Oh forget it, I'll just get the darn things myself!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
The Perfect Storm
"There will be no calm without if the storm within does not cease."
It's true isn't it?
Think about it....
It's never about us.
It's always about the other person - the boss, the colleague, the parent, the sibling, the other woman.
Other jobs are always better, other families are happier, other people's salaries are higher, other women's figures are better.
There's always this lust, this ache, this itch that causes us to hanker after more things, other people's things, what's on the other side.
There's a space within us that's so empty, so desolate, so arid that it even spills over to our perception of the external.
We're so deficient on the inside, nothing on the outside can ever substantiate.
As a result, we let ourselves fall prey to everything and everybody around us.
The weight of the world becomes an overpowering pressure and burden, crushing us without and even more within.
The question is, why do we let this happen to us?
The truth is, there's nothing and no one in this world who can touch us if we won't let it.
Seriously. Believe me.
It's true isn't it?
Think about it....
It's never about us.
It's always about the other person - the boss, the colleague, the parent, the sibling, the other woman.
Other jobs are always better, other families are happier, other people's salaries are higher, other women's figures are better.
There's always this lust, this ache, this itch that causes us to hanker after more things, other people's things, what's on the other side.
There's a space within us that's so empty, so desolate, so arid that it even spills over to our perception of the external.
We're so deficient on the inside, nothing on the outside can ever substantiate.
As a result, we let ourselves fall prey to everything and everybody around us.
The weight of the world becomes an overpowering pressure and burden, crushing us without and even more within.
The question is, why do we let this happen to us?
The truth is, there's nothing and no one in this world who can touch us if we won't let it.
Seriously. Believe me.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
So Woman
I'm becoming more and more woman, especially when it comes to desiring beautiful things.
Or is it old age?
For the love of what?
I'm disappointed.
With the state of things.
Bush wants to go to war for some strange inexplicable reason. So strange I can't even begin to understand why. Don't people go to war for more than just some nebulous excuse for a reason nowadays?
Nobody loves knowledge for the sake of knowledge anymore. To them, knowledge is a means to getting what they ultimately want.
Qualities like kindness and integrity and "getting the job done" are no longer qualities that are admired. Character, principles and good moral values no longer make for a good friend and partner.
It's all for, the love of money.
What a state that we are in; I can't help but lament.
With the state of things.
Bush wants to go to war for some strange inexplicable reason. So strange I can't even begin to understand why. Don't people go to war for more than just some nebulous excuse for a reason nowadays?
Nobody loves knowledge for the sake of knowledge anymore. To them, knowledge is a means to getting what they ultimately want.
Qualities like kindness and integrity and "getting the job done" are no longer qualities that are admired. Character, principles and good moral values no longer make for a good friend and partner.
It's all for, the love of money.
What a state that we are in; I can't help but lament.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The 小猫咪 Theory
Translation: The Dear-Little-Pussy-Cat Theory
Apparently, in any verbal encounter with any one of any age, race and sex, only 30% of the listener's attention is focussed on what is being said. The other 70% of the time, they concentrate on your body, your tone and the other nuances that is so undefinable and yet so critical in any verbal communications.
In a ten minute conversation that means, 3 minutes is spent on hearing what you really have to say, and the other 7 minutes, checking out the decible of your voice, the intonation, the accent, the tone, the playing with the hair, the licking of lips, the cleavage of the baring of fangs, and possibly your bad breath.
And they have the results to prove it.
In an experiment involving a cat and a human being, it was noticed that the cat responds to the tone of the person rather than the content of the speech. The cat would sidle up to the person and purr and rub itself against the person's leg when a coaxing, loving tone was used, even though the essence of that communications was, "I'm going to boil you in hot water, and then skin you and impale your head on a stick."
(As an aside, it just proves my point that cats are not the most intelligent of creatures.)
So the point to the above whole tirade is, just speak nicely to the cat. Be as gentle, as sweet, as loving, as disgustingly coy as you need to be, and never mind what you say. It doesn't matter what you say, really.
Oh, and the same applies to human beings as well, of any age, sex, race, colour and intelligence level.
I need to start pretending I'm a nice, sweet, gentle, tactful person.
