In Continuum.

I do not consider myself a crazy fan of any artistes out there, I don't think I even come close to that. The rational side of me always manages to pull me back from fanaticism, knowing that it isn't worth it to go all the way for such trivial things in life. However, if you really have to pick just one artiste that I have been crazy over the past few years, it'd probably be John Mayer. His music stands apart from most of the things that I love and listen to on a regular basis, and many people who know me would probably scratch their heads at why I love this man's music. Well, I suppose when I first got into his music some time in 2003, the lyrics related to me on a level that no other songs did. You know, about the quarter life crisis, about growing older, about not wanting responsibilities - that kind of things. Besides, that was also the period of time when I got serious with guitar, and I suppose there wasn't a better way to learn the instrument other than to learn it to his songs. I cannot say that I know most of his songs by heart on the guitar, but I can pull off a decent setlist of songs that I already know. I don't think I know many other songs other than his, considering how the rest of the songs in my library are made up mainly of electronica tunes. Those songs are, after all, kinda hard to recreate on the guitar, you know?

Anyway, I've been a fan of John Mayer for a long time now, all the way since he was just this awkward singer-songwriter who couldn't find his foothold in the world of show business. That was his staple, though, that was what he was known for. The sensitive, somewhat geeky musician who'd prove everybody wrong whenever he is standing alongside guitar legends on a stage somewhere in this world. Whatever preconceived ideas you might have of him would be shattered once he shreds the guitar, because he is that good on it. People often call him a "pop singer" because of the pop tunes that he dishes out onto the radio, and there is no denying that. Whenever I tell people that I am a fan of John Mayer, people tend to look at me with an expression of puzzlement, wondering if I was being sarcastic in the first place. "That Wonderland guy?", they would ask, and I'd have to admit it. "Admit it", I said, because it almost sounds like I didn't want to. Saying that I am a fan of this man used to be simple, because it made sense. This is a perfectly talented person with enough skills under his belt to impress and prove everybody wrong out there. If you want proof of why he isn't just another pop singer, you only need to type the words "Gravity" and "live" into the YouTube search box.

That used to be how it was, though, when it was really all about the music and less about his celebrity life. It was always musician first, celebrity second for this man, and I suppose that is something of a rarity these days, after all. When you have cameras following you from your home to the car, from the car to the gym, from the gym to the restaurant, from the restaurant back home, and from your home to a club, you cannot help but realize that your life has been turned into an unofficial autobiography, documented in pictures in tabloid newspapers. So many celebrities have succumbed to the scrutiny of the paparazzi, and it is surprising just how little regulations there are in the United States to govern these people, I feel. I mean, we have celebrity breaking down and turning into a train wreck right in front of the flashing cameras, no thanks to the paparazzi crew involved in that situation. They've crossed the line a long time ago, and no one is spared in the paparazzi world. Even back when it was easier to defend John Mayer as a fan, his life was constantly under the microscope, and America's obsession with celebrities and their private lives became epitomized in the tabloid sales.

Some celebrities are better targets than other celebrities, which is why paparazzi are more interested in some of them more than the others. You don't hear much about Chris Martin doing something stupid in the public because, well, he simply doesn't do it. It has got nothing to do with him being a father, or the fact that he is also a husband. Normal people just don't do stupid things in the public, and the trick is to keep a low profile even when you have cameras following you all the time. When you don't fan the flames, you don't get a bush fire - it's really as simple as that. Somewhere down the road, though, John Mayer decided that it'd be clever and fun to play the media game and try to "fight back" by giving them exactly what they want. You know, pretending to be drunk in public, saying something outrageous on the camera, or running around a cruise ship almost completely naked. Somewhere amidst his odd and twisted sense of humor, he feels that that is the best way to deal with the celebrity side of his life, the side that people are obsessed and crazy about. He feels that the best way to stop a train is to run head on into it, and most of his fans brushed it off as "John being John", that it is something he does.

