How much do you need to be able to relate to someone? To understand someone? To be able to see something from his eyes? To grasp his views and perhaps in the smallest of things, be like him or her?
Talking with him? Hearing about his problems? Knowing any big stories about him?
As obvious as this might be, this is the kind of stuff that differentiate between the relationships between one another as being acquaintances, friends or strangers.
As obvious as this also might be, every person is different. The way one relates to another individual is different with each and every individual.
Unfortunately, not as obvious is the rather obvious fact that you shouldn't be taking the above two obvious facts for granted and as being obvious.
Whatever a person presents to you about himself is rarely enough for you to even begin to grasp the inner workings of a person - to actually know anyone, the onus is on someone to bother to try. This seems rather true in most circumstances, whether it is of a person presenting himself in real life or online, say a blog.
When the news reports a particular figure and a story in regards to him or her, people begin to understand a certain aspect of the character: Perhaps his personality, perhaps a situation he was in, perhaps the kind of things he has done and the choices he has made.
"Hey, do you know about this person?" The two positive replies.
"Yeah, I know him."
"Yeah, I know about him."
How many worlds apart the two answers are I don't really know.
In my encounters with the lives of two different people, one rather distant and one relatively closer, I have mistakenly interpreted one situation to be the other. Consequences generally stay rather undesirable and indicate the many decades I have before becoming remotely wise, and perhaps even saying that alone is egoistic of me.
Sensationalism and dramatization in the press (or perhaps maybe even a private medium) always leads one to a certain understanding of any particular character. Sadly, what it also does is give a horrendously shallow interpretation of the actual situation to the reader and give misconstrued ideas as to the situation. The idea that the person's life can be well understood by a single feat alone. Irregardless of the feat or the situation, one's understanding can only go as far as in regards to the feat.
The view people get is valid based on their understanding. Yet a person has commented to me that it lacks human decency.
Isn't that then true of any reader facing a similar subject matter? The thought of going through with what you really wanted to do. The persistence to continue in spite of everything. All myraids of feelings trivialized and belittled by the inept eyes of the reader. A storylike tale with a protagonist, a problem, a conflict, a resolution and a happy ending.
In hindsight I understand slightly better now; just as fiction should not be treated as non-fiction, reality should not be treated as a fairytale either. It is a grave disservice to those who face the brunt of it.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
A Home on the Range
The man patted the child on the head. Next to them the campfire burned softly, and small bits of ash danced about amongst the flames. Save for the occasional sound of the crackling wood, the tumbleweeds blown across the fields and the gentle whispers of the zephyr, the two lay on the ground, staring up at a sky adorned with bright, diamond sand.
“What do you think of it, sonnie? Bet the stars ain’t ever been so bright back on the range, has it?”
“It sure is, Dad! The view is so beautiful out here.”
And amongst the few tufts of grass and the tumbleweeds, the father talked about a multitude of things. And there, the son learnt about the world – the stars, the land, and its people. He listened on in marvel and awe; marvel at a universe wider than he ever imagined and awe at a father who knew so much about the world.
“Dad, when I grow up, I wanna be like you. Get on a horse and ride across the West. Ya think I’m up for it, Dad?”
“Sure, son, but you havta take care of Mom, you know that?”
“That’s no fair! You can take care of Mom by yourself, why do I need to do it?” the father chuckled lightly amidst the child’s words. “I wanna know what it feels like, Dad! To be free! To roam the land! Why do you get to do it by yourself?”
The father laughed again. “Well, sonnie, when you grow up, I’m sure you’ll get why.”
Close to twilight, the two made their way back to their home, the one single house in sight with the lights still on. The son ran enthusiastically towards the door and opened it, jovially running towards his mother and hugging her, then making his way up to his room.
“Sorry to keep you up so late, hon.”
“It’s all right, darling.” And she kissed him lightly on the lips before passing him his share of dinner, already cold from the hours of not being eaten immediately.
