mind-of-minds

Feeling drained

2011-01-07T13:28:00.004+08:00

This is the most testing period of my business.

Trying to secure a long-term contract with XYZ, reaching out to clients in publicity, and initiating contact with eminent schools. Above all, awaiting the sentiments of the authorities.

Fear, yet of a different sort from the past.

Back then, stress comes from the fear of being evaluated negatively. The goal was self-esteem.

Now, stress comes from the fear of failing. The goal is survival.

I finally understand why running a business is emotionally draining.

And I'm really only into the 3rd week since launch.

She is a B.I.T.C.H.

2010-11-12T11:36:00.005+08:00

I'm talking about LW. Never so pissed off with a staff before. That, even after I've quit for 3 weeks. Amazing.

1. She complained of having too much work. I considered that she needed WLB especially after just getting married. So I decided to allocate her less tasks, and took on more myself. Result was I stayed later in office, and went back to work on weekends. I didn't mind. But then she said she wasn't satisfied with that arrangement because she didn't "feel good" that I am working while she went home. What was I supposed to do? The work had to be done! Clone myself? In the end I resorted to bringing work home to do.

2. I genuinely wanted her to be happy. I tried to be a good supervisor. I took the effort to buy her a digital photo frame for her ROM, and then to remember her birthday and wished her and told her to take an off day. And I never stopped her from taking days off anytime she wanted. I left deadlines for her to decide on her own. When she did not wish to take up a tasking that came down from boss, I FRONTED it and came up with reasons to tell boss why she should not be tasked. These are little things. But what has she done in return for me, even such little things? When I told her to represent me at meetings, about 50% of the time she would have some other commitments or she would fall sick on the day itself.

3. She is emotionally unstable. She cried after I told her that her presentation was not good enough.

4. She can't take jokes. Her past colleagues said she had no sense of irony. Indeed. For instance, she couldn't take jokes about women drivers, or anything about the competence of women, even if it was clearly said tongue-in-cheek, by someone who was known to make fun of everything, including of himself.

5. I don't know how her husband tolerates her. Once, she was in office and called his CAMP. Yes, his SAF Camp, where all his men were probably laughing at this hen-pecked officer. How insensitive can she be? Not just that, she asked the guy on the other end whether there was any way of looking for him in camp, or knowing whether he was still in camp. Apparently he was supposed to meet her at 6 plus but she called his mobile phone for 2 hours but couldn't get him. When he finally returned the call, she was big-time upset and ranted at him - while she was still in her cubicle in office. So 3 of us who were still in office heard everything. Bloody insecure, insensitive bitch.

6. The differences we had, it was an implicit understanding on my part at least, that we keep to ourselves. She went out and ranted to the boss and all our colleagues in a session where I was absent. If she had issues with me, I had issues with her TOO. But I've always kept it to the 2 of us. That's being professional, since we work with the same group of people. If she wants to say bad things about me, fine, I will not hold back in telling people the truth about her too.

7. I set up many overseas trips, and always gave her the first refusal rights. She ended up travelling to the US last year, again this year, also to Kuwait, Qatar and Oman, all thanks to what I put in place for her. No one else at her level of seniority had such opportunities. I even forgo the chance to go for these trips MYSELF because I gave her the priority. She didn't realise all that, or she didn't think much of these. In fact, she stupidly posted lots of pictures of these trips as though they were vacations, announcing "who says work trips can't be fun", and telling the world how much fun she had during all these trips. Idiot. Moron. The more she announces how fun such trips are, the more pressure she would be under to deliver quality products. I'm not sure she is competent enough to do that.

8. When she disagrees with me on something, what does she do? She scribbles at a little corner of a ROUGH PAPER on my office table, in about the size of font 6 equivalent, to tell me what she thinks, expecting me to see it. Or she inserts 2 words, again of font 6, into an earlier email in a chain, to tell me she "don't agree". Am I supposed to see it? Am I supposed to check every corner of my rough papers and old emails for indications that she is unhappy? Crazy bitch.

9. After thanking her and apologising to her openly in my farewell email to the department, I now regret it.

LW, you are a stupid, crazy, incompetent bitch. Go fuck a crocodile.

First week as self-employed

2010-10-24T09:34:00.002+08:00

Today is Sunday. I've been self-employed since Monday.

People ask, how does it feel? What is the difference?

1. Loneliness. There are no longer colleagues around to banter with, have canteen and lunch breaks, to idle-chat or have deeper conversations.

2. Loss of structure. Work gives our life structure. Wake up at 5.30am, get out of home by 7.30am, tea at 8.30am, lunch at 12pm, pack up and go home 6-8pm. It's a routine. A routine that gives structure. It's gone.

3. No alignment. No boss to tell me what to do, no emails asking for things, no strategic or organisational level intent to align to.

4. Intellectual degradation. No one to discuss, argue and banter with, nothing to read, think and critique, no enemies to guard against, means nothing to keep my brain on its toes at all times.

Hopefully, things will change once my practice gains momentum.

Farewell to my great bunch of friends

2010-10-23T13:12:00.003+08:00

I am a narcissist who likes to listen to myself, so standby for a long email.

I didn’t say much at the farewell lunch last week because I felt I would have to say things too concisely, which wouldn’t have conveyed the heartfelt thanks I feel towards the people here.

I’ll start by saying what I like most about our department. In all my tours before this, my predominant feeling of the jobs was “meaningful” and “fulfilling” - but never “enjoyable”. That would be stretching it. But here, everything about the experience – the people, the work and the office space – has been thoroughly enjoyable. It was truly a dream job.

A key reason why my decision to leave the organisation was difficult was because it was hard to leave this department. It was hard to leave the people here. The most telling indication of an office’s work atmosphere is whether people are happy to spend time with one another outside work. Many of us don’t mind, and in fact look forward to it. That’s the clearest sign that we have transcended from being colleagues to friends. Few other places can boast of such a working climate. This is something I will miss dearly.

The main feedback I will leave behind is that our department and our psychologists should see ourselves beyond just psychologists. A good psychologist isn’t just one who understands the immediate confines of our profession – but also the environment within which we work. I find that sometimes, we are overly hard-nosed with academic and scientific rigour, to the extent that others think we live in a different world. McDonalds is successful not because it makes good burgers – one can easily find hawker centre stalls that make better burgers. McDonalds is successful because it knows their business depends not just on burgers, but also happy meals, birthday parties, toys, and restaurant locations. If McDonalds only focuses on its burgers, it wouldn’t have come half as far. The skills we learn as a psychologist won’t distinguish us from the scores of psychologists out there. The skills we learn in adapting and applying psychology to our environment is what we will set us and the department apart from the rest.

I also took this chance to reflect on what my achievements are. I think I have made inroads into the AF, played my part in re-organising the department, and did my fair share as a Branch Head providing guidance and comments. But personally, none of these gave me great satisfaction. Instead, I consider my greatest achievements to be in pushing for overseas surveys, allowing especially our RAs to widen their exposure and experience, and in convincing the decision-makers of the need for us all to have Microsoft Office. There was another item which would have made it into this list but for various reasons I failed to push that through – to ask for better and more ergonomic chairs. If there is something I hope someone will continue after I leave, it is the watching out for these seemingly minor things that have nothing to do with one’s promotion or ranking but which goes a long way to affect everyone’s day-to-day lives.

Most importantly now, my words of thanks.

Given my intense sort of personality, one can’t really be neutral about me. You either like me or dislike me. If anyone could not accept me, I won’t apologise, because I do things that serve higher and longer-term objectives. My ambitions have always been for the department and the organisation, not self-serving. On the other hand, for those who did not mind my frank and sometimes brutal comments, thank you for your understanding and tolerance.

I also want to thank everyone for the kind words you left in my farewell scrap book. The effort that went into some of them was touching – such things make me feel that the time and effort I invested into our friendships is really worth it. My approach in work as in personal life is to pursue things wholeheartedly as long as I believe in it. Sometimes when it doesn’t work out, it hurts. But when it does, the feeling is the best in the world. I felt on reading the scrapbook that every second I’ve spent in the department has been worth the while. I could not have asked for a better gift. It is a gift I will find myself still flipping through 20 years later.

Individually, there are so many people I am grateful to and it’s not possible to thank all. But I thought about the top 3 persons whom if I don’t single out, I cannot sleep in peace tonight. The first is boss. Thank you boss, for giving me the freedom and autonomy to decide how to work with the AF. I have said to others before that if I have to rate you on a 7-point scale, I would give you a high 6. This is the highest score I’ve given to any of my former bosses.

The second person is my staff LW. Thanks for being a great assistant, handling things in my absence and keeping my feet on the ground. You’re probably the only person in this department who can write a full paper without a single thing that needs to be changed, which makes my work extremely easy.

The third person is Ayl. Thank you for supporting the AF, for being very intelligent and capable, and being able to carry out taskings with minimal supervision. Workwise, you’re a wonderful staff, and personally, you’re a wonderful friend.

Besides thanks, I also want to name 2 people to apologise to. The first is boss, for being unable to walk with you further in building this department. My decision to leave is something I honestly still feel bad about. I wish you all the best in your efforts to take this department to the next level.

The second is LW. I know my limitations as a supervisor. We have our differences and I know in some cases, I could have tried harder. I hope moving forward, you will find the fulfilment you seek.

And lastly, a word of regret. This is to the RAs and admin staff. I know I have not taken enough effort to reach out to you. I have blamed everything before – the matrix structure, the seating arrangements, the working processes – everything but myself. The truth is, I did not make enough effort. I prioritised my time for other things. It was a choice I made, and one that I regret.

With this, I close my career with an organisation I joined since I was 18. I don’t know if there are greener pastures outside. In life, the critical decisions are always made without full knowledge of the outcomes. I am afraid of the dark but I will walk on, with hope in my heart. I don’t want to reach 50 years old and find myself saying “what if” I had given myself a chance, how different my life could have been. I thank everybody once again for the wonderful time here. Take care and may our paths cross again in the future.

All the best.

P/s. For the final time, for the record, I didn’t cheat in the Amazing Race. My team was creative and we worked around the rules.

