I've checked today's date for more than 3 times in a day, and it suddenly struck me that the date no longer has significance to me now. For the past few weeks, it has consistently been an onerous cycle of "waiting for the weekend to arrive". Frankly, I have lost my sense of direction and purpose along the way at where I work now, but I don't blame myself, nor the people I work with, for the matter. I know very clearly the reason for it; I've been there before. You see, the nature of being a temp staff is such that you are always part of the achievement, but never part of the acknowledgement. You may be part of the assignment, but never part of the attainment. You may be part of the aspiration, but never part of the admiration. I can't say it's anybody's fault here. After all, the amount of responsibility expected from a perm and temp staff is starkly different to begin with, and overachieving will get you some commendation along the way but that isn't going to make you "more of the team" or closer to "our" goal.
Maybe it's that I always try to give my all that I feel slightly cheated at this. I know it's not their intention; I'm probably reading too much into it, but I find it difficult to define my own purpose, given this situation. In the end, it will be just a job to pass time, earn some income, hone my excel skills, give me the opportunity to do some non-fictional reading, live a healthier lifestyle, sharpen my communication skills, appreciate the weekend more... Wait a minute. That isn't so bad after all!
But I look on the bright side of it. I have indubitably learned a lot from the people I work with, and I believe that every small contribution I make was appreciated in some way or another. It honestly doesn't matter if I got any recognition for anything I've done, because the true spirit I embody would never demand credit. It was like that during my Army days, and being in a new environment doesn't change that mentality. It might not bring me far, but I'm contented.
Learning to count my blessings have been my greatest lesson yet. Oh, btw, that's part of the superhero training.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Go Slow
As he made a left turn into the smaller road, he heard the Mercedes Benz horn at him from the back. Frustrated and annoyed, but can't be bothered, he shook his head in an act of disappointment and pointed at his helmet with his index finger, conveying to the driver behind him that he wasn't thinking. Unwilling to relent, the driver sounded his horn again at the cyclist in front of him before turning into Traders Hotel. This got him fuming, and he stopped his bicycle abruptly at the roadside and stomped to the car in an attempt to confront the asshole of a driver who sounded his horn at him, twice, for what might be a rushing tactic. As he started bellowing and pointing his middle-finger around, the Mercedes Benz left hastily as soon as it unloaded its passenger, without the driver giving a fuck at the seemingly mad man, and I walked into my office building, somewhat unamused by the sequence of events.
The drama episode this morning on my way to work really put me into perspective. What could annoy a person as much as for him to display contempt for a stranger in the morning? I could understand the cyclist's anger, and given myself in the same situation, might have flown into a rage as well. Have we grown too impatient to realise that in relativity we are in fact faster than everyone around us, and perhaps not everyone appreciates the haste? Have we been too haughty to think that driving an expensive car around instantly gives us the right to be rude and offensive, fueled by a self-projected sense of superiority?
I never felt like I was in a mad rush to reach anywhere, if it was appropriately scheduled. I know we have been taught to manage our time wisely, and to make sure that as little time as possible goes to waste is the quintessence of this virtue. But we all know why the MRTs are so packed at 8.30a.m. and 6.30p.m. everyday. We all know why being fashionably late has become a culture in most Singaporeans.
I fret we might be a generation of the impatient.
The drama episode this morning on my way to work really put me into perspective. What could annoy a person as much as for him to display contempt for a stranger in the morning? I could understand the cyclist's anger, and given myself in the same situation, might have flown into a rage as well. Have we grown too impatient to realise that in relativity we are in fact faster than everyone around us, and perhaps not everyone appreciates the haste? Have we been too haughty to think that driving an expensive car around instantly gives us the right to be rude and offensive, fueled by a self-projected sense of superiority?
I never felt like I was in a mad rush to reach anywhere, if it was appropriately scheduled. I know we have been taught to manage our time wisely, and to make sure that as little time as possible goes to waste is the quintessence of this virtue. But we all know why the MRTs are so packed at 8.30a.m. and 6.30p.m. everyday. We all know why being fashionably late has become a culture in most Singaporeans.
I fret we might be a generation of the impatient.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
For The First Time
Have you ever felt so close to someone, only to wait for each other to encourage the other with enough signs before someone actually makes the first move? For a moment you thought you have fallen in love, but alas, nobody moves, and it almost feels like you have broken up, not physically, but emotionally. Then you drift further apart from them, knowing that some point in your life you almost bent in for a kiss but was never really ready for it.
