coffeestruck

Steve Job's Stanford Commencement address 2005

2011-08-25T22:47:00.002+08:00

I originally got this article from the Wall Street Journal. Original form is here:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424053111903596904576520690515394766.html?mod=WSJ_hp_us_mostpop_emailed

Steve Jobs, who stepped down as CEO of Apple Wednesday after having been on medical leave, reflected on his life, career and mortality in a well-known commencement address at Stanford University in 2005.

Here, read the text of of that address:

I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.

The first story is about connecting the dots.

I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?

It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.

And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.

It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

My second story is about love and loss.

I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.

I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.

I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.

During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.

I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.

My third story is about death.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.

This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

Thank you all very much

The Adventures of Al Truist: Responsibility

2011-07-24T22:48:00.000+08:00

Al Truist was all grown-up now and his time came about for National Service. Here, his strong desire to stand up for all that was just and right was noted by his superiors as "good initiative". However, his strong desire to argue with superiors to ensure that things were done the just and right way meant that he was also labeled "stubborn and argumentative" by some superiors. He thus couldn't qualify for Officer Cadet School as only the best and brightest made it there. An Army cannot function if its officers questioned their superiors about the way things were done all the time. Better for a sergeant to pester just one officer supervising him.

Al took to all his tasks with great gusto: he was sold on the National Education message of National Service. If his country needed a strong military presence to deter her neighbours from invading, if such a military presence would help provide foreign investors a sense of security, if such a military could strengthen the psychological resolve of some of his weaker-willed brethren, Al was glad to help out.

After completing his infantry specialist training, Al was assigned to become a squad leader at a rifle battalion. A new batch of recruits was to be trained up to become operationally ready servicemen and Al was supposed to train his new squad of recruits. He relished his job: maybe he could impart some of his passion for righteousness onto some of them.

The new recruits sorely disappointed him. They seemed like they were dredged up from the underbelly of the nation. Like bitter bile, they probably served some function in the body, but being so bitter, the body would rather not think about them until they failed to serve the body any longer. Some of them were all bark and no byte, some of them wore fiendish expressions and would turn on their comrades over the littlest things. Al once had to request help from thugs from another squad to help break up the fight between his thug recruit and Mr Bark-no-Bit. The worst recruits were the apathetic ones and the fools.

Using fists to answer problems didn't quite bother Al. At least they believed in what they stood for (even though they might be misguided beliefs) and were willing to fight for such beliefs. Al could see how he had been fighting for his own beliefs his whole life. What Al couldn't stand was when people couldn't be bothered with what was happening around them or were alert enough to consider what was around them but refused to respond. "The world will be a much better place if people were willing to take ownership of problems and stand up for what is right!" By golly, he, Al Truist, was going to change things!

Towards the end of a training stint, Al had to lead his squad through "THE GAUNTLET OF FIRE", or what the higher-ups sedately call the "Battle Inoculation Course". In this course, the recruits had to crawl through mud, under barbed wire obstacles and over logs, all the while being fired upon overhead by real machine gun bullets. Before they entered the live firing range, Al gave his squad a pep talk. Al loved pep talks as they gave him a reason to drop nuggets of his truths. "Alright gentlemen, please remember what the purpose of this course is. If terrorists ever manage to steal GPMGs from our armouries and were wrecking havoc along Orchard Road, it will be good to know what GPMG rounds flying over your head will sound like. Besides that, hugging the mud will also be your safest bet so once we enter the course, stay low and leopard crawl all the way to the other end of the gauntlet. Understood?"

Bark-no-bite asked, "Sar-germ, simi gauntlet?"

Al hurriedly explained to Bark and rushed his troops into their ready positions in a concrete ditch safe from the MG fire. His officer was already staring at him to keep to the tight schedule. On the signal from the officer, Al shouted, "Ok guys, let's go! Go! Up the ditch, hit the dirt and crawl to the end!" His squad gave a blood-curdling scream as they clambered up from the ditch, reminiscent of the sound Norse invaders made. Al's heart swelled with pride; he had trained bitter bile into fighting men. However, his heart quickly swelled even more with shock. Instead of dropping into a leopard crawl after climbing up the ditch, Took had stood up straight, unslung his rifle and began shouting, "Bang! Bang!" over the din of MG slugs snapping overhead.

From the safety of the ditch, Al ran over to Took and with a mighty leap, jumped up and grabbed Took's utility vest. Took lost balance and fell backwards. His feet slipped back into the ditch and his body followed suit, but his unslung rifle jammed across the ditch opening and the sling had wrapped around his wrist, preventing Took from letting go of his rifle. Took was evacuated to the hospital with a broken wrist.

At the investigation, Al's company commander asked Al if he had performed his duties according to the training manual. Captain Kotak was a commander who followed all the rules in the book. His contemporaries have been promoted to Major by flouting some rules here and there, but Kotak believed his slow promotion was a bad mix of his Malay/Javanese heritage more than anything else.

"Sergeant Al Truist, do you understand what responsibility is?"

Al smiled, "Yes, in fact, I added the official definition of responsibility into the SISPEC creed. Previously, it just said 'responsibility to your fellow men' but now it says 'answerable or accountable, as for something within one's power, control, or management, for my colleagues'."

"Then tell me Sergeant, if you were being responsible, how did Took end up with a broken wrist?"

Al seethed. He had done everything in his power and yet an accident occurred and now this officer seemed to be putting the blame on him.

"Sir, if you were being responsible for all the men in your company, how did Took end up with a broken wrist?"

"Mr Truist, I delegated my responsibility of looking after the well-being of my men to their individual squad leaders, people like you! You can't expect me to be responsible for everyone in the army! If I was personally responsible for Took, it should have been spelled out in some regulation!"

