In Continuum.: December 2007

Hey, Sunshine

Monday, December 31, 2007

Hey, Sunshine

Hey sunshine.

Sometimes,

I feel like going to your side of the horizon,

and ask you how you are.

Ask you how you really are.

But it's always so difficult to know

where the happiness ends

and the loneliness begins.

Especially from where I am,

everything just seems so very far away.

But from where I am

to where you are,

is a straight line that isn't very far.

Write me sometime about your tears,

so I know when the salty taste in the seas

are from your beautiful eyes - the ones I hold dear.

The Sweet Girl

Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Sweet Girl

I wrote this little piece while I was on the plane back to Singapore. A fictional non-fiction, go figure out what it means.

She is a sweet girl, a really sweet girl. It's difficult sometimes to tag any other adjectives to her face and name, sometimes you feel like you should - as a boyfriend, you should. They always speak of those sweet words don't they? The way movie couples whispers fragile little words into each others' ears, as if speaking too loud would take them out of the moment. I'd like to be a good boyfriend, someone who makes her girl friends' jealous of, the kind that parents can be proud of. If it takes a vibrant vocabulary of words to describe my partner, I'd gladly memorize the whole dictionary from page one to the last. But there is something about her, something that gives me a sense of writer's block sometimes. The way no words come to your mind to describe a certain scenery, a particular sound or smell in the wind. You find yourself being inadequate, a little lost while you are staring at the blinking cursor on the computer screen. So you take out that handy little notebook you bring around wherever you go, because paper and pen are supposed to induce that writer in everybody - well, at least for me. But it doesn't work either, it's not working at all. There isn't a blinking cursor, but the emptiness behind the first sentence is killing me.

It's so hard to be anything and everything sometimes, especially when anything and everything encompasses a variety of words and colors to describe your partner. I'd like to say that she is eloquent, that she is elegant, that she is dazzling beyond beliefs. But I can't, I can't lie to her, and mostly myself. I can't bring myself to say anything more than the word 'sweet', or maybe also those condescending words of love sometimes when the moon is high and the mood is right. I just can't, I am not nearly as big a liar as I put myself out to be as a writer. A writer make up stories from real life, but they don't live their real lives like stories. My stories do not usually have a flawless perfect ending like those best-seller books out there on the shelves, but they are not exactly tragic Shakespeare endings either. It's just stagnant, like the deep breath before the plunge, like the skies before a great storm. Everything is in a constant, and she is just a very, very sweet girl. I start to ask myself what is the meaning of all this, where am I - we - going from here. What if this as good as it gets?

29th of December, 2007. Something happened at the traffic light changed my views of her forever. I'd like to think that she really enjoyed her escape to Paris with me, that she loved every single minute spent with me walking on the narrow streets. But I could tell, I could see in her eyes that she wanted to go home. The trip to the tower told me everything I needed to know, because she was just sick and tired of the trip altogether. It wasn't her idea in the first place, just my stubbornness to see Europe, to see the Louvre in its full glory and the catacombs in its underground darkness. She's always liked Rome, preferred Rome, adored Rome, even though she's only really been to Rome in her dreams and saw it in travel brochures. She's a Pisces, she is dreamy and hopeful. She is stubborn most of the time, but she gives in to me most of the time - too. That is because, she is sweet, and because she is sweet. I am running out of words again, but that is how she is. You can never really find her complaining about room service or grumbling about taxi charges. She's the kind of partner you would want on a holiday trip overseas, because she gives in to anything and indulges in everything. Who wouldn't want a person like that? Such a sweet little thing, and I am running out of words again.

The truth is, I would have liked it very much if she actually threw a tantrum in the middle of the streets, screamed her head off right in the middle of the foreign crowd and cursed at me for bringing her to Paris rather than Rome. I would have liked that, because it would have been more realistic, more real. Less of those artificialities, those fake smiles and sweet talks. There is nothing wrong with those, nothing wrong with that. Everybody likes to be pampered, even if the other party is doing it via words. But sometimes you just wonder if that person is truly feeling the way she is showing, or just the complete opposite altogether. It's hard to tell, especially with sweet people. Sweet people hide things very well, because they assume that you think that they are sweet, and thus take them for granted. You believe whatever they tell you, or at least that is the common illusion of sweet people. There is nothing wrong with her, nothing at all. I'd very much like to tell her just how sweet she is right now, thirty-six thousand feet in the air and seven thousand miles away from home. But I can't, not just because it'd be a lie, but also because she is sleeping next to me on the plane right now. She is sleeping, she hates to be woken up in the middle of her sleep. But she won't complain if you do, she won't say a single nasty word. She won't even give you a dirty look, those unbearable stares. Why? Because she is sweet, and I can't do a single thing about it.

That's how it is between people, some people are just too nice to show you that they hate you from the inside out and the outside in. They are too nice to show you just how screwed up you are a person, so they make you feel good about yourself by being so damn intolerably nice. Then the day comes, it always comes, when you are sitting a feet or two away from that person and you start to wonder if that person is where she is because she is just too nice to tell you that she doesn't want to stay. After all, you think about those intolerable things that you have done, or have not done at the same time. You start to wonder just how it is possible for anybody to tolerate a person like me, but there she is. Here she is. We need warmth, a thick coat in the blizzard. We need a little bit of honesty, just that little frankness we don't see too often anymore. We see advertisements of cosmetics, slimming pills, actors and actresses with their hinds bigger than basketballs and their waists thinner than a wine glass. They are all facets aren't they, just little illusions we create for ourselves and one another to make the world a better place. There are massacres, there are genocide, there are assassinations and there are rapes, there are murders, and then there are these little lies we tell ourselves on a day to day basis. It's a vast contrast, it's almost too ridiculous to even consider it a problem in relative, but we are only human, and we crave for warmth. A little honesty for me, my dear, a little honesty from time to time. Give me a little bitter, give me a taste of sour, so I can learn the beauty of sweet. But here you are, a feet or two away from me, breathing softly into the hollow of my neck. How intolerable, both yourself and me. Your cute little face, your beautiful soft cheeks like bubble gum, my crude and vile thoughts about you - what a devil you have turned me into.

The plane jerked, and then it jerked again. The seat belt lights come on, someone is saying something somewhere about some turbulent thing. She awakes from her wakeful slumber and she is looking me deep into my eyes. Stop looking like that honey, you are making my thoughts falter, you are breaking my train of thought. You should have kept on sleeping, you should have remained where you are. You shouldn't be looking at me right now, stop looking at me with those beautiful eyes of yours, those eyes dyed in the color of lavender - spring. Seriously, you should stop staring at me in the eyes, I cannot concentrate on my thoughts anymore. I feel ashamed now, almost guilty, like somebody being caught red-handed at a local mall, or a celebrity taking one of those ugly mug shots knowing that it is going to be in every possible tabloid in less than six hours. I feel naked now, stop looking at me. I had nasty and horrible thoughts about you honey, I thought about me hating you, I thought about despising your little means and ways. Oh, really, stop looking me in the eyes. I cannot take your accusations, I cannot take your non-judgmental looks. I should be judged, I should be tried. I should be hung in a public square and left to rot in the sun and consumed by giant crows and vultures. I harbored thoughts about you, I doubted you, doubted me, doubted this thing in between us. This - thing, I am running out of words again. I can't explain it, because I can't touch it. I can't touch it, because it is so fragile, so frail. It's like a princess wandering the streets without a crown after being exiled. Still beautiful, still radiant with her royal light, but dying...dying...still beautiful...but dying. I hate myself, stop breathing into my neck. Baby, I'm not worth your touch or your time. Stop looking at me, I cannot do the same to you like every other time.

