Sunday bloody sundays.

Well I woke up Sunday morning,
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
'n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.

In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin'.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.

Insomnia. (Redux)

I wax lyrical the moment I can't get enough sleep. I guess it's the only time I find to unburden my thoughts, when the day is done and the night is silent around me, settling in a comfortable blanket of solitude.

I ran my IPPT earlier today, surprisingly coming in with a better than expected result. Perhaps the work of some higher being, but I'd like to think I worked my ass off for it. There we go, no more RT... for now.

Recently i've ran into a close encounter with some existential angst, following the departure of a few wonderful Honky friends whom I had met in Edinburgh. Their coming heralded a new age of fun and laughter, joy and friendship. And a side of me that I hadn't seen for almost 2 months. I didn't do that much. Just played myself as a good host and brought them around to my favourite places, ate my favourite foods, talked as much (or as little) as I knew about Singapore's history.

But I don't know why. I have never felt this carefree and footloose for a long long time. It's almost as if since I touched down in my homeland, the weight and cares of my life has resettled around me like a leaden cloak, dragging my shoulders down, keeping my head firmly set on putting one foot in front of another in unerring rhythm.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I like the people, I enjoy the job. But something is missing. I'm not sure if it's the people I had with me on exchange that triggered this metamorphosis of boring serious Luke into fun and playful Luke (yes, even I can tell when I'm boring), or it's the situation of where I'm working.

I liked it when I was more fun. I thought I was more interesting then.

It might just be some inner mindgame... Or is it just that different people bring out different things in me?

Peaches.

I was teaching one of my tuition kids something, when her mom came out and passed me a peach. She had a habit of feeding me while I was there, a fringe benefit of the job. (Besides the job satisfaction of teaching, that is.)

It was a massive peach. Round, reddish, redolent in its ruby splendour. Freckled with little yellow spots, like dimples in its blushing cheeks. It's perfume was enticing, smelling sweetly reminiscent of apples, yet uniquely ravishing in its character. Lacking the tart sharp sweetness of simple sugars, the fragrance exumed a refined quality of sophisticated delight.

I held the magnificent peach up to my nose, letting its subtle flavour waft into my mind. It was intoxicating.

My tuition kid was laughing at me. She had been doing her work for the last 5-10 minutes, all the while looking bemusedly at me sniffing the peach as if it was an olfactory gold mine. She had finished hers already. She asked me, "Why haven't you eaten it yet?"

Ah, but how could I tell her? The smell of the peach was a heaven unto its own. The vivacity of that strong scent brought it into a life of it's own, enthralling the senses, lulling one to imagine the peach as larger than life, full of flavour and sweetness. However, the perfection of the peach lay only in it's scent, for it is the scent of the peach that calls the fruit-lover, the taste of the unknown. What if I eat the peach, and find it less than fulfilling? Should I have been content in just smelling it all the while?

Before this degenerates into a needless philosophical discourse, to cut the story short, I ate the peach. As expected, it did not live up to my expectations.

But whose fault is it that it didn't? Was the fault mine, that I had expected too much from a simple fruit, and had built up my expectations too high? Or was it the fault of the peach, with it's alluring fragrance, tricking the fruit-lover into thinking that the peach was tastier than it looks?

Taking nature's view of it, it is an elegant solution to the problem of attraction. The peach simply had to attract fruit-lovers to it, for in the process of being eaten, it would be transported to new pastures to grow and reproduce. It is not necessary for the fruit to be sweet and tasty, for the attractive smell alone had achieved its goals.

But of course, if you ask any layman, he would find that the fault is in the fruit-lover, who loves fruits but does not understand them. Hence each time he tastes the fruit of his labour (heh heh) he is disappointed.

In my mind, the fruit-lover has to be an eternal optimist. Each time he sees a fantastic fruit, he has to try it, to find out if the fruit tastes as good as it looks. And even if it doesn't? Well, there's always different kinds of fruits, and new ones all the time.

