I'd admit that I feel hurt whenever my parents express incredulity at and inconfidence in my abilities to survive down a perceived non-conventional career path. So much so that I've continued to emanate the same festering indecisiveness and non-existent self-assurance I've carried with me throughout my formal schooling years. How sad. Sometimes I baffle myself. Much as I have known myself to have thoughts of a heretic, I've somehow (paradoxically) stuck to the rules of a conformist, perhaps more in a straggling fashion but still safe within the green area of what's it and only it. I don't like to think I'm another one of those obsequious denizens of Singapore, but I sure behave like one, even if my brain regularly carried out protestation in microscopic ways, such as not studying for little tests or not doing tutorials and such (both are ostentatious actions of pseudo-non-muggers, which I now look back on in disgrace). The farthest I have tested the boundaries, if of any worth to boast about, is perhaps when I took literature in JC (oh no, don't get me started on how I'll flunk my lit in As -__-). So there. I've existed (nominally, at least) as the characteristically Singaporean acquiescent student for fifteen years, and possibly continue on as a duteous and well-trained article of the celebrated workforce of Singapore. I'm reluctantly reminded of those old-school Ministry of Manpower posters that depict happy labourers lovin' it ...
(Yesh, I've been excessively employing hyperbolic expressions, but do allow me to wallow in my own piteous clay/mud hole for a few paragraphs more.)
(Or you can just stop here. This is a rant.)
My only lucid thought: I don't want to look back (say, fifty years later), and think, oh, so that's how I lived my life - like any other 69-year-old, I had worked 10-hours-a-day-5-days-a-week-45-years-a-lifetime. But then again, why do I have to have such aberrant ambitions? What's wrong with being ... ordinary? As far as I can see it'd only bring me good family, good dough, and a good round-the-world trip after I've retired. A patently nothing-goes-wrong path. But to me, even the paraphernalia (please, not related to paraphelia) associated with the mundane life scares me silly.
Why why why.
I can't comprehend my own thoughts. In fact, my post is going off in so many tangents I think I shall just stop here. Also that I've merely been repeating myself. Whatever that's up there is probably worth less than noisome carrion. Anyway, it'd do me no good to blog myself into a grandiloquently depressed mood just before I sleep.
An aside: I've settled (tentatively) for something that's arguably normal. Being a J-O-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X can hardly be considered a deviance from the norm, can it?
P.S I've scanned the entire post and found it incoherent and insubstantial. All the big words (all Graveyard Book's fault for filling my head with words to do with death and gloom) in there conveys nothing more than pomposity that invites mockery and disdain. No, I'm not requesting you to display the mentioned emotions. In fact, you should only feel apathy, or nothing at all. Rest assured this post will be taken down A.S.A.P ... until I've lightened up enough or when I've finally contorted myself into the mould of what I should be.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Slow Is Good.
I've decided to blog about this in a different post, because it's of a decidedly different nature, and I do not want this musing and introspective side of me to be tainted by the unintelligent malice of dah previous post. To put it simply, I want to keep my alter-egos separate. To prevent internal personality conflicts, you know?
Anyway I've started work, and work is always hectic and backache-causing. (Never mind that I was forced to don a fluorescent yellow shirt against my will.) (Never mind that I've actually only worked for three days.)
I have a fifteen-minute break everyday, and there isn't much you can do with fifteen minutes. Maybe take a walk round the entire building of shops. Or finish half a cup of mashed potato from 7-11 (I'm a slow eater). There isn't much to do around either, except maybe hang out at the hawker centre and gossip with the workers there (that's what the other cashier-aunties tend to do).
So on one of these stellar fifteen-minute break, I suddenly had a craving for fried ice-cream from the stall which I've seen a couple of times but never had the urge to patronise before. I went up to the stall to find the uncle sleeping soundly in his chair. Seeing that my precious fifteen minutes might not last till his nap is up, I proceeded to wake him up with a chorus of "Uncle! I want ice-cream!". The old uncle looked up and had one of those guileless smiles to his face.
"Xiao mei yao chi ice-cream ah?" He said it in this I-have-all-the-time-in-the-world tone.
Then he sluggishly unfolded his legs and hobbled over to the fridge, whistling this I-am-the-happiest-man-in-the-world tune.
