Let’s just accept the fact that we all know what it looks like and that it is not. If you still want to pretend you’re Tony Hawk on YouTube without burning a hole in your wallet, check out the review to see why this baby is the best deal.
Introduction
Action clips are all the rage now. Cause you know, Instagram’s video is making toilet selfies too mainstream. You have to show the world that you’re hip and sporty, recording yourself jumping off a yacht or waving hi to Nemo. But if you try that with your DSLR or phone, you’ll end up with more than an iBend.
That’s how action cameras came into the market. The ‘tough camera’ category has been on the rise for a few years, giving the capability to take underwater selfies so that you can ‘check in’ at the pool. It lasts a few drops but you’ll still think twice before bringing it skydiving. Action cameras are the cockroaches of cameras - built to survive just about anything.
Why this particular camera?
- Inside the box
When you unbox the small package, you’ll be overwhelmed with what you’ll find (much like your Asian boyfriend). It includes every attachment you can think of, so much till I don’t even know what to call them. And since it has the same dimensions as its more famous twin, their mounts are cross compatible, allowing greater possibilities.
- Features
It’s very much like a point and shoot camera - switch it on and toggle through video, camera, playback and settings mode with all the basic features. With just four buttons, operation is as idiot-proof as it gets (though idiots always prove me otherwise). Most importantly, there’s a LCD screen to QC your selfies! For the more savvy, here’s a roundup:
•Field of view: 170 degree wide-angle fisheye
•Display: 1.5” LCD
•Storage: Up to 64GB micro SD, no built-in memory
•Frame rate: 1080p at 60fps
•Image sensor: 12 megapixel CMOS
•Waterproof: Up to 30m (with waterproof casing)
Design
Unlike the ‘pro’ counterpart, you can match this with your outfit as it comes in an assortment of colours. It is small enough for single right hand operation, as most guys would be adept at. Keep in mind that it's the waterproof housing that gives it its durability, so always use protection before you play.
Performance and Test Run
- Off-road
You have to play real life Tetris to fit the right attachments together for your intended use. There’s helmet mounts, clip-on mounts, and handlebar mounts, depending on your sport du jour. Some of them require you to mount it without its protective cover, and we all know what playing without protection leads to.
- Underwater
There’s no configuration needed when using it in different terrain - just switch it on and shoot. Other than for the important task of taking underwater selfies, this ability is highly useful for water sportsmen to take never-seen-before footages of them in action for review.
Being tougher than the average tough cam, this baby goes 30m deep, so yes you can take that selfie with Nemo. Audio is still surprisingly good underwater; if for some reason you decide to scream in your diving mask. Just like your equipment, remember to take off protection and clean it before repeated use.
From the footages and snapshots, the camera is indeed HD quality. Sometimes you do get some blurriness, but that’s more due to dirt/condensation on the lens instead of the inferior image processor. Audio is impressive, even in its casing, so you can hear all those testosterone grunts in all its full stereo glory.
Verdict
By the time you read this, the camera will be available for less than SGD150, making it a steal compared to any branded action camera. The cross-compatible accessories allow flexibility for whatever crazy stunts you can imagine. Maybe you might want to wait for the upcoming built-in Wi-Fi model, though even at this configuration, you’d be hard pressed not to skip a night of clubbing for that awesome shot.
Writer: M. Farhan Rais (@iisgHAN)
Farhan believes that if your boyfriend doesn't do sports, then you have a girlfriend. When not kindling his affairs with the gym and his mountain bike, he can be found wearing little at the pool, beach or Singapore's scenic fake water bodies. A tech geek at heart, he is easily tamed by offerings of hipster gourmet coffee.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wee Kim - 53, a bathhouse customer
Alan - 20, a bathhouse customer
[The roof of a bathhouse. Evening. A young boy, Alan is sitting on a bench, smoking. An old man, Wee Kim sit next to him. Silence. Wee Kim takes a few glances at Alan. Silence.]
Wee Kim: What time did you reach here?
Alan: [Silent]
Wee Kim: [Smiles to himself. Looks at Alan] You...
Alan: What time did I reach here. did I come here alone, what time am I leaving, where do I live, how many rounds already...
Wee Kim: [Startled] Sorry?
Alan: Try something new.
Wee Kim: I...
Alan: Be direct. You want to have sex is it?
Wee Kim: Are you asking me?
Alan: I'm asking for you.
Wee Kim: But I wasn't going to ask that.
Alan: Then?
Wee Kim: I wanted to ask for the time.
Alan: That's nice. But I don't have a watch.
Wee Kim: Which is why I asked what time you reached here.
Alan: I don't know.
Wee Kim: So do you...
Alan: No.
Wee Kim: You don't know what I'm going to ask.
Alan: Whatever it is, the answer is no.
Wee Kim: OK.
Alan: So?
Wee Kim: So... what?
Alan: Aren't you going to leave me alone?
Wee Kim: If that;s what you want me to do.
Alan: OK.
[Wee Kim is about to leave. But he turns around an addresses Alan again.]
Wee Kim: Sorry.
Alan: [Irritated] Yah?
Wee Kim: I didn't get your name.
Alan: Why would you want to know my name?
Wee Kim: I'm Wee Kim. [He extends his hand to Alan]
Alan: Alvin. [He doesn't shake Wee Kim's hand]
Wee Kim: Real name?
Alan: No.
[An attracted Young Man enters the space. He starts to walk around the area, casting glances at both Wee Kim and Alan. Wee Kim smiles at him. Alan tries to look nonchalant. The Young Man leaves.]
Wee Kim: How old are you?
Alan: Look, I'm old enough to be your son, OK?
Wee Kim: You mean I'm old enough to be your father.
Alan: I'm really not into dirty old man. Please.
Wee Kim: That's good.
Alan: I mean it.
Wee Kim: I'm an old man. Sure. I'm 52. But where did the dirty part come from?
Alan: The only reason the management lets people like you in is because you have to ay higher prices than all of us. You walk around, trying to grope the people in the dark rooms. You take up the space in the cubicles for sleeping because you can't get anyone, and please don't deny it beceause I can hear all the snoring.
Wee Kim: Actually, it's my first time here.
Alan: You should make it your last.
Wee Kim: I don't know. The people here have too much attitude.
Alan: Please. It's something else if you looked like that guy just now.
Wee Kim: You like him? He's your type?
Alan: Why would you care if he's my type?
Wee Kim: He is, right?
Alan: Look. I'm 20. By definition that's young. You were young too. And you had your time. Now it's my time.
Wee Kim: If I told you that the boy looked like me when I was young, would you believe me?
Alan: You're asking me to imagine.
Wee Kim: Yes.
Alan: I didn't pay 10 dollars to come here to imagine. If something is there, it's there. If it's not, it's not.
Wee Kim: I had my time.
Alan: Yes.
