I think I should start by admitting that I've had the beginnings of what people would consider suicidal thoughts. I know that suicide ideation requires planning of method, time, place, etc. so I should not kid myself in thinking I've gone that far, but I have been thinking about it much more than usual.
It's pretty pathetic though, which is why I chose to write it on my blog which I haven't posted in a while. The ironic thing is I think a lot of it is stress from job hunting but this absolutely does only harm in a job hunt by putting your mental health on the internet. I say stress from job hunting when in fact everything is my own fault and I have not really done much about it because of a mental block. I supposedly pride myself on being adaptable but can't seem to manage something that supposedly everyone does. I remember a lot of things in different orders that I wanted to include in this post. One of them was just thinking about a friend whom I visited many times in the hospital when he was checked in for mental health. That friend told me the doctors were not helping, but the sheer helplessness and hatred of the situation he was in (having his movement controlled, meds, etc.) made him absolutely want to never go back and motivated him to try and get better. That's just honestly, very tragic... I don't know, perhaps we are being selfish by being depressed, and that logic of the system only seems to confirm this. A shame that most things are a lie these days and for all days. I should read Kurt Vonnegut after Infinite Jest.
The other thing I wanted to include was this poem, and perhaps 2, both of which I was crying to when they were spoken by Professor Natasha Trethewey during Weinberg's convocation. I took this from Emory's website:
Musee des Beaux Arts
W. H. Auden
About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
It takes up a good chunk of the text, so I'm not going to write the other way here. I told a few brothers this, but the true banality of the poem manifested itself in the setting of its delivery - while I listened intently in awe at how ... correct... the poem was, my two neighbouring graduates were looking at their phones, maybe listening, maybe not, maybe texting about how someone was crying next to them, or how depressing the speaker was, and how they didn't need to hear it, because ironically, her tragic life, was not an important failure to them either. But it certainly helped me to feel, and that's how I know I can carry on, or how I know I must learn to praise the mutilated world.
Soon I will have to leave my blog as is and write other things.
The poem goes even further; it reminds me of times when I felt that the suffering of others was not my own, and I had somewhere to get to and I sailed calmly on. Right now it frightens me how little I can do for others, how little attention the homeless man sleeping on a pile of soft garbage must get, and yet he carries on because he must. And yet I am upset over my own privileged life because I am upset that he does not get that same opportunity, and I believe the system will only benefit me if I play it. But this is not true, according to everyone around me, and yet this is not what my classes have taught me, but surely this is what all the fancy-clothed people around me must believe, as they stroll past Icarus in the dumpster. How curious that it follows the opposite pattern as another story I've been thinking of lately, the Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, which if you have not read... well you should and if you've forgetten its premise, you could catch up with this well-written article.
My mind strays then to the Little Match Girl, another story about poverty... But what is this abstract poverty I'm thinking of? Am I not just romanticizing the poor and exploited? That is when I think of Brave New World, about a happy socially-stratified country which somehow still makes absolutely no sense. Because maybe the book was about how happiness is meaningless without freedom, yet today the latter is easily traded, and you would be childish to go against the meta. OK, I think I've cried enough for now.
Showing posts with label narrative. Show all posts
Showing posts with label narrative. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 June 2019
Tuesday, 31 October 2017
Rights and Charity
What is
white saviour-ism? This was the discussion I had with two friends on the
program at the bus stop and bus on the way home. None of us had a proper
answer, although I thought about it a little more on the way home, which is why
I wanted to type out my thoughts on the subject. Although I still have no
formal conclusions on it (or any other social concept really), I thought things
I had not thought of before. One is the disconnect between calling things like
education and clean water ‘rights’ when the donor funding for it is called
‘charity’. This I feel, is one of the sources of white saviour-ism (of which I
am also guilty of). For me, there is no ‘charity’ when it involves money
flowing from white, western countries, to formerly colonized states. It’s
returning money and resources and culture and dignity, all of which were
siphoned away by force. A force that was in a sense, arbitrarily given and
bestowed by great thinkers in the right places with flooded coal mines. In
other words, in our contemporary sense, ‘illegitimate’. Of course, you can
disagree on that front, and I think yes, society in general does somehow give
all these concepts of ‘social justice’ weight and relevance. Without a
collective agreement on what is right and wrong, who is to say what is right or
wrong?
Back to it,
if I were to join an NGO working to ‘rebuild’ or ‘uplift’ communities ravaged
by poverty, disease, mismanagement and going further back, colonialism, I must
believe myself to be the shameful one. The shameful one because I grew up easy
and because we have to reverse/restore the power dynamic between the foreigner
and local in such places. We must be convicted to our contemporary sense of
social justice of restoring a wrong, and not ‘I do this because it is the right
thing to do’ - somehow conveniently forgetting or ignoring ‘how we got here in
the first place.’ Obviously, so many factors play into the ‘global’ problems of
today, including by ‘locals themselves’. But many, or a significant amount that
has not been corrected, can be traced to colonialism. What are we hoping for in
the end? A restoration of positive liberty - the ability for an individual to,
through his or her own agency, change his socio-economic position in life. It
doesn’t matter if there are laws protecting free speech if psychologically or
financially, communities are undermined in using those rights.
It’s not
charity, it’s returning what we (or our ancestors/nations/peoples) stole - what
our birth-right lottery dispositions give us are all built in some way on that
exploitation and have nothing to do with the people today, except by its
effects. Although we cannot (and should not) correct inequality in general, I
feel that we must restore the basic rights that people would have if not for war, genocide and unchecked, mercantilist
exploitation. These are all fancy and lofty words and ideals of course, but I
think we must hold them in mind when doing so-called ‘charity’, so that we
never misplace our sense of righteousness. It’s not just about ‘being born lucky,
with all these opportunities given to me’, it’s about recognizing that those
opportunities came at a cost - to others, probably. And if we are not ready to
deal with that as individuals - because after all, even people born with
privilege didn’t technically choose to be born with it - then so be it, but we
should acknowledge that they (the opportunities we were granted) are there for
arbitrary historical reasons, and that not correcting them even though we know
this, is kind of selfish. Perhaps even, ‘donors’ should be called ‘people who
are returning resources that would not have been theirs if not for racism mixed
with cannon fire and chattel slavery’. [I wrote this a while back and can’t
remember if I had more to say or was just rambling, either way wanted to get
this on before I forget]
Monday, 23 October 2017
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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
Saturday, 29 July 2017
Epilogue
In waiting listlessly for my phone to charge before I try to go to sleep for a nice day tomorrow, I went back to read posts from when my blog was slowing down to its current pace. If I didn't know any better just from reading some of them during the beginning of army, I should think I was actually going through some high-functioning depression, Man, really throws a wrench into when people ask me how army was, and usually I just start reminiscing about the end days and not basic training, when it was really quite... lonely.
^
Holy crap, I wrote that in a now deleted draft titled 'Montréal'. I wanted to switch my title to what my post is going to be about more... which meant I could actually just have changed the title oops. Ah well I think there is a different feeling (completely irrational of course) of changing to a 'new post', which in the interests of time I won't finish tonight, but maybe on the bus tomorrow...
Don't want to forget about this so I'll insert some placeholder text but keep it... so I guess it's not...
There is a very specific feeling when you end a novel. When you read... the epilogue. I'm on said bus right now and just like the showing, I'm going to finish this post. I'm first going to say a few more words on Chester Bennington's death, starting with what I wrote on facebook:
actually placeholder text? Anyway, Samurai Jack has become my number 1 favourite cartoon, over
Linkin Park is really, in a true sense of the word, cathartic. I gave the 3 albums I had + Waiting for the End another go on the flight from Kansas City to DC, and it was, cathartic closure, something you only feel with a band you grew up with.
think I have the space. Metaphorically, it's like your favourite simple/local/mother's dish over the
Similarly, the end of a movie, this time an indie film set in Thailand, directed by a Singaporean. As one writer put it, paraphrased, it was a conventional 'quirky till redemption' road trip sort of deal but for me was nonetheless wholesome and very charming. Melancholic old men always get to me. It reminded me of Logan, and even though it's concept was unoriginal, the details were fresh, kind of like an extended short film.
technically expert, culinary masterpiece. Avatar was almost too perfect, and the ending too grand.
