A Trip Down Orchard Road

It was Christmas Eve. We had library books to return. We had some bookshop coupons we wanted to expend. So we headed to Orchard Road. Nope, this post isn't about how we foolishly joined in the throngs ebbing along Orchard. It's not about how people didn't want to come down weeks earlier to get their photos with the large christmas trees or the fancy lights. But it is about the people though.

As we walked (or shuffled) down Orchard Road, the one thing that struck me was how so many of the ladies looked alike. From Cineleisure to Far East Plaza, I thought that I kept seeing clones. Ladies with the same outfits, with the same eyeshadow, with the same lipstick. Of course they can't be the same person. There were thousands out in force that night, coincidences do not occur so often. And the fact that their boyfriends all look different confirms that. (Unless this particular clone is a multi-timer who happens to be all over Orchard at once.)

So my engineer-isque mind thought of the only logical explaination. They all look the same because of their similar make-up. And the similar make-up is attributable to this thing known as "trends". So if you put eyeshadow of this shade, and match it such that it contrasts with your blush, and if your eyebrows are plucked in this particular way, you are "tred-y", because you are following the "trends".

Less I gain legions of readers (yar, right) who hate me for my above comments, might I simply point out that I have nothing against people who are willing to spend time to dress up and glam up. Really. They're positive externalities. But the point I'm trying to make here is that "trends" can be a good thing and bad thing.

When applied correctly, following trends can make you look like a million bucks. You'll come across as someone who is "in the know" about what clothes and accessories go with you. It can probably feel empowering too. But what if everyone follows this trend? Wouldn't that mean that the trend simply becomes a template? Everyone who follows it simply becomes much like a clone to the person before him? (In a salute to the numerous physics experiments I did, wouldn't that mean that they'll just make an equation and fit you into it? You are just on of the dots along this equation.)

I have no idea why this blog post came about either. Guess I just wanted to rant about seeing clones along Orchard. I'll leave the issues for you to figure out. As for me, I'll continue wearing my mass-produced T-shirts. -Jimmy

The Many Times When...

Have you ever had a moment like that? When you know something big is about to happen the very next second, before your next heartbeat, before you could next blink? When you are so sure of the eventuality of the situation that it is all that fills your mind? When you suddenly realise that somehow, everything is happening in slow-motion, as if holding you back from that very moment that you know will come, but you don't know whether to face it bravely or with dread?

Well, after such a harrowing introduction, let me first give the background to my next post. I enjoyed a short family trip to Batam over the past weekend. It's always lovely to leave the bustle of the city and enjoy long walks on the beaches, closer to nature, away from the man-made cacophony only found in the cities. So, anyway, we had fun with the jet skis while at the resort.

My sister and I had 30 minutes with the "Water Scooters", as my father fondly calls them, so we decided to split our time at the controls to 15 minutes each. I had handled jet skis back in Sri Lanka, so I agreed to control first. In a way, our play area was pretty much limited. Seaweeds which clogged the jet's intakes near the beach, sailors on the left, a jetty and rocks on the right, and scary waves out towards the sea. Still, it was pretty fun attacking the waves, sending us flying off the seats, hanging on for dear life. But cautious me kept everything in moderation. I kept the engine revs low, I made wide turns, and I only attacked the waves half-heartedly, idling the engine the moment I felt the next jump could send us flying off the jet ski.

My sis, whoa. She did plow turns, skipped over the waves with a gungho spirit and made so many sudden adjustments to the steering just to avoid seaweed. And when she got tired of me complaining that she was a dangerous rider, she even managed to throw me off the jet ski. I have no idea what happened, but I suppose it was a combination of centrifugal force, big waves and an improperly seated bum. As I felt my grip on my sister's lifejacket come off, I remember seeing the waves from the wake of the jet ski approach my face in slow motion. In that instant that lasted no more than a second, the brain seemed to have registered it for at least 30 seconds. The next moment, my face hit the water and everything was back to normal. (Except the fact that I had been thrown off the jet ski.)

It's pretty amazing how in times like that, you remember the weirdest of details. I remember the waves: clear at their peaks, dark green below, like some ice-capped peaks of the Himalayas. I also remembered a mother an son pair who stared on in disbelief and suspense when I tripped over a tile in Suntec city many, many years ago. In that moment I was flung in the air, I remember seeing their faces, as if they could anticipate the pain I was going to experience the very next moment. Then the pain came as my ribcage hit the floor.