I've been replaying one song for the entire day, not knowing the reason why, but just feel like I needed such a therapy. Ironic, isn't it, that we have to admit that somehow, it is the saddest things or moments in our life that are most artistically beautiful. Not that I'm a saddist, but I genuinely feel that way. It's extremely moving, perhaps, to know that sad events evoke emotions and the brilliant side of humanity more than anything else. It is the time when we feel most sentient. I guess that's what makes crying a peculiar sort of therapy. There were moments, and I am not ashamed of them, that I just felt like crying for a reason that even I am unsure of. It was probably a surge of emotions, or that I was thinking too much (which I am pretty good at), but I just wanted to be vulnerable for awhile.
Behind every sad song possibly lies a heart-wrenching story, and it's when we find ourselves relating to these supposed heartbreaking events that we feel that we are a part of it. A part of the song. A part of the process. A part of the pain. And it will always be about losing someone - family, friend or lover; permanently or temporarily. Nothing is quite as beautiful as losing someone close, because behind each loss is a little bit of inadequacy, regret, and most importantly, a fragment of a happy memory.
The greatest surprise is that we're not very different people after all. Most of us can watch a touching video and cry, listen to a sad song and well up, hug someone and feel as if you never want to let go, sit and talk for hours about nothing but everything that comes to mind with that certain someone. You and I are so much of the same. We think we're alone but we're not, and we realise that when times are hard, when we need people to support us, that it is especially true.
Life is never about "going according to plan". We have a choice to live spontaneously or cautiously. But if you ask me, I was never really ready for anything, and don't think I'll ever be. To love yourself is to love life, and to admit your weaknesses and sensuality is not vulnerability, but an expression of truth, to yourself, and to the people around you.
I think I will give myself a little time, and maybe a chance to be different. And maybe, just maybe, for once in my life, I'll find that I'm ready for something.
I've been replaying one song for the entire day, not knowing the reason why, but just feel like I needed such a therapy. Ironic, isn't it, that we have to admit that somehow, it is the saddest things or moments in our life that are most artistically beautiful. Not that I'm a saddist, but I genuinely feel that way. It's extremely moving, perhaps, to know that sad events evoke emotions and the brilliant side of humanity more than anything else. It is the time when we feel most sentient. I guess that's what makes crying a peculiar sort of therapy. There were moments, and I am not ashamed of them, that I just felt like crying for a reason that even I am unsure of. It was probably a surge of emotions, or that I was thinking too much (which I am pretty good at), but I just wanted to be vulnerable for awhile.
Behind every sad song possibly lies a heart-wrenching story, and it's when we find ourselves relating to these supposed heartbreaking events that we feel that we are a part of it. A part of the song. A part of the process. A part of the pain. And it will always be about losing someone - family, friend or lover; permanently or temporarily. Nothing is quite as beautiful as losing someone close, because behind each loss is a little bit of inadequacy, regret, and most importantly, a fragment of a happy memory.
The greatest surprise is that we're not very different people after all. Most of us can watch a touching video and cry, listen to a sad song and well up, hug someone and feel as if you never want to let go, sit and talk for hours about nothing but everything that comes to mind with that certain someone. You and I are so much of the same. We think we're alone but we're not, and we realise that when times are hard, when we need people to support us, that it is especially true.
Life is never about "going according to plan". We have a choice to live spontaneously or cautiously. But if you ask me, I was never really ready for anything, and don't think I'll ever be. To love yourself is to love life, and to admit your weaknesses and sensuality is not vulnerability, but an expression of truth, to yourself, and to the people around you.
I think I will give myself a little time, and maybe a chance to be different. And maybe, just maybe, for once in my life, I'll find that I'm ready for something.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Can Beautiful People Really Do No Wrong?
And can unattractive people really do no right?
Despite society's coercion for people to look beyond the physical attraction of a person and interact with what is underneath a less compelling exterior, we cannot deny that we are, fundamentally, visual people. If only we could remember the number of times we actually saw a person or a picture of someone who is attractive, and involuntarily went "He/She's perfect". And the odd thing is, we don't know why we have this preconceived notion that beautiful people are perfect lovers. Is it the oh-so-melodramatic movies? Is it the idea that beautiful people are so rare and surreal that we unleash some sort of innate desire to want them for ourselves? Indeed, physical attraction has surpassed every other trait in a human being to impel a person to love. Why do you think advertisements are full of "perfect" people?