And then what I wanted to write about most at this moment was the finale of Samurai Jack, in all regards, magnificently noble, if short. A really well-crafted and fitting end that the artistic cartoon deserves in a bittersweet wholesome epilogue - the feeling you get when getting to the end of a long novel, the indescribable, often described anyway as 'bittersweet' - after everything, it ends. After all this time? Always. I want to point out how well done this final season and season finale towards a longtime fan of the show, a show I grew up with and whose philosophy I hold close. Spoilers ahead (don't think anyone who reads my blog watches anyway!)
To start, the very clever writing trick - using the opening of the first 4 season, including the late voice actor Mako's voice to in fact be Aku's propaganda was a rare example of appropriate fan-service. The audience, instead of cringing, feels almost outsmarted in a way and enjoys it thoroughly, like a friend telling a witty inside joke to a friend joke. What follows pretty much follows the same formula in my books - tons of shoutouts/fanservice that at its worst felt only slightly shoehorned and fleeting. They were all mini-flashbacks of the grand adventure, except that instead of being the final 30 minutes of a 2 and a half hour movie, it was the last episode of 5 seasons of masterful storytelling. There's no 'I'm doing this for my friends!!!' type deal here, (cept maybe the love interest Ashi); because 50 years has passed, and Genndy took that plot device seriously. The way Jack finally manages to go back in time is exactly how the 5th season plays out - with the fruits of his struggle playing out and returned by the people he has saved - although it is cheesy, it's written in an artful storytelling genre that feels ok - even the abruptness of his escape, without saying a word to his friends in the future feels realistic to me because other shows might play it out with sorrow, sentimentality, and slow-motion. This is how he was meant to go back to where he really belongs, despite his adventures. This is how he receives peace. While a heroic new beginning in the future is possible and acceptable, I find this outcome much more in line with the show's philosophy of classical endurance.
But it's really the ending that's so great - because of how much it captures the cartoon in real-life, watched by an audience that has grown up. As I've said above, it was poetic, it was bittersweet, it was appropriate and emphatically understood it's audience - probably adults now, watching an old show. Many 'revivals' and 'reincarnations' either change too much or don't change, but Samurai Jack has truly hit the sweet spot with me - by not pretending, and by understanding what watching an old cartoon must feel like. To me, the final episode is a grand allegory - the opening starts with... the opening, the center reminds us of all his adventures and allies, the wedding and Ashi's disappearance, the abruptness and sadness and frustration of not finishing, the gray forest - the absence of the show, so vivid and full with no closure with the young audience growing up in a perhaps dreary world where Samurai Jack and other old cartoons have ran out of time - and the epilogue.
The epilogue is where a colorful ladybug, reminding Jack of Ashi, lands on his hands, and Jack is reminded of a great lesson, the running philosophy of the show, that Robert Frost puts as 'life goes on'. In my opinion, whether intentional or not, this scene evokes a calm feeling of nostalgia and joy - the same that the long-time fan, who has grown up with the show, watched Jack, and Genndy by extension, in their glory, and the final season, while being super important, is also a reflection and epilogue in its fullest. The lesson the ladybug helps Jack to realize is that Ashi may be gone, but his experiences and memories have been lived and created; season 5 may have been but a short and sweet adventure down memory lane, but despite its end, despite any favourite novel or TV show or movies end, the story has been told, and we have been lucky to always hold it in our hearts. The final scene in other words, is one of the most masterfully done epilogues that breaks the fourth wall in an emotionally emphatic way, and could only have been done because of the time jump, both in the show and in real life for the final season. It almost looks intentional, goddamit I'm not supposed to be crying. So many parts of this final scene is reminiscent, classic, nostalgic, wordless, subtle but in full-view... indescribable. It reminds me of how many prior samurai jack episodes end, with the melancholic Shakuhachi (Japanese flute) playing that says 'life must go on'. Jack's quest has reached its noble end, and now our lives must go on - yet it does so in a soft breeze and soft pink of cherry blossoms, not in melodrama or delusions of grandeur.
Didn't manage to finish again so I'm finishing it now, a little tipsy.
#79 Good Endings
Instead of explaining, I'll maybe list examples. They need not be 'satisfying' endings if that wasn't the point.
Samurai Jack
Harry Potter
Momento
American Gods
Brave New World
Witcher 3
There are too many to recall comprehensively. The obvious trend being that all of these have been great stories and storytelling, but not all great stories and storytelling have significantly standout good endings in my books.
^
Holy crap, I wrote that in a now deleted draft titled 'Montréal'. I wanted to switch my title to what my post is going to be about more... which meant I could actually just have changed the title oops. Ah well I think there is a different feeling (completely irrational of course) of changing to a 'new post', which in the interests of time I won't finish tonight, but maybe on the bus tomorrow...
Don't want to forget about this so I'll insert some placeholder text but keep it... so I guess it's not...
There is a very specific feeling when you end a novel. When you read... the epilogue. I'm on said bus right now and just like the showing, I'm going to finish this post. I'm first going to say a few more words on Chester Bennington's death, starting with what I wrote on facebook:
actually placeholder text? Anyway, Samurai Jack has become my number 1 favourite cartoon, over
I know this random longass post is abit bourgeois melodramatic, but "Linkin Park and its lead singer were especially popular in South-east Asia..." - BBC; so write abit... Singlish abit.
When I was 10, P4, was when Linkin Park was blaring in my classroom's radio/CD-player, actually supposed to be for Chinese listening compre. I think 'was Numb or Faint. Anyway teacher not happy when me and Darren Chong ++ sing their songs, so kena. That's when I shy abit, start to don't like all this nonsense 'angsty satanic shit'. In P5 got singing competition, end up 2 teams, me and Charlie Zhao and my 2 friends Alfred Ang and Dennis Tohin finals. They sang 'In the End', 'Numb' (we sang Where is the Love by Black Eyed Peas). I still listened to their songs, but I felt repulsed because I thought it was 'bad music' for all the angsty guailan kids, so I listened to other stuff more. That was me being angsty and guailan.
"Despite the cascades of distorted guitars that surround him, there are moments in Linkin Park’s discography where Bennington sings as though he’s one-fifth of a boy band or like he’s whispering over the top of an acoustic guitar at a Midwestern coffee shop...It’s like he’s telling a secret to you and only you, never mind the half-dozen other kids still on the bus." - Consequence of Sound
The article I reference above uses Crawling as the example, for me, it was Waiting for the End. This was 2010, after Metallica was blasting in the media lab played by Yeo Tze Yang, appreciated by Marcus Liu. That's when I changed my mind, stopped being a prick about music (and then stopped being a prick much later) I bought Hybrid Theory Meteora and Minutes to Midnight when HMV had a sale and after a nostalgia sesh convo with Rifdi Bin Rosly .
It's a different feeling, honestly kind of stupidly hipster, to listen to old music that people have 'moved past from' etc, made me feel more special lor. Edgy af, then I decided, nvm other people la, liked the sound, liked the clear lyrics, liked to smile when listening to angsty shit, so let yourself have fun. I listened to them in the army, alongside Paramore and Muse. I never properly listened to their later things, but I might soon. I want to say to folks, don't be embarassed about your angsty, edgy, teenage music, some people might give you shit about it, and maybe they don't like it, that's fine. Everyone has their own taste, own problems. There's nothing wrong with having a phase, nor having 'the phase' your whole life, even if it changes from really feeling it to laughing at yourself, and getting the meaning without feeling in real dire straits anymore.