Wee Kim: But during my time we didn't have places like these.
Alan: And is that my fault?
Wee Kim: Why do you sound so angry?
Alan: Because you don't seem to get the idea. As long as you're hanging around, nobody's going to come up to me. You saw that guy just now. He walked around, then he left.
Wee Kim: So why don't you go after him?
Alan: I don't do the chasing here.
Wee Kim: Well, you should pretend to chase him. And if he responds, you can pretend nothing happened. And then you let him chase you.
Alan: I know what I'm doing.
Wee Kim: You've all lost the art of playing the game.
Alan: Who?
Wee Kim: Your generation.
Alan: I don't like games where people don't understand what a 'no' means.
Wee Kim: During my time, we knew how to flirt.
Alan: You said there weren't places like these.
Wee Kim: Of course there weren't. But we had Pebble Bar. Treetops. At hotels along Orchard Road. A lot of Ang Moh's. They'd give us money and presents. At that time if you were gay, you could either be those at kwa's on Bugis Street, or you could be one of those boys at Orchard Road, who were more Westernised, who could speak English. They called us the Orchard Road Queens.
Alan: But being gay doesn't mean you have to be a queen.
Wee Kim: At that time, how we know? We just did whatever was the attractive in the eyes of the Ang Moh's. Shaved our legs. We went tanning. They liked dark-skinned boys. You know how much some of us can earn in one month? $200. That was a lot of money.
Alan: So, what, you all started out like some kind of... male prostitutes?
Wee Kim: The money was just a bonus. But we enjoyed what we were doing. And then later, in the 80s, there was Hong Lim Park, Fort Road. But at that time I wasn't too active. I got married. Got one son. And then my wife died.
Alan: Go and write a book.
Wee Kim: At that time, 30 already, not married, you just invite people to gossip. So, what to do, my Mother chose the bride, I just followed. Last time not like now. Cannot argue with your parents. Last time we respected people older than us.
Alan: Just because you respect people doesn't mean you have to sleep with them!
Wee Kim: I never asked if I could sleep with you.
Alan: Then why did you come up to me for?
Wee Kim: I just wanted to talk.
Alan: But at the end of the day, you're just going to ask me to go into some cubicle with you, right? But let me tell you something. My generation has self-respect. We don't have to package ourselves for any Ang Moh's. You can flash $200 in front of my face right now and I still won't sleep with you.
Wee Kim: Why are you getting so angry?
Alan: This is a spa. Everyone is here for sex. Nobody comes here just for the chance to walk around in towels, because you can do that at home! Don't give me that bullshit about getting to know me better, asking me the time, because I've heard it all already.
Wee Kim: So you're saying I'm not allowed to come here to talk to people?
Alan: I'm really wasting my time with you.
Wee Kim: So you're here just to look for sex?
Alan: If you really want to hear it, yes. Like that guy over there who;s been staring at you for the last few minutes.
Wee Kim: [Looks at where Alan is looking] He's looking at you.
Alan: No. Please. He's your age. He's staring at you.
Wee Kim: No, really. See? He's trying to smile at you.
Alan: Oh my God. Thanks to you I've now become a magnet for uncles.
Wee Kim: He just wants to talk to you.
Alan: I think talking to one uncle in one night is enough for me.
[Alan stands up to leave. He adjusts his towel.]
Wee Kim: Don't you want anything more?
Alan: More than what?
Wee Kim: Than sex.
Alan: Like what?
Wee Kim: You tell me. It's 30 years since I had my first encounter with another man. This Ang Moh tourist. In a hotel. I felt something for him. I even felt like going back to where he lived, but I knew he wouldn't ask me. It seemed at that time that if you wanted to follow your heart, you had to follow it to some other country. So the only thing we could have that was closest to a relationship was sex. It doesn't take long. Just one night. Because the next day they'll be gone.
[The attractive Young Man appears again. This time, Alan moves away from Wee Kim and parks himself at another spot. The young man cruises Alan, and then walks towards Wee Kim. He smiles at Wee Kim, and then he gestures to Wee Kim to indicate that he will be waiting 'downstairs'. The Young Man leaves.]
Alan: I don't believe this.
Wee Kim: It's been 30 years. And what has changed? Now you have places like this. It's so much easier to meet people like yourself. You deserve better. You have every right to demand something more than a one-night-stand.
Alan: Can you please stop talking?
Wee Kim: You don't like to hear what I'm saying.
Alan: I don't like to listen to you, and I don't like to look at you. Don't you understand? 30 years. 30 years from now and I'll be just like you.
Wee Kim: And you're scared of that?
Alan: An old man in a sauna? What kind of fate is that? Where's the dignity? And I see myself like this one day, wrapped in a towel, my stomach sticking out, a bald patch on my head, wrinkles... and liver spots... looking at all the young ones, my hands crawling near to them, begging for a chance...
Wee Kim: It doesn't have to be that way. You could settle down with someone.
Alan: Sometimes when I look at old men like you walking around me, I tell myself I want to die before I'm 40.
[The attractive Young Man appears. He looks at Wee Kim.]
Wee Kim: Five minutes and I'll join you, OK?
[The Young Man leaves.]
Alan: How much did you pay him?
Wee Kim: I just paid for his entrance.
Alan: 10 dollars? He must be pretty desperate.
Wee Kim: I pay for a lot of other things too. His school fees, his clothes, his food.
Alan: You're lucky then. You have money to support a young boy. But what if I get old, and earn barely enough to support myself? How do I find a lover young enough to make me forget how old I've become?
Wee Kim: Oh, that boy isn't my lover.
Alan: He's not?
Wee Kim: My lover is actually the other guy who smiled at you. We've been together for about 20 years now. I met him a year after my wife passed away.
Alan: And the boy?
Wee Kim: I told you my wife gave birth to a boy. That's him. Me and my lover raised him together. He's our son. Of course we never expected him to turn out gay. But since he did, so be it.
Alan: Your son?
Wee Kim: His name's Edwin. We're pretty proud of him. He entered OCS just last month. It was his idea to come here actually. As a kind of family outing. He's never been to such a place before.
Alan: I don't believe this. A family outing.
Wee Kim: Edwin's a bit shy. So just now he asked me to come and talk to you. You see, while you're here looking for your one-night-stand, I was here looking for a son-in-law. But you're right. This isn't the best place to look for someone to settle down with.
Alan: So you were going to introduce me to your son?
[The attractive Young Man appears.]
Young Man: Pa. Uncle Heng has dressed up already. He's waiting downstairs. he wants to take us for supper.
Wee Kim: I'm coming.
Alan: Wait, wait. [Pause] Can I give you my number?
Wee Kim: What for?
Alan: I know I might look really desperate now, but I didn't know where you were coming from, and...
Wee Kim: It's all right.
Alan: I'd never met a gay family before.
