Holidaying in No Man’s Land

Still on the subject on going away, I will be reprising the role of the carefree and care-less heartless in the coming week. As said in an earlier post, away from Singapore, pretending to be the thoughtless romantic and imbibing the delightful worldliness of alone-ness in a foreign land. On second thoughts, make that understudying the role, for I’m still learning how to severe my ties. Someday, I shall be completely free.

Anyhow, so I need to stay in another hotel for a relatively long period (no, my baby sister won’t be around to baby me, sob) on my own.

And so, on my way to work some days back, I thought about it for five minutes before I decided on sending the same message to Mr Veins and Mr Dimples. Yes, I’m such a horrible, lousy person – I’m testing the reactions and responses of my friends to do that meaningless, comparative analysis that has absolute no bearing on a change of heart, unless the heart is no longer. For it heeds no reason and hails the ridiculous.

I tapped out a very generic sms about my downgrading (no longer the starry 5 kind of luxurious hotel, but in city still) and to visit if you can. Without mentioning the dates and place whatsoever important information.

Mr Veins, in an expected move, is ignoring me. Or at least, I have no word from him. *sigh* I fear we know each other too well. Silly games, silly girl, I bet she’s testing me again! Boo. I shall bury myself in work, so, so busy anyway, and she should know! Well, we’ll see what we can do when she actually bothers to send me useful information… *imagine pained expression*

How positively irritating that I’m making excuses on his behalf.

Mr Dimples, ever the pleasantly restrained and gentlemanly Briton (without the accent), remarked that would be nice, and asked relevantly the why’s and the when’s. When I replied that the itinerary for my stay is in to-be-confirmed status, he said to keep him informed. He also provided a great punchline that I found really funny: Don’t argue with them! (Sorry, insider’s joke)

I apologise for the test. But life is really too sedate despite the busy-ness.

Holidaying in No Man’s Land

Verses and virgins
Vote for me to undergo
The vacuously virtuous vacation
To vacate my thinly veiled vanity, and
Validate your thickly veined value
As the androgynous, asexual addiction
Whose absence always
Prompts artless attachment.

My amour, our archives approve of
You, the accidental accessory
I have grown so amorously accustomed to.
I am autistic, and awkward, and aware,
Of your austere attentions and autumn attractions
But they are born of a heavy, hearty habit
In the name of hauteur, heresy and hostility
Happily, helplessly and hatefully so.
Hogwash and hoax,
In this huskily hypocritical hour
When you humbly say you do honestly care
But I like to think I got used
To your hygiene, and it being all hushed up too, and
How no difference is made here, and now.

One day simply stretches to a strange distance
And nine days have not quite space enough
To hold those times I bother to count carelessly,
Of just how horribly long I have lived
In independence and indignation
And it is all
But one, two, three and then four and
Five, six still, never seven and
Reaching eight only to crawl over sprawling nine
And it has yet to debut bravely
At the dancing pasture of dainty doubles,
Waiting, waiting
For days to dash delightfully past
Where it no longer matters if you are here.

Angeline Ang
February 2002
All rights reserved ©

Oh right. Things are not all right. They haven't changed since 2002. Why do I keep believing it will be any different after we have graduated, started work and all that crap.

The Aussie Way

I would most probably leave for Australia at the end of the year. Going with someone whom I don’t know well but like well enough. It’s so refreshing to meet someone bursting with energy and enthusiasm, and who actually doesn’t just say things but act on them actively.

I thought it a casual mention when she first brought it up over our mezza9 extravagance. But she asked again early this week via email and sprang into my cubicle after lunch today. I guess it’s a real invitation to plan and leave this place, work, Singapore and all.

And I’m for it. I hesitated for 3 secs and I nodded eagerly. Tomorrow I shall return her mail and write out a list of stuff we should be looking at on our own first before holding a joint discussion to thrash out the itinerary.

But we did agree happily on the spot we will want to skim on accommodation and do artsy stuff (like visiting museums and catching plays) and go open markets (earrings and accessories, here we come!) to spend all our cash there. While we like to cut down on actual living expenses, we also concur the occasional expensive meal (fresh seafood) will be very nice, and that we hope to live, nevertheless, in air-conditioned comfort with the option of hot water and an attached bathroom. Ha, perhaps student hostels and backpackers’ inns are out of the question then?