The article I reference above uses Crawling as the example, for me, it was Waiting for the End. This was 2010, after Metallica was blasting in the media lab played by Yeo Tze Yang, appreciated by Marcus Liu. That's when I changed my mind, stopped being a prick about music (and then stopped being a prick much later) I bought Hybrid Theory Meteora and Minutes to Midnight when HMV had a sale and after a nostalgia sesh convo with Rifdi Bin Rosly .
It's a different feeling, honestly kind of stupidly hipster, to listen to old music that people have 'moved past from' etc, made me feel more special lor. Edgy af, then I decided, nvm other people la, liked the sound, liked the clear lyrics, liked to smile when listening to angsty shit, so let yourself have fun. I listened to them in the army, alongside Paramore and Muse. I never properly listened to their later things, but I might soon. I want to say to folks, don't be embarassed about your angsty, edgy, teenage music, some people might give you shit about it, and maybe they don't like it, that's fine. Everyone has their own taste, own problems. There's nothing wrong with having a phase, nor having 'the phase' your whole life, even if it changes from really feeling it to laughing at yourself, and getting the meaning without feeling in real dire straits anymore.
Fast forward, and I find random pockets of people at NU who listen to or 'used to listen in middle school' (I mean more than Numb and In the End) always with that nervous laughter or sheepish grin. Have even jammed a few tunes with Mike Pitorak. Fair enough, it can even come off as angsty white people music sometimes (mental health is not a joke). But it means something important to some people, and that's good enough for me. The magic might have been lost to some when it turned out Linkin Park was listened by so many and not just you, but that also became the point for me and for many - it seems like you were alone with the music, but in fact many people might empathize. For me, it's a whole lot of nostalgia, with a spoonful of eternity, and good friends along the way. For others, the music was welcome sincerity from a lead vocalist with a range and a backstory. K, finish my rant liao. RIP Chester Bennington.
the last airbender and Korra, although they are close 2nd and 3rd. I'd go into full detail, but I don'tLinkin Park is really, in a true sense of the word, cathartic. I gave the 3 albums I had + Waiting for the End another go on the flight from Kansas City to DC, and it was, cathartic closure, something you only feel with a band you grew up with.
think I have the space. Metaphorically, it's like your favourite simple/local/mother's dish over the
Similarly, the end of a movie, this time an indie film set in Thailand, directed by a Singaporean. As one writer put it, paraphrased, it was a conventional 'quirky till redemption' road trip sort of deal but for me was nonetheless wholesome and very charming. Melancholic old men always get to me. It reminded me of Logan, and even though it's concept was unoriginal, the details were fresh, kind of like an extended short film.
technically expert, culinary masterpiece. Avatar was almost too perfect, and the ending too grand.
And then what I wanted to write about most at this moment was the finale of Samurai Jack, in all regards, magnificently noble, if short. A really well-crafted and fitting end that the artistic cartoon deserves in a bittersweet wholesome epilogue - the feeling you get when getting to the end of a long novel, the indescribable, often described anyway as 'bittersweet' - after everything, it ends. After all this time? Always. I want to point out how well done this final season and season finale towards a longtime fan of the show, a show I grew up with and whose philosophy I hold close. Spoilers ahead (don't think anyone who reads my blog watches anyway!)
To start, the very clever writing trick - using the opening of the first 4 season, including the late voice actor Mako's voice to in fact be Aku's propaganda was a rare example of appropriate fan-service. The audience, instead of cringing, feels almost outsmarted in a way and enjoys it thoroughly, like a friend telling a witty inside joke to a friend joke. What follows pretty much follows the same formula in my books - tons of shoutouts/fanservice that at its worst felt only slightly shoehorned and fleeting. They were all mini-flashbacks of the grand adventure, except that instead of being the final 30 minutes of a 2 and a half hour movie, it was the last episode of 5 seasons of masterful storytelling. There's no 'I'm doing this for my friends!!!' type deal here, (cept maybe the love interest Ashi); because 50 years has passed, and Genndy took that plot device seriously. The way Jack finally manages to go back in time is exactly how the 5th season plays out - with the fruits of his struggle playing out and returned by the people he has saved - although it is cheesy, it's written in an artful storytelling genre that feels ok - even the abruptness of his escape, without saying a word to his friends in the future feels realistic to me because other shows might play it out with sorrow, sentimentality, and slow-motion. This is how he was meant to go back to where he really belongs, despite his adventures. This is how he receives peace. While a heroic new beginning in the future is possible and acceptable, I find this outcome much more in line with the show's philosophy of classical endurance.
But it's really the ending that's so great - because of how much it captures the cartoon in real-life, watched by an audience that has grown up. As I've said above, it was poetic, it was bittersweet, it was appropriate and emphatically understood it's audience - probably adults now, watching an old show. Many 'revivals' and 'reincarnations' either change too much or don't change, but Samurai Jack has truly hit the sweet spot with me - by not pretending, and by understanding what watching an old cartoon must feel like. To me, the final episode is a grand allegory - the opening starts with... the opening, the center reminds us of all his adventures and allies, the wedding and Ashi's disappearance, the abruptness and sadness and frustration of not finishing, the gray forest - the absence of the show, so vivid and full with no closure with the young audience growing up in a perhaps dreary world where Samurai Jack and other old cartoons have ran out of time - and the epilogue.
The epilogue is where a colorful ladybug, reminding Jack of Ashi, lands on his hands, and Jack is reminded of a great lesson, the running philosophy of the show, that Robert Frost puts as 'life goes on'. In my opinion, whether intentional or not, this scene evokes a calm feeling of nostalgia and joy - the same that the long-time fan, who has grown up with the show, watched Jack, and Genndy by extension, in their glory, and the final season, while being super important, is also a reflection and epilogue in its fullest. The lesson the ladybug helps Jack to realize is that Ashi may be gone, but his experiences and memories have been lived and created; season 5 may have been but a short and sweet adventure down memory lane, but despite its end, despite any favourite novel or TV show or movies end, the story has been told, and we have been lucky to always hold it in our hearts. The final scene in other words, is one of the most masterfully done epilogues that breaks the fourth wall in an emotionally emphatic way, and could only have been done because of the time jump, both in the show and in real life for the final season. It almost looks intentional, goddamit I'm not supposed to be crying. So many parts of this final scene is reminiscent, classic, nostalgic, wordless, subtle but in full-view... indescribable. It reminds me of how many prior samurai jack episodes end, with the melancholic Shakuhachi (Japanese flute) playing that says 'life must go on'. Jack's quest has reached its noble end, and now our lives must go on - yet it does so in a soft breeze and soft pink of cherry blossoms, not in melodrama or delusions of grandeur.
Didn't manage to finish again so I'm finishing it now, a little tipsy.
#79 Good Endings
Instead of explaining, I'll maybe list examples. They need not be 'satisfying' endings if that wasn't the point.
Samurai Jack
Harry Potter
Momento
American Gods
Brave New World
Witcher 3
There are too many to recall comprehensively. The obvious trend being that all of these have been great stories and storytelling, but not all great stories and storytelling have significantly standout good endings in my books.
Sunday, 21 August 2016
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.
^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.
Wednesday, 20 July 2016
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...
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...
Saturday, 9 July 2016
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.
Je viens de finir l'insoutenable légèreté l'être
Après j'ai vu le premier partie du film le dernier mercredi, je pensais que "le bastille"
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.
Monday, 30 May 2016
Aware
Original title of post: The inevitable darkness
Why do I give 'mean' people a chance?
Because it is not easy. I cannot say this with any authority for I'm no mind reader but I know what's in my own head.
This is why I think people are foolish when they say they wished people, or themselves, were more like Andrei. I do not think these people understand the kind of unhappiness this entails. Andrei is unhappy because he can see his honest flaws and limitations after chasing lofty ideals for himself and sometimes others. And it takes simple courage and wisdom to accept the human condition per se. These are the people who know, who say its OK that you were mean or said something wrong. These are the people who laughs cynically at the people who believe themselves saints but also admire their optimism. These are the people who are frustrated when others judge others for not meeting expectations, who are constantly aware of their own inner darkness. But no, while this darkness sometimes leads to despair, it is also something human in that optimism, that starts with awareness.
