Many things easy, some things hard

 Thoughts to think:

1. Work

Things have changed, slowly, as always. People have come and gone and or are going. I remain, but I also change. It's hard to have a barometer without comparison, I always compare. Daniel Kahneman says that's just how we translate things into good or bad, by comparison, sort of. I think, I believe I am happy, and that I'm the tortoise in the hare and the tortoise, except there is no race, really. I'm happy the hare took a nap, if they were tired and wanted to. There was no need to win, I don't know what the prize is, carrots?

2. Communication

Difficult and awkward and frustrating. Supposed to be hard, I understand. Harder when different culture. Harder when you feel like you can see it and have to translate for them. Probably true, and probably my responsibility, as the immigrant. But what if I'm tired, what if I want to learn new things, have people translate for me? I feel restless, like I want to "get on with it". I don't like repeating, I feel like repeating is doing things that've been done (duh), and it's like, a waste of time? But I know in my head, that's how things are - attention waxes and wanes, and things are hard to comprehend or know. Ironically, this is what I've failed to do myself - comprehend, know, accept, that it takes time. Dr. K said something basic, somewhat contradictory, but I reflected on it to understand. He said that most people start in anger - or I guess, that they feel like they have to communicate now! urgently! importantly! while feeling the feelings! But our mind is wonderful because it forgets - the feelings pass, and you will get over it (well, first world problems that is) - by all means, communicate to not get taken advantage of, set your boundaries. But you don't need to do it in the moment, if the moment is aggregated. I shut down when I'm over-burdened, like an over-clocked CPU.

3. Quiet

I have some quiet now. I also have some quiet in the bus. How to tell people I want some quiet without hurting their feelings? Without risking miscomprehension? I re-read the last post I made - I felt like I wanted to just be in a library. How healthy is it to be alone in your thoughts? Maybe it is sort of meditative - I have many thoughts, so I have to face them, talk (blog) through them, and then I can let my mind be bored and empty but satisfied. This has been hard to communicate to Chris, I am afraid I will be the person who tells her I am not interested in things she's really interested in, and I feel (but I don't know!) that she's disappointed, or takes it badly, when I do say I'd like to do something else or be somewhere else, or just do my own thing. But it is not healthy to be pent up and to stew for too long. But I am also uncertain if this feeling will last, or I just need a few good hours. Perhaps that's what I need to communicate - I would like to be alone or quiet for a couple of hours, that's all. I do not want to talk or listen right now, it's tiring to be tuned externally all the time. I think next movie I'll watch is perfect days.

4. Singapore

I took a break before writing this part. Longer break than intended. Told myself I would have to address this sooner or later. Singapore has taken on nostalgic qualities. I haven't lived there in so long. All memories are like this, I know rationally. But it's addictive to think about it, to pretend like I'm forever an alien pining for home. It's unhealthy, and probably an avoidance of my responsibilities here, which are overwhelming. It reminds me sometimes of Martian Manhunter as represented in the justice league animated series. A stoic guardian who had lost his home, and only after a long time decides to look for happiness in his new one.

I just finished reading my brothers' book, it's pretty good, I think, for a first time "writer" (nobody really is, since we all write essays and stories in school, I guess). Maybe I'm biased, there's sort of a confounding variable here - on one hand I do believe that writing something personal is always apparent, and it was expressed here. On the other I am also personally involved, and may have been moved by it and failed to see amateurish mistakes. Regardless, it's not the only book I'm reading at the moment with references to my home.

I'm also reading a Singaporean short stories book Chris got at Littered with Books. Ironically this fulfils my reading challenge book salad criteria and not the cat book I bought, which I will read later. Anyway, it's a lot. Like emotionally a lot. I feel both like I understand everything and yet I have so much I don't know. I feel many things about this. I am ashamed of my mandarin, lack of dialect, no malay either. Though slowly I of course lose even my singlish accent probably. This is of course my choice. Living here I mean, I'm just, reminiscing and wishing. I wish people could understand me and how I feel. But so far I merely feel unheard or never get to the point of taking deeply. It's probably the first time I've felt so far and homesick. Maybe because in college, there was a thought that I would move back, that my identity was clearly Singaporean since everybody asks me about it all the time. It was the clear defining factor, as we all hold on to some and project onto others. Now it is not so clear. It is also not so clear that Chris wants to be in Singapore, which I understand. I'm at peace with it, kind of. It sort of comes and goes I suppose. As in past lives though, it's the one piece that she cannot ever understand - or is that the fallacy being shown in past lives? No, I think it was a tragedy, the grieving of the past life. Grief is a big part of the theme in my brothers' book, and also these short stories actually. I'm grateful for the sprinkling of humorous tales, but a majority are about things lost - there's a lot of ghost stories to this effect too. I feel like even at a meta-level, I understand why the stories are being written. Intellectually, I can do so for American stories too, but my heart and soul do not necessarily follow as closely. Ironically, I feel frustrated in my privilege. As if I want the pain of the empathy for all humans! No, I close off, as a safety measure. It's enough to think about Singapore's pains and longings. I'm reluctant to engage emotionally, because I am a frightened and selfish child, who wants empathy too. Ironic that I cannot pay the price myself.

Or maybe I'm just tired, and people pleasing, and not able to communicate effectively, or want to be taken care of, or to be understood easily, or all of the above. I remember talking to Jacob, my new director, sort of unabashedly, in my typical candid way talking about how much I miss Singapore after going back. But then I play the tape all the way through , and it's the same, and there is no magic that my nostalgia promised. It just is, things are, that is. Maybe what I want and need to communicate for is just the peace and quiet to think and blog and take the bus silently and not be constantly dealing, partially self-imposed. I want to travel somewhere quiet, just to read the signs, to not have to talk about it except when I want to, later. To sit on the bus and see the hilly landscape that makes the land of a thousand hills. 

Writing

I found this in draft mode still from May 2021, I'm just publishing it yolo style now without reading to check if it's fine. 

"Writing is easy. All you have to do is to cross out the wrong words." - Mark Twain

The quote I actually learned through Civ 6.

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I've been meaning to write. In my so-far fairly stable period of thoughts and life, the contentment that pseudo-Buddhist philosophy has brought has been laid bare at times when I've felt provoked and quick to anger. I wrote down the topics which have done this. And I finally feel compelled to write.

I suggested Joseph try it to, though I don't know if he'll take it up. Maybe it is only for some people. He has had his own thoughts, and I think they are worth writing down for himself.