I wish more people are like that. Unfortunately, not even my closest friends have that kind of spontaneity that can naturally combust and is sustainable on self-initiation. Maybe they are a lazy and stressed bunch, too caught up in life and all kinds of things. Or perhaps we know each other too well. Maybe if I know my potential traveling companion better, I may form a different impression?

Let me enjoy the loveliness of her spontaneity anyway. Yes, you, you, you and you, we should aspire to natural combustion with the zest to embrace life with smiles and good attitude. We are too sian, too sei2, too comfortable in company such that we drag each other down. And that really shouldn’t be the case.

Surviving Betrayal: The How-Tos Otherwise Titled Ode to Two Year Anniversary: Words From A Survivor

1) One should always react coolly and nonchalantly in the presence of the treacherous being, especially when the very bizarre news is broken to you in person. Yes, even when he catches you by surprise and deals you a wallop, please respond with utmost dignity. This is particularly so if you sense his actions were all carefully staged, and, his words, chosen with malicious intent. He, desperate, and perhaps confused, throwing all usual caution and character to the bustling winds, attempts to bleed a confession out of you in what he would never foresee as the last of all meetings. But that’s nothing to confess, as I would protest, like how there’s nothing between us.

2) Be serene, even if it means embracing denial and deceit then, for the wisdom of hindsight would show you were telling the truth. Never give him the satisfaction. Never. He must never know how damaging that was, even if harm was momentary.

3) Delete all sms-es. Delete his number from your mobile. Doesn’t work if he’s like Mr Veins, whose digits you know by heart. But he’s not Mr Veins, and the whole physical dumping of all that was his lets you revel in an absence. More crucially, when temporary regret sets in, there’s really nothing you can do.

4) When he dares to sms, be taken aback by the strange number. Be appalled by the easy and intimate manner he professes to understand you still and addresses you by. Do not save his number. Delete immediately. If need be, reply in a cold and curt tone and he will give up after a few tries. Do this only if you are absolutely sure you do not wish to stay friends. And really, why should you.

5) Feel anger; feel rage; feel the fury first and foremost when betrayed. Approach sadness and wretchedness secondary. Hit the roof.

6) Tell close friends about it. Tell the same story to a different person who knows about your history with him for five consecutive nights. Analyse. Wonder. Ask why rhetorically. Then be tired of the whole thing. You will be at the end of the period.

7) Weep a little. Let it be over your stupidity, bad judgment and wasted time. It’s not about him. Try to tell yourself that.

8) He was only my intellectual whore. Tell yourself that.

9) You are a substitute. Say it to his face. Six months later, I realized I was telling the truth after all. Yes, being mean helps. Utter utterly crushing remarks. See 2)

So. Decide whether you want to stay friends and choose the appropriate response. If it were up to me, I will cross out this person entirely from my life for being horribly presumptuous and drunk enough without drinking anything to flatter his ego at my expense. And for treating another, so stoically forgiving who has longer and deeper history, badly and worse too.

Sometimes life is fair, and offers consolation in other ways. You heard about the insecure girlfriend who probes mutual friends regarding what has transpired so many months later. Then there’s the ultimate social faux pas committed in gatherings, the assumption of former formal togetherness (that never was) spoken aloud in front of the insecure one. You hear, and you are glad. That some people were foolish enough to think so, still, when there’s never anything more. Your problem, if you can’t inspire confidence.