The father took one spoonful of stew and stuffed it in his mouth. Though it was already cold, the rich taste of golden potatoes and the flavour of lovely, homemade stew warmed his heart, and that was sufficient. It was perfect as it was, just the way it should have been. His wife came over and faithfully took the plates back into the kitchen to clean, then he stepped out of the house and stared out towards the range. The range was completely silent, save for the rustling of grass and the breeze that came. The stars in the sky glimmered as brightly as ever; the crescent moon hung high in the sky amongst the specks of diamond sand. Everywhere the eye could see was still, as if resting for the night. In his heart he knew that the scenery was just as beautiful, if not more.
When he headed back into the house and went upstairs, he heard a faint sound of a child rolling over in his sleep, not of one sleeping peacefully but of one trying hard to sleep but unable to, and he went into the son’s room.
“Dad, can you sing a lullaby for me?”
And he sang a song until the child fell asleep. A song about the bright heavens, the playful antelopes, the pure air and the wildflowers, yet most importantly it was a song about a home.
When dawn came, the father stepped out of the house again. And out on the range he saw the antelopes and deers graze, the wildflowers and the mountains in the distance, the eternal blue sky widespread across like a huge canvas; he breathed in the pure air and smelled the faint aroma of breakfast from the kitchen; he heard the grass rustling and the buffalo’s calls; and he felt the feel of the wind against his skin, a soft touch.
Wherever he went, the father thought, it didn’t matter in the least bit. Wherever he went there would be something that was more important than anything else. Wherever he went, whether it was the town to the west or the plains far north, he would return to the same place. This place on the range right over here.
He sang the song again. It was a song about the bright heavens, the playful antelopes, the pure air and the wildflowers.
But more important than that all, it was a song about a home. A home where seldom is heard a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day.
“What do you think of it, sonnie? Bet the stars ain’t ever been so bright back on the range, has it?”
“It sure is, Dad! The view is so beautiful out here.”
And amongst the few tufts of grass and the tumbleweeds, the father talked about a multitude of things. And there, the son learnt about the world – the stars, the land, and its people. He listened on in marvel and awe; marvel at a universe wider than he ever imagined and awe at a father who knew so much about the world.
“Dad, when I grow up, I wanna be like you. Get on a horse and ride across the West. Ya think I’m up for it, Dad?”
“Sure, son, but you havta take care of Mom, you know that?”
“That’s no fair! You can take care of Mom by yourself, why do I need to do it?” the father chuckled lightly amidst the child’s words. “I wanna know what it feels like, Dad! To be free! To roam the land! Why do you get to do it by yourself?”
The father laughed again. “Well, sonnie, when you grow up, I’m sure you’ll get why.”
Close to twilight, the two made their way back to their home, the one single house in sight with the lights still on. The son ran enthusiastically towards the door and opened it, jovially running towards his mother and hugging her, then making his way up to his room.
“Sorry to keep you up so late, hon.”
“It’s all right, darling.” And she kissed him lightly on the lips before passing him his share of dinner, already cold from the hours of not being eaten immediately.
The father took one spoonful of stew and stuffed it in his mouth. Though it was already cold, the rich taste of golden potatoes and the flavour of lovely, homemade stew warmed his heart, and that was sufficient. It was perfect as it was, just the way it should have been. His wife came over and faithfully took the plates back into the kitchen to clean, then he stepped out of the house and stared out towards the range. The range was completely silent, save for the rustling of grass and the breeze that came. The stars in the sky glimmered as brightly as ever; the crescent moon hung high in the sky amongst the specks of diamond sand. Everywhere the eye could see was still, as if resting for the night. In his heart he knew that the scenery was just as beautiful, if not more.
When he headed back into the house and went upstairs, he heard a faint sound of a child rolling over in his sleep, not of one sleeping peacefully but of one trying hard to sleep but unable to, and he went into the son’s room.
“Dad, can you sing a lullaby for me?”
And he sang a song until the child fell asleep. A song about the bright heavens, the playful antelopes, the pure air and the wildflowers, yet most importantly it was a song about a home.