Wee Kim: [Smiles] You have all the time in the world to make your own. You're still young. [Turns to leave] It's nice meeting you. [Pause] Alvin.
[Alan watches Wee Kim leave. Alan sighs. He lights up a cigarette.]
Virgin experience writing a product review! Wrote half of it in deprivation during ICT, so the result is rather... amusing. Even if you don't care about the product, the review is still a worthwhile read. Check out the original article here:
Its been a while since we last reviewed a running gear and so here we are pounding the trails just to get you in the know of NewBalance's latest trail running shoe - the FreshFoam 980 Trail (S$169)! But should you trade in your running shoes for one of these? Read more to find out.
Pounding the pavement sometimes leaves you with smoke in the face, given Singapore’s traffic. And going round the track or staying on the treadmill reminds me too much of my dead hamster (that poor soul). Or if you’re like me, bound to the water, I have little business being out of my element. Except to take $400 from the government for the yearly IPPT.
Okay, I lied. I hit the track every other night with tears streaming in my wake cause it helps keep the weight down. If any of these sounds familiar to you (if it is, I’m totally judging), then you probably need an exciting alternative to keep you on your feet.
Why this particular pair?
Introducing trail running - taking the age-old familiar sport off the road onto all new terrain. Trail running offers a more scenic alternative, allowing you to enjoy Singapore’s many parks and park connectors. The change in terrain would also mean that you would need shoes that are better suited for it.
This pair is designed exactly for that. Right out of the box, which looks like you excavated it out from MacRitchie, you’ll find an insert that offers some tips and suggestions on the trails to explore in Singapore.
Comfort and Fit
Putting it on, you can immediately tell why it falls under the ‘maximal’ category, contrasting from the ‘minimal’ a la Vibram FiveFingers. Other than the very visible sole, the Trail version packs more cushioning so inserting your foot into it feels snug and tight.
Feel and Touch
The ‘Fresh Foam’ midsole aims at providing superior comfort. Just take a step, and you’ll feel that bounce. Oh the bounce! Brings to mind some lewd images. What this wonderful bounce gives you is a soft and supple (oh the puns) feel regardless of the terrain, making the transition between road and trail feel seamless.
Design
Typically full cushioned shoes appear big (that’s what she said) due to the bottom support. The shoe has abundant sexy curves - convex hexagon at the heel with a concave mid foot, which helps maintain the bouncy cushioned movement. All that is packed in a surprisingly small package (that’s not what she said) with loud, luminous colours that will match your Illumi Run outfit perfectly.
Performance and Test Run
The recent opening of Jurong Eco Park was a perfect opportunity to test out the shoes. Straight out the door, I can feel the added support, which is important for people like me with leg injuries. To test it's capabilities off road, I took it to some lesser-known dirt tracks that fellow infantrymen would be familiar with.
At first I was a bit apprehensive about the traction, but the ridged studded bottom fared rather well on wet grass and mud. Splashing into puddles is also fine, as the upper meshing drains fairly quickly. All that padding does mean that it isn't as airy as those ultra light shoes, so it gets a little stuffy beyond mid-distance. Marching back, I wish these came in combat versions as standard SAF issue.
Verdict
Living in an iconic garden city, it would be a waste not to explore the greenery that's behind every corner. There's no better way to do that than with FreshFoam 980 Trail that's the right tool for the job. If you're looking for subtle, maybe the colours are a bit loud. Though it's a good safety feature as you explore the dark trails at night. Unless you're... Never mind.
Available at all New Balance Concept Stores and selected authorized retailers.
Writer: M. Farhan Rais (@iisgHAN)
Farhan believes that if your boyfriend doesn't do sports, then you have a girlfriend. When not kindling his affairs with the gym and his mountain bike, he can be found wearing little at the pool, beach or Singapore's scenic fake water bodies. A tech geek at heart, he is easily tamed by offerings of hipster gourmet coffee.
Not letting the lack of a date ruin Valentine's day, I shamelessly made a reservation for one at a Japanese restaurant that I've been wanting to check out. I was prepared to be consigned to some dark corner but surprisingly the kind waitress assigned a whole table for four all to myself. Perhaps with all the couple reservations, the larger tables were left empty for once.
This isn't a food blog, so I'm not reviewing the place, but suffice to say that the assortment from the a la carte buffet kept me beaming. So there I was, sitting happily with plates of sashimi, waiting to be blasted by the amorous vibes in the air and peek at some under table action. But it never came.
Instead as I looked around, the couples were seemingly underwhelming. They appeared more interested in the menu and tapping away on their smartphones. They can't all be those socially awkward couples who text each other on dates. It's one thing to be using your phone among your friends, but to do that in a one on one setting is just putting 'uninterested' in neon.
The real happy people were the families. Maybe mummy and daddy wanted to reminisce their dating days and pretended that the kids were really annoying cupids. And the odd tables for one, of which I wasn't the only one. We gave each other the polite nod, but none approach each other cause we were all giving the 'I'm here to enjoy my quiet dinner, don't make it awkward' look.
That got me thinking if it's necessary to have a significant other to be happy. It clearly wasn't working for the case study I observed. Then what really is the point of a relationship.
I can say that I had a lovely Valentine's day - spent at one of my favourite places, working and doing the things I love, eating my favourite foods, and texting to friends I care about to catch up (probably triggered by my interesting Instagram post). It even ended with a nice dessert (that's a story for another day, and kind of goes against my point of solo pleasure, pun intended).
So to all couples out there, I hope you find happiness with your better half. Else I'm not sure what's the point. And to my future significant other, I hope you are just as happy as I am. Cause I'm not sacrificing mine for yours, and if we were to be together we better bring something more to the table.
It was the day of the dragon boat PM Cup. I was only there to support the canoeists (yeah, funny story) and of course, the eye candy. They did well, but it was the db guys who we were really looking out for. They’ve trained hard to take back what was once theirs. From the start they had a good lead. But alas, at the literal last second, the reigning champion NUS burst forth to take home the title.
The race was incontestably fair, and everybody bore witness to the reason that made the champions who they are. But these db guys has put in no less effort. Whatever little that made them lost was unfathomable to them. And it shows on their faces.
The db guys are easily the most intimidating bunch in school. To see these behemoths openly crying seems like a distortion in the world. And to know the story behind it, you can’t help but feel their heart-wrenching pain.
Tears were spilled in a solemn exchange of words and shaking of hands by the entire team. Coach asked me to join in, so I found myself in an awkward position. Nonetheless, with every hand I shook I felt the tremor of conviction and the genuine quiver of disappointment.
At the end of it, the juniors were told to remember - the taste of defeat and the sniff of victory when they were that close. For there will be a next time for some of them, and training for it will start tomorrow. There are some poisonous words for athletes, one of them being 365 days left till the next competition. One day less is one day closer, if you’re not training for it your opponent will. And you never end a competition saying you’ll train harder. You’ve trained as hard as you can this time and likewise for every competition.
