I wonder if there's a word for feeling outside of time, of routine. Disconnection? Transit between terminals? Maybe there's a German word for it. Being put on hold.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Tuesday, 14 January 2025
Dos Mil Cien Pesos
I write (wrote) this in the twilight of the year. The colours don't blend,the redder the sky, the bluer the water. I always do, even when the change is arbitrary, it is real because it is made.
I wanted to 'actively rest'. I imagine like some writer who spends his time in a cottage by the sea and puts down, materializes his abstractions into a murder mystery. I sat in the taxi yesterday coming home (regresan), and wondered if I had let me ideal of Chris insidiously overcome the reality of her. I wonder what people do to reconcile this. I also wonder why reality is often thought of as grittier and grimmer. Maybe because we would rather daydream sunshine than night.
I am proud of the baby steps me llevo en espanol. Haco? Mis mejor enfruerzo. I am no genius, I have to do things the hard way. Which is the traditional way. I wondered if my time was so spare, or perhaps my mentality not under the "siege" of time slipping that allowed me this. Or simply talking to real people right after studying a book. I hope to repeat this in San Francisco, maybe with Russian, then Arabic, then ?? Malay and Cantonese, or in reverse, and let my fears go, let the image of an embarrassed adult be that of the old white lady visiting Paris, and trying her best.
All I wanted was a black grand national. Funnily, my blank ink dried. I've always been a 'hopeless romantic' with 'a bleeding heart', I like writing and speaking metaphorically and abstractly, though I guess people would want it more structured, disciplined, to give it respect. Rambling doesn't justify attention. Maybe that's why I like reading Ying Yue's blog, or find it endearing she reads mine (at some point), it feels like a kindred spirit, though in reality I don't know her outside of that stream of consciousness. I also wonder if it's a form of luxury (it is) to have mental leisure time like this as if my time need not be spent productively. My hope, my justification is simply that it brings about renewed clarity and agility in my thinking later.
Time to think of a nickname, in Spanish, for her.
Tuesday, 25 June 2019
:thinking:
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.
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.
Monday, 11 December 2017
Musekeweya
Escapist
stories. This is what I told Hannah and Cindi on the way to the airport,
leaving Kigali, and Rwanda for probably a long while. I also told them this
might be the most cheesy-sentimental I’ve felt, probably ever, and probably the
most called for. Anyway, a movie marathon is what it is, the escapist stories I
mean. La La Land is playing right now, providing a really bittersweet
melancholic melody, in piano-heavy jazz. I’m also trying to beat jet lag as
quickly as possible (and also, procrastinating on writing all the feelings I
have about the program I’ve finished. Oh! Intense fighting started, good
dialogue.
I felt like
escapism resets the perspective, it helps you skip the sadness toward the
gladness that you’ve participated, ‘done the thing’, it reminds you of the
greater, yet unfamiliar (to you) world out there.
It’s been
close to a week now. An overdue time to reflect after some initial reunion
ecstasies. I’ve had flashbacks in fits and starts a few times now, and I’ve
been taking every appropriate opportunity to share, as planned. So far, it was
Conor that I shared the most with, but more abstract politics, whereas I don’t
know where to begin with my host family and friends and just wholesome everyday
life. And yes, people aren’t thatttt interested really, outside of some big
picture summaries, as expected. I don't hold any grudges against that though, i'ts something understandable and something I probably would have done myself. Plus, people are often I think more interested in your experience rather than the information I want to share, because while the former is personally important and I guess more accessible to others, what I really wish is for people to know more about Rwanda, and to give it a shot. I find myself, I think, thinking about Rwanda sometimes a bit too much like Singapore when it is not.
It's been a few days since I uploaded my photos of Rwanda, in some ways kind of rushed and forced, because I really didn't know what to say. I didn't really think I had the patience to deal with people like Nico, who while jokingly didn't even know 'where in Africa' I went, in some ways also speaks to a larger problem, because I'm sure he would have remembered if I had mentioned going to South Korea.
As with all posts that take longer than a week to write, it's probably time to let it go to rest. I've had really not much respite and time to reflect over my time in Rwanda, sitting here so far away... on no coffee day no less. But I suspect that Rwanda will be in my memories for a blog post years to come, as did JLOC, or London before it. Musekeweya means New Dawn, something that Rwanda has embraced and I must learn.
As with all posts that take longer than a week to write, it's probably time to let it go to rest. I've had really not much respite and time to reflect over my time in Rwanda, sitting here so far away... on no coffee day no less. But I suspect that Rwanda will be in my memories for a blog post years to come, as did JLOC, or London before it. Musekeweya means New Dawn, something that Rwanda has embraced and I must learn.
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.
Sunday, 8 October 2017
A post from Uganda
(Actually two weeks ago) Today
(yesterday, since I don’t have wi-fi at home) I cooked laksa fried rice and
chicken rice for my host family and showed them pictures of Singapore. They
liked it, which was great because I low-key messed up the texture of the rice
using unfamiliar equipment, and with my host mother letting all the steam out
for the laksa fried rice (which I should have used more water anyway) They
retired soon after…which led me to another episode of aching nostalgia. It’s as
if I have a secret life in me that I have not returned to, a place I’m supposed
and do call home. It’s as if I will go back, and see all my friends and family
again as if nothing’s changed even though that isn’t true. It’s as if I’ve been
wandering for so long I miss the cheesy Changi Airport signs that welcome all
traveling, admittedly also upper-middle class, Singaporeans, receive. Or maybe
it was just the memories that each photo held, some kind of mysterious but
familiar memory of just me and Daphne which tears at me, especially those
city-lights on the riverfront. Maybe it’s being tired for the first time of the
bigger world out there, with all its glories and failures at the same time. I
know that Singapore is not ‘clean’ despite what the stereotypes and the
government promise. But it’s still home. This has always kept me tethered,
however arbitrary it is. That picture of Ying Yue at the Singapore Art Museum
makes me want to read her blog and reconnect, even though I’ve tried it before
but I guess my comment was lost. I know too, that I can get that same feeling
of personal nostalgia, and I have, walking anywhere alone with my camera. But
maybe it’s because those old photos of Singapore were my best of my oldest,
they have that defining feature of ‘being there for me’; and I know that nobody
else would have taken some of those very specific shots. Maybe because at my
core is this melodramatic, pretentious melancholy that I know, when it came
down to it, would let me walk out of a party/club if I wasn’t feeling it, by
myself (or with Chris), down an empty, incandescent-lit street. I am bummed,
although not surprised that the only person who connected with me over ‘the
moon and the sun’ by ANECHOIS was Karen. I hope she’s doing well. I think I’m
going to try and give Steele a copy of the EP/album since Yggdrasil is
literally his door image. Maybe it’s just because it’s no coffee day.
^Wrote that a while ago but never remembered to post it while I had wifi, so I'm at a café now in Northern Uganda to post it. I've had a lot to say since, but as I'm tight on the wi-fi, I decided to just go with it.
Started this draft like 2 weeks ago
Sieving
through pictures of Singapore to show my host family was perhaps the most
powerful feeling I got to date since leaving my home … a deep and mysterious
melancholy so indescribable (not in magnitude, just the fact that I can’t
describe it) they must have invented the word ‘nostalgia’ and missing home just
for it. To me, even though my family isn’t tight-knit and close, it is still
special and maybe it’s the Chinese culture still in me, but I owe a great debt
and will always try and be there for my parents when they are old. I say that,
not knowing what kind of scenario that may be tested; after all, I am abroad
while my dad is at home recovering from cancer.
Thinking
about ‘why now’, and maybe it’s knowing that my friends and family back home
are living their lives out and sharing and creating memories without me, and
that the longer I’m away, the more I fade into their memories…except there’s
Whatsapp and all is fine and dandy to a degree/till I get a degree haha geddit?
I also miss Chris a lot (duh), I think mostly when I read her blog or feel
cuddly. Rwandans are a warm bunch though and hugs are often and soon. My host
mother is very sweet and has a hearty laugh whenever I imitate my host sister.