"Sir, if everyone had their responsibilities defined, there would be no room for initiative, for the 'thinking soldier' our army desires. I was responsible for Took's training, I briefed my men very clearly before we entered the range that they had to stay down once the got into the range. How is it my responsibility that this idiot didn't understand my instructions, didn't clarify and simply thought he had to shoot at the people shooting him? Isn't that what we had trained them for all this while? To return fire when fired upon? Did that not prove I discharged my responsibility in training him such that he at least understands the concept of returning fire?"

"Sergeant, you are responsible. If you had suspected that he would be better off being some village's idiot, you could have pointed it out to me. He wouldn't have been in that unfortunate predicament in the first place!"

Al fumed. He knew that had he done as Kotak had suggested, he would have gotten a reprimand for not being able to "mould the man", been told to keep Took in his squad, and suffer a poor appraisal at the end of the year. Al wanted to point out how unjust and un-right it was, but let it slide.

Al sarcastically remarked, "Sir, if I'm meant to be responsible about the men under me, and I didn't want to have fools in my squad, what is the width of my responsibility? Can I tell parents not to have kids if I knew that they might end up as fools in my squad? Is that my responsibility as well?"

The cynicism was lost on Kotak, who replied with a straight face, "If you had the power to find out which parents would eventually bear fools, then I'm sure it must be your responsibility to stop them, for the greater good of society!"

Al wished he could have told Kotak's parents that.

"Sir, does responsibility also work both ways? I'm responsible for the welfare of my men, but at the same time I have a responsibility to you, my superior, to execute your orders in as efficient a manner as possible."

"Mr Truist, I think you're beginning to learn something from this episode. It's heartening."

"Well, sir, how do you reconcile conflicting responsibilities then? If the general ordered you to attack the objective, you have a responsibility to him to fulfill that objective. But at the same time, you didn't want me to put Took into obvious danger, saying I have a responsibility to ensure he stays safe. You have a responsibility to your own men to not put them into obvious danger, which cannot be achieved if you discharge your responsibility to the general. No matter how you see it, sir, you will be irresponsible!"

Captain Kotak sat back from his desk, lips parted, wearing a dumbfounded look. He was either taking a very long time to process the scenario Al painted for him, or was trying to wrap his mind into finding an answer. Al sat back with a satisfied grin. He was glad whenever he could change a person's mindset to help them achieve all that was right and good. In fact, he felt better than glad. He felt right and good.

-Jimmy

Trap Kotak: responsible to superiors or responsible to men?

Man

2011-07-16T14:46:00.000+08:00

Man

Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money
Then he sacrifices his money to recuperate his health
And then he is so anxious about the future that he doesn’t enjoy the present
And as a result he doesn’t live in the present or the future
And he lives as if he’s never going to die
And then he dies having never really lived

- The Dalai Lama, 2011

Regrets of the Dying

2011-06-04T11:43:00.001+08:00

All credit goes to Bronnie Ware for writing this article. You can view it in its original form here: http://www.inspirationandchai.com/Regrets-of-the-Dying.html

I wanted to post this on my own blog just as a means of giving myself a reality check once in a while. I will not put any of my own value judgement in this post, it is for everyone to enjoy in its original form.

REGRETS OF THE DYING

For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.

People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learnt never to underestimate someone's capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all. When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn't work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children's youth and their partner's companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called 'comfort' of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.

Short Story Project: Unpowered flight

2011-03-19T23:49:00.003+08:00

Julius Mayweather parked his car outside hangar 22, at the far end of Offutt AFB, Omaha, USA. It was a compound within a compound, protected by 2 chain link fences and a 3 metre high concrete barrier within an Air Force Base which already featured tight security. When he stopped flying sorties protecting B-29s en route to Japan, Julius thought the war was over. Now, he wondered if the war truly ended.

It was the spring of 1948, perfect weather for flying. The skies were usually blue and cloudless and even spring showers hardly made their way this far inland. The only issues Julius had to factor in were the thermals rising up from the wide open tracts of bare land surrounding the airfield. While most of his friends from flight school and the 129th Air Combat Wing re-integrated themselves into society, working in factories and offices and schools to ramp up the productivity of a country that has spent too much in the last war, Julius still couldn't get flying out of his blood. Taking aircraft out on test flights didn't have the thrill of sitting behind a Merlin V12 engine, or the sheer adrenaline of having 6 Browning machine guns rattle the rivets off the airframe, but it still offered him the peace and freedom of being up in the air that no other job could afford him.

"You're late, Major Julius." Colonel Winters said, with arms crossed over his chest. Julius took off his cap now that he was indoors and grinned at his superior, "Well, sir, it's 830 and I'm on time. You are characteristically early." Beside Winters was a wiry man, just slightly older than the officer. Julius recognized him from the prototype development engineers department, but there were so many projects being developed, so many new technologies and so many people behind these projects that he didn't bother keeping social contacts with most of them. He recalled one engineer who had been so enthusiastic leading a project that involved launching aircraft vertically from rails. It was meant as a defence measure against high-altitude bombers, an attempt to get interceptors to altitude in as short a time as possible. It didn't work out because most test pilots blacked out from the sheer acceleration and couldn't recover the aircraft as momentum wore out and the aircraft struggled with its own power. He had lost 2 colleagues with that silly project. These scientists only care about their ideas and claim that they work on paper. It's test pilots like us who put our lives on the line refining the ideas.