All these reminds me of my own battle in lifesaving, how we’re picking up the pieces year in and out. I miss making every competition matter, having gave it my all and putting all I’ve got on the line. I miss having a team that matters with me.
During NS in unit, there was a dilemma at the start with the men. How do you make people with nothing to lose follow you for a common cause? Eventually, I learnt that people with nothing to lose will always lose.
So I gave my men something.
I gave them a section that bonded, I gave them whatever care I could blanket them with and I gave them what little knowledge I had. I gave them my all. And in return, they showed me unnerving loyalty.
“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.”
So at the end of nationals I won’t be the one saying well done, good job. At the end and beginning of the next, I will apologise.
Once upon a time, I wrote. Spun tales, mock idiosyncrasies. And there was joy in the world, I felt human.
Then life has a knack of making one forget, pandemonium broke loose. Life went up and down, down to the deepest caverns beyond light’s reach. Where layers after layers get stripped off and you don’t know what you’re left with. All around there was only sorrow.
At the bottom, the only way is back up.
So I write as a memento mori - to remember the face of my father, and in memory of a comrade who left tragically. I write to remember who I was, who I am and who I will be.
The pages of Norwegian Wood was slightly damp
due to the rain it endured. Yet its pages still enthralled me with Haruki
Murakami's story that I would briefly summarise as about sex and suicide. It
wasn't much but it provided much needed amusement for me and the bunch of
testosterone-overloaded and deprived men that I narrated to. Once again I lay
on the sponge mattress after more than a week to fully enjoy the novel. That morning
was the end of a long exercise that marked the end of blazing 40 degrees sun
and midnight marches. I had my reservations about the performance of my
trainees for the last mission, but I shrugged it off to allow them a moment of
peace. The chapter started with the suicide of its protagonist's love interest. Then I got the call.
It was from a blocked number, so I had no idea
where it originated. Initially all I could hear was static. Then there was loud
sobbing in the background before the caller hung up. That was it. I was left
puzzled by the call. I got a sudden chill as the snippet of noise eerily
conjured a horrid image of a mourning crowd in my mind. I quickly brushed away
the image to get back to my protagonist's sorrows.
Again, the phone rang. The reception from 6472
kilometres away was poor, but I could faintly discern that the sobbing was from
my mother, among others. Through her cries, I made out one clear statement -
“Farhan, ayah baru meninggal.” She carried on with disjointed accounts of how it
led up to the incident. Frustrated with the distorted speech, I asked her to
pass the phone to my sister. All I got from her was a verification of the
incident. Without much thought, I let them hang up.
There was nothing but the silence of resting
bodies and the air of satisfaction over the exercise's completion around me. My
hand trembled, my heart raced, but my mind remained clear. Nothing at all. I
checked the time on my watch. It would be around 6.30am where she called me
from. I let the thought of a cool dawn breeze wash over me. Nothing happened,
only a short call in the middle of a perfectly quiet morning.
Then it hit me.
- retrieve last call - establish point of
contact - take down details - inform superiors - make travel arrangements -
check flight timings - calculate transfer costs - pack all luggage - sort hand
carry - check local relatives - recall insurance coverage - contact travel
agency - laundry being washed - assessment sheet unfilled - call credit balance
-
A torrent of thoughts drowning me like a
tsunami. My own mind, the tool that allows me to work with ruthless, organised
efficiency is playing itself out. Mental notes were being taken, calculations
were processed and thoughts were reorganised. I let my mind do what it does
best, but my conscience lay in wait. Where was the sadness, the sorrow, the
breaking down as realisation sinks in? Was I still stuck in the first stage of
grief? I'm not even in the country and my father just died overseas for God's
sake! But none of that came. All that I could think of were these mundane
thoughts making their own way through my mind. On the way to the canteen, I
tweeted - 'What are you supposed to think about when someone close dies?'.
Before, I ever wondered how I would be like when someone close dies. Would my
cold, ruthless self remain or would a shred of humanity make an appearance. Now
I know.
Facing my colleagues was a slight challenge. It
became tiring to keep up the jumpy, bitchy facade. Remaining composed was the
most I could put up without dropping to the coldness underneath. One of them
followed me on my way to pack my things. He praised my strength and offered me
a prayer. The moment he touched me I felt my walls crumble and the hard
exterior cracked. I hate those pure of heart and clear conscience, they strip
me and leave me nothing but human. I quickly tried to disengage him, but not
before my eyes watered and I caught a glimpse of the hollowness within me.
070611 1800hrs – Bangkok
City, Thailand
From a distance, the Bangkok Mega Bridge was a
sight to behold. Its supporting columns look like sky-reaching solitary towers,
making your awe disregard its purpose and massiveness. Only when we approached
the structure did I realise that it was in fact a bridge. Passing through this
manmade beauty, I suddenly whimpered and my vision blurred. As soon as it came
it was gone. This was one of several brief outbursts that occurred throughout
the journey to the airport. Initially, the duty clerk accompanying me was
visibly disturbed, but he knew better than to ask.
The first and only song that came to mind was this:
Do you feel cold and lost in
desperation? You build up hope, but failure’s all
you’ve known. Remember all the sadness and frustration. And let it go. Let it go.
Perhaps I was still in denial, but I never
conveyed the news directly to any friends or relatives back home. Whoever knew
probably picked up that fact from my usual ambiguous rant on Twitter or from
the condolences on my Facebook page. Strangely, it was cheaper and more
convenient to use the internet than to call overseas, hence social networking
became the natural choice. Besides, I needed to burn off the prepaid credits.
The mocha I was sipping at the airport Starbucks seemed to have lost its
flavour. Only then did I realise that I
skipped lunch due to the hussle back in camp. I waved to the barista to heat up
a chocolate muffin. Flashing a smile in return, she brought it over since there
was no other customer to attend to. Before heading for the boarding gate, I
went to perform the evening prayer. As the unnaturally cold water flowed over
my hands, my body moved by itself to perform ablution. After the salam at the
end of the prayer, my vision blurred. With a deep breath, I turned to face the
other people praying and my eyes became clear again.
070611 1543hrs – Mecca, Saudi Arabia
The town went still. The call to prayer from
the Grand Mosque echoed into the horizon signalling the afternoon prayer.
Everything would halt as the city would pray in unison, regardless of where
they were and what they were doing. This was the scene from my memory of the
holy city of Mecca twelve years ago, and it would probably be the same now. At
the Ka’bah, at the centre of the Grand Mosque where all Muslims pray towards, a
more solemn occasion would begin after the daily prayer. It was not an uncommon
sight, but today from 7268 kilometres away I was there in spirit. Upon the
Ka’bah, at the center of the religion of Islam, by the footprints of the
Prophet, lay the body of my father.