~
Aware
It is walking into Allison
And being able to tune
In and out
Of the ambient noises
To hear yourself think
And think clearly
Smiling wistfully
In galling satisfaction
Then checking yourself
Remembering that you
Are like each
And everyone
Why do I give 'mean' people a chance?
Because it is not easy. I cannot say this with any authority for I'm no mind reader but I know what's in my own head.
This is why I think people are foolish when they say they wished people, or themselves, were more like Andrei. I do not think these people understand the kind of unhappiness this entails. Andrei is unhappy because he can see his honest flaws and limitations after chasing lofty ideals for himself and sometimes others. And it takes simple courage and wisdom to accept the human condition per se. These are the people who know, who say its OK that you were mean or said something wrong. These are the people who laughs cynically at the people who believe themselves saints but also admire their optimism. These are the people who are frustrated when others judge others for not meeting expectations, who are constantly aware of their own inner darkness. But no, while this darkness sometimes leads to despair, it is also something human in that optimism, that starts with awareness.
~
Aware
It is walking into Allison
And being able to tune
In and out
Of the ambient noises
To hear yourself think
And think clearly
Smiling wistfully
In galling satisfaction
Then checking yourself
Remembering that you
Are like each
And everyone
Wednesday, 11 May 2016
You are unique, just like everyone else
A tribute/response to good writing.
~
We are all different in the same ways.
We rebelled against 'fashion', grungy teen and young adult culture borrowed entirely from the West, against pop music which all the radio stations played, against the cheesy Chinese and Korean dramas that people incessantly watched for the same plot. We romanticized the hidden gems, the culture hiding in plain sight; 50 years on, we're still looking for independence. So we looked for local. We looked for what was neither Chinese or American. But the truth is we detested any kind of subscription. We couldn't see why anybody couldn't see they were part of the masses. We neither liked the incumbent nor the opposition, we believed we understood why there was a conflict in the first place - because nobody can be certain of being totally correct. So we dressed to show we didn't care about dress. Shirts, shorts and slippers. A lot of black, a lot of free t-shirts. We prided ourselves at living frugally.
The down-to-earth, hawker centers of Singapore called to us, beckoning with great local food, and some feeling of 'genuine culture'.
We loved the idea of an indie band. We wanted to be special, to discover a new philosophy. The musicality of some bands lacked depth of talent, a fact we detested. The balance of tones and bass notes reeked, the electric guitar wasn't too bad. The instruments were usually top notch, and it was always the Singlish accent that caused discomfort. Were we uncomfortable because they sound bad, or because they all tried to sound as white, as western as possible to correct their local tone? Are they mainstream yet? We knew them first. You could've said they were a good band, but we bought their album from a live show that at first there were only 20 of us, and now it''s 300. We used to play them on our phones all the time, though it was replaced, in awkward disappointment, for better indie bands overseas.
We wanted people to hear what we're hearing but deep inside knew we feared losing being special, we hated ourselves a little for that pettiness. We dreamt of jamming out in our own bands, making our own designs; higher art would probably have been considered frivolous in our society, yet it was the most academically rigorous. We tasted the scam in overpriced bubble tea and coffee, we treasured the local haunts, the hidden gems of local cooks and their family recipes. We ranted at expensive food with small portions, most of them 'western'. As if that aglio olio was better quality than the minced meat flat noodles. We felt bitter, but we knew it sustained itself in some galling satisfaction that we were better because we were just different. We were trapped.
We felt like self-proclaimed vegans and vegetarians were fads, paying lip-service in their privilege affording expensive 'healthier' options. We didn't understand expensive haircuts, expensive branded clothes, all franchised, all from the latest fashion magazines. We didn't understand praying to our ancestors, to praying to little statues of smiling fat men nor wooden statues of emaciated thin men on crosses. We hated the rat-race, the education system that perpetuates it, while respecting our teachers for their underpaid sacrifice.
We hung out with cynicism, people like us, people who disliked the dystopia outside, and would much rather eat, sleep and play video games, fiercely defend our nerdy disposition. We found solace in each other knowing that we weren't the only ones not going to the club to waste money and listen to lousy music while bobbing up down with people pretending they know how to dance. We disliked people who complained about 'trivial' things like the weather, but we were complaining about those people all the same.
Our grandparents sent us money in red packets, telling us to be doctors, not to get a boy/girlfriend until we finished our studies. We believed our art and music weren't that great, so we never dreamed, and would never know if our parents would have shown us their expected grimace or smile with pride. We chided and mocked people who were following their passions. We were trapped.
~
I intentionally paraphrased, even copied parts entirely; not that it matters much, but narrative credit to Alex.
~
"You're fucking naive." But really who knows these things? I honestly have no response, and I obviously am not the best person I could be. Are you? Have you considered that I don't have the benefit of being brought up a liberal? I'm no genius either, and I don't remember everything I've read. If speaking my mind only elicits judgement, then am I to endure it for being who I am? Hedonism can seem faultless at times. But it's true, and I'm sorry if I don't know the world as well as you do.
~
We are all different in the same ways.
We rebelled against 'fashion', grungy teen and young adult culture borrowed entirely from the West, against pop music which all the radio stations played, against the cheesy Chinese and Korean dramas that people incessantly watched for the same plot. We romanticized the hidden gems, the culture hiding in plain sight; 50 years on, we're still looking for independence. So we looked for local. We looked for what was neither Chinese or American. But the truth is we detested any kind of subscription. We couldn't see why anybody couldn't see they were part of the masses. We neither liked the incumbent nor the opposition, we believed we understood why there was a conflict in the first place - because nobody can be certain of being totally correct. So we dressed to show we didn't care about dress. Shirts, shorts and slippers. A lot of black, a lot of free t-shirts. We prided ourselves at living frugally.
The down-to-earth, hawker centers of Singapore called to us, beckoning with great local food, and some feeling of 'genuine culture'.
We loved the idea of an indie band. We wanted to be special, to discover a new philosophy. The musicality of some bands lacked depth of talent, a fact we detested. The balance of tones and bass notes reeked, the electric guitar wasn't too bad. The instruments were usually top notch, and it was always the Singlish accent that caused discomfort. Were we uncomfortable because they sound bad, or because they all tried to sound as white, as western as possible to correct their local tone? Are they mainstream yet? We knew them first. You could've said they were a good band, but we bought their album from a live show that at first there were only 20 of us, and now it''s 300. We used to play them on our phones all the time, though it was replaced, in awkward disappointment, for better indie bands overseas.
We wanted people to hear what we're hearing but deep inside knew we feared losing being special, we hated ourselves a little for that pettiness. We dreamt of jamming out in our own bands, making our own designs; higher art would probably have been considered frivolous in our society, yet it was the most academically rigorous. We tasted the scam in overpriced bubble tea and coffee, we treasured the local haunts, the hidden gems of local cooks and their family recipes. We ranted at expensive food with small portions, most of them 'western'. As if that aglio olio was better quality than the minced meat flat noodles. We felt bitter, but we knew it sustained itself in some galling satisfaction that we were better because we were just different. We were trapped.
We felt like self-proclaimed vegans and vegetarians were fads, paying lip-service in their privilege affording expensive 'healthier' options. We didn't understand expensive haircuts, expensive branded clothes, all franchised, all from the latest fashion magazines. We didn't understand praying to our ancestors, to praying to little statues of smiling fat men nor wooden statues of emaciated thin men on crosses. We hated the rat-race, the education system that perpetuates it, while respecting our teachers for their underpaid sacrifice.
We hung out with cynicism, people like us, people who disliked the dystopia outside, and would much rather eat, sleep and play video games, fiercely defend our nerdy disposition. We found solace in each other knowing that we weren't the only ones not going to the club to waste money and listen to lousy music while bobbing up down with people pretending they know how to dance. We disliked people who complained about 'trivial' things like the weather, but we were complaining about those people all the same.