We did a 'processing session' last Friday; it's like a 'do whatever you want summer camp style' time allocated at the end of each week for students to lead some activity, be it etching out tensions (like last week) or building human pyramids. Last week we did a 'toilet paper pass' where we just picked a person in the group to say nice things about in a circle and passed them the roll to pass on to another person. Jack K passed me the roll and talked about how his support group back home was his fraternity, which happens to be Lambda Chi, how coincidental and wholesome is that? I'm so glad he's got great character and setting a good example for a historically problematic institution.
We did a 'processing session' last Friday; it's like a 'do whatever you want summer camp style' time allocated at the end of each week for students to lead some activity, be it etching out tensions (like last week) or building human pyramids. Last week we did a 'toilet paper pass' where we just picked a person in the group to say nice things about in a circle and passed them the roll to pass on to another person. Jack K passed me the roll and talked about how his support group back home was his fraternity, which happens to be Lambda Chi, how coincidental and wholesome is that? I'm so glad he's got great character and setting a good example for a historically problematic institution.
Friday, 1 September 2017
Peux ce que veux, allons-y
‘Rwanda is
the Singapore of Africa, small and smart’ -Arsenal shirt wearing neighbour
‘Singapore
is a small country, but a big idea’ - ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs George Yeo
I feel like
I will not be able to really write out everything I’ve seen or heard that
interests me, or that I won’t have the patience to outside of point form. And
yet I feel so saturated with cool stories and observations it would be a
terrible waste outside of my notebook ‘quickies’. I just hope my subconscious
keeps up all this time. I am generally, I think, not ‘surprised’ by much, which
makes me quite stoic/stone-faced to many. It was more a surprise to my host
family for example, that I have washed my own clothes by hand before in my
life, rather than me being nervous or surprised at having to do it here. It is
not that I know everything already, but many things I know I don’t really know
and so can’t really assume much and so come here and see, which excites and
intrigues me, but doesn’t ‘surprise’ me or ‘break stereotypes’. It does help to
confirm/unconfirm ‘commonly-held’ stereotypes that I know and gives me
something to tell people who do hold them. I am not perfect of course, but it
does mean I don’t know ‘where to begin’ outside of listing everything I’ve
heard and seen and felt and smelled chronologically. I guess I’ve chosen, like
always, to talk in general, in abstract, in weird jumbled blog-bytes.
^Wrote all of the above a day or two ago and have not just started my genocide classes here in Kigali, beginning with a movie called 'Ghosts of Rwanda', focusing a lot on the US perspective (it was made by PBS). I consider myself quite a stoic person who has loosened in outlook because I think it is more humane; the one part that did move me to tears was seeing Captain Mbaye's death in the movie. There can certainly be no heroes in a genocide, but he might have been the closest.
Practicing language is a good thing, because it is hard and it forces you at first. Alors je vais écrire un peu en français et peut-être en kinyarwanda. C'est la raison je n'ai pas publié ce poste plus tôt. J'ai décidé à essayer de faire la conversation avec le gens ici. C'est ce que je dirai: Muraho! Amakuru? Nanjye, ni meza. Nturuka he? Nturuka muri Singapour. Ndi umuyeshuri. Wowe se? Ukora iki?
C'est tout pour maintenant.
Practicing language is a good thing, because it is hard and it forces you at first. Alors je vais écrire un peu en français et peut-être en kinyarwanda. C'est la raison je n'ai pas publié ce poste plus tôt. J'ai décidé à essayer de faire la conversation avec le gens ici. C'est ce que je dirai: Muraho! Amakuru? Nanjye, ni meza. Nturuka he? Nturuka muri Singapour. Ndi umuyeshuri. Wowe se? Ukora iki?
C'est tout pour maintenant.
Monday, 26 June 2017
Québec
Things I wanted to talk about in the previous post:
The problematic beliefs of the Uber driver obsessing over The Last Samurai
My broken things which lead to true(r) authenticity
Reactions to stuff I read (news, blogs)
J'ai oublié faire ce texte blanche avant de publier, alors je vais parle un peu seulement.
It's 12.38pm, I'll start to go down the list so I don't procrastinate more later.
Pourquoi pas? Je vous dis un petit histoire de mon visite à Matt - je suis leur dit qu'il ya un shoppe-
The Uber driver was a local Quebecois who was very enthusiastic about speaking to me in English. It was pretty normal conversation until a song from The Last Samurai Soundtrack came on. An NYT critic once wrote that particularly among Asian-Americans and Japanese especially, the movie and others with the same tropes were 'racist, naive, well-intentioned, accurate - or all of the above'. A variety critic wrote 'clearly enamored of the culture it examines while resolutely remaining an outsider's romanticization of it, yarn is disappointingly content to recycle familiar attitudes about the nobility of ancient cultures, Western despoilment of them, liberal historical guilt, the unrestrainable greed of capitalists and the irreducible primacy of Hollywood movie stars.' Both are excellent summaries in my opinion. The trouble of the film is not that a white man is leading a group of otherwise sort-of-helpless men and in exchange gets some pseudo Eastern spirituality stuff that helps him get over the classic European evil - alcoholism. This is since there was actually a historical figure like that, and it's probably okay to focus on him for a Western audience. However, the fact that he becomes 'the last samurai' is in my opinion, quite cringey just for the fact that the opposite is often not portrayed - i.e non-white characters taking on and becoming some leader figure in a white context (although I imagine there might be some in foreign cinema? The best I gather seem to just be circle-jerking their won culture). I don't think it is an immediate problem if white characters take on roles like that (or vice versa) if the details/traditions/symbolism are all respected. I think the film is on a whole, not perfect but does well in some regards, the issue is the reaction, exemplified by this Uber driver, gave me a whole lotta pause.
-superbe à la marché de Saint-Jean à Montréal qui vendre les huitres. Les huitres étaient trés bien.
"I just love samurai, Japan is the first/next country I want to visit outside of the North American continent." That's all fine, except I probed him further at what else he knows/has watched which is essentially zilch, and I'm afraid he might go in with a pretty simplified/cartoon-ish expectation/image of what samurai were like and all. He doesn't like the 'fast-paced' nature of modern society and thinks essentially that the idealized/romanticized samurai lifestyle portrayed in the film that cured the Tom Cruise's nightmares is where it's at. (O boy modern Japan). I hope he goes in with an open mind.
I'll probably do the next part after I'm settled in my room and all.
Right, on to broken things.
The one time I try (I might have done it before but am forgetting) packing my camera neatly into a carry-on, and it (lens only though, not the body) breaks, so lesson learnt. I was kind of frantically trying to put it back together, even spent a good amount on Ubers to a closing repair shop which turned out to have just ran out of the part they need to fix the lens. Plus, I didn't bring my wide-angle in the first place, which leaves me with two fixed, and pretty zoomed in lenses. I thought about this, sitting on my bed in the hostel, how... I guess truly authentic my trip has now become, since I have nothing but experience and what I can store in my tiny little head now, the wonderful sights, the journeys, etc. This was of course an exaggeration since I've been using my 50mm, which does not take the vastness of some landscapes in (which I'm so frustrated of but it's my own fault), but at least it allows me to switch into pure 'street photography' mode instead. And in fact my trip has been wonderful, not least because I've met some really interesting and wonderful people (and how I wish I saved them on facebook like I did for one, although in a way the superfluous nature of the meeting is its own reward). Then, my charger was lost in a long story which largely involves me trying to be polite. And I guess in fact all my trips have been like that... I'm thinking about the time I took a solo walk in Hokkaido, walking into random shops and all, a bit childlike. Or maybe around Breckenridge, always with my camera (without one broken lens but in a way without its full capacity since I never carry my full set). Musings that have simpered.
Finally, reactions? Maybe should have started with this first, since these fade the fastest. I don't even remember what parts of what I wanted to react for? I'll pen down the conversations before they stray further into my subconscious though. There's John from New Zealand of course, who made me a simple meal with rice and pork near the end and talked about his adventures. There's Amanda(?) from Australia, Martina from Slovakia (but admirably traveling the world place to place), and just now, Andrew from the UK. (Not to mention the cast of characters from Japan, Brazil, Columbia and France.)
I managed to convince a few people I can speak French without arousing suspicion, so I'm happy enough for trying despite the awkward, sometimes distasteful looks, flustered answers... meh maybe not that worth it happiness wise.