You reach over to my side of the armrest, your fingertips brushed so gently over the hair on the back of my arms. There is still that dreaded turbulence, and you are scared out of your wits. You are telling me we should have went to Montana, at least we could have drove there. I am telling you that we should have stayed home and made love all day, and you slapped my thighs teasingly, not because you disagreed but because it was like a secret you wanted to be kept between us. You are telling me how much you enjoyed Paris, and how it would be a shame for the holiday to end with a tragic plane crash in the middle of the Atlantic. I am telling you that you are silly, and I am telling you that you are thinking too much. You are looking at me with your lavender eyes again, you are telling me that I think too little. Anything could happen, anything could fall apart at any one time - maybe that is what makes our love so beautiful. I am telling you that a plane in the middle of a turbulence is not exactly the best place to be talking about such morbid things, and I am pointing to that little girl across the aisle who is crying her eyes out right now and telling you that you are scaring her. You are telling me that there isn't a right time or a wrong time for such things, and I am now confused because I am unsure of what 'things' you are talking about. You are leaning closer to me, I can almost taste that sweetness in your lips. The familiar scent, the innocence that I first fell in love with at the corner bookstore. You are going to say something, you are going to tell me that 'thing'. "I love you," you said. "and there isn't a better or worse time for me to tell it to you."

She is a sweet girl, a really sweet girl. It's difficult sometimes to tag any other adjectives to her face and name, sometimes you feel like you should - as a boyfriend, you should. But with the turbulence pushing and shoving the plane around thirty-thousand feet in the air and your face leaning so close to mine - what can I say? You are a sweet girl, and I love you for that. And then I knew, I knew, I found the right word for you. I found, more than a word really. I found you.

Strange Voices

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Strange Voices

We have had bad experiences with break ins before. I believe I have mentioned the incident in the past, but I shall repeat it all over again for the convenience of those who might have missed it. It has been more than ten years since it happened, and I was still no longer than the length of your right arm right now. As a baby, I cried a lot - and I am sure you must have, too - and my mother's weapon of choice to shut me up was to stuff me with a bottle of warm milk. So there was one night a few thousand nights ago, I was rolling around in the cradle and craving for a plastic nipple stuffed between my lips when my mother went upstairs to get me a good old bottle of milk. That was when she opened the door and saw a shadowy figure ransacking through the cupboards and the drawers, trying to find something valuable. My mother screamed that night, and she screamed so loud that the guy jumped out of the opened window and broke his leg on the way down. Not the smartest move, but at least he got away with the limited amount of jewelry he managed to steal.

After that night though, my parents decided to keep a weapon in the bedside drawers - just in case. The so-called weapon? A butcher knife bigger than my head. Imagine you are another robber breaking into a house, only to find the owners of the house sleeping in the bedroom. But it's too late, your break in woke them up, and one of them is chasing after you with a butcher knife bigger than your head. I bet if running into the police station is the only way to save your neck, you would. You should have seen the size of that knife, it would have slaughtered an elephant, I can bet my dollars on that one. But anyway, this story remained with me for a long time, but the possibilities of that ever happening in a place like Singapore are pretty low, since I live on the nineteenth floor. But I am here in Taiwan now, and the same incident almost happened to me just this morning when I woke up in bed.

It was a long day out with Jeannie and her family yesterday, walking around Taipei was a tiring thing especially in my brand new shoes. But anyway, last night was an easy night for me to fall asleep, it was a matter of minutes before I drifted off to dreamland, and I hoped for my last day to be spent sleeping to be honest. That was until I woke up this morning to strange voices in the house, voices that I haven't heard of before. It is not unusual for my father to bring guests home from somewhere to admire the spanking new house. So I listened out in the comfort of my bed for my father's voice, and at the same time rolling about in the warm sheets and the soft pillows. I heard the two men talking, and they were definitely talking to each other rather than anybody else, which was strange because my father never really allows himself to keep quiet in the presence of other guests. So the horrible thought of shadowy figures ransacking through the new house floated into my mind, the image of them all carrying knives and guns scared the living daylight out of me. The images were not helped by the fact that Truman Capote's book In Cold Blood drifted into my mind as well. The whole family being tied up and executed in bed - oh, the horror!

I listened some more to the conversation that was floating through the opened bedroom door, and I saw shadows flickering in the corridor, people moving about and talking at the same time. I didn't recognize their voices, couldn't match their voices to any faces that I have seen before. So I started to panic in bed, the guns in their hands growing bigger and bigger for some reason. I remember my Dad being the kind of guy who is too lazy to lock the front door, simply because he assumes the estate to be too safe for robbers to infiltrate. Assumptions make an ass out of you and me, and it certainly seemed to be the truth this morning while I lied there, scared out of my wits. I listened even closer to the conversation, and they started admiring the house like a normal guest would - or, like a robber would as he admires his prize.

"Wow, check out the television, it must be really expensive." the first man said. "Yeah, it must be. Look at the fridge man, it's really big! It must be pretty expensive too." said the second man. Those were the exact words that I heard, and tell me that didn't sound like two guys trying to rob your house. My father left the house earlier in the morning to play golf with a bunch of his friends, and anybody could have snuck into the house while he was away. I started calculating my options, the amount of valuables in the house, a lot of numbers and dollar signs sped through my head at the speed of sound. Mathematics isn't something you should tackle in the early morning, but I was forced to do so because I was calculating the possible monetary loss. What about the possible loss of lives? What if they discover my sister and I sleeping in the rooms, what are they going to do? Tie us up, blindfold us, shoot us in the back of our heads? Anything could have happened with the shadows still flickering in the doorway, so I started looking for a weapon in the bedroom, and I desperately hoped for a butcher knife in the drawers then - and found none.

Alright, alright. Bedroom, what were some of the things I could use as weapons? Cellphone charger, maybe I could use it like a rock tied to the end of a rope and swing the pins into their faces. I'd aim for the eyeballs, aim for their soft spots, maybe the pins would penetrate deep enough, yes that will do. Yes. Wait, it'd look ridiculous to the robbers, it'd look completely bonkers. I needed something else, something more substantial. I needed something hard, something handy. Yes, I had my Macbook with me, and with the battery inside it should be heavy enough. I'd throw it at their heads and hope that it'd crack their skulls, it most definitely would. Wait, what if it does crack their heads and cracks itself at the same time? I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to my Macbook, no way Jose! Alright, let's reconsider the options right now, options. There was a phone line hanging from the wall, maybe I could use it to strangle one of them, it looked soft enough to be twisted around a human neck. It looked like the best option then, but what was I supposed to do with his partner in the mean time? Besides, I'd have to sneak up to them if I wanted to strangle one of them, what about the vase? No, they were in the corridor, I couldn't get to the vase in time - I was doomed.

Then the shadow on the door grew bigger, one of them was coming in. My heart stopped, my breath was held back. I reached for my phone and my glasses to get a clear look at the man in the doorway, a bunch of numbers ran through my head, the emergency numbers and the number for the ambulance, my father's number or my mother's, but nothing came. My thumb hovered over the buttons on the phones and yielded absolutely no numbers whatsoever. The shadow in the door grew bigger, I could see his leg in the doorway now, everything slowed down to a crawl. I didn't expect myself to know this person, and I cursed at my Dad secretly for leaving us behind. Oh yes, I still had my phone in my hand, and that was hard enough. I'd crush his skull when he gets close enough, I'd smash his face into a pulp with my phone. My muscles were ready to jump into action, my sympathetic nervous system kicked in and my heart started to race. It's going to be a fight now, a fight for my life. Let's do this, let's do it!

"Still sleeping huh?" said the man who stepped through the door. "Your Dad would be back soon." I was still grabbing hold of my cellphone, ready to jump off the bed to kill the intruder. But his words confused me, why would he mention about my Dad? The lights from the corridor blinded my eyes, and his silhouette in the doorway was too difficult for me to see him. But I started to make out his facial features, something about the way he stood there in the doorway. I recognized him, who was he? My muscles were still tensed, but before I could ask him about his identity, he left the room and disappeared down the hall. Still, I was a little unsure of the situation, my weapon still in my hand. Then I heard the door opening, a familiar voice came down the corridors and into the bedroom. It was my father's voice, and he laughed and talked to the people as if they were friends. Wait, maybe they were friends, maybe he is some relative of mine I couldn't be bothered to remember. Whatever it was, whoever they were, all I wanted to do was to murder my father.

