Merry Christmas to everyone.
Last night as I was ironing my pink flowery shirt for midnight mass, I turned on the TV and heard discussions about what should be placed on Christmas Trees and what should not. Hardly inspiring given that I am such a decorative person. But seconds later I saw a familiar face and heard a familiar voice talking about what Christmas really is about. Father Valerian, one of three founding fathers of our very own Genesis II Choir, reminded me of what I, for one, definitely had to be reminded of: that Christmas itself is a celebration; a celebration of the birth of Jesus who was born as a gift to all of us; that when we exchange presents, we exchange Jesus in our lives.
Those few lines probably mean nothing to the non-believer and little to the skeptical, but for once this entire year, I didn't brush off the words of a priest as " darn preaching". Which perhaps motivated me to give just a little gift to any one out there who is going through a cold, dark and lonely Christmas this year. Those far away from home; those with partners far from their side; those without partners; those who search but can't seem to find themselves; those whose lives seem to be going down the drain; those who seem to have lost all aim in life. I can't give you the world, nor help you find what you are looking for, but what I can do is to show you a little something that might cheer you up a little, because you're not the only one who's down and out.
The lyrics of the song "Streets of London" by Ralph McTell were criticized of being too sad and depressing in the 1970s. But some 30 years later, the song still plays on the radio at least once a day, and it never fails to remind the world that things aren't as bad as they seem.
*************************************************************************************
Streets Of London
Have you seen the old man
In the closed-down market
Kicking up the paper, with his worn out shoes?
In his eyes you see no pride
And held loosely at his side
Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you
Through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She's no time for talking, She just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags.
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you
Through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
In the all night cafe at a quarter past eleven
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world over the rim of his tea-cup
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you
Through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
And have you seen the old man
Outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading with the medal ribbons that he wears.
In our winter city, the rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero
And a world that doesn't care
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine?
Let me take you by the hand and lead you
Through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
*************************************************************************************
Monday, December 24, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Christmas Reflections
I now remember why I wanted so much to get out of being in a relationship.
For some three years, I was never without a partner. And at the end of those three years, I couldn't help but ask myself: just who are you, Dominic Wong? Even my name sounded funny to me.
One was always there to make me feel like I didn't have my own personality; that I should always conform to her superficial wants and needs. Which is not to say that everything about her was superficial. Some of the most romantic times of my life were spent with her so much so that we played our relationship out almost like a chick flick. Except I wasn't the rich, bad boy hunk that she wanted so badly. I found myself retreating to music. My guitar became my wife and song became my only solace in a partnership which no one could seperate; except her.
When I finally got out of that emotional rut, I met someone who probably is the one person who knew me the best. Always tolerant, forgiving and patient to my wilful needs, she never failed to show me a side of myself that I never knew of. She gave me the confidence to take my music out of the bathroom and into the world. She made me feel like i was almost invincible; which led me to feel like I was a bird that was not caged but chained. I could fly freely but never beyond the length of the chain. I had to break free.
Which I did. And after more than a year, I think it was the best thing for us. To have had the one most supportive female person by my side for two years was my blessing, and I simply couldn't hold on to her the way she held on to me. It was fair for neither of us that way. Seeing the way things have worked out today for the both of us, I am not regretful that I made that choice, though it was a veyr painful one to make.
And now I'm beginning to see that with that decision I made, I failed to realize that I had also made a subconscious one to block out any romance that would come my way. It doesn't mean I didn't get excited at times when romance was just hovering above my head, but I never acted on anything.
And that was for the very same reason I chose to be alone. Being in a relationship made me dependant on my partner in every single way. And today, as Christmas draws near, I finally feel the pinch of not having someone by my side. Who can I call and ask to go on a nice Christmas evening date to see the lightup at Orchard Road with? With whom shall I go for Midnight Mass if I don't sing in the choir this year? Where shall I go after Midnight Mass? Who should I bring to nanny's place for Christmas lunch? Who will be with me in my room these few evenings to countdown to Christmas by watching travel shows and promising to make a snowy Christmas trip one day soon together, just you and me?
As the eve of the eve draws near, I can be sure of who will be by my side at any time: my Seagull. She will be with me to play out tunes that are too familiar; to cry with me when she knows that I can't play her the way I really want to. And so this year's Christmas will be the same as most other years: a lover in my arms, my heart somewhere else. I guess that's who I've been and who I still am: a restless soul with no real capability of settling down. I can only hope that that's not who I will stay for the rest of my life.
