O Captain! My Captain! Regrets, I Have A Few…

Yes, I’m taking advantage of the university-student-committing-suicide-after-stabbing-his-professor hype to do some writing practice. It has been quite a topic for these past few days, and it has caused such a commotion in Singapore, my humble home country, probably the whole Asia. But I’m not really interested in talking about the details of the tragedy or the series of events leading to this boy’s bad decision. I’m more intrigued to speculate about the bigger picture, about how his mental state was conditioned by, maybe more than he himself knew, things far greater and older than the 200-hectare campus.

When I heard the news, the first thing that came into mind is the memories I had about that place (yes, I am an alumna). Academically, it was probably the worst four years of my life. Everything seemed wrong then. The curriculum was impossible, the pace was too fast, the lecturers had too poor of spoken English… It was a cold place. I didn’t feel any connection or even the slightest sense of belonging to the alma mater, and I didn’t see any effort from the school to fix this either. To make it worse, I studied engineering, which was not really of my interest. If those four years had taught me anything, it was to NEVER overestimate yourself by doing something you can’t have passion for. It was torturing. Really, if not because of the amazing friends I made and the activities I joined, I would probably be depressed too. And while I might not make it to the front page news like the boy did, I would most certainly do something stupid that could bring shame to either myself or my family.

The next thing that stirred my mind about this incident was how it much reminds me of the film Dead Poets Society. Why did Neil Perry kill himself? Many may think it was insanity. But if we try to follow his way of thinking, it’s actually not so hard to understand. You’ll be surprised how the idea of suicide has now and then fascinated many more, including yours truly. When you are young and full of ideals, Thoreau’s quote “To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.” might be very easily misinterpreted as to might just as well die when you discover you can’t really live anymore. Or even worse: let’s end life when it is truly life, for what come afterwards are no more than death. Does it make sense? If it doesn’t, does it at least kinda make you wonder why the twisted thinking?

In fact, the idea of sacrificing one’s life for “greater good” (bear in mind that this term is very very subjective) is not new at all. People have long been obsessed with martyrdom. Remember how Greek heroes always chose glory over wealth and long life? (Only that dumb Paris chose a woman instead ) That’s the start. Who knows what thousands of years can do for an idea to get internalized, in both good and bad ways. But seeing how human race, with all its exponentially increasing materialistic standards and expectations, had made the world become more and more difficult to live in, it’s practically easy to twist any good ideas into something uglier. After all, people always prefer an easy way out.

Eric Idle said we always have to look on the bright side of life. Well, if you apply the same mentality to view the tragic episode of the university killing, it is indeed not so bad after all. It was like a wake up call. Now more than ever, the public was made realized that what had been practiced all this while behind the gates of educational institutions is far from perfect. Structured support systems were then created, discussions were engaged, and most importantly, everybody is trying to reflect on what happened and efforts to prevent such thing from happening again have become priority. Isn’t it as if the poor young man died as a… martyr?

I’m not at all saying what happened is, although not shocking, tolerable. Whatever the excuses, life is too precious to be thrown away. No matter how I sometimes regret to spend four years of my youth studying things that I couldn’t care less, I’m still grateful I could go through it alive. Because the powerful play goes on and I may contribute a verse. It’s true that the world is becoming more and more hostile. It’s true that living a worthful life seems like a foolish dream. But only in their dreams can men be truly free. It’s not yet time for us to give up hope. My advice is, as worthless as it is, try to be a little masochistic. Then you’ll find that life is sweet

25 Random Things, About (aka What Makes A Good Writer)

There is an interesting phenomenon in the virtual world I observed these days. As somebody who counts on technology to keep in touch with her old mates but not geeky enough to keep up with it and be the pioneer in inventing new ways, I check my Facebook at least once a day. Lately, unusually high “Note” posts bombarded my News Feed. Apparently a LOT of my friends wrote similar notes to what I have written before, a supposedly “25 random things about myself“.

This is quite amazing to me. Not only because I’m a rather constant hungry reader and always love to read about people, but also because I never knew these people have such talent. Some of the stuffs I read were really good that I found myself amused reading them to the end. It seemed as if a lot of promising writers suddenly emerged, when I’m pretty convinced some of them have never written anything before, maybe except project reports. And as a big time nerd, while the trend made me happy, it also forced me to think WHY.