10) Listen to these 2 songs. They can be very therapeutic, depending on your mood. 陈小春's 算你狠 is excellent to fan the flames of disgust, directed at him and yourself. I swear by the beat and vehemence (Why do you think I do such an excellent rendition of it in KTVs) I've heard it countless and I feel better after each replay. Best listened in the throes of angst and anger as a form of release:

一看到你我就想到过去
就立刻让我血冲到脑子里去
我的心里只会永远的恨你

你跟别人吃香又喝辣去丢
我一个人在这里吹冷空气
我会活得很好真的没关系

On the other hand, I reserve 梁静茹's 第三者for more mellowed moods, like now and the aftermath, when I can shrug off the whole thing and it's put firmly behind me. Or rather, take it as an experience that made me a stronger and better person. I wou'dn't say mature, though:

你的话我晓得 无论你说得多么温
和某一些难解的隔阂 把爱伤害了那多不值得
没什么好怪的 我已经乏力继续拉扯
没有谁非爱谁不可 就算变心了 也非罪不可赦

她只是最最无辜的第三者 就算她消失此刻
告诉我能得回什么呢 责怪她又凭什么呢
她只是无意闯入的第三者 我们之间的困难
在她出现之前就有了 虽然我愤怒但是我明白的
把过错让她去背着 那是不对的

hey女孩你听着 所有爱情都有竞争者
我不妒忌你们快乐 虽然我人生因此有曲折
他还是不错的 我们的选择不是巧合
你用青春大胆假设 我去将失去活成一种获得

It has been a breeze living life without the companionship. The weaning off was relatively effortless, since the knowing part was at best 6 months. So life is kind. I try to save the better memories that he failed to blemish. For better and worse, there's you. And there's the thesis, which i remain quite convinced he's my knight in that sense. Without him, the dinners and long night walks from orchard through Bugis and beyond (I didn't want to go home so soon and face an ailing paper), I would never have completed the work. And with the thesis done, his part and play in my life is aptly over.

Would I attend the wedding? I doubt I will be invited, really. The bride may object, you know.

The Betrayal That Was A Good Thing

Written by Harold Pinter, Betrayal was a riveting play in all senses. It is rich and replete with familiar sticky situations borne out of the necessary ordinariness seemingly predestined and thus, so predominant (and so, inescapable) in life. The play belongs to the complex love genre in which the human psyche is stripped raw to reveal the intensely personal and ugly desires (I really mean lust here) that I so adore and would write myself. Obsessing over the delicate folds and delicious falls in relationships, Betrayal showcases the intrigue, intimacy and impact of a long-drawn seven-year affair between one man, his wife and his best friend, told in reverse chronological order. There is no other bigger picture or theme than the clandestine relations between the characters.

Emma is the doomed romantic that the two men cannot bear to love, too long or too hard. We see her now, cold, controlled and waning as the play begins in the present, before harking back to sweeter times of attachment during which her initial unreserved warmth, passion and genuinely affectionate nature surface. She’s the only person pursuing some ideal of an ideal love that both men fail to give in their legitimate and illegitimate rights.

The Singapore rendition has Shabana Azmi perfectly poised as the elegant Emma, with a lovely wardrobe to match and die for. Peter Friedman is Jerry, and Simon Jones is Robert, the two men who are found very wanting indeed. As far as their characters are concerned, that is. I have no bones to pick about the trio’s nuanced and restrained craft – Betrayal lived up to pre-conceived expectations and the professionalism of the cast added to my enjoyment of the play.

Beautante (obviously pseudo to protect her identity) was my companion for the play and the rest of the night. True to her name, our rendezvous, long overdue by a year and more, was 美丽 and 安详. We have weathered through some ridiculous situations, be it apart or together, at work and in our personal lives. We are not exactly at peace now, with her doing her Masters and me carving out a career the best that we can, but we have been through worse.

那是多久后的事了
有一天你突然问我
在那个时候是否也爱着他

I thank the person who brought us together through his singular act of betrayal, and I try to think well of him, if he ever crossed the mind, that he did redeem himself somewhat, albeit unknowingly. Beautante may protest and disagree but I do feel that he is the one who made all the difference in our relationship by making that decision. Dear 美丽安详的女人, it could have been so much worse on hindsight. We may lose each other’s brilliant company. Like you said, it’s all water under the bridge now but I acknowledge his importance in that sense and to some extent, I believe neither of us can ignore the spectre of him - having an always ghostly presence/absence, however slight and slighted. He is no longer, but you will always be, and for that, I am grateful. Our friendship has emerged triumphant over a person who is unable to handle issues and closures maturely, despite all his intellectual discourses and veins.