As he fried the ice-cream in the lukewarm oil ("Xiao mei, deng yi xia you re ah ... "), he kept up this languid but amiable conversation. I couldn't help but strike up a comparism between his service and the service of the bubble tea ladies - the ladies were motorised and efficient, but didn't seem to care very much for their wares and patrons. On the other hand, this old uncle was cheery and in no hurry (my fifteen minutes was slipping fast), as if frying ice-cream was the best thing to happen in his life.
Contrary to feeling impatient, I actually relaxed and fell momentarily to the old uncle's pace of life.
(The ice-cream was pleasantly piping hot on the outside, and the cold filling was nicely contrasting.)
Then I looked at my mobile phone's clock and realised time was up. So I hurried back to my counter, but not without the lasting aftertaste of fried mango ice-cream in my mouth. (It was so everlasting, I still burped fried-mango-ice-cream two hours later.)
Erps, I didn't intend for this post to be a mushy musing on life. Never mind, I shall steer it into neutral territory. The conclusion is, fried mango ice-cream rocks, and I think fried strawberry ice-cream might rock even more. We'll see tomorrow.
P.S. By next Wednesday I can chuck the stupid neon-yellow shirt!
Anyway I've started work, and work is always hectic and backache-causing. (Never mind that I was forced to don a fluorescent yellow shirt against my will.) (Never mind that I've actually only worked for three days.)
I have a fifteen-minute break everyday, and there isn't much you can do with fifteen minutes. Maybe take a walk round the entire building of shops. Or finish half a cup of mashed potato from 7-11 (I'm a slow eater). There isn't much to do around either, except maybe hang out at the hawker centre and gossip with the workers there (that's what the other cashier-aunties tend to do).
So on one of these stellar fifteen-minute break, I suddenly had a craving for fried ice-cream from the stall which I've seen a couple of times but never had the urge to patronise before. I went up to the stall to find the uncle sleeping soundly in his chair. Seeing that my precious fifteen minutes might not last till his nap is up, I proceeded to wake him up with a chorus of "Uncle! I want ice-cream!". The old uncle looked up and had one of those guileless smiles to his face.
"Xiao mei yao chi ice-cream ah?" He said it in this I-have-all-the-time-in-the-world tone.
Then he sluggishly unfolded his legs and hobbled over to the fridge, whistling this I-am-the-happiest-man-in-the-world tune.
As he fried the ice-cream in the lukewarm oil ("Xiao mei, deng yi xia you re ah ... "), he kept up this languid but amiable conversation. I couldn't help but strike up a comparism between his service and the service of the bubble tea ladies - the ladies were motorised and efficient, but didn't seem to care very much for their wares and patrons. On the other hand, this old uncle was cheery and in no hurry (my fifteen minutes was slipping fast), as if frying ice-cream was the best thing to happen in his life.
Contrary to feeling impatient, I actually relaxed and fell momentarily to the old uncle's pace of life.
(The ice-cream was pleasantly piping hot on the outside, and the cold filling was nicely contrasting.)
Then I looked at my mobile phone's clock and realised time was up. So I hurried back to my counter, but not without the lasting aftertaste of fried mango ice-cream in my mouth. (It was so everlasting, I still burped fried-mango-ice-cream two hours later.)
Erps, I didn't intend for this post to be a mushy musing on life. Never mind, I shall steer it into neutral territory. The conclusion is, fried mango ice-cream rocks, and I think fried strawberry ice-cream might rock even more. We'll see tomorrow.
P.S. By next Wednesday I can chuck the stupid neon-yellow shirt!
the CYNIC strikes again
It seems the cynical side of me has a penchant to surface whenever I witness sartorial disasters ... Welcome Huan teh Cynic.
Case A in point: A middle-aged lady who begs for attention. Visually. Picture this - a semi-transparent chiffon blouse which showcases her electric-blue bra perfectly. Brown leggings which hugs (passionately tight) her and highlights her cellulite-filled thighs. Moving down, we see normal casual strappy sandals, but WAIT. What's that? It looks like a riot of colours, randomly and unstrategically placed on each foot to render a gaudy and dorky circus-look to her feet. The culprit in question is a pair of unsightly, garishly coloured socks paired with sandals. If you look into the hidden book of sartorial rules, sandals and socks never, ever, ever, ever, happen together. Never in a good way, except in heaven-born miracles. More on the socks - the base is of a dirty mustard colour, and each toe is coloured a tawdry version of a random colour in the rainbow.
Imagine it.
Now puke. (I am mean.)