080611 0025hrs – Changi Airport, Singapore
There were some close friends waiting for me at
the airport. I couldn’t be bothered to start a domestic drama by calling a
relative. They probably didn’t know I was back in Singapore. Talking to my
friends, everything seemed normal again. We went for supper and everything was
perfectly fine. It was like that for the next week, going out with friends and
going about my everyday life. There was no crying mother or a hoard of
relatives at home. I kept the house in my preferred clinical sanitary condition
and looked through the insurance papers with a morbid curiousity. Other than
the occasional calls chasing for the death certificate, it would have been
nothing more than a quiet week all by myself.
090611 1945hrs – Tahlil, aunt’s home
Every Thursday night, it was religiously
customary to recite the Ya Sin, the 36th chapter of the Qur’an. That
evening, the paternal relatives had a small gathering for a remembrance
ceremony. There was an awkward moment as they greeted me, as if they were
expecting a dramatic breakdown or profound sorrow in my eyes. The whole scene
looked like a set up, with soft casual conversations and the aroma of food. I
was half expecting hidden cameras and somebody to pop out to declare that it
was all a big prank. I returned their greetings with the traditional handshake
and a curt nod. They gifted the Ya Sin, Al-Fateha and a prayer and as all Malay
gatherings go, proceeded with a hearty meal.
I was never much of a believer, prefering the
agnostic view, contrary to my religious upbringing. When the ceremony started
however, I felt a stirring from within. The Arabic words rolled off my tongue
and I used the book only as a reminder. It was akin to how the Prophet received
the first word of the Qur’an. “Iqra, speak!”, said Gabriel, and the Prophet
spoke the first verse of the Qur’an. Perhaps this was what it meant to be as a
disbeliever yet an instrument of God. Always having the curiousity to doubt,
without the wisdom to clear them. But entrenched deep within is the knowledge
and muscle memory of the religion. I recited the Ya Sin smoothly, as if it was
only yesterday that I last read it. So this was what the religious scholars
meant when they refer to the true form of the Qur’an. Not in print, nor in the
words spoken, but in its very definition – the Recital, with meaning coming
from within the very essence of your soul.
If I was asked to deliver a eulogy that night,
I would have been dumbfounded. What would I say about a man I hardly knew. I
have nothing against my family, especially my father, just that we were never
close and he was a particularly quiet man. I make it a point in life not to
live with regrets, always looking forward. But I know that in the corner of my
mind was the desire to know the person who brought me up. In a fantasy that I
recall, I was resting my head by my father’s side on his deathbed, and he would
tell me about life growing up at the kampong, what he was like when he was a
teenager and how he got to know my mother. As I sat in front of the lake
writing this, I half-wished that the scene would play out in the reflection of
the water. But I know this would never be, and my tears would only dry up,
leaving the whole bittersweet scene as nothing but a figment of my imagination.
So here I am in Singapore, sitting by the lake
with the moon reflecting off the water, after having rushed a week ago from
Thailand, and the rest of my family still in Saudi Arabia. In a tale of three
cities, I offer to end with what some might call a prayer, but others a plea.
In
the name of God, most gracious, most merciful.
Dear
God, accept me for my sins. It is by your will that I came to be and to you I
will return. I may turn away from you but you are regardless a living presence
in the core of my being. I will always be an instrument of your will, the hand
of God. I do not expect fairness from this world but taking my father back is
still cruel. If you declare that it is his time, I can do nothing but accept. As
how we welcome new birth, we must accept death. It is with thanks that you take
him back in the most perfect of conditions. Thank you for inviting him to your
holy city three times. Thank you for allowing him to share in the footsteps of
the Prophet. Thank you for giving him a resting place among the holy. He is
yours to take back, but I ask that you keep him with you among respectable
company, at the highest of thrones. I ask that you wash him free from sins and
let him watch over me. Until it is my time to return and await your judgement.
When I awoke on 10 January last year, I awoke to a bunk full of strangers and an even stranger surrounding. I've just been robbed of my civilian freedom and thrust into the confined of National Service. More than a year later I awake to yet a different ceiling, a strange new surrounding, the same differences but a pleasant role reversal. This time the old camou uniforms have been swapped with snazzy pixelised ones adorned with ranks and badges, no longer stowed offshore but still at the fringes of civilisation and the lecturer whining about bunk layout is me.
How much yet little things have hanged since I lacked all that hair. Pity I did not pen down the whirlwind of events, though my comrades would agree that donning the uniform stifles personal thoughts. 2009 has seen me swap ranks from white to black to white again, before concluding with my long overdue stripes. Bouncing between combat and support side has given me ample insight into the organisation. To pick a highlight of the year, nothing tops the two shopping sprees in Taipei. Oh, right, and of course the invaluable friendships forged through the sheesha haze and earthquakes while balancing on the edge of a mountain. And there's this leech I can't quite shake off.
After one year down the rollercoaster, it had now become my turn to put others through the ride. Since my ride has lasted longer than most, my twists and turns are about to end. Not before one last big jolt apparently. Regardless, now I have a bunch of young lads to gear up and teach how go hold their stomachs through the upcoming loop de loop. I'm just hoping what I have to offer gives then a good ride instead of their lunch on their laps.
As for this blog, I have consulted with Rafahn and we have both agreed to get this act together. Sure there won't be exciting weekday skives to gleefully report about, but if life throws you a bunch of bullets, you throw a bucketload of mortar rounds back. So despite how dull life in service might be, I will dutifully pen them here in the most entertainingly exaggerated way that I can.
Once again I awake from my 7 hours of uninterrupted rest. The ceiling might be new, but it is one that I have come to place ownership upon. One that many after me will stare at, with apprehension then acceptance.
This is the entry I submitted for the 'My BMT Experience' essay competition. I don't even know why I even bothered submitting the entry, since it's so full of politically incorrect statements. At least it'll make for a good laugh to those people censoring it. And it makes for another great blog post.
The first time I noticed the SAF 7 Core Values along the stretch at SFT was when I was being wheeled off on a stretcher to CGH. My eyes lingered on the last one; care for soldiers, and I knew right then that the SAF stuck true to its word. Then I took a glance at another value; fighting spirit, and it is because of this value that I return to BMTC as a recoursee.
Unlike most recruits, I have a more interesting BMT tale to tell due to my extended stay there. After one year of enlistment, I have heard accounts by my peers of POP to commissioning, from leadership batch and PTP batch, from commanders and men alike. Disappointingly, BMT held no more surprises for me. So what stops me from describing my BMT experience as 'sian' or its other synonyms? For me the answer lies in the motto of BMTC - Excel Through Basics.