There are certain things that I'm afraid of, and they are unconventional. I feel the fear that maybe someone else from a less wealthy family may fear, and maybe it is a fear that is tied to the same philosophy. I think sometimes that maybe my father feared this too, and for the most part chose to ignore it. These are all I think, interrelated fears, but since I've listed them down on my phone separately I'll also write about them separately.

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Fear 1: Thriftiness and Credit scores

All children eventually grow up to understand that their parents are flawed human beings as well.

I grew up taught by my mother to be cheapskate about many many things. In fact, I think I felt (note that in truth I don't even know if it mattered to her) like she was proud of me for spending the least amongst my brothers and living frugally. Till this day, variants of my spending habits translate comfortably to also being generally less wasteful and more eco-friendly. But the truth is I expend a lot of energy into things that probably do not translate, in real dollars, to as much savings as if I cared about "bigger" picture things like how I handle my personal finances or take advantage of deals. I am aware of my own stubbornness. And in fact in writing this I've come to realize what I've learned from my mother basically are all the things that also coincide with two virtues I value which are to live simply and to be at less wasteful, while passing up all the "auntie" street smart things like getting onto as many credit cards as she does, and opening up accounts in many places to get as many discounts and what not. She clearly does both, and for some reason I value one and disdain the other. Maybe these traits are a marriage of my mother's saving habits, and fathers' simple living. It's time I get on a credit card.

Fear 2: Immigration

I've also worded this to Christelle once. I think that I fear a lot of opportunities presented to me because I assume they are not for me, or because I'm unsure if I will lose something in translation. It may not be easy for someone to understand, especially because I speak great English, but there is a primeval fear associated with disassociating from your culture. It is maybe the same fear you might expect a first generation college student would experience, because the young person has to lean their way into the dark, without parental experience. That feeling can be generalized to immigrants that may not be able to rely upon an established community presence like mine. I feel neither here nor there, a common occurrence I'm aware, and fear I'm equipped neither here nor there with the intuition to navigate new situations. It is almost a curse that I manage such a natural American accent, because it arms others around me with expectations of me, outside their control. Yet it might also be my fear of being patronized that I know absolutely nothing, or weird stereotypes of foreigners I'm trying to avoid, that keeps me from seeking help with simple "I'm not from here" statements. It's time I wilt the pride.

Fear 3: Finance

The excuse I've given myself for a time being is... yet I also know there are some unresolved tensions between what I know to be "good for me" and what I value personally as powerful motivators.

Fear 4: Future

In Coach Carter, one of the basketball players recites a poem that it is not our inadequacy that we fear but the opposite, of our own capability. Though I don't recall exactly the lines and could be misinterpreting entirely (especially as it later goes on to talk about how we should let our own lights shine to inspire others to do so as well), that line could read something about fearing we will not achieve our full potential. It certainly scares me. At this point I'm infatuated with being perfectly mediocre (knowing fully that on average in society I am doing well), but knowing it is possible for me, given life circumstances, to achieve more. Of course, there are all the sort of speculation that one never truly knows, which is why I always aim to do "slightly above average". I know that if I buckle down and stress about it now, I can set my own path. I also know I can be happy in many circumstances and don't need to stress about trying too hard. But it has often left me at an impasse between trying hard and not trying too hard.

Fear 5: My family, culture, and Christelle

Recently I reacted negatively to Chris's enthusiastic offer of help to my elder brother. This would not be the first time I react strongly and badly to Chris's enthusiasm for some subject. It's about time I sat down to really think about what that's all about. On the surface, I can honestly say it is cynical distrust. There's no way around it and no point in being euphemistic. What are the root causes and are they rational? Can I change or compromise? I can't help but remember the "curse" my history teacher Mr. Khoo told the class he was bestowing, and the irony that I probably have not strongly questioned his wisdom which is to question things. It's a simple precept which is the opposite of the presumption of innocence, which is not to commit to believing until evidence is provided. But I know aside from that I  know most people base their suspicions on their culture and personal experience. It's simply intuition whether right or wrong, personally justified. So when Chris shares her personal family stories with me, I believe them in my head, but I have not accepted them in my heart. This is obviously extremely hurtful to anybody who is sharing a personal story only to be disbelieved. But in my heart, it's simply principle and again, culture and personal experience. I do not come from a family with such a fantastical background. My family were simply immigrants - sure, my grandparents were fleeing the cultural revolution in part, but so have many others - worked largely within the system, and are for the most part, ethnically Chinese. Chris, and here maybe comes some partly American interest in genealogy, or maybe it was just my parents who simply don't find it imperative to share, has English nobility in his ancestry. And not just - she also has indigenous ancestry. I have never met anyone with this kind of background - or else they have never shared - so the matter-of-fact way she talks about it makes it even more incredulous - does she even know how rare and uncommon this is? Or maybe it is not uncommon in the US (for example, some of the slave-owning founding fathers, who likely sexually assaulted their slaves, have large family trees over the generations), or maybe I am unaware of how uncommon it is? Another piece of personal background, perhaps even more contentious was about a mural and painting that her family owned, stolen out of war and with incredible injustice, claimed by someone else as theirs. Perhaps I should not be surprised - injustice like this is apparently well documented in the US, however incredible it may seem today, and still occurs, though maybe more blatantly in the past. But then my history lessons (with Mr. Khoo) kicked in, and it tells me that I should not trust sources that could be biased.

An aside - there is another area in which I am to relax what I try to apply as standard skepticism across the board that I think I have yet to truly grasp intuitively, which is that we should always trust sexual assault victims. At first this was hard (because why should we believe someone without knowing the full story or evidence?) but in actuality the bias is against them, and so on the flipside this made it easier to accept this tenet (because the fact that they are claiming this, when there is bias against them not to do so societally, makes it more likely it is true).

So is it the same case here? I am not sure. Maybe from experience, Chris has never found it difficult to get people to believe her, or maybe it's the opposite and it's because she trusts me - making my skepticism more disgraceful. The fundamental problem is that it conflicts with one of my values - which is to treat everyone equally, even my SO. This means if a stranger or acquaintance were to tell me the same thing - I would not immediately believe them either. Yet I think she expects me to - because I'm her boyfriend? Or because she thinks it's normal for people to trust immediately? What is an average level of skepticism in America? Is it different from Singaporeans?