Despite society's coercion for people to look beyond the physical attraction of a person and interact with what is underneath a less compelling exterior, we cannot deny that we are, fundamentally, visual people. If only we could remember the number of times we actually saw a person or a picture of someone who is attractive, and involuntarily went "He/She's perfect". And the odd thing is, we don't know why we have this preconceived notion that beautiful people are perfect lovers. Is it the oh-so-melodramatic movies? Is it the idea that beautiful people are so rare and surreal that we unleash some sort of innate desire to want them for ourselves? Indeed, physical attraction has surpassed every other trait in a human being to impel a person to love. Why do you think advertisements are full of "perfect" people?
Friday, April 12, 2013
Dream Chasers
I finally have some time to pick up a book to read! It has been an incredibly tiring week. I don't know why. It's like I am constantly sleepy and hungry. Snoozing my alarm for 3 times in the morning, dozing off at work; man, it's like someone is sucking up all my energy. But I do feel slightly more alive at night, thank goodness. At least I still have the capacity to write something... Speaking of which, I totally need to get a new laptop. My-spacebar-is-getting-increasingly-annoying-because-it-fell-out-and-all-I-can-do-is-superglue-it-back. I might even have to finish this post in hyphens.
The weather is INSANE. It feels like I'm in a steamer all the time. Maybe this global warming and all is really catching up. I can't even wear a shirt out without sweating buckets. Fortunately, the weather this morning was pretty fine, but it seems that we never take the time off to appreciate these small things. Every morning I squeeze with a mosh pit of people who look like they hate what they're doing with their lives. People staring at their watches, and irritated that they have to shamelessly squeeze into the already congested cabin. When I get off to take a bus, I see people rushing across the streets to catch their bus, disregarding traffic rules and oblivious to the relentless sounds of horn at their hazardous behaviour. We all congregate at the bus stop vying for the shade, and some outliers smoking at the sides despite the morbid weather, but nobody ever speaks. There is always silence but the sound of traffic and monotonous beeping of ez-link cards.
I am not very proud of this but I must say I am almost falling asleep at this point in writing.
Anyways, back on track, I fear for the happiness of our people. In brutal honesty, we have never been the happiest of people to begin with. Accompanying a rapid increase in standards of living is the inevitable stress and sacrifice of time we all abhor. But as much as we loathe our everyday struggle, most of us have somehow come to terms with how it is a necessity for survival in this cold (not literally), expensive, and over-achieving city. For all we know all other cities may be the same, but we don't know, really, what living in other countries entails. So we're kinda stuck - clueless, option-less, begrudged, and well, unhappy.
Most people, if given the choice, would rather be a fashion model, a professional photographer, a successful author, a singer, a TV star, a travel blogger, a foodie, and many other indulgent careers that never seem to cease fascinating the masses. Because we know we enjoy these things. What more could you ask for, when what you love to do is what you do, and doing what you love actually makes you money, and work is like play, and play is like more play?
I seriously can fall asleep any second now.
To many of us, such is a dream of extreme distance. I, for one, know that we may not always be good at what we love doing. Some of us can't sing, and some of us can't dance, and there's nothing we can do about it. There is no "put your heart and soul into it and you will reap the results", because frankly, it will never happen. Such are the things where sadly, you either can, or you can't. We just gotta let it go and move on. But that doesn't mean that we should stop loving what we love. Even if we couldn't sing, we could explore record-producing, sound recording, and other peripherals of the music industry, because honestly, I don't think, at all, that Simon Cowell is an impressive singer himself.
Despite a heavy eyelid and a dreadful keyboard, I managed to finish this :D Looking forward to this wonderful weekend, and I hope you do too.
The weather is INSANE. It feels like I'm in a steamer all the time. Maybe this global warming and all is really catching up. I can't even wear a shirt out without sweating buckets. Fortunately, the weather this morning was pretty fine, but it seems that we never take the time off to appreciate these small things. Every morning I squeeze with a mosh pit of people who look like they hate what they're doing with their lives. People staring at their watches, and irritated that they have to shamelessly squeeze into the already congested cabin. When I get off to take a bus, I see people rushing across the streets to catch their bus, disregarding traffic rules and oblivious to the relentless sounds of horn at their hazardous behaviour. We all congregate at the bus stop vying for the shade, and some outliers smoking at the sides despite the morbid weather, but nobody ever speaks. There is always silence but the sound of traffic and monotonous beeping of ez-link cards.