"Julius, I'd like you to meet Marcus Finlay, lead designer for the prototype you're going to fly today." Julius extended his hand to greet Mr Finlay, who readily took it and pumped enthusiastically. "It's always a pleasure to meet pilots, Mr Mayweather. Especially after news of the Berlin Blockade and the air drops, amazing stuff. There's no doubt aircraft will pave the way for future warfare and we need good pilots to be at the heart of these machines." Julius kept his smile plastered on his face as he replied, "Well, sir, I was in the States while the Berlin Airlift was in progress, but it's a pleasure to meet you too."

Mr Finlay began on his brief even before Colonel Winters could start on it. "Gentlemen, since the war ended, Strategic Air Command has issued new directives for delivery systems for nuclear payloads. I'm sure both of you will have seen the B-36 go out for its training sorties. That's a magnificent aircraft, really huge! I don't think any other aircraft in history will get any larger than that. Most recently, a new aircraft powered by 6 turbojets went for its first test flight. Our aircraft are meant to go high up in the atmosphere to drop their nuclear arsenal.

"However, do you see a problem with going higher in the air? Oxygen! The B-36 needs oxygen in its piston engines while even the new jet powered XB-47 still uses oxygen to produce thrust. I have developed a solution to allow us to go even higher in the air!"

Julius brought his hand up and cleared his throat, "Excuse me, sir, but the benefits of higher cruising speed or increased range from being higher in the atmosphere are minimal. Why do we need an aircraft to go even higher or faster?"

Colonel Winters piped in with his take, "Julius, the communists are developing surface to air missiles that can reach altitudes of thirty thousand feet from the ground. Our recon aircraft have spotted such missiles reaching the aircraft's service ceilings before. Now, the moment they work out the kinks in the targeting system, we'll have a credible threat to our bombers. We have to be one step ahead!"

Julius reeled inside from the thought. He had been brought up and trained in the school of thought that only an aircraft will have the speed and performance to shoot down another aircraft. In fact, his whole role in the war was to protect B-29s as they flew into Japan and to shoot down any interceptors that came up against the lumbering bombers.The thought that an unmanned canister rocketing up from the ground could make fighter planes (and pilots) obsolete repulsed him. To him, air combat was the most glorious bastion for a pilot, a swan song of the old gladiatorial days when each man worked within the limitations of his equipment to outsmart and outplay the opponent. Then, remembering the limitations of the radar systems that helped win the Battle of Britain, he asked, "Such missiles will need radar systems to spot aircraft. Why can't we have aircraft that go under the effective cover of radar instead?"

Finlay laughed and said, "If you go low, you'll be shredded by the AA guns! Aircraft are much less efficient close to the ground so you'll need more powerful engines and more fuel capacity. The future of bombing lies in the highest reaches of the sky, not nap of the earth flying!"

Julius sulked inside. He hated it when his pride was hurt. Just a few years ago, his squadron commander was given a medal for supporting bomber operations in Japan. Fighter pilots were celebrated everywhere. Today, he was mocked by a scientist. He silently followed the two other men as they walked over to the new prototype aircraft.

While still displaying a visibly unhappy expression, Julius' heart leapt inside when he saw the clean lines of the new aircraft. It was very sleek and featured clean lines, with long, slender wings that had twice the span compared to the length of the aircraft. There were no propellers, no engine intakes and no exhaust ports.

"This is a proof of concept aircraft, so it wasn't designed with a large bomb bay. However, we needed to make it large enough to install a pressurised canopy. In true high-altitude flight, pressurised oxygen canisters will be used to sustain the flight crew, but the powerplant itself does not require any air."

Walking over to the tip of the drooping wing, Mr Finlay pointed out to a small protuberance on the top of the wing, near the leading edge. "Gentlemen, over here is a tiny Brownian Field Generator, the secret to this aircraft." It was the size of a matchbox and no thicker than a coin lying on its side. "I'm sure you've heard of the phenomenon of Brownian motion?"

"The erratic movement of particles in the air due to the high energy collisions between these particles?" Julius attempted to answer, desperately dusting the cobwebs around such information in his brain. He didn't want to look any more unintelligent next to this scientist. Mr Finlay smiled and clapped sharply once. "YES! Except instead of energising the particles randomly, we are creating a field of them to be propelled backwards to provide both thrust and lift. This is the very latest development of quantum mechanics."

Colonel Winters once again crossed his arms over his chest and asked, "How exactly do you excite the particles to move backwards? What's the power source?"

"We create wave-forms with the air particles that then travel over the top of the wing, thus generating lift. Also, because of the mass of air that is pushed back, the aircraft is naturally pushed forward. It's like a propulsive wing!"

"What? Wave-form of air? Air is just made of different particles!" Julius was quite sure this scientist was distorting his reality of physics as taught by his secondary school teachers. No matter how he wrapped his mind around it, air will always be particles to him.

Mr Finlay had a grim smile on his face. "Gentlemen, have you heard of the Schrodinger's cat thought experiment? In it, Dr Schrodinger attempts to explain how a subject can be in two states at the same time. Sealed in a closed box with a vial of poison that can be triggered by a random event, the cat can be alive and dead at the same time to outside observers, until the box is opened and his state is revealed. Similarly, light can exist as waves, which is the form we're familiar with, and also as photons, little light particles. Normally, they exhibit the properties of the wave form, but when you observe a single particle, it exists only in its particle form. The wave-form of air particles is cutting-edge quantum theory put into practice."

Julius already had enough of Mr Finlay's lecture, so he asked, "Sir, just explain how differently it handles from a normal aircraft."

"Quite simply, because airflow is continually energised over the top of the wing, the aircraft has a ridiculously low stall speed for its wing loading. We're talking about 20 knots, something even your speed indicator can't show. Also, the wave-forms will build up when more air compacts against the leading edge of the wing. In essence, the faster you go, the faster you accelerate. Do not expect the throttle response of the P-51 Mustangs you flew in the war."