A Lesson in Trust

2010-06-11T17:46:00.002+08:00

When well, I was true to them.
When down and beaten, I trusted them.
They assured me,
Coaxed me to sleep.
Comforted and thankful,
I closed my eyes.
Then they fed me to the wolves.

X-Roads: Why Going Back to Mainstream is Bad Idea

2010-05-28T07:50:00.005+08:00

Decision's made, but this shall help remember why.

The main reason for going back is for progression and status. I'm judged as a high potential, a talent. That matters. I don't like being treated as unimportant. My pride is affected. But do all these still matter compared to all the negative reasons for returning to the mainstream?

I had decided to quit 2 years back. The only reason I stayed was the chance to do psychology. Now that I am doing it, and liking it, why reverse my earlier decision?

Going back to mainstream spells, first of all, stress. The constant pressure of needing to make sure everything is in tip top condition, of having to answer for things not within my span of control, of having to face up to events with huge stakes, all of which exert a toll on my physical and mental health.

Going back to the mainstream means I will face another crossroads when I retire. By then, practising psychology will no longer be a real option due to absence of training. I will have to be on the managerial path, which I don't think I enjoy. At that time in any case, I will face another fall in status.

I am 33. I have proven my worth and what I am capable of. I don’t need to prove to anyone else how good I am. I don’t need quick progression to show I am superior. I won’t like the idea of people looking upon me as unimportant, but the fact that I chose to be unimportant should serve a fair degree of consolation.

In life, every time we gain something, we often lose something else. The gains of going back to the mainstream are not worth the things that I stand to lose.

What's wrong with that?

2009-02-21T13:15:00.005+08:00

What the F is wrong with Singaporeans.

Edison Chen wants to come to Singapore. People complain. Because he shot racy photos with some hot celebrities. What is wrong with that? He didn't take them secretly. Both are adults, both are willing.

Morals in Singapore - that Singaporeans have no morals. Just because 2 probably intoxicated souls decide to fun along Holland V in their birthday suit. What's wrong with that? Why is sex considered dirty, something that for some strange reason makes these people uncomfortable?

That Dutch guy who saved a woman from drowning. If she wants to die, let her die. Now that she can't die, we worship him. He denied someone's wishes, what's so great about that? Who are we to impose our prejudices towards the sanctity of life to soneone who doesnt think so?

The civil servant who spent loads of money on a holiday. What's wrong with that? He earns a pay, the government chose to pay him that amount, the taxpayers whom the money originate choose NOT to go into a government job or unable to rise to that level, so why blame him?

A bunch of hypocrites.

The Burden of Decision Lifted - Part II

2009-02-21T12:00:00.003+08:00

Just when it seemed my mind was all clear, the boss' missus came along and planted doubt into my head. I explained that if I do go to Hawaii, I'll rot, degerate, lead a decadent lifestyle. But she asked me - What's wrong with that? Her point was that we only live once. At 60, I would look back at the 2 years in Hawaii as the 2 best years of my life. There may never be another chance of taking a 2-year fully paid holiday in Hawaii in my life. I would have time to achieve later, there is no rush to do it quickly. And she said that the only reason she was advising me as such was that she would say the same thing to her own children.

She is not wrong. I've often said that my 4 years in UK were the best time in my life, and that I would give nearly everything now in exchange for another 4 years there. Well, Hawaii isn't quite UK, but close enough. Shouldn't the opportunity be something I've always hoped for?

I started reconsidering, again. My heart was probably already decided on going to the psychology side; it was more my mind I needed to convince. My reasons started off being more trivial ones: (1) I enjoyed life as a student in UK, not just life in UK, so life in Hawaii will not be as enjoyable given that the student life part is missing; (2) My friends won't be there; I will practically be alone; (3) fundamentally, I don't really connect to the Americans the way I can connect to the Brits; (4) I enjoyed UK partly because of the playing and watching of football - the purist form of the game, whereas the US offers only the bastardised version of it that in fact uses more of the hands than the feet; (5) the bleeding air tickets back to Singapore from Hawaii through Japan are gonna cost me a bomb.

Then I stumbled across a more important consideration. The thing I hate most about my present job is the potential for me to feel 'small'. The feeling of being the lowest, insignificant creature in the group surfaces too often. If I step over to Hawaii, there will be many occasions when such sentiments are bound to descend upon me. I've had 3 years of this shit; I don't want more of it.

Which leads me to the main reason for my decision. My happpiness depends overwhelmingly on my self-esteem. My self-esteem is defined by my achievements in life and career. Doing psychology gives me a better basis to achieve later in my life than going to Hawaii. Going to Hawaii gives me happiness, but one that is short-lived and hollow.

I thank my boss' missus for probing these thoughts. I am now more convinced than before that a career in psychology is what i want.

The Burden of Decision Lifted

2009-01-28T11:32:00.006+08:00

It feels good to be relieved of the burden of decision.

“What are you going to do after you leave the organisation?” has been the perennial question I’ve got, which I have not been able to answer. I didn’t know what I want to do. There were too many possibilities. I could stay or leave. If I stay, I could remain in the organisation, get a 2-year posting in Hawaii, or join the psychology department. If I leave, I could join a firm in an executive position, practise psychology, or run a business of my own. That’s a total of 6 options to decide from.

The problem is that I have no real financial commitments. No wife, no kids, no house. I should have enough for my parents to live comfortably, though not luxuriously. The key thing I must finance is my remaining car loan, but I can pay that off anytime. When one has no commitments, one faces no constraints. Hence, if an extremely conservative approach is to stay and continue what I have been doing, an audacious plan is to start a business with high profit returns but low probability of success. After all, if I fail, just restart.

The ongoing financial crisis complicates things. All of a sudden, my liquidity is hit. It was bad timing. I plunged in close to 100 units in July 08; by September I lost 20%; by December I had only 50% left. With less liquidity, my stomach for risk-taking dropped. The fear, also, was that if I should choose to leave, I would be forced to accept an even greater compromise in a new job than what I was originally prepared to suffer.

If the pay is at least 5 digits, I am prepared to compromise my interest – which is unambiguously work related to psychology. Conversely, if it is a job related to psychology, I will be willing to take a 25% pay cut from the present. But whether or not I can get a psychology job at 75% of my current pay or a 10K non-psychology job is uncertain.

All this uncertainty meant that I started looking inwards more and more. The option of not quitting became more attractive. But staying in the current organisation has never been a prospect. I need to get out. I have become too comfortable with authority and influence, and psychologically, I will be hit by the sudden loss of position if I stayed.

The 2 year posting in Hawaii will be pure self-indulgence. It will put my life – my career and ageing process – at a standstill for 2 years as I go to a low-stress, high relaxation environment. Maybe I can take another degree or a doctorate while there. I can also network, look for contacts, ideas and opportunities. All these as I accumulate a tidy savings back home while enjoying Hawaiian life on expatriate terms. It will be reminiscent of my university life, without being tied down to a bond.

Joining the psychology department, on the other hand, will mean doing something I like, facilitate my transition to the next career, maintain my existing salary, and hence, way of life. I had a chat with SF about where the psychology department is heading under the new Head, and I was thrilled because the new boss has similar visions as I do. There are also inherently advantageous interpersonal dynamics to me. The new boss is somewhat isolated as he drives forward while most of the incumbents prefer to hold back, and thus I can be his much-needed ally. I have been coveted by the department ever since I returned from university and twice they had tried to secure my services, but were out-muscled by higher “powers”. And my familiarity with my present organisation – people and issues – means I have more exposure and understanding compared to the incumbents, perhaps even the boss himself.

But these are mainly just peripheral considerations. Fundamentally, it is down to a decision between 2 years of enjoyment or 2 years of basic professional cultivation in my field of interest.

The breakthrough is this line of thinking and questioning. What do I want to achieve at the end of this decade, when I hit 40? What will give me a sense of satisfaction that I never had in my current job? What is it about some of my friends and their work that I have always envied but never tried to pinpoint exactly?

The answer: by 40, I hope to have started something on my own, something I can grow and build on. At the end of my life, I want to have something I can look back, touch and feel as my achievement. It will have to be something distinctly me, in my name, associated with me, such that whenever it is mentioned, people know I am the founder.

This must equate to an enterprise of sorts. But what sort of enterprise, or business, can I run? My strength, and my interest, is in issues to do with the mind, and its interplay with the heart. Hence, the enterprise is most likely psychology-related. Exactly which branch of psychology – clinical, occupational, educational, developmental or others – I don’t know yet, but it will be of one or more of these. I may start a clinic, a consultancy or even a research institute.

And if it’s this field I want to pursue, surely my decision now should be to do something that brings me closer to it rather than further. The only way going to Hawaii can bring me closer to my goal is if I take another psychology Master there. But I have no idea what degree I should take since I have no real experience in psychology. And I know in my heart of hearts that if I go to Hawaii, the most likely life I will lead is a decadent one. Under a no-pressure, no-supervision environment, there really isn’t anything to stop me from succumbing to banal instincts of lazing and degenerating. I will just waste my time and at the end of 2 years, find myself further from anything that I’ve ever wanted to do.

On the other hand, joining the psychology department brings me closer to my goal. I get exposed to the field of my interest for the first time. I get a real sense of what it means to be a practitioner, what gaps exist in the industry and what opportunities are available. I can even foresee a rough eight-year plan now to reach 40. The first two to three years will be to gain practical experience, widen my awareness beyond occupational psychology, establish a network and be socially known in the fraternity. The subsequent two to three years will be to gain practical experience outside of this organisation, establish my name and professional credence, and gain depth of expertise in different areas of psychology. And the final two to three years will be to conceive a business venture, formulate a plan, and seek contacts and clients. By the end of eight years, I should start something. Of course, this is a broad plan and timeline. It can slide, change, be aborted or replaced.