Our grandparents sent us money in red packets, telling us to be doctors, not to get a boy/girlfriend until we finished our studies. We believed our art and music weren't that great, so we never dreamed, and would never know if our parents would have shown us their expected grimace or smile with pride. We chided and mocked people who were following their passions. We were trapped.
~
I intentionally paraphrased, even copied parts entirely; not that it matters much, but narrative credit to Alex.
~
"You're fucking naive." But really who knows these things? I honestly have no response, and I obviously am not the best person I could be. Are you? Have you considered that I don't have the benefit of being brought up a liberal? I'm no genius either, and I don't remember everything I've read. If speaking my mind only elicits judgement, then am I to endure it for being who I am? Hedonism can seem faultless at times. But it's true, and I'm sorry if I don't know the world as well as you do.
Saturday, 23 April 2016
What ifs
Had a deep conversation with Pumai. Bruh is real. And I am sad in the unsustainability of ideals.
~
Although slightly petty, I think I need to talk about Peter. Peter reminds me of myself in many ways (I mean, most people do in some ways, c'est la vie) and yet, to reference Tolstoy yet again, I feel like the later, tempered and more down-to-earth Andrei, while Peter is still convinced of how the world works in a certain way, or at least should follow a certain way. I used to be early for all my meetings, made sure everything was neat and tidy, turned off all the lights and wiped the board and pushed in the chairs in class, and to a large extent, still do. But I no longer hold others to that standard, and have checked my own foolishness in trying to achieve unnecessary perfection in certain things and rules. Of course, I cannot say that either me or Peter is right intrinsically, mais bien sur, I am convinced of my own views. Perhaps I have to once again be convicted in certain ideals, but how can one be if convinced that you know nothing really? But truly, we are opposite results of the same core.
~
I loved that conversation with Daniel... dam he's great to talk to when he's drunk.
I had this sense, that if we were really to talk, on a personal level, we'd actually find so much in common, and I wasn't mistaken. And the truth is, I feel this way with so many people, and it is just such a tragedy that I cannot let each and every one of them know this, or that even if we were different, that I'm willing to share and indulge them in deep conversation.
The question was whether to be open or not, and the answers were understandably vice versa for us; he was more closed and wanted to be open, and I the opposite.
~
I just recalled something from so long ago...about Nurul Farahin. I remember I had a dream about her and I actually wrote a written email of apology. Man you have no idea how much impact Zhen Ting made on me.
~
The 'friendzone' is a derogatory/patriarchal term; I will never use it. But the pain of imbalanced relationships is real; but I will never show it. Respect your promises and respect your friends' decisions.
~
What Could Have
Have you ever thought
What could have?
Have you, I guess not,
I should have...
If only you could see
There's no fate, no mystery
We're not meant to be
That's not the key
All it takes is time
On quiet afternoons
Simplicity is fine
We don't need full moons
Mais je me suis trompé
We had different visions
Il faisait soleil
现在下雨低声
~
Although slightly petty, I think I need to talk about Peter. Peter reminds me of myself in many ways (I mean, most people do in some ways, c'est la vie) and yet, to reference Tolstoy yet again, I feel like the later, tempered and more down-to-earth Andrei, while Peter is still convinced of how the world works in a certain way, or at least should follow a certain way. I used to be early for all my meetings, made sure everything was neat and tidy, turned off all the lights and wiped the board and pushed in the chairs in class, and to a large extent, still do. But I no longer hold others to that standard, and have checked my own foolishness in trying to achieve unnecessary perfection in certain things and rules. Of course, I cannot say that either me or Peter is right intrinsically, mais bien sur, I am convinced of my own views. Perhaps I have to once again be convicted in certain ideals, but how can one be if convinced that you know nothing really? But truly, we are opposite results of the same core.
~
I loved that conversation with Daniel... dam he's great to talk to when he's drunk.
I had this sense, that if we were really to talk, on a personal level, we'd actually find so much in common, and I wasn't mistaken. And the truth is, I feel this way with so many people, and it is just such a tragedy that I cannot let each and every one of them know this, or that even if we were different, that I'm willing to share and indulge them in deep conversation.
The question was whether to be open or not, and the answers were understandably vice versa for us; he was more closed and wanted to be open, and I the opposite.
~
I just recalled something from so long ago...about Nurul Farahin. I remember I had a dream about her and I actually wrote a written email of apology. Man you have no idea how much impact Zhen Ting made on me.
~
The 'friendzone' is a derogatory/patriarchal term; I will never use it. But the pain of imbalanced relationships is real; but I will never show it. Respect your promises and respect your friends' decisions.
~
What Could Have
Have you ever thought
What could have?
Have you, I guess not,
I should have...
If only you could see
There's no fate, no mystery
We're not meant to be
That's not the key
All it takes is time
On quiet afternoons
Simplicity is fine
We don't need full moons
Mais je me suis trompé
We had different visions
Il faisait soleil
现在下雨低声
Wednesday, 6 April 2016
West to Easter: West
This post I think, realistically, has to be in parts or I'll be really sleep deprived.
Evanston - West
Manhattan - Wester
New Haven - East
Providence - Easter
Boston - Eastest
Not sure if there'll be a Westest yet.
~
It's a pun. Like, East, Easter, Eastest?
~
Spring Break is over, and I'll not forget, unlike doing CTECs. A string, a flood, of just wonderful, addictive, invigorating conversations with old and new friends from New York (orkkk concrete jungles where dreams are made offf) to Boston. It is indescribable to me, as I'm sure it is to anyone who has had the pleasure of speaking freely and knowing that your partner in conversation is doing so as well; speaking your mind, so that they may know it, and you may know theirs. To see their face light up in excitement or exasperation, and to know that sharing together is a gift. I re-read what I just wrote and you know, it sounds a little like the open mic I heard last week - I guess it isn't that much different when I express myself in what can only be described as tongues really. Let's get started and hope I don't disappoint.
~
Evanston
It takes two hands to eat crappy pasta.
Reminding myself that I nearly did not have this conversation had I chosen to be a bum and order take-out or go off-campus to eat. But I'm a sucker for having one to one conversations. Annddd I guess I have to be honest (embarassingly) that I was looking forward to speaking with Agneska again
(having said we would after Intl Dinner; yes I remember) and always do regardless (I have been actively trying to pick up conversationalist skills because these people are just naturals I swear.) Also, is it just me or do my posts sound a little too... English. (I dislike using the word British; I do not sound remotely Welsh, Scottish or Northern Irish) What did it start with again?
Watery pasta. And giving up on keeping a clean diet for gastroenteritis. Open letter to pesto sauce, why did you fail me the one time I vouched for you? In any case, it was probably 'how has the quarter been for you, sort of on a 1-10 scale'. How has it been compared to the last? Busy. My standard answer since week 3. And standard answers are not the most memorable. Argh. The lack of sleep and beers are catching on and I can't remember things. I remember where she sat and looked and eat and her reactions and I guess, the important messages; I'll start on those.
"Leeks, don't give me that fucking nice guys finish last bullshit."
Something about I don't want to be preachy but do it anyway -> also bullshit, you do it all the time.
Expressed my frustration at knowing what the right thing to do, right frame of mind should be, and truly, sincerely seeking to fulfill them, but failing regularly. O right, it started because she correctly pointed out that my blog post was entitled 'kids' and that obviously lays bare (hah! synonym for show) my inner, true(?) prejudices. So what do you have to do to fight against that? I will try harder to change. This is a wake up call.
Wake up call no.2: Not everybody is interested in having an argument all the fucking time Leeks.
Time to actively read people's energy levels and stop complaining about people not following ideals of debate and having good opinions. Really just being annoyingly confrontational. Stop being a devil's advocate all the fucking time too. Putting other people's ideas down is forrealists internet trolls.