Add to that, I think I'll be brushing my teeth more often too.
Apparently, in any verbal encounter with any one of any age, race and sex, only 30% of the listener's attention is focussed on what is being said. The other 70% of the time, they concentrate on your body, your tone and the other nuances that is so undefinable and yet so critical in any verbal communications.
In a ten minute conversation that means, 3 minutes is spent on hearing what you really have to say, and the other 7 minutes, checking out the decible of your voice, the intonation, the accent, the tone, the playing with the hair, the licking of lips, the cleavage of the baring of fangs, and possibly your bad breath.
And they have the results to prove it.
In an experiment involving a cat and a human being, it was noticed that the cat responds to the tone of the person rather than the content of the speech. The cat would sidle up to the person and purr and rub itself against the person's leg when a coaxing, loving tone was used, even though the essence of that communications was, "I'm going to boil you in hot water, and then skin you and impale your head on a stick."
(As an aside, it just proves my point that cats are not the most intelligent of creatures.)
So the point to the above whole tirade is, just speak nicely to the cat. Be as gentle, as sweet, as loving, as disgustingly coy as you need to be, and never mind what you say. It doesn't matter what you say, really.
Oh, and the same applies to human beings as well, of any age, sex, race, colour and intelligence level.
I need to start pretending I'm a nice, sweet, gentle, tactful person.
Add to that, I think I'll be brushing my teeth more often too.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Dear....
Dear Person,
I regret to inform you that the word "dear" has ceased to be a term of endearment to me. A wonerful word has been corrupted, because of its too often usage, and has left me impervious to its charms.
From now onwards, the word "dear" shall only be used by me in the begining of a letter, as per this example.
Yours sincerely,
Someone who is not a "dear"
PS This is dedicated to dear Wee. Haha!
I regret to inform you that the word "dear" has ceased to be a term of endearment to me. A wonerful word has been corrupted, because of its too often usage, and has left me impervious to its charms.
From now onwards, the word "dear" shall only be used by me in the begining of a letter, as per this example.
Yours sincerely,
Someone who is not a "dear"
PS This is dedicated to dear Wee. Haha!
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
What's in a name?
Long before double Christen names were a fad was my grandmother.
In fact, my grandmother was probably one of the pioneers of double-naming her grandchildren, which has since become a very Singaporean trend in naming babies in Singapore, all because these parents probably couldn't quite decide between two, or three, or four names, and decided to stick all the names into the poor child's birth certificate. What they don't realise of course is that the poor child will end up suffering from identity crises all the rest of its days.
Anyway, back to me and my double names.
When I was younger, I couldn't spell my main English name because it was too complicated for a young child, plus I wasn't particularly bright for my age. So I went to school with the other English name that I could spell AND pronounce, albeit still with a certain measure of difficulty.
At this point, I think I should interject with this extra piece of information, besides saddling me with TWO English names, my wonderful grandmother also wanted to reinforce the first impressions I make on other people, by giving me three-syllabic names! Oh, and not to mention my super ultra special Chinese name as well.
Which thus explains why I grow up scarred and traumatised by an entire childhood of people asking me to repeat my name umpteen times. (For a Primary One child on her first day at school, that can be pretty traumatic!).
I also had to put up with mis-spellings and mispronounciations of my name, not that I actually knew how to pronounce it properly myself in the first place, it was so rare a name in those times, and even now actually!
When I turned 18, I decided that enough is enough. No more answering stoopid questions about my name and how to spell it and was I from Timbuctoo! So I decided to revert to my rightful name, which incidentally, while a bit less rare, still poses the same problems. But this I only realised on retrospect.
It's funny how Singaporeans pride themselves for being cosmopolitan and well-educated with high English-speaking capabilities, and still yet unable to pronounce much lest spell a name! The various corruptions of my name, if not so bewilderingly and baffling ridiculous, would have been quite funny even. Some even tried to change my sex by calling me by the male version of my name.
On the flip side, the name has increased my memorability level on first meetings. At least I hope that people found me, and my name, intriguing and mysterious, as opposed to freakish.