His humor hasn't always been easy to understand, and they can become overwhelming even to me sometimes. If you are following him on Twitter, for example, there are times when his Twitter don't make any sense. They are sometimes crude, somethings crass and weird but, they are all a part of who he is and his so-called wit. Many of us defend him and say that because the general public knows him by what they read in the tabloids, they obviously do not understand the context and what he is trying to say. His humor has always been harmless for the most part, just him being a goofball and playing his "games" with the media. It has been harmless for the most part, until recently when he decided to give an interview to PlayBoy magazine. It is a long interview in which I will not go into detail, but let's just say that it has stirred up quite a lot of dust in the media regarding its contend. Everything from the usage of the word "nigger", to how he described his penis to be a "white supremacist", all of those things have caused him to become a giant douchebag all over again. In an effort to be clever and witty, he has also spoken way too much and said stupid things in a magazine - and what for? What was he trying to do?

I've been giving this a lot of thinking, simply because I care. I care enough for his music to know that I don't want people to give me "that look" when I tell them that I am a fan. It's never about the person - never. I do not care what a person does in his private life for the most part, just as long as he can justify himself in his music. I don't care if the members of Oasis are a bunch of douchebags, but the fact is that they make good music and they continue to do so. I try to be objective most of the time, but then sometimes enough is enough, you know, when too much is simply too much. There are times when what that person does in real life is so stupid, that you cannot help but hear the stupidity between every line of every song. It is especially so with John Mayer, a guy who has written songs about saying too much in songs like "My Stupid Mouth", and songs about people not knowing who he really is, and basing their judgments solely on what the media says in "Who Did You Think I Was". I remember he once said that he likes to prove people wrong on stage, with his guitar and his music. I get that, I really do. But I'm not sure he had to go out and stir up shit just to prove people wrong, you know. That's like becoming a pastor after masturbating in the public just to prove to everybody that he isn't a pervert after all. No, people are still going to think that you are a demented freak.

If I don't want to stand out in a crowd, I usually try to keep quiet and stay in the corner of things. If you don't want the tabloids to write about your private life, then don't air your dirty laundry in the public when the cameras are all pointed at you. If you don't want people to make your past relationships a big deal, then stop telling people about how great somebody was in bed or stupid statements like that. I believe that he is a smart enough man to know that, and yet something went wrong in that interview that caused me to rethink my stance about him as a human being. Perhaps there was a case of over-estimation, perhaps I've got it all wrong from the very smart. Maybe he just isn't all that smart, the way that he feels that he can defeat stupid things by doing stupid deeds. It doesn't work out that way at all, and he of all people should have known that a long time ago. It doesn't matter the context in which he used the word "nigger", which wasn't in the malicious context at all. He meant the exact opposite, but then the general public isn't very smart either. You know the consequences and repercussions that come along with using such a racially charged word, and everybody knows it. What in the blue hell were you thinking back there?

In the act of being clever, you obviously weren't too clever. It is a shame really, and this is the part when it becomes impossible to defend. I cannot find the words to defend your words and your actions, and I am sure many people out there feel the same way about this situation. From this day on, people are going to think John Mayer fans as the kind of people who supports the idea of a "white supremacist penis". For some reason, "being a fan of his music" is suddenly the same as "agreeing with everything that he says". I think he is a douche bag not because the media tags him as being one. I seriously think that John Mayer is a douche bag, and he made himself to be that way. There is always a choice when it comes to doing or saying things. You know, not doing something or not saying something. Once you've made that choice, it becomes very difficult to turn back now. I'd hate to be your publicist or your manager, seriously, because of all the stupid things that you go out to do, night after night. This isn't even the first time that something you have said got turned into an overblown issue like that. So many times, you have said that it should be about the music, that it shouldn't be about the spotlight, that you should just stick to what you do best. Then what do you do after that? You go out, do some interview and say stupid shit. Your stupid mouth just doesn't know when to shut the hell up, does it?