Julius detected slight sarcasm from the scientist, but he brushed it off and moved on, "I'm a test pilot, I've moved past flying just Mustangs. Alright, let's get cracking."

The Professional Storyteller

2011-01-25T22:09:00.000+08:00

N is currently doing his Juris Doctor degree in SMU. This is a post-graduate degree in law designed for students with no prior undergrad law experience. After spending over a term in SMU, he remarked to me how being a lawyer was like being a storyteller, “You tell the judge the facts of the case. You tell the judge other cases which have similar circumstances. You tell the judge what the punishments were like in those other cases and then you tell him why your client should face a similar or lighter punishment.”

I told him that telling a story is basically what most professionals do. The doctor tells the story of the patient’s health based on what he observes of the patient. The accountant tells the story of the company’s financial health based on what he gathers from the financial statements. The engineer tells the story of the machinery or the processes, what their yields are, how much downtime they should be expecting in the coming months, the total productivity, based on their own monitoring.

I discussed with my dad how we studied so many years, to the point of achieving degrees, just to tell stories. It seemed silly to me that one has to study so long just to be able to tell stories. He didn’t dispute that professionals are paid by the society to tell stories. However, it is not the story itself, but how the story was derived that is the reason professionals are paid so highly by society. He brought 3 reasons why we require so many years of education to tell stories.

“You studied all the way to university to train your mind to think critically and analytically. Unlike skills which can be learnt given enough training, analytical thinking allows your mind to grasp new situations and assess them based on previous experience to figure out a solution. Analysis allows an adaptability to respond to situations that you have not seen before. Professionals are paid based on how well they can analyse, even though all of them might have this pre-requisite of being able to tell the story.” I thought about it, it’s true that the best accountants are not those who can only say, “Based on the cash flow and profit figures, this company is doing well.” The best accountants are those who can tell what exactly is providing the biggest profit margin, which items are costing the most to hold as inventory and what aspects of the business might pull the company down if it was not carefully monitored. Both accountants had access to the same financial statements and management accounts, but while the stories are similar, the better accountant fleshes out his story like a work of art.

To be a good professional, one needs to continuously build up his “story vocabulary” based on his experience and training. Part of this vocabulary is formed in university: accountants have their financial ratios and lawyers have their landmark cases. The story vocabulary forms a handy toolkit for the professional to study the situation and flesh out his story and thus become a better professional. Part of the reason for such a lengthy period of study before students are conferred their graduate degrees is to build up a large enough toolbox to provide useful contributions to society.

Combining the skills above, studying in the university trains the student professional to notice every new situation, observe the factors contributing to the new situation, analyse possible learning points and finally archive them into his “story vocabulary”. University was supposed to serve as a starting platform for the individual to continue lifelong learning.

The analysis and the building up of the toolbox was part of the reason I enjoyed my time in university and working as a financial controller in L company. I took each new situation as a way to expand my toolbox and of course it helped that my group mates and later on my supervisors were more than happy to contribute to my learning experience by guiding me and arguing the relative merits of each course of action. Even though I spent a large portion of my youth *just to get a degree*, I’m quite glad it now allows me to flesh out my stories and tell them well. –Jimmy

Continued in the other blog.

Watches Make Good Presents

2010-11-29T22:30:00.001+08:00

Reasons why I'd buy my girlfriend a watch:

It'll remind her of the good times we've had together.

It's the perfect symbol of the present.

It reminds us of the little ticks that irk the other person and yet make them so familiar.

It's for all the times I'd watch her from a distance and feel happy inside.

It's for the little minute details about each other that not many others know.

It's for the second chances we give each other whenever we have a misunderstanding.

It'll remind her of 'hour' next anniversary!

-Jimmy

Batman or Ironman?

2010-09-06T19:55:00.001+08:00

If you could choose to be a hero, who would it be? Batman or Ironman?

First, the similarities:

Rich family backgrounds: Both Stark and Wayne Enterprise were built up by the heroes' parents, and the family background provides the basis of many of the fancy gadgets you see in both these comics.

Technology: Unlike other "superheroes" like Superman or Spiderman, both of them do not have special abilities, but they rely on their technology to fight crime. In both cases, the technology was created in-house, either from the nifty plot device of the family background or by the characters themselves.

Intelligence: Both characters are extremely bright individuals. Batman uses his wit to solve crimes and track down masterminds. Ironman built his suit using just bare materials in a dingy workshop.

Trusty Sidekicks: Batman can always count of Alfred to dispense a few wise words, whether it has to do with solving a particular mystery or to encourage Bruce Wayne to fight his inner demons. Ironman has Pepper Potts to provide his voice of reason, as well as the wisecracks of his trusty computer JARVIS.

Now the differences:

Batman has and will always be the dark and broody character who can never let go of his parents' murder. Meanwhile, Tony Stark is the flamboyant playboy who enjoys the high-life. Although he might claim that he fights crime to atone for his contributions to the proliferating weapons market, he probably does it more for the sheer kick of it.

Batman relies on stealth to gain the upper-hand in his crime-fighting. As such, he operates in the cover of darkness, striking from the shadows. Ironman would appear anytime of the day. The more the fireworks, the better.

And finally, the main reason I'd pick Ironman over Batman is simply because Batman merely glides, while Ironman flies. That makes him way cooler than Batman.

PS: During the course of discussing the merits of both Batman and Ironman, SS brought up an interesting thought: Does Cyclops sleep with his glasses on? If he does, doesn't it break often? If he doesn't, what would happen if he wakes up from a nightmare and jolts opens his eyes?

