Substance

I haven't done this for a long time. Blog because I'm sleepless.

Would I want something like soma in this world?

Would I be OK with a perfect and just robot master?

... These books I'm ingesting, of course I wish I could share it with someone. Josiah is great on that, so glad to have him as a friend.

And why are we sleepless?

Is it physical, mental, both? The messy complicated both is probably always the answer.

I had a great time with Grace before she leaves, but after every 1-1 I have with people, without fail I would feel something unanswered or unsaid, and yet I still long for these conversations, maybe because I always feel that lingering hunger for...

For substance.

It's what I think drives Karen as well. That hunger for something... real, meaningful, impactful... no matter how many synonyms, substance is really the word I'm looking for. Weight as opposed to lightness. Kundera makes a good case that what we fear isn't heaviness... things like grief and fatigue, even though they are painful. It is routine, hedonism, airiness and meaninglessness that scares us...

And it's this substance I'm missing right now. What Steele thought was ennui and boredom, but I feel that it runs deeper than he describes... he wants drive, purpose and passion, he wants something to wake up to and tire from. I want it too Steele. And no lies, I feel sometimes that having someone to care for would fulfill that purpose for me.

So now, buried in my books... I dredge on longingly. Et la nuit continue. 

Brave New World

So many themes in this book, and precious little time I have to blog since I have to do my last few french assignments. I'll probably fall back to starting a post and procrastinating until I've already run out of fresh thoughts and good things to say (why I have no confiance en soi as a writer).

^As expected, I'm only writing this now, having lost all motivation to talk about the book since picking up Asimov's I Robot. Brave New World was a very good read that was compelling and engaging philosophically at every turn. The dichotomy between John Savage's beliefs and those of the inhabitants of 'civilization' were not just big-picture but strikes someone as personal, going in their irrational core of what is good and what is wanted. You'd probably have to catch me right after reading the book (and short stories of Asimov) though because I lose my thoughts to my unconscious so quickly as the Summer draws... to a close.

Life has to go on

"Human life occurs only once, and the reason we cannot determine which of our decisions are good and which are bad is that in a given situation we can make only one decision; we are not granted second, third or fourth life in which to compare various decisions." ~The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

I am reminded of what my roommate said before about the source of sadness. He shared his idea that sadness manifested in our dreams and imagination, He said our ability to contemplate what could have been, had we done this or that. is sadness. Perhaps he was inspired by book I quoted above and which he gave me as a present later.

I lived life happily then, if that were true, because I didn't look back, I took the imperfections as implicit in our decisions and circumstance. Life goes on, as Robert Frost puts it, perhaps tragically. But it's all really dramatic isn't it. Maybe it's summer that gets me in this mood more than winter for others. So much time and still no time.

It's painful to remember the fear in other people's eyes and behavior. When she sat across, when she leaned on me and then jerked away (maybe it was just my shoulder blades). Do you realize how painful that is? What is it that they're scared of? The answer I guessed is painful. You are left with a conundrum to put your best foot forward or share like they wanted you to.

It's always bitter sweet to watch a choir perform, because of the aforementioned fake-nostalgia-sadness-thing-that-my-room-mate-said. I'm reminded of the choices, not going to VJC where I would have been an assured Tenor, trying but failing to get into RJC's choir (and student council for that matter), writing my sad little goodbye (very dramatic, very pretentious) because I knew. I knew then that the people who carried on the tradition of singing would find themselves their family there, their happiness and identity, and I would walk away into the woods by myself, with my camera, and a pinch of angst.

But life has to go on.

It will. and I'll say it, with the rock and jazz playing in the background. It doesn't wait for us, time. It shoves on relentlessly with the others, churning the coincidences, and I can't wait.

Li Keen Alone

In my head I've blogged a thousand times.

But some stubborn ambition to write in French, and some stubborn fear of vulnerability again.

I'm pretty stubborn. Not that stubborn.

Barely anyone has used my real name in a long time... and so I've come to... j'ai su...it's power. The last time it was used was by Ben, which wasn't surprising since he's Singaporean, but then my French professor also used it in a confusion over my name. What I've come to realize is it's... split personality. It's not just a name, as only those attune to their intuition would comprehend. It is an era... Leeks! has an exclamation mark for a reason! It's hysteria, it's positive madness, it's fuck it let's do this! I recently asked Grace if she thought, as some do, that people had a 'core', some natural personality that we either discover or repress, she didn't think so. I don't think so. But it's pseudo-there. It's the condensation of your history, it's your experience that cools over time...you don't start with one, but you will get one...I've got one.

It's Li Keen Alone.

As usual I digress and jump around in my thoughts. I'm reminded of a brotherhood event... the details cannot be revealed but it's enough to say that I shared about Li Keen Alone. The camera (Daphne) wielding observer, the person who read(s) and wish he had the patience for more, the poet, the In Each Hand A Cutlass and Explosions In The Sky fan. The reason my MBTI is both I and E.

On a side-note, do you know that feeling of saying or typing your own name? When you say it in your head... that awkward, alien-ness to it? I guess some people don't feel it, the way they post "what are some typical ____ lines"; I have no trouble saying I, or filling my name on a test... but to call out my name, in my head...

Mais...la vraie raisonne pour ce post(?)

Ok everything's honestly a reason to post.

But the impetus, the milestone was finishing The God of Small Things.

I'm losing steam as I type.

The title appealed to me immensely... but I jumped into it thinking it was going to be an American Gods magical realism novel, and it isn't/wasn't. (People recommend based on what they've shared they've read, so I thought it was a link to Kafka/Murakami, j'oublie que j'ai aussi partagé mon histoire avec Kite Runner et Curious Incident.)