These are some of what I have in mind:

• People love to talk about themselves. There is always a narcissistic side of us. We are fond of attention, we take pleasure from recalling and retelling stories about ourselves. And guess what. People LOVE controversy. That’s why we write 1 or 2 things about what others least expected from us. (Yeap, that includes me )
• Writing random things is easier than creating a composition that has to have a start, an end, and a plot. It tends to be more fun too, for both the writer and the reader, because of the freshness and variety it offers. Unfortunately, writing this kind of stuff can’t really make money, unless you are already a big shot.
  
• To produce a good article/story, we have to believe in whatever we write, even when it is the most ridiculous thing we have ever come up with. That’s why we are much better when writing about ourselves. Because it is believable.
• What makes a good writer? Talent may be one, but it has been proven wrong in many occasions. And as Edison said, genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. It all comes down to hard work and commitment. So for those of you aspiring to be a writer, it may not be impossible after all. Just start.
  

———
ps: Yeah, I write this more for myself than anyone else

Falling for Chinese Guys Clarified

I feel I need to clarify it because when it is put into context, it can be quite misleading. When I said I rarely fall for Chinese guys, that does NOT AT ALL mean it has something to do with me digging Caucasian men. I was emailing a friend on how some Asian women feel and act superior when they date white guys, and it occurred to me that my statement about Chinese guys can so much be interpreted the wrong way.

Fast facts:

• I never think Caucasians are superior. I never fall for Caucasian men either, although their babies are cute.
  
• I still love Asians as well as other guys from other third world countries. I think they are friendlier; some are even the greatest thinkers I’ve ever met. My partner is Sundanese, I once had a crush with a Javanese, and I’m sure there are hot Sumatrans out there.
  
• There ARE East Asian (Chinese, Japanese… basically those with smaller eyes) guys that I like. To mention a few: Tony Leung, Ken Watanabe, and MM Lee Kuan Yew (I’ve told you men with power are such a turn on ).
• Long story short, I don’t discriminate men because of their race or ethnic group. It’s pure coincidence that I like very few Chinese guys (and vice versa!). My criteria is simple: if we can talk nonsense for hours without feeling our damn precious time is wasted, we’re good.
  

Stripping Away Hypocrisy

My #10 confession in the last entry has apparently caused a little… inconvenience. Some of my male friends think I’m too liberal, too direct, too… unAsian. One even thinks I was drunk when I wrote it. But no, I was as sober as a judge, and I intentionally wrote it the way it was written. No regrets there. I have my own reasons to risk my reputation by writing in such a way: I believe it is time to strip away any pretenses and lies.

As I may have implied in various articles, hypocrisy has been deeply rooted in my humble home country culture. It may not be something obvious if you don’t live it long enough. I too once thought humble home country is rather flawless, until I realized what is sugar coated with words such as “politeness”, “humility”, and even “moral”.

If you know about the stupid controversial law on anti-pornography the government signed last year, you may have known that humble home country has been and still is trying so hard to portray itself as a pure sinless nation, for whatever reason. Nothing wrong with it, if it tries to cure the right disease. But what’s the use of such sophisticated law when what you hear in daily news is always about parliament members committing adultery with local artists? What’s the use of ANY law anyway, when law enforcement agencies are paid too low that they have to live from bribery money?

As ridiculous as it seems, and whether we realize it or not, this kind of “culture” goes top-down. A few years back, there was a best-selling book by a local author, which was even translated to English and available at major Singapore bookstores. It’s titled “Jakarta Undercover”. It claimed to give a real glimpse about Jakarta’s nightlife and sex entertainment, when in my opinion it’s just a mediocre book about the author hopping from one brothel to another. I read it out of curiosity and with an open mind. But I couldn’t help noticing something odd about each story: the author was never absent to hint that even though he did enter the club/whorehouse, he never tried the girls. It made me frown. What was he trying to do? Defending his chastity?