So as with last year, I know I need to spend some time alone; to figure out who I am alone; to fight my battles alone, for they are no one else's but mine.
And I'm not going to pretend. I'm lonely. I sure as hell am. But in no way am I afraid.
For some three years, I was never without a partner. And at the end of those three years, I couldn't help but ask myself: just who are you, Dominic Wong? Even my name sounded funny to me.
One was always there to make me feel like I didn't have my own personality; that I should always conform to her superficial wants and needs. Which is not to say that everything about her was superficial. Some of the most romantic times of my life were spent with her so much so that we played our relationship out almost like a chick flick. Except I wasn't the rich, bad boy hunk that she wanted so badly. I found myself retreating to music. My guitar became my wife and song became my only solace in a partnership which no one could seperate; except her.
When I finally got out of that emotional rut, I met someone who probably is the one person who knew me the best. Always tolerant, forgiving and patient to my wilful needs, she never failed to show me a side of myself that I never knew of. She gave me the confidence to take my music out of the bathroom and into the world. She made me feel like i was almost invincible; which led me to feel like I was a bird that was not caged but chained. I could fly freely but never beyond the length of the chain. I had to break free.
Which I did. And after more than a year, I think it was the best thing for us. To have had the one most supportive female person by my side for two years was my blessing, and I simply couldn't hold on to her the way she held on to me. It was fair for neither of us that way. Seeing the way things have worked out today for the both of us, I am not regretful that I made that choice, though it was a veyr painful one to make.
And now I'm beginning to see that with that decision I made, I failed to realize that I had also made a subconscious one to block out any romance that would come my way. It doesn't mean I didn't get excited at times when romance was just hovering above my head, but I never acted on anything.
And that was for the very same reason I chose to be alone. Being in a relationship made me dependant on my partner in every single way. And today, as Christmas draws near, I finally feel the pinch of not having someone by my side. Who can I call and ask to go on a nice Christmas evening date to see the lightup at Orchard Road with? With whom shall I go for Midnight Mass if I don't sing in the choir this year? Where shall I go after Midnight Mass? Who should I bring to nanny's place for Christmas lunch? Who will be with me in my room these few evenings to countdown to Christmas by watching travel shows and promising to make a snowy Christmas trip one day soon together, just you and me?
As the eve of the eve draws near, I can be sure of who will be by my side at any time: my Seagull. She will be with me to play out tunes that are too familiar; to cry with me when she knows that I can't play her the way I really want to. And so this year's Christmas will be the same as most other years: a lover in my arms, my heart somewhere else. I guess that's who I've been and who I still am: a restless soul with no real capability of settling down. I can only hope that that's not who I will stay for the rest of my life.
So as with last year, I know I need to spend some time alone; to figure out who I am alone; to fight my battles alone, for they are no one else's but mine.
And I'm not going to pretend. I'm lonely. I sure as hell am. But in no way am I afraid.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
That Problematic Accent
Cambodia was a great country. Seeing Phnom Penh (a potential for visual overload), Pursat (a quiet village that can be circled under an hour with heavenly views), Siem Reap (mainly a tourist area for visitors to Wat Angkor) and Battambang (a quiet and chilly town that had a certain charm to it even in the quiet night) was a very refreshing experience.
Any visitor to Cambodia would notice that their language is different from ours. The Cambodian language, known as Khmer, is extremely nasal and has many vowel sounds that may sound like gibberish to the uninitiated. But one would be delighted to know that most people in Phnom Penh do speak some level of English so getting around is not that big a problem. However, don't expect the Queen's English. With a native tongue that sounds more whiny than Vietnamese or even Thai, the Khmer accent is equally hard to get used to.
But the Cambodians have a reason for speaking English with a Khmer accent, simply because their first language is Khmer. It was this that made me feel culturally impure when I spoke to Cambodians and related to them that our first language in Singapore is English.
Singapore is an awkward melting pot of cultures. The true inhabitants of the land are the Malays, adn the rest of us can safely be categorized under "immigrants". With a 75% Chinese population, most of us immigrants came from China, others from India and a handful of Europeans (and/or their mixed offspring). Needless to say, our forefathers came to Singapore speaking their native languages (or dialects). These included Cantonese, Hokkien, some Mandarin, Tamil, Malayalam, Hindi, Spanish and Portugese. There was also a small community of creole speakers who spoke something called Bahasa Kristang (Language of the Christians). That was Singapore as recent as 60 years ago.