Here comes the more irrational parts. Part of my distrust comes from behavior I tend to associate with people who should be distrusted - but are they really correlated? For example, Chris likes to talk about her dreams. That's fine - but sometimes I get a sense that she believes they have some greater meaning (the latest science gives a pretty clear no) - or is it that she just finds them fascinating? Maybe it is me that just finds them not fascinating because they are so random and ultimately meaningless? To be fair, Chris finds many things meaningful where I do not (and vice versa sometimes), and I feel like I am disappointing or a mood-killer when I do not share the same enthusiasm. In fact it is a skill I think I should learn - which is to find joy and fascination in many many more things - which seems to come naturally to her. My mind on the other hand has been acclimatized to optimize and remove distractions - and things that she finds interesting, I sometimes find distracting from bigger picture things. So comes my own cognitive dissonance - I respect and admire valuing simply things, and am beginning to disdain "big picture" type people - yet I don't do it myself! Fuck me. Another thing I'm uncertain on is Chris's generally disorganization in some areas, and complete organization in others. I think some article said this was a sign of very smart people - hmm. Chris "gives me the impression" of someone who believes everything on the internet - but this is certainly and patently untrue. In fact she has probably whipped my own intellectual laziness quite a bit in terms of fact checking. One area in which I find difficulty is that she likes talking about news that are essentially still rumors - and she knows this, so why talk about it? - is what I find hard to understand. Maybe it's because I have given up myself - I don't like "following" news until they are certain, I think it's clickbait.

So back to the impetus for this section of the post - my reaction to her wanting to help my brother. This subject might be one of the grayer ones too. It's about culture. Essentially Chris sometimes gives me the impression that she doesn't understand, doesn't get, or doesn't care that I'm foreign - and this is not a bad thing, generally speaking! For one, I am familiar enough with American culture and perform my own automatic-translations (literally, in the case of Fahrenheit to Celsius). 

One common stereotyping of Americans that Europeans and Asians share afaik is that Americans often fail to see how "American" they are, or that they presume certain commonalities across cultures that are simply false. This can be very irritating to foreigners, in foreign places, though obviously that's not unreasonable in the US aside from stressing immigrants out sometimes. To be fair, for Americans it might be both easy and difficult to understand or perceive these differences. Then comes a problem that is probably universal - people mistake what are individual characteristics as cultural phenomenon. Surely I am guilty of this. For one, I've come to the realization, too late at times, that when I talk to my elder brother, the discussion we have or jokes we make kind of exists in its own culture and understanding that does not translate, at least for my brother, to his other interactions. I guess I just assumed I was always talking to the same and true person - I was, but that wasn't the whole picture. Unlike me (or perhaps just like me), he keeps his mannerisms separate. Why is this relevant? Because we often make fun of Americans or other non-Singaporean places for various reasons. And so when Chris offered to talk to him directly, I was afraid some of her mannerisms would not be taken or understood well by my brother, who has not had the same experience as me in the US. But on introspection I realize this is not true, and that he may very well be keeping the jokes between us or perhaps he healthily chooses to keep an open mind anyway even if he has some underlying prejudices.

How to be a son

My father passed away today. I thought about how perhaps for anybody who is grieving the loss of something, there comes a point in time when they implicitly and deeply understand that life goes on. For me I've known this day was coming for quite some time. My mom is upset because she could not properly fulfill his last wish which was to die at home. I think that she is upset because of the many things that could have gone differently that would have allowed her to fulfill it. She is looking for someone to blame, herself, the housekeeper with Covid-19 that came to work with symptoms, the hospital staff that couldn't release him earlier, etc. but I hope she realizes that it is nobody's fault. One cannot help but feel guilty though, because last wishes hold some sort of finality to it. But she should know that we did our very best, and it shouldn't discount everything and every joy that we have brought him in life. In his last days I think he was most unhappy, slipping in and out of lucid consciousness, unable to fend for himself nor eat and drink the things he likes. It was pitiful and sad and hard to watch old age play out like that. That sort of decline was portrayed poetically in The Irishman, and in some ways I'm thankful that I saw it, and learned, though an aphorism, the line 'it is what it is'. It's very Buddhist if you think about it.

I changed my phone screen to one of those lovey-dovey couple pics, and am enjoying seeing Christelle. I can't wait to see her in person again. As you grow older I think it's true that you simply acquire more things that you don't want to lose or find it hard to let go of.

I'm thinking about my mom and younger brother especially now, and hope they are coping well. I hope that for the rest of her days my mom will find contentment, despite not being able to fulfill her wishes to retire in peace with my father, traveling the world on a long cruise ride, like any middle-class person of her generation dreams of. I want her to finally be happy and I know that most of all she needs safety and security to feel that.

Panic

I panicked during an interview and have so many regrets now... I feel worse when I feel like I didn't do my best and that was probably my worst. I also feel like I'm the only person supporting me.

Move along

[As in a day ago] Just had a mini-scare with my computer as I was going to type out this post - windows explorer (i.e. basic windows 32-bit stuff) crashed and upon restarting the computer couldn’t find the boot drive. I thought it could either be overheating, hardware-dislodge, a virus, or me just straight up killing the program. It turns out it was the latter, and there was a fail-safe feature where win32 restarts itself after a while (as does many important computer functions, thankfully) Still, did not stop me from letting Sunday know immediately and make an appointment with Kathryn to go to Mumujyi. I should try and find a laptop case.

A Rwandan was singing Let It Be (Beatles) on TV to an audience of what looked like students in some kind of (religious) forum? And so I’m listening to it now too. I told my host-dad my real dad really liked this song, and I remembered it was made after MLK was shot? But then I could totally be wrong and I had no internet to lawyer myself. Regardless, it’s a beautiful song. I just thought it sentimental hearing it on a Friday evening in a place I did not expect.

I just went through my system’s event log because Sunday texted me to say if I couldn’t fix it I should let him know so I was curious to see if the system could tell me when it revived it’s on boot drive. Couldn’t exactly find it, but whatever, it’s running, and I’ve backed my boot onto my hard-disk.

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Just went through my system event log again to see what happened to my trackpad not working. Discovered that the computer shut down around 4pm while I was gone and the kids were using it. I asked them about it and they were being furtive while mumbling about the computer crashing so I suspect they just let it overheat/did not check to see if the power was working - both resulting in a crash and damaging my computer more. I am actually so annoyed but this was a risk I took with the computer and plainly they had no idea what they were doing so what am I to do really.