When dawn came, the father stepped out of the house again. And out on the range he saw the antelopes and deers graze, the wildflowers and the mountains in the distance, the eternal blue sky widespread across like a huge canvas; he breathed in the pure air and smelled the faint aroma of breakfast from the kitchen; he heard the grass rustling and the buffalo’s calls; and he felt the feel of the wind against his skin, a soft touch.
Wherever he went, the father thought, it didn’t matter in the least bit. Wherever he went there would be something that was more important than anything else. Wherever he went, whether it was the town to the west or the plains far north, he would return to the same place. This place on the range right over here.
He sang the song again. It was a song about the bright heavens, the playful antelopes, the pure air and the wildflowers.
But more important than that all, it was a song about a home. A home where seldom is heard a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Flow
Life has settled in a slight bit better, though there's eternally the possibility that it could all go out the door after JAE comes. Hope not.
Being in a new class has its ups and downs. The downs are, of course, being tossed into a bunch of new folk and needing to get along with them. Class to class, the kind of general class atmospheres are rather contrasting in nature, enough that a mere 0.1 can make a world of difference. A 0.1 drop that changes the colourless liquid pink.
The ups are also, of course, the exact same thing. I could have ended up in two classes, but the way I see it it was a win-win situation, be it a 0.1 or a 0.2 difference. Either is better than a 0.0 (Despite its looks, it's 2sf) net change.
Being in the new class, no doubt, has some interesting experiences. To put it in a way, there's someone in class who gives me the kind of feeling that I would get upon seeing a new person called Jarrel (Likely without the Seah) at whatever institution I may be headed for next, NS included. It's a difficult feeling having to associate an emotion or a thought to a person rather than to a name; even among the Kevins and Samuels people called them differently to differentiate. Where's the difference between Hoh and Oh? I too find myself turning my head whenever the name Erik is called - another interesting experience for one whose name is otherwise rather unique, no doubt.
Sitting elsewhere is a new experience too (for obvious reasons). A breath of fresh air really lets you appreciate both the refreshing breeze and the coolness of the fan (now switched off). I sincerely haven't laughed so heartily in a long while. Perhaps it might be wise to take a leaf out of my teacher's book?
I'll cut it off at the halfway mark for now, unlike Xi Min I find myself more and more incapable of writing for long periods of time instead of the opposite.
Being in a new class has its ups and downs. The downs are, of course, being tossed into a bunch of new folk and needing to get along with them. Class to class, the kind of general class atmospheres are rather contrasting in nature, enough that a mere 0.1 can make a world of difference. A 0.1 drop that changes the colourless liquid pink.
The ups are also, of course, the exact same thing. I could have ended up in two classes, but the way I see it it was a win-win situation, be it a 0.1 or a 0.2 difference. Either is better than a 0.0 (Despite its looks, it's 2sf) net change.
Being in the new class, no doubt, has some interesting experiences. To put it in a way, there's someone in class who gives me the kind of feeling that I would get upon seeing a new person called Jarrel (Likely without the Seah) at whatever institution I may be headed for next, NS included. It's a difficult feeling having to associate an emotion or a thought to a person rather than to a name; even among the Kevins and Samuels people called them differently to differentiate. Where's the difference between Hoh and Oh? I too find myself turning my head whenever the name Erik is called - another interesting experience for one whose name is otherwise rather unique, no doubt.
Sitting elsewhere is a new experience too (for obvious reasons). A breath of fresh air really lets you appreciate both the refreshing breeze and the coolness of the fan (now switched off). I sincerely haven't laughed so heartily in a long while. Perhaps it might be wise to take a leaf out of my teacher's book?
I'll cut it off at the halfway mark for now, unlike Xi Min I find myself more and more incapable of writing for long periods of time instead of the opposite.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Of NYAA, of Family, of alot of things
Tomorrow begins an 18-month long uphill journey towards the NYAA Gold Award, the first six months being life being an asshole and throwing the storm in even before the calm has begun. Well, actually there was one, just that two weeks really pales in comparison to twenty-four.
