first man his tea. Then she moved on to the second man.
The waitress saw the second man staring out the window. She asked the second man, "Why are you staring out at the scenery? What do you like about it? Is it the vividness of the scenery?"
The second man commented. "It is indeed the vivid colours of the scenery, miss, that make me appreciate it so much. But of course, miss, there is more to it than just mere colours."
The waitress was confused. What made this scenery what it is to him? She probed further. "What is more important to you than the colours of the scenery?"
"The fact that somewhere out there, she is viewing it too, Miss. Somewhere out there, she's thinking about me, and that thought alone is enough to make this scenery so vivid and beautiful, Miss."
"What's the most beautiful scenery out there, then?"
"Anything, Miss, because she's inside it."
The waitress gave the second man his tea. Then she moved on to the third man.
The waitress saw the third man staring out the window. She asked the third man, "Why are you staring out at the scenery? What do you like about it? Is it the vividness of the scenery?"
The third man commented. "It is indeed the vivid colours of the scenery, miss, that make me appreciate it so much. But of course, miss, there is more to it than just mere colours."
The waitress smiled. "Is it love?"
"No, Miss, not the way you put it."
The waitress was confused. If not love, then what made this scenery what it is to him? She probed further. "What makes you see this scenery as beautiful, then?"
"Because it is, Miss. Do you need a reason to see a beautiful thing as beautiful? The world maybe not be a beautiful place, Miss, but let me assure you that there be beauty in every single thing, beautiful or not."
The waitress stood still for a while before she continued to ask.
"What's the most beautiful scenery out there, then?"
"Wouldn't you like to know. But alas I have no answer."
The waitress gave the third man his tea. Then she went off to other people's tables to take their orders.
The three men took the tea, and drank a sip each.
"Ah, this is good tea."
-----------------------------------------------------
-The world is not beautiful; And that, in a way, lends it a sort of beauty.-
- Kino's Journey
"Sir, your tea."
The waitress saw the first man staring out the window. She asked the first man, "Why are you staring out at the scenery? What do you like about it?"
The first man commented. "It is the vivid colours of the scenery, miss, that make me appreciate it so much."
The waitress was confused. Were vivid colours enough to make this scenery what it is? She probed further. "Why is it vivid to you?"
"Because I am viewing it, and because I am in it. The world is beautiful for I am in it, Miss, and I think very much that whatever scenery you view this as, I view this as beautiful and that is enough."
"What's the most beautiful scenery out there, then?"
"Anything, Miss, because I'm inside it."
The waitress gave the first man his tea. Then she moved on to the second man.
The waitress saw the second man staring out the window. She asked the second man, "Why are you staring out at the scenery? What do you like about it? Is it the vividness of the scenery?"
The second man commented. "It is indeed the vivid colours of the scenery, miss, that make me appreciate it so much. But of course, miss, there is more to it than just mere colours."
The waitress was confused. What made this scenery what it is to him? She probed further. "What is more important to you than the colours of the scenery?"
"The fact that somewhere out there, she is viewing it too, Miss. Somewhere out there, she's thinking about me, and that thought alone is enough to make this scenery so vivid and beautiful, Miss."
"What's the most beautiful scenery out there, then?"
"Anything, Miss, because she's inside it."
The waitress gave the second man his tea. Then she moved on to the third man.
The waitress saw the third man staring out the window. She asked the third man, "Why are you staring out at the scenery? What do you like about it? Is it the vividness of the scenery?"
The third man commented. "It is indeed the vivid colours of the scenery, miss, that make me appreciate it so much. But of course, miss, there is more to it than just mere colours."
The waitress smiled. "Is it love?"
"No, Miss, not the way you put it."
The waitress was confused. If not love, then what made this scenery what it is to him? She probed further. "What makes you see this scenery as beautiful, then?"
"Because it is, Miss. Do you need a reason to see a beautiful thing as beautiful? The world maybe not be a beautiful place, Miss, but let me assure you that there be beauty in every single thing, beautiful or not."
The waitress stood still for a while before she continued to ask.
"What's the most beautiful scenery out there, then?"
"Wouldn't you like to know. But alas I have no answer."
The waitress gave the third man his tea. Then she went off to other people's tables to take their orders.
The three men took the tea, and drank a sip each.
"Ah, this is good tea."
-----------------------------------------------------
-The world is not beautiful; And that, in a way, lends it a sort of beauty.-
- Kino's Journey
Sunday, September 09, 2007
The Woes of Bearing a Public Blog
Up till now, I never really noticed the issue of having a public blog (Public in that it doesn't have passwords and the like). When I first started out my blog was pretty much a chronicle of my activities and thoughts, and lately one of my stories (conversations really).
It's nice having -generally- random people come over and comment, and it was somewhat of a surprise when clearly random people just came over and said something (anoel as one haha).
It's nice knowing that you can actually mean something with this blog, knowing that you can help someone with it, give someone ideas with it, make someone's day with it, or at the very least entertain him or her for 5 minutes with it.
Yet there's those times when two letters left out of a long blog post can send someone into annoyance. Words break people just as easily as they make them, and if you're too careless you end up being too nice to people by accident and hurt them unnecessarily. Same goes to blogs, isn't it?
Devotion during chapel today was about the powers of the tongue; the powers of words alone. Honestly, the number of weird things that happened to me after I wrote that post on SJAB deserves a blog post of its own but I think I can cut that, haha. Any single thing I write over here in relation to something has to be so carefully written so as not to accidentally offend others (Purposely is another matter) and apparently I still end up doing so. Woe.
Then there're the times where I don't write something about others. I write something about myself, something personal. I mean yeah, it's a public blog, but still it's not like this corner of the internet is going to get invaded by those who seek epic lulz or whatnot, right?
Gosh I swear when some people who don't even know me that well read my blog and talk to me like they know me very well it is the most pissing feeling ever.
It's one thing to read a person's blog and think 'wow, I never knew this side to him' or 'well I never thought of him this way'. It's fine not to bring it up to the person since it might be something personal even if he posted it on his blog. Maybe he didn't mean it for your eyes and it was pretty much coincidence.
It's one thing to read a person's blog and talk to the person about said blogpost while referring to yourself because well honestly some people don't want to hear others talking to them about themselves, especially what of what they've written. Maybe you can relate to him or something, but please make sure you're actually on good terms with the person because few like to talk to dislikable people, let alone know that their blogs are being read by said dislikable person.
And honestly it's darn pissing when you read a person's blog, come to your own conclusion about said person despite knowing full well you probably don't know him that well because you didn't know anything in his 'personal blogpost' and you shove your conclusion in his face thinking that you know the person oh-so-well. I swear it's pissing when that happens. No, you don't. Simple as that.
Yet at the same time I rather not go around placing passwords anywhere because how much good can those possibly do? I don't like the look of boxes for inputting passwords on my blog either XD. But do think about it. If you want to put passwords on a public blog then how're you going to go about blogposts that only certain people (even among those who know the password) should read? It ends up getting more and more unnecessarily complex. It's really much simpler to go with the hopeful assumption that people actually know when they're uninvited and just keep quiet, but of course that never works. Shame, eh.
Haiz. It's nice to hear something definitely, but noise is >_>.
It's nice having -generally- random people come over and comment, and it was somewhat of a surprise when clearly random people just came over and said something (anoel as one haha).
It's nice knowing that you can actually mean something with this blog, knowing that you can help someone with it, give someone ideas with it, make someone's day with it, or at the very least entertain him or her for 5 minutes with it.
Yet there's those times when two letters left out of a long blog post can send someone into annoyance. Words break people just as easily as they make them, and if you're too careless you end up being too nice to people by accident and hurt them unnecessarily. Same goes to blogs, isn't it?
Devotion during chapel today was about the powers of the tongue; the powers of words alone. Honestly, the number of weird things that happened to me after I wrote that post on SJAB deserves a blog post of its own but I think I can cut that, haha. Any single thing I write over here in relation to something has to be so carefully written so as not to accidentally offend others (Purposely is another matter) and apparently I still end up doing so. Woe.
Then there're the times where I don't write something about others. I write something about myself, something personal. I mean yeah, it's a public blog, but still it's not like this corner of the internet is going to get invaded by those who seek epic lulz or whatnot, right?
Gosh I swear when some people who don't even know me that well read my blog and talk to me like they know me very well it is the most pissing feeling ever.
It's one thing to read a person's blog and think 'wow, I never knew this side to him' or 'well I never thought of him this way'. It's fine not to bring it up to the person since it might be something personal even if he posted it on his blog. Maybe he didn't mean it for your eyes and it was pretty much coincidence.
It's one thing to read a person's blog and talk to the person about said blogpost while referring to yourself because well honestly some people don't want to hear others talking to them about themselves, especially what of what they've written. Maybe you can relate to him or something, but please make sure you're actually on good terms with the person because few like to talk to dislikable people, let alone know that their blogs are being read by said dislikable person.
And honestly it's darn pissing when you read a person's blog, come to your own conclusion about said person despite knowing full well you probably don't know him that well because you didn't know anything in his 'personal blogpost' and you shove your conclusion in his face thinking that you know the person oh-so-well. I swear it's pissing when that happens. No, you don't. Simple as that.
Yet at the same time I rather not go around placing passwords anywhere because how much good can those possibly do? I don't like the look of boxes for inputting passwords on my blog either XD. But do think about it. If you want to put passwords on a public blog then how're you going to go about blogposts that only certain people (even among those who know the password) should read? It ends up getting more and more unnecessarily complex. It's really much simpler to go with the hopeful assumption that people actually know when they're uninvited and just keep quiet, but of course that never works. Shame, eh.