I am continue to listen to his music, and try to be partial about it. I've always known the fact that when I meet the musicians or the actors that I admire and respect, I am not going to like them as human beings. I love Steve Jobs, but I think he is also an asshole - same thing. I think John Mayer is a great musician, but I am going to want to punch him in the face if I have a drink with him in New York City. For the most part, I am the kind of person who cannot care less about what a famous person does in his or her life. As big of an asshole as Tiger Woods was to his wife by sleeping with a thousand women out there, you cannot deny that he is a great golfer. Just stick to playing your golf, hitting the balls, and everybody will forget about this shenanigan sooner or later. Not unless, of course, you appear in front of paparazzi cameras and start telling people about why you broke up, why you did the things you did, and all that kind of retarded things that'd only cause people to dig deeper into your life. Tiger Woods was stupid enough to not cover his tracks after cheating on his wife, but I think he handled himself pretty well with the apology and everything. I'm not even sure if he had to do a public apology at all, since he really only needed to apologize to his wife and everything. But John, I think you are smarter than that. You don't do the same stupid shit over and over again and expect people to still stand behind you. Get your shit together, even if it takes a long hiatus away from everything. The next time a camera comes up into your face, shut the fuck up. The next time an interviewer asks you about your private life, stop trying to act clever by being stupid. That stupid mouth of yours is still stupid, until you decide to get your shit together and wise up.

It was the end of the year and the end of a decade. The sea winds blew in from the south and graced our faces like heavy feathers. There was a group of people, us, by the side of a man-made slope, eating pizzas and drinking alcohol. It was the night before we said goodbye to one of our own, a friend of ours leaving for a place far, far away. In the past, the sea winds would probably promise a swift journey from here on out, but that was the last thing that any of us wanted to see. A friend of ours was leaving for overseas studies, and the lot of us gathered at Marina Barrage the night before to bid our goodbyes. Aside from the snacks and the drinks, we all took turns to hold a line in our hands from time to time. On one end of the line, a spool of string that coiled itself around a plastic handle. On the other, a fifteen dollar kite that soared into the air and rebelled against the mighty winds. Flying a kite isn't exactly the easiest thing to do, especially when your kite isn't very good to begin with. The flimsy center beam poked through the fabric and rendered the kite completely flightless after half an hour. We tried our best to get it into the air throughout the night, and for a while it stayed in the air for a long time. I don't remember the last time I ever flew a kite other than that one time when I was still a little boy. You know, when things were different, when it was all simpler.

The red and white line fluttered in the warm afternoon wind, and the perimeter of the field was bordered up with metal fences painted in pale green. A tall sign rose up from the other side of the fence, something about a new housing estate being planned in the small plot of land right next to the MRT station. That place used to be where the temporary canteen of my school was, and I remember how out-of-place it looked when the new building was still under construction. Everything was changing back then, replaced by things that I don't quite remember anymore. I stared at the little piece of land as I came out from the station, with the smell of burning grass teasing at my nostrils. It's the smell of the haze again, the fumes drifting over the seas from the south and engulfing our little island within it's embrace. It was as if the little piece of land in front of me was burning without flames, and that the smell was coming from the dying leaves. Yet, they remained steadily rooted in the soil, fenced up by metal fences, ready to be dug up by bulldozers in the foreseeable future, taken over by steel and concrete. The grassland shall die, burn down into ashes without flames. Everything around my home isn't the same anymore.

There used to be a big green field on the other side of the road where the newer condominiums are right now. Right in front of the main entrance to my estate, there used to be an untouched piece of land that nobody touched for a very long time. It separated itself from the main road by a monsoon drain, drawing its territory from us, as if to say that we do not have the right to touch the last remaining piece of free land. My parents were still new to this country at that time, and so were my sister and I. In an effort to entertain us one weekend afternoon, my parents brought us downstairs and across the road to fly kites. I remember my kite, though only barely so, and I remember it had big blotches of red on it. That was my first time flying a kite, and the winds were optimal for us to do so that afternoon. My parents gave me a few instructions, and I remember trying to run against the wind in hopes that the updraft would pick the kite up. At five years old, I suppose my legs couldn't carry me fast enough, and the kite refused to take off. Like most parents that bring their kids to fly kites, they usually end up being the one doing all the job anyway. I remember my kite flying higher and higher into the air, until it became a small red dot that threatened even the height of my condominium. It was a glorious day for me, but it was also the last time in a long time when we flew kites.

