Strangely, I am in a rather good mood today.
Strange, because I have a seriously heavy schedule today.
Lagi strange, since the weekend is around the corner and that's even more hectic than work-days.
What can possibly account for my jolly-jolly-happy buzz?
The rapidly-depleting bottle of gummi-bears on my desk? Have to eat them up now that I've exposed them to air. They'll get sticky (and icky) otherwise. Chew, chew, chew. Gulp.
The stockpile of 'back-up rations' chocolate in the second drawer of my desk, conveniently located close to my right hand? Oops, expiry date approaching. Better finish them up and get a new stash. Ah! The dark stuff! Munch, munch. Yum.
Lunch time? Yes, it's approaching. But I'm an adult; I'm entitled to ruin my appetite!
Sugar high? Maybe. But it won't stop me from enjoying it while it lasts.
Joy has a sweet tooth.
Joy is a sweet tooth.
Friday, 11 January 2008
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Going Home
The strains of Suzanne Vega's Luka is playing in the background now, as I find myself suddenly gripped by an incomprehensible melancholy. It is just one of those periods of my life that can only be described as a black mood.
Is it the music that brings out the dark cloud, or does the shadow make me gravitate to these songs? I cannot answer, nor do I care to make the attempt.
Sigh.
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
Gatherings
It is strange how people believe that the year ahead is going to be better.
Of late, I have had the opportunity to meet with friends from three different periods of my life:
I had a small gathering at my home last weekend, an annual affair that has become somewhat of a tradition. Though this is only the second time that it has been held at my home. And, also becoming part of that tradition was that I prepared too much food again. Sigh. Fortunately, I am quite practised at dealing with leftovers. Those who came were from my University days, and were friend to both my wife and I.
After the meal, we sat down and engaged in the usual catching up. Whats, whens, hows and whos were tossed from one to another like a talking ball at a Organisation Learning Forum, as we sought to make sense of how our lives had diverged. As the conversation progressed, I was struck by how contented most of us were. And how we were looking forward to better things in the year ahead.
Some weeks before, I was at another gathering. This time, those present were from my Secondary school days, though many spouses were there too. Due to the last, there were some memories that could not be shared. Not that it mattered greatly, for we imbibed significant amounts of alcohol and were adequately pickled before we engaged in conversation. And a fine time was had by all. None of us, it appeared, had shared any troubles apart from the usual gripes against our neighbours. All seemed to have some inkling as to where their futures were going. And all appeared to be pleased with what they saw.
A little further back, before the mad rush to prepare for the Holy Day, the Corvidae gathered. And as custom dictated, we fed ourselves well, and made up for the lack of alcohol by consuming significant amounts of caffeinated beverages instead. The conversation was lively, and we dwelled not too much on what we had left behind us. Rather, we made plans to meet more frequently, and perhaps even resurrect an ancient game that we had laid to rest a good while ago.
Strange how all this optimism seemed to be contagious.
The year behind us has been a bit of a roller-coaster ride for me, truly. Work was hectic and oftimes, chaotic. Time was hardly on my side and the demands of raising a precocious daughter surprised me to no end. Oh, there were many pleasant memories made in running after my energetic scion, make no mistake. But there were times I wished I could just collapse.
I have been exhausted to varying degrees by the time I finally hit the sack, and there have been occasions when I questioned the purpose of my existence. Despite this, I must admit that I still feel a sense of hope, especially when I am surrounded by my friends. It is you who show me that work is not all there is, that sturm und drang shall pass, that talking about troubles eases the heart, that laughing about our children's antics keep us young, that the brainless idiots that cross our path deserve all the barbs we hurl at them, that it is worth our effort to be more gracious and that life itself is often its own reward.
So to everyone who has shared my days upon this earth, whether you know it or not, thank you. It has been an entertaining time indeed.
Monday, 31 December 2007
Sand and Water
I sit here now, on this last day of the year, contemplating my plans for the next. Not out of hubris, nor of desire, nor of necessity. The plans that I allude to mean little in my own life, and in the lives of those bound to me by ties of blood, oaths or friendship. No, it is out of a sense of responsibility that I make these plans.
The weight of my burdens bear down upon me this day. I know that there are many who depend on me to lead them, though I doubt if all of them truly care where or what I am leading them into. There are also those who wish for me to follow their leadership. I shall do so, of course, for such is the nature of the hierarchy of the world; had I been adverse to trailing behind these men, I would have left this path that I chose a long time ago. Yet, these leaders of mine may not fully appreciate the manner in which I choose to serve. Service can be a subtle thing, as my friend the Alchemist pointed out once, or it can be blatant and unyielding. Somewhere in between, in my opinion, is most preferable.