Haiz. It's nice to hear something definitely, but noise is >_>.
Friday, September 07, 2007
You
あなたは今どこで何をしていますか？
この空の続く場所にいますか？
今まで私の心を埋めていたモノ
失って初めて気付いた
こんなにも私を支えてくれていたこと
こんなにも笑顔をくれていたこと
失ってしまった代償はとてつもなく大きすぎて
取り戻そうと必死に 手を伸ばしてもがくけれど
まるで風のようにすり抜けて届きそうで届かない
孤独と絶望に胸を締め付けられ
心が壊れそうになるけれど
思い出に残るあなたの笑顔が
私をいつも励ましてくれる
もう一度あの頃に戻ろう
今度はきっと大丈夫
いつもそばで笑っていよう
あなたのすぐそばで・・
あなたは今どこで何をしていますか？
この空の続く場所にいますか？
いつものように笑顔でいてくれますか？
今はただそれを願い続ける
あなたは今どこで何をしていますか？
この空の続く場所にいますか？
------------------------
伝えたいこの思い 風よ星よ
信じて待っていることを
気づけば満点の星 君も見上げてるのかな
解き放たれた私に 授けられた純白の翼
でも舞っているわ 君との約束を終えてるから
届けてこの思い 風よ星よ
全てを包み込む この光
守ってこの思い 風よ星よ
見つけてもらうための 瞬き
もし帰ってきたならば ちょっぴり拗ねてみたいの
君の困った顔が たまらなく愛しいから
そして優しく抱きしめるの はにかんだ顔見たいから
伝えたいこの思い 風よ星よ
信じて待っていることを
見つめてこの思い 風よ星よ
私の代わりに その日まで
翼が羽ばたきたがる 君のもと舞い降りたいと
それでも私は待っているわ 眠りあえるその日まで
-----------------------------
少しずつ近付く 夏の匂いを
あなたの隣で感じていたい
何気ない毎日の一秒一秒が
宝石よりも価値がある 宝物
いつまでもこの時間（とき）が
やさしい日差しに 包まれて守られていますように
そんな 当たり前の日々が 闇に閉ざされたとしても
私はあなたを信じているたとえそれが許されなくても
キラ キラ 輝いていて
ずっとここで微笑んで
なかないで
どうか私の言葉を聞いて
怖がらないで 何もしないから
あなたの為に 一緒に泣いてあげる
お願い そんなに怯えないで
夏のなき声が煩すぎて 私の声が聞こえてないの
少しだけでいいの なき止んで
許すから なきやんで...
ひぐらしの声が言う もう手遅れだと
それでもあなたに手を差し伸べる
どうか私のこと 信じて下さい
”もうなかないでいいよ” とおしえたい
---------------------------
Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni Meakashi-hen - You (Original Vocal, Cry, and some unknown version. Not respectively.)
この空の続く場所にいますか？
今まで私の心を埋めていたモノ
失って初めて気付いた
こんなにも私を支えてくれていたこと
こんなにも笑顔をくれていたこと
失ってしまった代償はとてつもなく大きすぎて
取り戻そうと必死に 手を伸ばしてもがくけれど
まるで風のようにすり抜けて届きそうで届かない
孤独と絶望に胸を締め付けられ
心が壊れそうになるけれど
思い出に残るあなたの笑顔が
私をいつも励ましてくれる
もう一度あの頃に戻ろう
今度はきっと大丈夫
いつもそばで笑っていよう
あなたのすぐそばで・・
あなたは今どこで何をしていますか？
この空の続く場所にいますか？
いつものように笑顔でいてくれますか？
今はただそれを願い続ける
あなたは今どこで何をしていますか？
この空の続く場所にいますか？
------------------------
伝えたいこの思い 風よ星よ
信じて待っていることを
気づけば満点の星 君も見上げてるのかな
解き放たれた私に 授けられた純白の翼
でも舞っているわ 君との約束を終えてるから
届けてこの思い 風よ星よ
全てを包み込む この光
守ってこの思い 風よ星よ
見つけてもらうための 瞬き
もし帰ってきたならば ちょっぴり拗ねてみたいの
君の困った顔が たまらなく愛しいから
そして優しく抱きしめるの はにかんだ顔見たいから
伝えたいこの思い 風よ星よ
信じて待っていることを
見つめてこの思い 風よ星よ
私の代わりに その日まで
翼が羽ばたきたがる 君のもと舞い降りたいと
それでも私は待っているわ 眠りあえるその日まで
-----------------------------
少しずつ近付く 夏の匂いを
あなたの隣で感じていたい
何気ない毎日の一秒一秒が
宝石よりも価値がある 宝物
いつまでもこの時間（とき）が
やさしい日差しに 包まれて守られていますように
そんな 当たり前の日々が 闇に閉ざされたとしても
私はあなたを信じているたとえそれが許されなくても
キラ キラ 輝いていて
ずっとここで微笑んで
なかないで
どうか私の言葉を聞いて
怖がらないで 何もしないから
あなたの為に 一緒に泣いてあげる
お願い そんなに怯えないで
夏のなき声が煩すぎて 私の声が聞こえてないの
少しだけでいいの なき止んで
許すから なきやんで...
ひぐらしの声が言う もう手遅れだと
それでもあなたに手を差し伸べる
どうか私のこと 信じて下さい
”もうなかないでいいよ” とおしえたい
---------------------------
Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni Meakashi-hen - You (Original Vocal, Cry, and some unknown version. Not respectively.)
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Rolling a Seven
(Along a street)
The Gambler: Hey lad, spare an old man a tad o'cash for a mug o'beer?
Albert: And what do I get in return, mister?
The Gambler: Three games, how about that? Cards, dice, the simple coin.
Albert: I'm gambling with a beggar? What can I win from you in the first place?
The Gambler: What makes you think I've nothing? And more importantly, what makes you think you'll win? Sit down, lad, and I'll tell'ya something.
Albert: Go on. Let's place this at 2 bucks.
The Gambler: Every single day's a gamble in the game of life, young man, and what you're taking part in is just one of the millions to come. Ask you a question. What's the lucky number?
Albert: ...seven?
The Gambler: A bright one, lad. Now roll this dice. Let's see if you're lucky.
Albert: But a dice has only six sides! How am I supposed to roll a seven anyway?
The Gambler: Yer' right. But that's life, isn't it? You never strike lucky on the very first dice if you just jump straight in. So what do you do? Throw two dice. Let's see where that gets you.
Albert: ...4 and 5.
The Gambler: And that's the other thing. Ya don't get the seven for trying again. Tell me, lad. I throw a 2. What would I need to get the seven?
Albert: The five?
The Gambler: Right, and where do you find the five?
Albert: ...the opposite end of the two?
The Gambler: Exactly, lad. That's where you get your seven - from the very two ends. And ya gotta do it at one shot, too. Here, I'll throw another one of my own dice.
(The dice flies into the air, lands on the ground, and breaks in half, with one half landing on 1 and the other on 6.)
The Gambler: Don't worry about that, I can fix it no 'prob. But ya see what I mean, lad? That's what life is - ya gotta hit seven, and ya only got one chance each time. What'cha gonna do about it? Now let's take the cards instead. Heard of blackjack?
Albert: Rarely see one who hasn't.
The Gambler: Good to know. Now let's just take one hand, shall we? I'll deal. One up, one down.
Albert: And we both have an ace up.
The Gambler: Oh, the odds! Another question, lad. What's the value of ace?
Albert: One or eleven?
The Gambler: Then what's the value of your ace? Let's turn around the other card, shall we?
Albert: ...another ace. What's the chances.
The Gambler: And blackjack. Ask a question again. What makes one a one? And more importantly, what makes one an eleven?
Albert: A one's one purely because it is the first in the series? That was quite obvious. And what makes one an eleven is the prestige of the card being first?
The Gambler: What does an ace imply, then? You don't seem to be catching this.
Albert: ...skill?
The Gambler: Exactly, my lad! Skill and mastery! That is what differentiates an ace from a jack! The jack shall never be a master of anything. Yet what is a picture that even the ace is not?
Albert: Royalty?
The Gambler: Again on the spot, my lad! The ace is but a pauper, my friend, but remember; the prince would not be as loved had he not met the pauper. And that is why royalty and ace make blackjack, my friend. Again my friend remember that, royalty is bested by the common man, but two aces do not beat two kings. It is when the lowest and the highest of hierarchies meet where blackjack is met. Now let's take a simple coin toss, the last one shall we. What do you call?
Albert: Tails?
The Gambler: And what would the other choice be?
Albert: Heads?
The Gambler: Right, lad.
Albert: How does this fit in with what you said with the other two? I don't see how you're going to split that coin in half.
The Gambler: Sharp one, lad. But do listen. When life gives us choices, we always see what's directly in front of us. We don't search. You couldn't give me an answer for rolling a seven, and you can't give me an answer now because you can't split the coin. But lad, sometimes the answer just ain't that obvious. People only see the heads and the tails. The dots go from 1 to 6.
(The gambler flips the coin, and it lands in the middle of a crack among bricks along the street, balancing itself at neither heads nor tails.)
The Gambler: But it's these sorts of answers that really let you win the gambles, lad. Answers that shock the world, maybe even yourself. Answers that make the world wonder "how did he just pull that off?". Remember, friend. Every choice in a life is a gamble, it's just how often you roll the seven.
Albert: I see. So that means I've won the gamble, right? I think I'll be going off, then. Oh, and don't use the money to buy beer, will you? Get a cup of coffee or something; or tea, I've started to grow a liking towards it recently.
The Gambler: Haha, I'll keep that in mind, lad! But what makes you say that you've won?