The problematic beliefs of the Uber driver obsessing over The Last Samurai
My broken things which lead to true(r) authenticity
Reactions to stuff I read (news, blogs)
J'ai oublié faire ce texte blanche avant de publier, alors je vais parle un peu seulement.
It's 12.38pm, I'll start to go down the list so I don't procrastinate more later.
Pourquoi pas? Je vous dis un petit histoire de mon visite à Matt - je suis leur dit qu'il ya un shoppe-
The Uber driver was a local Quebecois who was very enthusiastic about speaking to me in English. It was pretty normal conversation until a song from The Last Samurai Soundtrack came on. An NYT critic once wrote that particularly among Asian-Americans and Japanese especially, the movie and others with the same tropes were 'racist, naive, well-intentioned, accurate - or all of the above'. A variety critic wrote 'clearly enamored of the culture it examines while resolutely remaining an outsider's romanticization of it, yarn is disappointingly content to recycle familiar attitudes about the nobility of ancient cultures, Western despoilment of them, liberal historical guilt, the unrestrainable greed of capitalists and the irreducible primacy of Hollywood movie stars.' Both are excellent summaries in my opinion. The trouble of the film is not that a white man is leading a group of otherwise sort-of-helpless men and in exchange gets some pseudo Eastern spirituality stuff that helps him get over the classic European evil - alcoholism. This is since there was actually a historical figure like that, and it's probably okay to focus on him for a Western audience. However, the fact that he becomes 'the last samurai' is in my opinion, quite cringey just for the fact that the opposite is often not portrayed - i.e non-white characters taking on and becoming some leader figure in a white context (although I imagine there might be some in foreign cinema? The best I gather seem to just be circle-jerking their won culture). I don't think it is an immediate problem if white characters take on roles like that (or vice versa) if the details/traditions/symbolism are all respected. I think the film is on a whole, not perfect but does well in some regards, the issue is the reaction, exemplified by this Uber driver, gave me a whole lotta pause.
-superbe à la marché de Saint-Jean à Montréal qui vendre les huitres. Les huitres étaient trés bien.
"I just love samurai, Japan is the first/next country I want to visit outside of the North American continent." That's all fine, except I probed him further at what else he knows/has watched which is essentially zilch, and I'm afraid he might go in with a pretty simplified/cartoon-ish expectation/image of what samurai were like and all. He doesn't like the 'fast-paced' nature of modern society and thinks essentially that the idealized/romanticized samurai lifestyle portrayed in the film that cured the Tom Cruise's nightmares is where it's at. (O boy modern Japan). I hope he goes in with an open mind.
I'll probably do the next part after I'm settled in my room and all.
Right, on to broken things.
The one time I try (I might have done it before but am forgetting) packing my camera neatly into a carry-on, and it (lens only though, not the body) breaks, so lesson learnt. I was kind of frantically trying to put it back together, even spent a good amount on Ubers to a closing repair shop which turned out to have just ran out of the part they need to fix the lens. Plus, I didn't bring my wide-angle in the first place, which leaves me with two fixed, and pretty zoomed in lenses. I thought about this, sitting on my bed in the hostel, how... I guess truly authentic my trip has now become, since I have nothing but experience and what I can store in my tiny little head now, the wonderful sights, the journeys, etc. This was of course an exaggeration since I've been using my 50mm, which does not take the vastness of some landscapes in (which I'm so frustrated of but it's my own fault), but at least it allows me to switch into pure 'street photography' mode instead. And in fact my trip has been wonderful, not least because I've met some really interesting and wonderful people (and how I wish I saved them on facebook like I did for one, although in a way the superfluous nature of the meeting is its own reward). Then, my charger was lost in a long story which largely involves me trying to be polite. And I guess in fact all my trips have been like that... I'm thinking about the time I took a solo walk in Hokkaido, walking into random shops and all, a bit childlike. Or maybe around Breckenridge, always with my camera (without one broken lens but in a way without its full capacity since I never carry my full set). Musings that have simpered.
Finally, reactions? Maybe should have started with this first, since these fade the fastest. I don't even remember what parts of what I wanted to react for? I'll pen down the conversations before they stray further into my subconscious though. There's John from New Zealand of course, who made me a simple meal with rice and pork near the end and talked about his adventures. There's Amanda(?) from Australia, Martina from Slovakia (but admirably traveling the world place to place), and just now, Andrew from the UK. (Not to mention the cast of characters from Japan, Brazil, Columbia and France.)
I managed to convince a few people I can speak French without arousing suspicion, so I'm happy enough for trying despite the awkward, sometimes distasteful looks, flustered answers... meh maybe not that worth it happiness wise.
Saturday, 24 June 2017
Lens
This is perhaps the proper second time I'm solo traveling (unless you count the short time periods in between friends and family in Colorado for example). I was pretty sentimental going into this post but then this pub/bar music is on and I'm a pint in, two pretty aggressively middle class activities (like most of my trips, which is why I prefer to write in private in respect and disagree with Rovik's broadcasting). Don't get me wrong I think there is essentially nothing wrong with travel unless you are arrogant/ignorant enough to believe it is 'affordable' for everyone if you 'plan right' or that it is an option freely available or desirable.
Trying a new line breaking white text things which I think will be fun.
I was thinking about this when Chris talked about Americans who love their hometown to a point of disliking others. Although it's hard to deny that travel will change people, I think the psychological/character effects 'traveler' types attribute to going overseas tends to be overestimated because the group is self-selecting in the first place, much like how 'effective' elite schools are if only elite people get in (so these people were bound to succeed in the first place to some extent). Similarly, one would have to study the specific subset of people who maybe were 'dragged' by family or significant others to travel, having first detested the idea, and then subsequently going through some significant change in perspective to really vindicate the idea that it opens your mind. In fact I think a lot of it really comes a lot earlier.
I will probably have a few of these in each post from now on if I remember.
I'm thinking about the eccentric Uber driver now which ties in to the point a little. Took a little detour reading up on The Last Samurai, a show he was basically obsessed with, in a weird way. I saw weird because...
^ I completed the above sentence but actually had an incomplete sentence before I took a long side-track to read Chris's blog, read about the LGBTQ+/LHY sagas in Singapore, and finally decide that actually, I was pretty comfortable reading/blogging and don't want to spend any more money tonight.
Now I'm back in the room where I think I'm being judged by 2 'almost-sleeping' people hearing me type furiously. C'est la vie d'auberge, non? Merde, j'ai oublié faire l'exercise Duolingo. Never mind I think. I actually feel quite stifled trying to keep my typing noise down... so maybe I'll finish, or even start a new post tomorrow... yea. The latter.
Trying a new line breaking white text things which I think will be fun.
I was thinking about this when Chris talked about Americans who love their hometown to a point of disliking others. Although it's hard to deny that travel will change people, I think the psychological/character effects 'traveler' types attribute to going overseas tends to be overestimated because the group is self-selecting in the first place, much like how 'effective' elite schools are if only elite people get in (so these people were bound to succeed in the first place to some extent). Similarly, one would have to study the specific subset of people who maybe were 'dragged' by family or significant others to travel, having first detested the idea, and then subsequently going through some significant change in perspective to really vindicate the idea that it opens your mind. In fact I think a lot of it really comes a lot earlier.
I will probably have a few of these in each post from now on if I remember.
I'm thinking about the eccentric Uber driver now which ties in to the point a little. Took a little detour reading up on The Last Samurai, a show he was basically obsessed with, in a weird way. I saw weird because...
^ I completed the above sentence but actually had an incomplete sentence before I took a long side-track to read Chris's blog, read about the LGBTQ+/LHY sagas in Singapore, and finally decide that actually, I was pretty comfortable reading/blogging and don't want to spend any more money tonight.
Now I'm back in the room where I think I'm being judged by 2 'almost-sleeping' people hearing me type furiously. C'est la vie d'auberge, non? Merde, j'ai oublié faire l'exercise Duolingo. Never mind I think. I actually feel quite stifled trying to keep my typing noise down... so maybe I'll finish, or even start a new post tomorrow... yea. The latter.
Monday, 13 February 2017
Back
I've decided to write because it's that kind of atmosphere right now.
