April 15, 2010
run
It is 1.23am. I’m sitting in a huntsman hall computer lab, rediscovering a former life, commiserating with myself.
This loneliness just won’t leave me alone.
Perhaps it was never meant to be. Can two people so different really navigate through the winding roads of life together? Can I continue to ignore one speedbump after another? My own theory, put to the test. Who am I kidding. I brought this upon myself, and it was far from a test. It was me, straying from the path. Was it for the thrill of adventure? Who knows. Right now, I’m lost in the woods, without a clue about where to start.
I don’t deal with problems well. I run. In this lonely empty dark forest, let’s see where that’ll get me.
May 2, 2006
Paradigms
The face of the water, in time, became a wonderful book – a book that was a dead language to the uneducated passenger, but which told its mind to me without reserve, delivering its most cherished secrets as clearly as if it uttered them with a voice. In truth, the passenger who could not read this book saw nothing but all manner of pretty pictures in it, painted by the sun and shaded by the clouds, whereas to the trained eye these were not pictures at all, but the grimmest and most dead-earnest of reading matter.
Now when I had mastered the language of this water and had come to know every trifling feature that bordered the grat river as familiarly as I knew letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something too. I had lost that which could never be restored to me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry had gone out of the majestic river. I still kept in mind a certain wonderful sunset which I witnessed when steam-boating was new to me. A broad expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance the red hue brightened into gold, through which a solitary log came flowing, black and conspicuous; in one place a long slanting mark lay sparkling on the water; in another the surface was broken by boiling rings, that were as many tinted as an opal; where the ruddy flush was faintest, was a smooth spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines, ever so delicately traced; the shore on our left was densely wooded and the sombre shadow that fell from this forest was broken in one place by a long ruffled trail that shone like silver; and high above the forest wall a clean-stemmed dead tree waved a single leafy bough that glowed like a flame in the unobstructed splendour that was flowing from the sun. There were graceful curves, reflected images, woody heights, soft distances; and over the whole scence, far and near, the dissolving lights drifted steadily enriching it, every passing moment with some new marvel of colouring.
I stood like one bewitched. I drank it in, in a speechless rapture. But as I have said, there came a day when… if that sunset scene had been repeated, I should have looked upon it without rapture, and should have commented inwardly, after this fashion: The sun means taht we are going to have wind tomorrow; that floating log means that the river is rising; that slanting mark on the river reflects a bluff reef which is going to kill somebody’s steamboat one of these nights if it keeps on stretching out like that; those tumbling boils show a dissolving bar and a changing channel there; that dead tree, with a single living branch is not going to last long, and then how is a body ever going to get through this blind place at night without the friendly old landmark?
No, the romance and the beauty were all gone from the river. Since those days I have pities doctors from my heart. What does the lovely flush in a beauty’s cheek mean but a ‘break’ that ripples above some deady disease? Does he ever see her beauty at all, or doesn’t he simply comment on her unwholesome condition all to himself? And doesn’t he sometimes wonder whether he has gained most or lost most by learning his trade?
April 30, 2006
Missed Opportunities
Sometimes, you just look back and wonder, what if? or you simply sigh, and think, if only..
Everytime i do that, I end up thinking, oh well, nothing I can do about it. But I think i'm fed up with that. Some part of me can't stand sitting and watching and turning green with envy. Some part of me just cannot stand playing second best. Some part of me has resolved to take opportunites by the scruff of the neck when they come along. Because really, I think it's about time I got over my fears. It's time I started taking more risks if I want more rewards.
Being a pussy isn't gonna get me anywhere.
April 6, 2006
System Failure
I have to ask myself once again, why, why do I cling so dearly onto my beliefs, my ideas, my confidence, my identity. It has increasingly become clear to me that oftentimes, my thought processes greatly differ from the norm. I find it more difficult than ever to work with others who perhaps do not share my opinions. Is it intrinsically human to defend the self. To dismiss others. To feel a need to impose one’s will on others? I will just hold on to my beliefs. I will not dismiss, but i will not readily accept without careful evaluation. I insist that we must see the big picture.
Perhaps its my long history of being an administrator. My experiences and my readings, history and my gut feeling, tells me that the most successful bodies, organizations or groups, are those that distance themselves from human emotions and thoughts. A system is meant to be functional, and a human is everything but that. I see their point, but i cannot accept the continual stress placed on considering human needs and wants. I have failed miserably to put this idea into words, and some may say that you only know as much as you can say, but i just have this very strong innate feeling, and perhaps even knowledge that it will only work, if we can distance ourselves from everything that we are. A overarching body is not human, does not have emotions or at least, must not have. It must not be governed by self interest and must therefore consider the whole. And the whole system, is never just about humans. The social construct defines it that way.