I am not very proud of this but I must say I am almost falling asleep at this point in writing.
Anyways, back on track, I fear for the happiness of our people. In brutal honesty, we have never been the happiest of people to begin with. Accompanying a rapid increase in standards of living is the inevitable stress and sacrifice of time we all abhor. But as much as we loathe our everyday struggle, most of us have somehow come to terms with how it is a necessity for survival in this cold (not literally), expensive, and over-achieving city. For all we know all other cities may be the same, but we don't know, really, what living in other countries entails. So we're kinda stuck - clueless, option-less, begrudged, and well, unhappy.
Most people, if given the choice, would rather be a fashion model, a professional photographer, a successful author, a singer, a TV star, a travel blogger, a foodie, and many other indulgent careers that never seem to cease fascinating the masses. Because we know we enjoy these things. What more could you ask for, when what you love to do is what you do, and doing what you love actually makes you money, and work is like play, and play is like more play?
I seriously can fall asleep any second now.
To many of us, such is a dream of extreme distance. I, for one, know that we may not always be good at what we love doing. Some of us can't sing, and some of us can't dance, and there's nothing we can do about it. There is no "put your heart and soul into it and you will reap the results", because frankly, it will never happen. Such are the things where sadly, you either can, or you can't. We just gotta let it go and move on. But that doesn't mean that we should stop loving what we love. Even if we couldn't sing, we could explore record-producing, sound recording, and other peripherals of the music industry, because honestly, I don't think, at all, that Simon Cowell is an impressive singer himself.
Despite a heavy eyelid and a dreadful keyboard, I managed to finish this :D Looking forward to this wonderful weekend, and I hope you do too.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Want You More
What can I do
to make you feel the same way too?
Just a stranger walking by,
but something in you caught my eye.
I thought I'd get over it;
now tell me how to feel complete
without you filling me in,
and the sensation tingling my skin.
Is this some madness, oh have I gone mad?
This is no game; I want you so bad!
The more my heart yearns,
the more my soul burns;
the more my mind reasons,
the more your body beckons.
Tell me what this really is,
if you know the answer, pretty please!
Spare me from wanting you.
Just tell me you want me too.
to make you feel the same way too?
Just a stranger walking by,
but something in you caught my eye.
I thought I'd get over it;
now tell me how to feel complete
without you filling me in,
and the sensation tingling my skin.
Is this some madness, oh have I gone mad?
This is no game; I want you so bad!
The more my heart yearns,
the more my soul burns;
the more my mind reasons,
the more your body beckons.
Tell me what this really is,
if you know the answer, pretty please!
Spare me from wanting you.
Just tell me you want me too.
Tell Me
And then it struck me that I haven't been writing here for quite awhile - perhaps the longest hiatus since I started this blog. So, here I am.
It has been awfully uneventful for the past 2 weeks, and I'm still hanging on a thread waiting for a certain reply. I'm not sure why, but I tend to always think that extraordinary things will never happen to ordinary people like me. It's as if everything was predestined and if you're not good enough that's that. I know we live on dreams, and I know to strive for them is our purpose, but there are times when things don't go our way and we're forced to take another route - one that's less scenic. I have gotten used to it, and should be immune to disappointments by now, but somehow, this still gets me a little.
It makes me wonder what I'm doing wrong, or if my inadequacy was inbred. The last I checked, I was full of enthusiasm and hope when I clicked the "submit" button, all ready for good news. I figure it's time that I take a look at myself once again and re-explore what I am capable of, and what I'm clearly not.
I thought I felt a small needle prick at my heart, then the pain was gone. It's almost as if I've imagined it, but it felt real.
It has been awfully uneventful for the past 2 weeks, and I'm still hanging on a thread waiting for a certain reply. I'm not sure why, but I tend to always think that extraordinary things will never happen to ordinary people like me. It's as if everything was predestined and if you're not good enough that's that. I know we live on dreams, and I know to strive for them is our purpose, but there are times when things don't go our way and we're forced to take another route - one that's less scenic. I have gotten used to it, and should be immune to disappointments by now, but somehow, this still gets me a little.
It makes me wonder what I'm doing wrong, or if my inadequacy was inbred. The last I checked, I was full of enthusiasm and hope when I clicked the "submit" button, all ready for good news. I figure it's time that I take a look at myself once again and re-explore what I am capable of, and what I'm clearly not.
I thought I felt a small needle prick at my heart, then the pain was gone. It's almost as if I've imagined it, but it felt real.
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