Albert: You've given me more than my two dollar's worth, simple as that, mister. I'll be on my way, and maybe later on I'll roll another seven, hmm?
(Albert leaves.)
The Gambler: ...A wise one, lad.
-------------------------------------------
I don't even know what made me think about this.
The Gambler: Hey lad, spare an old man a tad o'cash for a mug o'beer?
Albert: And what do I get in return, mister?
The Gambler: Three games, how about that? Cards, dice, the simple coin.
Albert: I'm gambling with a beggar? What can I win from you in the first place?
The Gambler: What makes you think I've nothing? And more importantly, what makes you think you'll win? Sit down, lad, and I'll tell'ya something.
Albert: Go on. Let's place this at 2 bucks.
The Gambler: Every single day's a gamble in the game of life, young man, and what you're taking part in is just one of the millions to come. Ask you a question. What's the lucky number?
Albert: ...seven?
The Gambler: A bright one, lad. Now roll this dice. Let's see if you're lucky.
Albert: But a dice has only six sides! How am I supposed to roll a seven anyway?
The Gambler: Yer' right. But that's life, isn't it? You never strike lucky on the very first dice if you just jump straight in. So what do you do? Throw two dice. Let's see where that gets you.
Albert: ...4 and 5.
The Gambler: And that's the other thing. Ya don't get the seven for trying again. Tell me, lad. I throw a 2. What would I need to get the seven?
Albert: The five?
The Gambler: Right, and where do you find the five?
Albert: ...the opposite end of the two?
The Gambler: Exactly, lad. That's where you get your seven - from the very two ends. And ya gotta do it at one shot, too. Here, I'll throw another one of my own dice.
(The dice flies into the air, lands on the ground, and breaks in half, with one half landing on 1 and the other on 6.)
The Gambler: Don't worry about that, I can fix it no 'prob. But ya see what I mean, lad? That's what life is - ya gotta hit seven, and ya only got one chance each time. What'cha gonna do about it? Now let's take the cards instead. Heard of blackjack?
Albert: Rarely see one who hasn't.
The Gambler: Good to know. Now let's just take one hand, shall we? I'll deal. One up, one down.
Albert: And we both have an ace up.
The Gambler: Oh, the odds! Another question, lad. What's the value of ace?
Albert: One or eleven?
The Gambler: Then what's the value of your ace? Let's turn around the other card, shall we?
Albert: ...another ace. What's the chances.
The Gambler: And blackjack. Ask a question again. What makes one a one? And more importantly, what makes one an eleven?
Albert: A one's one purely because it is the first in the series? That was quite obvious. And what makes one an eleven is the prestige of the card being first?
The Gambler: What does an ace imply, then? You don't seem to be catching this.
Albert: ...skill?
The Gambler: Exactly, my lad! Skill and mastery! That is what differentiates an ace from a jack! The jack shall never be a master of anything. Yet what is a picture that even the ace is not?
Albert: Royalty?
The Gambler: Again on the spot, my lad! The ace is but a pauper, my friend, but remember; the prince would not be as loved had he not met the pauper. And that is why royalty and ace make blackjack, my friend. Again my friend remember that, royalty is bested by the common man, but two aces do not beat two kings. It is when the lowest and the highest of hierarchies meet where blackjack is met. Now let's take a simple coin toss, the last one shall we. What do you call?
Albert: Tails?
The Gambler: And what would the other choice be?
Albert: Heads?
The Gambler: Right, lad.
Albert: How does this fit in with what you said with the other two? I don't see how you're going to split that coin in half.
The Gambler: Sharp one, lad. But do listen. When life gives us choices, we always see what's directly in front of us. We don't search. You couldn't give me an answer for rolling a seven, and you can't give me an answer now because you can't split the coin. But lad, sometimes the answer just ain't that obvious. People only see the heads and the tails. The dots go from 1 to 6.
(The gambler flips the coin, and it lands in the middle of a crack among bricks along the street, balancing itself at neither heads nor tails.)
The Gambler: But it's these sorts of answers that really let you win the gambles, lad. Answers that shock the world, maybe even yourself. Answers that make the world wonder "how did he just pull that off?". Remember, friend. Every choice in a life is a gamble, it's just how often you roll the seven.
Albert: I see. So that means I've won the gamble, right? I think I'll be going off, then. Oh, and don't use the money to buy beer, will you? Get a cup of coffee or something; or tea, I've started to grow a liking towards it recently.
The Gambler: Haha, I'll keep that in mind, lad! But what makes you say that you've won?
Albert: You've given me more than my two dollar's worth, simple as that, mister. I'll be on my way, and maybe later on I'll roll another seven, hmm?
(Albert leaves.)
The Gambler: ...A wise one, lad.
-------------------------------------------
I don't even know what made me think about this.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Seasons and Eternity
It's a pity that among all the people I know, only Johnny has watched both Toki Wo Kakeru Shoujo and Byousoku 5cm. Somewhat just as much that apart from him, only XM, SZ, Dneo and JY have at least watched one. Seems like not that many people will get the reasoning behind writing this one =p
After thinking about it somewhat and looking at the ending songs, Garnet and One More Time, One More Chance, I started wondering how different they really were.
Tokikake is simply put a story of a girl who learns the importance of her loved ones and the importance of time through a series of fortunate and unfortunate events (So generically put that it fails to spoil people). Byousoku 5cm is, aptly put by the movie itself, "a chain of short stories about their distance." Both deal with the concepts of time, distance, human emotions, relationships etc. Perfectly down-to-earth unlike Paprika and most Miyazaki films, haha.
Yet how much more different can the two songs be? One focuses on the past and remembering it for as long as possible, the other talks about searching and seeking, and finding again. Ironically, the one who cares more about remembering the past is far more optimistic about the seasons coming again (Perhaps because for her it's already ended) compared to the one wishing for the seasons not to end and hopelessly searching for a now-lost cause.
Maybe it's just because the two are different in nature. Tokikake uses Summer as a seasonal point compared to Winter in Byousoku 5cm. Innocence, passion and youth compared to coldness, frigidity and loneliness. Maybe it's just because that the former had a far more hopeful ending and was more moralistic in nature. Maybe it's because Makoto had already conquered time once, hence her hopefulness towards the return of Chiaki.
Makoto reminds me of both Takaki and Akari at the same time, mainly because she is very much what Takaki goes through, but yet her character at the end is strangely far more like Akari's. A previously unimportant question suddenly becomes more prominent; what did Akari think of Takaki in the end? A mere shadow of the past? Or did she love him like she did before? What of the marriage, then?
Both films talk about moving on, Makoto and Akari alike; except that Byousoku 5cm wasn't about Akari, it was about Takaki. Why was it the girl who managed to move on in both cases and not the guy? Even Chiaki was an emo bugger near the end.
When Makoto's Aunt Kazuko decided not to timeleap in the end of her own story (In the manga version, novel version is probably somewhat different), it was because she felt that there was no need. She had already remembered her favourite moment with the person she liked, and she would never forget it. That was enough to her.
Interesting food for thought, huh. K nevermind I need to do work or people will start worrying about me again from the shadows. Or maybe said people have already disappeared and I'll never have noticed, haha. What can I say? Gone without the goodbye. Wonder when the return is.
After thinking about it somewhat and looking at the ending songs, Garnet and One More Time, One More Chance, I started wondering how different they really were.
Tokikake is simply put a story of a girl who learns the importance of her loved ones and the importance of time through a series of fortunate and unfortunate events (So generically put that it fails to spoil people). Byousoku 5cm is, aptly put by the movie itself, "a chain of short stories about their distance." Both deal with the concepts of time, distance, human emotions, relationships etc. Perfectly down-to-earth unlike Paprika and most Miyazaki films, haha.
Yet how much more different can the two songs be? One focuses on the past and remembering it for as long as possible, the other talks about searching and seeking, and finding again. Ironically, the one who cares more about remembering the past is far more optimistic about the seasons coming again (Perhaps because for her it's already ended) compared to the one wishing for the seasons not to end and hopelessly searching for a now-lost cause.
Maybe it's just because the two are different in nature. Tokikake uses Summer as a seasonal point compared to Winter in Byousoku 5cm. Innocence, passion and youth compared to coldness, frigidity and loneliness. Maybe it's just because that the former had a far more hopeful ending and was more moralistic in nature. Maybe it's because Makoto had already conquered time once, hence her hopefulness towards the return of Chiaki.
Makoto reminds me of both Takaki and Akari at the same time, mainly because she is very much what Takaki goes through, but yet her character at the end is strangely far more like Akari's. A previously unimportant question suddenly becomes more prominent; what did Akari think of Takaki in the end? A mere shadow of the past? Or did she love him like she did before? What of the marriage, then?
Both films talk about moving on, Makoto and Akari alike; except that Byousoku 5cm wasn't about Akari, it was about Takaki. Why was it the girl who managed to move on in both cases and not the guy? Even Chiaki was an emo bugger near the end.
When Makoto's Aunt Kazuko decided not to timeleap in the end of her own story (In the manga version, novel version is probably somewhat different), it was because she felt that there was no need. She had already remembered her favourite moment with the person she liked, and she would never forget it. That was enough to her.
Interesting food for thought, huh. K nevermind I need to do work or people will start worrying about me again from the shadows. Or maybe said people have already disappeared and I'll never have noticed, haha. What can I say? Gone without the goodbye. Wonder when the return is.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Teacher's Day
To my teachers, because I never had the habit of expressing thanks in terms of gifts and favours.