I told my aunt and mother about the incident of the strange voices later, and they sympathized with the situation. My mother thought that I should have locked the bedroom door, but she obviously forgot that the lock on the door is pathetically small - a dog could have knocked it down without even trying. My father is the kind of guy who is that absent-minded, forgetting about the little details. I mean, if you are going to bring people home, stay with them. Don't put them in your home and run away elsewhere. At least tell me about their presence before disappearing, isn't that common sense. Oh yes, sometimes my father does lack that. He's smart, he's really smart. Give him a toothbrush and he is probably going to be able to start a car with it. But when it comes to such things, a circuit can be short sometimes, a little loose in the head at times. He asked for a little bit of soda during lunch, I refused him of it. It wash his punishment for instilling fear into me this morning. Don't call me petty, put yourself in that situation. Yeah, yeah that's right. It's petrifying.

Academia

Academia

You can be my alphabet and I will be your calculator
And together we’ll work out on the escalator
I will time you as you run up the down
And you’ll measure my footsteps as I blow through this town

The mean of our heights is divided by the nights
Which is times’d by the daggers and the root of all our fights,
The pass of your poem is to swathe me in your knowing
And the beauty of the word is that you don’t have to show it

Oh, academia you can’t pick me up
Soothe me with your words when I need your love

I am a dash and you are a dot
When will you see that I am all that you’ve got
I’m a binary code that you cracked long ago
But to you I’m just a novel that you wish you’d never wrote

I’m greater than X and lesser than Y,
So why is it that I still can’t catch your eye?
You’re a cryptic crossword, a song I’ve never heard
While I sit here drawing circles I’m afraid of being hurt

Oh, academia you can’t pick me up
Soothe me with your words when I need your love

You’re a difficult equation with a knack for heart evasion
Will you listen to my proof or will you add another page on
It appears to me the graph has come and stolen all the laughs
It appears to me the pen has over analysed again

And if I am a number I’m infinity plus one
And if you are five words you are afraid to be the one
And if you are a number you’re infinity plus one
And if I am four words then I am needing of your love

Oh, academia you can’t pick me up
Soothe me with your words when I need your love
Academia

Get Lost

Friday, December 28, 2007

Get Lost

Today, I was in the mood for a little adventure. I was in the mood to wander around in a big city and get lost, lost amidst the strangers and the strange places, just find a destination and get there somehow with the limited amount of money I had. OK, fine. I had substantial amount of money with me, because my Dad was afraid that I'd get lost during my great adventure out of the house, and was also the reason why the bag of money was tossed almost literally towards my face last night. Still, I decided to take the budget route out today, wanted to find my way to the capital of the country by the cheapest possible way. The journey started the moment I woke up this morning, and I was out of the house the moment I was dressed and had a slice of cake from Red Leaf - I was packed, and I was ready. My sister snored away in the bedroom, half of her body exposed outside the blankets while the other half took refuge in the warm cave that was the sheets. I expected her to wake up in another three hours or so, and it was already eleven at that time. Sometimes I really wonder what the hell my sister came to Taiwan for, when all she does is to surf the net at home everyday and wait for someone to buy lunch for her. It just doesn't make any sense at all.

So halfway through the trip here, I knew that I shouldn't follow in my sister's footsteps at all. Doing nothing is a beautiful thing to do, but to do nothing in her fashion is as good as playing dead in your bathroom for a week straight. She was turning into a corpse without her knowing it, and there was something about the way she'd sleep until two in the afternoon everyday that seemed oddly strange and unfair, especially how she is able to fall asleep twelve hours later faster than you can spell the word 'Hippopotamus'. I wanted something to do outside of the house, even if it is about going out and doing nothing at all. Besides, this time around in Taiwan, I had the responsibility of meeting Jeannie and taking care of her as long as she was away from her tour group. Meeting a friend overseas, definitely a first for me. In fact, the excitement could hardly be contained last night, and I lost a lot of sleep due to those spinning thoughts - then again, I was experiencing a serious case of sugar rush at that time, blame it on the cake I ate before bedtime. Anyway, I had a mission this morning, which was more than just the journey to town. I had to bring Jeannie around for awhile, make sure that nothing happens to her while she was with me. So, I stepped out of the house armed with the usual, but no clue about anything whatsoever.

You see, I made it as far as the front gate of my estate when I started to think to myself," Alright, I'm lost." Don't get me wrong, I knew where I was and knew where I had to go. But I didn't know how to get there completely. I didn't know what bus to take, where to take the bus, where to stop if I do arrive in Taipei if I do not end up three hundred kilometers in the opposite direction, and I didn't even know if the whole idea of taking a bus up to Taipei was feasible at all. So I walked down the sidewalk to a place with a bunch of buses, because I figured I'd have more chances getting to Taipei with any one of those buses than to stand at where I was to pray for a kind hearted hitchhiker. Taiwanese are nice and warm hearted people for sure, but I don't suppose any one of them would have stopped for a person dressed in black all over the place, and a hoodie covering half of his head - not the friendliest person you want to find at the side of the road, that's for sure. Anyway, without knowing how to get to the place I wanted to go, all I had was luck and a bunch of money in my bag. Oh yes, and a whole lot of laziness when it came to research last night. So sue me.

Anyway, here's the thing about going to a country where they drive on the opposite side of the road. If you are a driver, you may - like my Dad, turn to the wrong side of the road when you are at a function, coming face to face with oncoming cars. Or, you may have done the same dumb thing as me this morning at the bus stop when I looked for the bus in the wrong direction. You see, cars in Taiwan drives on the right, which means that if you are standing at the bus stop waiting for a bus, it would naturally come from the left hand side and not the right. But there I was, looking at the tail lights of the cars and wondering how come none of the cars were facing the right direction. It was great that I didn't have anybody around me when it happened, or else I would have became the laughing stock for the rest of the year, and I'm pretty sure the rest of next year too. But anyway, a bus came with "Taipei Main Station" flashing on top of the windshield, and I figured that it would be a good place to drop before I head on down to Taipei 101 to meet Jeannie and her family, minus her Dad, plus her uncle and aunt.

The trip was surprisingly fast and surprisingly cheap. Just two Singapore dollars and I managed to get to the main station in under half an hour, and just four or five stops in between as well. That is not to mention the fact that the seats were extremely comfortable, and the ride was smoother than silk covered in butter. The only problem I had with the bus system was probably the great distances between stops, which also meant that missing a stop would be another long wait for you before you actually get to wherever you want to go. Also, it stops at strange places, always a few hundred meters away from the landmarks - like the train station, which required me to cross about six or seven narrow roads and two main streets, which was followed by an overhead bridge and later an underground pass. But anyway, there is also the problem of returning home - which caused me to be a little lost when I was heading back. More details on that later.

I remember coming to the Taipei Central train station last year when I had my mini adventure like this one, or was it at the beginning of this year? But I had way more clues back then, and perhaps a firmer grasp at things because I was careful. This time around, I couldn't care less about planning and couldn't care more about just ramming my way through the unknowns. I didn't feel like asking for directions, though I had the urge to do so with every passing pedestrian. Not to mention the fact that the central station is like a giant maze that reaches deep into the foundations of the city. The station alone is bigger than Takashimaya, and it has like five or six underground sub stations. That is because this station has two main MRT lines crossing each other, not to mention the existence of three or four railroad trains and a highspeed train station. The result of fitting all of those land transports into one building is a building filled with colorful signs, confusing words, a lot of escalators and even more confused people. But still, I managed to figure out where to go and actually managed to make my way down to the platform just in time for the train to arrive. Oh, on a side note: A woman hung herself in the female toilet just yesterday, something which I failed to realize until I got home a few hours later. Eerie.

I have emphasized it last year, but I suppose it is always a good thing to stress on something good every once in a while. The people here are very organized in the stations, leaning onto the right side when they are going up escalators, and not to mention actually queueing up just to get into the trains. People going in would be to the left, while the people heading out would be on the right. No shoving, no pushing, no old ladies with grocery bags trying to force their way through. Everything is performed in an orderly fashion no matter how many people are on the platform, and it is actually possible for you to run up the left side of the escalator steps if you are in a hurry, because it is considered as being a habit and the normal thing to do to lean on the right hand side. It's sort of like the rule in driving, about how you should keep to the road shoulders if you are driving at high speed, something like that. This is perhaps something I am really proud of, because it is one of those things that give a good impression of the country and the people, such things really bring out the best of a culture, I suppose. Valerie would testify to that, especially how the old man was so willing to give her his place just so that she could sit with her boyfriend the other time she was here. How amazing is that.