The government chose English as our first language. So though we have four National Languages, English was chosen as the language of commerce. Over the years, this has shaped Singapore into the way it is today. The reason why we are now a hub for so many industries is because we are, inter alia, an country that is accessible to all who speak English (which equates to most of the modern world anyway.
English has many different accents, even within England herself. A cockney speaker may not understand a Jeordie speaker, and that guy from Mersyside may sound like he was from a different country altogether. While the Queen's English is arguably the most authentic English, and also arguably the English that we take after as a result of us being a former Crown colony, the accent most comfortable to Singaporean ears is probably the American accent. About 90% of the shows that we watch on TV are American shows. British shows are hardly aired anymore. This causes a little bit of confusion in our tiny little island.
If you would just think back and ask yourself, "What English did I learn in school," you'd probably find yourself in a rut. Of the English teachers that I had, none were native English speakers (ie from England), but to the best of my memory, they spoke rather good English. Sure there were the odd few who had the residue of Chinese dialects in their English and some who insisted on wrong grammar but those were all reasonable mistakes that anyone would make in any living language. But if the English accent wasn't passed on to us by way of British English teachers, then just what accent do we have? Or more importantly, what accent are we supposed to have?
It all boils down to what we use English for. English is used to communicate with the world. However, it is by no means the most spoken language in the world. Millions of English speakers know English only because it is the most recent global lingua franca. So their accents vary from Latin influenced (ie Spain, Italy, Portugese), to Chinese influenced to Swahili influenced. So technically speaking, as long as your English can be understood by whoever you're supposed to communicate with, then it has served its purpose.
Which brings me to a statement that an angmoh in Cambodia made about the American accent. According to him, Cambodians spoke with a slight American accent because a lot of their tuition teachers are American. Another agreed and said that if you travelled to Singapore, all the girls there speak with an American accent as well. Sounds like good news? Not a chance in hell. His exact words following that were, "It's one hell of a turn off when you meet an Asian girl and she speaks to you in that American accent. It's just disgusting." I did not know where to put my face and continued packing my things, pretending that I didn't hear anything.
I would have approached the guy and asked him to rethink his statement and on hindsight, maybe I should have (if nothing more than for him to get a Singaporean perspective and maybe get me a few beers). But the reflex action to turn away was much stronger because I knew what he said to be true. More and more young people in Singapore have started speaking with that slight American twang. It first starts with the occassional rolled "r" behind words like "for" and "sure" and many more. Then it progresses to change the stresses of the syllables to make itself more and more parallel to the American accent. A smattering of words like "like", "for real", and "no shit" are also a part of this process.
You see, there is nothing wrong with trying to pick up an accent. I myself am a language buff and I've, on more than one occassion, pissed friends off by pestering them to teach me words and sounds in their respective languages. But the thing about it is, I will never speak as Tamil as fluently as a Tamil Indian, or Malay as fluently as a Malay, simply because I am neither Tamil nor Malay.
Singaporean English was never related to American English. The way our parents speak, the way our teachers speak, and the way our Ministers speak is, in every sense of the word, our very own Singaporean accent. The Singaporean accent, though similar to British English, is also influenced by our local languages. As a result, our "p" in "party" and "t" in "to" is slightly softer than in British English; the stresses we put on our notes, though again similar to that in British English, is less expressive because of the expression words we have like "lah, lor, hor, ah, uh" (which are in itself a very complicated matter to foriegners). Singaporean English never had a history of rolling the 'r' (perhaps with the odd case of the very purist Tamil who takes pride in that particular sound that no other language in the world other than Tamil has) simply because us Southern Chinese always had a problem pronouncing even the non-rolled 'r'.
In short, living languages like English change all the time. Accents change all the time. but such changes come at a natural pace and are usually due to foreign invasions or other more drastically natural events. Though the invasion of American TV into our homes is no less an invasion than one with guns and grenades, I think it is time to just stop and think. If we have the intellectual capacity to work on changing our accents to emulate the Americans, we should be able to just ask ourselves why we're doing that. Is it because it's cooler to sound like an American, or is it that usually unusual way that we Singaporeans like to fight back conformity with?
Whichever reason it is, it's time to stop fooling ourselves. America is a great, fun and free country with wild parties and a cool accent. But we will never ever be Americans. Not by changing our accents anyway. If we'd just look within our country and culture, we'd realize that our accent really doesn't sound too bad. After all, who else in the world can speak with a Singaporean accent better than us Singaporeans?