Anyway, thanks to Google, I've finally realised the potential of my names, when previously I just thought they were concoctions of my grandmother's overactive imagination. Either that or she got it off from a peanut butter brand label in her holidays abroad.
But I've realised, never mind how alienishly wierd my names sound, they do really have quite nice meanings. Both have Latin origins, and one means "joy" and the other "peace", which in truth is a wonderful combination of characteristics in a personality. Whether there is any truth in those names in MY personality, that remains very much to be seen, still.
Even Shakespeare questioned "what's in a name?". Hundred of years later today, I still don't know the answer to that question.
I guess a name just makes for easy identification, practically speaking. At the end of the day, it's really growing into the name that will make it come alive. I, for one, am keeping my fingers crossed that I will grow into joyfulness and peacefulness.
So, you can call me "O" and "Oei", whichever you prefer!
In fact, my grandmother was probably one of the pioneers of double-naming her grandchildren, which has since become a very Singaporean trend in naming babies in Singapore, all because these parents probably couldn't quite decide between two, or three, or four names, and decided to stick all the names into the poor child's birth certificate. What they don't realise of course is that the poor child will end up suffering from identity crises all the rest of its days.
Anyway, back to me and my double names.
When I was younger, I couldn't spell my main English name because it was too complicated for a young child, plus I wasn't particularly bright for my age. So I went to school with the other English name that I could spell AND pronounce, albeit still with a certain measure of difficulty.
At this point, I think I should interject with this extra piece of information, besides saddling me with TWO English names, my wonderful grandmother also wanted to reinforce the first impressions I make on other people, by giving me three-syllabic names! Oh, and not to mention my super ultra special Chinese name as well.
Which thus explains why I grow up scarred and traumatised by an entire childhood of people asking me to repeat my name umpteen times. (For a Primary One child on her first day at school, that can be pretty traumatic!).
I also had to put up with mis-spellings and mispronounciations of my name, not that I actually knew how to pronounce it properly myself in the first place, it was so rare a name in those times, and even now actually!
When I turned 18, I decided that enough is enough. No more answering stoopid questions about my name and how to spell it and was I from Timbuctoo! So I decided to revert to my rightful name, which incidentally, while a bit less rare, still poses the same problems. But this I only realised on retrospect.
It's funny how Singaporeans pride themselves for being cosmopolitan and well-educated with high English-speaking capabilities, and still yet unable to pronounce much lest spell a name! The various corruptions of my name, if not so bewilderingly and baffling ridiculous, would have been quite funny even. Some even tried to change my sex by calling me by the male version of my name.
On the flip side, the name has increased my memorability level on first meetings. At least I hope that people found me, and my name, intriguing and mysterious, as opposed to freakish.
Anyway, thanks to Google, I've finally realised the potential of my names, when previously I just thought they were concoctions of my grandmother's overactive imagination. Either that or she got it off from a peanut butter brand label in her holidays abroad.
But I've realised, never mind how alienishly wierd my names sound, they do really have quite nice meanings. Both have Latin origins, and one means "joy" and the other "peace", which in truth is a wonderful combination of characteristics in a personality. Whether there is any truth in those names in MY personality, that remains very much to be seen, still.
Even Shakespeare questioned "what's in a name?". Hundred of years later today, I still don't know the answer to that question.
I guess a name just makes for easy identification, practically speaking. At the end of the day, it's really growing into the name that will make it come alive. I, for one, am keeping my fingers crossed that I will grow into joyfulness and peacefulness.
So, you can call me "O" and "Oei", whichever you prefer!
The immeasurable and unquantifiable quality of Love
I'm not sure why I'm feeling so all out of sorts recently.
Possible explanations could be PMS (I so hate being female sometimes!), or a lack of sugar, or too much sugar even considering how much chocolate I've been eating. Or it could be that my body is deficient in potassium and sodium chloride or iron or whatever minerals are swimming around in the body. Or it could be that I'm just going stark raving mad!
And the thing is, once I allowed myself to embark on this path of thinking and pondering and brooding over dismal and dispiriting bleak thoughts, I found myself on a downward spiral of which I couldn't get myself out of.
It's funny how I finally managed to snap myself out of that depressive state. It wasn't even a big momentous event, just a couple of small little happenings that coupled together, assured me that Somebody Up There is taking care of me.