Meanwhile as my journey is about to begin, some ironically begin to end their journey with the receiving of the NYAA Gold Booklet. I bear certain mixed feelings in regards to these people, especially criterion fulfillment. Trade secrets just aren't something I'm comfortable with, especially if people go around boasting about it. Well, it's a minority, but I do take the rather aggressive stand that one who doesn't go about something with the right attitude and mannerisms is hardly deserving of any credit in regards to that. Loopholes, however legal, weren't designed with garnering respect in mind.
But then again that's the voice of a single person out against the crowd. And I have to admit, that's a pretty damn impressive crowd there.
At this very same time school life begins with the storm. With the release of the classes; I dread, thinking that along with the excitement that comes with this also comes the depressing realization that school has begun proper and the beginning of the hellhole known as IB has come.
Nearing the end of the CSSP section of my life my bro will be coming back. Depending on the time that he comes back, he may see a very different side of me. Whether it's an "I'm doing so much stuff that I could pretty much die" or an "I've just done a whole lot of stuff and it just ended so I'm pretty much dead but hey it can only get better from here" OR the most coincidental "I'm about to die for the next 5 days so I'll be seeing you in zombie form in 5 day's time cya" kind of state.
Occasionally the thought of what life will be like once he is back springs into my head, especially because I've (sad to say) been doing better around without him here and there being an overall nuisance to me >_> Will my grades head for the better or for the worse? Well, it's not like I can carry out an experiment with him around the house and with him without, so it's not really such an important issue in the first place. >_>
Another thought occasionally springs to mind as to what life would be like if a cousin of mine wasn't actually a cousin but rather a twin sister. We did joke around a bit about it, but really, the thought does come to mind especially since our birthdays are less than a week apart. Well, using that alone as reason is actually rather disturbing because I rather not think about the point of time where I might want DN to be my twin brother. Oh god the thought of it was quite freaky. But I seem to be far more fond of the idea otherwise. At the best I wouldn't be in this state where I think I'm the worst person on earth and at the very least I wouldn't be so bored, especially with someone like her around.
Thinking about the year ahead really feels rather depressing at times. Thinking about the fact that my future consists of 5 consecutive days of not going back home until 6 or later isn't something particularly pleasant, and thinking that this is going to be normal life even less so. Yet life is as it is and life goes on.
It's also a rather depressing thought to note that of recent I've been more and more incapable of writing. It's more related to the state of my existence; whether I want to pass a message to anyone, to tell a story or just random thought. Is it a lack of idealism in my life? A sudden change towards a desire for silence? I don't really know what kind of person I am right now, sadly.
It was in my interests to continue, but I find the time rather late right now. And as much as I would like to continue it tomorrow I find my willpower lacking these days.
It does feel like the few years back where I wrote rather fragmented blogposts. Perhaps I may end up this way for a while.
Meanwhile as my journey is about to begin, some ironically begin to end their journey with the receiving of the NYAA Gold Booklet. I bear certain mixed feelings in regards to these people, especially criterion fulfillment. Trade secrets just aren't something I'm comfortable with, especially if people go around boasting about it. Well, it's a minority, but I do take the rather aggressive stand that one who doesn't go about something with the right attitude and mannerisms is hardly deserving of any credit in regards to that. Loopholes, however legal, weren't designed with garnering respect in mind.
But then again that's the voice of a single person out against the crowd. And I have to admit, that's a pretty damn impressive crowd there.
At this very same time school life begins with the storm. With the release of the classes; I dread, thinking that along with the excitement that comes with this also comes the depressing realization that school has begun proper and the beginning of the hellhole known as IB has come.
Nearing the end of the CSSP section of my life my bro will be coming back. Depending on the time that he comes back, he may see a very different side of me. Whether it's an "I'm doing so much stuff that I could pretty much die" or an "I've just done a whole lot of stuff and it just ended so I'm pretty much dead but hey it can only get better from here" OR the most coincidental "I'm about to die for the next 5 days so I'll be seeing you in zombie form in 5 day's time cya" kind of state.