Towers that reach the Clouds

2010-05-02T00:06:00.003+08:00

They called me again to ask me to go for my re-medical appointment. This is probably the furthest I'd get before I decide my possible future.

In the evening, my parents started asking me if I'd given such a future serious thought. It's not good for your social life, they said. There'll be some periods of time when you'll miss important family events and you won't be able to contribute to the nurturing fatherly figure aspect of your childrens' development, they said. Yes, I had given it thought. Yes, there'll be times when I'll be gone from home for days at a stretch. I tried to propose that I could request for short sectors, but dad rightly pointed out that much of my salary will depend on the sectors. My father knows the pay scheme of pilots from reading the newspapers.

There's a high chance that you might be alone overseas and begin to stray. There's a chance that your wife might be alone in Singapore and begin to stray, he says. They're all very real considerations and they haven't been covered in depth with the girlfriend. Interspersed between an evening's conversations, I explained to her what I had read from AskCaptainLim.com. How long the training will be. How sectors get rostered. Practical tips for such couples to maintain their marriages. (How I should get a good laptop with a webcam for Skype sessions.)

The girlfriend pointed out that I wasn't asking for her permission. (If anything, she had always advocated for people to dare to chase their dreams.) At the end of the night, she simply said, "I want you to chase your dream, but I don't want to be left behind."

I have this analogy about life. For every action you take, for every decision you make, you lay down a brick. Some people build walls to hem themselves in, but most people build towers to stand upon, to reach towards their dreams (for dreams lie hidden amongst the clouds). As you lay down the bricks, you'll meet people who join their towers with yours. Some of these towers are only joined in a small area, some are joined through many storeys in height. In the same way towers might converge, they might diverge again later on. You cannot go back down the tower to seperate your tower from these peoples'; only time will erode them away.

When I made a conscious decision to build my tower towards this dream, she was there beside me, laying down bricks with me so we'd both reach our goals faster. I remember her words of encouragement when I was a ball of nerves before my first interview. I remember how she'd smile and frown as I shared my triumphs and setbacks. Looking back, between our brick-laying, we've built quite a chunk of tower. As we continue chasing our own dreams, it dawned on me that the tower we're building together is also a part of my dreams. In fact, everyone's tower is pretty much a part of their dreams. It was a gentle reminder that while we continue to build our own towers, we should pause once in a while to see who is building their towers alongside us. -Jimmy

Pilot Takes off

2010-04-17T20:14:00.003+08:00

When he first got into the Cessna 172, he kept reminding himself that ordinary people could be talked into landing a plane by an air traffic controller who was a trained pilot. That had happened in one episode of his favourite Mythbusters series, so it must be quite credible. That first flight went well enough, as he matched his ground school lessons to the real-world, watching how the instruments behaved and how the controls felt.

Now, as he sat in the left-hand seat of the Airbus 319, he had to keep reminding himself that it was all about listening to the instructions and following them. The instructor had joked about "heavy metal" being not the genre of music but the aircraft he was about to try flying for the first time. He went through the pre-takeoff checklist as the instructor taxiied the aircraft out onto the designated runway. He kept contact with the ATC: codes, numbers and lingo rolling off his tongue effortlessly. He used to keep a handy reference list of ATC communication conventions, but today, all he had to do was refer to his flight plan and the airport taxiway map.

The plane rolled to a stop before the double bold, double dashed lines. One more confirmation from ATC, and he assumed command of the plane. He gingerly opened the throttles, watched the EICAS dials rise and heard the whine of jet engines quite far behind him. He had half expected the sound of huge turboprops chugging right beside the cockpit windows, but this was no Baron 58. He lined up smartly along the runway, which impressed the instructor somewhat. "If that impresses you, wait till you see me in the air!" He thought.

He pushed the throttles up a bit further and watched the N1 dial closely. "Forty Ann one," the instructor voiced out his thoughts. N1 measures the speed of rotation of the low-speed fan of the engines, as a percentage of its maximum rotational speed. In a high-bypass engine like the 319's turbofans, this provided the best estimation of engine power.
He was silently happy that he no longer have to compare manifold pressure against prop RPM like he did on the Baron. He pushed the throttle further; the whine became obvious and he was pushed against his seat. The instructor reported calmly, "Ninety five Ann one," He wanted to grin but kept his pilot face on. What a difference jets make!

"Eighty knots," The instructor said.
"Eighty knots," He concurred.

"Hundred and fifty, rotate." He gently eased back on the side stick, watching as the attitude indicator rotated back. Not more than 3 degrees a second, he reminded himself.

"Positive altitude and positive VSI, gear up." He finally let go for the throttles and reached forward for the landing gear lever. He threw it forward and watched the indicator lights flick off.

"Five Hundred feet AGL, let's go for best rate of climb." He had the information written on his reference sheet, but he memorised it well enough to automatically do it. Pitch, 15 degrees; power, 90 N1; trim.
The three step process he had practiced since that first flight in the 172 came naturally to him. He mentally ran the numbers through his head again: best rate of climb gave him the highest altitude gain in a given span of time, while best angle of climb gives him the highest altitude gain in a given span of ground distance. He has to memorise them for the 319 again that night...

"Approaching two-twenty knots, retract flaps." Just like he did with the landing gear, he pushed the lever full forward and verified that the flaps indicators showed zero deflection. Pleased with everything, he turned to look at his instructor and grinned, "We're airborne."

Friends playing chess

2010-03-20T13:17:00.002+08:00

There are authors and there are story-tellers. Authors simply write. They spin tales that document certain events and how they affect certain people. Story-tellers, however, spin yarn into this huge web that intertwines, absorbs the reader and paralyzes them. The reader believes he is right there as the protagonist embarks on his adventure (for all stories are about adventures of some sort). The reader invests so much time and emotion into this tale that the real world and the story-teller's world seem to switch roles. In the same notion, there are chess players and there are tabletop generals.