I just remembered moments in the army, and even further back to primary school, and the juxtaposition of it really 'shuddered' me. Sitting here, in the fraternity house, doing readings for Peoples of Africa, and remembering that far away heat, in the 10C4I office, walking home alone or just to get bhar chor mee. Fuck man, it's wild. I can remember it all so clearly, but maybe it's Heidegger and Freud messing with me now, but it's so unheimliche... maybe it's the music, and the fact that no one here will be able to remember that but me, or that Captain Andy and friends, at some point in my life was so meaningful, and now it would just be awkward seeing them, or I guess not. But knowing how different my life has divulged from clashing with everyone in this universe is just the strangest feeling or alienation and humanity. This weirdness extends to the fact that Dominic would probably get what I'm saying yet Kester wouldn't. And yet Kester would understand my recollection where Dominic wouldn't.
Maybe what I'm feeling is just, a 'spiritual' kind of loneliness.
Friday, 27 January 2017
Books Actually
I have no qualms saying I am slightly tipsy at the moment, as is the spirit of the blog to be honest and hence impenetrable.
I have been reading mostly, for the last 4 days. Reading and reading, just for class, without pause for even going to SPAC. It is saddening but only slightly, because my true tendency is towards knowledge. A lot of what I'm reading is quite frankly, what can be considered 'Western Canon'; and truly I am a Westernized soul. I'm still wondering if Shi Yue lost respect for me just because I wasn't as Pro-PAP as she expects. But I think she is mistaken in some respects. In fact I am quite pro-PAP, in fact I have no problem with Plato and his philosopher kings, if the system he suggests can be approximated in reality. I hesitate to elaborate further naturally, for I know it is not the business of future foreign service members to actively participate in opinions of little basis.
I have reasons for writing again. Chiefly, the age-old... loneliness. I believe Dominic and I understand each other in this regard - the paradox of career and family. I am aware that my 'ambitions' are a natural deterrent to finding a partner. Chiefly, I cannot expect or force a fellow human being to come with me to Singapore and then overseas over the year - women's rights are human rights. So my only slim chance of really finding somewhere to be with, to respect, to cherish, is a person who does want to see the world but loves Singapore as much as I do. It is uniquely difficult.
It was no coffee day today, and I think I succeeded in happiness. I wish everyone happiness.
I have been reading mostly, for the last 4 days. Reading and reading, just for class, without pause for even going to SPAC. It is saddening but only slightly, because my true tendency is towards knowledge. A lot of what I'm reading is quite frankly, what can be considered 'Western Canon'; and truly I am a Westernized soul. I'm still wondering if Shi Yue lost respect for me just because I wasn't as Pro-PAP as she expects. But I think she is mistaken in some respects. In fact I am quite pro-PAP, in fact I have no problem with Plato and his philosopher kings, if the system he suggests can be approximated in reality. I hesitate to elaborate further naturally, for I know it is not the business of future foreign service members to actively participate in opinions of little basis.
I have reasons for writing again. Chiefly, the age-old... loneliness. I believe Dominic and I understand each other in this regard - the paradox of career and family. I am aware that my 'ambitions' are a natural deterrent to finding a partner. Chiefly, I cannot expect or force a fellow human being to come with me to Singapore and then overseas over the year - women's rights are human rights. So my only slim chance of really finding somewhere to be with, to respect, to cherish, is a person who does want to see the world but loves Singapore as much as I do. It is uniquely difficult.
It was no coffee day today, and I think I succeeded in happiness. I wish everyone happiness.
Saturday, 16 April 2016
West to Easter: Eastest
Boston
Two conscripted officers, in a cemetery in America, talking about Singaporean politics.
More bizarre, these two guys haven't spoken in years, nor did they talk very much even back home. Do you have friends that, while you were in the same class, or same residence, or same student group that you didn't talk to very much in that group... but then once you've left you find yourself in a situation to connect with them, and you do. And you are reminded of all the possibilities and things said and unsaid, and it's a little sad. So it perhaps is, with this little excursion on the east.
Han Yang was my armskote bro. Fellow support officer with a positive outlook and similar sense of humor in some regards. I think we both knew we would make good friends, if given the time, less stress, and similar vocations. But he went off to engineers and I to signals. And so surreal it is, to have met him in Boston, our first stop being a cemetery. You'll never get a more international experience than that. I guess I romanticize 'hidden' or 'unexpected' or 'unseen' things, a little unhealthily at times, because people think I'm weird or not interested in the mainstream(?). And honestly who would have thought me and Han Yang would have met again in such quirky circumstances and hit it off immediately. ENFJs place so much value in everyone, it can hurt not to be reciprocated, or what is perceived as unrequited companionship. But I won't whine or be bound by such statistics, they are merely guides to understanding.
I spent the whole morning and afternoon with Han Yang, eating great food, exploring the city, and talking at lengths about Wesleyan and Northwestern, Singapore, our lives. It was so heartening to hear Han Yang open up to me like that. He's a kind a generous person and is unafraid of his flaws. We talked about college bubbles, our own bubbles. How crazy awesome Americans (actually just humans with the right mind-set) are. And course, all the unsolicited Singlish spam, that inevitably attracted the attention of another Singaporean who happened to be in the same restaurant. Language and accent is powerful stuff. The cemetery was beautifully calm and unfortunately closed (just the tower don't worry), my luck had to run I suppose.
And then, Ash. I know I've romanticized pretty much everybody in this series of posts, but it's only because I value and admire all of them in their own different ways, and it's a little awkward to express them elsewhere. But also, seriously, Ash was like the climax of the trip (ew), ok highlight of the trip. Ash was the one person I spent the least time with, yet probably wanted to spend the most time with? Someone I, might as well say it, really aspire to be. High energy, an RA (which I failed to be), a classic rocker, a patriot, neither church nor club but both. When I say I connected with the various people on this trip, they really don't compare to how much I can relate to Ash. We talked about our frustration... with pretty much all the aforementioned things; I guess the difference being Ash is more high energy and has well, a pillar of support so to speak. Most people I know, have stuck to their core, and are living contented. Yet I know my weakness is like Pierre in War and Peace, in a manner of speaking. I cannot settle on something, because I don't like to rule out possibilities, I fetish-ize the road less traveled, I make it a point to leave when I'm comfortable, especially here in college. And as a result, I'm absolutely lost in the wilderness while my friends have moved further. I hoped to find the fellow loners, but that obviously makes very little sense.
Ok, I transgressed there into things I wanted to talk about that have less to do with Ash. She brought me to yet another Korean place (having eaten Korean at Brown) which was awesome, and we got straight to catching up with as much fervor as the past few days, if not more. I told her the lack of sleep would probably affect me but honestly, meeting and talking with her was enough caffeine. We somehow hit all the right notes and rarely disagreed (which is good and bad), even discovering our somehow aligning quirks like our unabashed love for good ol' millennium rock or even the fact that we were sometimes confused my Melissa. Ash is the kind of person I am on my best days. So what's the secret? Brute force of will? Aspirations engender expectations. Marcus is right in saying that mediocrity is not a sin, yet how can I ever settle on that crowd mentality?
Singaporeans punch above their own weight. Majulah.
~
Well Boston was the furthest East I traveled, so I guess Eastest counts?
Two conscripted officers, in a cemetery in America, talking about Singaporean politics.
More bizarre, these two guys haven't spoken in years, nor did they talk very much even back home. Do you have friends that, while you were in the same class, or same residence, or same student group that you didn't talk to very much in that group... but then once you've left you find yourself in a situation to connect with them, and you do. And you are reminded of all the possibilities and things said and unsaid, and it's a little sad. So it perhaps is, with this little excursion on the east.
Han Yang was my armskote bro. Fellow support officer with a positive outlook and similar sense of humor in some regards. I think we both knew we would make good friends, if given the time, less stress, and similar vocations. But he went off to engineers and I to signals. And so surreal it is, to have met him in Boston, our first stop being a cemetery. You'll never get a more international experience than that. I guess I romanticize 'hidden' or 'unexpected' or 'unseen' things, a little unhealthily at times, because people think I'm weird or not interested in the mainstream(?). And honestly who would have thought me and Han Yang would have met again in such quirky circumstances and hit it off immediately. ENFJs place so much value in everyone, it can hurt not to be reciprocated, or what is perceived as unrequited companionship. But I won't whine or be bound by such statistics, they are merely guides to understanding.