So you thought that messing up your stresses and rolling your 'r' would lift you up in the eyes of the people of the world?
Don't be stupid.
Don't be disgusting.
Think of what that angmoh guy in Cambodia said.
Any visitor to Cambodia would notice that their language is different from ours. The Cambodian language, known as Khmer, is extremely nasal and has many vowel sounds that may sound like gibberish to the uninitiated. But one would be delighted to know that most people in Phnom Penh do speak some level of English so getting around is not that big a problem. However, don't expect the Queen's English. With a native tongue that sounds more whiny than Vietnamese or even Thai, the Khmer accent is equally hard to get used to.
But the Cambodians have a reason for speaking English with a Khmer accent, simply because their first language is Khmer. It was this that made me feel culturally impure when I spoke to Cambodians and related to them that our first language in Singapore is English.
Singapore is an awkward melting pot of cultures. The true inhabitants of the land are the Malays, adn the rest of us can safely be categorized under "immigrants". With a 75% Chinese population, most of us immigrants came from China, others from India and a handful of Europeans (and/or their mixed offspring). Needless to say, our forefathers came to Singapore speaking their native languages (or dialects). These included Cantonese, Hokkien, some Mandarin, Tamil, Malayalam, Hindi, Spanish and Portugese. There was also a small community of creole speakers who spoke something called Bahasa Kristang (Language of the Christians). That was Singapore as recent as 60 years ago.
The government chose English as our first language. So though we have four National Languages, English was chosen as the language of commerce. Over the years, this has shaped Singapore into the way it is today. The reason why we are now a hub for so many industries is because we are, inter alia, an country that is accessible to all who speak English (which equates to most of the modern world anyway.
English has many different accents, even within England herself. A cockney speaker may not understand a Jeordie speaker, and that guy from Mersyside may sound like he was from a different country altogether. While the Queen's English is arguably the most authentic English, and also arguably the English that we take after as a result of us being a former Crown colony, the accent most comfortable to Singaporean ears is probably the American accent. About 90% of the shows that we watch on TV are American shows. British shows are hardly aired anymore. This causes a little bit of confusion in our tiny little island.
If you would just think back and ask yourself, "What English did I learn in school," you'd probably find yourself in a rut. Of the English teachers that I had, none were native English speakers (ie from England), but to the best of my memory, they spoke rather good English. Sure there were the odd few who had the residue of Chinese dialects in their English and some who insisted on wrong grammar but those were all reasonable mistakes that anyone would make in any living language. But if the English accent wasn't passed on to us by way of British English teachers, then just what accent do we have? Or more importantly, what accent are we supposed to have?
It all boils down to what we use English for. English is used to communicate with the world. However, it is by no means the most spoken language in the world. Millions of English speakers know English only because it is the most recent global lingua franca. So their accents vary from Latin influenced (ie Spain, Italy, Portugese), to Chinese influenced to Swahili influenced. So technically speaking, as long as your English can be understood by whoever you're supposed to communicate with, then it has served its purpose.
Which brings me to a statement that an angmoh in Cambodia made about the American accent. According to him, Cambodians spoke with a slight American accent because a lot of their tuition teachers are American. Another agreed and said that if you travelled to Singapore, all the girls there speak with an American accent as well. Sounds like good news? Not a chance in hell. His exact words following that were, "It's one hell of a turn off when you meet an Asian girl and she speaks to you in that American accent. It's just disgusting." I did not know where to put my face and continued packing my things, pretending that I didn't hear anything.
I would have approached the guy and asked him to rethink his statement and on hindsight, maybe I should have (if nothing more than for him to get a Singaporean perspective and maybe get me a few beers). But the reflex action to turn away was much stronger because I knew what he said to be true. More and more young people in Singapore have started speaking with that slight American twang. It first starts with the occassional rolled "r" behind words like "for" and "sure" and many more. Then it progresses to change the stresses of the syllables to make itself more and more parallel to the American accent. A smattering of words like "like", "for real", and "no shit" are also a part of this process.
You see, there is nothing wrong with trying to pick up an accent. I myself am a language buff and I've, on more than one occassion, pissed friends off by pestering them to teach me words and sounds in their respective languages. But the thing about it is, I will never speak as Tamil as fluently as a Tamil Indian, or Malay as fluently as a Malay, simply because I am neither Tamil nor Malay.