To my CT, thank you for teaching all this while. As much as I've shown myself to be annoyed by you and shown myself to dislike you, I never really did hold anything against you except for the fact that I never really saw you seeing me as a student who could do well, instead seeing me mostly as a troublemaker. Maybe I am, and I'm sorry. But honestly, why did you never give me a chance? To let me show myself as someone capable. It was the only thing I've ever bore against you.
To my PCT, thank you for bearing with me all this while. I don't know if you were the one who wrote my CT/PCT comment or not, but I believe it was you, wasn't it. Was it so obvious? I never realized. Sorry for all the trouble I've been causing with my bad results, Ma'am. I really do try.
To my Chinese Teacher, thank you for bearing with the horrendous marks and grades I've been turning up. I respect and like you as a teacher but my attitude just doesn't match up at times. Sorry if I don't meet up to your expectations.
To my LAA Teacher, thank you for being such an interesting teacher. Listening to you constantly go on and on in class is actually very interesting, but sadly some of us just fail to realize that and doze off. Honestly, I'm actually one of them as well, but every time I've managed to keep awake I always find myself learning alot.
To my LAB Teacher, thank you for being such a kind and caring teacher in class. And thank you for being the idealistic one. I have never offered to teach, and I'll probably not do so again for a long time, and it's only because of the way you go about lessons. I really do enjoy the lessons in class, so thanks for making this possible.
To my CMath Teacher, thank you for being the other idealistic one. It's rare to have such a dedicated teacher at the job that isn't so darn pragmatic. There's a line between people doing their job because of professionalism and people doing their job because they like it; thank you for being among those on the latter. Thank you for sticking to your idealistic way of doing things rather than giving up and taking the pragmatic route. And thank you for being so tolerant with people who don't pass up their work early >_>
To my AMath Teacher, thank you for being such a good teacher. Maybe differentiation and integration really is easy, but I think that was only possible after all the practices that you made us do. Thank you for always entering class with that smile of yours and thank you for still smiling even while all of us were going "Noooooo" from all the homework.
To my IHS Teacher, thank you for being so huggable. I like hugging big people. Big teachers are nice to hug. But more seriously, thank you for being our IHS teacher. Lessons are really fun with you around because of your occasional but interesting commentary, and it's always enjoyable listening to lessons.
To my Physics Teacher, thank you for being so nice. Thank you for being so knowledgeable when we look for you. Maybe people don't listen to you during classes. But when people find you they learn so much that it really doesn't matter, does it? Thanks for making me realize that learning isn't a spoon-fed process.
To my POD Teacher, thank you for thinking so highly of me haha. Thank you for all the insight that you've brought into lessons, thank you for reading up so much and filling in every single spot which we as students cannot reach, trying so hard to teach as much as you can in a mere one hour even though you know it's darn impossible.
To my Japanese Teachers, thank you for guiding me all the way up till now. There's really not much I can say here, can I? My current sensei I have only known for slightly over 2 months.
To all Teachers: Thank you for all you've done, and sorry for what I've done.
To my CT, thank you for teaching all this while. As much as I've shown myself to be annoyed by you and shown myself to dislike you, I never really did hold anything against you except for the fact that I never really saw you seeing me as a student who could do well, instead seeing me mostly as a troublemaker. Maybe I am, and I'm sorry. But honestly, why did you never give me a chance? To let me show myself as someone capable. It was the only thing I've ever bore against you.
To my PCT, thank you for bearing with me all this while. I don't know if you were the one who wrote my CT/PCT comment or not, but I believe it was you, wasn't it. Was it so obvious? I never realized. Sorry for all the trouble I've been causing with my bad results, Ma'am. I really do try.
To my Chinese Teacher, thank you for bearing with the horrendous marks and grades I've been turning up. I respect and like you as a teacher but my attitude just doesn't match up at times. Sorry if I don't meet up to your expectations.
To my LAA Teacher, thank you for being such an interesting teacher. Listening to you constantly go on and on in class is actually very interesting, but sadly some of us just fail to realize that and doze off. Honestly, I'm actually one of them as well, but every time I've managed to keep awake I always find myself learning alot.
To my LAB Teacher, thank you for being such a kind and caring teacher in class. And thank you for being the idealistic one. I have never offered to teach, and I'll probably not do so again for a long time, and it's only because of the way you go about lessons. I really do enjoy the lessons in class, so thanks for making this possible.
To my CMath Teacher, thank you for being the other idealistic one. It's rare to have such a dedicated teacher at the job that isn't so darn pragmatic. There's a line between people doing their job because of professionalism and people doing their job because they like it; thank you for being among those on the latter. Thank you for sticking to your idealistic way of doing things rather than giving up and taking the pragmatic route. And thank you for being so tolerant with people who don't pass up their work early >_>
To my AMath Teacher, thank you for being such a good teacher. Maybe differentiation and integration really is easy, but I think that was only possible after all the practices that you made us do. Thank you for always entering class with that smile of yours and thank you for still smiling even while all of us were going "Noooooo" from all the homework.
To my IHS Teacher, thank you for being so huggable. I like hugging big people. Big teachers are nice to hug. But more seriously, thank you for being our IHS teacher. Lessons are really fun with you around because of your occasional but interesting commentary, and it's always enjoyable listening to lessons.
To my Physics Teacher, thank you for being so nice. Thank you for being so knowledgeable when we look for you. Maybe people don't listen to you during classes. But when people find you they learn so much that it really doesn't matter, does it? Thanks for making me realize that learning isn't a spoon-fed process.
To my POD Teacher, thank you for thinking so highly of me haha. Thank you for all the insight that you've brought into lessons, thank you for reading up so much and filling in every single spot which we as students cannot reach, trying so hard to teach as much as you can in a mere one hour even though you know it's darn impossible.
To my Japanese Teachers, thank you for guiding me all the way up till now. There's really not much I can say here, can I? My current sensei I have only known for slightly over 2 months.
To all Teachers: Thank you for all you've done, and sorry for what I've done.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Distances
Suzu: And here I am, Sora. After so many years; here, like we promised we would meet. It's been such a long time, and I really miss you.
Sora: It really has been a long time, hasn't it? I've missed you too, Suzu.
Suzu: Do you still remember the promise? The promise to meet again; the promise to chat again; the promise to see each other face to face again and talk, just like past times gone. All that here, a corner or sorts that we could call our own.
Sora: Who knew that such a small promise would have taken a lifetime to fulfill? We were but mere children then, and never realized the great lengths at which we would need to take to now meet each other once again.
Suzu: I still remember how soon after the promise I had to leave, and finally after I come back... You know, you should be pretty glad. People do come and visit every once in a while and it seems quite clean.
Sora: Is that so? I guess I have to thank them for the favour. It is pretty hard to...
Suzu: I went over to visit too. Clean, orderly, with your family, just the way you would have wanted it, right? Well, at least you can be sure that people still look after whatever you left back there.
Sora: That I admit.
Suzu: ...it's been a long 13 years, hasn't it? I really miss the landscape over here.
Sora: And I've been seeing it for a good 13, haven't I? Haha.
Suzu: The place really has changed alot since the past, hasn't it? I can barely recognize certain areas around here now. But still, this area stays the same, almost as if you've been protecting this area all this while. You know, I really would've liked to talk to you all about the time that I've spent away from here.
Sora: ...sorry.
Suzu: Why? Why did you have to leave me behind? What have you done? Didn't we promise?? To meet here? After all these years...
Sora: I'm sorry, Suzu...
Suzu: After all these years you just passed away and left me behind...
Sora: ...
Suzu: ...I'm sorry. It isn't like me, is it? I wonder at times, though. Whether you're looking over me somewhere from above. Whether you ever hear my thoughts, whether you hear the things that I've wanted to say to you. But you've moved on already, haven't you? And I should too.
-----------------------------
これ以上何を失えば 心は許されるの
どれ程の痛みならば もういちど君に会える
One more time 季節よ うつろわないで
One more time ふざけあった 時間よ
くいちがう時はいつも 僕が先に折れたね
わがままな性格が なおさら愛しくさせた
One more chance 記憶に足を取られて
One more chance 次の場所を選べない
いつでも捜しているよ どっかに君の姿を
向いのホーム 路地裏の窓
こんなとこにいるはずもないのに
願いがもしも叶うなら 今すぐ君のもとへ
できないことは もうなにもない
すべてかけて抱きしめてみせるよ
寂しさ紛らすだけなら
誰でもいいはずなのに
星が落ちそうな夜だから
自分をいつわれない
One more time 季節よ うつろわないで
One more time ふざけあった時間よ
いつでも捜しているよ どっかに君の姿を
交差点でも 夢の中でも
こんなとこにいるはずもないのに
奇跡がもしも起こるなら 今すぐ君に見せたい
新しい朝 これからの僕
言えなかった「好き」という言葉も
夏の想い出がまわる ふいに消えた鼓動
いつでも捜しているよ どっかに君の姿を
明け方の街 桜木町で
こんなとこに来るはずもないのに
願いがもしも叶うなら 今すぐ君のもとへ
できないことはもう何もない
すべてかけて抱きしめてみせるよ
いつでも捜しているよ
どっかに君の破片を
旅先の店 新聞の隅
こんなとこにあるはずもないのに
奇跡がもしも起こるなら 今すぐ君に見せたい
新しい朝 これからの僕
言えなかった「好き」という言葉も
いつでも捜してしまう どっかに君の笑顔を
急行待ちの 踏切あたり
こんなとこにいるはずもないのに
命が繰り返すならば 何度も君のもとへ
欲しいものなど もう何もない
君のほかに大切なものなど
- One More Time, One More Chance (秒速５センチメートル)
-----------------------------
It's hard when Byousoku 5cm already talked so much, but I tried, haha.