I spent the whole morning and afternoon with Han Yang, eating great food, exploring the city, and talking at lengths about Wesleyan and Northwestern, Singapore, our lives. It was so heartening to hear Han Yang open up to me like that. He's a kind a generous person and is unafraid of his flaws. We talked about college bubbles, our own bubbles. How crazy awesome Americans (actually just humans with the right mind-set) are. And course, all the unsolicited Singlish spam, that inevitably attracted the attention of another Singaporean who happened to be in the same restaurant. Language and accent is powerful stuff. The cemetery was beautifully calm and unfortunately closed (just the tower don't worry), my luck had to run I suppose.
And then, Ash. I know I've romanticized pretty much everybody in this series of posts, but it's only because I value and admire all of them in their own different ways, and it's a little awkward to express them elsewhere. But also, seriously, Ash was like the climax of the trip (ew), ok highlight of the trip. Ash was the one person I spent the least time with, yet probably wanted to spend the most time with? Someone I, might as well say it, really aspire to be. High energy, an RA (which I failed to be), a classic rocker, a patriot, neither church nor club but both. When I say I connected with the various people on this trip, they really don't compare to how much I can relate to Ash. We talked about our frustration... with pretty much all the aforementioned things; I guess the difference being Ash is more high energy and has well, a pillar of support so to speak. Most people I know, have stuck to their core, and are living contented. Yet I know my weakness is like Pierre in War and Peace, in a manner of speaking. I cannot settle on something, because I don't like to rule out possibilities, I fetish-ize the road less traveled, I make it a point to leave when I'm comfortable, especially here in college. And as a result, I'm absolutely lost in the wilderness while my friends have moved further. I hoped to find the fellow loners, but that obviously makes very little sense.
Ok, I transgressed there into things I wanted to talk about that have less to do with Ash. She brought me to yet another Korean place (having eaten Korean at Brown) which was awesome, and we got straight to catching up with as much fervor as the past few days, if not more. I told her the lack of sleep would probably affect me but honestly, meeting and talking with her was enough caffeine. We somehow hit all the right notes and rarely disagreed (which is good and bad), even discovering our somehow aligning quirks like our unabashed love for good ol' millennium rock or even the fact that we were sometimes confused my Melissa. Ash is the kind of person I am on my best days. So what's the secret? Brute force of will? Aspirations engender expectations. Marcus is right in saying that mediocrity is not a sin, yet how can I ever settle on that crowd mentality?
Singaporeans punch above their own weight. Majulah.
~
Well Boston was the furthest East I traveled, so I guess Eastest counts?
Friday, 15 April 2016
West to Easter: Easter
Providence
Mass and Marijuana, Pot and Prayers; they're all religious
So technically it was Good Friday. But then technically this post is three weeks late. I remember the lack of sleep, I remember Brandon being the same as he's always been. The truth is there is a Brandon in all of us, and so we affectionately laugh over his quirks that are really us deep inside. Let's just say he's an anxious dude. Barely 200 meters from the station was all it took for our conversation to shift towards activism on campus, specifically with regard to African-American activism. Damn it's good to be around old friends.
Not that we talked very long about it. Brandon showed me around diligently but also with very little sense about his campus (self-admittedly too) and invited me to Good Friday words, testimonies, hymns, the like. I have this feeling Steph, Brandon and Nick think I'm still Christian, or maybe not, and they were just being nice chaps inviting me to all the Christian proceedings. I find myself lucky that I can consider them, and my non-christian friends good friends and that I hang out with both groups. It was not lost on me how contrasting my stay with Conor and this group of christian friends were (and this was to turn 180 again when I finally met up with Marcus); and it was... well I was going to say amusing but that's pretty snobbish. I guess I just find it rewarding, and wish people would develop relationships like that. It was also not lost on me how I'm able to connect with this group of christian friends more than say, my 'party' friends. There's a few of us, but the number is growing - the people in the middle again. Yams, Kwang Ik, Marcus, Yan Zhou...the thoughtful agnostics and atheists. But that's too tribal and exclusive. And although this blog is an outlet, I have to honor and acknowledge that everyone lies on a spectrum and my comfort range of friends just revolves around a certain group.
I wish I could quote some or even talk in detail about all our conversations, but they lay deep in my subconscious at this point, behind the massive amount of reading I still have to do. I try my best to record. (Just think how difficult, maybe improbable it would be to recall events that happened 100 earlier, all compiled into a book of personal wisdom and stories... just saying.) I met Brandon's friend, who's name already escapes me. I saw Brandon's room, and felt a tinge when he was saying how he tried but couldn't connect with his roommate. "He's in hockey (a jock), you know how it is." That was the kind of thing I was trying my best to avoid... Although I wasn't thinking it at the time, I've always felt, perhaps naively, that you can connect with anyone if we all just tried hard enough. It is devastating to realize there is a point you can't get past. It is worse to realize others can do it much better than you when you really want people to know, this is who you are and you would give a lot for them. Maybe worst, in some sublime melancholic human condition-ish thing, that barrier was just artificial; it was time and space, it was language or culture or pre-conceived judgement that prevented two people with the same souls from reaching each other.
.
ORRRR
Perhaps I delusion myself and wallow in stupid philosophizing. The world is simple and beautiful with a cup of coffee. I met Nick Chuan, his hair disheveled and his figure and manner and intellect not out of place if he was born in the 18th century or earlier. As with Steph, it was easy to fall into great conversation and easier still were the laughs and stupor.
Marcus Yeo though. Like some intervention, some dramatic plot tool where the protagonist, unexpectedly finds a hermit in the forest or something, Marcus Yeo walks into the Korean restaurant and back into my life. (LOL fuck I'm having too much fun writing stupid drama. It's good to be back laughing at myself.) Marcus Yeo is what made my time at Brown different from Yale. He gave the light-hearted but still deep and personal contrast to Nick and Brandon's sometimes religious overtones. I will remember all those one to one moments, like me and Steph on the campus green, or me and Brandon throughout campus (I never got one with busy Nick), and now with Marcus Yeo, in pseudo-romantic fashion, around the city, on the banks of the river looking at the pale glowing lights. We talked about so many things, about scholarships, being international students (what else right), where Singapore is going (probably my favourite topic at this point), etc.
"Dude, same!"
Was what I might have needed to hear all along. And after the talk, just weed, an atrocious film, and hugs and goodbyes... I still feel the effects of not getting into council. But then, nobody has ever not run in failure.
~
I am left to wonder if I'm just a feminine and sensitive person who was repressed.
~
You hate hugs? Don't kid yourself.
~
What can I pride myself with now?
~
My parent's only connection with me are asking for my pictures of the trip.
~
Post is Easter because, it's east of new haven and it was Good Friday -> Easter. Puns are hard, I'm sorry.
Mass and Marijuana, Pot and Prayers; they're all religious
So technically it was Good Friday. But then technically this post is three weeks late. I remember the lack of sleep, I remember Brandon being the same as he's always been. The truth is there is a Brandon in all of us, and so we affectionately laugh over his quirks that are really us deep inside. Let's just say he's an anxious dude. Barely 200 meters from the station was all it took for our conversation to shift towards activism on campus, specifically with regard to African-American activism. Damn it's good to be around old friends.
Not that we talked very long about it. Brandon showed me around diligently but also with very little sense about his campus (self-admittedly too) and invited me to Good Friday words, testimonies, hymns, the like. I have this feeling Steph, Brandon and Nick think I'm still Christian, or maybe not, and they were just being nice chaps inviting me to all the Christian proceedings. I find myself lucky that I can consider them, and my non-christian friends good friends and that I hang out with both groups. It was not lost on me how contrasting my stay with Conor and this group of christian friends were (and this was to turn 180 again when I finally met up with Marcus); and it was... well I was going to say amusing but that's pretty snobbish. I guess I just find it rewarding, and wish people would develop relationships like that. It was also not lost on me how I'm able to connect with this group of christian friends more than say, my 'party' friends. There's a few of us, but the number is growing - the people in the middle again. Yams, Kwang Ik, Marcus, Yan Zhou...the thoughtful agnostics and atheists. But that's too tribal and exclusive. And although this blog is an outlet, I have to honor and acknowledge that everyone lies on a spectrum and my comfort range of friends just revolves around a certain group.