Singaporean English was never related to American English. The way our parents speak, the way our teachers speak, and the way our Ministers speak is, in every sense of the word, our very own Singaporean accent. The Singaporean accent, though similar to British English, is also influenced by our local languages. As a result, our "p" in "party" and "t" in "to" is slightly softer than in British English; the stresses we put on our notes, though again similar to that in British English, is less expressive because of the expression words we have like "lah, lor, hor, ah, uh" (which are in itself a very complicated matter to foriegners). Singaporean English never had a history of rolling the 'r' (perhaps with the odd case of the very purist Tamil who takes pride in that particular sound that no other language in the world other than Tamil has) simply because us Southern Chinese always had a problem pronouncing even the non-rolled 'r'.
In short, living languages like English change all the time. Accents change all the time. but such changes come at a natural pace and are usually due to foreign invasions or other more drastically natural events. Though the invasion of American TV into our homes is no less an invasion than one with guns and grenades, I think it is time to just stop and think. If we have the intellectual capacity to work on changing our accents to emulate the Americans, we should be able to just ask ourselves why we're doing that. Is it because it's cooler to sound like an American, or is it that usually unusual way that we Singaporeans like to fight back conformity with?
Whichever reason it is, it's time to stop fooling ourselves. America is a great, fun and free country with wild parties and a cool accent. But we will never ever be Americans. Not by changing our accents anyway. If we'd just look within our country and culture, we'd realize that our accent really doesn't sound too bad. After all, who else in the world can speak with a Singaporean accent better than us Singaporeans?
So you thought that messing up your stresses and rolling your 'r' would lift you up in the eyes of the people of the world?
Don't be stupid.
Don't be disgusting.
Think of what that angmoh guy in Cambodia said.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Why The Lies
An encounter with a partner I haven't worked with in the past year also led me back to an album which has been out of sight and mind for some time.
In 1994, the Lovehunters released a self-titled English album which contained, with the notable exception of "Heart of Gold", their original songs. I started to search my mind for this particular song which I remember had beautiful melancholic lyrics that kept me writing them on every desk I could get my pen on in Secondary School. The album has since gone missing in my home. If anyone has information on (or better, a copy of) their self-titled album or any of their other Malay albums, please please please get in touch with me.
So here it is, to the best of my memory.
*********************************************************************************
Why The Lies
Take me to the painter's house
I promise you I'll sketch a smile
So smile at me, just smile at me
See the birds fly in the sky
Why can't I be singing songs of lullabies
Please tell me why
Why can't I paint a picture of you and I
The songs we shared
The times we held each other
All those times that passed us by
Can you try to tell me why
Tell me now, tell me that you care
Then I'll be sure that I'll be there
When you need me
When you call for me
I want to make you smile
Please let me try
Torn apart I must be strong
To mend my heart
Standing all alone without you here
I want you to be near
This fairy tale was giving faith to me
I can't seem to find the truth
Behind the lies I tell myself
And now you're gone
I've got to try to let you go
All the pain inside
Please let me try
Hanging on to emptiness
The promises that we once made
So why the lies
Can you tell me why
All the pain inside
Baby I can't hide
Dream a dream that won't come true
Living a lie I can't face the truth
I want to see you smile
Just to see you smile
Take me to the painter's house
I promise you I'll sketch a smile
So smile at me
Just smile at me
*********************************************************************************
In 1994, the Lovehunters released a self-titled English album which contained, with the notable exception of "Heart of Gold", their original songs. I started to search my mind for this particular song which I remember had beautiful melancholic lyrics that kept me writing them on every desk I could get my pen on in Secondary School. The album has since gone missing in my home. If anyone has information on (or better, a copy of) their self-titled album or any of their other Malay albums, please please please get in touch with me.
So here it is, to the best of my memory.