But someday, when he knows the peach a little better, he might come back, drown in it's intoxicating spell for a moment, and take a bite.

I wonder how that will taste.

As the years go passing by.

Another year passes. And I look back and wonder. There's been a few mistakes, but good times were had. Recovery, moving on, learning from past mistakes. (Although with certain objections - It seems I don't learn sometimes.) Importantly though, life moves on, a little older, a little wiser. Hearken the wonderful words of Led Zeppelin:

In the days of my youth
I was told what it was to be a man,
Now Ive reached the age
Ive tried to do all those things the best I can.
No matter how I try,
I find my way to do the same old jam.

*good times, bad times,
You know I had my share;
When my woman left home
With a brown eyed man,
Well, I still dont seem to care.

Sixteen: I fell in love
With a girl as sweet as could be,
Only took a couple of days
Till she was rid of me.
She swore that she would be all mine
And love me till the end,
When I whispered in her ear
I lost another friend.

Voice of a hard-boiled angel.

Amazingly soulful. Why do they always die so young?

Visions of loveliness.

Whatever the hell happened to blogger man. Something's screwy with the interface. No matter. Life moves on.

I recently managed to get my luggage from Edinburgh back (yes, it left a month before I did, returned a month after. Do the math.) A little treasure trove of trinkets and things fell right out, along with assorted memories of SEP life.

Life was good then. It was simple. Why isn't it so anymore? So strange. It's as if we carry our complications with us, and it hangs in the air. Returning to Singapore refreshed, I get bogged down by the little details of life. Or perhaps the air in my homeland begs me to reflect, and think too much.

I was pleased to find that my posters had all arrived more or less intact. I just hung up my favourite star of the silver screen, she's sitting on my wall looking at me with a pensive smile.

http://blog.pricegrabber.com/chicshopper/files/2007/11/audrey-hepburn-poster-c11738523.jpg

There's another vision of loveliness that runs through my head every night, but that might just have to wait.

I've been infected with the blues. And it's good, a fantastic way to relax. Just kicking in a backing track and wandering up and down pentatonics for a few minutes is strangely therapeutic. Even better, it doesn't sound too bad either. Maybe i'll write a couple of songs, it's a form of self-therapy. Gets the insides out, if you know what i mean. Got to get out of the key of A though.

Work is fantastic. I love it. I'm sincerely hoping I get a change to get back in after I graduate, so i'm gonna work my arse off if I have to. It helps to have motivation everyday though. :)

The falling leaves.

I sent my brother off to the airport earlier, after a large, meaty bbq the night before. It's not difficult to resettle back into the rhythm of the Singapore life, when it just seems as if new tasks and events just loom over each horizon. The pace of life really does display a marked difference.

As I was turning into YCK, something caught my eye. The rain trees had shed some of their leaves, which were gently falling with the wind. As the cars drove by, the little currents toss and turn them, jarring their inevitable descent towards the ground, swirling up cones and sheets of brown fleckles.

For some reason, it brings to mind the blossoming of the sakura trees in Japan. I've never seen one personally, but if I were to imagine it, this would be what I see in the mind's eye. Something poetic about the way it just tumbles about, tossed by the winds of fate.

A dearth of freedom in the air.

As far as I can make it, the supposition of a free wireless at many places of transit seems to be a blatant lie. It seems as if every possible service provider is falling over themselves to provide a way to siphon more money from the undiscerning public.

Of which I am unashamedly one. From personal observation (and the critical comments of others, I must add) I realise that I have two weaknesses on the move - A severe coke addiction and a craving for the surrounding banality of the internet.

The first is a simple physical need - As I have explained to many, coke is the ultimate travelling tool. It's sugar, caffeine, and water all rolled into one package. Staves off hunger, depression, thirst, and it doesn't taste half bad, even when warm. It's hell for your teeth, but on the road, some things have to go. (Apologies to Ed, you will have a bitch of a time with my teeth.)