Please take note that I only caught sight of her for a mere one minute, and the absurdity of it all seeped into my brain and claimed a permanent spot. Involuntarily. There's more to it! The lady in question was also holding this oversized clutch bag that was entirely monogrammed with LVs (it was also in the signature brown characteristic of Louis Vuitton bags). I've never seen an LV handbag that big in my life, nor do I deign to believe it exists in the catalog of this French luxury brand. That aside, I'm not chiding her for not being able to own a genuinely branded bag. I just think it's ostentatious to pretend to have one, especially if one thinks the bigger the bag, the more bling bling goody it is.
Case B in point: Any one of the random Singaporeans wearing mass-produced (usually in stock factory colours) tank tops with mass-produced mini pants (usually khaki or denim) together with plastic flip-flops. There is this sameness to most females in the crowd because they have decided that Singapore's weather is too hot for better-looking clothes (I agree with Jiani that Shanghai has way better-dressed people T_T).
Huan the Cynic says ...
To death with both. It's either tried too hard (A), or didn't try at all (B).
I am just plain mean, but Simon Cowell is meaner.
P.S. I still see no signs of the stated elegance leng claims my writing has. mehss
Case A in point: A middle-aged lady who begs for attention. Visually. Picture this - a semi-transparent chiffon blouse which showcases her electric-blue bra perfectly. Brown leggings which hugs (passionately tight) her and highlights her cellulite-filled thighs. Moving down, we see normal casual strappy sandals, but WAIT. What's that? It looks like a riot of colours, randomly and unstrategically placed on each foot to render a gaudy and dorky circus-look to her feet. The culprit in question is a pair of unsightly, garishly coloured socks paired with sandals. If you look into the hidden book of sartorial rules, sandals and socks never, ever, ever, ever, happen together. Never in a good way, except in heaven-born miracles. More on the socks - the base is of a dirty mustard colour, and each toe is coloured a tawdry version of a random colour in the rainbow.
Imagine it.
Now puke. (I am mean.)
Please take note that I only caught sight of her for a mere one minute, and the absurdity of it all seeped into my brain and claimed a permanent spot. Involuntarily. There's more to it! The lady in question was also holding this oversized clutch bag that was entirely monogrammed with LVs (it was also in the signature brown characteristic of Louis Vuitton bags). I've never seen an LV handbag that big in my life, nor do I deign to believe it exists in the catalog of this French luxury brand. That aside, I'm not chiding her for not being able to own a genuinely branded bag. I just think it's ostentatious to pretend to have one, especially if one thinks the bigger the bag, the more bling bling goody it is.
Case B in point: Any one of the random Singaporeans wearing mass-produced (usually in stock factory colours) tank tops with mass-produced mini pants (usually khaki or denim) together with plastic flip-flops. There is this sameness to most females in the crowd because they have decided that Singapore's weather is too hot for better-looking clothes (I agree with Jiani that Shanghai has way better-dressed people T_T).
Huan the Cynic says ...
To death with both. It's either tried too hard (A), or didn't try at all (B).
I am just plain mean, but Simon Cowell is meaner.
P.S. I still see no signs of the stated elegance leng claims my writing has. mehss
Monday, February 16, 2009
the CYNIC appears
Woot I'm back.
Where was I? Only on the most fabulous slimming programme ever, the Flab-Losing Ultimate package! If you haven't realised, this has been the trend in our image-conscious little red dot. It consists of involuntary exercises of your tummy muscles (for your dream waistline) as well as slow heat over your entire body (burn those fats away!). The results are nothing short of amazing: I lost 2kg in three days when all I did was to roll around in bed / read Beedle the Bard two times / read my brother's storybooks / read my sister's biology notes / read the random manual for my new DVD player / try to read the Tamil version of the random manual mentioned previously. Too bad, admittance into this programme is dang exclusive, so don't try.
Let's move on to real content. Anyway, I've concluded that my blog has been decidedly cheerful, and it's time to put more weight in my words. You know, to give my blog this mysterious edge. No more skip-around-lala-I'm-happy Huan. You see? Huan has decided that she will look at the world in (deliberately made) smoke-tinted glasses. Don't worry, the effect is temporary.
(what you see below is mostly non-fictional.)
Which male teenager presented below is considered more fashion-urgh worthy?
Case A in point: The guy in a grey pasar malam Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, waist-high maroon pants, over-the-ankle school socks and sneakers
Case B: The guy I saw 2 seconds later, who was decked out entirely in Billabong merchadise. ENTIRELY.