The first event was when a friend texted me a message to inform me the friday meetings I normally have has been cancelled. It wasn't even a big deal, nothing too difficult or too stressful, just 3 hours meeting up with people and basically chilling out. But somewhere, it felt nice to have a break and have some free time for myself. So, Friday evening was spent with comfortable desultory conversations amidst piping hot dumplings and wonderfully sweet dessert.
One thing followed the other, and the keyboard classes that I have on Saturday afternoons ended up being cancelled that same weekend. Finally, a chance to sleep in, and not have to wake up with the ringing of the alarm clock! Oh joy!
And then, it seems that somebody must have read my mind about craving for crab for lo and behold, I was invited for a fabulous crab dinner on Sunday evening - black pepper crab from the famous hours-long queue store at Joo Chiat no less! Oh double joy! There was so much crab there wasn't even a need for anything else to feel filled-up. The feeling of bursting from the seams from crab - pure bliss!
Just when I felt that life was too tiring a journey, just when I felt that I couldn't move another step, just when I want to stop and sit down on the curb and sob from sheer tiredness, just when I feel that my mind, my body, my spirits can no longer be strong enough to support myself let alone somebody else, I'm reminded not once, but many times, through different people, through text messages and through innocent casual conversations, that I'm not alone, that my efforts have not gone unseen even if people have not been very appreciative, that Somebody Up There sees and knows everything; He even knows that I like black pepper crab!
It's a comforting thought, that there's a love so wide so long so high so deep, a love that surpasses what I can ever be able to comprehend and even try to understand with my natural mind, a love that will always cocoon me, no matter how utterly unworthy and wretched and contemptable I may be or I feel.
It's a comforting thought, to know that the Guy Up There will make sure that for every non-supporter that I have, there will be 10 others who will be behind me, that I am surrounded by people who have pure unadulterated hearts whose only wish for me is for me to do well and to be happy, that there'll be people who'll not only bend over backwards but will turn somersaults just for me.
And during the last few weeks and even these couple of days, they've been nurturing and feeding me with the good stuff, the stuff that uplifts instead of pull down, they've been cushioning me against the blows of this hard cruel world and its artificial selfish inhabitants, at least until I'm well enough and strong enough to deal with all the crap on my own.
At no point of time did I hear judgemental comments, sarcasm and disappointment that I am not strong enough, not good enough, not able enough. Their love has covered over a multitude of my failings.
Love endures long and is patient and kind; love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy, is not boastful or vainglorious, does not display itself haughtily.
It is not conceited (arrogant and inflated with pride); it is not rude (unmannerly) and does not act unbecomingly. Love does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking; it is not touchy or fretful or resentful; it takes no account of the evil done to it [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong].
It does not rejoice at injustice and unrighteousness, but rejoices when right and truth prevail.
Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances, and it endures everything [without weakening].
Love never fails [never fades out or becomes obsolete or comes to an end].
Possible explanations could be PMS (I so hate being female sometimes!), or a lack of sugar, or too much sugar even considering how much chocolate I've been eating. Or it could be that my body is deficient in potassium and sodium chloride or iron or whatever minerals are swimming around in the body. Or it could be that I'm just going stark raving mad!
And the thing is, once I allowed myself to embark on this path of thinking and pondering and brooding over dismal and dispiriting bleak thoughts, I found myself on a downward spiral of which I couldn't get myself out of.
It's funny how I finally managed to snap myself out of that depressive state. It wasn't even a big momentous event, just a couple of small little happenings that coupled together, assured me that Somebody Up There is taking care of me.
The first event was when a friend texted me a message to inform me the friday meetings I normally have has been cancelled. It wasn't even a big deal, nothing too difficult or too stressful, just 3 hours meeting up with people and basically chilling out. But somewhere, it felt nice to have a break and have some free time for myself. So, Friday evening was spent with comfortable desultory conversations amidst piping hot dumplings and wonderfully sweet dessert.
One thing followed the other, and the keyboard classes that I have on Saturday afternoons ended up being cancelled that same weekend. Finally, a chance to sleep in, and not have to wake up with the ringing of the alarm clock! Oh joy!