Occasionally the thought of what life will be like once he is back springs into my head, especially because I've (sad to say) been doing better around without him here and there being an overall nuisance to me >_> Will my grades head for the better or for the worse? Well, it's not like I can carry out an experiment with him around the house and with him without, so it's not really such an important issue in the first place. >_>
Another thought occasionally springs to mind as to what life would be like if a cousin of mine wasn't actually a cousin but rather a twin sister. We did joke around a bit about it, but really, the thought does come to mind especially since our birthdays are less than a week apart. Well, using that alone as reason is actually rather disturbing because I rather not think about the point of time where I might want DN to be my twin brother. Oh god the thought of it was quite freaky. But I seem to be far more fond of the idea otherwise. At the best I wouldn't be in this state where I think I'm the worst person on earth and at the very least I wouldn't be so bored, especially with someone like her around.
Thinking about the year ahead really feels rather depressing at times. Thinking about the fact that my future consists of 5 consecutive days of not going back home until 6 or later isn't something particularly pleasant, and thinking that this is going to be normal life even less so. Yet life is as it is and life goes on.
It's also a rather depressing thought to note that of recent I've been more and more incapable of writing. It's more related to the state of my existence; whether I want to pass a message to anyone, to tell a story or just random thought. Is it a lack of idealism in my life? A sudden change towards a desire for silence? I don't really know what kind of person I am right now, sadly.
It was in my interests to continue, but I find the time rather late right now. And as much as I would like to continue it tomorrow I find my willpower lacking these days.
It does feel like the few years back where I wrote rather fragmented blogposts. Perhaps I may end up this way for a while.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Orientations
And orientations have come and gone, and though I might not have been able to make acquaintance with some of my OG, I think I get along with majority of them, and that's good enough for a sociopath like me.
A small number of the OGs I've seen are rather... unbonded? People straddled around and hanging around with their schools instead of with their OGs. Well, this is serious broad-brushing, actually.
I remember a senior of mine talking for a long time about the image of the school, the culture of the school, and the kind of identity an ACSI IB student had. He talked about the differences between his batch of IB students and the proceeding patch of IB students. Sure, I haven't heard anything more idealistic and flower-printed and propaganda-ish in regards to school, but I find it rather hard to ignore his point.
Months ago he talked about a mug that the student council presented to the graduating batch of ACSian IB pioneers. A mug that showed to him that the student council purely saw the image of the ACSian IB candidate as merely one who focused on his studies, drinking coffee at night and staring at the words of the mug, reminding himself of what he was ultimately before continuing to work later into the night on his EE, TOK, IA, or maybe even CAS documentation. I remember laughing rather light-heartedly at the thought of it all, since even though people do make such puns every once in a while, it's not often that the council of a well-standing school actually makes such a joke.
Few months down I see the same mug. I don't really wholeheartedly agree with him but I certainly do see the point he's bringing across. What kind of image are we supposed to portray to the world? Is it this particular image that has been passed on to us by our one-up seniors?
He said that a teacher cried during the Graduation Night of the first batch. That teacher isn't teaching this year. Why did a teacher that cared for his students enough to cry on their Graduation Night leave directly after the year was over?
During last year's chalet, another teacher of mine commented on how a colleague retired, and subsequently filed a letter criticizing the culture of the school and saying how it was doomed to fail.
I don't know how exactly all this links up, but I saw some different types of groups around. There were OGs where everyone was together, bonded as one. There were OGs where everyone was technically together, yet bonded as two, between the guys and the girls. There were OGs where the people split up around and the whole thing was very clique-like.
My senior talked about how his entire year was very bonded together and that the year 5s then were very broken up in comparison, talking about the student council, SAC and the like. Then he talked about how there shouldn't be any girls in IB. Again I don't wholeheartedly agree with him but I do see his point.
Life is headed on a new path. What kind of image are you going to portray to the outer world while on this new path? The kind of image the Year 6s have given to you as a suggestion? Or are you going to find your own? Or maybe you can shirk from it all, the antisocial response.
But if teachers are a sign of anything, the past is gone. Let's move on.
And perhaps then will the best be yet to be.
A small number of the OGs I've seen are rather... unbonded? People straddled around and hanging around with their schools instead of with their OGs. Well, this is serious broad-brushing, actually.