So the choice between Hawaii or the psychology department is clear. Yet, this rationalisation remains incomplete. The interplay of one’s heart and mind is complex. The factor I have not mentioned in my reasoning so far is that of my heart. I can’t bring myself to admit that a decision as important as that of my career and my self-identity – the very underpinning of my existence – is made from a non-rational consideration that emanated from my heart. And yet, I know that our mind ultimately succumbs to our heart – the ‘emotional brain’ it is called. In all my introspection, the factor of my gf perhaps exerts a far deeper but unconscious influence in the direction of my rationalisation than I know. I cannot deny that it could have told me silently, but persuasively, that if I choose Hawaii, I will also be deciding to end my relationship with my gf, which I don’t want to. Perhaps my heart has bidded my mind to persuade in the same direction. Fortunately anyway, both my heart and mind have reached the same conclusion.

And while I cannot claim that it is a large part of my consideration, staying in Singapore has the advantage of being around for my parents. I’m not saying much about this not because it is trivial, but because it’s my honest belief that 2 years away does not make me an ingrate and therefore it need not be an overwhelming factor.

But I have still not answered my first and foremost question – whether to stay or leave my present organisation. I have decided that if I stay, I will move to the psychology department, to bring me closer to my vision at 40. On the same reasoning, if I leave, I should still practise psychology, rather than seek employment as an executive elsewhere or attempt to start an enterprise rightaway. So everything now hinges on whether to stay to do psychology or go out to do psychology.

What I shall endeavour in the coming months is to start applying for psychology positions outside, and see what prospects are in store. In 1997, after I was offered my scholarship, I became too lazy to apply for other scholarships. In the past 8 years as I served my bond, I have never stopped wondering what if. This is a mistake I don’t want to repeat. If I decide to go to the psychology department, comfortable as it would be, I still want to go in with my eyes open and be well-informed about what I would have missed. Then my final decision will be set.

Our lives can be broken into decades, each shaped by decisions we make at the start based on incomplete information about the world and what we want. At 12, we make the choice of secondary school, which shapes our teenage years. At about 19 or 20, we make the choice of university and course, which shapes our initial career. At around 30, we make a more informed career choice, armed with real work experience, better understanding of ourselves, and some financial power. My choices thus far have all been good in retrospect. At 31 today, hopefully my decision for this decade will be a good one too.

Actions and Reactions

2008-12-10T14:55:00.002+08:00

Every action of an insecure person is taken to directly or indirectly prevent, minimise, or salvage the loss of self-esteem.

Every reaction stems, directly or indirectly, from the lack of self-esteem.

The Misfortunes of Friends

2008-12-05T07:42:00.007+08:00

Introspect, go beyond your socially conditioned reactions, and touch your inmost senses. You'll probably find, indeed, the same instincts that led the French essayist to say that the misfortunes of friends are not entirely displeasing.

Think of how you felt about:

A friend who scored badly in a test in school.
A friend who failed to land that plump job.
A friend whose business venture failed.
A friend whose kid did not make it into the top school.
A friend who is going to be retrenched.
A friend who failed his interview.
A friend who got rejected by that hunk/babe.

Such is the insecure state of our being. An existence where our self-worth is measured by our success, usually relative to others, and how we are perceived.

Achievers and insecurity

2008-12-04T15:02:00.015+08:00

A friend just told me that McKinsey employs insecure people.

But McKinsey is an internationally reputed consultancy. Why would they do that? Aren't insecure people supposed to be low in self-esteem and possibly even clinical?

Ah, that's where you're wrong.

I don't know the truth about the statement about McKinsey. But if it is, I'm not surprised at all.

The conventional stereotype denounces insecurity as something bad. According to Wikipedia, it is a feeling of general unease or nervousness that may be triggered by perceiving oneself to be unloved, inadequate, or worthless.

What this leads to is a fear of failure.

Insecure people fear failure. This failure is defined broadly as an inability to achieve the things one wants. In work terms, it is the fear of not delivering. In relationship terms, it is the fear of not getting the person one wants. Insecure people fear failure, because failure reinforces their sense of unease and inadequacy.

But it is a fear that drives a person to need to achieve. It consumes him everyday, in everything he does, and at nearly every moment. It is a powerful, compulsive emotion - the sort that can engulf and drive a person to commit extreme acts. Everytime he achieves what he seeks to achieve, he survives that fear. The achievement, then, offsets some of his insecurity.

You can hence imagine that many high achievers are in fact insecure beings.

Insecurity produces, basically, unhappy achievers.

Insecurity

2008-12-04T14:56:00.006+08:00

Insecurity... a topic close to my heart.

I'll start with something provocative. Someone once said: "There is something not entirely displeasing about the misfortune of a good friend".

If you identify with this statement, you are insecure.

Death, my feelings and my fear

2008-08-14T21:48:00.003+08:00

I am never afraid of dying, but I am afraid of death.
Death takes away the ones we love.
It leaves behind a void, one that may never again be filled.
Even if it is, the feeling is never the same again.

I have never lost any person I really loved.
My dad, mum and brother are all living with me.
The day my dad and mum depart will be the day there isn’t enough left for me to live for.
My brother would have a wife, and probably kids.
My girlfriend would have her family, and friends.
No one will need me anymore.
I can go in peace.

I had to bear with death more than once, and some really hurt.
My grandma was ill. I held her hands and controlled my tears. I knew she would be leaving.
Memories swarmed within me.
I missed the days I was a kid and she took great care of me. At night, she coaxed me to sleep. When I couldn’t reach the lights, she walked me to the bathroom, turned on the lights and waited for me.
She stood up for me. She honestly believed in me when others didn’t. She insisted I stayed in RI even after dad left his job and my fees were a burden.
She protected me. She let me play and conjured excuses for me.
All these feelings would never return.

I twice held death in my hands.
They were named Nollie and Pearto.
One never opened its eyes. The other survived two weeks.
I never want to relive those feelings again.

I can handle pressure, emotional stress and physical pain.
But I can’t bear losing one I love.
That, perhaps, is why I fear commitment.
I fear the feeling of losing someone to death.

Happy 60th Birthday, Dad

2007-12-22T00:18:00.000+08:00

Today is dad’s 60th birthday.

To celebrate this day, some may invite friends, throw a banquet or collect presents. But not my dad, or my family. My family has never had the habit of celebrating or giving presents, whether on birthdays, anniversaries or festivals.

We build our home not on special gestures on a few isolated days, but on a lifetime of love and unwavering support.

This entry pays tribute to dad, who has been a defining influence in the 30 years of my life.

Tough dad.

There are men who are skilled at paying worthless attention and insincere compliments in a kindly, charming way. There are conversely those, like dad, who have a great deal of warm, genuine feelings, but are unable to express them kindly.

At school, when I gleefully announced my 98% test result to dad, he flatly reminded me that there was no reason to be self-satisfied since there was another 2% to gain. When I played, fell and needed 4 stitches above my eye, dad showed no sympathy; his words were: “last year 3 stitches, this year 4 stitches – well done, you’re improving”. When I went home devastated after my GCE ‘A’ level economics paper filled with questions I couldn’t answer, dad was passionless, asking me blankly: “how will crying help your next paper?”

But this was how dad built my resilience and endeavour. He drilled into me that if I win now, I can lose next; if I lose now, I can still win tomorrow. Life goes on. There’s always a silver lining in the clouds, just as there’s always the next higher lap to strive for.

Dad’s dictum was “spare the rod and spoil the child”. The cane was his weapon. The worst I recall was the day I had a cough, my brother ate one chocolate, then another one, and told me to report that I ate the second chocolate (to be fair to him, I did agree). When mum came home, she gave me such a good lashing for eating chocolates when I was coughing, that I soon chickened out and protested it wasn’t me. But my brother refused to admit it still. Soon dad came home, fetched the cane, and began whipping the truth out of us. Eventually my brother confessed, albeit somewhat unconvincingly. (Till this day I still can’t understand what made me agree to my brother’s ploy in the first place!)

So for a start, this is dad, a person whose touch hurts, whose voice jars, whose tempers play him false, who wounds the people he loves, but all these only in the very act of protecting and nurturing my brother and I.

Soft dad.

But dad has his softer side too.

One example, mysteriously, revolved around the cane. A couple of times, after dad walked off to his room and returned with the cane in his hand, I started to giggle, and then he started chuckling too. Where the humour was, I have no clue! But somehow something tickled me, I found it funny, and dad obviously saw something funny too. Each time this happened, I escaped the cane.

Another example were the times dad, my brother and I queued for our turns on PCMAN. Dad was absolutely hooked. I was envious how he could always stay up late into the night to try to break the record score. I wish I had a video camera then to film his sheer determination to ‘clear the dots’ before the ‘monsters’ got him. I am not sure if dad realises this, but PCMAN was great in retrospect, for it created precious times when dad shared light moments with my brother and I in our childhood days.

Dad always advocated self-discipline. But as though his obsession with PCMAN was not enough to shatter his façade of self-discipline, he decided to pay my brother and I to do his job of mopping the floor during school holidays and weekends. Sometimes he even allowed us to bargain. Well, I guess dad would argue that he was just teaching us that we have to sweat to earn money, and of course, it had nothing to do with laziness. I must say I’ve internalised this value completely today, to the extent that I’ve sworn never to do housework – if need be, learn from dad: just pay someone else to do it!

I have always been amazed by dad’s legendary snores. He produced music in his subconscious. At times, there wasn’t much of a melody: it was silence for several seconds, and suddenly he’d burst into a loud snort. Other times, it was rhythmic, where each wave begins with a gentle sniff, gradually increasing in decibel until it peaks into a snort, before lowering into a gentle sniff again. Once, I was in my room and dad was sleeping in the living room, and I swore I heard an engine throttling.

Down moments.

Dad, and mum too, did cause me some anguish. Mum didn’t find dad’s snores melodious, and soon banished him to sleep in the living room. I felt sorry for dad and tried to talk mum into ‘allowing’ him back into the bedroom, but was not successful.

I also felt sorry when dad had to work late into the night at home. The image of him working on the mahjong table in the living room when I woke in the middle of the night still languishes within me. That’s probably how I picked up the idea of working through the night myself.