I wish I could quote some or even talk in detail about all our conversations, but they lay deep in my subconscious at this point, behind the massive amount of reading I still have to do. I try my best to record. (Just think how difficult, maybe improbable it would be to recall events that happened 100 earlier, all compiled into a book of personal wisdom and stories... just saying.) I met Brandon's friend, who's name already escapes me. I saw Brandon's room, and felt a tinge when he was saying how he tried but couldn't connect with his roommate. "He's in hockey (a jock), you know how it is." That was the kind of thing I was trying my best to avoid... Although I wasn't thinking it at the time, I've always felt, perhaps naively, that you can connect with anyone if we all just tried hard enough. It is devastating to realize there is a point you can't get past. It is worse to realize others can do it much better than you when you really want people to know, this is who you are and you would give a lot for them. Maybe worst, in some sublime melancholic human condition-ish thing, that barrier was just artificial; it was time and space, it was language or culture or pre-conceived judgement that prevented two people with the same souls from reaching each other.
.
ORRRR
Perhaps I delusion myself and wallow in stupid philosophizing. The world is simple and beautiful with a cup of coffee. I met Nick Chuan, his hair disheveled and his figure and manner and intellect not out of place if he was born in the 18th century or earlier. As with Steph, it was easy to fall into great conversation and easier still were the laughs and stupor.
Marcus Yeo though. Like some intervention, some dramatic plot tool where the protagonist, unexpectedly finds a hermit in the forest or something, Marcus Yeo walks into the Korean restaurant and back into my life. (LOL fuck I'm having too much fun writing stupid drama. It's good to be back laughing at myself.) Marcus Yeo is what made my time at Brown different from Yale. He gave the light-hearted but still deep and personal contrast to Nick and Brandon's sometimes religious overtones. I will remember all those one to one moments, like me and Steph on the campus green, or me and Brandon throughout campus (I never got one with busy Nick), and now with Marcus Yeo, in pseudo-romantic fashion, around the city, on the banks of the river looking at the pale glowing lights. We talked about so many things, about scholarships, being international students (what else right), where Singapore is going (probably my favourite topic at this point), etc.
"Dude, same!"
Was what I might have needed to hear all along. And after the talk, just weed, an atrocious film, and hugs and goodbyes... I still feel the effects of not getting into council. But then, nobody has ever not run in failure.
~
I am left to wonder if I'm just a feminine and sensitive person who was repressed.
~
You hate hugs? Don't kid yourself.
~
What can I pride myself with now?
~
My parent's only connection with me are asking for my pictures of the trip.
~
Post is Easter because, it's east of new haven and it was Good Friday -> Easter. Puns are hard, I'm sorry.
Friday, 8 April 2016
West to Easter: East
New Haven
Eating microwaveable food on the edge of Yale's campus green talking about Singaporeans
Stephanie is one of those friends. How does she do it? Energy and intellect, warmth and open arms. I admit that when I re-contacted my friends on the East Coast, I was pensive of how they would... react to seeing me? As it turns out - exactly how I would have reacted to seeing them. Energy and intellect, warmth and open arms. ENFJs. Like we've not missed a day. I've always considered my time in RJ to be full of wasted chances with people. I was a little moody at times, a prick and loner at other times; inconsistent energy and judgmental. I wonder if it was because I failed to get into both the student's council and choir - I consider those invaluable lessons nonetheless.
But back to Steph Siow. It was so refreshing to be among peers again, I mean Singaporeans who talked about being Singaporean here, even about being Singaporean in Singapore - which is a huge issue by the way - it was just indescribable how much we connected. My ego also shamelessly fed by a re-awoken sense of Singaporean humor that I never truly got with the Singaporeans at Northwestern (which is what I wanted, to be sure). [Steph, and later Ash would comment how I was one of the funniest people they knew] So this is what the comfort zone feels like. The Singaporeans who never left home, yet were open to absorbing America into their bloodstream. Patriots who aren't tribal. The foolish young Singaporeans who think Singapore can be saved from cultural entropy, and that America can teach us something.
Eating microwaveable food on the edge of Yale's campus green talking about Singaporeans
Stephanie is one of those friends. How does she do it? Energy and intellect, warmth and open arms. I admit that when I re-contacted my friends on the East Coast, I was pensive of how they would... react to seeing me? As it turns out - exactly how I would have reacted to seeing them. Energy and intellect, warmth and open arms. ENFJs. Like we've not missed a day. I've always considered my time in RJ to be full of wasted chances with people. I was a little moody at times, a prick and loner at other times; inconsistent energy and judgmental. I wonder if it was because I failed to get into both the student's council and choir - I consider those invaluable lessons nonetheless.
But back to Steph Siow. It was so refreshing to be among peers again, I mean Singaporeans who talked about being Singaporean here, even about being Singaporean in Singapore - which is a huge issue by the way - it was just indescribable how much we connected. My ego also shamelessly fed by a re-awoken sense of Singaporean humor that I never truly got with the Singaporeans at Northwestern (which is what I wanted, to be sure). [Steph, and later Ash would comment how I was one of the funniest people they knew] So this is what the comfort zone feels like. The Singaporeans who never left home, yet were open to absorbing America into their bloodstream. Patriots who aren't tribal. The foolish young Singaporeans who think Singapore can be saved from cultural entropy, and that America can teach us something.
I often jokingly/arrogantly rant about how I was part of a special art program but was never 'as eccentric' as the rest, only to realize later I truly am just as crazy and ironic and whatever you can describe us in different ways. The same is true of being Rafflesian.
So Steph had just woken up when I got to her place, and told me to wait about 10 minutes unless I wanted to meet her without her teeth brushed. There is an instant connection in that kind of humour, trust me. Or maybe not, maybe it was just hearing each others' voices, not having changed much, again...
We caught up tremendously; she's attached, like all the other Rafflesians I'd meet on this trip, which I cannot lie made me re-examine my life a little haha; she's now full-blown christian, she's still capable as hell yet humbly curious. She sort of 'used' me to return her books and take her profile picture but I couldn't care less, because that just added to the feeling that there wasn't any fake distance between us. When you're as obsessed about 'adapting' and purposefully pushing for difference as me, you will have one too many identity crisis (and I mean this in the least dramatic way possible; just to stop this post from spiraling down the self-absorbed/pity/emotional post it is headed towards fast). The long and thoughtful and amusing conversations with Steph Siow in this less than urban campus setting known as Yale University brought me back from the be-wilderness that is Northwestern; business, consulting, financing and all. After diving in the pool for so long, discovering and being around the biodiversity, it was like coming out of the pool or the sea and sitting on the ledge of the pool or boat, with your old friend, just talking about the sea and the stars. Fuck that was so dramatic sometimes I wonder if I'm ironic or not.
Importantly, we connected over the typical Singaporeans who just studied and never got out of their comfort zone in the US, about where Singapore was headed, about our schools and cultures and American politics, etc. We diverged in what we were doing with our time mostly. She's on the church side, and I remain stubbornly lost in the center. Will I go for the full 180 next year?
~
These posts have lost some energy, like all my posts frankly, as the days drag on by in Northwestern.
So Steph had just woken up when I got to her place, and told me to wait about 10 minutes unless I wanted to meet her without her teeth brushed. There is an instant connection in that kind of humour, trust me. Or maybe not, maybe it was just hearing each others' voices, not having changed much, again...
We caught up tremendously; she's attached, like all the other Rafflesians I'd meet on this trip, which I cannot lie made me re-examine my life a little haha; she's now full-blown christian, she's still capable as hell yet humbly curious. She sort of 'used' me to return her books and take her profile picture but I couldn't care less, because that just added to the feeling that there wasn't any fake distance between us. When you're as obsessed about 'adapting' and purposefully pushing for difference as me, you will have one too many identity crisis (and I mean this in the least dramatic way possible; just to stop this post from spiraling down the self-absorbed/pity/emotional post it is headed towards fast). The long and thoughtful and amusing conversations with Steph Siow in this less than urban campus setting known as Yale University brought me back from the be-wilderness that is Northwestern; business, consulting, financing and all. After diving in the pool for so long, discovering and being around the biodiversity, it was like coming out of the pool or the sea and sitting on the ledge of the pool or boat, with your old friend, just talking about the sea and the stars. Fuck that was so dramatic sometimes I wonder if I'm ironic or not.