The second stems from the inherent call of the world - the need for information saturation, and the craving for the ease of having the knowledge of the planet at your beck and call, to answer to your every whim. Feel like checking out whats up with Michael Jackson's estate? Wondering about the new H1N1 count in Singapore? Have a sudden urge to watch Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train? The internet is the perfect complement to the ADD-led minds of today's generation. I've recently re-discovered the power of youtube - It's a visual google. There are a hundred and one explanations on how things are done, in thousands of messageboards and websites on the net. But as with many other things, some people learn better visually, and who better to teach than the hundreds of attention seeking demonstrators on youtube? I've found everything from how to change a floyd rose tremolo system, to dancing basic tango, to learning how to drop kick like William Shatner. Well, effectiveness could be debated. But it is entertaining, and some of the demonstrators are rather amusing.

Debating the extent of my addiction is difficult. I think i've paid a total of abt 50 sgd for 24 hours of internet access over 2 different airports in less than 12 hours. I know, i'm terrible. But as of now, I've got 7 hours more of dead time waiting to check in for my final flight out of London to Singapore, and I'm rather determined to keep my mind active and my wits about, all for the better to crash on the plane on the way back. It's 3am here, but about 9am in SG. All the better to shock my body clock back into sync with local time. As most of you know, I'm hitting the ground running, not much time to spare. Even the quarantine for those coming back from H1N1 countries was lifted, so there goes my 7 days of relaxation.

Well, the end of my exchange stint is rapidly approaching. I know I've been lacking in updates for the blog, but I'd developed a writing system over my exchange months. I've actually filled a small notebook cover to cover (single sided), and am currently happily writing on the back of the other side. It's actually quite rewarding to see it fill up with random observations, recording of travelling sights and events. I'll probably flesh it out with photos and some post-travelling comments when I get back (and if I have enough time.) Would I bother mass-producing it to give/sell to others? I don't know. I'll see how it goes.

Wherever you're going, i'm going your way.

One example why life is unfair - A voice that enchanting belongs to a face just as beautiful.

The hardest words are the seven letter ones.

It felt different, this time I stepped out of my room. Looking back, it was bare, stripped of its essence. The remnants of my past life these 5 months lay about in dribs and drabs, trailing a path of frantic packing over a night of musicals, whiskey and conversations.

I was leaving a hall, but yet it was different. In NUS (I'm not ashamed to say it) I was happy to leave. While I was rather active in hall, the activities were forced, and the people there I didn't quite clique with. Nevertheless, I made a few friends in my stay, although much more acquaintance. And besides, visiting Temasek was always a stone's throw away. Maybe that's why I never really went back?

I was leaving my room for a trip, but yet it was different. I stepped out of that little room in Pollock many times over the last few months, letting a few day's worth of dust settle before returning to its musty, homely splendour. It became so easy, I would barely start packing until hours before I was scheduled to leave. But each time I left, I knew it was only temporarily. A temporal distortion, taking me away for the moment, but only to return.

I was leaving my life in Edinburgh behind. A short life, but a very eventful one. In the last 5 months, I have made friends that I know I may not see again for the rest of my life. And that really sucks. When you're out there half a world away (or even 2 nations away) from home, every human contact and friendship counts. And you hold on a lot harder to people than you normally do. That's just the way of things.

And in this short life, I was reborn. I left the cares of a "second-lower-striving-for-second-upper" behind, left my eternal worries about studying, my grades, my projects... It was a good feeling. A feeling of release, of ease, of relaxedness. Life became meaningful in the passing of a breeze. The feel of the wind against your cheek. The softness of the grass you lie on to enjoy the sun. The ephemeral taste of a Guinness as it slides down the throat. The sudden ringing of the phone when a friend calls to ask what you're doing. Suddenly there was more meaning in life, and more life in meaning for me.

But all good things come to an end, and it was time to part. I will always feel that my departure from Edinburgh was a rushed affair, a ceasarian rip that tore me from the womb that nurtured me the last 5 months.