And if those times I was sorry for dad, there were other moments when I felt greatly saddened. Most deeply etched in my mind were the occasions when I eavesdropped on dad and mum’s late night arguments in the kitchen, dad’s raised voice and mum’s sobs, loose talk of divorce and how life’s not worth living. I always returned to bed each time sobbing quietly to myself.

And of course, that day dad was leaving for Japan for a one-week working trip, gosh did I burst into tears!

From provider to supporter.

When I was young, I appreciated dad for driving me to school when it rained, for making a detour to ‘fly’ at Jurong Town Hall Road, and for buying my brother and I $230 worth of Mask toys after striking 4D. Dad was my provider – financially, and in little forms of entertainment. I did not have much freedom until secondary school and junior college but strangely, despite my mischievous orientation, I did not rebel at dad’s disciplinarian ways. I’ve never quarrelled with him and I’ve always accepted what he said even if I did not agree.

Dad continued to be my provider until my enlistment for National Service and then university. Something then changed, and he, and mum, turned from providers, to supporters. They were no longer providing for me financially, but supporting me physically and psychologically. Dad would send and fetch me from camp regardless of the time, buy my favourite local foods, pack them into parcels and post them to me in England. Nowadays, he brings my car for a wash when I’m overseas, sends my suits for dry-clean, takes care of my breakfast, lunch and dinner, and even bear with my dogs when I take them home.

These seem trivial but in truth, they are to me the most valuable presents one can ever get from his family. They are little things that done on a daily basis amount to much, much more than any token of gift-giving. And understanding Dad’s predisposed lethargy just makes each of these acts even more amazing.

There remains only one form of love in this world that I am not skeptical of, and that’s a parent’s love for his child. I have this confidence only because dad and mum have shown me, beyond any trace of doubt, that their love for me is unconditional. From them, I have the assurance that even if the world collapses and everyone betrays me, my family will remain as the one source of support that I can always count on.

Today.

Today, I am what I am – my strengths and flaws – because of dad. He has taught me never to settle for second best, never be self-satisfied. Like him, I am full of emotions but poor at expressing them. The interior monologues I have, the perfectionist in me, and even my social lethargy, they all have their roots in dad’s character and the way he has brought me up. I am far from perfect, but it is dad’s influence that has made me good enough to become the person I am.

Well, dad, in keeping with our family practice I don’t have a birthday present for you today. Instead, I’d like to tell you that I owe what I have in my life to you and mum. If there is one thing close to my heart, it is my inmost thoughts and feelings, which I have always kept to myself. It is in this blog that I store these thoughts and feelings, and I hope opening it to you from this day on will be worth more than any birthday present.

Happy 60th birthday, dad.

Top 10 Uncool and Unacceptable Thoughts to Admit

2007-12-20T14:06:00.002+08:00

Social conventions forbid or dissuade us from admitting certain truths. But I will come clean and admit 10 thoughts in my mind that may lead to disbelieving looks:

1. I hate foreigners, especially the French. French 'cuisine' tastes like puke. But I especially like the Brits, New Zealanders and Japs.

2. I am a racist. I think certain races in this world are lazy and stupid.

3. I think some of my friends' partners are cute/hot.

4. I love money, that's why I work hard. To hell with interest or passion for the job.

5. I wish my enemies die a terrible death. For instance, drown in shit, or get lynched.

6. I love my family. I always pray for their health and happiness.

7. I think the government is doing a wonderful job running Singapore. They are irreplaceable.

8. Pregnant women are plain ugly. They're fat, and fat people are ugly.

9. I have stolen a chocolate from a mama shop, an expensive calculator from a classmate, and more than $1000 from a source I'd be dead if I reveal here.

10. I am lazy, selfish and hypocritical. Well, I have to be hypocritical in real life to hide many of these thoughts.

Kids or No Kids?

2007-12-02T11:47:00.000+08:00

I have no wish to have children. It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I don’t want.

People tell me that children are good for many reasons: they brighten up our lives, take care of us when we are old and our hopes can be pinned on them. The older ones say that children continue our family lines. The religious ones say that children are the essence of life and the continuation of an almighty creation. Even the government has something to say, telling us that children are needed for the country’s growth and progress.

I have issues with these reasons individually, but first, my own deep-seated convictions why I don’t desire children of my own.

In life, there are happy emotions and sad emotions. Happy ones include love, surprise and humour; unhappy ones include fear, jealousy and anger. We live life for the happy emotions and hope that the unhappy ones will be offset by the happy ones.

But on balance, we go through more unhappy emotions than happy ones in life. Even as I write the preceding paragraph, the unhappy emotions came to mind far more readily. (If the reader thinks this is but a symptom of my own personality type and prejudices, have a go at churning out the two lists).

With this outlook of life, if given the option to be re-born, I won’t take it – why go through something that will cause me more pain than joy? And if I think this way, wouldn’t I be selfish to bring life into this world? Put in another way, if the new child had known that life would be more unhappy than happy, would he necessarily choose to be born?

Parts of these have to do with the tensions and struggles we go through in Singapore. The choice in our society is between allowing mediocrity, thus a low self-esteem, or pushing to be achievers, often in more than one field, thus a stressful existence. I blame the Singapore society because our insecurity as a country transmits into an insecure people, which fuels the tensions and struggles we have no choice but to cope with.

Then there are the selfish motivations. Perhaps my disciplined and regulated childhood has spurned a longing for the reverse, and I now crave for freedom to do anything I want anytime. I’ve become averse to anything that constrains my freedom – be it a low-paying job, heavy job responsibilities, unreasonable parents, a possessive partner, or of course, children. I want to live life for none other than myself and the ones I love.

I am also tired of responsibility and commitment. Having children will only add to my list of commitments – family, girlfriend, dogs, friends, football, work and colleagues – and drain my financial resources.

Now, my contention about the reasons that others have cited for having children. Yes, children brighten up our lives, but only for the first ten years or so, and it comes with much trouble and effort anyway. That they take care of us when we are old – this is something best not to assume. And while we can pin our hopes on them, whether it ends in heartache depends mainly on things beyond our control. In the past, parents have most influence over their child’s values and growth; today, with working parents, long hours in school, media and internet influence, the ones with the most influence are teachers, friends and maids. Since whom the child gets as his teachers, friends and maids is only fractionally within our control, it is essentially down to luck how the child turns out.

Moreover, aren’t each of these reasons self-serving, and would I not be selfish, even immoral, to have children for these reasons, especially given my perspective of life in the first place?

As for the arguments that children continue our family lines, the life cycle, and Singapore’s progress, I would reply thus: I am neither a traditional Chinese, hence my family line can be discontinued; nor religious, hence the life cycle is irrelevant; nor an extreme patriot, hence I won’t have kids just for the sake of my country.

Well, these are my views today. I concede that I may well wake up one day and decide that I want children and then start to reason why children are good to have. Let’s just hope that if and when this day comes, it won’t be too late. After all I’ve said, this is the weightiest counter-argument against my no-kids decision today.

Memories of New Zealand

2007-09-09T08:31:00.000+08:00

I’m on the flight back from Queenstown to Auckland, to board our international flight back to Singapore.

It’s strange. The feeling is not the usual one of ‘finally going home’, but one of sadness in having to leave. It’s as though I have come to the end of a very enjoyable holiday.

I can’t remember much of the official programme, which will be a problem for the trip report. My memories are all of the fond and sentimental ones.

There are things I will miss dearly – the mountains, lakes, Lord of the Rings sites, Queenstown, and the people.

I’ve loved no country more than England, but now, my love affair with New Zealand has started.

The scenery here was almost unreal. And I realised that the people and culture here bear many similarities with England. The British wit is unsurpassed, but the New Zealanders are a match.

I have, in truth, found a new destination to migrate to.

If I’m honest too, this trip would only be half as memorable if not for Niki.

With her charm, poise and sincerity, she shone through even amidst the beauty and splendour of New Zealand.

She took care of everything, I could relax and enjoy the programme. She exuded energy just by being around, always looking radiant, and enchanting beyond words.

Then there was Robbie, always helping to get things sorted. My heart goes out to him for the harsh words he received from his boss.

Thank you, my dear friends, for the wonderful time and memories.

They will stay with me for years to come.

Of Men and Cleavages

2007-08-12T12:12:00.000+08:00

My first response as I read Sumiko Tan’s column today was - I would have loved to be a subject in her experiment last Tuesday.

Which, of course, is a nice way of saying I would have loved to see her, ahem, cleavage.

Then I wondered, not for the first time, what’s in a cleavage that so entices a man? Why do we weaken and subject ourselves to a lady who opens her cleavage? Is it really the cleavage – or the hint of breasts – that excite men?

A cleavage is nothing more than a valley formed by flesh, and breasts, pardon the following expression, little more than lumps of meat.

Perhaps cleavages and breasts are signs of fertility. Freud, if I recall rightly, said that men in our subconscious are aroused by such symbols of fertility.

Is it just mischief? Maybe cleavages, breasts and the titillation they bring satisfy no more than the streak of mischief in men, of having seen the forbidden treasure.

One thing to clarify is that men react differently between a fleeting glimpse and constant exposure.

When we catch a fleeting glimpse of a nice cleavage, we go: Wow… slurp… and that's it, we move on. There's honestly not much more to it.

But if we see the same cleavage day-in, day-out, well, that’s a different story, and a host of social, interpersonal and personality factors come into play.

I recall a male neighbour who once complained angrily about a half-naked lady cleaning windows in an apartment facing ours.

I wondered, then, whether his discomfort was a sign of frustration, of being deprived, of having been shown a treasure but not being able to lay his hands on it?

To me, I just thought, well, savour the moment, and move on!

For ladies considering baring their cleavage, I'd suggest there are two components to a nice cleavage.

First the cleavage itself. It should be reasonably deep, cheekily bared, not excessive. A hint is alluring; too much is vulgar. Basketball boobs are a sure turnoff except to the wild and perverse; conversely, if they’re measly, don't bother.

Second, things come as a package. A nice cleavage needs to go with a decent body. There’s no use if it comes with a Marshmallow-man frame. It also needs a pleasant face to it (even though I know many who insist that everything looks the same in the dark).