In fact I was trying to write about my 4-hour bizarre adventure on no-coffee day. It starts off with my host father asking me out of the blue if I was free to accompany him to visit an uncle. I was technically free (but not for 4 hours I should think) and tried to ask him if we would be back in time to take a photo before the sun set and he gave me an affirmative reply after I asked him several times. Typically, he didn’t actually understand what I was saying and I was to return well after sunset. Again, kind of knew it would happen but also didn’t want to be a dick with my fast-paced lifestyle. We set-off and first thing he tells me to do is to take an SIT-forbidden mode of transport (moto), classic start to adventures of course. We then end up in a church session, sit down in the crowd for about 5 minutes, only for him to take a call and take me out of the church? What was the point you ask? No idea, something about the uncle wanting to meet there so let’s just casually sit in on church. We then get into his (admittedly expensive-looking, but I didn’t pay attention at the time) car and wade out of a packed to the brim carpark (as in, church-goers straight up parking in the lane) only to literally just cross the street to park at a pub and wait for my host dad’s uncle’s technician who apparently was going to fix his lights. Why didn’t we just let his car sit in the church carpark? Not really sure, but I guess it made going out later faster. We wait about 40 minutes just drinking beers (while his uncle was noticeably drinking wine). His light-fixing ‘technician’ arrives, and then we drive off to Bugesera, which was a familiar name to me and, in typical no-coffee day ashion, I realized it was outside Kigali, so a long drive we go! I of course, was still under the impression that we were just going to the uncle’s house and giving the guy a lift to fix his lights.'

I fall asleep from the beer and smooth ride out of time while trying to stay awake, so kind of hazily if you know what I mean. We near the place and drive through typical houses one finds in the country-side and then enter the gates into a really nice looking house (i.e. much more expensive than its surroundings). I step inside to realize by ‘light fixing’ my dad actually meant ‘setting-up the light fixtures’ because this house was brand new and under furbishing and looked like one of those ‘model showroom apartments’ with contractors about fixing up the lights and finishing touches. In fact, as we stepped out, it dawned on me that the gated plot of land had 3 (and a half, for the workers) houses and a sizeable garden/porch. My host father, seeing my expression goes ‘he is a rich man’. No kidding. ‘He is the owner of the petrol station.’ Wait, just the one? ‘The one outside our house…not Engen, SP’. Holy crap, this guy literally owns the Rwandan gas station company and this is probably his very expensive retirement home.

So as it turns out, my host family has low-key (very) rich relatives (well, I guess I only saw one). It was then, sitting on the steps to the house and watching the sun slowly set over my plans to take a photo of my host family, that I felt a very strange sense of ‘epilogue’, the same kind you see in books, movies, video games, any story really. It was, after all, the last Sunday I would be staying with my host family, and I was, admittedly, killing the 2 and a half hour on those steps contemplating melodramatically and thinking about this post. I saw traces of that alpine glow on the hills and farmlands just outside Kigali as the breeze gently blew and the soft chatter of arguing over lights went on in the background. It was cinematic, it was sombre, it was a really epilogue feeling. What you have to go through before it ends, so that your longing turns to gladness that it happened. I thought of the many times I had the same feeling, somewhat in this order: when Neo and Trinity fly over the clouds in The Matrix, when Samurai Jack returns to the past, loses Ashi, but finds the ladybug and hope, sitting with Chris in the large playground in downtown Chicago, the epilogue of Witcher 1, Odysseus nearing the end of his journey (well, odyssey) staying on that perfect life island for many years. All this time too, I was thinking about how I used to imagine myself being some random olive farmer on the hills of Greece, cut off from the world but serene and happy. But I couldn’t do it then and I couldn’t do it now, I’m too restless, and there are things to be done still. It’s exactly what it is with epilogues too - the credits roll, but the characters always move on, they always do something after glimpsing the sun (as in the Matrix), the things that need to be done to keep building a ‘better future’. Some kind of obligation keeps them tethered, but that image of ‘heaven’, of some ‘lovely retirement home in the countryside’ - as this rich guy’s house was - keeps them working till that goal, maybe for their children or people. In fact this bizarre adventure even felt a little religious, as if falling asleep hazily on that car ride was like entering into a dream, and this was a glimpse of a peaceful old life that I would never obtain, at least not now. It was a glimpse of what ‘heaven’(?) looks like but I feel too obligated on earth (i.e. thinking about all the work I should be doing instead of watching the sunset for 2 and a half hours in the country side). The fact that the house wasn’t finished too, in fact added to that perfect epilogue feeling, where people are still building their dream, but there is peace after a conflict - Rwanda’s story itself.

I don’t know if the rest of the journey needs to be said, nor whether this absurdly long narrative/melodrama was necessary. But it was said, and it seems my study abroad, despite being a month from finishing, is reaching its epilogue chapter after a jam-packed, heavy course on Genocide history. Pretty tired trying to speak French and dispelling myths about Asia/Singapore too.

A post from Uganda

(Actually two weeks ago) Today (yesterday, since I don’t have wi-fi at home) I cooked laksa fried rice and chicken rice for my host family and showed them pictures of Singapore. They liked it, which was great because I low-key messed up the texture of the rice using unfamiliar equipment, and with my host mother letting all the steam out for the laksa fried rice (which I should have used more water anyway) They retired soon after…which led me to another episode of aching nostalgia. It’s as if I have a secret life in me that I have not returned to, a place I’m supposed and do call home. It’s as if I will go back, and see all my friends and family again as if nothing’s changed even though that isn’t true. It’s as if I’ve been wandering for so long I miss the cheesy Changi Airport signs that welcome all traveling, admittedly also upper-middle class, Singaporeans, receive. Or maybe it was just the memories that each photo held, some kind of mysterious but familiar memory of just me and Daphne which tears at me, especially those city-lights on the riverfront. Maybe it’s being tired for the first time of the bigger world out there, with all its glories and failures at the same time. I know that Singapore is not ‘clean’ despite what the stereotypes and the government promise. But it’s still home. This has always kept me tethered, however arbitrary it is. That picture of Ying Yue at the Singapore Art Museum makes me want to read her blog and reconnect, even though I’ve tried it before but I guess my comment was lost. I know too, that I can get that same feeling of personal nostalgia, and I have, walking anywhere alone with my camera. But maybe it’s because those old photos of Singapore were my best of my oldest, they have that defining feature of ‘being there for me’; and I know that nobody else would have taken some of those very specific shots. Maybe because at my core is this melodramatic, pretentious melancholy that I know, when it came down to it, would let me walk out of a party/club if I wasn’t feeling it, by myself (or with Chris), down an empty, incandescent-lit street. I am bummed, although not surprised that the only person who connected with me over ‘the moon and the sun’ by ANECHOIS was Karen. I hope she’s doing well. I think I’m going to try and give Steele a copy of the EP/album since Yggdrasil is literally his door image. Maybe it’s just because it’s no coffee day.