What is it that I owe to those ranked above me? And what do I owe those ranked below? What answers I have found, I have found wanting. I stumble along, leaving scattered pools of detritus amidst the eddies of chaos in my wake. My draught is deep, and the course I take is not free of hazards; should I be becalmed, it should take but the slightest of current to throw me upon the rocks. Will I founder, and spill my cargo of other people's hopes and desires into the surf? Or have the Fates another fate for me? I shudder to think of it.
But such is the way the mind works, in anticipation of the new Cycle. This is the reason why horoscopes and the petty predictions of psychics prove so popular during such times.
It is in times like this that I remind myself, usually through songs (and not those tied to the season, though there are some which would serve) of just how small my concerns are. The one that rises to mind, for some reason as yet unknown to my conscious brain, is Beth Nielsen Chapman's Sand & Water:
All alone I didn't like the feeling
All alone I sat and cried
All alone I had to find some meaning
In the center of the pain I felt inside
All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water, and a million years gone by
I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave
All alone I heal this heart of sorrow
All alone I raise this child
Flesh and bone, he's just
Bursting towards tomorrow
And his laughter fills my world and wears your smile
I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave
All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water and a million years gone by
I first heard this song when I was traveling with my wife in Canada. It was from Calgary to Drumheller, when I was driving across the long, undulating landscape and my wife was so fired at the thought of seeing real dinosaur bones. I was somewhat amused; what were fossils but sand and water, and a million years gone by?
And where would we be, in a million years from now?
Against that, what are my workplans for the next year?
The weight of my burdens bear down upon me this day. I know that there are many who depend on me to lead them, though I doubt if all of them truly care where or what I am leading them into. There are also those who wish for me to follow their leadership. I shall do so, of course, for such is the nature of the hierarchy of the world; had I been adverse to trailing behind these men, I would have left this path that I chose a long time ago. Yet, these leaders of mine may not fully appreciate the manner in which I choose to serve. Service can be a subtle thing, as my friend the Alchemist pointed out once, or it can be blatant and unyielding. Somewhere in between, in my opinion, is most preferable.
What is it that I owe to those ranked above me? And what do I owe those ranked below? What answers I have found, I have found wanting. I stumble along, leaving scattered pools of detritus amidst the eddies of chaos in my wake. My draught is deep, and the course I take is not free of hazards; should I be becalmed, it should take but the slightest of current to throw me upon the rocks. Will I founder, and spill my cargo of other people's hopes and desires into the surf? Or have the Fates another fate for me? I shudder to think of it.
But such is the way the mind works, in anticipation of the new Cycle. This is the reason why horoscopes and the petty predictions of psychics prove so popular during such times.
It is in times like this that I remind myself, usually through songs (and not those tied to the season, though there are some which would serve) of just how small my concerns are. The one that rises to mind, for some reason as yet unknown to my conscious brain, is Beth Nielsen Chapman's Sand & Water:
All alone I didn't like the feeling
All alone I sat and cried
All alone I had to find some meaning
In the center of the pain I felt inside
All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water, and a million years gone by
I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave
All alone I heal this heart of sorrow
All alone I raise this child
Flesh and bone, he's just
Bursting towards tomorrow
And his laughter fills my world and wears your smile
I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave
All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water and a million years gone by
I first heard this song when I was traveling with my wife in Canada. It was from Calgary to Drumheller, when I was driving across the long, undulating landscape and my wife was so fired at the thought of seeing real dinosaur bones. I was somewhat amused; what were fossils but sand and water, and a million years gone by?
And where would we be, in a million years from now?
Against that, what are my workplans for the next year?
Monday, 26 November 2007
Smells, Part 2
The world has become a more tolerable place after breakfast.
The consumption of a bowl of curry chicken noodles has definitely improved my disposition, if the looks of relief among my crew are to be believed. It has also helped to mask the flavour that has been assailing my nostrils the whole journey to the place where I am employed. I did not think that such a small change would have such an effect on me, after all, it was merely a citrus scent that has been replaced by something more .... flowery. Thank heaven for spice!
Come to think of it, I suppose it should have been no surprise. Alchemy has always shown that the slightest change to a formula would give rise to entirely different results. Of course, the boil-a-frog theory also predicts that my discomfort shall pass as my nostrils become acclimatized to the new smell. Just as it has become accustomed to the pungence of the bleach I use to clean my bathroom, or the fetor of my daughter's soil diapers.