A related question I have grappled with is why women themselves are so obsessed with their cleavages, too.

Perhaps it’s a vicious cycle. There's probably some truth in men’s insistence that with women taking so much effort to decorate their cleavages, it’s a crime for us not to pay attention to them.

But if women decorate their cleavages just so that men would pay attention to them, well, that to me is needlessly insecure.

For me personally, I have mixed views about cleavages.

It’s ok for other girls to flaunt more cleavage; it’s not so ok for my girlfriend to bare the same.

Yes, that’s double standards, but show me one normal man who enjoys seeing his partner expose her cleavage to strangers.

I appreciate women who take efforts to beautify their cleavages. But at the same time, I detest the fact that the Maximizer bra is meant to lie, and darn, I always fall for it!

Then there’s the issue of real or fake, and whether it matters. Part of me says that implants are no more than another means of beautification. The other part tells me to reject pirated and imitation goods.

But one thing I’m clear. I hate being with my girlfriend when she shops for bras. The different shapes, sizes, colours, designs, purposes and effects totally overwhelm me. I don’t know where to stand, where to look or how to behave. The whole place feels like a jungle, and I'm lost in it.

Maybe my discomfort is no more than my own response at being reminded of forbidden treasures. I have, after all, the same basic instincts and impulses as all other men.

And that tells me, if there’s a nice cleavage to be seen, why not?

I guess I just have to convince myself that there’s really no harm in going wow, slurp, and move on.

Life

2007-07-25T09:26:00.000+08:00

Life!

Life.

Life?

Life...

Interesting how a little punctuation changes all the connotations of what a writer feels about life.

The one that applies to us changes as we live through different stages of our lives. It changes in the course of the year, the month, the week, or even the day. In fact, it can change by the hour, or even the minute.

It also changes depending on where you are, who you are with, and what you are doing.

Such is the beauty of life.

Such is the frustration of life.

And such is life.

My encounter with Sumiko Tan

2007-07-24T22:06:00.000+08:00

I have always yearned for somebody who shares the depth of my thoughts, my introspection.

I muse about life, human beings, and psychology; I even call myself the mindofminds.

Sumiko never failed to enchant me in her columns. When I met her in person, she charmed me once more, this time though, with her looks. It was probably her goldfish eyes, petite frame, and her soft demeanour.

I felt I had to say hi.

But my courage deserted me. I started hiding behind excuses – ‘she is with a friend’, ‘I’ll go over once she is alone’, ‘she seems tired’, ‘I didn’t comb my hair’, whatever.

The number of times I had chickened out in my life – countless.

Yet, this time was slightly different. I felt a real will that I must make my move. After all, this is Sumiko – the only person in my life I’d call myself a fan to.

My mind raced through the topics I could raise. I had flashbacks on how my conversations with attractive girls always seemed to end in awkward silence.

I always blamed it on the fact that I could not keep my cool when it comes to attractive girls. After all, my conversations with non-attractive girls were normally perfect. I could even appear charming.

So the strategy was simple: keep cool, just talk.

If only it were really that simple.

My heart started pounding harder each time I verged nearer to making my move. Each time it pounded, I had second thoughts. Each time I had second thoughts, those excuses came to mind.

After several cycles, I decided. I’ll talk to her the next time we have a media reception.

But I reminded myself, don’t be stupid, it could be never.

And on and on went this cycle of brazening myself, chickening out and finding excuses. Until, to my horror, Sumiko went over to shake the host’s hand.

Obviously, she was thanking him... which meant she was leaving!

It was truly now or never.

Just when I thought it would go down as another episode of my chickening out, Yvonne came to my rescue. I had cunningly informed her how much I was a fan of Sumiko when she said she knew her. It worked. Yvonne introduced us.

Oh my gosh. I shook Sumiko’s hand.

I smiled and told Sumiko – “I was just telling Yvonne how much I enjoy reading your articles”, to which Sumiko smiled and replied – “Thank you”.

Yes, Sumiko talked to ME!

I was exhilarated.

Then, in the same moment, I noticed Sumiko had to leave. She was gazing around, she stopped standing still, and she held her bag tighter (it was at this moment that I made the realisation that women, when they intend to leave the place, always seem to hold on to their bag more firmly).

I felt a tinge of disappointment. It looked like my brief encounter with Sumiko was about to end.

I didn’t even get the chance to exchange name cards.

Suddenly, an idea struck. Why don’t I write to Sumiko? I had wanted to do it all the time, why not now? After all, Sumiko’s email address is printed on LifeStyle!

I felt a sense of relief. As always, it feels good to know that a nice experience has not ended.

So Sumiko left. My afternoon of excitement came to an end.

But I wasted no time in writing an email. I sent it as soon as I got back to office.

It was a carefully worded email, intended to flatter despite my protestations to the contrary, intended to tell Sumiko that here was a guy who loved her writing, and perhaps, intended to convey a hint of an attraction.

About 5 in the evening, Sumiko replied! It made my day, and week.

Or rather, it occupied my mind for the whole day, and week. For I could not concentrate on doing much else.

The second email took me a few days to write but again, it was carefully worded. If the first time I was scared that my mail would be deleted as a spam, this time I was scared that my mail would not be replied to. After all, I was writing to a celebrity with presumably little time.

So, the intent was different. I wrote my mail with the aim of eliciting a reply.

4 days have passed since, and I am still waiting.

And since I am waiting, I’ve decided to pen down my thoughts and emotions in this experience.

It’s strange how a 30 year old man, attached for 5 years, mature and stable, can be awestruck by a certain one.

Sumiko wasn’t a ravishing beauty, not supermodel like, neither outspoken nor flirtatious.

I felt no sense of eroticism, either.

But I was surely attracted. There was beauty in her simplicity. She looked young yet mature, nothing like the celebrity socialite I thought she would be.

Perhaps it was the sense of connection. The sense that I could understand her writing, and the belief she could share mine.

In my younger days, I called girls like her the sort where your instinct is to hold her hands and hug her, not pin her down on bed.

So how long would I wait for Sumiko's reply?

I don’t know. It’s been 4 days. Maybe by the end of this week, I would have given up waiting.

Or maybe, it would be the end of the month before the attraction fizzles off.

Or it may well be at the end of the year.

I don’t know. I’m counting.

Connie Talbot

2007-06-19T20:08:00.000+08:00

I am absolutely speechless. Absolutely enchanted. I've never been so captivated by a voice, a singer. I actually had to hold back my tears hearing this little girl sing. She is amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=En0A8KGMgq8&mode=related&search=

Peace of Mind

2007-04-07T11:29:00.000+08:00

What matters is not which religion. It's having a peace of mind.

Break...

2007-04-06T11:08:00.000+08:00

Finally, a much-needed break. Yesterday I looked through my schedule since January and it is amazing how every week was packed, and looking at my Outlook calendar with each event I could still vividly remember the stress felt at that moment in time. And the most obvious thing is, I did not have any proper break at all, not even during CNY.

What a wretched life.

Love(s) of our Life?

2007-03-24T16:15:00.000+08:00

I love my father and my mother. I love my brother and my sister. I love my son and my daughter. I love my dog and my cat. I love football and I love billiards.

Why won’t I love Girl A and Girl B?

Love is an instinct, emotional and uncontrollable. Instinctively, we love more than one thing, more than one person.

But social norms are such that while all other loving is ok, we cannot have more than one love in the romantic sense.

Hence, some have more than one love in their hearts, they know and accept it, but they can’t admit it. A small group of people, the enlightened ones, are in this category.

Some have more than one love in their hearts, they know it, but they won’t accept it, let alone admit it. They feel guilty and struggle within their hearts, internally. These are the ones who swear there is no such thing as liking or loving more than one person. Most people are in this category.

Of course, there are others who have more than one love, they know and accept it, and they don’t resist it. They are the ones with extra-spousal relationships, keep mistresses, etc.

The fact is, the first two categories of loving are real, instinctive, and cannot be helped, like it or not. The third category is controllable, hence not acceptable.

But accepting the first and second categories too readily can also be dangerous, as they can easily slip into the third, once self-discipline goes and resistance crumbles.

For those feeling terrible about feeling in love with more than one person, you are in the second category. But as long as you understand the point, bring yourself into the first category and stay disciplined, there is no need to feel bad.

The Truth about Workspouse

2007-03-24T15:57:00.000+08:00

The idea of a workspouse is an interesting one. It refers to a very close colleague, one whom you share your life with, one who has an intuitive understanding of the pressures, interactions, personalities and underlying narratives of the workplace. It involves intimacy in a non-sexual, non-romantic way.

Really? The argument is almost an extension of whether men and women can just be friends.

The idea alone reassures some that the relationships they are having at work are normal, accepted, that there’s nothing wrong with it.

Some even say it increases productivity at work, making the workplace a more exciting place to go to.

But there is no scientific evidence for workspouses. Whether it is indeed a different construct, meaningfully different from a romantic relationship, we don’t know. In theory and in words, there can be such a thing. In real life and emotional terms, it may not exist.

21st century parity between men and women at work probably makes such relationships more plausible than in the past, when men usually were the bosses and women the subordinates, the subservient ones. Parity gives rise to peers – in the full sense of the word: equals, i.e. nothing higher or lower, nothing more or less.

But then, I think workspouse is just a way of side-tracking the fact that people like, or get attracted to, more than one person.

There is a threshold of liking and attraction: above that threshold, you are attracted. Below that threshold, you are not attracted. There is always more than one person above the threshold in any individual’s life. The spouse is, for sure. The workspouse too, as well as several or many other friends of the opposite sex.

The point is, human beings always like more than one person.

And dare I say, some may even love more than one person, although the threshold for love is far higher than the threshold for like.

But this is not socially acceptable to say. That’s why no one openly says or admits it.

Workspouse is merely a more acceptable way to explain the fact that one can like, or indeed love, more than just his or her spouse.

So yes, workspouses do exist. But it is hardly true that there is no romance involved.

Who works hard?