And of course, perhaps for a true first time (insert footnotes here about not disregarding all the other times, just that this might have been the most etc.), she shared too. I reiterate again how... I guess honored(?) I am when people share. It's just nice to know people trust you? OK not the point and probably not the right word to use. Trust me, I used to be way more of a high horse mfucker who doesn't share his own vulnerabilities and just dishes out advice probably because my frail ego couldn't handle it. Or maybe not, it's been a while and that's in the past I don't know. It was exhilarating to hear her stories.
This part is continued a week after writing the rest. I have had many good thoughts this week and in my obsession of trying to keep them all I've resorted to writing them into my class notes - which is terrible. Perhaps most terrible is I've probably forgotten a lot more I could've written had I not promised a bazillion people and organizations I'd do my part for them. Hold on, a hiccup; I'm not entirely sure how much I'm entitled to divulge about her so I guess I shan't. (Also I promised something.) I very very very much dislike just being all me all the time but I guess this is my blog... I will leave this to real life conversations. I guess I could've posted a week ago after all.
~
#83 Invictus
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not once winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed
Beyond this place of wraith and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade.
Yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid
It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul
~
Just want to point out that the names of these posts are rarely arbitrarily chosen.
West is a reference to Plex West.
Evanston - West
Manhattan - Wester
New Haven - East
Providence - Easter
Boston - Eastest
Not sure if there'll be a Westest yet.
~
It's a pun. Like, East, Easter, Eastest?
~
Spring Break is over, and I'll not forget, unlike doing CTECs. A string, a flood, of just wonderful, addictive, invigorating conversations with old and new friends from New York (orkkk concrete jungles where dreams are made offf) to Boston. It is indescribable to me, as I'm sure it is to anyone who has had the pleasure of speaking freely and knowing that your partner in conversation is doing so as well; speaking your mind, so that they may know it, and you may know theirs. To see their face light up in excitement or exasperation, and to know that sharing together is a gift. I re-read what I just wrote and you know, it sounds a little like the open mic I heard last week - I guess it isn't that much different when I express myself in what can only be described as tongues really. Let's get started and hope I don't disappoint.
~
Evanston
It takes two hands to eat crappy pasta.
Reminding myself that I nearly did not have this conversation had I chosen to be a bum and order take-out or go off-campus to eat. But I'm a sucker for having one to one conversations. Annddd I guess I have to be honest (embarassingly) that I was looking forward to speaking with Agneska again
(having said we would after Intl Dinner; yes I remember) and always do regardless (I have been actively trying to pick up conversationalist skills because these people are just naturals I swear.) Also, is it just me or do my posts sound a little too... English. (I dislike using the word British; I do not sound remotely Welsh, Scottish or Northern Irish) What did it start with again?
Watery pasta. And giving up on keeping a clean diet for gastroenteritis. Open letter to pesto sauce, why did you fail me the one time I vouched for you? In any case, it was probably 'how has the quarter been for you, sort of on a 1-10 scale'. How has it been compared to the last? Busy. My standard answer since week 3. And standard answers are not the most memorable. Argh. The lack of sleep and beers are catching on and I can't remember things. I remember where she sat and looked and eat and her reactions and I guess, the important messages; I'll start on those.
"Leeks, don't give me that fucking nice guys finish last bullshit."
Something about I don't want to be preachy but do it anyway -> also bullshit, you do it all the time.
Expressed my frustration at knowing what the right thing to do, right frame of mind should be, and truly, sincerely seeking to fulfill them, but failing regularly. O right, it started because she correctly pointed out that my blog post was entitled 'kids' and that obviously lays bare (hah! synonym for show) my inner, true(?) prejudices. So what do you have to do to fight against that? I will try harder to change. This is a wake up call.
Wake up call no.2: Not everybody is interested in having an argument all the fucking time Leeks.
Time to actively read people's energy levels and stop complaining about people not following ideals of debate and having good opinions. Really just being annoyingly confrontational. Stop being a devil's advocate all the fucking time too. Putting other people's ideas down is for
And of course, perhaps for a true first time (insert footnotes here about not disregarding all the other times, just that this might have been the most etc.), she shared too. I reiterate again how... I guess honored(?) I am when people share. It's just nice to know people trust you? OK not the point and probably not the right word to use. Trust me, I used to be way more of a high horse mfucker who doesn't share his own vulnerabilities and just dishes out advice probably because my frail ego couldn't handle it. Or maybe not, it's been a while and that's in the past I don't know. It was exhilarating to hear her stories.
This part is continued a week after writing the rest. I have had many good thoughts this week and in my obsession of trying to keep them all I've resorted to writing them into my class notes - which is terrible. Perhaps most terrible is I've probably forgotten a lot more I could've written had I not promised a bazillion people and organizations I'd do my part for them. Hold on, a hiccup; I'm not entirely sure how much I'm entitled to divulge about her so I guess I shan't. (Also I promised something.) I very very very much dislike just being all me all the time but I guess this is my blog... I will leave this to real life conversations. I guess I could've posted a week ago after all.
~
#83 Invictus
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not once winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed
Beyond this place of wraith and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade.
Yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid
It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul
~
Just want to point out that the names of these posts are rarely arbitrarily chosen.
West is a reference to Plex West.
Friday, 11 March 2016
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.
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.
Monday, 14 December 2015
Rides
I just wanted to acknowledge with all my heart how relieving that conversation was with Alex. And yes, I will take that advice. And I hope you enjoyed mine. Thank you for being a friend.
I wrote this a few days ago. It's just a distant memory now maybe.
If only you'd know
I'm just playing along
I always thought
I'd end up with you
That took so much restraint.
Stuff I wrote on the plane ride. I never filter, you know that. Honesty is my highest ideal.
He knew, and I didn't
My strength is in initiative
Yet I had no knowledge
The incredible frustration
Of knowing your inexperience
It's a lie after all
Kissed her while she was drunk
But I the better(?) man, truly
The nice guy who finishes last
Fucking quit in frutration
I can't get it out of my head now
If that wasn't a sign to move on
Nothing is.
If I knew I would've, but no.
I ask for too much.
What do I do know?
Keep it to myself,
Or brood like a child.
Soldier on.
I'm racist. It is a tragedy truly. If only I'd met someone like that.
What does it mean to drink, dance, and look at each other waiting for a move?
I don't want everyone asking is just why.
Is this what it means to reach for something higher?
Should I rush?
Since now I know..
Sometimes I feel like I can change a little too much and what I want just contradicts so deeply with what I can do. Can this pen truly write endorphins and morphine?
Impressions; fuck 'em you don't know me.
But that was it wasn't it, he was a perfect representation of frat but he's not. But I don't want to be associated with that. - Oh darn there's a part here I can't even read my own handwriting - Hopeless romantic.
A great reform(?) is due.
2 Hours
2 Hours on a flight to Denver
2 Hours to get over you
2 Hours before touch down
2 Hours of just solitude
Too soon again will I be forced
To mingle, to meet and to smile
Too late to go back and change
To someone who foresaw this denial
2 Hours to be at peace
Too many hours too few
2 Hours with no answers still
Too little to put my life in review
#87 Bus Rides
I probably never had a problem with public transit because... 1. Singapore's system is pretty good (and so is Chicago's) and I guess more importantly 2. It has always given me time to think, to listen to my favorite instrumental tunes...and yes, the deep conversations that I love to have 1 to 1, are the brightest spots.
I wrote this a few days ago. It's just a distant memory now maybe.
If only you'd know
I'm just playing along
I always thought
I'd end up with you
That took so much restraint.
Stuff I wrote on the plane ride. I never filter, you know that. Honesty is my highest ideal.
He knew, and I didn't
My strength is in initiative
Yet I had no knowledge
The incredible frustration
Of knowing your inexperience
It's a lie after all
Kissed her while she was drunk
But I the better(?) man, truly
The nice guy who finishes last
Fucking quit in frutration
I can't get it out of my head now
If that wasn't a sign to move on
Nothing is.