*********************************************************************************
Why The Lies
Take me to the painter's house
I promise you I'll sketch a smile
So smile at me, just smile at me
See the birds fly in the sky
Why can't I be singing songs of lullabies
Please tell me why
Why can't I paint a picture of you and I
The songs we shared
The times we held each other
All those times that passed us by
Can you try to tell me why
Tell me now, tell me that you care
Then I'll be sure that I'll be there
When you need me
When you call for me
I want to make you smile
Please let me try
Torn apart I must be strong
To mend my heart
Standing all alone without you here
I want you to be near
This fairy tale was giving faith to me
I can't seem to find the truth
Behind the lies I tell myself
And now you're gone
I've got to try to let you go
All the pain inside
Please let me try
Hanging on to emptiness
The promises that we once made
So why the lies
Can you tell me why
All the pain inside
Baby I can't hide
Dream a dream that won't come true
Living a lie I can't face the truth
I want to see you smile
Just to see you smile
Take me to the painter's house
I promise you I'll sketch a smile
So smile at me
Just smile at me
*********************************************************************************
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
A Walnut's Christmas
As Christmas draws near, people's lives get turned upside down. Parents get all gittery preparing to buy presents for nieces and nephews; siblings get all moody while they jostle for the glitter markers in the house to write lovey dovey messages to their partners; the choir gets busy as they prepare for carolling; the indoor pubs fill up because everyone just wants to forget about work and bask in the annual festivity. And where does that leave those without partners or those without money to feed to bartenders?
Christmas for a Roman Catholic me has always been exciting. From when I was a toddler I remember literally waiting under the Christmas Tree at home to see if Santa really came on his reindeer sledge to give me my presents. He never came, of course, but the presents stil magically appeared under the Tree the next morning bearing the love of "Mummy & Papa", "Chair Chair" and "Kor Kor". Even now when I think back to those Christmas mornings, I smile in blissful joy.
That joy also comes with a nagging sadness that seems to flow endlessly despite how many times I try to wring it dry. For I am not that innocent child waiting under the tree anymore nor am I my siblings' 'little baby brother' anymore. To know that those moments will forever be just a fragment of the memories that I still am creating makes me bewildered at why I never learn to treasure good things before they come to pass.
As a child I always wanted to grow up. When i was in the rigid school system I always wanted out. Now that I cannot remember the ins and outs of living as a child, as well as studying from 7.20 am to 2.00 pm, I cannot help but ask myself if I was foolish to not have cherished those moments. There was much more time for me to bond with my family, to get to know my classmates better, to play sports more, to be more invlved in drama, to study harder, and the list just goes on. As a growing adult, I know that I have to tell myself to just move on.
Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. The day the saviour came into this world. Though he came on a cold winter's night, he illuminated the darkness of the sky with his being and filled the air with warmth.
Christmas is a time you pick your girlfriend up from her place in your best suit to go for Midnight Mass.
Christmas is a time bells ring at the stroke of midnight, signalling Christ's arrival.
Christmas is a time when you cuddle up with your girlfriend just next to the fireplace (that's the tiny balcony for us Singaporeans) and talk about the past year together whilst exchanging loving glances.
Christmas is a time when all those complicated feelings come rushing into me. Memories from every Christmas come back to me every year, with each year's recollections ironically less prominent than the next.
Christmas is a time when I try everything in my power to crack open the rock hard shell of a walnut with my bare hands, only to come to the sudden realization that the walnut that won't crack is but a reflection of myself.
Christmas for a Roman Catholic me has always been exciting. From when I was a toddler I remember literally waiting under the Christmas Tree at home to see if Santa really came on his reindeer sledge to give me my presents. He never came, of course, but the presents stil magically appeared under the Tree the next morning bearing the love of "Mummy & Papa", "Chair Chair" and "Kor Kor". Even now when I think back to those Christmas mornings, I smile in blissful joy.
That joy also comes with a nagging sadness that seems to flow endlessly despite how many times I try to wring it dry. For I am not that innocent child waiting under the tree anymore nor am I my siblings' 'little baby brother' anymore. To know that those moments will forever be just a fragment of the memories that I still am creating makes me bewildered at why I never learn to treasure good things before they come to pass.
As a child I always wanted to grow up. When i was in the rigid school system I always wanted out. Now that I cannot remember the ins and outs of living as a child, as well as studying from 7.20 am to 2.00 pm, I cannot help but ask myself if I was foolish to not have cherished those moments. There was much more time for me to bond with my family, to get to know my classmates better, to play sports more, to be more invlved in drama, to study harder, and the list just goes on. As a growing adult, I know that I have to tell myself to just move on.
Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. The day the saviour came into this world. Though he came on a cold winter's night, he illuminated the darkness of the sky with his being and filled the air with warmth.
Christmas is a time you pick your girlfriend up from her place in your best suit to go for Midnight Mass.
Christmas is a time bells ring at the stroke of midnight, signalling Christ's arrival.