我也很想他 我们都一样在他的身上曾找到翅膀
只是那时的他 是因为你他开始飞翔
我也很想他 在某个地方我少了尴尬你少了肩膀
而夏天还是那么短 思念却很长

I must confess when this song first came out in her latest album, even though it’s no longer applicable in many ways, and talking liberties with the narrative in so many ways, I did think of us, whenever the song is played.

还记得那年我们三人许下的愿望
星星骗了我们 我们却因此上了一课
成长必修的学分我们都一样

我说往事借过

我以为遗忘就可以让人摆脱伤痛 最后是梦想被赶走
那阵风 吹过 吹痛我的耳朵 它说它只是路过

My lawyer, Jonathan, called to remind me of something I‘ve owed him and his senior partner for an embarrassingly long time (it’s not money). We soon deviated to more informal talk, for Jonathan is but slightly older than me and by nature, enthusiastic, and pleasant.

We started chatting about the hazards of lawyer-ing.

Jonathan: I try to leave the office by 8 pm on a good day,

Me: You are not serious! Do you have a social life?

Jonathan: On weekends - I do my best. But actually, no.

I don’t understand why lawyers have to work so late. I guess their best is very poorly indeed.

找不到让我心跳乱了节奏的凶手 我亲口答应让他走
抬起头 看那荒芜的天空 青春是否燃烧过 眼泪是否流过 别问我

I suppose it’s the same for prosecutors, if not worse.

It’s nice to surmise that Mr Veins is still so preoccupied with work through a third party peer (Jonathan’s firm was recommended by Mr Veins upon knowing I need legal aid that he can’t take on, and Jonathan himself was his classmate from law school), ever since I’ve decided to pointedly ignore his ignoring of my ignoring him in a socially faux pas manner.

我说往事借过 他并不够爱我 我根本无从选择
我只是平凡渺小虚荣 拒绝心痛 不甘势弱
我说往事借过 草率无知懵懂 也不算滔天的错

But this is such useless, heartless observation, for we have more or less quietly decided on our own to throw the selves into work, and let the whatever run its course (its only course) to death. Especially after yours truly’s rude brush with suspicious characters who seem determined to assassinate to outdo the competition.

*

My Favourite Broadway Leading Ladies, like this year’s Dim Sum Dollies, was largely forgettable and strangely lacklustre.

I was, embarrassingly so, first in line to have my program signed.

*

I said no to invites for Stacey Kent and the closing of the leading ladies. I have already bought (yes, spend money instead of accepting or wrangling invites from people who love me) tickets to Betrayal, and it is a play I really want to catch. Nevertheless, it makes me feel bad to say no despite having a perfectly valid reason. I don’t like to turn people down.

*

I was introduced to a colleague’s boyfriend today and the three of us took the tube to the city heart. The couple was very physically affectionate despite being older than me by a few years.

It made me think.

Seriously, you know what, we are a sad group of repressed people. I try to envisage people I know in such acts of endearment and it makes me laugh. Sorry. Can this be SAP-related?

*

I asked why, a generic form of why even when asked in the case of a context-specific

He-who-is-not-He replied Doesn’t have to be a why. Can be tons of why. Can be no single why. End of the day isn’t it intuition?

That’s the thing. I no longer have faith in my intuition where this is concerned.

Put it this way, intuitively, I know my intuition may fail me.

So Far. So Good

A dear friend whom I’ve not seen for over a year spied me in unglam circumstances today.

*insert my name*! What (why) are you doing this! You are a freaking scholar!

Well, scholars have to earn a living too!

Anyway, I didn’t feel bad doing it. Just hot, and tired. It’s part of the job.

*

My mentor is either very smart, or understanding. I believe she’s both.

I’ve been given something big to work on. Screw everyone who gets in the way, especially evil people. Die, Die, Die.

I loathe it when people stirs trouble to disturb me. It’s not a good (or smart) thing that you’ve made me wary of intent and hesitation.

*

I have also figured out a great way to tell apart evil people from the good souls who would not harm me in general in the restless corporate world. Evil people call me Angel*** in full. Kind partners and wonderful seniors coo Angie, Angie. I kid you not.