Actually my last straw was probably dated back in the second year of my university study. At that time, US reality shows started to get more popular. I used to study in a TV lounge with a group of friends, and sometimes we watched American Idol or some dramas to accompany our dinner. One day, there was a new show titled “Are You Hot?”. It has the same concept with American Idol, except you don’t have to possess whatsoever “talent” to win the competition. You only have to look hot. I don’t mind seeing hot girls and guys in swimsuits catwalking and posing, showing off their assets. It’s kinda entertaining, really. (Although it turned quite boring when it went to the finals. All they did was changing outfits!) But there was a guy from humble home country (but not in my group of friends) who apparently felt that he had something to say about the show, and he would be branded as a bad boy if he didn’t voice it out. I lost count on how many times he repeated “Man… This is crap… No talent, nothing… They are practically selling meat, man…” during the first episode. I might have been brainwashed by his preach if he didn’t stare hungrily at the TV screen while saying that and kept returning to the TV lounge to watch the following episodes, bringing with him the same old boring preach…

Those experiences made me realized how hypocrisy has been so naturally assimilated to our culture. To make a sweeping statement, it has been a way of life of the people, despite of their socioeconomic and educational levels. This realization scares me. And it disgusts me. When all of us are too busy concerning only about how others see us and not who we really are, when even talking the walk has been so hard and being proud of what we believe is almost improbable, when being honest has become a sin, I can only see further self-destruction in the future of my humble home country.

I don’t want to get on the bandwagon and contribute to the gloom…

10 for Francisca (aka C.V.)

Really, I do this only for my friend Francisca. She wrote a note in Facebook and tagged me in it. It came with specific instructions: “Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.” How can I disappoint a good friend who’s eager to know more about me, right? I really had a hard time doing this. I was determined to come out with 25 short stories (one liner, I mean!), but then I thought 10 that matter are more meaningful than 25 of not so important. (Excuses!) So let’s start…

1. I grew up in a Chinatown and come from a family with rather strict Chinese tradition. Nevertheless, I never really have appreciation for Chinese culture. I’m never interested in learning the language, I think Chinese music is too mushy, and I prefer my humble home country traditional food to Chinese cuisine at all times. Worst of all, I VERY rarely fall for Chinese guys. This creates a little trouble when parents come into the picture. Hmm… Come to think of it, it seems all my meaningful relationships have been interracial

2. I was a born Catholic. I spent my childhood going to Sunday school and winning Bible quizzes. I was educated in Catholic schools until high school and I thought I would never have a problem proclaiming myself as a Catholic. However, as I matured, I realized that actually my personal perception of Catholicism is not really conventional. I may oversimplify it, some may even think I’m blasphemous. And when I tried the Belief-O-Matic, guess what’s the result. I am not really a Catholic. I am a liberal quaker! And at the moment I think I refuse to admit to be part of any religious institution. I have faith, all right… But lately religions kinda pissed me off

3. I was interested in my humble home country’s political movement since I was in junior high school. I guess this is a good influence from my school, where I got to meet friends from different backgrounds (read: outside the Chinatown). I admired BS, the leader of an emerging political party. Do remember that at that time my humble home country was not as liberal as today. There were only 3 political parties you could choose on the election, and the government was more of a totalitarian, even though they always said that we practiced democracy. BS was accused as the man behind the riot occurred on July 27, 1997. He was a university student back then. The idea of putting the country’s interest above of his own in such a young age inspired me. And it moved me to follow his path. With some friends, I sent a long letter to a national radio station, protesting the accusation made. I also wrote a letter about the injustice to a local magazine and it got published. This freaked my dad out, and I got scolded for practically offering head and getting eliminated from the country (or this world for that matter!).
Note: When I looked back, I realized how a foolish idealist I was. But I was young, there are rooms for mistakes and stupidity. Now,  I can’t care less for what happen. I am frustrated.

4. I fell in love with classical music when I was in primary school. I don’t know where I got the influence from. My parents were not into it. My dad only listens to Teresa Teng-like and my mom pop and easy listening. I entered a CD shop and they played a classical piece, and bam! I was captivated since then. My first cassettes are Beethoven and Chopin.