Soon Leh was forturnate to have a fellow tabletop general playing across him. Since it was not his turn, Leh could divert some of his attention away from compiling move lists. The timer was ticking away, but was drowned out by the sound of birds singing. Some other residents nurtured a hobby of keeping singing birds in cages and had congregated at this airy pavilion to appreciate the fine chirps of the birds. The sun was off at an angle in the sky, no longer white-hot but too early to be rich
orange.

Simon groaned and Leh smiled inwardly. In his last move, he had moved his bishop into a position to pin Simon's knight into place. Unfortunately, Simon had earlier placed his queen into a closed position behind the knight, thus the knight was the only thing preventing the loss of his queen. Leh added, less than helpfully, "That bishop might just be a sacrifice."

Simon quipped, "No it isn't. Your knight isn't in position to support it." And then, after a slight pause, "How's your wife?"

"She's at her cooking class. Every Tuesday, right? My eldest just changed jobs again. Was headhunted for VP of a bank."

Simon's face was a mask of concentration. His move simply pushed his pawn skeleton forward into the space that Leh had given up while claiming his attack opportunity. He tapped his timer calmly; between friends, there was no need for showy, brimming-with-confidence taps.
"About time too. You last said he needed a promotion to fund his new house. I still think that marriage was a hasty decision."

Leh was slightly hurt, and he let it show for a moment before countering, "Don't you want grandkids? You started your family late and you're no longer young."

"She's getting used to her new managerial role and her new boyfriend. No point rushing these things. Wow, that was a good move, I can smell you're building up for a fork." Simon knew Leh would not set his pieces for a fork, but if he could put that suggestion into his head, the latter might perform one of these false suggestions.

"I heard that you used monetary incentives to get your son to perform well for his A levels. You used my younger's grades as a benchmark?"

"Yes, it worked. He even scored better in his S paper." He thought about their conversation exchange. It's as if being competitive in chess was not enough, they had to be competitive in all other aspects of their lives. He remembered how he used to brag to his friends when he was just a little boy in primary school, "My dad can beat up your dad!" The funny thing is, it wasn't really meant as a threat used against bullies, but it was just the competitive streak within him. He might have lost a game of police and thief, but it was all ok if some other aspect of his life was better than his friends'.

And Simon had been his closest competitor since their secondary school days in their hockey team. They had worked together to set-up scoring opportunities, they had trained for countless days in the merciless afternoon sun for the national championships. There was a close sense of camaradrie amongst the members of the team. When Kok Boon was tripped by an opponent, they rushed to his side and pushed the opponent away. While Kok Boon limped around school in crutches because of his torn ligament, some of the boys joined him with their crutches even though they were perfectly fine. Individually, the stick was an extension of each player. Together, the player was an extension of the team.

However, the closer they got, the more friction there was. When they got to the point of recognising one anothers' snores during training camps, they began benchmarking their performace against each other. At first it was about who could stick-handle better, or who had a better sense of
position on the pitch. Then it became a race to be named most valuable player most often. Soon it got to comparing grades in math, physics and geography. Some boys even compared their "girlfriend scorecards".

Leh cooly replaced Simon's bishop with his knight. "How long have we been competing, Simon?"

Simon grimaced as the bishop was placed neatly against his captured pawns. He replied absent-mindedly, "You mean chess? We've played since you retired 2 years ago."

Leh chuckled. "You were the best man at my wedding, and during your speech, you mentioned how happy and jealous you were. Of course, you went on to have kids first."

The need to plan his next move must have slowed his thought processes somewhat, but a twinkle crept to his eye when he realised what Leh was on to. "We shared tips on how to raise our kids, but at the same time, wanted our own kids to do better than the other's. We wanted to be ahead in our jobs, but you were there to comfort me when I was retrenched."

"Checkmate."

Simon could not believe his eyes. Leh had upped his game this time and Simon knew he had to study new strategies to keep up. With a wry smile he said, "Another round on Thursday, then?"

Leh grinned like he was that teenaged hockey player who had just scored a goal. "Wait, don't you want to discuss where you went wrong first?" -Jimmy

The Singapore Sport

2010-01-22T23:38:00.001+08:00

I read a regular sidebar on the Sunday newspaper last week. In it, they ask the man (or woman) on the street for their opinions regarding a current affair. Last week's issue was the state of S-league in Singapore. It seems like there are more and more imports on the soccer pitch across many of the teams in the league, so much so that "S-league" was a misnomer. African-league might be a better name for it.

Most of the people interviewed said they did not keep up with S-league, for reasons varying from "it's too slow and boring" to "their skill levels cannot match the EPL" to "there are no pretty faces to watch". I made the last one up, but it's a very plausible excuse.

A high-and-mighty person in Singapore once dreamed of putting Singapore on the World Cup map by 2010. Well, it's 2010 and we're nowhere close to being on the Asian Cup map. Why is it so difficult to get good soccer players in Singapore? I mean, you're looking at the country that is showing USA how to teach maths to their school children. You're looking at the country that won the bid to host the first Youth Olympic Games. We also have a top-ranking airport, a university that has "ang moh" students choosing it over Harvard (if advertisements are to be believed), an efficient public transport network....

If we put our thoughts to it, we can make it happen. (This is what the army means by "eye power".) In the case of Goal 2010, we even had ministerial backing, so what went wrong? Well, it seems like we didn't really put our thoughts into it. As seen from the responses from the man/woman on the street, we're not really into soccer. Sure, many Singaporeans are crazy about how foreign leagues will pan out, will watch matches at 3 am in the morning and will queue for an hour to place bets on such matches. But play? Siao ah? Under the hot sun? 3 years of training? Boh liao.