^Wrote that a while ago but never remembered to post it while I had wifi, so I'm at a café now in Northern Uganda to post it. I've had a lot to say since, but as I'm tight on the wi-fi, I decided to just go with it.

Started this draft like 2 weeks ago

Sieving through pictures of Singapore to show my host family was perhaps the most powerful feeling I got to date since leaving my home … a deep and mysterious melancholy so indescribable (not in magnitude, just the fact that I can’t describe it) they must have invented the word ‘nostalgia’ and missing home just for it. To me, even though my family isn’t tight-knit and close, it is still special and maybe it’s the Chinese culture still in me, but I owe a great debt and will always try and be there for my parents when they are old. I say that, not knowing what kind of scenario that may be tested; after all, I am abroad while my dad is at home recovering from cancer.

Thinking about ‘why now’, and maybe it’s knowing that my friends and family back home are living their lives out and sharing and creating memories without me, and that the longer I’m away, the more I fade into their memories…except there’s Whatsapp and all is fine and dandy to a degree/till I get a degree haha geddit? I also miss Chris a lot (duh), I think mostly when I read her blog or feel cuddly. Rwandans are a warm bunch though and hugs are often and soon. My host mother is very sweet and has a hearty laugh whenever I imitate my host sister.

We did a 'processing session' last Friday; it's like a 'do whatever you want summer camp style' time allocated at the end of each week for students to lead some activity, be it etching out tensions (like last week) or building human pyramids. Last week we did a 'toilet paper pass' where we just picked a person in the group to say nice things about in a circle and passed them the roll to pass on to another person. Jack K passed me the roll and talked about how his support group back home was his fraternity, which happens to be Lambda Chi, how coincidental and wholesome is that? I'm so glad he's got great character and setting a good example for a historically problematic institution.

Back

I've decided to write because it's that kind of atmosphere right now.

I just remembered moments in the army, and even further back to primary school, and the juxtaposition of it really 'shuddered' me. Sitting here, in the fraternity house, doing readings for Peoples of Africa, and remembering that far away heat, in the 10C4I office, walking home alone or just to get bhar chor mee. Fuck man, it's wild. I can remember it all so clearly, but maybe it's Heidegger and Freud messing with me now, but it's so unheimliche... maybe it's the music, and the fact that no one here will be able to remember that but me, or that Captain Andy and friends, at some point in my life was so meaningful, and now it would just be awkward seeing them, or I guess not. But knowing how different my life has divulged from clashing with everyone in this universe is just the strangest feeling or alienation and humanity. This weirdness extends to the fact that Dominic would probably get what I'm saying yet Kester wouldn't. And yet Kester would understand my recollection where Dominic wouldn't.

Maybe what I'm feeling is just, a 'spiritual' kind of loneliness.

Singapore

I have not thought this much of home in a while.
Or at least not in this pseudo-dramatic fashion.

The Apprentice was a really good film. (Not to be confused with the shitshow literally by Donald Trump) Throughout the film I was thinking about Junfeng's choices, and I was thinking about home. I recognized it all. And in the end the most feel-good films are about recognition, of tropes, of symbols, of people.

I recognized my and all my friends' and families' HDB flats. I recognized the buses and MRTs, the people, the language, the food, the sights and sounds. I don't know where to begin.

To begin on feelings of being foreign here, to begin on how Singaporean am I really, to begin on my perceptions of other Singaporeans here, Singaporean-ness in general, the whole shebang reminding me of when I questioned my otherness to other AEP students probably only to realize the irony of it.

I can't blog without digressing. And honestly I should be working, as always.
The intimacy and closeness I felt with the genuinely Singaporean character of this film, past race, language, or religion truly, was not lost on me. Some combination of pride, nostalgia, duty, entrapment even. I have always been genuinely optimistic about the weakness of cultural barriers at a certain socioeconomic level (and I am fully aware of my privilege here) but unwilling to give up this individuality that I know is the last step of true assimilation here. Because I love my country, I love it's music, food, people and vibes. I love my neighbourhood and my family and friends. I love all these things despite.

Quintessentially my personal, superficial human problem I've always had is loneliness in a romantic sense. But I recognize that my ambitions and principles don't align very nicely at all. In a sense, if I were to think about a serious relationship I would be asking my partner to firstly stay in Singapore (which is fine if they're Singaporean) but also if I were to join the foreign service... a huge burden and sacrifice that I'm unwilling to place on my partner for pure feelings of egalitarianism. I cannot ask my spouse to do the stereotypical 'sacrifice for husband's career' nonsense because I genuinely want to be part of the progress of gender equality, but also because my character is not to ask for someone's favour.

That was a difficult point to make not least because I'm basically revealing a serious intention that can come off as too strong should a future partner read it. But I guess that's what I signed up for following a principle of honest and open blogging. Obviously things change and people will be mature about it.

This leaves only kind of short-term, for-fun relationships. And I'm not the most sure where I stand on that. Probably ok with it. Credits to Maria and Agneska for helping me to re-evaluate all of these things.

And then there's my otherness. There are certain habits that I do not shake, and attitudes I have not shed. Thankfully this fraternity, genuinely open as it is, gave me space to be myself for the most part. But I do think about it. I've come to realize that somehow, I'm not just different than locals, but different from Singaporeans in a significant way. It's a little lonely sometimes that in my effort to essentially not fit, and be middle of so many things, I'm probably just kind of an aside for most people. But I risked it, I chose to constantly push my comfort zone.

This has all been a long time coming, and I still can write more. Let's go on for a bit.

I miss ISRC and old groups of friends. But I also love being in this fraternity for its essential qualities. I wish it didn't have to be this way at all yet know why it is. I know that many things live in some fantasy optimistic land and this is how I learn - in compromise. My ex-roommate has always brilliantly put things that my current roommate has not yet talked to me about.

I feel it deeply, I'm more like non-frat people than frat people yet because I chose, my agency makes me a frat person. Does that make sense? I've always thought choice in the end, was what mattered most: not your inclinations, upbringing, some pseudo-psycho-determinism. But I know that if I did live at Jess/Agneska's place I would be more comfortable, but the insatiable hunger would remain.

Maybe it all boils down to this: I'm here on a clock and so I never feared to try because it would essentially reset. I'm here as an observer and participant, and in the end my blog is my true space and true self. I regret only somewhat that I did not choose the path more traveled, and I think in my dying days I will have more inner vitality than if I concentrated solely on academics and things I knew.