Except when mentor is supremely irritable or frustrated at me (not getting it, but I attribute it to the occasional ambiguous instruction), she will yell Angel***

*

Supposed to turn up in a red dress for tomorrow’s premiere of Leading Broadway Ladies. Chin Han (yes, Masters of The Sea’s Chin Han) said red and black outfit please, I think black heels cover the black requirement adequately. I really enjoyed last year’s Hello Broadway, so am waiting to see if this production can outdo that.

Betrayal with said friend in opening paragraph on Saturday. Delicious irony we are watching it together. Quite surreal, really. Now that we are actually catching it together, I can’t imagine going with any other person to enjoy the performance, that I’d like better. One day, I shall pen a play in our memory. I can’t explain but the play will tell everything. I just need to write it down. Patience, everyone, including myself.

无底洞

I told Best Friend some days back that I’m concerned about my tendency to hedge and delay whenever people posed the impossible question about relationships and status.

Do you get that often, Ruth asked, apparently surprised.

More than I would like, I brood. I confess to hating are-you-attached questions with a vengence. Topping the list would be the how-many-relationships one. Mostly because I despise myself for not being able to be honest, and also in desiring to be honest, I end up with a headache, after re-assessing the “us” narrative once more and again.

Like serious. I do suffer from dramatic mental flashbacks whenever the traumatic question/s surfaces. Depending on which, a face or some faces would emerge and I give confusing, bewildering looks while giving ambiguous and complex replies to a deceptively simple question.

Maybe that’s the way to go – frighten the inquisitor away into less romantic waters.

Trust me, I would love to coolly say no and none but that doesn’t sound quite correct.

I should just learn to lie.

*

Same conversation, same night.

Ruth says if it were up to her, she’ll just say there was once this person who came very close to it (the relationship, I presume).

Which posed another issue. How to differentiate who came closest to it. The one with the intensity, the one that caused pain, or the one that had years behind it and so on.

Is a relationship more like a relationship when you have been together for ages and do the couple-ly thing, or one that you come to experience the sadness and anger associated with betrayal that it was almost like a break-up that never was, I managed to ask in one breath before I lost my theme and thread altogether.

I don’t think Ruth answered.

*

On a purely superficial basis, I went through my dating history (please take dating history tangentially in all superficial senses) to see if that’s a connection somewhere that always leads to eventual emotional attrition.

Now, it wasn’t always true that I like only guys with veins (obsession started in 1999 but I backtracked it to 1997), so that can’t be it.

Even though I like guys who are around the range of 1.8m (it’s something that I’m rather used to, since my platonic friends are also of that height), I have been out with people less than 1.7m too.

And I can go on but really, I have zoomed in on the fatal flaw, the one major connection that all guys I have been out with share – they were all from SAP schools, the usual Chinese, Dunman, Catholic, Chong Cheng (main) suspects, you know. Don’t ask me why. I don’t discriminate and it so happens.

Maybe that explains things.

The SAP education stuns the romance gene in males. Or let’s not even go there. It’s as simple as they really don’t know how to treat girls right, or have the sensibility and maturity to be gentle in a manly way. It doesn’t matter that the guy went to RJC or HCJC thereafter, and even enjoyed an overseas education in UK or US. The SAP past is deeply embedded, such that each of him tenses up in front of you, gets painfully shy, childishly torments you in a bid to get your attention (and hence, win the affections, he thinks), or is just unusually slick (to mask his embarrassment), or all of the above.

I’m being quite indulgent here in my assessment but there might be some truth I stumbled upon in my addled thesis and current unhappiness with history (and the soon-to-be, if not already).

SAP guys suffer from a chronic disability: They can’t sustain your interest – they can’t hold you long enough. Or even if they appear to be interesting and interested, they send out such befuddled signals that you throw in the towel and run away. Basically, they don’t play by the rules, not because they are fun and adventurous, but because they have no idea what the rules are! That is oh-so-horrible – they don’t know where to start and what to do, and just throws you off and disorientates completely with their aimlessness and lack of oomph. And I believe I’m repeating myself.