Importantly, we connected over the typical Singaporeans who just studied and never got out of their comfort zone in the US, about where Singapore was headed, about our schools and cultures and American politics, etc. We diverged in what we were doing with our time mostly. She's on the church side, and I remain stubbornly lost in the center. Will I go for the full 180 next year?
~
These posts have lost some energy, like all my posts frankly, as the days drag on by in Northwestern.
~
On the way to New Haven, you have to pass the train station 'West Haven'; so in fact, new haven is... East... Haven.
On the way to New Haven, you have to pass the train station 'West Haven'; so in fact, new haven is... East... Haven.
Thursday, 7 April 2016
West to Easter: Wester
Manhattan
Happiness: a good bank account, a good cook, and a good digestion - Jean-Jacques Rousseau
You are what you eat? It all becomes the same building blocks. You are who you meet. In my head, like everyone else's, it's nice to simplify and abstract. I think my friends are but various manifestations of me. There is a side that is tired, hedonistic and would rather retire on an olive farm than deal with the complexities of the city and the masquerade of people. And so there's Conor Jones. Call me naive, but despite not having the deepest or most complex of conversations with Conor, I believe it equally essential to have had that stay with him in New York.
In a gist, lots and lots and lots of Marijuana. Cartoons and beers for sides and video games for desserts. The value was never in pursuit of these 'pleasures' (because I will openly admit I probably don't enjoy them as much as Conor and his brothers do), it was... the view. It is the same with any 'getaway trip'. It gives you a chance to step away from routine and your life, step out of your character even, go backstage or go outside and hear and smell the city, especially, when you do it alone. My days were not spontaneous but still largely unplanned; each day I decided what I'd do and see or which road I'd walk down in the moment, just me and my camera and my new lens. I learnt about Conor and caught a glimpse of his family life, which was so meaningful to me. I wandered around Chinatown NYC, a marvelous place that in it's quaint ways and shamelessly American AND Chinese aspects represented what I love about the US. I stumbled upon the Museum of Chinese in America, enlightening me to a previous era of racism not unlike today's bigoted attitude towards Muslims; things have changed but the similarities can be disheartening.
I had so much time with my camera and my music and guess, myself - I relished every moment of it while I could. It is not true that you have to go to some 'exotic', far-away place. Introspection can happen right here in the big city, where the crowds engulf the individual, and you see yourself clearer for it. I'm so thankful for Conor hosting me, the hospitality of his mother, the drunken chat about photography with his father, the paid-for intelligent conversation with his grandparents and the... relaxed... evening with his brothers. This is what money and liberty buy you.
But I do not say that Conor is simple-minded. I have always sought to understand people like him; the inner-machinations of his mind (are an enigma); that was a spongebob quote, and that was the kind of humor I connected with him on for the entirety of my time. My friends in Singapore, my art friends are like him, or he is like them. And I know for a fact that under the facade of eccentricity is brilliance and melancholy. Cheers to the wonderful imagination and childish complexity.
~
Wester is a reference to Upper West Side; Upper + West = Wester(?)
~
This series of posts are starting to remind me of the Five People You Meet in Heaven.
Happiness: a good bank account, a good cook, and a good digestion - Jean-Jacques Rousseau
You are what you eat? It all becomes the same building blocks. You are who you meet. In my head, like everyone else's, it's nice to simplify and abstract. I think my friends are but various manifestations of me. There is a side that is tired, hedonistic and would rather retire on an olive farm than deal with the complexities of the city and the masquerade of people. And so there's Conor Jones. Call me naive, but despite not having the deepest or most complex of conversations with Conor, I believe it equally essential to have had that stay with him in New York.
In a gist, lots and lots and lots of Marijuana. Cartoons and beers for sides and video games for desserts. The value was never in pursuit of these 'pleasures' (because I will openly admit I probably don't enjoy them as much as Conor and his brothers do), it was... the view. It is the same with any 'getaway trip'. It gives you a chance to step away from routine and your life, step out of your character even, go backstage or go outside and hear and smell the city, especially, when you do it alone. My days were not spontaneous but still largely unplanned; each day I decided what I'd do and see or which road I'd walk down in the moment, just me and my camera and my new lens. I learnt about Conor and caught a glimpse of his family life, which was so meaningful to me. I wandered around Chinatown NYC, a marvelous place that in it's quaint ways and shamelessly American AND Chinese aspects represented what I love about the US. I stumbled upon the Museum of Chinese in America, enlightening me to a previous era of racism not unlike today's bigoted attitude towards Muslims; things have changed but the similarities can be disheartening.
I had so much time with my camera and my music and guess, myself - I relished every moment of it while I could. It is not true that you have to go to some 'exotic', far-away place. Introspection can happen right here in the big city, where the crowds engulf the individual, and you see yourself clearer for it. I'm so thankful for Conor hosting me, the hospitality of his mother, the drunken chat about photography with his father, the paid-for intelligent conversation with his grandparents and the... relaxed... evening with his brothers. This is what money and liberty buy you.
But I do not say that Conor is simple-minded. I have always sought to understand people like him; the inner-machinations of his mind (are an enigma); that was a spongebob quote, and that was the kind of humor I connected with him on for the entirety of my time. My friends in Singapore, my art friends are like him, or he is like them. And I know for a fact that under the facade of eccentricity is brilliance and melancholy. Cheers to the wonderful imagination and childish complexity.
~
Wester is a reference to Upper West Side; Upper + West = Wester(?)
~
This series of posts are starting to remind me of the Five People You Meet in Heaven.
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.
Tuesday, 22 March 2016
Monday
New York, 11.16 am.
I'm in my friend Conor Jone's apartment.
What is it like? Imagine an upper-class apartment in upper-west side Manhattan containing an art collection and rock instruments, a classy kitchen and some empty bottles of beer lying around.
This isn't the purpose of the post. But truthfully there are no dead-set posts I must make (especially not while I'm this hungry right now and Conor is still sleeping so we can't go for lunch).
I reiterate that posting while 'conditions' are not right is always uncomfortable for me, but some discipline in writing is necessary. I've already lost some of the thoughts I had and wanted to make sure I got down. I guess this is a post about the end of a quarter.
New York, 12.28 pm.
OK so the truth is I procrastinated and went to do emails, surfed the web and maybe played some civ :x. Now I'm realllyy hungry so I'll probably post later.
#84 Sunlight
Not looking at the harsh noon sky, but the streams that hit pillars and walls and stream into your windows in the morning and evening... the shadows they project and the dust that drifts around following Brownian motion is just beautiful.
New York, 4.34 pm.
Dramatic effect time stamps. I went for lunch without Conor because... well he just woke up 45 mins ago. His family cat Lily warmed up to me really quickly and has started taking refuge in my room indefinitely. His current throne is all over my clothes; which is to say there is fur all over my clothes. I wanted to write something because a day before leaving Chicago I had a conversation with Agneska. Shoot I just remembered I didn't do my CTECs. I just remembered they were on my sticky notes before my computer died.
OK. So it is obviously weird to pretend like the people in my life I sometimes write about don't read my blog when they do. So I don't pretend. In fact it's not a big deal to me because I don't mind sharing anything with almost anyone, it's just uncomfortable to see their reactions - be it overly patronizing or just plain not caring. I'm actually a much slower thinker than I look on caffeine; I can speak off the cuff just fine but I always find a better answer later which annoys me. So writing is a better medium to achieve greater clarity. But that's a lie too because I don't proofread my posts that thoroughly. Also, I hate it that in English, you can't start the sentence with 'but'. Let me tell you many an essay of mine have been stuck because I refused to start a sentence with 'however' 500 times since I constantly contradict and challenge my own thinking/writing.