It wasn't difficult to find my way around this big strange city this time around, there was an air of familiarity at last, unlike the very last time. I knew where the places were, what to do there, where to go if I needed something, and it was pretty easy for me to fit into the shoes as one of the millions of Taipei commuters daily. Of course, there was always that joyous sense of anonymity in the crowd, something which you can only enjoy secretly with yourself and not shared with anybody else, since sharing would imply a communication, which would also defeat the purpose of being anonymous in the very first place. By telling someone, you become "The Person Telling Something", and by asking for directions you become "The Person Asking for Directions". By being yourself in a big crowd, nobody really thinks about who you are and what you are, or even where you are going to. You don't have a name tagged to your face, a category for you to sit comfortably in in their minds. The anonymity with no judgments, I love to get lost in big cities. It just makes me feel renewed, almost reborn. I guess I need cities like that to recharge my batteries, to know that there is still a place on Earth I can run away to if I just keep driving North from Singapore.

Part two of my interesting trip happened mostly with Jeannie and her amazing family. Her mother looks so young that she could have very well have been her older sister altogether. She sounded exactly like Jeannie on the phone, and the way her brother Kenny laughed was almost identical to her as well. Her uncle Mac was a cool guy, but then you shouldn't expect anything less from a guy with a name like that. His wife looked puny next to him because he's just a big guy, dressed in white today and a strange haircut to boot. Still, he was friendly most of the time - so friendly that it made himself feel like a whale to me, and I was the plankton. Anyway, I don't suppose I should talk about the second part of the trip until the pictures come in from Jeannie's camera. Anyway, let's skip that for now and go to the road home.

It was getting late, and everybody was tired. We've been walking for a long time, and they have been waking up at six in the morning every single day. I could tell Jeannie was worn out by the trip, tired beyond her usual self and I had a terrible night as well - damn you, chocolate cake! So I didn't really force her to go anywhere with me, just sort of floated around Ximending and went to wherever she wanted, however long she wanted. We were supposed to go to Danshui at night, but it was really getting late by the time they headed off to dinner. The tour guide suggested that I take a train to Danshui first, and they'd meet me there after their dinner - which sounded like a good idea at first but, I figured they'd probably reach Danshui at a little after nine in the evening judging from the traffic, and Danshui is - mind you - at the very end of the MRT line. It's sort of like traveling from Lavender to Boon Lay, but with much longer distances between the stops - something like that. So halfway through the trip to Danshui on the train, I decided that it'd be better for them to head back to the hotel while I head on home myself. So I dropped at one of the stations, made a U-turn, went back to the grand central station and walked all the way back to the bus stop opposite the one I dropped only to find...

...that there wasn't a bus stop on the other side of the road. At least none of the buses actually had Linkou - where I live - written on the boards, which was confusing to me because in the returning buses are usually on the opposite side of the road in Singapore. Then again, I am not in Singapore right now, and made the mistake of assuming that things like that are universal around the world. So, I was lost - really lost. I didn't know where to go, how to go back, what bus to take, and the nearest vehicle to me then was a row of scooters and a rubbish truck. My Dad was at a business gathering with his clients, which also mean that he couldn't come to pick me up in town unless I was willing to wait out in the blistering cold with my book and iPod - which was running dangerously low on battery. I had to find a way, I needed to find a way. So I waved my hands into the darkened sky for an answer from above. Then, something happened, and I wasn't lost anymore.

My hand waving worked, and a yellow cab stopped by the side of the road. I opened the door to tell the driver my address, only to realize that I didn't actually know my address. Give me a break, it's a new house and I don't drive in Taiwan. I knew, however, that the Linkou Chang Geng Hospital is just around the corner from my house, and that I live above a famous Starbucks in the region. The driver smiled, and I smiled back at him. He knew where to head to, and I knew that I was going home for sure. I explained to him about my situation, being confused by the side of the road and without a bus to go home. Then I told him about being a student who studies overseas, and how Singapore doesn't have such a strange system. Somehow, our conversation moved on from traffic to studies, from the weather to politics. That was the interesting part, and I was pleasantly surprised at how much I could converse with him - in mandarin - regarding my political views of both Singapore and Taiwan. It was a great conversation, and I was glad that he supported my idea and that I supported his. I wouldn't have liked to have a guy throw me out into the streets just because we disagreed on the suitable presidential candidates. But anyway, it was a truly pleasant talk, and the $20 paid to him was worthwhile, definitely.

So, from being completely lost to completely found, then to completely lost all over again, it was a great experience indeed. I wouldn't have thought of a better way to end my holidays in Taiwan this year, and I am looking forward to Deuel's countdown party as well as the next year to come. When I got home this evening, my sister was still at home - eating leftovers and surfing the net with a bad attitude as usual. Sometimes you just feel like giving her a tight slap for no reason at all, since she gives everybody a bad attitude for no reason at all. She claims that buying another pair of shoes tomorrow would be a waste of money, which got me thinking about how efficient she has been spending her overseas holidays by staying at home for a full week now and playing the role of a walking dead. Either way, I know that I have spent a more fruitful and exciting holiday than she, and I thank those who made it possible for me today. That's Jeannie and her wonderful family, and the strangers in a strange city today. Thank you, and thank you.

Me, Big Foot

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Me, Big Foot

It sucks to have a big feet in Taiwan.

Taiwanese have small feet.

But still, it also means that the bigger shoes are for me.

Nothing too fancy to be honest,

but I do like new shoes very much.

I think there is a hidden craving for shoes inside of me.

We need a leash.

And chains.

Get that armory lock too.

New Crib

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

New Crib

A few pictures from my new house in Taiwan.

Not every corner of the house but,

it's what I have right now.

I like the simplicity,

the silence,

the darkness,

and pretty much everything about it.

I need a new house.

I would have suggested a Audrey Hepburn pop art.

It's cliche, but I love it. But this will do I guess.

Black and red is a nice combination of colors.

Less is more.

The clock on the ceiling, with kickass lighting.

The remote controlled light. It moves around the ceiling.

Spinning wall at zero degrees.

Spinning wall at 30 degrees.

Spinning wall at 80 degrees.

Spinning wall at 110 degrees.

Spinning wall at 180 degrees.

Now you have the television in the dining room.

I think these look like my Dad, fighting each other - naked.

The bathroom. I like that it has nothing inside.

And it's real dark, too.

Orchids at the end of the corridor. A beauty in solitude.

That's the television in my parents' room.

I like the lights.

Jacuzzi!

More, moving lights on the ceiling.

The light.

Miracles Or Placebos

"I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours."

--- Stephen F. Roberts

Unlike Stephen F. Roberts, I am by no means an atheist. In fact, I do believe in the existence of a superior being somewhere out there, but perhaps not what the various religions are claiming it to be. I do not believe that the existence can be proved or disproved by our modern technology, or any form of faith out there that we have put ourselves out there to believe. That's what they traditionally call an agnostic person, not exactly the kind of person who would put down other religions because he believes only in his own, neither is he a free-thinker in the most conventional form. At least that is what I think I am, who I think I am. In this entry, I shall not try to stir up any conflicts, any forms of arguments that may trigger anything that be provocative to any other religions other than mine. But at the same time, some of the acts that I have been seeing on television have been putting me off quite a bit, and I'd like to give my twn cents worth on those issues.

I am in Taiwan now, and this country is deeply superstitious as it is religious. Taoism and Buddhism are probably the dominant religions here, and Christmas is more like a grand excuse to drink and party rather than a day to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. Christianity has only recently gained a moderate amount of popularity amongst the population here, simply because of how different it is from everything else and the kind of things that it offers. A lot of religions here have strange antics, things people from other religions may not understand very well. The closest example of Taoism in the Western world is probably the Pagan religion in the past, simply because of how Taoists worships ancestors as well as some aspects of nature. That is really the national religion here, which was why when the American priest came in from the States claiming the healing powers in Christianity, it became a huge thing on the local news network.