Thank you Ben for the instant laksa (which I'm eating now because I guess you could say it's a good first occasion), and thank you for your time if you're just a random reader.

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...

Nikolai and Andrei

I included Nikolai (Andrei's dad) because I wanted to talk about mine, before it's a little too late.

So my dad's lung cancer has relapsed, and we're at the 'prolonging his life' stage. How do I feel about this? How am I expected to feel about this? The same thoughts always plague me when I contemplate impending death in the family. My parent's were never shy about it; c'est la vie, was their philosophy. I remember my dad joking during funeral rites even heheh...

~

"Obviously trying to entertain a guest with whom he now found nothing in common." Page 438 War and Peace. Sometimes too real Tolstoy. Too real bruh.

~

I intended to write about me identifying a lot with Andrei as a person, but I think I actually need to devote time to reading it now rather than blogging...

~

#82 My Dad
Is a simple man in the simplest sense.
Some might call him lazy, lacking will, maybe my mom would.
But I am the son of both my parents, and I understand him more than perhaps even my mom could.
Simple does not mean stupid. It means content, few wants perhaps.
It's somewhat hedonistic, yet isn't hubris-tic.
He works as a civil servant, a humble profession that he does with diligence (I think).
And he is someone who will surprise you with his intelligence because he does not seek to flaunt.
Humility tempers his measured words of deep thought and he has a treasure of experience one might not expect from a Singaporean-Chinese man born before independence. He is as much a man of his time as LKY is, the Singaporeans who punch above their weight.
The truth is, I have never probed his mind deep enough to know these things, but I feel it as a son does. I feel it when I ask him about Prince or Credence Clearwater Revival, and he can tell me all about his favourite songs and artists back in the day. I feel it when he matches me in chess and scrabble, at first always winning, and eventually always losing in tiredness and falling asleep after games. I feel it in his excitement over the great local cuisine at $4, and his annoyance at wearing expensive suits and attending black ties... I feel it. I love you dad. And I wish we had more time together.

Surreal

I am many people at once,
So how can I be any one?

I get these fleeting moments when I just really wished I was on a computer right now to type. And then when I finally get down to it, the moment's sort of lost; the passion becoming some kind of mushy rambling. But I think I have to maintain the tradition. Writing has always been about discipline. One day these two timings might connect again.

We had a fraternity event the other day. I obviously can't speak of it, but suffice to say I proclaimed my current flaw to be 'mood swing'. But I hesitate. How is this a flaw really? How is it a flaw that I can feel and understand a spectrum of emotions? But that too, is probably a lie. I went for an open mic yesterday with Jess, and watched a typical French movie today, and all I could really feel, was anger. Maybe I've been cultivated to just feel anger when I'm meant to feel anything at all. I embraced it early because anger is energy, it is the most active, and I don't want to be a passive agent. Or maybe it's that hyper-masculinity the talk at my fraternity was about - how 'being a man' means stoicism. And I admit I'm hypocritical because I love stoicism and I find getting emotional over many things... weakness. Of course, people tell me otherwise, and in a bid to be civil I guess you could say 'while I haven't changed my mind completely, I do accept the empirical reality that nice people give everybody a chance - so first world problems and the sort are real problems.

Back to mood swings. I know it is a flaw because I look and meet the best people everyday, who summon the energy and courage to be happy every time I see them, and basically not be a sour and cranky person. Which I guess leads me to Dance Marathon.

30 hours of straight dancing, maybe it's the masochist, always wanting to prove myself despite my size that compels me to be at my best in the worst of situations. It is why I seldom complained in the army, it is why I act out when nobody else is doing so, but shy away from leadership or 'being the life of the party' when others have already fulfilled that role. Of course, it's partially so I can say that I am a 'reluctant leader', or at least I think that's how you should be - because if you want the position for the position you shouldn't be in that position.

Dance Marathon was that environment where I could 'thrive'. Where I could be the extrovert, a throwback to wayyyy back in the day when I was the class clown before the days of social media, snap chat, and the sort which I don't use because I believe it sucks my time and I don't want to give in to the culture of gratification - which I do anyway on facebook, so perhaps it was another pointless exercise in trying to be different. Wayyy back when being skinny was fine. I actually just read an article on the worrying sexualization of America; at least 1 person agrees with me then. Choice feminism has always been a difficult topic for me to broach, because while I agree, I still cannot comprehend the superficial nature of showing off your body. Perhaps because I'm at a disadvantage I complain, or because I'm lazy and don't wanna spend money on protein and gym membership.

Ok I digressed about 2 paragraphs there. I initially wanted to post about my dance marathon experience, which was surreal. I was happy. But why? I guess one honest reason is I like to show off that I can persevere with a smile. But there are strong reasons too. One was silly defiance - I stuck to what I believed in when I danced with ISRC instead of Lambda Chi, I believed that when you promised to be part of one team, you don't leave the second you get a bigger invite... or paycheck. Loyalty is a Lambda Chi value after all. Another reason - you ever see those movies where a person is just tired of his usual routines and life, and I guess he just meets new people, a bunch of strangers, maybe in his building that he's never talked to and he realized they are an awesome bunch? Or maybe it's just in my head that I like meeting new people that I don't necessarily interact with often or never will again. I just love the idea that strangers are just friends you haven't met yet.

And it was surreal. It reminds me of a play where the premise is audience members interacting one on one with the cast, trained in asking and probing difficult or personal questions to basically establish intimacy from the get-go. Audience members come out of it saying it was intense but rewarding, enriching. And so there was this feeling like now I've found new friends I wouldn't have had I chosen the usual route, that kind of feeling you get when you decide to go off-track and discover an amazing view, or at least something different. It is powerful to me. And it's a little ironic I'm throwing away that 'magic' by inviting them to lunch so I can get to know them and it wouldn't just be a one-off thing. Which is absolutely the logical thing to do, but not the mysterious and romantic version of it.

Aight. Other things to get off my chest. Derek asked me during a frat party if I wanted to 'get lucky' or 'make-out' with my date during movie night. I was not amused. I obviously caved in and was pressured by it to make unnecessary and uncomfortable moves on Janet, not because I wanted to (though it would be untrue to say I don't find her an awesome person to be with) but because I felt pressured, like it was the norm to try? And it's confusing, some girls are admittedly too shy to take the initiative (and also because of the kind of society we live in) or choose to do so in ways which I am obviously oblivious to. So it's almost like I have to try first, get rejected constantly, and then start posting on my blog about 'unfairness of society' or something. Hopeless romantic  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ which I hope doesn't make me come off as weird because I'm not obsessive, I just don't like to shut people out of starting a relationship because of anything superficial. But I guess it's almost practical to discern that way, which is sad. Je ne croie pas aux grand amour, je croie que aprés longtemps, on peut aimer n'importe qui. In any case, I'm truly sorry to Janet if I made her uncomfortable in any way, it was really just for some drunk fun. And in no way do I think like Derek.