5. A consequence of #4, I desperately wanted to learn how to play an instrument. My first choice was always the violin, but I didn’t mind piano either. ( To be frank, I actually think piano is quite boring. My favorite piano pieces are always concerti. I can enjoy piano solos, but not too long.) Unfortunately, my parents were convinced that learning music is useless. They didn’t allow me to take up a lesson. I remember it made my cry for days once, without any success to change their mind. My dad only approved a PAINTING lesson, because he saw I have talent for it. Yeah, Dad, I know I am talented in painting. That’s why I don’t need a lesson. I can learn that myself! At the end I never took up a painting lesson either. I only started to learn violin last year, after a friend gave me the courage. He said we’re never too old to learn, and that I still have all my life for it. Going for it really makes me happier

6. I think I am a talented singer as well. I remembered in primary 5 we had this music teacher in school. He adored my singing. I always got the highest mark. Too bad I won’t be remembered by my friends as the girl with the voice. I was busy with Students’ Union in secondary and high school, and I think people will always think of a bossy nerd when they heard my name. But I did join the university choir, and I did good. One of my secret passions is to be part of an opera troupe or a leading cast in a Broadway musical.

7. I am always ashamed of the fact that I was a Backstreet Boys fan when I was 13. Back then I thought they’re handsome, romantic and definitely not gay. I bought magazines featuring them and waited for the video clips to play on MTV. But of course, at that time boy band was in. Take That, Boyzone, Boyz II Men, you name it. Maybe I just followed the trend. You know, teenagers… The short-lived infatuation ended when I discovered The Cranberries and Def Leppard. And since I came to Singapore in 2001, my musical knowledge hasn’t improved.

8. Despite of my rejection to take up a course, I do love painting. I painted Beethoven as my junior high school art final project. It’s oil on canvas, imitating my cassette cover (yes, the first one that I bought). I got good grade, of course, and I was very proud of it. I was so sad and mad when I wanted to bring it home, I learned that the school had misplaced it somewhere. My Beethoven is lost forever

9. I’ve always wanted a tattoo that covers my whole back. I think it’s cool. But I am too chicken to even have a small one. I’m afraid I will regret it. What if it doesn’t look nice? What if I find a better design after I commit to one? What if the color fades? How will it look like when I’m 60? So I only dared to get a temporary one on my upper chest in December 2007. And it caused a little havoc when my colleagues thought it was a permanent. Gee, I can’t believe they couldn’t tell it was fake! Lately I have been thinking if I should go ahead with f-holes tattoo, like that of Ingres’ Violin. Probably I will get another temporary one when I go back to humble home country.

10. I am a woman of intelligence. This may sound cocky, but actually I meant it to be sad. Of all the guys who are interested in me, I think all are attracted to me after knowing me personally. They like me because of my character, how I am different from other girls, and stuffs like that. It’s nice, sure. I too would want to marry someone who can connect with me, understands me, and loves me as a whole package. But as a mature woman, sometimes I wish guys like me simply because of my looks. It will really help my confidence if I know that once in a while there are guys who think I’m pretty and sexy, who don’t think of me as good wife material and only want to know me because they want to bang me, hahahah… Well, the bottom line is, even though I know I am not too bad as a girl, I have my own insecurities. And I guess this is one of the things I have to work on.

Let the Wine of Friendship never Run Dry…

Last week had been an emotional roller coaster. Perhaps PMS contributed a little, but a better guess is it’s mainly because of the transition I have to go through. Well, this probably sounds whiny and those of you who have conversed with me in other medias may have been bored to death by this repetition, but really, saying good bye is not my forte.

Since that fateful day, I had been meaning to write a perfect farewell email to the friends I’ve made (outside Singapore, that is) during my time in the organization. I thought it’s gonna be easy. After all, what I was going to say had been there inside my head, ready to materialize in warm and even humorous sentences. But when I tried to really write it down, some familiar feelings got the better of me. Sadness. Melancholy. More sadness. Ugh. I didn’t know I am such a sentimentalist.

Anyway, at the end I decided to get this over with and just send the damned email. I did. Last Thursday. After spending hours forcing myself to repress the overwhelming feelings and keep typing. And I thought I’d be relieved after that. But why wasn’t it what lingered when I woke up the morning after?