Sora: It really has been a long time, hasn't it? I've missed you too, Suzu.
Suzu: Do you still remember the promise? The promise to meet again; the promise to chat again; the promise to see each other face to face again and talk, just like past times gone. All that here, a corner or sorts that we could call our own.
Sora: Who knew that such a small promise would have taken a lifetime to fulfill? We were but mere children then, and never realized the great lengths at which we would need to take to now meet each other once again.
Suzu: I still remember how soon after the promise I had to leave, and finally after I come back... You know, you should be pretty glad. People do come and visit every once in a while and it seems quite clean.
Sora: Is that so? I guess I have to thank them for the favour. It is pretty hard to...
Suzu: I went over to visit too. Clean, orderly, with your family, just the way you would have wanted it, right? Well, at least you can be sure that people still look after whatever you left back there.
Sora: That I admit.
Suzu: ...it's been a long 13 years, hasn't it? I really miss the landscape over here.
Sora: And I've been seeing it for a good 13, haven't I? Haha.
Suzu: The place really has changed alot since the past, hasn't it? I can barely recognize certain areas around here now. But still, this area stays the same, almost as if you've been protecting this area all this while. You know, I really would've liked to talk to you all about the time that I've spent away from here.
Sora: ...sorry.
Suzu: Why? Why did you have to leave me behind? What have you done? Didn't we promise?? To meet here? After all these years...
Sora: I'm sorry, Suzu...
Suzu: After all these years you just passed away and left me behind...
Sora: ...
Suzu: ...I'm sorry. It isn't like me, is it? I wonder at times, though. Whether you're looking over me somewhere from above. Whether you ever hear my thoughts, whether you hear the things that I've wanted to say to you. But you've moved on already, haven't you? And I should too.
-----------------------------
これ以上何を失えば 心は許されるの
どれ程の痛みならば もういちど君に会える
One more time 季節よ うつろわないで
One more time ふざけあった 時間よ
くいちがう時はいつも 僕が先に折れたね
わがままな性格が なおさら愛しくさせた
One more chance 記憶に足を取られて
One more chance 次の場所を選べない
いつでも捜しているよ どっかに君の姿を
向いのホーム 路地裏の窓
こんなとこにいるはずもないのに
願いがもしも叶うなら 今すぐ君のもとへ
できないことは もうなにもない
すべてかけて抱きしめてみせるよ
寂しさ紛らすだけなら
誰でもいいはずなのに
星が落ちそうな夜だから
自分をいつわれない
One more time 季節よ うつろわないで
One more time ふざけあった時間よ
いつでも捜しているよ どっかに君の姿を
交差点でも 夢の中でも
こんなとこにいるはずもないのに
奇跡がもしも起こるなら 今すぐ君に見せたい
新しい朝 これからの僕
言えなかった「好き」という言葉も
夏の想い出がまわる ふいに消えた鼓動
いつでも捜しているよ どっかに君の姿を
明け方の街 桜木町で
こんなとこに来るはずもないのに
願いがもしも叶うなら 今すぐ君のもとへ
できないことはもう何もない
すべてかけて抱きしめてみせるよ
いつでも捜しているよ
どっかに君の破片を
旅先の店 新聞の隅
こんなとこにあるはずもないのに
奇跡がもしも起こるなら 今すぐ君に見せたい
新しい朝 これからの僕
言えなかった「好き」という言葉も
いつでも捜してしまう どっかに君の笑顔を
急行待ちの 踏切あたり
こんなとこにいるはずもないのに
命が繰り返すならば 何度も君のもとへ
欲しいものなど もう何もない
君のほかに大切なものなど
- One More Time, One More Chance (秒速５センチメートル)
-----------------------------
It's hard when Byousoku 5cm already talked so much, but I tried, haha.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Messages
100 messages gone with the push of a button.
Another 100 gone with the push of another.
Never expected to feel a sense of relief upon doing so.
Haha, the ironies of life.
Another 100 gone with the push of another.
Never expected to feel a sense of relief upon doing so.
Haha, the ironies of life.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Conversations
Visionary Sc: sian ive been a source of bad stuff happening these days lol
CR†§‡ : ya see ur impt
CR†§‡ : more than u can imagine
CR†§‡ : unlike me
CR†§‡ : (emo coming up)
CR†§‡ : everyone likes you
CR†§‡ : no one likes me
CR†§‡ : u got more prezzies than me
CR†§‡ : ur prezzies r nicer
CR†§‡ : gals give u stuff
CR†§‡ : while i get ownt
(: : i know you're the "go for it" type
Visionary Sc: ...actually i'm pretty much the opposite
(: : right then u dont know a person well and u wanna go out with her
(: : ?
Visionary Sc: .......cut that you're right >_>
(: : haha YAY!
(: : so childish tsk
わ。る。: on the topic of being able to converse casually
わ。る。: i have to say that the feeling is mutual coz
わ。る。: i've learned the hard way that many dont understand me when i talk normally
わ。る。: they think it's to chim
わ。る。: so i've learnt to talk...
わ。る。: more. ummm
Visionary Sc: simply o_O
わ。る。: straight-forwardly?
わ。る。: YES.
わ。る。: see. that's what i meant
わ。る。: at least you can understand me
わ。る。: and even help me finish the sentence it seems
B1ood: a trend of increasing maturity and emo-ness found in the content of ur blog as the years go by.
Visionary Sc: I think I'm less emo these days actually
B1ood: really
B1ood: i look back on my posts last time
B1ood: and i felt so incredibly ashamed
B1ood: what with girly writing and immature content
B1ood: at least i post crap now which is considerably more mature la
B1ood: even though its crap and all tt yes
Visionary Sc: >_________>
Visionary Sc: I just keep the more random stuff out of my blog lol
B1ood: lol
B1ood: and all GEP students
B1ood: at some point in their life
B1ood: will blog abt the injustice in GEP
Visionary Sc: >_> duh lol
Visionary Sc: she needs to stop calling the stuff I write pro
AoF: diabetes
AoF: lol
Visionary Sc: lol
AoF: but it is
Visionary Sc: who seriously actually thinks so
AoF: me?
Visionary Sc: I dunno lah its just that I keep thinking of mike wee
AoF: her?
AoF: ?!
AoF: how
Visionary Sc: And then I get the idea that whenever I think my writing is good it's damn ego and it really isn't
AoF: dude
AoF: if people tell u it is
AoF: and its not just iike being nice
AoF: then it is
Visionary Sc: >_> yeah, that's not the easiest thing to distinguish is it
AoF: like look at who is telling u la
AoF: shes quite frank right
AoF: same with me
AoF: if i think it sucked i would have told u long ago
J: time to read sth else
J: i swear
J: too much of ur blog and ill turn normal
Visionary Sc: I still completely fail to understand what you get from reading my blog XD
J: read above sentence
Visionary Sc: Haha
Visionary Sc: I think I'll just take it that I'm good at writing =p
J: yeah
J: damned good
Visionary Sc: though honestly
Visionary Sc: I fail to see how reading screwed up stories makes you normal
Visionary Sc: I thought it would have done the exact opposite
J: nah
J: the other
J: way
Visionary Sc: can I just ask something though
Visionary Sc: Why "Smile more" >_>
because that: i don't kno.w
because that: know*
because that: you strike me as being quite...
because that: tense?
because that: i'm not sure if that's the right word though.
because that: oh well.
because that: smiling is good for your health!
because that: and therefore you should smile more k?
Visionary Sc: Am I really that emo
CR†§‡ : -_-'
CR†§‡ : errr
CR†§‡ : during the chalet
CR†§‡ : yea
CR†§‡ : quite
CR†§‡ : normally
CR†§‡ : also quite
CR†§‡ : o_O
Visionary Sc: o_O
CR†§‡ : what kind of answer is that
我爱你, 那么多...: I think you've become nicer lah...!
(8) f r o t : herrick! what's gotten into you?
(8) f r o t : what happened to your "i care not" attitude?
And so much more. Well, Jarrel, I guess this post really does make me a gossip, doesn't it. Sorry to a few of the people here whose conversations were quoted; it is rather annoying that more people than I'd like read this blog, oh well. I have to live with it eh. >_>
Sometimes it's good to just go around completely ignoring the attitudes of people around you. Caring little that people thought of you as a crazy person, an asshole, or even in the words of a now-acquaintance from 2 years back, a 'seriously fucked up person'. Ignoring the fact that everyone hates the stuff you do. Ignoring the fact that apart from a few select individuals, you weren't really appreciated much for anything. Going around thinking that everything just comes and goes, moves on. Strangers, acquaintances, friends, family, relatives, and the like. All just coming and going. I never really felt any attachment at all. I just cursed myself as someone with annoyingly good memory, looking hopelessly at the present and only willing to look back.
Only two years into the future did I realize that I was being such a pathetic cousin. And by then, all she could say was "sorry, but that was what you were like to me all the time". The story of a child who broke his younger brother's kite, only to realize the true extent of the horrendousness of his actions years later. When he tried to talk to the brother, the brother had long forgotten about it. Was he forgiven? Or has the brother merely forgotten his absolute hatred?
It's hard living a life under a servant mentality because you never realize that you have it good, and also because you never accept help to let you have it good. It's hard to accept that you could possibly be good at anything because you were just there as someone to be transcended. A directional post that leads people to the right place while you stay still eternally, waiting for the next person to come along to see help. What happens when all help is given? You just stay there, I suppose.
And precisely because of this one never does appreciate the fact that other people do exist. Because servants don't always take to their masters, especially when you make everyone around you one. Because you don't rely on anyone; after all, they're all above you. Because you're afraid inside that your humble plead for help will be answered with cold rejection. And so you just close up thinking that you're not fit to be part of the world. Your opinion of everyone starts getting plagued by paranoia and distance purely because you don't see them on the same level as you.