Christmas is a time when you cuddle up with your girlfriend just next to the fireplace (that's the tiny balcony for us Singaporeans) and talk about the past year together whilst exchanging loving glances.
Christmas is a time when all those complicated feelings come rushing into me. Memories from every Christmas come back to me every year, with each year's recollections ironically less prominent than the next.
Christmas is a time when I try everything in my power to crack open the rock hard shell of a walnut with my bare hands, only to come to the sudden realization that the walnut that won't crack is but a reflection of myself.
Monday, November 19, 2007
The Child Within
“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on now.
There’s just too many places I’ve got to see.”
****************************************************************************
As a student I pass through each day thinking of where my studies might take me.
Would I end up as a worker bee in a colony of dissatisfied drones who have let themselves be descended way too deep into the hive to be shown a way out?
Would I complete my National Service, go to the University, come out with an average or above average degree, carry balls for the next five years and retire after ten to enjoy the rest of my life smoking cigars to my death?
Or would I end up on the streets begging for food as a monk having renounced all worldly desires and material wants.
As a student I find no logical explaination to what I feel about my future. To me, the future is now. Perhaps the phrase is a little to cliche for my liking but it makes sense. Remember those times in Primary School when you'd think "If only I could be like those Secondary School boys. They're so matured;" only to realize that that innate child-like feeling remained in you throughout secondary school life and beyond.
The truth is that we are all children of the world. Yet another cliche that makes sense. In the blink of an eye, my teenage years have come to pass. In just under 4 months my age will begin with the digit '2' and in another blink of an eye, it will begin with the digit '5'. Yet, I still feel like a child at times. I wish I could cuddle in my bed and cry myself to sleep only to know that my mother will wake me up the next morning and make me realize that the world has spun another half-round upon its axis: tomorrow has come.
Some people suppress the child in them. Some people grow up too fast and tell themselves that they cannot live their lives the way they used to. They tell themselves that they have to begin living like grown-ups do: to be disciplined in their work, to always be punctual, to never give up no matter how hard the going gets. I salute all those people who have chosen to live their lives that way and have actually succeeded. But if my humble observation serves me correctly, many people who have achieved success in that respect have also succeeded in another unfortunate aspect: turning a deaf ear to the dreams of the child within them.
The child in me has never given up. As I filter myself into the fast lane leading up to adulthood, I now make a conscious decision to never shut that child in me out. Whenever someone asks me what my ambition is, I will tell them that I want to be a singer, a musician, an actor, a performer. When someone asks me "Why on earth would you want to do that,” I will tell them that it is my childhood dream and that I am determined not to disappoint that child in me.
I would then ask that person, "What has the child in you been trying to say to you?"
****************************************************************************
"Everyday is an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines.
And each town looks the same to me: the movies and the factories.
And every stranger's face reminds me that I long to be...
Homeward bound."
For I must be traveling on now.
There’s just too many places I’ve got to see.”
****************************************************************************
As a student I pass through each day thinking of where my studies might take me.
Would I end up as a worker bee in a colony of dissatisfied drones who have let themselves be descended way too deep into the hive to be shown a way out?
Would I complete my National Service, go to the University, come out with an average or above average degree, carry balls for the next five years and retire after ten to enjoy the rest of my life smoking cigars to my death?
Or would I end up on the streets begging for food as a monk having renounced all worldly desires and material wants.
As a student I find no logical explaination to what I feel about my future. To me, the future is now. Perhaps the phrase is a little to cliche for my liking but it makes sense. Remember those times in Primary School when you'd think "If only I could be like those Secondary School boys. They're so matured;" only to realize that that innate child-like feeling remained in you throughout secondary school life and beyond.
The truth is that we are all children of the world. Yet another cliche that makes sense. In the blink of an eye, my teenage years have come to pass. In just under 4 months my age will begin with the digit '2' and in another blink of an eye, it will begin with the digit '5'. Yet, I still feel like a child at times. I wish I could cuddle in my bed and cry myself to sleep only to know that my mother will wake me up the next morning and make me realize that the world has spun another half-round upon its axis: tomorrow has come.
Some people suppress the child in them. Some people grow up too fast and tell themselves that they cannot live their lives the way they used to. They tell themselves that they have to begin living like grown-ups do: to be disciplined in their work, to always be punctual, to never give up no matter how hard the going gets. I salute all those people who have chosen to live their lives that way and have actually succeeded. But if my humble observation serves me correctly, many people who have achieved success in that respect have also succeeded in another unfortunate aspect: turning a deaf ear to the dreams of the child within them.