And then, it seems that somebody must have read my mind about craving for crab for lo and behold, I was invited for a fabulous crab dinner on Sunday evening - black pepper crab from the famous hours-long queue store at Joo Chiat no less! Oh double joy! There was so much crab there wasn't even a need for anything else to feel filled-up. The feeling of bursting from the seams from crab - pure bliss!
Just when I felt that life was too tiring a journey, just when I felt that I couldn't move another step, just when I want to stop and sit down on the curb and sob from sheer tiredness, just when I feel that my mind, my body, my spirits can no longer be strong enough to support myself let alone somebody else, I'm reminded not once, but many times, through different people, through text messages and through innocent casual conversations, that I'm not alone, that my efforts have not gone unseen even if people have not been very appreciative, that Somebody Up There sees and knows everything; He even knows that I like black pepper crab!
It's a comforting thought, that there's a love so wide so long so high so deep, a love that surpasses what I can ever be able to comprehend and even try to understand with my natural mind, a love that will always cocoon me, no matter how utterly unworthy and wretched and contemptable I may be or I feel.
It's a comforting thought, to know that the Guy Up There will make sure that for every non-supporter that I have, there will be 10 others who will be behind me, that I am surrounded by people who have pure unadulterated hearts whose only wish for me is for me to do well and to be happy, that there'll be people who'll not only bend over backwards but will turn somersaults just for me.
And during the last few weeks and even these couple of days, they've been nurturing and feeding me with the good stuff, the stuff that uplifts instead of pull down, they've been cushioning me against the blows of this hard cruel world and its artificial selfish inhabitants, at least until I'm well enough and strong enough to deal with all the crap on my own.
At no point of time did I hear judgemental comments, sarcasm and disappointment that I am not strong enough, not good enough, not able enough. Their love has covered over a multitude of my failings.
Love endures long and is patient and kind; love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy, is not boastful or vainglorious, does not display itself haughtily.
It is not conceited (arrogant and inflated with pride); it is not rude (unmannerly) and does not act unbecomingly. Love does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking; it is not touchy or fretful or resentful; it takes no account of the evil done to it [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong].
It does not rejoice at injustice and unrighteousness, but rejoices when right and truth prevail.
Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances, and it endures everything [without weakening].
Love never fails [never fades out or becomes obsolete or comes to an end].
Monday, September 03, 2007
Sometimes
Sometimes, I just want to run away from everything and everyone, even if it's just for 5 minutes, it'll be such a relief.
Sometimes, I find ourselves not believing in all the things that I believe in.
Sometimes, hate and darkness and unhappiness seems more real than truth and love and goodness and kindness.
Sometimes, I just want to point and wave that universal finger of non-peace and non-goodwill to every person who is even remotely related to me.
Sometimes, trying hard is not good enough. Sometimes, nothing is ever good enough.
Sometimes, the combined powers of drugs and booze and mindless TV programs and comfort food eating are not even good enough to bring me away from that which is reality, that which is so ugly.
Sometimes, the amount of fake teeth-baring smiling, the pretend 'ha-ha-ha's, the hello-how-wonderful-to-see-yous are more than enough to make me want to hurl my breakfast on the speaker's lap. Sometimes, I find yourself turning into one of these 'hypo' people and I feel like killing myself, but I still do it anyway.
Sometimes, I hate life with a vengence, and there's not even a real reason why.
Sometimes, I just want to stay home, and eat crisps while watching cartoons on the telly.
Sometimes, I suspect that there is alien life breeding inside my body, and that alien life occasionally surfaces and turns my normally optimistic personality to more schizophrenic and psycopathic. Sometimes I even wonder whether the nice parts were merely play-acting on my part.
Sometimes I love life. Sometimes I just can't wait for the end to come.
Sometimes I wish I have an explanation for my wierd behaviour. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that I'm not as insane as I feel.
Sometimes, I daren't show my blog to anybody. Because the things I write doesn't do fulfill the objectives of my blog, which is to make people happy.
Sometimes, I find ourselves not believing in all the things that I believe in.
Sometimes, hate and darkness and unhappiness seems more real than truth and love and goodness and kindness.