In some ways, i guess i have become more of a machine than a man. The void where emotions ought to reside within me has only served to drive me to think and think and think. And that’s where you start seeing how sadly humanity fails.
April 1, 2006
Ennui
I feel like I've hit a ceiling. A plateau in my life. Actually, I don't really feel anything anymore. It's just this sense of complete listlessness, overwhelming lack of interest in anything. It's like somehow, I've just hit a wall. And resultantly, everything seems so directionless. I resort to reading. To enriching myself. But all this seems to do is further dehumanise me. I don't feel happy. I don't feel sad. I'm just uninterested.
I think it's time to have a long hard look at my faith. I need some sort of an outlet, some inspiration, a soul mate perhaps. but I don't seem to be having any success with my search. Only time will tell. I guess.
March 25, 2006
Nothing but An Idea
Listen. Do you hear the music?
What? What music?
My music. I am a performer.
Is that why you wear a mask?
We all wear masks. Life creates them and forces us to find one that fits.
Then take off your mask. I want to know who you are.
But why? Why do you want to know who i am?
Because… I want to know the identity of this performer as you claim to be.
Does it really matter who I
am? Why art thou so concerned about that vulnerable flesh and blood?
What if i tell you, that beneath this mask, there is nothing. Nothing
but an Idea.
I'm afraid I don't quite understand you…
Let's just say given the choice of the death of my body and the death of my principles…
Oh I think I get it now!
Good. And what good is a performer without an audience?
Err.. I don't know?
Neither do I. And that is why, I need you.
Whatever for?
Youare a listener, a spectator. Like me, you are just another body behind
a mask. You are but a void born into a prison. Now let me show you
those bars of oppression.
What? What bars? Bars of oppression?
Shh.. Listen. Let me engage you with ideas. And soon, soon you will
find a way to pry
open those bars that i shall show you. Soon you will find your own
Idea. Soon, you will realise it is not the who, but the what that
matters.
March 19, 2006
Who are you?
“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”
Oscar Wilde
February 27, 2006
the Measure of a Man
At various points in my life, I have had one notion or another of what it is that people judge a man.
Was it the straight As? The number of friends? All the cool things he did? His jokes? His popularity?
Not too long ago, I was all caught up in the question of style. I literally wished that I oozed class.
But the more i think about it, the more i realise, that even I myself, couldn’t give two hoots about whether a guy looked good and professional. Alright, some place at the back of my head, it probably registered. But I also know, that if they guy had no substance to back up the front that he puts before me, his stock would drop drastically in my eyes.
Which brings me to my proposition that it is in fact, the amount of Respect one has earned that really determines the measure of a man. I’ve always striven to earn respect from those around me. Whether I have been successful is another matter altogether. But without an inkling of doubt in my mind, I believe, no I tell you that respect is one of few things that you truly get what you deserve. No more, no less.
Yet, respect is really a very human thing. My very first supposition that the measure of a man is founded on the esteem that others hold him, how others see him, right now in my thoughts, holds no weight.
Because, even as I type this, even as I seek to renew my Faith, I realise that the true measure of a man, in tangible terms, would perhaps be the extent to which he has fulfilled the Fruits of the Spirit. But more than anything, I have realised that Christianity differs from many other religions or philosophies on this basic premise – that it is not a guiding set of principles which we ought to adhere to in life, but rather, is about our relationship with God.
Which leads me to my conclusion – The Measure of a Man is not about his dealings with men, but rather, his bond with God.
February 21, 2006
Still
Amidst the burden of expectation, the tension of stress, the weight of the world, right now, I’d wish for just one thing.
I would like the world to be still. Just for an hour or maybe two. No humming of cars whizzing by my window. No hustle-bustle of people. No hum-drum of city life. A Mdm Tussauds brought to reality. Imagine. Just visualise. Hold that thought in your head.
Everyone, everything is frozen in motion. The fly halted in its flight. Like the White Witch’s castle. But without the pain. Smiles, scowls. The still sweat drop on a boy’s face.
And there in that instance, I would do everything I have ever wanted to do, independent of the all the social and emotional entanglements of my life. No guilt. No shame.
Freedom.
Freedom to do anything knowing that no one will ever know of. Not even myself. Knowing that life will go on as if nothing had happened after my two hours of still has passed.
Freedom. To be myself for just two hours.
And with these two hours of stillness, I will put my soul at rest. Rescue my mind from those choppy waters of mundane, taxing life. Discovering who I really am.
I will be still.