I forgot his name, but he kind of looked like the priest from The Exorcist, with his silver white hair and the skin on his face stacked neatly under his chin like a bunch of folded blanket. He was seated in a big armchair when the reporter interviewed him, and he was in the kind of 'uniform' that priests wear all the time - which I am sure, has a technical name which I am not aware of. He looked like a friendly old man, probably in his sixties or even a little older than that. There were footage of his supposed healing, volunteers with their heads rested on his palms and shaking uncontrollably to unknown forces out there. The priest chanted something under his breath, the emcee at the event translated his words and shouted them into his microphone. The Caucasian woman spoke mandarin, and she gave a detailed account of what she saw, and what she felt, as the priest attempted to exorcise her of her inner demons. So the prayers ended, the priest took his hands off the woman's head, and she smiled and went "That was amazing! Again, please!"

That was what they call religious healing, like one of those magical healing powers you see only in fantasy movies. As the priest said in the interview, he claimed that some diseases are caused by real actual physical problems, while others are caused by demons possessed in our bodies, causing havoc within. Which is why the process of exorcism would clear our bodies of those demons, and you need to have a lot of faith in the healing process as well - or else, it simply won't work. There was this other guy who got onto the stage as well, something about his legs being uneven in length. So the priest chanted something under his breath again, and his uneven legs were conveniently healed on the spot. The same could be said about a dozen other volunteers on stage, and to them it was probably the best Christmas present ever. After all, who wouldn't want their diseases to be healed on Christmas and to be rid of them forever. Then again, of course, that is if they are really healed forever, and that the healing wasn't just another trick of the mind altogether.

Skepticism isn't a new concept to the world of religious healing. Ever since the beginning of religion, it has been the most powerful opposing force against the concept of healing through faith. Then again, it is not difficult to understand why a lot of people out there - people like myself - are skeptical of these so-called miracles. After all, only 67 cases have been officially certified by the church since 1858 to be real miracles, and we are talking about tens of thousands of people heading to various parts of the world everyday in hopes to have their diseases cured, maybe even millions of them every single day. I saw a documentary on Discovery Channel once, and there is a church in a country which I forgot, that gives out little test tubes of holy water everyday to believers, and a lot of them have claimed to feel better after drinking those water. After some laboratory testing, not a lot of difference between those water and normal drinking ones to be completely honest. A lot of people have testified against the scientific claim that holy water are just like any other water. But then again, with just 67 proven cases out of the millions, it is still pretty hard for people like us to believe.

It is a little hard to believe why would people look away from modern day medicine to believe in just a psychological medicine, like faith. I'm sure western medicine has had a better track record throughout history, and probably a more logical basis of belief than faith, which is such an abstract concept altogether. According to Alvin Plantinga, a famous atheism scholar, he said that," The mature believer, the mature theist, does not typically accept belief in God tentatively, or hypothetically, or until something better comes along. Nor, I think, does he accept it as a conclusion from other things he believes; he accepts it as basic, as a part of the foundations of his noetic structure. The mature theist commits himself to belief in God: this means that he accepts belief in God as basic." He was also quoted as saying that religious believers do not believe doctrines in the way that scientists (at least in principle) believe theories — they do not have a readiness to reconsider their belief.

I think the point he is trying to make is that mature devotees do not have the readiness to reconsider that perhaps their beliefs may have some flaws, like everything else in this world. They take that belief and structure their lives around it, which also means that they take it as the foundation of everything else - which is pretty much like the way they might ignore traditional medicine for the healing powers of religion altogether. What confuses me is probably how they deny everything else other than what they believe in, the way they dismiss other forms of healing and put themselves through another form of medicine that does not necessary have a rational or logical explanation. Which brings my point back to the quote at the very beginning of this entry, which may provide as an answer to those people who might be mildly offended by my skepticism of religious healing. The only way you are going to understand why I dismiss the possibility of miracles is through your understanding of why you might dismiss the possibility of other forms of medication other than religious healing. Because to me, it's just a grand scheme to have more believers, and thus more donations as an end result. Of course, they all claim to be evangelistic in nature, which I agree that most of them are. But the execution is just wrong, and I see the biggest and grandest con rather than a real healing, more than anything else.

It's just very convenient for the priest to say that some diseases are caused by real physical problems while others are by demons. It's just an easy way out from what I can see, it's easy to fight the skepticism because you've allowed some form of leeway for yourself. It's just like how a lot of people would answer to your skepticism of God in a country such as Africa. Some people would ask why would God allow the kind of things in Africa to happen, where is God in the very first place? If something good happens, it becomes a work of God. But of course, if something bad happens, then shit happens and no one can help it. Which is just another way of saying," Hey, whatever good that happened was because of me, but whatever bad things that happened ain't none of my business." Take the example of somebody not studying a night before a major examination. If he fails, he can tell others that he wasn't feeling well the night before, something came up, he was distracted, his dog at his textbook, whatever. But if he does well, he tells others that he's just a really smart student, a naturally brilliant mind, a born genius. It's the same thing, really.

Do I believe in miracles, of course I do. I do believe that good things happen to good people without the need of a logical explanation, because sometimes we really don't need those to make our lives better, especially when it complicates things sometimes. But at the same time, I do also believe in the effects of placebo, and how our minds have greater power than we believe it to possess. A girl who concentrates on getting and pregnant and convinces herself that she is pregnant has a high chance of having pregnancy symptoms, and that's the truth. If you are sick at home and you are telling yourself that none of the medicines are going to work for nuts, then none of the medicine are going to work for nuts. There is a book called "The Secret", and it tells of this 'secret' that a lot of successful people out there throughout history have used in order to succeed in life. The secret really is the faith and belief in that they will succeed, and that is why they say that by having a belief that you can achieve something, then half the battle is won. We really don't need foreign priests to spray water over our heads, or chant something under their breaths to make our illnesses go away. Half of it is in our heads really, and that's the placebo effect for you.

I do think that as long as you are not burning down houses, raping your neighbor's daughter, robbing somebody in a dark alley every night, then it really doesn't matter what religion you are from. Similarly, if religious healing is doing people more good than harm, then I don't see it as a problem at all. But when they are using it as a tool to force the religion down the throat of other people, then I do think that it really is the wrong thing to do. There is such a thing in Islam - a term I forgot - that states that all people are equal under the eyes of their God, and that people should be allowed to believe in whatever they want to believe. I think it is a very beautiful concept, something that our modern, democratic societies should embrace, and something a certain religion should take under their wings as well. It is not right to say," It is OK if you don't believe in us, but you will go to Hell if you don't." It's a threat, and it's not right to shove things like that down the throats of people. So is it really a miracle that faith can heal people, or just placebo? I say, with absolute certainty, the latter.

"B Is The New C"

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

"B Is The New C"

Jonno showed me the following that got me laughing so hard last night. The following is a 100 question true/false paper for COM101. Check it out.

His professor sent him an e-mail the following day:

"Dear Michael,

Every year I attempt to boost my students' final grades by giving them this relatively simple exam consisting of 100 True/False questions from only 3 chapters of material. For the past 20 years that I have taught Intro Communications 101 at this institution I have never once seen someone score below a 65 on this exam. Consequently, your score of a zero is the first in history and ultimately brought the entire class average down a whole 8 points.

There were two possible answer choices: A (True) and B (False). You chose C for all 100 questions in an obvious attempt to get lucky with a least a quarter of the answers. It's as if you didn't look at a single question. Unfortunately, this brings your final grade in this class to failing. See you next year!

May God have mercy on your soul.

Sincerely,
Professor William Turner

P.S. If all else fails, go with B from now on.
B is the new C."

An Asian Grinch

Monday, December 24, 2007

An Asian Grinch

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Let your heart be light
From now on,
Our troubles will be out of sight

Christmas in Taiwan, seems to be the trend for the past couple of years. Haven't had a Christmas back in Singapore after that horrendous experience three years ago, the other time when my nice Christmas suit and hair was threatened by a maniac with a spray can and a can of beer too many. He thought it'd be fun to drown random strangers in foam because he thought the idea of mimicking soft fluffy snow with white foam is a neat idea. He was meant with my pointed finger and a sudden exclamation of vulgarity in the middle of the crowded street, and that was the last time I ever stepped onto Orchard Road, and decided to escape to some other country with a much lesser emphasis than Singapore - somewhere back home.