Barely 24 hours after my last paper, I left the city.

Knowing that the next time I come back, I won't call this home.

Knowing that the next time I come back, my friends will all haved moved on and gone.

Goodbye Edinburgh. Goodbye.

I've got my pride and i know how to hide all my sorrow and pain.

And too soon shall we all part.

aware?

I'm rather suprised at the effectiveness of Twitter as a social broadcasting tool. I'd been following the AWARE EGM at Suntec via Twitter for the last 3 hours, and it is a really gripping saga. Feels like some drama serial on TV.

The concept of distributed reporting seems seems to be a winner to me. What will come next? Sports twittering? I can imagine 100 people at a soccer match twittering every move, to the delight of fans all over. This is the new face of citizen journalism - Who needs skill? Just a short sentence (which sometimes barely makes sense), but with a couple hundred other people doing so as well, it all comes together.

Cheers to the new AWARE exco. Keep the fundamentalists out.

Let The Right One In.

This film is startlingly gripping. And definitely a new take on a genre spoiled by the Twilight series. Shot in Sweden, the atmosphere is dark, gloomy, and I swear i feel the chill even in my warm room here. The actors, despite being children, deliver a strong depth in their performance. Dark, moody, poignant, I would watch this again just to share with my friends what interesting things you can find when you actually bother to look at the advertisements on the London Underground. Do watch it if you can, before the Americans get to it and spoil it for the rest.

Best. Eponine. Ever.

I always liked Les Miserables. So when I got the chance to see it again in London, I jumped at it. Didn't matter that I had to drag two other friends to come and see, it was so worth it. Even if I had to pay for the other two (which I didn't.)

Completely blew me away. Nostalgic yet new at the same time, with the songs taking on much more meaning and undertones. It is believable that these people have done the show year after year, it was splendid.

I always found Eponine much more outstanding than Cosette, for some reason. The London cast only reinforced that opinion for me. Nancy Sullivan is a fantastic Eponine. Doesn't help that she's a flaxen-haired beauty with the voice of an angel. Sigh. Could a couple more girls like that fall out of trees please?

This is one of my favourite songs from the musical. She's singing about unrequited love. Hopelessly romantic, but it's a thing I do, I guess.

The Horror.

It's amazing what you bump into on random bookshelves in youth hostels. An enterprising bugger actually left a copy of Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness and other stories" on the shelves. Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, i promptly stole it (well, borrowed) for the duration of my stay.

It took 2-3 nights of nearly falling asleep to make it through the text, but once i was done i couldn't help but go through it again. It's one of those things that you would want to read over and over, poring through the details of the meanings, the depth of the intepretation. On the surface it is a simple tale of restoration, to bring back someone lost in the jungle. Below, the currents draw deep.

What is the heart of darkness that Kurtz and Marlow speak of? Not merely the depth of primeval jungle that Kurtz has imprisoned himself in. Perhaps it is the greed of the merchant trader, willing to do all to take the ivory from the shores of Africa. The will to ignore what happens to others, to forsake the humanity due to the natives, to bind them to his will, and to pillage and plunder wantonly.

Or perhaps it is the darkness of the spirit, that infects those far from civilisation - the darkness drawn not from the exterior surroundings, but rather from a lack of internal nourishment. The lack of companionship, the lack of order, the lack of civility. The complete and utter failure of society to prepare the orderly minds of the educated to face the rawness of the jungle. In that way, the "Heart of Darkness" draws a parallel to "The Lord Of the Flies", but instead of seeing the gradual disappearance of society, we see the effects of a society gone to ground - where supplies sent are squandered, where rule of law exists by whips and guns, where the slaves are slaves due to a meaningless charter, where all that exists is a greed to take and take, without consideration or care.

I like the book. Intend to get it back in Singapore. I think the other two stories are worth reading, if only to place "Heart of Darkness" within context.