On that last item, I am pleased to announce that she is, for the large part, toilet-trained. I am taking no chances while she sleeps or when we go on long drives, of course. I have also learned to interpret her little dance-on-the-spot moves: swinging her arms means she is just enjoying herself, while stamping and twisting (unaccompanied by arm movements) means she need to pee. Ah, what a proud father I am!
It was just two weeks ago that she took part in a mini-concert with the rest of her playgroup; a chance for the nursery school to showcase what they have been teaching the children, and to reassure parents that our lucre has not been squandered. As I observed to the missus then, I could not help but notice how all of us parents were alike. When our child came up with her class to do their song and dance, our eyes were drawn to our daughter and our daughter alone! Had it not been for the modern conveniences like digital cameras and handphone videos, I would have absolutely no idea what the other children were doing during the whole time! And every parent suffered from that same narrow field of concentration.
Naturally, I was also acting as a critic.
Item: motor-skills - within normal parameters;
Item: sense of timing - able to keep time with pre-recorded music;
Item: stage presence - constant smile and some mild flirting with the audience;
Item: understanding of the song - good for those in English, with occasional bloopers for those in Mandarin.
Overall performance: easily in the top ten percentile.
It helped that some of the others in her class were inept. No, I am not being harsh or biased against them. They were hopeless. Two boys did nothing but stand, staring blankly out at the crowd. Stage fright? Perhaps. Then there was the girl that hid her face in her hands and did not even try to acknowledge her parents. Clearly suffering from a bout of shy.
Is this how it begins? This comparison of genetic load? My child versus the rest of them? Where does this lead? Does this mean I have begun sliding down the slippery slope of 'how can you score lower that XXXXX in spelling? You must study harder' parental expectations? Am I becoming my father?
I hope not.
The consumption of a bowl of curry chicken noodles has definitely improved my disposition, if the looks of relief among my crew are to be believed. It has also helped to mask the flavour that has been assailing my nostrils the whole journey to the place where I am employed. I did not think that such a small change would have such an effect on me, after all, it was merely a citrus scent that has been replaced by something more .... flowery. Thank heaven for spice!
Come to think of it, I suppose it should have been no surprise. Alchemy has always shown that the slightest change to a formula would give rise to entirely different results. Of course, the boil-a-frog theory also predicts that my discomfort shall pass as my nostrils become acclimatized to the new smell. Just as it has become accustomed to the pungence of the bleach I use to clean my bathroom, or the fetor of my daughter's soil diapers.
On that last item, I am pleased to announce that she is, for the large part, toilet-trained. I am taking no chances while she sleeps or when we go on long drives, of course. I have also learned to interpret her little dance-on-the-spot moves: swinging her arms means she is just enjoying herself, while stamping and twisting (unaccompanied by arm movements) means she need to pee. Ah, what a proud father I am!
It was just two weeks ago that she took part in a mini-concert with the rest of her playgroup; a chance for the nursery school to showcase what they have been teaching the children, and to reassure parents that our lucre has not been squandered. As I observed to the missus then, I could not help but notice how all of us parents were alike. When our child came up with her class to do their song and dance, our eyes were drawn to our daughter and our daughter alone! Had it not been for the modern conveniences like digital cameras and handphone videos, I would have absolutely no idea what the other children were doing during the whole time! And every parent suffered from that same narrow field of concentration.
Naturally, I was also acting as a critic.
Item: motor-skills - within normal parameters;
Item: sense of timing - able to keep time with pre-recorded music;
Item: stage presence - constant smile and some mild flirting with the audience;
Item: understanding of the song - good for those in English, with occasional bloopers for those in Mandarin.
Overall performance: easily in the top ten percentile.
It helped that some of the others in her class were inept. No, I am not being harsh or biased against them. They were hopeless. Two boys did nothing but stand, staring blankly out at the crowd. Stage fright? Perhaps. Then there was the girl that hid her face in her hands and did not even try to acknowledge her parents. Clearly suffering from a bout of shy.
Is this how it begins? This comparison of genetic load? My child versus the rest of them? Where does this lead? Does this mean I have begun sliding down the slippery slope of 'how can you score lower that XXXXX in spelling? You must study harder' parental expectations? Am I becoming my father?
I hope not.
Smell
It is ten minutes before my meeting. I am hungry for want of breakfast. I have barely glanced through the weekend's reports, and what I have seen of my people's work does not make me particularly pleased with their performance.
Despite all of that, I cannot get one thing out of my head:
My wife has just changed laundry detergent on me, and I find this new smell on my clothes ... different, slightly disconcerting, and very distracting.
Despite all of that, I cannot get one thing out of my head:
My wife has just changed laundry detergent on me, and I find this new smell on my clothes ... different, slightly disconcerting, and very distracting.