Sometimes, I just want to point and wave that universal finger of non-peace and non-goodwill to every person who is even remotely related to me.
Sometimes, trying hard is not good enough. Sometimes, nothing is ever good enough.
Sometimes, the combined powers of drugs and booze and mindless TV programs and comfort food eating are not even good enough to bring me away from that which is reality, that which is so ugly.
Sometimes, the amount of fake teeth-baring smiling, the pretend 'ha-ha-ha's, the hello-how-wonderful-to-see-yous are more than enough to make me want to hurl my breakfast on the speaker's lap. Sometimes, I find yourself turning into one of these 'hypo' people and I feel like killing myself, but I still do it anyway.
Sometimes, I hate life with a vengence, and there's not even a real reason why.
Sometimes, I just want to stay home, and eat crisps while watching cartoons on the telly.
Sometimes, I suspect that there is alien life breeding inside my body, and that alien life occasionally surfaces and turns my normally optimistic personality to more schizophrenic and psycopathic. Sometimes I even wonder whether the nice parts were merely play-acting on my part.
Sometimes I love life. Sometimes I just can't wait for the end to come.
Sometimes I wish I have an explanation for my wierd behaviour. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that I'm not as insane as I feel.
Sometimes, I daren't show my blog to anybody. Because the things I write doesn't do fulfill the objectives of my blog, which is to make people happy.
Sometimes, I wish life's a lot more easier and simpler.
About, The Lowest Form of Humour
Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I had special powers.
But every time I showed people my special powers, they all looked askance at me, as if I'm some kind of freak.
It's NOT my fault if I was born to be SARCASTIC! Why can't people understand that?
It's not my fault I seem to find irony amusing.
It's not my fault I have an affinity towards all that is ridiculous.
It's not my fault I have a wry sense of humour.
And most of all, it's not my fault my special sarcastic powers have left me without a normal sense of humour that causes people to laugh uproariously at the stupidest things which aren't even remotely funny; and they call THAT humour?
I say, save the sarcastic people, save the world!
But as I've grown older, and wiser, I have realised that not many people take to sarcasm, because of its biting and cutting quality, even though my sarcasm is more about situations and things than it is about people.
I've learn to bite my tongue to prevent all that's biting and cutting and caustic and acerbic and cynical from coming out, and to just keep it as something for my own amusement and nobody else's. And if I tell anybody, I make them first promise to not get mad at me.
If the joke is too good to not be shared, I then make sure that I'm the victim of my own sarcasm to make sure nobody gets offended by what is essentially, a funny joke.
I guess that's the way it is, genius is often misunderstood and unappreciated.
You non-sarcastic folks out there, here's a question for you. If, sarcasm is really the lowest form of wit, then please name me the higher forms of wit. Or is it really true that sarcastic people are usually the clever ones?
But every time I showed people my special powers, they all looked askance at me, as if I'm some kind of freak.
It's NOT my fault if I was born to be SARCASTIC! Why can't people understand that?
It's not my fault I seem to find irony amusing.
It's not my fault I have an affinity towards all that is ridiculous.
It's not my fault I have a wry sense of humour.
And most of all, it's not my fault my special sarcastic powers have left me without a normal sense of humour that causes people to laugh uproariously at the stupidest things which aren't even remotely funny; and they call THAT humour?
I say, save the sarcastic people, save the world!
But as I've grown older, and wiser, I have realised that not many people take to sarcasm, because of its biting and cutting quality, even though my sarcasm is more about situations and things than it is about people.
I've learn to bite my tongue to prevent all that's biting and cutting and caustic and acerbic and cynical from coming out, and to just keep it as something for my own amusement and nobody else's. And if I tell anybody, I make them first promise to not get mad at me.
If the joke is too good to not be shared, I then make sure that I'm the victim of my own sarcasm to make sure nobody gets offended by what is essentially, a funny joke.
I guess that's the way it is, genius is often misunderstood and unappreciated.
You non-sarcastic folks out there, here's a question for you. If, sarcasm is really the lowest form of wit, then please name me the higher forms of wit. Or is it really true that sarcastic people are usually the clever ones?
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