Huan the Cynic says ...
Both induce uncontrollable retching and winces of agony. Exhibit A obviously shows no signs of EQ, for it was written in the hidden book of High School law that Thou Shalt Never Tuck In Your Shirt, Nor Wear Socks Above Thy Ankles. It is very likely that he was The Geek in school. Exhibit B, however, certainly knows that Billabong is one of the "accepted" brands of coolness that secondary school kids fawn over. But there's cool, more cool, and overkill. B must have no mind of his own. His peers probably have been feeding him with these notions of "style", and B has not only followed them ardently, he has followed them to the point of no return (there is no way for him to refund his Billabong cap, shirt, pants and bag now). Let's go back to A - still untainted and self-absorbed in his own cocoon of pasar-malam clothes. BUT!! with a little help from Auntie Dawn, A still has potential to be the next school hunk! B, on the other hand, might be forever stuck in his thinking that he is but the lackey of the cooler boys in school - for they owned more Billabong items than he did. How sad! At the very least A is unique, so I say B sucks MORE!
the end of teh pointless post
P.S. I'm dying for some Auntie Dawn humour!
Where was I? Only on the most fabulous slimming programme ever, the Flab-Losing Ultimate package! If you haven't realised, this has been the trend in our image-conscious little red dot. It consists of involuntary exercises of your tummy muscles (for your dream waistline) as well as slow heat over your entire body (burn those fats away!). The results are nothing short of amazing: I lost 2kg in three days when all I did was to roll around in bed / read Beedle the Bard two times / read my brother's storybooks / read my sister's biology notes / read the random manual for my new DVD player / try to read the Tamil version of the random manual mentioned previously. Too bad, admittance into this programme is dang exclusive, so don't try.
Let's move on to real content. Anyway, I've concluded that my blog has been decidedly cheerful, and it's time to put more weight in my words. You know, to give my blog this mysterious edge. No more skip-around-lala-I'm-happy Huan. You see? Huan has decided that she will look at the world in (deliberately made) smoke-tinted glasses. Don't worry, the effect is temporary.
(what you see below is mostly non-fictional.)
Which male teenager presented below is considered more fashion-urgh worthy?
Case A in point: The guy in a grey pasar malam Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, waist-high maroon pants, over-the-ankle school socks and sneakers
Case B: The guy I saw 2 seconds later, who was decked out entirely in Billabong merchadise. ENTIRELY.
Huan the Cynic says ...
Both induce uncontrollable retching and winces of agony. Exhibit A obviously shows no signs of EQ, for it was written in the hidden book of High School law that Thou Shalt Never Tuck In Your Shirt, Nor Wear Socks Above Thy Ankles. It is very likely that he was The Geek in school. Exhibit B, however, certainly knows that Billabong is one of the "accepted" brands of coolness that secondary school kids fawn over. But there's cool, more cool, and overkill. B must have no mind of his own. His peers probably have been feeding him with these notions of "style", and B has not only followed them ardently, he has followed them to the point of no return (there is no way for him to refund his Billabong cap, shirt, pants and bag now). Let's go back to A - still untainted and self-absorbed in his own cocoon of pasar-malam clothes. BUT!! with a little help from Auntie Dawn, A still has potential to be the next school hunk! B, on the other hand, might be forever stuck in his thinking that he is but the lackey of the cooler boys in school - for they owned more Billabong items than he did. How sad! At the very least A is unique, so I say B sucks MORE!
the end of teh pointless post
P.S. I'm dying for some Auntie Dawn humour!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
dey first post after a loong long time
... and dey first driving and aikido lesson! Finally something in my life worth blogging about.
(I'm sure no one will be entertained by a post on how I'm jobless and moolah-less.)
Driving was kind of disappointing. No VROOM-VROOM madness. I'm surprised that my instructor did not expel me, when he had to say "You are too fast!", and "What lan eh, dont push so hard, will spoil the gear leh!", and "Oi, going too fast!", and "Eh, please dont speed round the bend!" and "Omg please dont touch the accelerating pedal anymore!" and various permutations of swearing and cursing revolving on me going faster than a chugging snail speed. I bet I can cycle faster!
Anyway, my teacher still deemed me suitable to try out driving on real roads (prior to that I was training in this random lorry carpark which was filled with more Toyata sedans than lorries). Real driving on the road? More Math test than arcade racing.