Thursday, 9 August 2007
Hunger
This is not a food blog.
I make that statement up front because I shall be delving into Food at length. Having been tasked to work on a holiday - yes, I have been given substantial amounts of leave just to make up for this eventuality - and being separated from the rest of my colleagues who were unfortunate enough to share my curse, I find that I have been abandoned to my own devices regarding food. And since I am not permitted to leave my post, I am forced to rely on the goodwill of those about me:
Um, you going to get food? Yes? Good, can get some for me too? What do I want to eat? Dunno. What are you getting for yourself? Same thing, lor.
Yes, when begging for favours, ettiquette demands that you do not make too outrageous demands. Even when you are craving for something happy and festive, to go along with the holiday (WHICH YOU WILL NOT BE ENJOYING!).
Sigh.
What I really want is this as a starter. Followed by perhaps, this. And finally, for desert, a double scoop of vanilla ice-cream. Yes! Vanilla! Got a problem with that?!
I'm not a civil blogger when I'm starved of the things that I crave. Perhaps I am making it worse for myself by surfing all these food blogs. Then again, it is far better that thinking about my current situation:
Being a one-man contingency(!!!) is utterly depressing in itself. Even more depressing is the fact that you are sitting in a bloody windowless room with no-one but your terminal for company, when the rest of the country is having a bloody good time out on the bay. And that the head honchos in the Tech department has blocked all video streaming, so you can't see what the hell is going on out there. Big, bloody hell!
So what is a man to do? Switch off the part of my brain that concerns itself with work, and the near impossibility of something going wrong, for one.
But that brings my attention to another part of my anatomy. The stomach demands attention (since it is not getting food). So I dream about what I would rather be eating, instead of the fried hokkien mee that I am most likely to get in about a half-hour's time.
Sigh again.
So it's off to the food blogs. Hey, if I can't eat it, I can at least think about it. Then there are all those blogs with the wonderful pictures - not only think about it, I can now see what it looks like! BTW, the Traveler's Lunchbox is the bane of anyone on a diet. Take a look. See what I mean? Chocolate & Zucchini isn't very far behind either. Damn! My stomach's growling again.
Worst of all, there's not a beer to be had. Nor whisky. Nor anything vaguely alcoholic. Even my third favourite (and politically acceptable, on the basis of its caffeine content) is unavailable.
This is hell.
I make that statement up front because I shall be delving into Food at length. Having been tasked to work on a holiday - yes, I have been given substantial amounts of leave just to make up for this eventuality - and being separated from the rest of my colleagues who were unfortunate enough to share my curse, I find that I have been abandoned to my own devices regarding food. And since I am not permitted to leave my post, I am forced to rely on the goodwill of those about me:
Um, you going to get food? Yes? Good, can get some for me too? What do I want to eat? Dunno. What are you getting for yourself? Same thing, lor.
Yes, when begging for favours, ettiquette demands that you do not make too outrageous demands. Even when you are craving for something happy and festive, to go along with the holiday (WHICH YOU WILL NOT BE ENJOYING!).
Sigh.
What I really want is this as a starter. Followed by perhaps, this. And finally, for desert, a double scoop of vanilla ice-cream. Yes! Vanilla! Got a problem with that?!
I'm not a civil blogger when I'm starved of the things that I crave. Perhaps I am making it worse for myself by surfing all these food blogs. Then again, it is far better that thinking about my current situation:
Being a one-man contingency(!!!) is utterly depressing in itself. Even more depressing is the fact that you are sitting in a bloody windowless room with no-one but your terminal for company, when the rest of the country is having a bloody good time out on the bay. And that the head honchos in the Tech department has blocked all video streaming, so you can't see what the hell is going on out there. Big, bloody hell!
So what is a man to do? Switch off the part of my brain that concerns itself with work, and the near impossibility of something going wrong, for one.
But that brings my attention to another part of my anatomy. The stomach demands attention (since it is not getting food). So I dream about what I would rather be eating, instead of the fried hokkien mee that I am most likely to get in about a half-hour's time.
Sigh again.
So it's off to the food blogs. Hey, if I can't eat it, I can at least think about it. Then there are all those blogs with the wonderful pictures - not only think about it, I can now see what it looks like! BTW, the Traveler's Lunchbox is the bane of anyone on a diet. Take a look. See what I mean? Chocolate & Zucchini isn't very far behind either. Damn! My stomach's growling again.
Worst of all, there's not a beer to be had. Nor whisky. Nor anything vaguely alcoholic. Even my third favourite (and politically acceptable, on the basis of its caffeine content) is unavailable.
This is hell.
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