I remember a senior of mine talking for a long time about the image of the school, the culture of the school, and the kind of identity an ACSI IB student had. He talked about the differences between his batch of IB students and the proceeding patch of IB students. Sure, I haven't heard anything more idealistic and flower-printed and propaganda-ish in regards to school, but I find it rather hard to ignore his point.
Months ago he talked about a mug that the student council presented to the graduating batch of ACSian IB pioneers. A mug that showed to him that the student council purely saw the image of the ACSian IB candidate as merely one who focused on his studies, drinking coffee at night and staring at the words of the mug, reminding himself of what he was ultimately before continuing to work later into the night on his EE, TOK, IA, or maybe even CAS documentation. I remember laughing rather light-heartedly at the thought of it all, since even though people do make such puns every once in a while, it's not often that the council of a well-standing school actually makes such a joke.
Few months down I see the same mug. I don't really wholeheartedly agree with him but I certainly do see the point he's bringing across. What kind of image are we supposed to portray to the world? Is it this particular image that has been passed on to us by our one-up seniors?
He said that a teacher cried during the Graduation Night of the first batch. That teacher isn't teaching this year. Why did a teacher that cared for his students enough to cry on their Graduation Night leave directly after the year was over?
During last year's chalet, another teacher of mine commented on how a colleague retired, and subsequently filed a letter criticizing the culture of the school and saying how it was doomed to fail.
I don't know how exactly all this links up, but I saw some different types of groups around. There were OGs where everyone was together, bonded as one. There were OGs where everyone was technically together, yet bonded as two, between the guys and the girls. There were OGs where the people split up around and the whole thing was very clique-like.
My senior talked about how his entire year was very bonded together and that the year 5s then were very broken up in comparison, talking about the student council, SAC and the like. Then he talked about how there shouldn't be any girls in IB. Again I don't wholeheartedly agree with him but I do see his point.
Life is headed on a new path. What kind of image are you going to portray to the outer world while on this new path? The kind of image the Year 6s have given to you as a suggestion? Or are you going to find your own? Or maybe you can shirk from it all, the antisocial response.
But if teachers are a sign of anything, the past is gone. Let's move on.
And perhaps then will the best be yet to be.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Leaning
-------------------------------------------
Sometimes in our lives we all have pain
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there's always tomorrow
Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on
-------------------------------------------
Eight months really can make a person forget a lot of things. I try to look back into my archives but I realize that the me at that point of time didn't even consider the importance of such an event that it deserved blogging in any way whatsoever.
Eight months makes you forget the feeling of not being the only one in the room. The feeling of not being an only son.
But greater than the feelings lost over eight months, I've remembered the feelings lost over a thousand days. The me back then guessed it to be 1/3rd the actual length, but I never was a good estimate when it came to such things.
The feeling of blood being thicker than water.
The feeling of letting yourself just be yourself.
The feeling of leaning.
And by the end of the week, I'll have forgotten again. Such feelings were not meant to stay for long periods of time.
Maybe I'll be able to treasure these feelings instead of forgetting about them. Now that's an optimistic thought.
Really, there's been too much on my mind about all this. Perhaps I'll be able to write about all this in better detail soon.
Sometimes in our lives we all have pain
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there's always tomorrow
Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on
-------------------------------------------
Eight months really can make a person forget a lot of things. I try to look back into my archives but I realize that the me at that point of time didn't even consider the importance of such an event that it deserved blogging in any way whatsoever.
Eight months makes you forget the feeling of not being the only one in the room. The feeling of not being an only son.
But greater than the feelings lost over eight months, I've remembered the feelings lost over a thousand days. The me back then guessed it to be 1/3rd the actual length, but I never was a good estimate when it came to such things.
The feeling of blood being thicker than water.
The feeling of letting yourself just be yourself.
The feeling of leaning.
And by the end of the week, I'll have forgotten again. Such feelings were not meant to stay for long periods of time.
Maybe I'll be able to treasure these feelings instead of forgetting about them. Now that's an optimistic thought.
Really, there's been too much on my mind about all this. Perhaps I'll be able to write about all this in better detail soon.
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