A typical mental journey goes like this-
Hands: Steering wheel on straight
Right leg: Slight presssure on accelerating pedal
*chug chug chug chug chug chug chug chug*
(instructor: okay, STOP line ahead!)
Eyes: see that the first arrow is covered by the bonnet
Right leg: Move to brake pedal and apply pressure
*car lurches to a stop*
(instructor: omg you only press the brake pedal that hard in an emergency!
me: sorry sorry
instructor: Green light!)
Eyes: see green light
Brain: count for one second
Right leg: move to accelerating pedal, apply pressure
Hands: Crossover motion, to the right at moderate speed
*vroom rooo rooo rooo rooo rooo ..."
*car swings to the right*
(instructor: okay very good but can you don accerelate so much ah?
me: eh I think my right leg is very insensitive -___-)
*ooo rooom mm m ch chu chug chug chug chug chug chug chug chug*
-repeat from above----^
So there. Driving is less thrilling than riding a tricyle. Just too many rules and short-tempered commuters to deal with -____- So let's move on to aikido!
What did I do on my first lesson?
First, to turn with style. Serious. Turn left/right/back, all covered.
Second, which is a lot more useful, is a toned-down simulation of mob fighting. Basically, three people will try to push their palms into your face and you must be ready to deflect them all.
Next, roll around. The proceeding half hour was filled with loads of rolling. Tuck and roll from the front. Tuck and roll from the back. Pay a roll of money for lessons. Pay another roll of money for e uniform. I used to roll a lot in kindergarten xD so this wasn't too difficult.
FINALLY, a basic aikido technique. Which involves pwning whoever who tries to grab your wrist. Very useful for kidnapper/mobster/gangster scenario ... not that I've ever met with such a situation -__-
Anyway it was still good fun. Dong anyone else wants to join me? x)
P.S. someone give me a job please!
(I'm sure no one will be entertained by a post on how I'm jobless and moolah-less.)
Driving was kind of disappointing. No VROOM-VROOM madness. I'm surprised that my instructor did not expel me, when he had to say "You are too fast!", and "What lan eh, dont push so hard, will spoil the gear leh!", and "Oi, going too fast!", and "Eh, please dont speed round the bend!" and "Omg please dont touch the accelerating pedal anymore!" and various permutations of swearing and cursing revolving on me going faster than a chugging snail speed. I bet I can cycle faster!
Anyway, my teacher still deemed me suitable to try out driving on real roads (prior to that I was training in this random lorry carpark which was filled with more Toyata sedans than lorries). Real driving on the road? More Math test than arcade racing.
A typical mental journey goes like this-
Hands: Steering wheel on straight
Right leg: Slight presssure on accelerating pedal
*chug chug chug chug chug chug chug chug*
(instructor: okay, STOP line ahead!)
Eyes: see that the first arrow is covered by the bonnet
Right leg: Move to brake pedal and apply pressure
*car lurches to a stop*
(instructor: omg you only press the brake pedal that hard in an emergency!
me: sorry sorry
instructor: Green light!)
Eyes: see green light
Brain: count for one second
Right leg: move to accelerating pedal, apply pressure
Hands: Crossover motion, to the right at moderate speed
*vroom rooo rooo rooo rooo rooo ..."
*car swings to the right*
(instructor: okay very good but can you don accerelate so much ah?
me: eh I think my right leg is very insensitive -___-)
*ooo rooom mm m ch chu chug chug chug chug chug chug chug chug*
-repeat from above----^
So there. Driving is less thrilling than riding a tricyle. Just too many rules and short-tempered commuters to deal with -____- So let's move on to aikido!
What did I do on my first lesson?
First, to turn with style. Serious. Turn left/right/back, all covered.
Second, which is a lot more useful, is a toned-down simulation of mob fighting. Basically, three people will try to push their palms into your face and you must be ready to deflect them all.
Next, roll around. The proceeding half hour was filled with loads of rolling. Tuck and roll from the front. Tuck and roll from the back. Pay a roll of money for lessons. Pay another roll of money for e uniform. I used to roll a lot in kindergarten xD so this wasn't too difficult.
FINALLY, a basic aikido technique. Which involves pwning whoever who tries to grab your wrist. Very useful for kidnapper/mobster/gangster scenario ... not that I've ever met with such a situation -__-
Anyway it was still good fun. Dong anyone else wants to join me? x)
P.S. someone give me a job please!
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