The child in me has never given up. As I filter myself into the fast lane leading up to adulthood, I now make a conscious decision to never shut that child in me out. Whenever someone asks me what my ambition is, I will tell them that I want to be a singer, a musician, an actor, a performer. When someone asks me "Why on earth would you want to do that,” I will tell them that it is my childhood dream and that I am determined not to disappoint that child in me.
I would then ask that person, "What has the child in you been trying to say to you?"
****************************************************************************
"Everyday is an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines.
And each town looks the same to me: the movies and the factories.
And every stranger's face reminds me that I long to be...
Homeward bound."
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
A Weakened Cornea
I went through all my posts from the very first one to the last, including all those unpublished ones as well. I have to admit that there has been a gradual change in the content and style of my posts.
When I set up my blog, I was like a teenager deprived of sex. You see so much of it on TV, the internet, even the radio, but you just don't get enough. I was like that. There were many thoughts in my mind about many things and I didn't have a outlet through which I could vent.
This sudden depravation came about less than 4 months ago when it suddenly struck me that I saw normal daily situations in an overtly normal fashion, as the normal person does. This surprised me because when i was in Secondary School, I had the tendency to "over-think" daily occurances and draw unnecessarily complicated conclusions from them. Some of that got lost along the way I guess. So I made a conscious decision to return to a state of mind similar to that, but not nearly as psychotic.
And it worked. I felt a sudden surge of objectivity and even subjectivity that I felt was beyond me. I didn't quite see things as clearly as I did over the past few years but I enjoyed the awareness that I couldn't quie be sure about anything at all. I then used my blog to record whatever was significant enough for me to actually go through the writing process. The idea was basically to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.
A good example would be the little snippet of a girl who gave her account of her sexual growth. That post made me think from an entirely different angle and I got so involved in it that I could actually feel myself become that girl in the post. *I'm not admitting that I'm a girl though* Another one would be a very early post discussing our innate desire for drama in our lives whch leads most of us to become addicts to serial dramas.
The ponderance of why certain events happen in a certain way was a extremely enriching experience and one that has left me in an awkward limbo. In a way, i still see things in that highly sensitised fashion. I continue to make mental notes of how a certain view or event can be twisted in different ways. I still fantaize about how to craft those those into a readable post. But I now have to deal with a different problem.
They say that good food once eaten is a delicacy, twice eaten is a luxury, thrice eaten a chore. I now see how this is relevant. A chanced sight at the extraordinary in the ordinary leads to you trying to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. It eventually results in the extraordinary becoming the ordinary.
When I set up my blog, I was like a teenager deprived of sex. You see so much of it on TV, the internet, even the radio, but you just don't get enough. I was like that. There were many thoughts in my mind about many things and I didn't have a outlet through which I could vent.
This sudden depravation came about less than 4 months ago when it suddenly struck me that I saw normal daily situations in an overtly normal fashion, as the normal person does. This surprised me because when i was in Secondary School, I had the tendency to "over-think" daily occurances and draw unnecessarily complicated conclusions from them. Some of that got lost along the way I guess. So I made a conscious decision to return to a state of mind similar to that, but not nearly as psychotic.
And it worked. I felt a sudden surge of objectivity and even subjectivity that I felt was beyond me. I didn't quite see things as clearly as I did over the past few years but I enjoyed the awareness that I couldn't quie be sure about anything at all. I then used my blog to record whatever was significant enough for me to actually go through the writing process. The idea was basically to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.
A good example would be the little snippet of a girl who gave her account of her sexual growth. That post made me think from an entirely different angle and I got so involved in it that I could actually feel myself become that girl in the post. *I'm not admitting that I'm a girl though* Another one would be a very early post discussing our innate desire for drama in our lives whch leads most of us to become addicts to serial dramas.
The ponderance of why certain events happen in a certain way was a extremely enriching experience and one that has left me in an awkward limbo. In a way, i still see things in that highly sensitised fashion. I continue to make mental notes of how a certain view or event can be twisted in different ways. I still fantaize about how to craft those those into a readable post. But I now have to deal with a different problem.
They say that good food once eaten is a delicacy, twice eaten is a luxury, thrice eaten a chore. I now see how this is relevant. A chanced sight at the extraordinary in the ordinary leads to you trying to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. It eventually results in the extraordinary becoming the ordinary.
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