Whatever, in a bid to boost luck and love, I shall steer clear of SAP guys. They may be dependable as partners or friends, but they really suck when it comes to matters of the heart. My SAP platonic friends are free to disagree but I’ll stand by what I say for now.

I’ll be really happy to be proven wrong though. For if I were indeed a serial SAP dater beyond my control, it would be pleasant to know I can somehow sustain momentum in a relationship still with the right SAP guy.

Addendum December 14: If you have come here from takchek's latest posting, pls also read the following entries for a clarification of the SAP theory on SAP guys -

The Professional

暧昧SAP关系

The Possession of Ally McBeal

Whatever possessed Ally to act against her nature, instinct and inclination?

A combination of circumstance, luck, and something less human-ly that drove her to commit what appears to be a reckless and irresponsible act, even from her standpoint.

Ally deeply abhors her decision and action that has caused harm to her (wrecked by guilt and regret). She also feels she has let her supervisor, who has put her on it, very, very down. The latter is what hurts her most, the feeling she has squandered the trust and belief supervisor has in her.

The story:

Together with Cally and Sally, Ally has been working on a contract. They have been meeting the client, negotiating and amending the clauses where required.

Friday evening, client called for second meeting for that day. His frustrations were iterated: terms were too scary, being harshly and strictly worded – his hands were tied and he refused to sign.

Now Ally has a pre-bought show to catch on Friday night, a show that she already has missed before due to a friend’s work commitments. She is watching with someone else tonight so she is concerned whether she can make it.

In Ally’s mind, she had things worked out: she’ll monitor the discussion carefully and check for the ominous signs of abating, change or whatever. When push comes to shove, she can cancel the movie date, risk wrath of friend whom she’s not seen for ages and who has been waiting patiently outside the theatre all the way.

The strangest thing did happen, the signing was established as not taking place, whatever that was supposed to be happening would be postponed to months later to allow for careful drafting of mutually agreed terms and especially, to buy time for more talk on the matter at hand.

The consensus lasted for more than half an hour.

In Ally’s judgment (which was later proved to be disastrously erroneous), she has believed in good ill and faith that they have pretty much come to the end of things. Nothing seemed to warrant change, all parties were in tandem and most importantly, such has been so for the last 30 minutes and more. They were just casually chatting now, informally making small talk and suggestions for the future that would only occur much later. (NB: The overall important thing is whether contract gets signed. Since it cannot be, that is it).

So, Ally left for her show, while reminding Cally and Sally to keep her informed of any changes and updates.

After the show, Ally still had not received any news from Cally and Sally. She called and sms-ed both. Neither picked up nor replied. A scary thought crossed Ally’s mind: Could the discussion actually have been prolonged and is still taking place?

But there’s nothing Ally can do if no one is updating her, especially after she has tried to contact both girls. She decided to banish that scary thought and tried to believe that the girls were just too tired and were already in bed.

An unnatural feeling of unease and discomfit trailed.

When Ally checked her work account in the middle of the night, she was appalled to receive an email of announcement from her leader that thanks to Cally and Sally, the deal has been done, contract signed and everything as per normal. Apparently, the deal was just newly inked only.

Now, if that were the case, and we backtracked in time, Ally would still have been in the heat of the action had someone answered her calls and sms-es. She was ready to return to office. But no one updated her.

By nature, Ally thinks well of people. She knows how people can forget in heat and excitement, or even competition of things. But it leaves her somewhat bitter. But she understands. She cannot blame Cally or Sally for not informing her that the tide was somehow turned, or simply, perhaps, just wanting to shine. Three’s a crowd, maybe that’s always true.

If anything, Ally kicks herself for not being vigilant, sensible and mature enough to stay till the every end till every single person in the discussion has left. Good will, faith, and honest beliefs aside, that’s what she should have done. And Ally deserves to have all these uncomely things happening around her by acting like a reckless and irresponsible party girl.

Georgia had remarked in amazement upon hearing Ally’s tale, that she is quite surprised Ally would leave. It’s just not in character.

Ally thought it over and agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

Oh dear, she has been reckless and irresponsible simply by going for the show despite best intentions and erroneous judgment.