I recalled what I have written in that short farewell and it made my heart ached. I remembered saying something about how EACH of them has given me some of the best memories I won’t forget for a very long time. They might think I was exaggerating, but in fact I was dead serious. They really mean something to me. Then I started reminiscing one distinct memory I had with everyone of them, like clips from a short movie. At that moment, I knew what could make me feel better. To write about this, immortalizing the memory. About

JH, the mild mannered gentleman who amused me with his choice of words…
CC, with whom I had communication breakdowns caused by language barrier, but eventually resolved everything…
KC, whose office often closed due to typhoon…
YP, who is like a sister… Her friendliness inspired me, we exchanged stories and pics…
EA, whom I always imagine as a natural leader. He offered to attend a 6 AM meeting once…
NG, my soulmate…
TS, my good friend, a.k.a. the Brazilian who likes to pray. He is probably the nicest man I’ve ever worked with…
GS, my fellow newbie. He was a new program manager while I was a new product lead…
AT, the continuous plan change that finally settled smoothly…
LX, who patiently entertained my ever changing request list…
HV, whose voice I find sexy and for the cute way he pronounced ‘t’… .
PA, the one night spent calling his mobile (PHB’s order)… (And he just added me in Facebook with a very nice message. What a sweetheart )
EB, the soft spoken and very dependable lady I sometimes forgot to include in the mail chain…
And last but not least ML, with her good English and female boss quality…

Hmmm… Yeah, I guess writing is a very good therapy for sadness and melancholy.

Insomniac’s: Mixed Feelings…

Waiting for what will probably be the last mile, I can’t help but stuffing my head with unwanted thoughts. The first few were envy, annoyance, angst, that soon turned to rage.

Surprisingly, those ugly feelings were not directed to what caused me to be in this situation. I accepted what had been decided, a little part of me even believed that this may be the only way for survival. What made me hot was in this time of crisis, there apparently ARE enough people who are so insensitive that they make such a song and dance about, directly or indirectly, their fortune.

When people usually bragged about how big their income taxes were, I really don’t care. Or when they talked about the exotic places they will soon go for honeymoons. Oh, also when they complained about their job they can’t stand; I may even sympathize. But with the anxiety clouding practically almost the whole world, all this nonsense started to irritate me. Why don’t they just can it, for goodness sake. Or at least keep it low and discreet UNTIL the “right” time. Who cares about how much you earn per year? Who has time to be lovey-dovey? Fiddle-dee-dee, the world is crumbling hereee….

Yes, I was a little furious. However, not true to Kübler-Ross‘ model, what came after the anger subsided was not bargaining (maybe because there is nothing to bargain), but introspection. I started to think, if I could go back in time, would I do things differently? Would I want to trade what I’d had with, let’s say, a big trip around the world in first class seats, luxury cars, money to throw away?

Well… I don’t think so. Now now, don’t judge me as hypocritical. I’m just dumb, really. It’s a known fact that I am too dim-witted that I almost always choose the hard way (, for example in picking guys I’d fall for More on that later in another post.). OK, I may be exaggerating, but the point is that I just love what I have now. Choosing this path has been an enriching experience. All the great people I met and admire, I wouldn’t know them if not for this. Nowhere else in the world I can hope for more true friends. Friends who you can always depend on, who want to share all your joy and sorrow, who listen to your darkest secrets without being judgmental. Friends who mean it when they say “Let’s keep in touch.”

I remembered all the good times we had. The burst of laughter to idiosyncrasies that often came out unexpectedly, the unending hilarious conversations which sometimes took unpredictable turns, the solidarity that you thought you can only find in war movies, the eye-opening episodes of finding who we truly are and how we manage to still love and respect each other despite of our differences. No, I don’t think I would trade those with anything in the world. Even when I added up all the bad times we had to spend, no… All these are what make me who I am today.

Here I learned to be confident. I learned to be humble. I learned to work smart. I learned to play hard. I learned determination. I learned tolerance. I learned authority. I learned empathy. I learned to be mature. I learned to be young.

I learned to live my life. CARPE DIEM.

Happy Birthday, Dear Friend!