If I knew I would've, but no.
I ask for too much.
What do I do know?
Keep it to myself,
Or brood like a child.
Soldier on.
I'm racist. It is a tragedy truly. If only I'd met someone like that.
What does it mean to drink, dance, and look at each other waiting for a move?
I don't want everyone asking is just why.
Is this what it means to reach for something higher?
Should I rush?
Since now I know..
Sometimes I feel like I can change a little too much and what I want just contradicts so deeply with what I can do. Can this pen truly write endorphins and morphine?
Impressions; fuck 'em you don't know me.
But that was it wasn't it, he was a perfect representation of frat but he's not. But I don't want to be associated with that. - Oh darn there's a part here I can't even read my own handwriting - Hopeless romantic.
A great reform(?) is due.
2 Hours
2 Hours on a flight to Denver
2 Hours to get over you
2 Hours before touch down
2 Hours of just solitude
Too soon again will I be forced
To mingle, to meet and to smile
Too late to go back and change
To someone who foresaw this denial
2 Hours to be at peace
Too many hours too few
2 Hours with no answers still
Too little to put my life in review
#87 Bus Rides
I probably never had a problem with public transit because... 1. Singapore's system is pretty good (and so is Chicago's) and I guess more importantly 2. It has always given me time to think, to listen to my favorite instrumental tunes...and yes, the deep conversations that I love to have 1 to 1, are the brightest spots.
Friday, 6 March 2015
#89 Slippers
The Singaporean uniform is shirt, shorts and slippers. My favorite outfit of all time. And way cheaper too. I mean Zara is nice but come on.
I decided to write tonight because I haven't in a while.
The days have gone on... and sincerely they've just been like NS... transitional, routine (but hell 'uva lot more fun). I'd wish for something different, but I threw that away.
Unfinished and incoherent stuff.
My oddities keep me sane.
I think about days past,
And only remember the worst.
Signs of a perfectionist,
A regretful curse.
Monday, 1 December 2014
There are geniuses
Like Hawkins and Fitzgerald.
A tumblr seems to suit me more having these ephemeral thoughts, but the inertia of leaving. (As if anyone realllyyy reads [and if they do, they would find the new link here would they not?])
I saw a pretty girl and wasn't sure
Left in a rush but wasn't sure
Knew it wasn't my head talking
But I wasn't sure
What if? I wasn't sure.
God damned hormones.
#92 Photography
A tumblr seems to suit me more having these ephemeral thoughts, but the inertia of leaving. (As if anyone realllyyy reads [and if they do, they would find the new link here would they not?])
I saw a pretty girl and wasn't sure
Left in a rush but wasn't sure
Knew it wasn't my head talking
But I wasn't sure
What if? I wasn't sure.
God damned hormones.
#92 Photography
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Proverbs
If you want to go fast, go alone.
If you want to go far, go together.
~African Proverbs
Die Stimme der Vernunft ist leise. ~Sigmund Freud
But it is persistent ~Addition by Christopher Hitchens
a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.
~The meaning of the word 'ennui'
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
~the word 'sonder' from the dictionary of obscure sorrows
I'm back from ***. And feeling listless. I miss her and I didn't expect that.
Naurto ended and slowly, the erosion of my childhood sinks in.
Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist when he grows up.
~Pablo Picasso
I maintain strongly never to let go of my imagination and impulse.
If you want to go far, go together.
~African Proverbs
Die Stimme der Vernunft ist leise. ~Sigmund Freud
But it is persistent ~Addition by Christopher Hitchens
a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement.
~The meaning of the word 'ennui'
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
~the word 'sonder' from the dictionary of obscure sorrows
I'm back from ***. And feeling listless. I miss her and I didn't expect that.
Naurto ended and slowly, the erosion of my childhood sinks in.
Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist when he grows up.
~Pablo Picasso
I maintain strongly never to let go of my imagination and impulse.
Should write again.
Saturday, 26 July 2014
Past 12
So it's really after 12 and I have to stay up cause a soldier in my unit just reported sick and has to be evacuated from our camp. Don't take it as complaining, rather a chance not missed.
A minute past 12
A quiet adventure
Through the near empty streets
A while to ponder
Music in soft steady beats
At this late and curious hour
I saunter in strange breezes
Remembering incandescence
Taking in a life's moment
Moments are in abundance
But a moment so obscure
This late and curious hour
A precious fragment.
TIME SKIP!
I'll write more coherently now. (Yet I'm still using a conversational tone?)
This week has been extremely tiring. I had to skip lunch and dinner several times and have been staying up and taking shorter breaks. This probably culminated in my 12 hour nap yesterday without eating dinner.
Before reaching home and hitting the sack though, I had a little quiet adventure through what I can now safely term as 'old town'. Marine Parade or Parkway Shopping Mall is the oldest mall in Singapore. To my family, it has served an even greater role in terms of nostalgia. Since my parents moved to Amber Park before I was born, it has been the go-to location for dining and shopping, the little city in our suburb. My family has always stayed in this part of Singapore and Parkway has always been our weekend trip, that NTUC location.
Yesterday, in a very long time (all things considered), I made a solo trip through Parkway. I visited the re-opened market and old 2nd hand bookstore and was hit hard with a sense of nostalgia and calm. The entire week had been so fast paced that I was bewildered by the slow pace of the evening. Believe me when I say I have not walked this slow for a very long time. I was really happy just being alone and taking a stroll. Watching the harsh evening light seep through the openings of the market and watching the old storekeeper going about. When I saw the old man, I saw in him a fountain of wisdom that comes from old age; all his stories and life journeys, struggles and finally peace. Nevertheless, I could be over-dramatizing it.
A minute past 12
A quiet adventure
Through the near empty streets
A while to ponder
Music in soft steady beats
At this late and curious hour
I saunter in strange breezes
Remembering incandescence
Taking in a life's moment
Moments are in abundance
But a moment so obscure
This late and curious hour
A precious fragment.
TIME SKIP!
I'll write more coherently now. (Yet I'm still using a conversational tone?)
This week has been extremely tiring. I had to skip lunch and dinner several times and have been staying up and taking shorter breaks. This probably culminated in my 12 hour nap yesterday without eating dinner.
Before reaching home and hitting the sack though, I had a little quiet adventure through what I can now safely term as 'old town'. Marine Parade or Parkway Shopping Mall is the oldest mall in Singapore. To my family, it has served an even greater role in terms of nostalgia. Since my parents moved to Amber Park before I was born, it has been the go-to location for dining and shopping, the little city in our suburb. My family has always stayed in this part of Singapore and Parkway has always been our weekend trip, that NTUC location.
Yesterday, in a very long time (all things considered), I made a solo trip through Parkway. I visited the re-opened market and old 2nd hand bookstore and was hit hard with a sense of nostalgia and calm. The entire week had been so fast paced that I was bewildered by the slow pace of the evening. Believe me when I say I have not walked this slow for a very long time. I was really happy just being alone and taking a stroll. Watching the harsh evening light seep through the openings of the market and watching the old storekeeper going about. When I saw the old man, I saw in him a fountain of wisdom that comes from old age; all his stories and life journeys, struggles and finally peace. Nevertheless, I could be over-dramatizing it.
Friday, 20 June 2014
Not Shorts
Out the gates by myself
A beep and a swing
Fifty meters from a weekday
Why did I smile to myself?
I was free!
Alone an happy
Have you felt that way before?
Each path new or familiar
Yet all an adventure!
No character to uphold
No pretense was ever needed
In the company of strangers
For the lone traveler
I was free.
Lavender
As a child you remembered
That rush into the tunnel
The hissing of the wind
The sunlight draining
No wonder
As an adult
You didn't pause
Only sped away in thoughts
As fast as this train
Ambivert
In the mellow grey between
A long summer night
A cup of jasmine green
And the company of many
The noise aplenty
When yesterday you said
Lets go
Today I stay
At home
I hoped for company
and wished to be alone
How can it be?