2007-03-19T20:40:00.000+08:00

Everybody hopes that somebody tells THE BOSS that they are working hard, but nobody would tell THE BOSS that anybody is working hard. So it ends up THE BOSS does not know that anybody is working hard, or THE BOSS thinks that everybody is not working hard.

To stay or to quit?

2007-03-18T11:43:00.000+08:00

Decisions, decisions, decisions. I hate making them.

The time has come for me to ask myself seriously, to stay or to quit.

Why stay:

Good salary that comfortably funds my car, overseas trips and other material expenses.
Stability.
Good prospects with increasingly lesser competition, it seems.
Repay superior's time and faith.
Free year of course-cum-holiday overseas. Another free year of course-cum holiday several years down the road.
Work-life balance, close to absent now, may not be better elsewhere.

Why quit:

If need to start elsewhere, start young rather than wait till middle age.
If need to suffer pay cut, suffer young rather than wait till middle age. May well be able to make back the difference anyway.
Pursue interest in field of psychology. Still relatively current now, whereas if wait till middle age will no longer be.
Prospects not guaranteed, especially with new structures.
Not enough distinction between the average-good and the better-good.
Get back at superior for unwarranted bad treatment.
Leave with a good reputation, to avoid falling from grace in a few years' to come when limited abilty shows through.

Wish I could be how I was once upon a time, deliberately guided by emotions and not rationality, doing what I like to do rather than what I should do, being selfish and less thoughtful of others and not being bothered by it, making decisions based on the now rather than consider twenty thousand years down the road.

Sigh, in sum, being a boy and not an adult.

What's wrong with Blogger?

2007-03-18T11:32:00.000+08:00

Something's wrong. Put up a new post but it doesn't show on the main page. Strange. Such times make me wonder whether it's just me being a dinosaur or there's really something wrong with the system.

My travels...

2007-03-17T23:55:00.001+08:00

There are many things I could not enjoy when I was young and so I grew up loving them. KFC and MacDonald's are the more trivial ones. I guess what I have to be satisfied with are the number of countries I've visited. It may not compare to some others in my age, especially the more established and well off ones, but I'm content and satisfied. Just to take stock:

1994: Russia (St Petersburg, Moscow), Latvia, Prague.
1996: Brunei.
1997: England.
1998: England, Wales, France, Egypt.
1999: England, Wales, Scotland, USA (New York, Philadelphia, Boston).
2000: England, Scotland, Italy, Switzerland.
2001: England, Australia (Adelaide).
2002: Thailand, Hong Kong.
2003: Maldives.
2004: New Zealand.
2005: Denmark, England.
2006: Indonesia, Brunei, Thailand, Australia (Canberra, Perth, Brisbane), Vietnam, India, Greece.
2007: Thailand, Israel.

... and Malaysia since I was young, and periodic trips now and then to Genting, etc.

The places I want to go to next:
Brazil - the samba girls.
Holland - the drugs.
China - the Great Wall.
Greenland/the Antartica - to prove my manhood.
Hawaii - just curious.
Kenya - the animals, to clock time in Africa.
Iraq/Afghanistan - the war/conflict.

My Chinese New Year

2007-02-20T20:16:00.000+08:00

Just had to say something about my CNY this year.

Possibly one of the worst in my living memory. Worked a lot, although not for the first time, but what made it irritating and frustrating was what my STOOPID boss did.

CNY Eve. He called at 5pm to bark at me. First words were "next time don't use those stupid formatting features." Then he went on to describe how those boxes in the Word document on the right side wouldn't go away, and he can't print it properly. I let him finish, then told him I did not use any special formatting at all, it was probably a different version of Microsoft Word. Then he hung up. I tried to be helpful and sent him an sms to explain, to which he replied he was frustrated - not with me but with situation. To hell with him.

At least the night went well. Played 3 rounds of mahjong with family, something I haven't done for long time. Won $110, but that's really a bonus. It's not the winning that matters, but the time spent together.

CNY First Day. Didn't do visiting. Lazed around, with lacklustre attempts to start work. Until 5pm when boss sms and asked if I am working on the speech. So I said yes, and bo pian, have to start work. And boy, did I start work. Worked through the night - didn't sleep a wink - until next morning at 8.30 am.

CNY Second Day. (Con't). Tried to sleep, but lion dance downstairs. Moreover it's just not the right time to sleep. Woke up at about 11 am, although lazed on bed till 12 plus. Then looked through the speech again, and sent out to boss at 2pm. Finally, it's off my back. Made feeble attempts to sleep again but not successful. At 3pm went out to meet a JC friend. My gosh, she's pregnant with her second child. All my friends are not only getting married; they are getting pregnant. And some, like this one, is having a second kid. Scary thought.

Left at 6pm, went to girlfriend's house, half zombified due to lack of sleep. Watched Hot Chick on TV - hilarious show, even though I'm already watching the second time. Then went dinner at Long John Silver at Junction 8, what crab food. Went back to girlfriend's place and then went to sleep, watching Jet Li's Huo Yuan Jia on TV3 until fell asleep while the everlasting commercials were on.

CNY Third Day. Had breakfast at girlfriend's house, then lunch. Plenty of her relatives came to her house. Collected many ang pow but nowadays quite pai sei to get them, after all I'm coming to the Big 3. Lazed around in her house until 4pm, went karaoke. At 7pm, came home, and started typing my blog - i'm doing this right now. Waiting for my Mac's dinner to get delivered, then playing mahjong with family.

The person who sent me most sms this CNY is my boss. But not well wishes, not a single one, all work. On the whole I must have received 10 sms from him over the first 3 days of CNY, plus a bonus call on the eve to bark at me. What a way to start the year. Hope this doesn't spell a bad omen for the months to come.

Damn my boss. Damn his superficial niceties towards everyone else except those he is supposed to be closest too. Damn his favouritism towards females. Damn his ego. Damn him, in short.

That's my CNY in the year 2007.

Friends or Colleagues?

2007-01-20T18:47:00.000+08:00

I store close to 700 telephone numbers in my phone. When I go out, I bump into people I know all the time. Many of them have got a working relationship with me. But just who are the friends and who are the colleagues? This is one way of looking at it:

A friend is one whose number I will keep even after he has outlived his relevance to my work.
A colleague is one whose number I will delete as long as he is no longer useful to me.

Sad, then, on occasions when someone whose number I have kept replies 'who is this?' when I send an sms to them. It means that I am no longer useful nor worthy as a friend.

Life

2007-01-07T15:13:00.000+08:00

Adult life is a process of wearing out. Childhood is the symbol of regeneration.

Insecurity drives my achievements.

2006-12-15T18:52:00.000+08:00

I am a high achiever.
My achievements are driven by my fear of failure.
My fear of failure is driven by my insecurity.
And every bit of achievement offsets a little bit of my insecurity.

I think there are many, many others like me, who are held in regard by others for their achievements, who may or may not understand this trait of themselves, and who are ultimately wretched souls struggling to overcome that insecurity of theirs.

Mount Everest

2006-12-04T11:31:00.000+08:00

Snapped this picture of Mount Everest while taking a domestic flight within India. But exactly which peak is it? Not sure; maybe readers can tell me. But it is somewhere in there for sure.

Get what you want...

2006-12-04T09:39:00.000+08:00

You can have anything you want in life, if you are willing to sacrifice everything else for it.

Quotable (?) Quotes

2006-12-04T08:27:00.000+08:00

The excitement lies in the undressing. The exhilaration lies in the thrusts. The gratification lies in the aftermath.

It's not the size of the weapon that matters, but the tenacity of the action.

Our Artificial Landscape

2006-12-04T07:29:00.000+08:00

Just came home after a week or so from India and Australia. Driving home from the airport, the spotless expressways, trees and lamp-posts immaculately planted equi-distant from one another, and lanes printed clearly and accurately on the roads stood out in stark contrast to those of the two countries - in particular India - that i've just gone to.

And yet, I find the design of Singapore's landscape so organised and systematic that it appears almost artificial and contrived.

Guess the sad state of affairs is that we have no choice. If you have only a small room but you want to put all kinds of furnishings and decorations into it, the only way is to arrange everything carefully, tile by tile. It is no different for our tiny island state. You want enough trees for landscaping, houses and flats for people, roads for cars, forested areas for military training, reservoirs for water, and skyscrapers for economics, you have no choice but to organise each of these carefully.

The inevitable result is: Singapore, our Artificial Landscape.

Gloomy Times Ahead

2006-11-14T11:05:00.000+08:00

After many weeks of being away, boss would be back next Monday. This Saturday, to be accurate. Sigh, gloomy times ahead. Stress level will rise, work will pile up, nights will be burnt, weekends will be occupied, face will break up, hair will drop, wrinkles will deepen, and feelings of being inept will start to creep in again. Yes, these are the effects of boss being around.

Unfortunately, never again will there be an occasion of boss going away for so long. I'm bracing myself for it.

Thoughts about Genting, and Poor Service.

2006-11-14T10:42:00.000+08:00

Just came back from Genting last night. Maybe because I am now older, and more particular about service, it seemed that the service standards have deteriorated since my last visit. For memory’s sake, I’ve jotted down the following occurrences of poor service I encountered.

1. First-time ever in my life, there was a queue number system at the hotel reception for checking-in. Something like those you encounter at places serving the general public, e.g. hospitals, HDB, traffic police, etc. Perhaps it’s necessary to cope with the sheer volume of guests checking in and out. But this wouldn’t explain the fact that when my number appeared and I was making my way to the Counter, two men simply cut in front of me, and worse, the receptionist gladly attended to them. I waited 25 bloody minutes to get to my turn, only to have 2 stinking men cut in front of me, and a receptionist happily attending to them, making me wait 10 minutes further. I asked her later how she could allow others to cut a queue like this, since she knew I was the one holding the number indicated. Her reply was curt: “They are extending their stay”. But what the bloody hell has this got to do with cutting queue?! And she showed no sense of being apologetic. I wonder what’s the point of having a queue system when the staff made no effort to enforce it? This was the Resorts Hotel, by the way.