So the past two or three years, I've been spending the times here at home, a unique blend of a Western holiday in a very Eastern city. But something is the same no matter which part of the world you go, and that is how happy most people are on a festive season such as this one. It doesn't matter if you are a Christian or a non-Christian, because everybody loves Christmas. Children love the gifts and the food, adults can take a break from reality, and teenagers just love the sex on Christmas - yes, it happens. There is just something about staying at home on a cold winter night, cuddling in bed with one another that is so infinitely alluring about this season, and that is probably what I absolutely hate about this season as well. I dislike this day probably as much as the Grinch, which was a name tagged on me by Samantha just last night. I guess I can be the main character in the sequel of the Grinch, an Asian version of the famous anti-Christmas character like that.

I was just in the car just now, and I could tell that the DJs on the radio station hated this day as well. I can imagine working on Christmas Eve as their friends are out partying and getting completely drunk out of their minds. It was pretty admirable of them, how they managed to have a two-hour talk show on the radio about different ways people around the world celebrates Christmas, but at the same time it was pretty painful to listen because they were just speaking around the same boring topic, listening to the same callers calling in and not to mention those awkward silences punctuated in between. It must have been quite a task when it was first appointed to them in the first place. Just imagine your boss telling you," Talk about Christmas on Christmas Eve, and that's all you can do for two hours - or else." So there they were, telling us about traditional Christmas dishes in Spain made from honey and egg, then about Christmas in Russia that involves a truckload of caviar. OK, she didn't actually say that on the radio. But I'm pretty sure they have a little bit of caviar in their dishes, I'm pretty sure.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Make the Yule-tide gay,
From now on,
our troubles will be miles away.

A bunch of bored people on Christmas Eve called in to the show just to talk about how bored or pathetic they are. There was this guy who was on his way to a Christmas party organized by his children's childcare center, and he kept on talking about how he dressed his children up to look like turkeys. Then there was that other guy who was stuck in the middle of a heavy traffic jam, and he spoke of how Christmas in Taiwan felt quite different from the Christmas in Southeast Asia where he just came back from - a country he declined to reveal for some strange reason. I guess it was his effort to feel important, because he wasn't going for any parties, any celebrations, any gatherings tonight. He told the DJ that he didn't want his friends to know who he was, but I guess he was just trying to play secretive, feel important, be delusional. Then again, aren't we all delusional on a day like that, when we all know that it really is just like any other day of the year, especially in a country like this one. We are all living an illusion on this day to be perfectly fine with our lives, and utterly happy - when in truth, we are really not.

If there is a detector from wet blankets, it is probably going to buzz its head off with my presence around. It's not like I am going to go around burning Christmas trees and exchanging toys under the trees with something far worse - like a box of tarantulas or something. I'm not attending any parties, or any forms of gatherings. I'm just staying at home tonight after a great steamboat dinner to entertain myself and the dog at the very same time. I derive more pleasure in playing tug-of-war with a small cushion drenched in the dog's drool than to be out getting myself drunk silly, dancing around half naked and spilling out my innermost secrets. To be honest, maybe I am just a sour grape. I hate Christmas because I loved Christmas way too much last time - last year. It is a clear milestone right now, a milestone painted in red and green. Because everything at this point was a year from what happened last year, and it is not difficult to recall what happened last year, at least for me. I'd rather think that nothing happened last year, that those candles weren't lid and the lights weren't turned off on that windy Christmas Eve night. A lot of "How I Wish", but little of what I can do, at this point.

Here we are as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more.

Somebody needs to start writing new Christmas songs, somebody needs to start writing sad Christmas songs. Maybe Blue Christmas, or Silent Night, I think they are really depressing Christmas songs that seem to fit the landscapes a whole lot better. The snow covered rooftops, the empty streets in the middle of the night, the dead trees and the icicles hanging on the porches, none of those songs that sing of warm and fuzzy feelings seem to fit the bill well enough at all. There are times for songs like that, and that is definitely not here, not now. A bunch of my friends just had a party yesterday, a party that I wasn't able to attend. A bunch of them got drunk, some of them got dead drunk. Some of them threatened to jump out of a moving car, while others just stood around and talked the night away. For some reason, that wasn't my idea of a Christmas party, or a party for that matter. Then again, ignore me. Maybe I am just being sour.

I like the song "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas", it sounds vindictive somehow - and sour. Picture a man walking down a dark alley in the middle of the night after a heavy party, he has a paper bag of gifts in one hand and his car keys in the other, walking towards the parking lot to go home. Then some other guy jumps out of nowhere and punches him in the nose, takes the paper bag and the car keys and runs away into the night. The man stands back up and brushes the dirt off his shoulders and butt, then curse into the cold winter air about his rotten luck. Now try to imagine the song in the background, as the male voice goes "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas". It's such an ironic image, such a punch in the face. It's strange that it appeals to me in a way, but I can't be bothered too much. I just prefer things that way, my way.

By the end of the year, we are going to stow away the Christmas tree, take down the fancy lights and put them into big cardboard boxes. As of the tree, put them back into the storeroom until next year. Christmas carols are not going to be peaceful anymore, but another one of those bad songs played too many times on the radio. Not to mention those gifts left out in a corner of your room to gather dust, the throbbing head from the night of heavy drinking. Everything is going to go back to normal, and you'd still have to go out into the driveway to shove snow out of the way. The leftover turkey is going to belong to the trash can, everything resumes back to reality mode, the usual. Yeah, it's all too ephemeral for my taste, too temporary. Or maybe, like a wet blanket as I am, things are just way too happy. The Asian Grinch, or the Asian Scrooge. Watch out now, here I come to drench everybody in cold bitter water.

Through the years
We all will be together,
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.
And have yourself A merry little Christmas now.

Blood Diamond

This is probably one of those delayed reviews, a film that I saw while I was stuck at home with Bronchitis a couple of days ago. It was one of those films released in the theaters which I never got around to watch for one reason or another, and missing a Edward Zwick film to me was a crime. So I had to borrow this film, I had to find a way to get my hands on this film. So when the girl at the counter of the rental told me that renting one more film would cost me a few dollars less, I jumped at the chance. At last, I thought to myself, at last. I have enjoyed Edward Zwick's previous works like Legends of the Fall and The Last Samurai, but this time it has a completely different allure - Jennifer Connelly. I love Jennifer Connelly, I think she has to be one of the most beautiful woman in the world. But anyway, that's besides the point.

Blood Diamond is a film that is hard to stomach, simply because of the graphic images that the director puts forth to the audience, as well as the messages that are so close to heart. It is true what some people say about Africa - nobody cares too much about it. I guess in a way, we have all been guilty of causing the continent to sink to a level it is at today, contributed simply because we have done nothing to stop it. But sometimes, the lot of us with a conscience, we'd ask ourselves what the hell we can do in the greater scheme of things, when the powers are be can't be bothered themselves. But this movie tells us ways that we can stop such so-called 'Acts Against Humanism', simply by not buying diamonds. Here's why.

The movie is about the story that we haven't heard in the past, simply because we have all taken our diamonds for granted. We see those glistering stones in the shop windows, glittering under the light bulbs all day long with a price tag enough to buy you half a house. A lot of us like diamonds, a lot of us want diamonds. But none of us really know how these diamonds came by in the very first place, how much blood has been spilled just because people in the West love diamonds. The story of Blood Diamond begins in Solomon Vandy's village, where his family gets taken away by local diamond excavators along with a bunch of his neighbors. Such acts are supposed to be illegal in nature, but it is not uncommon for the local governments to close one eye about such things, simply because diamonds are good business for everybody, though not exactly good news for some. During a raid on one of the mines, Solomon buried a giant piece of diamond in the soils and was captured to a local prison, where he meets Danny Archer - played by Leonardo DiCaprio - a diamond salesman that smuggles diamonds out of the country. He becomes determined to find the diamond that Solomon buried, and eventually made a deal with Solomon. If he helps Solomon finds his son, Solomon would tell him where the diamond is.