A couple of years down the road, my parents walked my sister and I down the same stretch of road in front of our house and along the edge of the field. Strangely enough, there were rows upon rows of cars parked along the road, with people climbing out from their vehicles with their own set of children from all over the place. A piece of land was carved out on the kite flying field in the corner, and the people were swarming towards a makeshift building that had fancy lights in the windows. It was a condominium showroom, and my parents were there to check out the prospects of having another house altogether. Or, maybe they were just curious as to what would happen to that little piece of land, who knows. I remember walking in between the model buildings, peering into the empty plastic units and running my fingers down the styrofoam road. Half of the grass field would be gone, I thought to myself. Less land for me to run around with my kite now. I hated that condominium, and I still do not have much love for it. It looks like a sad attempt to blend modern housing units with medieval castles. Everything felt crammed even as a child, and I remember being oddly infuriated on my way home. My parents asked what the matter was, but I couldn't put my anger into words. I wasn't even sure why I was so angry at this new concrete beast that was about to rise up from the ashes of the ground. All I knew was that I didn't want it there, I didn't want it to take over that piece of land that was rightfully mine to fly kites.

I've lived here for a long time now, ever since my condominium was still the tallest building in the neighborhood. You could see it in all directions, wherever you were coming in from. Then, of course, people calling this placed a "prime land", and thought that it'd be a good idea to squeeze as many people as possible into this already constricted place. They took up fields to build housing estates, more fields for condominiums, another to build the Australian International School, and a whole stretch of it for the MRT station. They even tore down an old terrace house near my home just to make way for a new condominium a few years ago. Everybody who lived there had to leave, they called it "en bloc" or some fancy name like that. I remember the day when the bulldozers came to tear down the terrace house. In the night, the workers would be asleep and the machines would be resting, and the broken walls of the houses would reveal old furniture and posters still pinned up against the walls. It was an eerie sight, but a sign that the old days are over and the new day has dawned. Everything was changing rapidly around me at that time, and we seem to be the only bunch of people who have remained the same for the most part. Sure, we tore down the ugly wooden fences and changed the tiles around the swimming pool. But, for the most part, we are still the oldest condominium around here, and you can still see it from a great many directions from all around.

Yet, I cannot fly a kite around here any longer, because it seems like these contractors are monsters who feast on soil and dirt. They see an empty plot of land, and they want to stick metal beams into them and pour cement into holes. Just when you think that they have finally ran out of space to do more of that, they'd somehow do it. I can't help but wonder which building is going to be the next to be torn down, to be turned into something spanking new around the neighborhood. Everything is a grotesque copy of the other, one building imitating the other, like soldiers in their ranks, shoulders to shoulders. That is the case all over Singapore, I suppose, and these lands are going to be taken up by steel beams and concrete walls sooner or later. It doesn't matter if the government wants to make up for it by building artificial fields down at the barrage - it's always going to be different, somehow. At any rate, I miss running through the fields with a kite in my hands, and how my parents would teach me how to tug and let go so that the kite would catch the winds and fly even higher. At least back then, if I wanted to fly a kite, I could just grab it from the storeroom and dash downstairs to do so. At least I had the option to do that back then, you know. Now that everything has been taken over by others, it just seems like my childhood isn't there anymore.