I've never been hugged by my family. No one. Maybe it stems from the testosterone filled environment (including my very domineering mother) of pride and stoicism once again. I have to say I do feel jealous when I see other families that are maybe more physically loving.

Hold up, another annoying thing Derek said to me that night. "You're not drunk enough yet. Drink some more!" Punching him in the face would not have been out of the question. So what, I'm not charismatic when I'm not drunk af? I'm not allowed to drink at my own pace? Harmless fun you say? I'm sorry but you are part of the social problem called peer pressure. Fuck you. I don't wanna say that messed my night up a little, but it might have.

Believe it or not, I used to post coherent arguments and rants about society and politics. But I guess what I lacked from my childhood was never maturity and sensibility, it was social and emotional experience.

Who Am Me?

Church or club

I don't believe in God, but I believe in certain lifestyles.
The party lifestyle is not one of those exactly.
Not college parties, which are with friends and are cheap af really.
But the kind of party like zouk out, where the truth is all I can imagine are people, not bad people mind you, but people spending money to drink and dress and sweat(?), and yeah I guess I can''t escape the prejudice I have of them - entitled and rich. It was this dissonance I was trying to unlock all along, because parties in USA are different than in SG. In the east, the new rich chase after westernized culture like sheep; and this isn't true, or isn't representative - this is what the 'right' way of thinking goes.

And I hate dissonance.
I hate wrong representations.
I hate dishonesty, insincerity, hiding, acting... I don't know.
I hate that a bunch of rich guys can be served by poor(?)/less wealthy locals in a resort - and I hate it that I'm completely unsure what they are thinking. I don't know if they are putting on a show for us, if they hate their job, if they are envious, the small talk(?) The relationship is just different, between a snowboard instructor for example, we can be on 'equal' terms - yes I'm probably more well-off, but he still gets to snowboard and I'm humbly accepting his instruction as a pupil. Then there's the waiter/waitress - and maybe this is just Singapore - we hear their plight; the cliched movies of a hard day's work at the diner. Is it just Hollywood? Are they truly happy? What do they think when a rich businessman pulls out a wad of cash on a drink? Are they disgusted or do they think they would do the same with that much money?

And this was what I was uncomfortable with all along... er maybe.
I cannot stand getting what I get - I did not deserve this. Why am I the person ordering $40 steak and why is the waiter 'in service' to me. Or am I just looking at it the wrong way - I mean, they too get their days off, and they have times when they are being served steak; and it's not like we are bad customers, we aren't at all snobbish or impatient - that I hate the most when my mom does that sometimes. The 'you are serving me' attitude that Asians have.

Point of disgust number 2 - those resort adverts, showing a bunch or rich people drinking champagne on a yacht, relaxing on the beach. I guess it's just a symptom of capitalism. The money goes into a valuable number of jobs in the service industry after all.

Number 3? Younger brother - I really want to know what he thinks, what he's thinking, how he's growing. Something awkward because my elder brother has never really asked the same of me(?) we were too different people maybe. I get this feeling I got more of my dad's character than my elder brother because my dad is reserved, likes rock music, and is pretty down-to-earth in a way.

Or maybe I'm just really really tired, and I just need a simple, real conversation - and my family will never be able to provide for that. Sometimes I wonder if I should just go to CAPS; not because I'm depressed - pretty dam sure when the caffeine gets rolling the hypetrain goes full steam - but because it probably would help.

Or just open a wing in the CAPS office called the friends division - for anyone who just wants a walk-in deep conversation. I feel like this torrent of words ain't going to end for some time.

Headache

I just lost all my energy.
I guess I just don’t ever feel good doing fine dining. It’s a little childish for sure. But I really, really frown upon the whole culture of ‘elite’. And I guess I do believe my elder brother is in part the kind of arrogant, entitled swine that is apparently ‘sad that people don’t know how to dress up’. But then I’m reminded of the uncomfortable feeling I got not wearing a full formal suit for Lambda Chi’s formal. A little hypocrisy there. Then again, there’s a difference between eating just with your family (so really, who the fuck cares if you’re wearing a T-Shirt if there are no restaurant nor social rules to wear a shirt?) If it were up to me… ok goddam it I can’t concentrate with TV on, people in the room, and my thoughts running away as usual.

God I hate it when I have racing thoughts and no way to record it. Pretty much what happened in the steakhouse, a combination of disgust with throwing money away for at best slightly better food, and the caffeine running low, and the alcohol, and just the un-enthusiasm. Sometimes I wonder, incredulously, if I’m adopted, just because I’m so different. I hate privilege, and that’s why I hate me. I just feel undeserving at the moment. I just always see that homeless man, that poor family when my family spends this much money on what I think are frivolous things.

#88 Time to Think

I've been blogging much less since I started working and my laptop (macbook) dieded.

The reason for this is that I don't really fight it as comfortable or conducive writing in the open (i.e my family walking around, lots of distractions, not in my room) and I have stopped staying up to truly ungodly hours (nor does it matter since my two brothers stay up as late).

But I've been wanting to write. So much. And so this post is for #88. All the precious pockets of alone time to think and write.

A Chilled House

Yesterday, my family had a big fight.

My family always had fights before, and the temper usually flares with my mother first. Now yes, I know what you're thinking, what a biased thing to say right? How can it always be my mother's fault? I'm not sure about other families, but in mine, the boys (and there are 4 of us, my dad and three sons) are bulwarks of silent neutrality. Often it's my mum shouting at my housekeeper for incompetence, or (last time) my younger brother for lack of discipline and sometimes recently, my elder brother for machine-gun vulgarities. I would like to say that I haven't invoked her wrath before, but that isn't true. I'm guilty of saying some pretty hurtful things, usually in response to her wrath, which probably only incites it further. I'm no Jesus, my rebukes ain't going to cure no one's soul. It's usually me venting my frustration at her constant shouting (which is ironic) when I'm just trying to have some peace or sleep at home. This fight however, puts more pronounced blame on me.