Why do I say these things? I have absolutely no idea. I guess accident-prone me would just like medals of honour for having fallen down in a public place, crashed into glass doors and thrown off jet skis. They sure make good conversation material. -Jimmy

You know it's the Holidays when...

When did I start laughing at things like this?

You know it's the hols when you actually find yourself so bored that you start cleaning up your study table. Which is strange. I don't usually use the study table, cos I prefer the bed. And I really don't mind if the table's a mess, as long as I have my stationary and calculator within reach. But I figured that a neat study table is a more efficient byproduct as opposed to three hours before my computer.

So I got down to clearing out the junk from my study table this morning. As I went through the old textbooks, the old worksheets and funny trinkets I've collected and deposited on the table, I felt transported to the particular time when I did the papers/ read the notes/ played with the trinkets. As I dusted each item, I tried to recall when I got it, and what it meant to me back then. Then, it occurred to me: The items didn't matter to me anymore. Somewhere along the line as I grew up, I lost interest in many things. I stopped making up silly stories for the cute pencil-ends I had. I stopped laughing at the perpetual nodding dog. I stopped looking at the picture of a pitiful kitten.

I ditched the things that weren't important to me anymore. All the free pens that have dried up. All the notes and exercises I've done. All the plastacine that had been collecting dust. And some of the books that I doodled in when I was younger. (I had horrible drawings, and colouring that was even worse!) All the art projects that I did and (expectantly) were never displayed in class. All this while, I've kept them at the study table so that I could flip them open from time to time and remember what it was like to be a little kid. But this time was different. I threw them out. At that point of time, I felt no regrets, no remorse. But now that they're sitting in a nice pile in the corridor waiting to be the karang guni man's business, I feel guilty.

I feel as if I had thrown away a part of my childhood. I feel like I can never open up those books and feel like a kid anymore. And then I go back to chatting on MSN and doing up this post. So what does this show about me? Perhaps I think that I no longer need to cling on to my childhood items to remember my childhood. Perhaps I do not have the time to flip through the items in any case. Perhaps I feel that my whole life is now based on a different plane, and the items that anchored me while I was on the previous plane have outlived their usefulness. Or perhaps I had set out on a mission to clear my table, no matter the cost.

I wonder where along the line I changed my writing style from "Mary had a little lamb..." into "Mary sold her little lamb, bought chickens, sold the eggs, expanded her business and became filthy rich". I wonder when I last laughed at the little silly things... Things like toys with their whimsical smiles. I wonder if I would prefer to be a kid again, or be who I am now. Now that's a tough choice. -Jimmy

Some Things Just Worth Blogging

If the lizard had been this big...

I was kissed by a lizard!

There, I've said it. For those of you squeamish and squirmish about the details, don't read on. For those going, "Awright! This is gonna be one helluva post!", I sure hope it lives up to being one helluva post. I figured there wouldn't be much in terms of issues to talk about, so this post will just be one detailing what happened.

I woke up at about 9am yesterday, pretty normal indeed. I walk over to the kitchen where mom has prepared Milo for me. As usual, the mug had no cover and the spoon was in it. I stirred it up a bit, but noticed that there was a particular patch of brown in the centre. Thinking that it was just undissolved Milo, I started drinking.

Brown patch still remained. I slowed down my drinking pace. Just a bit more of Milo left. Then I saw it. As the Milo drained out into my mouth, the lizard took form. I freaked. I placed the mug on the table top; the lizard was still stuck against the wall of the mug. I shivered. I jumped up and down the kitchen. I cartwheeled across the living room. I shivered somemore. Then the profanities came out. "What the f**K? What the hell is a lizard doing in my Milo!"

I placed my mug in the sink, lizard and all... figured that since I suffered the fate of drinking lizard flavoured Milo, my sis should have the fate of seeing a lizard in the mug after she finishes her own mug of Milo. Then I began to think of all the possibilities: What about all the germs thriving on the skin of the lizard? What if my mouth was wide open when I gulped down the Milo? What if it had gone into my mouth? How am I supposed to clean the Milo off all the kitchen walls? I shivered again. Yucks!

Then came the fun part. The lizard had become like a medal of honour: This brave soul kissed a lizard. So I began telling my friends. How often do you find a lizard swimming in your Milo? Did the lizard have a death note? Maybe it had a failed relationship. Maybe it was all an elaborate ploy by the lizard to kiss me. Heh, yeah right.