I always had something for writing. But when you try to write to get into CAP, it's hard to get yourself to keep writing. And maybe prose just wasn't such a nice thing to write; life was about observations, indeed, but that was imagination beyond conversation. And sometimes, imagination doesn't really need to go beyond the conversation. The first conversation I wrote sparked off a slight bit of debate, and since then I realized that this form of writing was actually quite interesting and unique.
I knew that if I had been motivated in something, I could do well in it. I knew that if I worked hard towards something, I could eventually get it. I knew that if I had the passion, I could lead the rest towards it. I've heard multiple people say that I was a good leader, but it was something I never believed in. I always wanted to be under someone; even in SJAB I wanted to be Assistant Discipline, Assistant Sec 1 IC, and so on. Under the superior leadership of someone more capable.
Maybe I was just scared of taking responsibility. Scared of screwing up when I'm the one in charge. Scared of failing to live up to the expectations of officers and teachers and friends and family. Scared of being met with solemn silence towards whatever I do, whether I try to make up for my mistakes or whatnot. And eventually my servant mentality kept plaguing me for every single mistake that I made. Maybe everyone faces it; but irregardless a nightmare shared by twenty stays a nightmare until it ends. And sometimes with memory it doesn't.
I never really could take normal compliments the way I took normal complaints; if there was something bad about me it would have been expected because I already knew everything bad about me, but I never really took it the right way whenever I got complimented for something.
And all that's changed, hasn't it? I even have people disliking me because I have it good. Just like someone who might read this has people disliking you because everyone cares about you so much.
People call me selfish people call me lucky people call me nice people call me tense people call me emo people call me childish people call me an asshole and all sorts of other things
but I really am all of that, aren't I? I kind of envy those people who get described by everyone similarly. Yes JX, yes Jarrel, yes alot of you reading this, that's you haha. I used to be nothing; and now I'm pretty much everything.
It all just takes a bit of getting used to, doesn't it?
CR†§‡ : ya see ur impt
CR†§‡ : more than u can imagine
CR†§‡ : unlike me
CR†§‡ : (emo coming up)
CR†§‡ : everyone likes you
CR†§‡ : no one likes me
CR†§‡ : u got more prezzies than me
CR†§‡ : ur prezzies r nicer
CR†§‡ : gals give u stuff
CR†§‡ : while i get ownt
(: : i know you're the "go for it" type
Visionary Sc: ...actually i'm pretty much the opposite
(: : right then u dont know a person well and u wanna go out with her
(: : ?
Visionary Sc: .......cut that you're right >_>
(: : haha YAY!
(: : so childish tsk
わ。る。: on the topic of being able to converse casually
わ。る。: i have to say that the feeling is mutual coz
わ。る。: i've learned the hard way that many dont understand me when i talk normally
わ。る。: they think it's to chim
わ。る。: so i've learnt to talk...
わ。る。: more. ummm
Visionary Sc: simply o_O
わ。る。: straight-forwardly?
わ。る。: YES.
わ。る。: see. that's what i meant
わ。る。: at least you can understand me
わ。る。: and even help me finish the sentence it seems
B1ood: a trend of increasing maturity and emo-ness found in the content of ur blog as the years go by.
Visionary Sc: I think I'm less emo these days actually
B1ood: really
B1ood: i look back on my posts last time
B1ood: and i felt so incredibly ashamed
B1ood: what with girly writing and immature content
B1ood: at least i post crap now which is considerably more mature la
B1ood: even though its crap and all tt yes
Visionary Sc: >_________>
Visionary Sc: I just keep the more random stuff out of my blog lol
B1ood: lol
B1ood: and all GEP students
B1ood: at some point in their life
B1ood: will blog abt the injustice in GEP
Visionary Sc: >_> duh lol
Visionary Sc: she needs to stop calling the stuff I write pro
AoF: diabetes
AoF: lol
Visionary Sc: lol
AoF: but it is
Visionary Sc: who seriously actually thinks so
AoF: me?
Visionary Sc: I dunno lah its just that I keep thinking of mike wee
AoF: her?
AoF: ?!
AoF: how
Visionary Sc: And then I get the idea that whenever I think my writing is good it's damn ego and it really isn't
AoF: dude
AoF: if people tell u it is
AoF: and its not just iike being nice
AoF: then it is
Visionary Sc: >_> yeah, that's not the easiest thing to distinguish is it
AoF: like look at who is telling u la
AoF: shes quite frank right
AoF: same with me
AoF: if i think it sucked i would have told u long ago
J: time to read sth else
J: i swear
J: too much of ur blog and ill turn normal
Visionary Sc: I still completely fail to understand what you get from reading my blog XD
J: read above sentence
Visionary Sc: Haha
Visionary Sc: I think I'll just take it that I'm good at writing =p
J: yeah
J: damned good
Visionary Sc: though honestly
Visionary Sc: I fail to see how reading screwed up stories makes you normal
Visionary Sc: I thought it would have done the exact opposite
J: nah
J: the other
J: way
Visionary Sc: can I just ask something though
Visionary Sc: Why "Smile more" >_>
because that: i don't kno.w
because that: know*
because that: you strike me as being quite...
because that: tense?
because that: i'm not sure if that's the right word though.
because that: oh well.
because that: smiling is good for your health!
because that: and therefore you should smile more k?
Visionary Sc: Am I really that emo
CR†§‡ : -_-'
CR†§‡ : errr
CR†§‡ : during the chalet
CR†§‡ : yea
CR†§‡ : quite
CR†§‡ : normally
CR†§‡ : also quite
CR†§‡ : o_O
Visionary Sc: o_O
CR†§‡ : what kind of answer is that
我爱你, 那么多...: I think you've become nicer lah...!
(8) f r o t : herrick! what's gotten into you?
(8) f r o t : what happened to your "i care not" attitude?
And so much more. Well, Jarrel, I guess this post really does make me a gossip, doesn't it. Sorry to a few of the people here whose conversations were quoted; it is rather annoying that more people than I'd like read this blog, oh well. I have to live with it eh. >_>
Sometimes it's good to just go around completely ignoring the attitudes of people around you. Caring little that people thought of you as a crazy person, an asshole, or even in the words of a now-acquaintance from 2 years back, a 'seriously fucked up person'. Ignoring the fact that everyone hates the stuff you do. Ignoring the fact that apart from a few select individuals, you weren't really appreciated much for anything. Going around thinking that everything just comes and goes, moves on. Strangers, acquaintances, friends, family, relatives, and the like. All just coming and going. I never really felt any attachment at all. I just cursed myself as someone with annoyingly good memory, looking hopelessly at the present and only willing to look back.
Only two years into the future did I realize that I was being such a pathetic cousin. And by then, all she could say was "sorry, but that was what you were like to me all the time". The story of a child who broke his younger brother's kite, only to realize the true extent of the horrendousness of his actions years later. When he tried to talk to the brother, the brother had long forgotten about it. Was he forgiven? Or has the brother merely forgotten his absolute hatred?
It's hard living a life under a servant mentality because you never realize that you have it good, and also because you never accept help to let you have it good. It's hard to accept that you could possibly be good at anything because you were just there as someone to be transcended. A directional post that leads people to the right place while you stay still eternally, waiting for the next person to come along to see help. What happens when all help is given? You just stay there, I suppose.
And precisely because of this one never does appreciate the fact that other people do exist. Because servants don't always take to their masters, especially when you make everyone around you one. Because you don't rely on anyone; after all, they're all above you. Because you're afraid inside that your humble plead for help will be answered with cold rejection. And so you just close up thinking that you're not fit to be part of the world. Your opinion of everyone starts getting plagued by paranoia and distance purely because you don't see them on the same level as you.
I always had something for writing. But when you try to write to get into CAP, it's hard to get yourself to keep writing. And maybe prose just wasn't such a nice thing to write; life was about observations, indeed, but that was imagination beyond conversation. And sometimes, imagination doesn't really need to go beyond the conversation. The first conversation I wrote sparked off a slight bit of debate, and since then I realized that this form of writing was actually quite interesting and unique.
I knew that if I had been motivated in something, I could do well in it. I knew that if I worked hard towards something, I could eventually get it. I knew that if I had the passion, I could lead the rest towards it. I've heard multiple people say that I was a good leader, but it was something I never believed in. I always wanted to be under someone; even in SJAB I wanted to be Assistant Discipline, Assistant Sec 1 IC, and so on. Under the superior leadership of someone more capable.
Maybe I was just scared of taking responsibility. Scared of screwing up when I'm the one in charge. Scared of failing to live up to the expectations of officers and teachers and friends and family. Scared of being met with solemn silence towards whatever I do, whether I try to make up for my mistakes or whatnot. And eventually my servant mentality kept plaguing me for every single mistake that I made. Maybe everyone faces it; but irregardless a nightmare shared by twenty stays a nightmare until it ends. And sometimes with memory it doesn't.
I never really could take normal compliments the way I took normal complaints; if there was something bad about me it would have been expected because I already knew everything bad about me, but I never really took it the right way whenever I got complimented for something.
And all that's changed, hasn't it? I even have people disliking me because I have it good. Just like someone who might read this has people disliking you because everyone cares about you so much.
People call me selfish people call me lucky people call me nice people call me tense people call me emo people call me childish people call me an asshole and all sorts of other things
but I really am all of that, aren't I? I kind of envy those people who get described by everyone similarly. Yes JX, yes Jarrel, yes alot of you reading this, that's you haha. I used to be nothing; and now I'm pretty much everything.