Sure, she has called frantically but really, she left when she should have stayed. It would be very good and great had Cally and Sally let her know for her to come back (there would still be at least a good one and a half hours of participation before the signing), but she also concedes they have no obligations to make it their priority.

Ultimately, Ally did not chose to stay and that is her fault. She cannot blame others.

Ally has learned an important moral and hopes to spread the message: Stay in meetings till the very end – do not leave, for you never know what may change and what caused it.

Cally and Sally hedged when Ally tried asking about what led to changes and Ally decided to leave it. The stone’s thrown, dice’s cast and damage’s done. Ally must have this etched in mind since she is paying price for the lesson learnt.

And no less important, no one owes you a living. Ally has always been vigilant about office politics. Still, she believes and trusts when necessary. The incident only reminded her to be even more vigilant.

The Scarlet Letter

Dear Singapore

It has been hard to understand you, since we are in the dark often.

No, not about you, duh, now why would you think that?

It’s about seeing us.

Mostly, it’s about seeing me.

I went to another island lately.

Beautiful, restless and primitive.

You must have been like that once.

How does it feel to be tamed, pruned, and claimed?

Are you familiar with serenity, calmness and peace of mind?

Maybe a dash of pure joy and happiness on its own terms?

That island was comforting in the way you may never be. I didn’t think about you when I was away.



But in more private moments, I thought of another. Having traced a name on the sand, I stood in front of the sea. He was with me, sharing my tranquility, even as the name was washed away, as though it had never existed.

It beats meaningless drifting, and if not for being apart, I won’t know what we want anymore. Singapore, you don’t do long distance affairs very well, do you – I’m of you, and patience was never thy virtue.



I need the tranquility I can buy, that you can’t afford me.


I have seen people I love dearly, betrayed and bitter (and betrayed and bitter still), left. I know they won’t have, had you been more open in your affections. And now, somewhere in lands of China and New Zealand, are the people you turned away, and I don’t know when I can see them again.


But Singapore, dear Singapore, for better and worse, you have given me a wonderful academic education and friends.

Friends that I trust implicitly and love fiercely. And there's another, who is only too Singaporean.

For now, that can be all that matters. It’s your 40th birthday, and I shall be magnanimous. Sit back and chill. Let’s.

Don't Look Back In Anger

Take me to the place where you go
Where nobody knows
If it’s not our day

My luck ran out. After stoically putting up with late nights for two weeks (Devil’s Bar, KTV sessions), sun-fried days, immoral indulgence (mezza9, Tunglok’s Noble House), and life’s little vexations, my health gave way and I woke up, feeling sickly and terrible today.

It took me a good 30 minutes to decide whether I should take MC or go to work. There’s a lot of stuff I need to rush. Hell, with a fever and cough and flu and sore throat in tow, I doubt I can accomplish much anyway, apart from worsening my condition. At least I can rest at home and write some releases and trailer scripts when I am less poorly. And there are the contracts to scrutinise.

I’m gonna start a revolution from my bed
’Cos you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside, ’cos summertime’s in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
’Cos you ain’t ever gonna burn my heart out

Well, with my body acting up and manifesting all the negative energy into all kinds of physical illnesses to torment me, I can count on one good thing: bad karma, very, very bad karma is being released and I’ll be perky again in no time. I’m getting far too whiny.

So, Sally can wait
She knows it’s too late as she’s walking on by
My soul slides away
But don’t look back in anger
Don’t look back in anger
I heard you say

At least not today.

Scholars Anonymous

Scholars desperately seeking: Reaching out for the light

Today was a crummy day, one of those grossly pitiable low self-esteem days that had me groveling and hating myself.

Nothing terrible happened, hence the trauma.

It’s that kind of Mediocre Day in which the whole Mediocrity of it really bites, and hurts.

I feel I’m an underachiever at my age. And that sucks big time.

Given my nature, education, passion and talent, I’ve let myself down - thud, thud thud.

Nasty surprises have been repeatedly sprung on me by the organization that has promised me a fulfilling and meaningful career so many years ago.

My life is not supposed to turn out so, mediocre, so.

I’m not supposed to be this bitter. I used to be only cynical, damn it!