Just to bring closure to the story, my sister freaked when she saw the lizard. Mom tossed it into the dustbin after I had a couple of sniggers. Then I washed the cup with lots of dishwashing liquid. Shiver again. I'm using the mug to drink my nightly glass of milk right now. -Jimmy

The Bits and Bytes of Two Reformats in a Day

After Izzy's really entertaining take on computer problems, I have decided to give my own computer woes. I had intended to switch my hard drives ever since I got the bigger one some time last year. Back then, I simply placed the bigger drive as slave and formatted it, increasing my total hard disk space by 3 times. It worked then, but computer games just seem to be on some very effective growth formula. I realised that just having 40 gigs for my system drive just didn't work anymore.

Having survived a term in university, I plucked the courage to reformat the hard drives and set the bigger one as the system drive. Things went really smoothly at first. Windows was successfully installed, I had all the drivers in and I even could install some of my favoured games. Satisfied with my performance so far, I then turned to the smaller drive and formatted it. Then the problems cropped up. I couldn't just format it: I had to install Windows too. (I forgot how I formatted the big drive the last time.) Then the Windows installation overwrote the one I had in my bigger drive. All my effort gone to waste. However, things did turn out alright in the end, with the bigger drive as the system drive and the smaller one just acting as the slave drive for extra space.

Then came the painstaking process of restoring the computer to its pre-reformat state. All my files went back to where they were, all my frequently used programs reinstalled, setting the desktop wallpaper to the one I had before the ordeal and all that jazz. But somehow, the computer feels different. It wasn't the same old one which endeared itself to me. Gone were the games that took up disk space but added character to the machine. Gone were the old emoticons in MSN messenger. (Thankfully contacts are saved with the account information. I'd hate to key in all the contacts again.) Gone are the nifty things I downloaded from the Net, useless stuff that made the desktop more "homely".

It's like my computer had been cloned. All the important stuff the old one had has been transplanted into the new one, but it's no longer the same machine. All the little quirks that made the pre-reformat machine, gave it its colour, were wiped clean. I now had a clean slate to work with. But there are times when a clean slate is not what you want. You want familiarity.

I wonder if I romanticise this whole reformat episode too much. But think about it: have you gone through a huge incident in your life and feel that you've changed? You can't put your finger to it, but it seems like you'll never be the same again. You feel somewhat lost, changed, desperately trying to seek the way forward.

Still, doesn't it make you wonder? If I treat my computer this way, how do I treat my human relationships? -Jimmy

A Moment's Folly - Redeemed

Guess I -still- won't be able to drive one of these anyway.

It was a moment I had come to detest

After all that I've had to invest

Still, I gave it all my best

I just passed my driving test!

Guess that sums up everything I wanted to say. (Caps off to a particular somebody who said my posts are too long. Somebody. I'm not going to say who. You might know HIM well.)

Actually, it's not everything. (Heh. Thought I'd end there, didn't you?)

Passing the test has been great cos I realise that I'm capable of achieving it afterall. It leaves you with a warm sense of accomplishment, yet another nick on your hilt. However, I wonder how many of you feel the emptiness after a particularly large test or exam. Your life revolves around it just before the event. You put in all your effort, your sweat and tears mix into an indistinguishable salty liquid. You give your best during the event and you walk out feeling that you've done it. And then you think. What now?

Has the event consumed your whole life that you don't remember what life was like before the event even came into the picture? You are filled with emptiness, finding ways to occupy your time when you were busy slogging just days ago.

Then you realise that the next hurdle looms at the horizon. Emptiness disappears. You pick up your shield and your sword and you march onward. Welcome to life. -Jimmy

Making Singapore Proud

Perhaps, if they allowed the sport "Sit on a beach and drink Big Gulp". Perhaps.

Here we are, Singapore.
Hold your head high as you walk out the door.
Despite the bowling lane uproar,
We also had Nicole Tay on the floor.

This blog post goes out as a tribute to our dedicated and talented athletes who represented Singapore in the recently concluded South East Asian Games 2005. T'was a truly amazing feat for Singapore to have scored the highest number of away gold medals, a record to be matched in years to come.

The 42 gold medals that the fine athletes have earned over the past week even surpassed the Straits Time "challenge" of forty golds. It has kept me rooted on the television set for the week, hoping to hear more good news, watching the power and finesse of our athletes. There were the usual performers from our swimmers and sailors. Then there were the surprise wins from Gymnastics, Fencing and the weee-kkkkeeed triathlete.