2. At 9.15 a.m. the next morning, when I was still snoozing in bed, the doorbell rang. Room service. Too early in my opinion. I ignored it the first time round, but the doorbell rang 2 more times. Perhaps it was an emergency, so I answered it, only to confirm it was but room service. I told the lady to come back later. Since I was already woken up, I got up and left my room an hour later, returning around noon. The room was not cleaned yet. At 12.30 p.m., I left my room again, and returned at 1.30 p.m. The room was still not cleaned. At 2.15 p.m., the cleaning lady rang the doorbell. I told her I am now in the room, and asked her to come back later. Rudely, she did not reply, nor even acknowledge, and just turned and walked away. Barely half an hour later, she came back again and asked if I wanted to have the room cleaned. It almost sounded like an ultimatum - I either have it cleaned now, or never. I gave up, and simply got her to replenish the mineral water, toiletries, and clear the bins. This time round, she did smile and said thank you. But I was annoyed by the fact that I – the guest – seemed to have to comply with HER cleaning schedule, rather than the other way round. How can Resorts Hotel proclaim to be a 4-star hotel with this kind of service?

3. Hotel and room aside, the food services were hardly more impressive. Market Food Street – one of the eating places at First World Hotel – had an incomprehensible system that involved 3 queues just to get an item. Unbelievably, it took me 10 minutes to purchase a cup of coffee, even though there were only 2 customers ahead of me. The system was this: first, you queue to make an order. The staff will then give you a ‘chop’ to indicate what you ordered, and then you go to the cashier to queue to pay for your order. After payment, you go back to the stall – and queue again – to collect your food. 3 queues just to get a simple item. And if this was not enough, when making an order, queuing or waiting, you glance at the chefs’ faces, it looked like they must be really dissatisfied either with their jobs, or with the customers.

4. At a restaurant called Hou Mei, again the system was hard to understand. Twice in 3 days, the bill was given to me but when I tried to pay, the waiters said I had to make my payment at the cashier. Strangely though, there were other waiters/waitresses who were gladly collecting the payment from the guests, bringing the money to the cashier and then returning to the customers with the change. I have no problems going to the cashier myself, but the inconsistency made me wonder why I was one of those who had to pay at the cashier myself. Was it my face? Or did I not order enough? Or was it simply the waiters’ attitude and willingness to service? I still stand to be advised.

Just to qualify, there was one or two signs of good service too, albeit very rare. And it was usually at the fast food restaurants: at the Mary Browne at the outdoor theme part, there was a waiter whose English wasn't too good, but nonetheless very helpful trying to comply with special configurations of chicken/mashed potato that i requested to change from the set menu. Thank you, and well done.

But I guess overall, my conclusion is that when Singapore starts our casino in a few years’ time, the poor service at Genting will certainly make it easier to wrestle customers over. It is not difficult at all to beat the service, or lack thereof, provided at Genting.

Reactions to Wee Shu Min's Post

2006-11-09T23:56:00.000+08:00

When I first heard from a colleague about the posting by Wee Shu Min, I was disgusted. In the days that followed, I came across references about how she came from a privileged background, was an elitist, and I thought to myself “this spoilt brat”. The more I heard and read about her blog, the more I told myself I must read what she wrote, to see what a bitch she really is.

Today, I finally read on another blog that quoted what she wrote before her blog was taken off. My conclusion: WSM said nothing but the brutal truth. The truth that no one will dare to say aloud; the truth that is politically incorrect; the truth that beneath the surface, you and me identify with in our hearts of hearts and yet, choose to disbelieve or disregard, so that we can hold on to our idealised, romanticised view of the world as the wonderful place we live in.

Whoever reported that WSM called herself an “elite” has obviously missed the sarcasm that she intends to convey in that self-description. Read her post carefully.

I do believe WSM’s assertion that when she made the posting, she thought no one reads her blog. It’s a stupid assumption, but let’s just take it that she really did have this assumption. If so, then what she has done was to treat her blog as the equivalent of a diary where you record your innermost thoughts and feelings. Her rantings are then no more than a soliloquy. Should she then be castigated for expressing her thoughts in what she believed was by and large an unvisited, if not strictly private, space?

The bottom line is, I think there is little about WSM to counsel. She just used harsh language to speak what is the harsh reality. A reality that the hypocrisy of our society hides, and refuses to acknowledge. A reality that is too often masked and dressed up with words and behaviours of all forms.

WSM’s comments remind me of Jose Mourinho. Like Moron, she has quality, and she’s a snob, which disgusts me. But like him too, she has a point, and she speaks the truth.

After so long...

2006-11-09T21:00:00.000+08:00

After such a long time, I've decided to post a blog again. This thing struck me when I was in Vietnam recently. I was having a chat with a friend about old, ugly and fat women...

If you are old, it's nature's fault.
If you are ugly, it's your parents' fault.
But if you are fat, it's your own fault.

Reminds me of a T-shirt that reads "I'm fat, you're ugly, but i can diet".

Why Caucasians are well endowed and Singaporeans not? Because Caucasians grow up on full cream milk; Singaporeans grow up on soya bean milk.

That's all the gibberish for now.

My surrogate children

2006-02-06T21:06:00.000+08:00

Sorry dad and mum, I know how much you yearn to be grandparents, but these 2 'kids' are to me as lovely as any baby can be.

I think I will place this picture on the desktop of my PC in office. It will probably make me appear somewhat gay, but I am sure using more FHM calendars will balance that perception.

By the way, I am perfectly fine with gays, even if I am not one myself. To me, it is only a matter of preference, no different from individual fondness for big boobs, nice bums, long legs, long hair, or whatever xxx else.

Mr Nuah

2006-02-06T16:03:00.000+08:00

It's not a sexy name but it pretty damn well describes me.

I was supposed to do work over the weekend, but procrastinated and did not even touch it.

I was supposed to do the work this morning, but after finishing half, I just didn't have the strength to carry on.

I have many tasks left to be completed in office, but I will start only on the day, no I should say the night, before I need to hand up to my boss.

I wanted to take a shower since this morning; it's 4pm now and I still fail to drag myself to the bathroom.

I am supposed to think of more things to write into this post, but I can't be freaking bothered to use my brains for any longer.

Most boring blog

2006-01-31T14:17:00.000+08:00

If there was a competition for the most boring blog, mine wins hands-down.

Sigh.

An Insight into Stalkers

2006-01-31T00:57:00.000+08:00

Blogs can be a dangerous thing. I was reading a blog by a lady who has her entire life accounted in there, and complete with pictures. It was honestly a very interesting read, and at the end, I felt almost as if I knew her. She is a good-looking 20-something, and certainly came across as being an extremely open person.

I am not a stalker, nor a psycho. But I have gone towards that direction before, in the sense that I have put my mind to go through that line of thinking, to the extent that I believe, now, I can attempt to understand what goes through the head of a stalker. To digress, someone once said that there is a thin line between sanity and insanity. I think what prevents me from crossing over from sanity to insanity, is being in control of my 'spiralling thoughts'.

What makes a person stalk? First, there are personality factors. He (I use 'he', since more often than not, stalkers are male) is most definitely someone who is insecure, and in need of love and attention. He does not feel confident enough about himself, which explains why he chooses to admire from a distance - for fear of being rejected when he makes his approach. He needs love and attention - this does not mean that he lacks them at the moment, but it does mean that the love and attention coming from a certain category of people (be it family-type, partner-type, friend-type) is lacking. I think therefore, one would not be surprised to find that stalkers tend to stalk people from whom they imagine the sort of love and attention they crave.

How does a stalker choose his targets? There are those who actively search for it. But therein lies the difference between the ones who are generally normal in terms of the love and attention they get from significant others in their lives, as opposed to those who are largely bereft of it. The former probably sets his sights on targets more by coincidence - he stumbles across them on the streets, over the internet (chatrooms, blogs), or maybe through friends. The latter, on the other hand, hunts for targets. For both groups, targets are usually strangers at the onset, but 'stand out' for certain individual reasons that they appeal to the stalker, depending on what exactly the stalker craves. It's a bit like how beauty is in the eyes of the beholder - every stalker pursues a different thing. This also means that not just attractiveness (although this is as common as how generally, people prefer attractive beings), but also other things come into play. I am sure there are many instances where not-very-attractive people have similarly become victims of stalkers.

I will attempt to chart out the thoughts and questions of a potential stalker who comes across his target over the internet, say, a blog. I will just call it 'readers' instead of 'stalker' to be more neutral. I choose to use the example of a blog because that was what set me off on this train of thinking in the first place, but I think these things can equally be applied to any form of internet and maybe phone communications.

The blogger first comes to 'life'. This may be through an elaborate description of the thoughts or events in her life, to the extent that she comes across as having a conversation with the reader. If the blogger has been blogging for a long time, the archives will allow the reader to gain a good understanding of her. The details here and there puts personality substance into what will otherwise be a stranger. Photographs and pictures, the more personal they are, make the stalker's encounter with the blogger feel even more surreal.

The blogger, before being 'selected' as the target, will have to be 'reachable'. If comments on the blogger's postings are allowed, it gives the reader a chance to 'speak back' with the blogger. The reader will also need to feel that the blogger is within physical distance - I don't know if this is because of similarity, since distance equates to cultural similarities and similarities breed interest, or because it gives a sense of possibility to the reader that somehow, an encounter with the blogger can be realised physically, however remote the chances. If the blogger provides an email address, it increases the 'reachability' by multiple times - it allows the reader to really converse with the blogger, and provides the opportunity for the reader to stage more meet-ups over the net, on the phone, or even physically.

The reader then tries to elicit feedback from the blogger. If the blogger stays silent, that may well end the process. If the blogger replies, that constitutes the further green light as far as the reader is concerned. Again, replies from the blogger make it feel like an actual conversation is taking place, which makes the blogger appear more real and more reachable.

Finally, if the blogger reverts with any form of interest, this represents the final encouragement that the reader needs before 'confirming' the blogger as a target. The interest can be manifested innocently in the form of questions about the reader. The more questions are asked, the more interested the blogger appears, and the more it seems to the reader that some form of connection has been made.