Putting our thoughts into sports is one thing Singaporeans can't fathom themselves doing. In US, they have their major sports: Football, Baseball, Ice Hockey. On top of supporting their teams like rabid fans, these sports enjoy massive sign-ups in junior schools all the way up to college. What is Singapore's sport?

Definitely not soccer. It was never the cool CCA to be in. Sure it was fun to play once in a while, but no one wanted a regimental training plan to follow. And attendence at S-league matches are underwhelming, so our soccer fan base isn't as rabid as the undying love and support that Americans give their teams.

Take out any of the other team sports for that matter. Perhaps netball comes close in that we are quite a presence in ASEAN and Asia Pac even. Girls did think that it's a good CCA. But still no rabid fans. Singapore is strong in Table Tennis, but largely due to imported talent.

So what are the sports Singapore is good at? Individual sports like swimming, shooting, bowling and sailing provide the best yields during SEA games. Does it make it a "Singapore Sport"? Not all schools offer these activities as CCAs, either due to facility limitations, or manpower (ie, teacher-in-charge) limitations. As such, only the "mainstream" sports like soccer and track and field are widely offered as CCAs. And besides the decent turn-outs during swimming meets, I'm starting to believe that the image of Singaporeans and excited fans are mutually exclusive events. (Of course, I'm proven wrong by a televised singing competition.)

If "Singapore Sport" were defined as:
A competitive sport;
Featuring majority local sportsmen;
Strong community support (whether or not sports are televised);
Good talent scouting and development, even from a young age,
Then I don't think we have a Singapore Sport.

This post isn't about whether or not this is a problem. It's about uncovering the reasons why the situation is so. There are many sports out there that Singaporeans enjoy and actively participate in. In terms of competitive sports, it seems like Singapore is pretty open to accepting the wide variety of sports out there. Even "exotic" sports like Capoeira and sports that appeal to a very niche demographic like paintballing are available in Singapore.

There are many sports that gather local sporting talents. Many sports that have been introduced to Singapore have quite a healthy following. Take marathons, ultra-marathons and triathlons, which have become popular of late. While talent scouting and development still needs, uh, development in most sports, they have been generally healthy for sports with mature development support. Even a niche sport like gymnastics enjoys the benefit of multiple gymnastic schools (even catering to pre-school kids) and good coaches at a national level.

Ultimately, I feel that Singapore will not be able to call a "Singapore Sport" because of all of them lack a community support element. It's not that we're too results-focused and only detail-oriented to efficiency. That televised singing competition is proof that Singaporeans are willing to rally around anyone with skills (and sometimes, they're very willing to rally with their wallets too). Perhaps sports is not something that spurs as strong a community spirit as, say, music.

Perhaps no one cares that Singapore doesn't have a "national sport". But it's sad that a country that has developed so well intellectually is neglecting such an important aspect of her citizens' lives. -Jimmy

Born to Fight

2010-01-22T23:30:00.000+08:00

Act 1: Fight or Flight

The EA ships, well-built and slender, formed up in a line and assemble at their rally point. Observers on the bridge of these ships updated the captains that the AU ships were also forming up their lines about 3 klicks ahead. Much smaller signal boats travelling alongside the battleships relayed the message down the line. In the EA flagship, Prosperity Dragon, Captain Chen assessed the situation.

The wind was in their favour; the AU ships had to perform some form of tacking in order to travel up the line towards them. This would tax the commanders of their boats with additional workloads and would also mean that their gun crews will have to adjust their aim more often. Good thing he had chosen this rally point after winning the coin toss.

The Watcher signal boat relayed the go-ahead to Prosperity Dragon and Captain Chen acknowledged by ordering his signal officer to fire a green and an amber flare. The EA ships unfurled their Draft Nets, which quickly filled up with the tail wind. The glorious Dragons were on the move, while the AU ships took some time to move up into the head wind.

The EA's medium-bore steam cannons scored higher overall accuracy and managed to hit the AU ships even as they tacked past. Even with their numerological superiority, the AU ships were being battered by the Dragons. This is another victory in the EA streak, thought Captain Chen.
From amongst the AU ships, a contraption was launched. According to Captain Chen's spotters, it had the shape of a man, but many times the size. They also note a sizeable torso (presumably to house the massive steam engines, the same ones that power the ships) and a backpack assembly (presumably to house the gravity repulsion generators also found on the ships). The man object darted through the air towards the EA ships, firing the gun it held in its hands. Every shot that landed on a Dragon resulted in a huge plume of smoke and debris. Jade Dragon was heavily damaged and listing to her right, while Imperial Dragon (the previous flagship of Eastern Sun flotilla) had failing GRGs and was falling down towards Earth at an alarming rate.

Captain Chen broke into cold sweat. All these were still being recorded by the Watchers. It will not look good on EA's scorecard and will result in several penalties in the subsequent engagements against the AU. The EA had to find a way to develop their own Demon Armour.

Act 2: The age of Frames

It was the golden age of Frames. The common name given by both sides was "Fully Articulated Armoured Mechanics", or Frames for short. (The EA still informally refer to them as Demon Armour.) In place of battleship engagements, which were taxing on raw materials and manpower, more battles were fought as Frame duels.

Imagine: A ship of the line will sit in the dock for an equivalent of 40000 man-hours to construct, using 4000 tonnes of raw materials. In a battle, it needed a crew of 200 men in various positions on board:
chiefly in gunnery and engineering. The steam engines burned through 100kg of fuel to the minute. If the ship was shot down in battle, it was a burden to replace the materials. A Frame only took up 1% of the resources to construct, burned through just 5% of the fuel and only needed 1 pilot.