There is a generalisation that those of the JC leadership batch are a protected lot, naive to the delinquency beyond their own bubble. What people do not realise is that there are also subtle discrepancies among them. One can quickly spot this when the recruits are brought back to their basics, that is to be rid of their civilian clothes and have their hair 'botak'. Suddenly the recruits reveal what they are truly like inside - a hidden 'garang' expression behind those spectacles or a scared look behind those heavy fringes. Seeing this first transformation again reminds me of the individuality of every person, and that it is the people who makes each BMT experience unique.
Like in a class, every platoon is never complete without its stereotypes. There are the clowns, the jocks, the pipsqueaks, the weirdoes, and since this is the army, there are also the 'wayang', the 'kilat' and the 'chao keng'. To be honest, my platoon was hardly the best performing platoon in the company. After numerous attempts, we still could not align our basha tents or be the first to fall in. Despite our shortcomings, we nonetheless displayed an audacity to persevere and continue until the end. Slowly but surely we overcame our flaws, and use them to our advantage. During my time as platoon IC, I recall bringing this up to the platoon. Since we insisted on walking and talking everywhere, I proposed that we stuck to it. And just like that, we out-walked and out-sang the other platoons during our march to the SITEST site, much to my ironic amusement. The commanders are also no different; each having their own quirks. Regardless, their consistent top-notch quality proves them true to their ranks. All of us shaped the platoon the way it is, and we would never have asked anyone else to replace us.
Of all the trying times in BMT, nothing came close to field camp. Six days of unclean uniforms, unchanged underwears, unbrushed teeth and uncleared bowels made up field camp. Top it up with the 'tekan' sessions and the heat and it tops the list of challenging things in BMT. That was when we were introduced to the art of digging a shell scrape. My section will never forget our digging experience, where we got frustrated not because of the exhaustion, but because of the futility of our digging. Everybody else seemed to have dug a better shell scrape than ours. Back at home my mother informed me, to my surprise and horror, that our shell scrape site used to be her 'kampung', and that it was a granite hill. That explains why we saw sparks when we struck our shell scrape. Besides this trial, there were other events which made field camp a highlight. Our commanders' demonstration of the battle course and a convoy ambush were a sight to behold, impressing us with the pyrotechnics and their professionalism. The thrill of urban operations, the early morning artillery drill turnout, the gruelling crawl through the BIC grounds and having the platoon sing my birthday song in 'knock it down' position all made field camp a memorable experience.
The 'lau jiao' all say that army is when you wait to rush and rush to wait. This anecdote brings about some phenomena, like the race of the food ICs before meals to 'chop' a place for the platoon, the race to the toilet after breakfast to get the seated cubicle for the morning excretion and the race to the front of the platoon before marches to avoid the constant running. Then there are also the SAF core values #08 and #09 - you can do anything but do not get caught and if you get caught, act blur. Recruits particularly adhere to this when they are apprehended for contraband, like chargers or PSPs, and especially when commanders give conflicting orders, letting them shoulder the blame instead. The 'lau jiao' also say that the food now is much better than back in the days when there were NSF cooks. From the compliments that my non-Muslim counterparts continually shower over my food, that is probably true. But what is treasured most during meal times is the boisterous light talk that cools us down, freshening us up for the next volley of fire from our commanders. I have come to recognise these idiosyncrasies as the defining points of NS life, taking its queerness as what makes military life different and enjoyable.
On the fast craft back to Tekong, you can always spot a common expression that asks 'why are we doing this?'. That is a question that will cross every NSF's mind at some point in time. One PC's answer was to protect our families back home. Another told me that it is to protect our comrades, to keep the people around us alive in times of war. I personally like one captain's answer - to protect the 'chio bu' on mainland. As a descendant of the very island I train on, I truly understand why NS exists. Singapore has endured and invested too much to ever resign our sovereignty. She has become our home, where we return to our loved ones. The medics' motto reads 'So They May Live'. I couldn't agree more.
Having been at both Ladang Camp and Rocky Hill Camp, designed the company t-shirt, parodied a platoon sergeant, took a shot at company best shot, swam for games day and seen two dud grenades detonate, I can honestly say that my BMT experience is complete. When the moment comes when I hear the words 'presenting our trained soldiers', I am confident that BMTC has equipped me with the qualities and skills needed to face future military life. Through trials and tribulations, BMTC has proven that the strength of the SAF lies not just in the abilities of the individual, but the combined strength of every son of Singapore. As I take my last fast craft ride back, I will look around and say that the people around me are those who I am glad to defend and trust as brothers in arms. These are the comrades who have learnt to excel through basics with me, on our journey to strive to be the best in the SAF.
Writing this feels surreal. And yes, I'm actually writing this paragraph manually with pen and paper to keep myself awake. Why though? After all, I'm still sitting in a lecture theatre in my uniform listening to a daunting lecture and occasionally sneaking a toilet break just to get away from the lecturer for a bit. Sounds just like a few months ago. Perhaps it's because I've swapped my college uniform for a chemo one, my lecturer's stripping a rifle instead of a poem and my lecture theare is 4 kilometres away from the shore of an island that isn't Singapore.
It definitely feels surreal when your surroundings drastically change within the span of days. At least it wasn't as drastic as last year. Within months, during the nights I would stare from my bedroom ceiling, to the night spots of Singapore, to the army bunk, to the hospital ward, then back to my lecture theatre. Disorienting would be an understatement. But it wasn't that bad this year, since I already knew what to expect, so the change didn't come as a shock.
Waking up to a different ceiling provokes a most curious response to different people. Being a morning bird, I had the chance to see the reactions of my section mates when they wake up. Some jolt awake in shock at the what-the-fuckness of the situation, their stares screaming how the hell did I get here. While others prefer to stay in denial and hope that snoozing for a few extra minutes will change the ceiling back to their familiar bedroom.
Most of all, staring at the ceiling of my bunk gives me a strange sense of reality. Penning down my thoughts seem surreal at first as it still felt like a deja vu, like I've been lifted off the pages of my life and re-reading it again from the previous chapter. But as the days pass, staring at this new ceiling feels strangely new. I'm waking up to a new day and getting closer where I previously left off.
Sure, the days will only get tougher and more unexpected, but what is life without a little thrill? I bet the Oracle from the Matrix lives her day rolling her eyes constantly from the boredom of knowing what comes next. So I start this new year proper, with a change in surrounding, physique (no more broken leg) and attitude. I start the day afresh from my 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep.
At the end of the A levels, I came up with a to-do list of activities, tasks and objectives that have to be met by the time I enlist. Just like Jim Carey in 'Yes Man', that list made me say yes to everything. And true to that film, it brought me to places and experiences that I would never have otherwise achieved. Say it once, say it twice, say it a million times more! Yes! Yes! Yes! It's quite an irony for the actor of Jigsaw in the Saw series to be playing a life coach in Yes Man, but the essence of the message is true. If you grab every opportunity that arises, you won't miss out on much.