I'm sure most of you must've heard how our gymnast darling Nicole Tay fell off the balance beam thrice. A terrible waste, especially since she was the favourite to win the event. I grimaced when I saw her tumble off the first time, grazing her back against the beam. She got up there and performed. And fell. And got up. Despite the pain written over her face, she gave her all. This was especially evident when she grabbed the gold in her floor event. It's times like these that I truly salute these athletes. Nicole is just 14. Yet she took things in her stride much like someone older. (Actually, there's another reason I watch gymnastics. Her name's Lee Wen Si. (X Too bad she's attached to Gary Tan.)

In an event that didn't see as much air-time, our girl fencer Ruth also did Singapore proud. Ruth is just one of the many teenagers representing Singapore. There were our sailors; Tao Li, the 15 year old "newbie" in the swimming squad who still held her own in the women's relay event; the 18 year old triathlete; the list goes on.

As I watch their performance in the games and hear of the hits and near-misses, I am at the same time proud and jealous. Proud because, well, proud because even Singapore athletes can kick-ass. What little red dot? We pull our own weight. And jealous because all these stories of greatness make me realise just how ordinary I am. I do not excel at anything in particular. I have never gone beyond representing the school. Even then, we lost. So as they enjoy their moment of triumph, I go about taking my exams, wondering what I should wear tomorrow. I'm sure it must be great, right? To excel at a particular sport you love, to compete in it, to bring honour and glory to Singapore?

Perhaps I romanticise too much. I'm sure they undergo killer training regimes, regimes that would have scared me and left me panting at the sidelines. I'm sure that for every moment of triumphant glory, there are lots more moments of sweat, blood and tears. But wouldn't it be nice? To a be a part, however small, of greatness? Well, I'll keep dreaming, but to Team Singapore I say this: You have done us proud, keep the flag flying high. -Jimmy

What is it with Guys and Balls?

Guys fooling with balls. Girl standing pretty.

So there we were, three old friends meeting up to return some books to the library. We dropped the books into the chute. Moment of panic when the light fails to light up. The light blinks to life: "Book returned". And we were done. "Now what?" I asked. And so starts the long session when everyone filters through their brains trying to find something fun and exciting to occupy us through the evening.

The long session lasted all of five seconds. We convinced ourselves that we'd find something to do while strolling along. So we headed for the escalators. At every landing, one of us would ask, "So how now?" Blinks. Heads for the next escalator. Process repeats. The next moment, we find ourselves outside a pool place. "How bout playing pool?" No violent objections. We enter.

The above scenario wouldn't be that bad if not for the fact that we repeat it everytime we go out. Is it because there really isn't much to do in Singapore in the evenings? I mean, we could go trekking around Bukit Timah in the mornings, and go around the country on bikes in the dead of the night, but what about the time in between? We have the standard suite of activities like LAN gaming, dining, pool, karaoke. (Notice that they're all indoor activities. We're spoilt children. We can't live without air-conditioning in the heat of the day.) My point is that there really isn't much that we could do in the afternoons and evenings.

But is it really the case? Why pool of all activities? What's so enticing about hitting balls with a long thin stick? (At this point, I feel a huge urge to digress into a pseudo economics case-study. There is supply, and there is demand. Thus, there is the service.) I don't know about the others, but I love pool because it links what I've learnt in my physics lessons to real life. As I line up the shot, I recall the Principle on Conservation of Momentum. If I hit the cue ball hard, the target ball moves fast as well. Momentum is transferred from the cue, to the cue ball, to the target ball. I also recall all the equations from my optics lessons. Angle of incidence is equal to the angle of reflection. The sine of the angle of incidence... no wait, there's no refraction on the pool table. Even if you try doing a jump ball trick shot, you'll have to consider projectile motion.

There I go again, spouting physics like I was made up of nuts and bolts and gears. Anyway, while I was playing, I realized once again the great difference in the proportion of male and female players. Why is pool a predominantly male activity? The TV was showing a soccer match. A person watching shouts that a team has scored. Guys crowd under the TV set, watching the replay intently. What is it with guys and balls? We run after them, we hit them around, we throw them around, we kick, punch, whack, smash... Every conceivable thing that we could do to a ball, we've made into a sport.

As always, I blog not to post the answers, but to raise all the questions. (Of course you could also question why my post seems to lack coherence today. Grin and bear it.) I'll ponder over these questions for the whole of five seconds, after which I don't mind the next time we walk into a pool place and start playing. -Jimmy