If I may try to summarise, underlying a stalker's actions is a crave for love and attention that is being fuelled continuously by a sense of hope. However, the end state in terms of whether the blogger becomes a friend or a partner or anything else, will not even be clear to the stalker at the onset, because in the first place, stalkers do not start off looking for a partner or a friend; they start off looking for love and attention. Many will therefore convince (or perhaps deceive) themselves that all they want is to be a friend. My suspicion, though, is that they will eventually realise that the love and attention they seek can only come about from being more than a friend.

Why I am writing all these? Well, I guess because I am a student of psychology, and every now and then, I dwell alot into such things, which I never had the discipline to write out. Perhaps now, it is the fact that blogs allow me to open up such thoughts to others - some sort of a spectator effect - that encourages me to put down more of these thinking. I have written this blog based not on any scientific research, but pure hypotheses from my observations of people. I'm not sure if the title sounds overly confident that these insights are accurate, but heck, this isn't a scientific journal! My readers can make what they want from it.

Dark secrets

2006-01-31T00:18:00.000+08:00

I have been searching for some inspiration on what i should write. At last, i came across this blog that was titled "What's wrong with me". That was the inspiration I needed. I posted a comment to the blogger, and then here I am, writing my 3rd posting now.

A blog is like a soliloquy. It is an opportunity when one, most probably, sits quietly in his/her room and narrates the things of his/her life the way he sees it. Some people choose to narrate events that happened; others choose to narrate thoughts. Whichever way, it is special, because they represent the way that the blogger makes sense of the world and interprets his/her role in it. Before one is able to narrate the things so systematically, there must have been a fair bit of rationalisation and thinking that had gone into them.

And yet, a blog is only like a soliloquy written for a novel. It is artificial, as ultimately, it is written for an audience for whom maybe, the blogger wishes will be reading. Moreover, in systematically arranging those events and thoughts, wouldn't there have been some censorship, filtering or exaggeration that are necessarily put in? If so, even if the representations in a blog are not false, they cannot be very true, either.

My point is, even in moments of solitude, a person cannot be fully honest. Each of us hold on to dark secrets that even the closest people to us may not know. Different categories of family and friends are privy to different types of dark secrets. And even when each of them do, these secrets would have been tempered, and the true extent of how 'dark' they are will only be known within ourselves.

Can there, then, be absolute trust in this world?

Indeed, can we even trust ourselves? How often do we deceive ourselves, on the pretext of convincing ourselves? How often have we given ourselves excuses, and passed them off as justifications, when something occurs that we do not like? How often have we, deep within, refused to listen to what our heart says, and choose instead to follow our minds? But yet again, how often can we be VERY SURE that those are excuses from our minds, and not real and sincere justifications that come from our hearts? Do we even know?

Perhaps not, I think. That is why, we cannot even trust ourselves.

On this depressing note, let's hope future postings will be happier.

Liverpool FC

2006-01-28T15:25:00.000+08:00

I'm back! Yes, the title of this blog kinda reveals what my favourite football team is, and my passion too. This morning, I just read on the internet that Robbie Fowler, affectionately known as 'God', has returned to Anfield. Actually, when Fowler scored that 3rd goal for Manchester City against the Scums about a week or so ago, I was already wondering if it would be a good move to get him back to Liverpool. This topic has also been discussed at length (in a hypothetical scenario then) in the LFC website forum, and there have been very mixed comments. For me personally, each time the topic is brought up, my response was that he is way past his prime. Fowler is not the 'God' of old. But then again, strangely enough, when I read the news this morning, I was happy. Perhaps it is because how Djbril Cisse proved himself to be that bad against the Scums last week. Perhaps I am still emotionally enchanted by the way that Fowler scored at ease in the mid-90s. Perhaps I am still hoping, against my rational belief, that Rafa can somehow bring Fowler back to where he used to be. Hopefully, this will be the case.

The title of this blog reads "Liverpool FC". To me, that comes with it an obligation to speak my mind about the 2 teams that I absolutely detest. Any football fan will be able to tell, at this stage, that I am referring to MANURE and CHELSKI. To be honest, I don't dislike the latter half as much as I hate the former. And to be accurate, too, I don't dislike the Manure players (except for a few); what I really can't stand are the supporters. Manure supporters for obscure reasons have been brought up to bask in the glory of the team's successes in the 90s. Most are but glory-hunters. They can't accept when Manure loses, and they start to criticise their team. Some of their so-called supporters (and I say it with my conscience intact) have turned into Chelskian fans in the last 2 seasons!! I guess what drives me to sometimes having homicidal instincts against the Manure fans is that when Manure wins, they behave like such arseholes (although they are, in reality, arseholes), behave in such a detestable and cocky manner, as if they were indeed that good. I have some colleagues who support Manure, and to be honest, deep in my heart, I hate some of them to the core. If ever anyone of them gets murdered, I might well be the murderer. There is one particular ex-colleague whom I absolutely hate, and he supports Manure. He is a typical know-little-about-football person who claims to support a team (Manure in this case), who pretends to cry when Manure loses, but who is at best a fair-weather Manure supporter. He is detestable. If not for the fact that he is married and have a kid, I think he should be shot. He is quite intelligent, but I find him a disgrace to mankind.

Now, on to Chelski. I am becoming more and more neutral towards them, actually. But a worrying tendency is when I read what their supporters post on LatestGoals.net. They are becoming like Manure supporters, who brag about their brilliance each time they win. Really, touch my heart, Liverpool supporters don't do such things. We get ecstatic when Liverpool wins, but we share our joy with fellow Liverpool supporters, rather than expend our energies to taunt rival supporters and prove ourselves to be arseholes at the same time. There was a period of time when i detested Moron, and that was last year when he put his finger to his lip to tell the Pool supporters to be quiet when Chelski equalised. But since then, I guess I have to admit that he is a great manager, just as he has moulded a great team. This is a fact. And I think that for Liverpool to pip Chelski from the Premiership table (not this season but next), Rafa's tactical genuis, coupled with some Chelskian complacency, is paramount.

Ok, so much for football for now. Football is something which gets me irrational - as you can tell from the references to murder, and so on - although I am in the main a rather rational and sensible person. I guess I don't like to be provoked or taunted.

Ok, since I don't have much more to say for now, I will call it a day...

My first time.

2006-01-28T12:54:00.000+08:00

This is the first time that i am writing a blog. Guess it's a good idea, since i tend to think too much, and sometimes choose not to say it, and if i keep it to myself i may go mad. I don't know what kinds of things i will write in here. Guess it really would cover anything and everything, depending on what occupies my mind on that particular day. For today, let's start with a self-introduction.

I am a systematic person, and i think i can write well. Problem is, one of the guidelines for writing is to know what the intent is. So i ask myself, is this blog going to serve merely as an autobiography, or do i aim to let others read my blog, and hopefully revert with some comments? As in many things in my life, i have no answer. I guess, again, it depends on my mood that day.

As i was writing the second paragraph, i was struck by how slowly, and boringly, my blog is unfolding. Which makes me wonder, then, how many people would actually bother to read it? What is there to interest people who have completely no clue about me, to read something that i am writing? Maybe, as what my nick would suggest, i'd like to think that anyone who are inclined to think about thoughts, or who are interested in how a human mind processes thoughts, may well be interested in my blog. My excuse for how boring my blog seems to be unfolding is that i am, in fact, writing out the stream of cosciousness - the flow of thoughts within one's mind at every moment - that everyone goes through all the time. Our minds do not process thoughts systematically at all, and it is a fact that we jump from one thought to another.

By the way, just by way of introducing myself further, i was an English literature student in my Junior College days, and a psychology graduate having did my post-grad in the UK.

Which leads me to the thought, should i write enough on this blog that would allow friends to expose my real identity, or should i keep such factual information to a minimum so that i can continue to write in confidentiality. Difficult choice. If there is to be any semblance of reality and life in this blog, i guess i have to reveal more. And yet, if i reveal more, i will be constrained from saying the innermost thoughts and feelings about myself, some of which i obviously would not want my friends to know. Tough one which, again, i shall refrain from committing for now. My suspicion, though, is that i would soon write more and more, and if there were anyone truly interested to read on, he would no doubt be able to converge the information and conclude that it is I who is the author of this blog.

There had been a pause before i write this paragraph, as i had gone out. One of the challenges of writing where you left off earlier is, using the term i mentioned earlier, to continue on the stream of consciousness, which had been lost. In any case, one of the thoughts when i was driving just now, was that perhaps i should rename the title of this posting from 'my first time' to 'stream of consciousness', which is what i have been doing all these while. Maybe, but strangely i can't find the title of this posting for me to edit now. Sigh, perhaps 'My First Time' is the correct title after all.

Just to introduce myself further, i am in my late 20s. Is that old? The 30, 40 and 50-somethings say to me i am still young. And yet, ironically enough, they are the ones who tell their kids to call me 'uncle'. On the other hand, the younger ones in their teens and early 20s mostly call me by name or some more affectionately as 'kor', but yet they are the ones who generally see my as being older. That's an irony, isn't it? To me, it just shows that when somebody comments on whether any person is old, he makes that comment based on a comparison with his own age. That's why 30 somethings say to me i am young. But, when it comes to asking their kids to address me, i am an 'uncle' just as much as they are. There you go, the inconsistencies of human beings.

I guess i will end off my first blog here. Time for lunch, on the eve of Chinese New Year. I am a singaporean, by the way, and my brother is now home for reunion lunch, and later dinner too. I half suspect that the novelty of blogging will mean that after lunch, i might be at this again. After all, i am usually fascinated by new things, although that fascination may not last long. Oh yes, but whether i post another piece later depends on whether i am asked to form the last mahjong kaki by my dad, mum and brother. I don't gamble, but with my family, i don't mind, since 'the waters do not flow elsewhere'. Well, it's CNY after all.

I would love it if only i get comments after i come back. It's abit like how i get excited when my things on eBay or Yahoo auctions are bidded for. So, speak to me!

Ok, really gotta go now.