It sounds like a pretty straightforward plot, but the director very skillfully intertwined the state of the country amidst the turbulent storyline. We examine not just the problem of slavery labor, but also the problem of drugs and child soldiers, and how the big diamond countries around the world are purposefully keeping excavated diamonds in underground vaults to keep the prices of diamonds high around the world. Along the way, the two meets a beautiful journalist Maddy Bowen - played by the lovely Jennifer Connelly - who was there to document the situation in Sierra Leone.

There is an uncompromising way of how Edward Zwick decided to preach this time around. He tends to preach a lot, and sometimes have the tendency to make an already epic movie even more epic - which can be overstating things at times. After all, not everybody likes the way he makes everything so obviously a Hollywood movie rather than a Edward Zwick one. I didn't like The Last Samurai that much, and the bit that turned me off the most was probably how the ONLY Samurai warrior that survived the attack was an American, how coincidental and convenient is that. This time around, this film felt a little bit like an uncensored documentary, with just images and videos of different inhumane acts being flashed out on screen. But that is how Edward Zwick is at times, the same thing was done in his film Glory with Denzel Washington. Still, he does have a thing to say most of the time, and you cannot deny that his films are both raw and poignant at the same time.

In terms of acting though, this film is pretty much filled with all the top-notch performance you should expect from a cast list like that. Djimon Hounsou is like a volcano in this movie, always erupting the storyline ever forward with his single-minded passion to find his wife and son. He is the driving force of the plot most of the time, always pushing the story forward by landing himself in unfavorable positions because of one thing - he loves his son. On the other side of the spectrum, there is Leonardo DiCaprio's character, Danny Archer. Danny Archer is probably not the kind of character you'd find yourself rooting for at all. He is proud, he is selfish, and he does anything within his power to attain his goals. He comes first in anything, but at the same time we find out why he is such a cold-hearted person in the film. The country has roughened up his attitude towards killing people, but throughout the film we see him unraveling slowly and softening up. Both characters receive a fairly equal amount of screen time and character development, but the same cannot really be said about Jennifer Connelly's character, I feel. I just felt that she was there because they needed a female lead, and the role of a female journalist needed to be filled. Nonetheless, she gave a solid enough performance, and it's always nice to see her onscreen most of the time.

Blood Diamond is really a mixed bag, I feel, like those bags of peanuts you get on the plane with a bunch of different flavors inside, but neither of them has enough quantity. There are times when you feel like the director is trying to tell you too many things within the short span of the film, but all of them are very real issues and very pressing in nature. You get that stark and heavy taste in one scene, and then you are forced to taste another cup of coffee altogether a few seconds later, and you never really get involved in any of them at the end of the day. Still, the lessons learned from this film are very real, they are very close to heart, and definitely the kind of lessons that stick with you no matter what.

At the end of the day, this film may feel like it was being made by a guy who is just sick and tired of the situation in Africa, and wants the world to hear about what he has to say. Because of that, this film has a running time that may work against it, but it didn't feel very long for me. What this film did that The Last Samurai did not was to work on emotions, and it certainly built upon itself throughout the film, which wasn't what the former movie did. In The Last Samurai, emotions were built and were left to simmer down in a corner, but much of it was probably because of the fact that most of us were lost in translation. Besides, the action in that movie never really took off either, while in Blood Diamond we were treated to more than just action, but the horrors and gore we get to see in a war zone. You get that emotional attachment, something which I felt was lacking. If The Last Samurai was a Hollywood movie meant to make money, this film was probably a film made to be shown in schools around the world. Despite those however, both of them were really well made films through and through.

I suppose despite its flaws, Blood Diamond is still a film that has successfully garnered a recommendation chop from me, because I feel like people need to know about such issues going on in Africa. It is a great way for people who are too lazy to read the magazines and the papers to get a glimpse of what is happening across the Indian Ocean. Not a lot of movies, to me, can be hard to stomach. But this film is definitely one of those films that compelled me to look away. Nonetheless, watch this film at least once. Not because you want to, but because you need to.

Untitled

Untitled

A little poem I wrote, for you.

I held her wrist by the opened door,
The same pale wrist where blood poured out before.
I recalled the night when the warmth in her chest grew cold,
When the pressure of my palm encouraged not less bleeding, only more.

"You cannot follow," she said. "Not tonight."
"I've torn apart the threads that held my heart, I'm done with the fights.
I'm a thousand different dolls out there you can't call out by name.
I'm the broken toy she used to hold in the night. Broken, but still the same."

It was only months ago when she took her off the shelves.
She was with her mother then, walking through the second hand toy shop
There was something about her dirt ridden skin and her old broken limbs,
And the way the stitches and the threads were loose and frail at the seams.

At just three dollars, the little doll was brought home from the shop.
For the next three months, the little black doll remained at the top
Of the little girl's shelves where she kept all her favorite dolls.
Until the day, when more toys were bought, and the love for her started to drop.

There is a handsome young boy seated at the top right now,
In his lavishing new clothes and the blonde hair that matched his blonde eyebrows.
There was something horrific about the image of the love running dry - like a drought.
Something pulling the girl and the doll away from each other. A dog in the night howls.

It was a Sunday night when she finally made up her mind.
She jumped off the shelves and wandered to the bathroom when no one was in sight.
She jumped onto the porcelain sink and opened the mirrors to find
The razor blade her father uses in the morning to make himself look so handsome, so fine.

She has been her friend for such a long, long time.
They were as close as peas and bowls, ice creams and cones, lemons and lime.
But then he came into the picture and their love began to sublime.
And now their love struggles and gasps in the dreadful pool of slime.

The little doll cannot take such a terrible sight.
It'd be better for her to end it all this very night.
So she picked up her father's razor blade and started to slice
Open her plastic wrists over and over, like a piece of fresh pork - slice and dice.

I came into the bathroom in the very nick of time.
Held your chest so tightly close to mine.
I felt the life in you draining out one drip at a time.
But there was only peace and serenity, maybe a little melancholy in that last hint of light.

We were all rushing through the hospital's I.C.U.
The doctors shone a torch into your eyes, the nurses cleared the room.
There were tears falling from six pairs of eyes that night - all for you.
You were so strong, so brave, so young - you fool.

Six pairs of eyes, just one more short.
She wasn't there that night, but with the boy toy she softly snored.
A pair of eyes wasn't there, but it was something you chose to ignore.
But we all knew - yes, we knew. In those broken glass eyes you quietly mourned.

The doctors smiled and the nurses too.
We brought you home in a wheelchair ten minutes after two.
It was only then when she awoke and found out about the truth.
She was horrified for a while, but you couldn't care less. We watched your eyes turn blue.

Then one night a week after, you threatened to go.
This time, to a distance city and not with razor blades like before.
I wanted you to stay, I told you about my love for you since forever ago.
But here's what you said as you walked out from that opened front door.

"You cannot follow," she said. "Not tonight."
"I've torn apart the threads that held my heart, I'm done with the fights.
I'm a thousand different dolls out there you can't call out by name.
I'm the broken toy she used to hold in the night. Broken, but still the same."

The Con

Sunday, December 23, 2007

The Con

I listened in
Yes, I'm guilty of this
You should know this
I broke down and wrote you back
Before you had a chance to
Forget forgotten
I am moving past this giving notice
I have to go
Yes, I know the feeling,
Know you're leaving

Calm down, I'm calling you to say
I'm capsized, erring on the edge of safe
Calm down, I'm calling back to say
I'm home now, I'm coming around, coming around

Nobody likes to but I really like to cry
Nobody likes me, maybe if I cry

Spelled out your name and lists the reasons
Pain of heart, don't call me back
I imagine you when I was distant, non-insistent
I follow suit and laid out on my back Imagine that
A million hours left to think of you
And think of that

Calm down, I'm calling you to say
I'm capsized, erring on the edge of safe
Calm down, I'm calling back to say
I'm home now, and coming around, coming around

Nobody likes to but I really like to cry
Nobody likes me, maybe if I cry

Encircle me, I need to be, taken down
Encircle me, I need to be, taken down
Encircle me, I need to be, taken down

Nobody likes to
But I really like to cry
Nobody likes me
Maybe if I cry
Nobody Encircle me, I need to be, taken down

Pirates On Wheels

Pirates On Wheels

If you are a tourist in Singapore right now, a foreigner contemplating on visiting Singapore some time soon, or a tourist who has been to Singapore before, you are probably one of the many millions of visitors who have fell in love with the country. If you look at any tourism reviewing websites, you are going to find a lot of positive reviews about this island country somewhere in Southeast Asia, praising it like it is some modern paradise in the middle of a bunch of third world countries - which is a fact. It's just a little difficult to believe that such an advanced and modern country can be found amidst the mess all around, and one thing they are going to tell you why they love Singapore is probably the public transport system. The truth is, in the eyes of a foreigners, they are going to tell you that they haven't been to a country with a better transport system that is so efficient, so frequent, and so clean. You won't find graffiti on the walls of subway stations, or rats running underneath your feet as you are taking the train home. Everything is squeaky clean, everything is just in their tip-top condition. But as a local, things are just a little different from our point of view.