Some people say that I'm living my last days as a civilian as if they truly are my last. I couldn't help but agree, seeing how my daily schedule quickly turns into a paradox as I try to cram in things. But I'm a man with a list to finish and not much time to do it. Some say I shouldn't rush everything, but why delay? Plan like you live forever, but live like there's no tomorrow, as a cancer patient once told me. Besides, it won't be long before I'm officially reaching adulthood and youth doesn't last forever.
When you set out with an objective to fill up every inch of your time, you'll realise that you don't really have to do all the planning. It would settle itself. For Christmas eve, I was more than set to spend it hibernating until Christmas morning since I was exhausted. Instead I woke up to a ringing phone with an invitation out on the line and six other text messages with similar invitations. There goes my hibernation plans.
I always thought that the closer it is to enlistment day, the slower time would seem to me, as what I experienced before. But this time it was really different. Time seems distorted in a way that it picks up momentum and speeds up, just that I'm having enhanced reflexes to pick up all the sensations along the way. It's a fantastically exhilarating experience to wake up in the morning to wake up to a text invitation in the morning, have brunch in town before you know it, off in the middle off the sea at midday, and end up having dinner across the straits at night.
All play and no work makes Jack a tired boy. A very tired one. While doing one fun stuff after another is a thrilling idea, actually doing them all consecutively is highly exhausting, as I've discovered. There were weeks when I would have less than ten hours of sleep for the entire week due to back to back chalets and midnight taunts. It came to a point when I was positively beaten senseless, but thinking back to stories from my diver friends of their 'hell week', I found it rather easy to brush them off aside.
With all that time and a dying pool of ideas, you start to look at every little creek of Singapore to squeeze whatever adventures and thrills it can offer. If you look carefully enough, you'd be amazed at what 'lil ol Singapore has to offer. There are still long stretches of greenery to cycle and trek at. And being an island city, there are numerous water sports like canoeing, wake boarding, sailing and parasurfing (I'm not sure what it's called, it's where you ride on a 'surf board' while being pulled by a parachute). This tropical metropolis even offer ice-skating and ice hockey for those who don't mind a chill. For group activities, there are a handful of boardgame cafes, karaoke lounges and LAN gaming centres to entertain the masses. See, outings don't have to be just about eating, even though that really is a Singaporean culture.
Some people get a little creeped out by this over-extrovertedness, as if I'm living the last day of my life. Well, it does seem like what a cancer patient would do. I guess if I were to die now, I'll die happy. But my personal motive was simply to connect back with the people that I have missed out on. Having a whole new school of friends, the exams to focus on, and now national service to face, I couldn't help but block out some people. However, it is not characteristic of me to disregard people, since I value friendship more than anything else in the world. There has to be some point in time where I get to experience everybody, without missing out on any one of them. So I dug out whatever time I could spare and gave a bit to everyone. Call it bringing my college life to full circle, I still relish the memories that has been created with everyone that I call friend.
And that, my friend, is how you end up with a holiday not wasted. The world holds an infinite list of things to do for everyone. Why not incorporate that into your own personal to-do list during your next holiday.
They say your life flashes past your eyes before you die. They're right.
Now that my chapter of becoming a road warrior is over, I have finally come to finish my chronicle my encounters. According to modern lingo, a road warrior is someone who does his work on the move, with the help of digital peripherals. But in my opinion, the true road warriors are those whose work is on the road. They are the taxi drivers, the lorry drivers, the army drivers, and of course, the driving instructors.
Like all teens my age, or at least the male ones, we have a calling for the fast and the furious. We have an inner desire to be speedsters, to take on the wheel and flash by. Such a calling has brought me to take on the first step into being a speedster – to face the evil traffic police and the trials put forth by the army of instructors.
The funny thing about instructors is that they all seem to be quirky. Having enrolled in the 'school' system, I was fortunate to have a fixed group of instructors, but with my last minute bookings, I was often allocated to other instructors. That makes for a more 'enriching' experience, as I get to see the quirks of a handful of instructors.
One thing to note about these instructors is that they all have the instructor set of superhuman powers. Firstly, they have shared vision – the ability to see exactly what you are seeing. They can be fiddling with their pens, or even shaving (yes, believe it. I almost crashed when I saw him doing it), but the moment you take your eyes off the road, you'll get a “Eh, you drive no need to see is it?”. They can even tell if you're looking at the right mirror or not. All of them must have gone through lasik to get compound eyes or something. And then there's the spider senses, you know, like spiderman. They can anticipate danger without even looking. There was this one time, when I was about to take a corner turn, then the instructor e-braked the car. I just gave him a puzzled look, but he replied by pointing to the edge of the windscreen and out popped an old man about to cross the street, as if he was planted there. I swear that these instructors station pedestrians around on purpose.
These instructors are truly diverse. There are the really nice ones – like this very uncle type instructor who coaches me as if I'm a little schoolboy. Kinda childish, but his fatherly mannerism makes you feel assured and safe on the road. Then there are those who gets closer to you by acting as your buddy. Like my unforgettable favourite instructor who first greeted me with a very warm “fuck you lah”. And that my friend, is how you start a beautiful friendship. Despite his less courteous ways, he makes up for it by having a whole bag of tricks up his sleeve. It's these tips and tricks that you want to know to get you through the senseless driving courses, like how to brake smoothly and where to look to straighten the vehicle. Then there was this instructor who looked exactly like my BMT IFC instructor. When I first met him, I was kinda intimidated as he was a big bald guy, and his other lookalike was my former company's public enemy. But before I knew it, he flashed me a dorky smile and gave a hysterical chuckle. Definitely not corporal private enemy.
And then there are the instructors who are just a nightmare. First there's mister sleepyhead. It's irritating when your instructor sleeps on the job. Firstly it's not value for money, since you pay tons for an hour and forty minutes with them. When faced with these buggers, I can't help driving in the circuit at 40km/p and doing jerky turns. It kinda attracts the attention of other instructors. Up next are the super paranoid ones. You can tell they're this type if they keep their foot on the brake, arms crossed and eyes peeled as if they're looking out for the grim reaper. I know it's good to play safe, but how can a trainee drive confidently if the instructor regularly tests the efficiency of the car's braking system?
Having seen things from a driver's perspective gives you certain insight into the mentality of a driver. For instance, while I was jogging, I discovered a highly efficient method of stopping cars. Stare straight into the eyes of the motorist. Nothing scares them more than to potentially see the eyes of a victim if they were to knock you down. Give them that look that says “If you knock me down, these eyes will haunt you till your grave”. Works like a charm.
Seeing the cars zoom by while jogging also provoked some consideration as to what colour my car should be when I get it. I've settled on a dark red. Not the bright cheery red, but the dark bloody type. The red not like that of fresh blood, but of dried blood. Kinda sends out the message to other drivers that this car has tasted blood. That's way cooler than the Ferrari red.
So next time when you see a sinister red car humming by, scurry away. Your blood could be next.