Major digressions tend to indicate a large chunk of thoughts that I'm reluctant to start typing until I know I have time and emotional energy (ew) to type. They're also how Yan Mei and Ying Yue type. With whimsical distractions in rational tones. Alright, Conor's ready to go. And I doubt I'll be sober on the way back.
I'm in my friend Conor Jone's apartment.
What is it like? Imagine an upper-class apartment in upper-west side Manhattan containing an art collection and rock instruments, a classy kitchen and some empty bottles of beer lying around.
This isn't the purpose of the post. But truthfully there are no dead-set posts I must make (especially not while I'm this hungry right now and Conor is still sleeping so we can't go for lunch).
I reiterate that posting while 'conditions' are not right is always uncomfortable for me, but some discipline in writing is necessary. I've already lost some of the thoughts I had and wanted to make sure I got down. I guess this is a post about the end of a quarter.
New York, 12.28 pm.
OK so the truth is I procrastinated and went to do emails, surfed the web and maybe played some civ :x. Now I'm realllyy hungry so I'll probably post later.
#84 Sunlight
Not looking at the harsh noon sky, but the streams that hit pillars and walls and stream into your windows in the morning and evening... the shadows they project and the dust that drifts around following Brownian motion is just beautiful.
New York, 4.34 pm.
Dramatic effect time stamps. I went for lunch without Conor because... well he just woke up 45 mins ago. His family cat Lily warmed up to me really quickly and has started taking refuge in my room indefinitely. His current throne is all over my clothes; which is to say there is fur all over my clothes. I wanted to write something because a day before leaving Chicago I had a conversation with Agneska. Shoot I just remembered I didn't do my CTECs. I just remembered they were on my sticky notes before my computer died.
OK. So it is obviously weird to pretend like the people in my life I sometimes write about don't read my blog when they do. So I don't pretend. In fact it's not a big deal to me because I don't mind sharing anything with almost anyone, it's just uncomfortable to see their reactions - be it overly patronizing or just plain not caring. I'm actually a much slower thinker than I look on caffeine; I can speak off the cuff just fine but I always find a better answer later which annoys me. So writing is a better medium to achieve greater clarity. But that's a lie too because I don't proofread my posts that thoroughly. Also, I hate it that in English, you can't start the sentence with 'but'. Let me tell you many an essay of mine have been stuck because I refused to start a sentence with 'however' 500 times since I constantly contradict and challenge my own thinking/writing.
Major digressions tend to indicate a large chunk of thoughts that I'm reluctant to start typing until I know I have time and emotional energy (ew) to type. They're also how Yan Mei and Ying Yue type. With whimsical distractions in rational tones. Alright, Conor's ready to go. And I doubt I'll be sober on the way back.
Saturday, 26 December 2015
Who Am Me?
Church or club
I don't believe in God, but I believe in certain lifestyles.
The party lifestyle is not one of those exactly.
Not college parties, which are with friends and are cheap af really.
But the kind of party like zouk out, where the truth is all I can imagine are people, not bad people mind you, but people spending money to drink and dress and sweat(?), and yeah I guess I can''t escape the prejudice I have of them - entitled and rich. It was this dissonance I was trying to unlock all along, because parties in USA are different than in SG. In the east, the new rich chase after westernized culture like sheep; and this isn't true, or isn't representative - this is what the 'right' way of thinking goes.
And I hate dissonance.
I hate wrong representations.
I hate dishonesty, insincerity, hiding, acting... I don't know.
I hate that a bunch of rich guys can be served by poor(?)/less wealthy locals in a resort - and I hate it that I'm completely unsure what they are thinking. I don't know if they are putting on a show for us, if they hate their job, if they are envious, the small talk(?) The relationship is just different, between a snowboard instructor for example, we can be on 'equal' terms - yes I'm probably more well-off, but he still gets to snowboard and I'm humbly accepting his instruction as a pupil. Then there's the waiter/waitress - and maybe this is just Singapore - we hear their plight; the cliched movies of a hard day's work at the diner. Is it just Hollywood? Are they truly happy? What do they think when a rich businessman pulls out a wad of cash on a drink? Are they disgusted or do they think they would do the same with that much money?
And this was what I was uncomfortable with all along... er maybe.
I cannot stand getting what I get - I did not deserve this. Why am I the person ordering $40 steak and why is the waiter 'in service' to me. Or am I just looking at it the wrong way - I mean, they too get their days off, and they have times when they are being served steak; and it's not like we are bad customers, we aren't at all snobbish or impatient - that I hate the most when my mom does that sometimes. The 'you are serving me' attitude that Asians have.
Point of disgust number 2 - those resort adverts, showing a bunch or rich people drinking champagne on a yacht, relaxing on the beach. I guess it's just a symptom of capitalism. The money goes into a valuable number of jobs in the service industry after all.
Number 3? Younger brother - I really want to know what he thinks, what he's thinking, how he's growing. Something awkward because my elder brother has never really asked the same of me(?) we were too different people maybe. I get this feeling I got more of my dad's character than my elder brother because my dad is reserved, likes rock music, and is pretty down-to-earth in a way.
Or maybe I'm just really really tired, and I just need a simple, real conversation - and my family will never be able to provide for that. Sometimes I wonder if I should just go to CAPS; not because I'm depressed - pretty dam sure when the caffeine gets rolling the hypetrain goes full steam - but because it probably would help.
Or just open a wing in the CAPS office called the friends division - for anyone who just wants a walk-in deep conversation. I feel like this torrent of words ain't going to end for some time.
I don't believe in God, but I believe in certain lifestyles.
The party lifestyle is not one of those exactly.
Not college parties, which are with friends and are cheap af really.
But the kind of party like zouk out, where the truth is all I can imagine are people, not bad people mind you, but people spending money to drink and dress and sweat(?), and yeah I guess I can''t escape the prejudice I have of them - entitled and rich. It was this dissonance I was trying to unlock all along, because parties in USA are different than in SG. In the east, the new rich chase after westernized culture like sheep; and this isn't true, or isn't representative - this is what the 'right' way of thinking goes.
And I hate dissonance.
I hate wrong representations.
I hate dishonesty, insincerity, hiding, acting... I don't know.
I hate that a bunch of rich guys can be served by poor(?)/less wealthy locals in a resort - and I hate it that I'm completely unsure what they are thinking. I don't know if they are putting on a show for us, if they hate their job, if they are envious, the small talk(?) The relationship is just different, between a snowboard instructor for example, we can be on 'equal' terms - yes I'm probably more well-off, but he still gets to snowboard and I'm humbly accepting his instruction as a pupil. Then there's the waiter/waitress - and maybe this is just Singapore - we hear their plight; the cliched movies of a hard day's work at the diner. Is it just Hollywood? Are they truly happy? What do they think when a rich businessman pulls out a wad of cash on a drink? Are they disgusted or do they think they would do the same with that much money?
And this was what I was uncomfortable with all along... er maybe.
I cannot stand getting what I get - I did not deserve this. Why am I the person ordering $40 steak and why is the waiter 'in service' to me. Or am I just looking at it the wrong way - I mean, they too get their days off, and they have times when they are being served steak; and it's not like we are bad customers, we aren't at all snobbish or impatient - that I hate the most when my mom does that sometimes. The 'you are serving me' attitude that Asians have.
Point of disgust number 2 - those resort adverts, showing a bunch or rich people drinking champagne on a yacht, relaxing on the beach. I guess it's just a symptom of capitalism. The money goes into a valuable number of jobs in the service industry after all.
Number 3? Younger brother - I really want to know what he thinks, what he's thinking, how he's growing. Something awkward because my elder brother has never really asked the same of me(?) we were too different people maybe. I get this feeling I got more of my dad's character than my elder brother because my dad is reserved, likes rock music, and is pretty down-to-earth in a way.
Or maybe I'm just really really tired, and I just need a simple, real conversation - and my family will never be able to provide for that. Sometimes I wonder if I should just go to CAPS; not because I'm depressed - pretty dam sure when the caffeine gets rolling the hypetrain goes full steam - but because it probably would help.
Or just open a wing in the CAPS office called the friends division - for anyone who just wants a walk-in deep conversation. I feel like this torrent of words ain't going to end for some time.
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