A man came to install a new modem that would allow us to use the new optic-fibre network while I was playing Civ V. (And so was my brother) My mother is as usual pandering to guests like a true businesswoman. After he leaves, the usual call for tech support from none other than me is made.
For reasons not entirely known to me, I felt a deep inclination to let my dad and younger brother handle the wiring as my mother begged me to help them. Maybe I reached my breaking point of annoyance that my mom refuses to learn anything technical on the basis that she can't (this to me, is a huge cop-out/show of laziness) nor her acknowledgement that anyone other than me is able to fix anything with electricity in the house. I was vindicated in this whim when eventually, my father and younger brother hooked up the wires without my help. If you want to know what they did, it was basically, and I am not exaggerating, putting Ethernet cables into the ports in the modem. I REALLY cannot fathom how difficult this task is and in fact, whenever I do it, my father would decide to re-arrange the cables anyway to make it neater. My mother's so called technological helplessness irked me further.

Soon, begging became sarcastic remarks, shouting, nostril flaring and I made the mistake of doing the natural thing when my mom starts getting angry - I do my best to ignore her. It usually works because I am not the person the anger is directed at but in this case, it was. Also, may I refer you to the Big Bang Theory episode where Penny gets addicted to video games? It is a natural escape, including for domestic problems people don't want to deal with. My mom usually then calms down and normal relations resume. So yes, I was the un-filial son who ignored my family's non-existent need for my help. Worse, I decided to let myself go and spout a few vulgarities about PMS-ing. To say I regret doing so would be lying because unfortunately for me, I am endowed with a tendency for justice and to a degree, vengeance. Petty? Let's just say I would not stand by if I see someone get bullied as much as I would not stand by if I was the wrong-ed party. Later I would know through my father that my mother was having an existential angst that her kids were just going to ignore her pleas when they were older and more helpless.

Usually when such a breakdown happens and I am partially to blame, I would summon the courage to say I was sorry, out of pragmatism and humility. However, I knew very well in my heart that for this situation, apologizing would just feed my mother's vindication in her absolute correct-ness in everything. I know this because I have her genes. The problem is that I often disagree with what I believe is her flawed thinking.

So what am I left with?

Drama serials and children's shows would likely point me into the direction of guilt admission and apologies, followed by "I've learnt my lesson and will choose to be a dutiful and grateful son who forever repays his infinite debt to his all-loving parents." Fucking. Rubbish. The Asian stereotype and portrayal of parents is misunderstood, stern but loving tiger moms and dads who 'know best'. I am logically inclined to be grateful for what my parents have given me because my brain tells me so. Is it wrong though, that I don't feel it in my heart? Is it wrong that all I remember about my childhood are parents who have focused on giving me independence while (mom) shouting at my other brothers, or the maid, or me (back in the day)? I have sworn not to abandon my parents out of a sense of duty and honour rather than something I 'feel' I should do. In other words, if I didn't do it, I wouldn't feel sorry. At least for my mother.

Pride is the greatest sin.

I feel like I could go on. Or maybe I couldn't. I feel like the stereotypical hormonally charged teen (who is no longer a teen) who feels misunderstood by his/her parents. And how can I not really? When they don't know my girlfriend's name or that we broke up or that inside I feel pretty fucked up and that's probably why I listen to so much rock. (because pop is like synthesized happy bullshit)
Need to write some poetry again.

By myself

Today I ran 16.4km. It is a lonely affair I can tell you that.
At this sort of distance you would do well to run at a pace slow enough that you can actually think, a little.
Thought about what I want to do in the future and I realize to me my goal is to just earn enough money in some way to travel and start a family and otherwise live life. At this point Brandon Chia may ask "then what is the point of it all", (mostly paraphrased) So what is it? To enjoy life somehow? Jia Lok did tell me before, we can't just keep comparing to those unfortunate people in ill-stricken countries like Syria, because it's exhaustive, and ultimately perhaps, not useful.
Hang on

Running for my life (and stretching too)

Well NS enlistment came earlier than expected, and comes earlier than expected. But challenge accepted.

It'll clash with both my internship and my family holiday if I don't make it.

Failed sit-and-reach the first time, 2.4 the second. Dang. But we must always try.

How f-ed up life is

I'd rather die a penniless and good man than a deceitful, successful one.
Unfortunately my parents don't think so.
Righteousness may be the folly of some, but it is the very fuel that keeps me going strong.
I don't need God to tell me that.
My grand-uncle is a photographer, but he is poor as he works as a cleaner. He is old and single but I don't care. He did what he loved so why the fuck should you care whether he has 500 shares in Facebook or a dozen square miles of property in New York?

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Should I go for tuition?
I just hate the fucking feeling of being patronized. Of attempting to gain an upper hand. I don't like the feeling I've been given an advantage. I hate the that this meritocracy breeds the kind of dirty, back-handed competition that it does. I don't know where all these sentiments come from, but on my list of top hates inequality has to be one of them. And unfortunately, I supposedly have to 'count myself lucky' for being born into a privileged class and society, do you know how fucking shitty that feels? Like as if all my accomplishments were not by my own merit but because I was just fucking born this way? Like I have to live up to expectations from the moment my elder brother topped classes and got scholarships? Inspiring stories out there of people from humble beginnings making their way to the top by hard work and grit... urgh. Has it occurred to anyone that some people are 'born smart' or 'born talented' or 'born rich', but also 'born hardworking', is it really fair to cherish the latter when the first three types did not make the choice to have a tendency to maybe be a little lazier? That maybe they didn't have the same kind of upbringing and hence became complacent or something?
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ELECTRICO
Y U NO SELL AT HMV?

Going back to the corner, where I can't see you.

Personality homeostasis.
Sudden fall in social life -> Detects loneliness -> Attempts more extroversion
Extroversion increases -> Detects more happiness -> Attempts more extroversion...
...
Extroversion increases -> Detects disappointment -> Introversion sharply increases
Introversion sharply increases -> Detects quiet content -> Introversion sharply increases

Dang it all.
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I don't know how other families are like but my parents never say 'I love you', to each other or to us (children), the most I got is one time when my mom said 'I love my children'. So you can tell I was caught off guard when someone says...

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Tell me that you're alright!... Give me a reason... to end this discussion. ~Motion City Soundtrack, Everything is Alright

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I think the honest truth is that I am afraid of the world and gaming and music is escapism.

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Need a solid base. The 'mastermind group' they were talking about during CCAL sympos. Who are they? The group of thinkers I consult, or rant to?

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Need affection from that one person who would see me at that level... love is so selfish. When I won't feel vulnerable to other people.

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