It made the first few chapters hard to swallow... difficult to follow...I'll read tomorrow...it's a book I borrow... ok I'll stop now...sorrow.

But it definitely grew on me, and now I've thought Two Thoughts:
1. I need to read Bridge  to Terabithia
2. I've forgotten so much of Kite Runner...
The latter is not uncommon, I can barely remember phantom tollbooth, save for a lingering good feeling... save for a memory of happiness and emotion. This pains me immensely... that I/we so easily forget except for some small/big things, and emotional memory. It's true, I can't remember 1984 as well as Animal Farm either. Was it a waste? If you're happy in a dream, does it count? This I guess, is what underlies photography... searching for those nuggets... the small things.

But of course they matter. What's in your working memory is but a fraction of your being. Somewhere in that messy subconscious, BFG, Enid Blyton, a just thought of a book and then lost it, thereby ironically proving my point somehow(?) they all mix around in a cocktail, rojak, whatever  you want to call it. Tuesdays with Morrie, that's the one...

I think it's time I go to bed. 21 chapters later, and I've left with Li Keen Alone, Two Thoughts, a Person-Shaped-Hole-In-The-Universe.

#81 The God of Small Things
Why not. It was a good book.
I intended to just have an umbrella 'books' thing, but it doesn't really do justice to the splendor and uniqueness of every book I've read...
Cheers to a book that saw me through some summer evenings; it'll be remembered here in a list of small things...

Je pense donc... j'écris

Je vais essayer d'écrire en français.

Je viens de finir l'insoutenable légèreté l'être par Milan Kundera et comme d'habitude, je me sens la mélancolie. C'est une émotion bien décrit par la protagoniste dans "le quatorzième quartier" (le dernier court métrage du film Paris, je t'aime) C'est la même émotion on se sent quand on finit quelque livre. Il est probable que je continue à penser au livre au cours des prochains jours. Cependant, aujourd'hui, je veut partager ma réflexion sur le film.

Après j'ai vu le premier partie du film le dernier mercredi, je pensais que "le bastille" serais mon court métrage favori. Le court métrage représente un couple d'âge mûr. Au début du court, l'homme veut partir sa femme pour sa maîtresse mais il changer son avis parce que sa femme a une maladie en phase terminale. Ensuite, il redécouvre son amour pour elle parce que "a force de se comporter un homme amoureux, il devient un homme amoureux." J'aime bien cette phrase, mais je n'aime pas que la femme est toujours la demoiselle en déstresse.

Mais le jeudi, je change mon avis.

(continué de mardi)

Maintenant, je préfère le dernier court avec la factrice américaine. Je réfléchis parfois, si je ne trouve jamais personne pour moi. Une personne plus dramatique que moi peut être croit: je ne survivra pas, je vivra désespéré. Mais je sais c'est faux pour moi. Le poète Robert Frost dit: en trois mots, je peut résumer tout j'ai appris au sujet de la vie: la vie continue. J'aime beaucoup aussi la scène a la fin du court au parc. Je comprends complètement la protagoniste. De plus, parce qu'elle est touriste américaine, typique et amusante, ses mots sont profond d'autant plus. Elle est l'humanité de nous tous. Son expérience ans un pays étrange par elle même est universelle. C'est la raison sa français simple est très significative.

C'est fatigant.

JLOC

I don't know why but I suddenly thought of JLOC today...
JLOC felt... dreamy. And I searched for it on my blog only to find it was missing.
I didn't talk about it, in other words. And yet when I thought about it today I was hit a very intense nostalgia.

^I delayed this post because of exams... can't remember when I had that moment.

But it sure as hell still warrants a post.
We start with big ambitions, get filthy rich, save the world.
Some with skill, hard work and circumstance go far.
The rest of us... need no fret. Mediocrity isn't a sin, nor is it really what it is.
I was not meant to be the best platoon commander, nor some break out OCS star. But I did my work diligently, thanklessly... and here I think the wisdom of War and Peace appears again. I wasn't trying to be the best, I was humble, affable, positive... apart... like Dance Marathon. I was... the best I could be, and that Leeks was recognized in that small gift of being the top cadet in the junior logistics officer course. In that small quiet corner of Kranji, tucked away afternoons among a handful of other background workers, the logistics officers... It reminded me of how I also came to lead photography club without really asking for it. These things will always remind me to stay humble in the background... to leave quiet legacies, to find inner peace and positivism, to affect change in our own humble ways.. It's so hard to describe this notion and feeling... to appreciate the things around you and what you have and who you are. It is lonely though, which is why DM and JLOC were perhaps... my happiest moments. Because I was genuine and others appreciated me for it. I was not alone in inner peace.

This is quite possibly the most abstract piece I've written in a while... But nostalgia, fleeting feelings of innocent, genuine joy... is just hard to find and harder to describe. The imagery... of evening sunlight spilling into a window, of rain and contemplation, is perhaps the best way to describe it.

Misread

This is why you can't/shouldn't ask people to just be 'honest' or speak on a whim all the time. What you're getting is not 'honesty' but instinct, you are asking for answers given imperfect information and expecting the reply to be perfect or to be considered. Of course it's not going to be. Thoughts are considered so as not to be irresponsible. But it was my bad, I was led on, and it's hard to be absorbed and considered at the same time, it's hard to be in the flux and not be tossed and out of the flux but lonely and stale.

I didn't expect this much unexpectedness. (Duh) but I'm well aware that perhaps that will always feel like the case. I am matured enough to understand that I cannot be selfish here, it's not ethical. But it seems like a fundamental problem now more than a matter of adjusting. The power imbalance seems a little tipped at this point.
I wonder if I should speak to someone about this.