My head's a paradoxical tone
Then all I wanted
Perhaps
Was to be alone
With company.
Who is in the relationship? You and her? Or you and the expectations of society?
A beep and a swing
Fifty meters from a weekday
Why did I smile to myself?
I was free!
Alone an happy
Have you felt that way before?
Each path new or familiar
Yet all an adventure!
No character to uphold
No pretense was ever needed
In the company of strangers
For the lone traveler
I was free.
Lavender
As a child you remembered
That rush into the tunnel
The hissing of the wind
The sunlight draining
No wonder
As an adult
You didn't pause
Only sped away in thoughts
As fast as this train
Ambivert
In the mellow grey between
A long summer night
A cup of jasmine green
And the company of many
The noise aplenty
When yesterday you said
Lets go
Today I stay
At home
I hoped for company
and wished to be alone
How can it be?
My head's a paradoxical tone
Then all I wanted
Perhaps
Was to be alone
With company.
Who is in the relationship? You and her? Or you and the expectations of society?
Saturday, 24 May 2014
Shorts
It's always good to experiment
Breeze
Through and shallow
Fairly subtle
And i was gone
Found unsatisfactory
Dusk
Under an orange sky
Fiery and calm
I want to get on with my life
And yet I don't
Breeze
Through and shallow
Fairly subtle
And i was gone
Found unsatisfactory
Dusk
Under an orange sky
Fiery and calm
I want to get on with my life
And yet I don't
Sunday, 20 April 2014
Street
Just playing around with language and stuff.
Street
Was walking down alone
A still and misty street
Kept glancing at my phone
My music on repeat
Unsure where I'm to go
This cold and silent night
Under the eerie glow
Of a warm and orange light
Just around the corner
In a small shelter's shade
I glimpsed a slender figure
She was naturally radiant,
Alike something hand-made
Lit softly by the billboard
Her cheeks a little flushed
That night it started to drizzle
And the ambience became hushed
I sat down right next to her
And watched the sparkling raindrops
Glow orange around the streetlights
No longer an eerie sight.
Ran 20km today. By myself again. Glenn told me even he runs with someone else. *Shrugs* o well.
There are groups of friends whom, when I'm with them, I am almost entirely eradicated of inhibition. (You can really only get this with eccentric art people with sadly lots of issues) And I wish it were that simple, especially with Mel, right? But no. You have to work hard for something you want. I know that. Or does something like ~frequency~ kind of come naturally? Can you get used to, and enjoy somebody's company... over time? Nobody's a carbon-copy. You play out the side that's important. Maybe I just haven't found out which is yet.
Time check: 2.05 AM
It's actually already Sunday eh?
Demons is nice for the lyrics too. Cause ya know everyone kind of thinks they have a dark-side (or at least I do) that's not very pleasant/normal. Ah but this ain't a confidence issue cause I know part of my character ain't gonna conform to societal norms but that's fine with me! The question is, is it fine with you that I don't mind heavy metal/progressive rock and I like to game, and maybe I have really dark humor stemming from nihilist philosophy and that I think most people are under the illusion of too much drama and maybe for some situations people need to quit whining and man up.
J1 "senior crush" hahahaha. Sorry but that's really cute/sweet just because I have no idea why somebody would crush on me (unless I am somehow unaware that I'm ridiculously handsome which is not the case). Crushes to me usually has some superficial connotation to it, so does personality count? By the time I was J2 I was pretty set on being loner and stuff and anyway I always thought that's too young to be in a healthy relationship. So in J1 I liked a lot of girls but I'd just brush any stray thoughts aside since friendship's more important right(?) and maybe MORE importantly... we're just young and stupid and obviously ain't gonna make any sound decisions just yet. What about her right? "Isn't that the question of the day??" ~Harry Osbourne. Well to be honest yes I did like her, but also to be honest not as much as other girls in my batch (the closer you get with someone, the more you tend to obsess a little). Does it matter now though? Not really but it's cute and she's a lovely person.
Time check: 2.25 AM
Brother just got home. "What are you doing?... You have a blog????"
So what if I do actually...? Who really reads my blog nowadays lol. It's sort of an annex to me now. An archive. Something that's written in the SOP that I have to do but not entirely useful except for that one day you decide to read back on your life and basically go 'wtf' when you do.
Time check: 2.29 AM
Brother just switched the lights off. (Wow am I tweeting or what) And I should be ending soon (PLEASE PLEASE DO) Today I traveled to the ends of the earth to see my friend toss his peaked cap and basically have dinner. And yesterday I had lunch with Mel after breakfast with my family. I'm actually still nervous every time I meet her HAHA. But not in a confidence sort of way (I might add!). Does that make any sense? Probably not because
Time check: 2.37 AM
And I'm out of caffeine in my system.
Street
Was walking down alone
A still and misty street
Kept glancing at my phone
My music on repeat
Unsure where I'm to go
This cold and silent night
Under the eerie glow
Of a warm and orange light
Just around the corner
In a small shelter's shade
I glimpsed a slender figure
She was naturally radiant,
Alike something hand-made
Lit softly by the billboard
Her cheeks a little flushed
That night it started to drizzle
And the ambience became hushed
I sat down right next to her
And watched the sparkling raindrops
Glow orange around the streetlights
No longer an eerie sight.
Ran 20km today. By myself again. Glenn told me even he runs with someone else. *Shrugs* o well.
There are groups of friends whom, when I'm with them, I am almost entirely eradicated of inhibition. (You can really only get this with eccentric art people with sadly lots of issues) And I wish it were that simple, especially with Mel, right? But no. You have to work hard for something you want. I know that. Or does something like ~frequency~ kind of come naturally? Can you get used to, and enjoy somebody's company... over time? Nobody's a carbon-copy. You play out the side that's important. Maybe I just haven't found out which is yet.
Time check: 2.05 AM
It's actually already Sunday eh?
Demons is nice for the lyrics too. Cause ya know everyone kind of thinks they have a dark-side (or at least I do) that's not very pleasant/normal. Ah but this ain't a confidence issue cause I know part of my character ain't gonna conform to societal norms but that's fine with me! The question is, is it fine with you that I don't mind heavy metal/progressive rock and I like to game, and maybe I have really dark humor stemming from nihilist philosophy and that I think most people are under the illusion of too much drama and maybe for some situations people need to quit whining and man up.
J1 "senior crush" hahahaha. Sorry but that's really cute/sweet just because I have no idea why somebody would crush on me (unless I am somehow unaware that I'm ridiculously handsome which is not the case). Crushes to me usually has some superficial connotation to it, so does personality count? By the time I was J2 I was pretty set on being loner and stuff and anyway I always thought that's too young to be in a healthy relationship. So in J1 I liked a lot of girls but I'd just brush any stray thoughts aside since friendship's more important right(?) and maybe MORE importantly... we're just young and stupid and obviously ain't gonna make any sound decisions just yet. What about her right? "Isn't that the question of the day??" ~Harry Osbourne. Well to be honest yes I did like her, but also to be honest not as much as other girls in my batch (the closer you get with someone, the more you tend to obsess a little). Does it matter now though? Not really but it's cute and she's a lovely person.
Time check: 2.25 AM
Brother just got home. "What are you doing?... You have a blog????"
So what if I do actually...? Who really reads my blog nowadays lol. It's sort of an annex to me now. An archive. Something that's written in the SOP that I have to do but not entirely useful except for that one day you decide to read back on your life and basically go 'wtf' when you do.
Time check: 2.29 AM
Brother just switched the lights off. (Wow am I tweeting or what) And I should be ending soon (PLEASE PLEASE DO) Today I traveled to the ends of the earth to see my friend toss his peaked cap and basically have dinner. And yesterday I had lunch with Mel after breakfast with my family. I'm actually still nervous every time I meet her HAHA. But not in a confidence sort of way (I might add!). Does that make any sense? Probably not because
Time check: 2.37 AM
And I'm out of caffeine in my system.
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