This is not a case of whereby we have taken things for granted because we have these services at the tips of our fingers. If you are a local, you probably have a bus stop fifty to a hundred meters from your front door - save for Pao, who has to walk fifteen minutes to find one. You are probably going to find taxi cabs along the road in front of your house every half a minute or so - again, save for Pao who lives in the middle of nowhere. That can be said about the availability of our buses and taxi cabs, but the same cannot be said regarding their services and of course - their prices. This entry is particularly targeted at how bad our country is when it comes to taxi cabs, the side that foreigners do not see because the locals are suffering because of your presence.

As most of you might have already know, there has been a recent price hike in taxi cabs around the island. Some of us read about them in newspapers or watched it on the news, while some of us learned it the hard way while being stuck in a morning traffic. Here's what it used to be like before the price hike. The moment you jump into the taxi, it'd probably cost you $2.50, no matter where you are going. It was a lot cheaper before the previous price hike, but a lot of us got used to that price anyway, after some time. The meter jumped at a ten cent increment, which is pretty reasonable because jumping at five cents at a time would be pretty ridiculous if you ask me. If you are taking taxis at peak hours of everyday, then you are supposed to pay two dollars on top of what you are already paying for the trip. Of course, calling the cab to a specific location is going to cost you another two dollars more. That was how it was, but we can all throw that mentality out of the windows now, because - the pirates are here.

I read about the price hike in the papers, and the title of the article read "No decrease in the number of passengers: 50% of the interviewed Taxi Drivers. Which got me wondering just how misleading titles like that can be, especially when people are going to think that everybody else has gotten used to the price hike. Of course, fifty percent of the drivers saying one thing could also mean the other half saying the other. The truth is, a lot of us haven't stopped taking taxis simply because a lot of us don't even know about such a thing as a price hike. Jonno was sitting comfortably in the taxi one morning as he traveled towards the gym in town from his home in Sembawang when he discovered that the meter was jumping at an alarming rate, that if it was to be a human heart rate, then that person would have died five minutes into the ride. It is amazing as it is how he survived the trip without murdering the driver one way or another. Either way, the red numbers flashed before his eyes as the taxi pulled up to his location, and that was when he coined the term 'evil' along with all taxi drivers out there. $25, from his house in Sembawang to Orchard Road, he would have walked if he had a choice.

Here's a little rundown on what the prices are like now. Sitting in the cab right now, it'd automatically cost you $2.80, that's 30¢ more than the usual price. On top of that, the meters are no longer jumping at 10¢ increments, but 20¢ increments. That's a hundred percent jump from the previous price, but that's not all. Peak hours used to cost you an extra two dollars, no matter how far you travel. Whether it is going to be from the airport in the East to an army camp in the West, or your house in Ang Mo Kio to Toa Payoh, it costs just two dollars no matter how long it takes, how far it is. This time around, it will cost 35% of the total taxi fare. That is to say, if your trip cost $15 by itself, you'd have to pay $20.25 for the entire trip. Imagine that. Jonno's trip costed him $25 from Sembawang to town, imagine if you have to take a cab home from the airport - which by itself already has its extra charges. Yes, the pirates are here to stay.

The taxi cab companies are probably going to blame it on the recent rise in oil prices around the world, and it inevitably affected the fares on their part. After all, a friend of mine from the States complained that a liter of gas costed him $30.89 last Wednesday. By the time it was Friday, it became $34.49. Everybody who drives is feeling the pinch, which is also why most taxi cab companies have been increasing their fare prices, but it's not like their service or frequencies have improved in any way. They are still ignorant of most local passengers, still giving us dirty stares when we are going to multiple locations, and most of them can't even be bothered about getting to where you want to go at the fastest speed possible. All of them want that extra dollar from you, and they'd do whatever ways possible to achieve that - even if it means that that'd have to get lost on purpose, which happened to me before.

My Valentine's Day this year in February was pretty much ruined by the fact that my ex and I couldn't find a taxi that very night. It was getting late and she had a curfew to meet, and Marina South wasn't the best place to find a cab if you are in need of one. Every phone line was pretty much engaged at that time, and it was really hard for us to get hold on a cab on that stretch of road anyway. I knew that it was Valentine's Day, but shouldn't the companies have even more cabs, knowing that people would be calling out for them at an increase rate? That never happened, and every phone line was pretty much engaged for the better part of the night. In the end, we had to take the train to Bishan, and my parents were nice enough to give her a lift home. My point is that the companies simply don't bother too much with having more cabs on the road on festive seasons that demand more of such services, especially if people are going to party till after midnight on most occasions. That is not to mention a working system that will not crash if there are too many people calling in at the very same time.

There is also a problem when you are trying to call a cab to a specific location at lunchtime. Some cab companies cannot care less about picking up their phones, because they have to have their lunches first before serving anybody out there. Just a few weeks ago, my mother was in need of a cab to get to the airport because her flight was about to leave at 1 PM. At 11 in the morning, I gave about four companies a call, but all of them claimed that they were too busy at the moment to pick up any calls, which got my mother pretty anxious at that time. Everything just slows down to a crawl, and they won't really care if you are in a hurry or not, because they are not in a hurry themselves. Even with the price hike, the services are still equally bad across the board, save for some considerate drivers out there who still believes that serving is a form of art.

A lot of drivers out there will not hesitate to rip you off if they can, and there are a couple of ways they can do that. First, suggest routes that are obviously going to be congested at that particular time, and then telling you that the route you suggested is too slow for you. Second strategy involves not asking for a route at all, and they'd just drive through whatever routes they deem to be the slowest of them all, which would of course yield a higher fare at the end of the journey. The third and the last strategy involves taking the wrong route altogether because they have so conveniently heard the wrong destination and mixed things up. NanYang Junior College became NanYang Polytechnic once, and the rest of the way home from there was charged on top of what I had to pay for my initial trip. That happened twice, and the first time was a genuine mistake and was free of charge for the rest of the way - the second driver, wasn't too nice about it. You can forget about compensation most of the time, because they are going to lecture you on how shit happens every now and then, and we should just accept our fate as what it is. Everybody hears the wrong things from time to time, and drivers are human too. That is what they are going to tell you, but it is pretty conveniently to be stuck in the middle of CTE and then to shrug your shoulders while going," Not my fault."

Perhaps being pirates on wheels these days, they should have that basic level of decency when the prices are too high for us to stomach. Some drivers should really learn to be like Jeannie's Dad, who offered to drive me all the way home from Katong - for free. Not to say that all our fares should be reduced to zero from now onwards. It's just that when we have to empty our wallets just to pay for a comfortable trip from point A to point B, we have the right to demand a higher quality service from this industry, not the same bunch of inconsiderate and money-hungry drivers who are out to suck your money. Start picking up phone calls from customers, stop giving dirty stares when we are going to multiple locations, and please confirm the location the next time we tell it to you. All of these adds up to a good service, and that is the least you could do to make both our lives, a whole lot better.

In Continuum.

Hey, Sunshine

The Sweet Girl

Strange Voices

Academia

Get Lost

Me, Big Foot

New Crib

Miracles Or Placebos

"B Is The New C"

An Asian Grinch

Blood Diamond

Untitled

The Con

Pirates On Wheels

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