My pay is low (oh man, way below the market rate as compared to even non-scholars), my work is thankless, and while I do enjoy my job, just trying to see a long-term future in it gives me a blinding headache. I can’t be making this kind of money for what I’m doing.

I asked April why it is so difficult to be happy in one’s job. Between both of us, we certainly don’t skive, for one thing. And we want to be responsible for the biggies, which we can handle well and to be decently compensated for our pains, if the tasks are truly quite unsavoury. We do want to do good and be great, so why’s everything in the bloody way!

Maybe I should take heart in Jarvis’ declaration. Today marks his second day at work in Maxtor as R & D engineer only and already his battle cry: I will remember my dream is not to make hard disk. And work long hours for low pay.

Yes, fuck the companies who are out to impoverish the young people and slowly choke the life outta what’s left of the dream and the dreaming.

Today also happens to be Ah Hoon’s birthday, another close friend whom I’ve known for 13 years. Ah Hoon herself was an unhappy scholar malcontent at a statutory board. Thankfully, her bond was only 2 years and as of July this year, she started work/training to be a banker (when she used to be a bloody engineer) at Citibank and can boast of flying around the world very soon. She earns, I believe, at least twice as much as me now. I’m happy for my friend but my happiness at her good fortune, which she absolutely deserves, does not preclude my bitterness at my own predicament.

I don’t think the organization takes care of its scholars. So I must look after myself and bloody learn to fight for my rights and entitlements.

I believe most bond-breakers have a gall-wrenching tale. All scholars have sick stories to share, unless you are a PSC scholar. If it’s the latter, then I’m sorry, but you’d receive no sympathy from me. Why? Because I have seen for myself how generic PSC scholars are pampered with the bizarre luxuries that should be peculiar to a specialized field ie mine, and yet even my scholar peers are not privy to such fanfare treatments. Instead, only PSC scholars get to enjoy the overseas exchange of which we can appreciate more in the light of our job scope. Taxpayers’ money – have we run out of ways to spend thee?

All I want is money, respect, some decent attempts to address and do good by the senior management and publish my own book/novel. The last one pretty much supersedes everything.

Incidentally, I have come to the end of a 2 year cycle last week. So starting this month, it’s the beginning of another same cycle, hopefully very different. Any more different, and I’ll have to cough up the difference in cold, cold cash.

I hate Mediocrity.

In response to dear Ruth, bless her little heart, it’s nothing to do with the Rawa trip that I’m feeling this bad.

But I’ll get over it. I have to.

And. I. Am. So. Not. Mediocre.

Addendum: To augment the misery that's my life, I read about a casual friend from uni philo classes in Life! today. Kiat Sing beat 500 applicants around the world to be the only international student accepted into Columbia University's Master of Fine Arts (Acting) programme. And to top it off, the Media Development Authority (MDA) is giving her a $100,000 scholarship to pay her $121,000 fees. I'm happy for you, Kiat but excuse me while I bang my head on the wall and have a private cry in that corner over there.

(She deserves it, and one day, I will have good things happening for me too.)

Later in the evening during work, I realised with a jolt someone I knew briefly from my current job was now in the very same writer position I had been unfairly denied and bizarrely mocked (when it was the HR who called me to go for interview) when I turned up. I have seen her in person and read her writings. Let's just say I am easily on par. So. Fuck.

Friendship Shots

I went on a short holiday with two of my oldest friends, Minxiu and Meihui, whom I’ve known for 13 years.

Rawa was as pretty as all that was made out to be. But this post is to be purely pictorial for once, no, not of Rawa (that would come later), but of us. People pictures, yay! So a quick one now, more to come later.

Okay, so the above was an artistic shot - too dark, you reckon? Fine, I give you light.

Erm, not quite what you thought it would be? But it's so clear (and bright). I hope it's very obvious who is who. We are totally different, apart from being camwhores and campy.

There, I'm sure you can tell now.

Looking very good. And very burnt.

I swear this is how we looked 13 years ago.

Those were the days my friend

We thought they'd never end

We'd sing and dance forever and a day

We'd live the life we choose

We'd fight and never lose

For we were young and sure to have our way