Once again I find myself jogging around the streets of my neighbourhood. Exams are done and now I have to work off the extra load that came when I fell prey to binging. I shudder to think back at the times when I said, "Econs was horrible, I need some happy food". Besides, the Army is quick to collect it's due, and it won't be long before I stare at a different ceiling when I go to sleep.
So I've covered the roads, and Google Map is not leaving much surprises either. Hence I decided to venture in the areas that the eyes in the sky can't see - the void decks. There's a whole new world beneath the one that most of us live in. Just pretend to check your mail one day and find out for yourself. Be it the Chinese funeral or Malay wedding, the void deck has developed a culture of its own.
I'm no anthropologist, so I don't have the patience to find myself a corner and sit down to watch the people all day. But from what I can tell while breezing past the void decks, I've noticed an interesting trend. There are mama shops everywhere! Like, every other block! It's an invasion I tell you. They're like insects; let one nest thrive and the next thing you know there's an entire ecosystem crawling around. So much so that there's a joke running around. Why aren't the Indians allowed to take the corner kick? Because they would drag a table and set up a mama shop. No offense, there's a few versions of that joke, one of which involving mats. Let's leave that to another day.
Like in every affair, western interjection is imperative.The mama shop industry is no different. With the market thriving, the big American brands has to bear its ugly head. Up came 7-11. They used to have territories of their own, like some clandestine contract they made with the mama shop owners. Prime areas are for 7-11, and the void decks are for the mama shops. For a while, the agreement worked well, and we have become accustomed to it. Then the war started.
Not content with keeping to the highly frequented prime areas, 7-11 decided to break the truce. As I jogged pass one block the other day, there pasted at the bus stop were signs pointing to the new 7-11. It's not located along a series of shops, like the older ones. This one is located at a former mama shop, in one of those older estate bomb shelters. They are everywhere. First they planted themselves among the rows of shops. Then they took the city area. Now they are among us, living right under our noses. It's official - we are being invaded.
So support our local brethren. Even with their sprawled out placements and near-expired sundries. Let's show them that some corners are still ours.
Randy Pausch was a professor at Carnegie Mellon University. He gave a lecture at the university titled 'Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams', for a lecture series on what a professor would deliver if it were his last lecture. Unfortunately for him, that lecture really was one of his last, as he was diagnosed with cancer two years earlier and passed away on 25 July 2008. In the lecture, he emphasized on living life to the fullest, setting an example himself by living a full healthy life right until the end, doing what he loved - teaching his favourite subject.
Here's the lecture on youtube, for those interested.
The lecture is truly touching and motivating. Especially the witty head fakes at the end. After watching it (just listening most of the time actually), it got me working on my own list of things to do in life.
There's this age old question; if you can go back in time, would you have done anything different? In a way, my living deja vu grants me that, and I can honestly say that there are many things that one would have kept constant. Of course, there would be the odd fixes and major turnarounds that one would make so that bad history won't repeat itself, but there are just some things worth living through again.
I'm probably saying that because I loved college life, and going back to do it again twice as hard is just a thought too thrilling to pass off. After all, like what Professor Bausch mentioned, life is only worthwhile when you're having fun living it. But all play and no work makes Jack an underachieving boy. There needs to be some form of direction so that at the end of the day, you don't look back and wonder why you did it all.
So in accordance to the Last Lecture, I've made my own list of things to do in life. Here's some of them that I want to share, in no particular order.
Write a published article
I've always had an interest in journalism, but don't really have enough drive to make it my lifelong career. Maybe I'll do some freelance pieces for the local papers, but more likely to write for some online I.T. editorials. Writing in an anonymous blog is fun, but nothing gives a writer more pride than having his work read by the masses.
Co-produce a movie/tv-series episode
This is mostly because I think most local productions are downright bad. Where do all those quirky aspiring poly students go to after graduation? Are local studios really that bogged down by censorship to the extent of continually producing tasteless shows that are nonetheless amusing the locals? Seriously, I can do better.
Feature in a song
Ok, I don't really have a talent for singing, just a shower songster. Probably should have joined that shower-oke event. But, you know, if I can just be the background supporting vocals or something, it'll be cool.
Write a fantasy fiction novel
Ever since Dan Brown (whose work I've read when he first published, way before it got sensationalised), I've always wanted to write a fantasy novel based on local references. The country has lost some of its past magic due to the rapid urbanisation, but I recognise that there are colourful things in its past that many aren't aware of.
Organise a major fundraiser
Schools usually force you to do some minor stint for the community, simply for the sake of getting the credit for CIP points or something similar. That is such a farce, and it kinda shreds whatever morsel of morality left in me. If I were to do anything for the community, I want it to be big, grand, and glamourous. Like those presidential fundraisers for the US presidential nominees. Why are they raising funds for the future-president anyway?
Volunteer for an overseas humanitarian effort
Singaporeans are always accused of paying off everything, even in times of crisis. Out of sight, out of mind, they say. Instead, I want to one day face these disaster-stricken places to get a firsthand account of how it's really like to be in an underprivileged situation.
Finish 1500m freestyle under 20 minutes
I don't think my swimming days are over just yet, not until I get a decent timing for my pet event. Until then, I'm not throwing in the towel yet.
There's something in me that just craves for adrenaline and adventure. Maybe it's from the stifling urban Singaporean environment. Somehow, I see myself waking up one weekend morning and decide to fly to Australia to jump off a bridge. Life really doesn't have to be boring.
Make love in the office / college / backseat / plane / hot tub
Like I said, I have an adventurous spirit. And that applies to every aspect of my life. Besides, come on, admit it, it's kinky. Right, right?
Die by assassination
At the end, I want to go off in a blast. Disease, euthanasia, in your sleep? Boring... Can't really think of anything more exciting that this. Maybe to kill off your assassin as you're going down.
A few years back I used to make these kinds of lists all the time. Mostly to mock what it refers to. Well, after a rather extended absence, I decided to bring the lists back. So here's one for your amusement.
Top ten reasons that make you a Singaporean student
10. You can ace subjects like Project Work with minimal effort (or overenthusiastic solo work), plagiarism and made up data.
9. The most important lessons you learnt are those after curricular time.
8. You don't believe 'impossible is nothing' when it comes to finishing revision for exams.
7. Your favourite radio show is 'Muttons Till Midnight'.
6. There's a silver lining. Student discount and transport concession is unparallelled. It even beats the Safra card.
5. You often hang out at MacDonalds, mostly to study the opposite gender.
4. You set off to school before the sun rises and returns after the sun sets.
3. There's a five day work week policy? You don't think so...
2. You measure charity and goodwill in CIP hours.
1. During school holidays, you will naturally have school or homework.
There you go. Hope you enjoy this short entry! Click the 'top ten' tag at the bottom to see other lists that I've managed to dig up from the archives.