It all just takes a bit of getting used to, doesn't it?
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Relief of Duty
4 years of BB, and multiple blogs here and there talk about it.
4 years of SJAB, and I guess I'll be the only one talking about it. It's ironic that my words won't be reached to almost any member of SJAB save the few seniors and fellow members who read this, considering that they are the people that this would be the most relevant to. In a certain way I'm envious of John B, whose long but well written out reflections get to be on the front page of the ACSISJAB domain. As for me, perhaps I will have two more years to go; or perhaps by then the person writing it will be John Ang or Swaminathan.
At times it is indeed rather depressing that for all the efforts made by the FAC to bring the corps to greater heights, sometimes they forget that they have an entire corps to bring along with them. And when the final ROD speech comes, special thanks go to the FAC people. Perhaps this only happened in 2007 and not 2006 nor 2005 nor 2004 (I apologize but my memory didn't extend so far for things I considered trivial then) but irregardless it isn't too pleasant a feeling.
There are two simple (though I must say very vague) ways of categorizing the good things a person does. It's the tangible benefits, and obviously the opposite, intangible benefits. It's hard to discern between the two at times, but usually the grey area is less important compared to the obvious.
No doubt, obviously, trophies are the hallmark of the former, for they are the pinnacle of competition, the proof of prevailing over the rest. I thank the FAC for doing us so proud by winning all that they have won in the FAC competition, and all the scholars who hard-earned their $100+ donations each from Clementi, Dover and Holland Village, whom without them the top collections for flag day could never be (And probably will not be for a very very long time).
But how far does the balance between the tangible and the intangible go? Most say it would be equal, but how do people go around searching for this balance when only one can be so easily identified? At times this is a hard balance to make, but it is the role of us to make this distinction, and for us to make sure that both are met. I felt it my role to tell Nick that exact point about leading a committee; one cannot go too far in striving purely for one aspect of goodness because everyone aiming for the other will just be left behind. But in the end, I didn't get the chance, did I.
I remember commenting once upon hearing that Ben Lee was to be promoted to Staff Sergeant that I should be a CL if that happens (Perhaps now I feel even more so given how completely undeserving people get double promotions). Swami just told me that the promotion was for everyone, and that the CL rank was to be given to those who really stood out. "Whatever you have done, Herrick, I've probably done alot more."
He was right, he probably did do a lot more. But in my heart I questioned whether he even knew what I had done for the corps in the first place. After National Day Marching, Ezra told me some Sec 1 shouted EZRA at him and he didn't know who the hell did that. I looked up and I saw Joshua, a Sec 1 cadet in Track and Field (Kev says he was in shotput). I knew I was right.
Writing thank you cards to Sec 1 cadets was something I just thought of one day, after the newsletter idea failed (That being my fault too, sadly) And when I did it I suppose it succeeded, because Kevin was asked by Joshua if he was taking MRT back that day.
For all that one does to aim for greater heights for the corps, just as much must be done to understand the corps to the very bottom root - the individual. I knew that when I first picked up the Public Relations post, and I admit I was quite crazy to try and do that singlehandedly. Who knew getting an SJAB T-Shirt printed out for everyone, getting a newsletter to be printed out for everyone, or even remembering everyone's names would have been such a phenomenal task? But Kevin and I think that we've done a good job with the Sec 1s, we're proud of them, we like them, the teachers said that we did a good job leading them, and last of all some of them wanted to know if we would come back next year. It was a heartwarming moment, really.
In my opinion, being a senior wasn't about shouting at cadets and screwing around with them (I have to apologize to Mr. Alvin Tan for my drastically different outlook =) ) It was about linking with cadets, being able to care about the discipline of the cohort as a whole but still capable of caring about the welfare of each and every cadet. I admit I still don't know every single cadet by name (Fourty never was an easy number to deal with, and that excludes the scholars whom I took care of at times too), but still Kevin and I have probably done the best we could have. And this is what we need in the next committee, people who can focus on the corps while the FAC team is busy working hard to bring back pride and glory for the corps. Lionel, Ernest, Andrew Lim, Sayampanathan, Daniel, Chris, Teck Jun, Gary, I hope you guys can do it, because for the most of the first semester I was the only one handling everything while the FAC team was gone.
And maybe then will you guys understand that having a junior leaning on your shoulder and having a junior talk to you about everyday life along the bus ride was as nice a feeling as hearing perfect stamps and precise marching.
4 years of SJAB, and I guess I'll be the only one talking about it. It's ironic that my words won't be reached to almost any member of SJAB save the few seniors and fellow members who read this, considering that they are the people that this would be the most relevant to. In a certain way I'm envious of John B, whose long but well written out reflections get to be on the front page of the ACSISJAB domain. As for me, perhaps I will have two more years to go; or perhaps by then the person writing it will be John Ang or Swaminathan.
At times it is indeed rather depressing that for all the efforts made by the FAC to bring the corps to greater heights, sometimes they forget that they have an entire corps to bring along with them. And when the final ROD speech comes, special thanks go to the FAC people. Perhaps this only happened in 2007 and not 2006 nor 2005 nor 2004 (I apologize but my memory didn't extend so far for things I considered trivial then) but irregardless it isn't too pleasant a feeling.
There are two simple (though I must say very vague) ways of categorizing the good things a person does. It's the tangible benefits, and obviously the opposite, intangible benefits. It's hard to discern between the two at times, but usually the grey area is less important compared to the obvious.
No doubt, obviously, trophies are the hallmark of the former, for they are the pinnacle of competition, the proof of prevailing over the rest. I thank the FAC for doing us so proud by winning all that they have won in the FAC competition, and all the scholars who hard-earned their $100+ donations each from Clementi, Dover and Holland Village, whom without them the top collections for flag day could never be (And probably will not be for a very very long time).
But how far does the balance between the tangible and the intangible go? Most say it would be equal, but how do people go around searching for this balance when only one can be so easily identified? At times this is a hard balance to make, but it is the role of us to make this distinction, and for us to make sure that both are met. I felt it my role to tell Nick that exact point about leading a committee; one cannot go too far in striving purely for one aspect of goodness because everyone aiming for the other will just be left behind. But in the end, I didn't get the chance, did I.
I remember commenting once upon hearing that Ben Lee was to be promoted to Staff Sergeant that I should be a CL if that happens (Perhaps now I feel even more so given how completely undeserving people get double promotions). Swami just told me that the promotion was for everyone, and that the CL rank was to be given to those who really stood out. "Whatever you have done, Herrick, I've probably done alot more."
He was right, he probably did do a lot more. But in my heart I questioned whether he even knew what I had done for the corps in the first place. After National Day Marching, Ezra told me some Sec 1 shouted EZRA at him and he didn't know who the hell did that. I looked up and I saw Joshua, a Sec 1 cadet in Track and Field (Kev says he was in shotput). I knew I was right.
Writing thank you cards to Sec 1 cadets was something I just thought of one day, after the newsletter idea failed (That being my fault too, sadly) And when I did it I suppose it succeeded, because Kevin was asked by Joshua if he was taking MRT back that day.
For all that one does to aim for greater heights for the corps, just as much must be done to understand the corps to the very bottom root - the individual. I knew that when I first picked up the Public Relations post, and I admit I was quite crazy to try and do that singlehandedly. Who knew getting an SJAB T-Shirt printed out for everyone, getting a newsletter to be printed out for everyone, or even remembering everyone's names would have been such a phenomenal task? But Kevin and I think that we've done a good job with the Sec 1s, we're proud of them, we like them, the teachers said that we did a good job leading them, and last of all some of them wanted to know if we would come back next year. It was a heartwarming moment, really.
In my opinion, being a senior wasn't about shouting at cadets and screwing around with them (I have to apologize to Mr. Alvin Tan for my drastically different outlook =) ) It was about linking with cadets, being able to care about the discipline of the cohort as a whole but still capable of caring about the welfare of each and every cadet. I admit I still don't know every single cadet by name (Fourty never was an easy number to deal with, and that excludes the scholars whom I took care of at times too), but still Kevin and I have probably done the best we could have. And this is what we need in the next committee, people who can focus on the corps while the FAC team is busy working hard to bring back pride and glory for the corps. Lionel, Ernest, Andrew Lim, Sayampanathan, Daniel, Chris, Teck Jun, Gary, I hope you guys can do it, because for the most of the first semester I was the only one handling everything while the FAC team was gone.
And maybe then will you guys understand that having a junior leaning on your shoulder and having a junior talk to you about everyday life along the bus ride was as nice a feeling as hearing perfect stamps and precise marching.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
HIMITSU
I LOVE YOU HIMITSU
A testament to how badly I got owned by Darrell Neo. (Haha guilty gear reference Testament lawlz)
The one time that he finally got the better of me.
Darrell Neo, how did you ever pull it off? Finding out that my crush's name was Himitsu.
-----------
On another note, I just finished labelling all the conversations. The previous one made 20 o_O I remember the time Shaun said to keep records of all my written conversations. Well, one year down I finally listen to him. It's nice to read back at times.
A testament to how badly I got owned by Darrell Neo. (Haha guilty gear reference Testament lawlz)
The one time that he finally got the better of me.
Darrell Neo, how did you ever pull it off? Finding out that my crush's name was Himitsu.
-----------
On another note, I just finished labelling all the conversations. The previous one made 20 o_O I remember the time Shaun said to keep records of all my written conversations. Well, one year down I finally listen to him. It's nice to read back at times.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Out The Window
Ida: Innocia, do you ever stare out the window often?
Innocia: Not many people do that, do they, Ida? People find themselves too concerned with the present to want to look at such stuff.