A couple of days ago, I thought it'd be fun to look for a couple of places that I have been to as a child in Taiwan. Since my country has recently managed to get the street view option on Google Maps, I thought it'd be fun to take a look around. I found the house that I used to live in nearly twenty years ago, a house that has been converted into a warehouse and office building by some idiotic contractor who never had a knack for the aesthetics. My house is still there, but they built warehouses on either side of the house to accommodate oil barrels. My parents sold the plot of land to them, although I suppose the contract never stated that they should preserve the place as we left it. The front lawn is gone now, and it has turned into an outdoor storage area for oil barrels and a parking lot for lorries. The windows have been darkened by dust and dirt from all the years of not washing them, and you can see dark tracks of vehicles going in and out from the front gate. I used to stand on the railings on the front gate, and my dog used to chase its tail in the front lawn. My mother sighed when she saw the picture, and she told me about how my aunt and her would set up chairs on the balcony of the second floor to watch movie screenings on the other side of the road. The sliding doors to the balcony seem to be locked up now, and the place seems vacant for some reason. The person that my parents sold the place to used to complain to them that the place is haunted by ghosts, and the employees would be terrified at night when they see them. Well, ghosts or not, it was still the home that I grew up in. Ghosts of my childhood memories, perhaps, pacing the corridors and the rooms.

I zoomed out from that place and went north from there. The camera zoomed into the cities, and my mother and I tried to look for the place where she grew up. We came across her primary school, though she said that it has changed beyond recognition for the most part. She said that there were only two classrooms back then, but it has now been rebuilt into a typical school with hundreds of students. We went down the street from there, coming across familiar parks and street corners here and there. Much has changed, though, and there were times when she couldn't even remember the street names of the place. My mother used to live in a rural area of Taipei, a place surrounded by farms and gangsters for the most part. Up until about twenty years ago, she still lived there before she got married to my father. It's a small alley with the residences all crammed up together in small, dark houses. That was where my grandmother lived, and we used to visit her every time we went back to Taiwan. I remember drawing hopscotch boxes on the piece of road in front of the house, and we played with the neighborhood children who always looked dirtier and poorer than my sister and I. We used to play hide and seek around the temple area, but the neighborhood kids always found us because they already knew of all the places to hide.

The thing about Google street view is that you can only see where the Google van has gone, and I suppose that particular alley was too narrow for the van to enter. My mother and I were kinda disappointed by the fact, but I shifted the camera as best as I could, so that we could check out the entrance to the alley. The big red building at the end of the alley is still there, with the golden words nailed into the walls and the motorcycles parked in front of the gates. My mother forgot about that building, but I distinctively remember seeing it whenever we left my grandmother's place at night. I'd be tired and worn out from a day of running around and playing, and I'd be lying down in the backseat and looking up and the buildings around me. There they'd be, the golden words, peering down into the car and straight at me. I recognized it straight away, but everything has changed as well. Hell, even the road name has changed, which was why we couldn't find it before. I suppose, in a way, it was better that we couldn't go into the alley with Google Maps. In that way, the old house would still be there, and maybe grandma would still be living in it too. If nobody knows how it looks like now, then it remains the same in our minds forever - right?

I suppose, for everyone, there is a place where we remember deep in our hearts, a place when we used to have fun. It was always near our homes, somewhere close by where we could go to and get home without much effort. But living in our time, living in Singapore especially, these places are increasingly difficult to find, especially when so many other buildings are slowly taking over. It's like an infection that spreads, a rash that goes from your thighs to your stomach and all the way up your chest. You can't help it, though, because everything changes all the time. You cannot expect old buildings to remain the same forever, or plots of land to remain empty especially when people are constantly moving into this already constricted island. I suppose a part of me just wish that there is still a place for me to fly my kite, or a playground where I can sink my feet into the sands. Do you remember those playgrounds with sand? They don't come by very often anymore, and I miss that. I miss being a child, especially with all the expectations and responsibilities resting on my shoulders. The burdens that we have to carry just because we've grown up, they are difficult to bear after you have come along for so far and so long. Every once in a while, you remember the place where you used to go to fly a kite, a place that isn't in front of your computer or television. You know, like a field. A big green field, and an open sky for your kites to soar. Yeah, something like that. That'd be nice.