Ida: Oh? I'm not so sure you're entirely accurate when you say that, Innocia. Look at this, Innocia. The darkness of the modern city, the stationary fireflies lined up in the vast blackness. What do you see? What comes to mind?
Innocia: I see the times where I walked down on those streets with my brother, the times last Christmas when I was lost and met an interesting person in return for that. I see the times where I will walk down the street once again, wondering whether or not I will find myself lost again. Amidst all this I see the lone lampposts, and think that the scenery hasn't changed much.
Ida: A beautiful answer, Innocia; one that hardly belittles your age. Might you honor me with your ears with what I see outside the window, then?
Innocia: What is it that you see, then?
Ida: The darkness of the modern city, the stationary fireflies lined up in the vast blackness. I think of what others might be thinking at the same moment I am, staring at the lights against the darkness. I wonder at how many people there will be staring up at the star-scattered sky, thinking the exact same question as I am this moment. I feel the wind and hear its susurruses, and I hear the words of others in the present. I never really cared too much about whether those people staring up at the lone lampposts are going to stare at them tomorrow, but I appreciate their looking up at it today at this moment.
Innocia: I'm afraid I cannot share such similar views to that of yours, Ida.
Ida: Perhaps you are taking for granted what we always have. People have always looked back at the past for the reason that it is gone. People have always looked into the future for the reason that it has yet to come. They say not to take granted the uncertain future and the bygones of the past; yet what have they truly forgotten in this world? It is the fleeting present, Innocia - the moment that comes between both, the transitional period between sentiment and foresight. It is precisely because it is right in front of our eyes that we fail to appreciate its transient nature, Innocia. I apologize for quoting rather than creating, but gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
Innocia: It would be nicer if your quoting was actually relevant. Honestly, though, what is the value of that which you call 'now'? There is no sentimental value, nor is there any potential value in the world of the present. Can you honestly bear any true feeling towards something that disappears so quickly? There is no mark of eternity in the present, Ida, nothing compared to the stone etchings of the past and the tabula rasa of the future.
Ida: The value, Innocia, is in the fact that the past and future are unchanging eternities, whereas the present is the only eternal change. Have you ever wanted to stay somewhere forever? Like someone eternally?
Innocia: There's no such thing, is there?
Ida: There isn't. The only thing there is this seemingly eternal time, Innocia - the illusion that you can be there forever. In that place. With that person. And that's just the beauty of it all - it doesn't last. Engravings of the grandest works go down in the hallmarks of history, but true beauty lies in experience - that which only lies in the present. You are a child, Innocia. One with ideals for the future; one with a short past. Perhaps you just need to grow up a bit more before you realize and understand the beauty of being in the place where you actually are, not having your mind and spirits far away in space and time.
Innocia: Or maybe unlike you I have far more to look forward to than to look at.
Ida: Perhaps so. But the open window can only see, it cannot dictate what it is that you perceive. And whether it be perceived by rationalization or ideals or just the clear window is up to you.
Innocia: Perhaps so.
------------------------------------------------
This took 3 days. I'm losing touch. Or maybe I just haven't written about Innocia in a long time.
Innocia: Not many people do that, do they, Ida? People find themselves too concerned with the present to want to look at such stuff.
Ida: Oh? I'm not so sure you're entirely accurate when you say that, Innocia. Look at this, Innocia. The darkness of the modern city, the stationary fireflies lined up in the vast blackness. What do you see? What comes to mind?
Innocia: I see the times where I walked down on those streets with my brother, the times last Christmas when I was lost and met an interesting person in return for that. I see the times where I will walk down the street once again, wondering whether or not I will find myself lost again. Amidst all this I see the lone lampposts, and think that the scenery hasn't changed much.
Ida: A beautiful answer, Innocia; one that hardly belittles your age. Might you honor me with your ears with what I see outside the window, then?
Innocia: What is it that you see, then?
Ida: The darkness of the modern city, the stationary fireflies lined up in the vast blackness. I think of what others might be thinking at the same moment I am, staring at the lights against the darkness. I wonder at how many people there will be staring up at the star-scattered sky, thinking the exact same question as I am this moment. I feel the wind and hear its susurruses, and I hear the words of others in the present. I never really cared too much about whether those people staring up at the lone lampposts are going to stare at them tomorrow, but I appreciate their looking up at it today at this moment.
Innocia: I'm afraid I cannot share such similar views to that of yours, Ida.
Ida: Perhaps you are taking for granted what we always have. People have always looked back at the past for the reason that it is gone. People have always looked into the future for the reason that it has yet to come. They say not to take granted the uncertain future and the bygones of the past; yet what have they truly forgotten in this world? It is the fleeting present, Innocia - the moment that comes between both, the transitional period between sentiment and foresight. It is precisely because it is right in front of our eyes that we fail to appreciate its transient nature, Innocia. I apologize for quoting rather than creating, but gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
Innocia: It would be nicer if your quoting was actually relevant. Honestly, though, what is the value of that which you call 'now'? There is no sentimental value, nor is there any potential value in the world of the present. Can you honestly bear any true feeling towards something that disappears so quickly? There is no mark of eternity in the present, Ida, nothing compared to the stone etchings of the past and the tabula rasa of the future.
Ida: The value, Innocia, is in the fact that the past and future are unchanging eternities, whereas the present is the only eternal change. Have you ever wanted to stay somewhere forever? Like someone eternally?
Innocia: There's no such thing, is there?
Ida: There isn't. The only thing there is this seemingly eternal time, Innocia - the illusion that you can be there forever. In that place. With that person. And that's just the beauty of it all - it doesn't last. Engravings of the grandest works go down in the hallmarks of history, but true beauty lies in experience - that which only lies in the present. You are a child, Innocia. One with ideals for the future; one with a short past. Perhaps you just need to grow up a bit more before you realize and understand the beauty of being in the place where you actually are, not having your mind and spirits far away in space and time.
Innocia: Or maybe unlike you I have far more to look forward to than to look at.
Ida: Perhaps so. But the open window can only see, it cannot dictate what it is that you perceive. And whether it be perceived by rationalization or ideals or just the clear window is up to you.
Innocia: Perhaps so.
------------------------------------------------
This took 3 days. I'm losing touch. Or maybe I just haven't written about Innocia in a long time.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Sweet Sixteen
4 days from now, the first of the month. 9.37pm.
Somehow, people always think that this is something special. That there should be a big celebration or something. Maybe even that this is the year of love, of peace, of fun, laughter and joy.
And maybe it is.
Y'know, being in a group of 4 where your birthday is 1 day from another gives you an interesting outlook. But honestly, I think I'm one of the few who is friends with another whose birthday is just one away, and one of the fewer who is such and still knows two other friends who are like me and my other friend. And I'm one of the fewest who go out with said 3 friends every once in a while.
And then, y'know, there's all the other friends whose birthdays range from the start of January to the end of August, from the 3rd of August to the end of December, but who really cares about them that much. >_>
Such funky (honestly, I can't think of a better word) coincidences aren't commonplace. But then again, my parents have the same birthday too. I know two teachers whom we tried to matchmake had amazingly near birthdays too. And I do wonder when your birthday is at times, even if out of personal curiosity.
Yet somehow, the days to the first just seems amazingly ordinary. And just on a hunch, the days after the first will probably be just as ordinary.
Maybe this feels a bit ordinary to me, but then again, what do people expect out of this anyway?
Out of curiosity and remembering that my other two friends were three minutes apart in birth, I just asked my mom casually when my birth hour was. And just for a short moment, mom and dad were talking about 16 years ago, how my dad left the hospital at 2030 to find out at 2137 that I was born. A surreal feeling, no doubt. Am I a blessed child to live in this household? Perhaps. I wonder; is this answer too rude? or just... well, nevermind.
I don't know, but everything about this year just has a particularly serene tone to it for me. Maybe it's the people I know. Maybe it's the things that I face. Maybe it's the things that I've grown a liking for.
But this is a rare time where serenity feels so extraordinary. I wonder how long this will last.
Somehow, people always think that this is something special. That there should be a big celebration or something. Maybe even that this is the year of love, of peace, of fun, laughter and joy.
And maybe it is.
Y'know, being in a group of 4 where your birthday is 1 day from another gives you an interesting outlook. But honestly, I think I'm one of the few who is friends with another whose birthday is just one away, and one of the fewer who is such and still knows two other friends who are like me and my other friend. And I'm one of the fewest who go out with said 3 friends every once in a while.
And then, y'know, there's all the other friends whose birthdays range from the start of January to the end of August, from the 3rd of August to the end of December, but who really cares about them that much. >_>
Such funky (honestly, I can't think of a better word) coincidences aren't commonplace. But then again, my parents have the same birthday too. I know two teachers whom we tried to matchmake had amazingly near birthdays too. And I do wonder when your birthday is at times, even if out of personal curiosity.
Yet somehow, the days to the first just seems amazingly ordinary. And just on a hunch, the days after the first will probably be just as ordinary.
Maybe this feels a bit ordinary to me, but then again, what do people expect out of this anyway?
Out of curiosity and remembering that my other two friends were three minutes apart in birth, I just asked my mom casually when my birth hour was. And just for a short moment, mom and dad were talking about 16 years ago, how my dad left the hospital at 2030 to find out at 2137 that I was born. A surreal feeling, no doubt. Am I a blessed child to live in this household? Perhaps. I wonder; is this answer too rude? or just... well, nevermind.
I don't know, but everything about this year just has a particularly serene tone to it for me. Maybe it's the people I know. Maybe it's the things that I face. Maybe it's the things that I've grown a liking for.
But this is a rare time where serenity feels so extraordinary. I wonder how long this will last.
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