Frame pilots were the new gladiators, prized by both sides. The Watchers had a comprehensive set of rules for Frame duels, just as they had for battleship engagements. Military commanders preferred not getting themselves killed in their flagships, and liked that Frame engagements usually lasted much shorter than ship battles.

In the EA, the up-and-coming Frame ace was Chen Long. He had survived enough battles to be noticed in the EA public and participated in the "blockbuster" battles that earned him the reputation and fanbase he enjoys. His crowning glory was participating in the Watcher-sanctioned battle with him leading a lance of 2 other Demon Armours in a surgical strike against an AU flagship. Although other gladiators would have gladly snatched the glory of delivering the finishing blow on the stricken ship, Chen Long made a display of allowing his juniors deliver the coup de grace. This display of humility and sharing the limelight made him immensely popular with both the EA public and military. There have even been rumours that the Watchers contributed into the EA coffers as a direct result of that battle. Too bad both pilots died within the next 2 months in seperate incidences in matches.

The Watcher-sanctioned match for the day involved 2 EA ships of the line supported by 2 platoons of Frames going up against 5 AU ships and their Frame detachment (estimated equivilent to 2 platoons of Frames). As the opposing lines approached each other, the AU ships cut between the EA ships and having isolated it from its sister ship, began pummeling the Silver Dragon. Chen Long's lance launched with orders to "surpress the Frames surpressing the Yangtze Dragon so that it can assist the Silver Dragon". It was a messy affair. His lance mates were picked off by the AU sharpshooters. To even the odds, he had to get close enough for their muskets to be a hindrance more than a threat. He pushed the limits of his body dodging the flak thrown against him, at one point splattering his displays with the blood he threw up. However, once he got in range, he opted to use his heat blade and carve vengeance on the AU frames.

The first one, he simply sliced through its torso and put its steam engine out of commission. The second one, he took the time to carve the armour off the cockpit, then yanked the pilot out from his seat. The third one, he soured its GRG with a deft stroke of his blade, then grabbing it against his Frame, guided it in a headlong fall towards earth.

Act 3: Watch, and learn

It was a battle worth mentioning in the fables. The entire amassed fleet of the AU and EA formed around the Watcher Headquarters building in a show of force. They had to see that they couldn't be the puppetmasters forever. The puppets refused to be pawns in a game. Even if they understood that the Watchers only had a tiny proportion of their population in that massive fortress of a Headquarters, even if this rebellion were to incite the vengeance of the other Watchers living higher up in the sky, even if the Watchers had technology far surpassing that of the AU and EA, even if an all-out war between pawns and the ruling class turned out to be an absolute defeat and annihilation of the pawns, they refused to bow before the rulers.

For isn't it in man to fight? From fighting against the elements, against wooly mammoths, against discrimination, against opposing values?
To expect man not to fight is to deny over 2 million years of evolution.

Chen Long's heart raced in anxious anticipation. He was flying amongst AU Frames, Demon Armour he would have shot down in a previous life. But today, he is just a small part of the hundreds of craft in the attack meant to overwhelm the Watcher's fortress. The battle commenced and it became apparent that even the battleships' largest cannons did little more than scar the fortress walls. Frames were being shot out of the air by the armour-piercing defence cannons. In true Chen Long style, he led his lance through the hellish wall of metal slugs and began slicing through the cannons with his heat blade. The defences might be overwhelmed afterall.

They had not planned how to make the entire structure crumble as they did not know enough of it structurally to exploit any weaknesses. They had banked on total and overwhelming firepower (which was already proven
insufficient) or total defeat (which seemed slow in coming). As the siege continued, Chen Long heard reports of a new Watcher Frame chassis that had appeared. It's swatting Frames like flies, they said. Being a gladiator, Chen Long had this urge to meet the best contender in the field and gauge his skills against such competition. He streaked off to find this formidable Frame.

His fate was to be the same as that of the underclass. -Jimmy

The Trick to getting that Job Promotion

2010-01-19T23:49:00.001+08:00

The company organized their monthly breakfast last week, the first one I attended. The MCs for the day were 2 relatively new entrants to the company and new members of the "Connect committee", the people running these welfare events.

It occurred to me right then that someone has to do these events. These are probably the people who need extra items on their already overflowing plates (cos the company is famous for lacking the balance in "work-life balance") to boost their performance during performance evaluations. It's a good deal, right? The office needs some welfare events once in a while to upkeep the morale of the staff and these young staff need an additional platform to showcase their dedication and motivation for the company.

Question is, who sets this rule that new staff need to prove their worth to the company through extra work? Is it no longer enough to just do one's work, and do it well? Or are these people lacking in terms of their work performance and are thus resorting to doing extra work to fare better during evaluations?

The second suggestion is less likely, as a person who is not doing his work well will very likely be discouraged from taking on more work. He will not be able to concentrate on the additional portfolio if the very reason for his employment rests on weak foundations. His supervisor will advise him to concentrate on his own job and perhaps even ask him to withdraw from the committee.

So it seems like the reason these people to it is because they are already proving their worth to the company from their assigned portfolio perspective, but feel the need to improve their standings by taking on these extra roles. In a promotion exercise, it is reasonable to expect managers to promote the worker who involved himself in more work opportunities than one who did his own job just as well but did not take on any extra roles. In a distributive justice viewpoint, he provided more for the company, so the company will provide more for him.

All this is well and good, except for 2 points:

1) Mis-aligned motivations

2) Value of such work

How much are these workers willing to put into organizing these extra activities? Sure they add to the performance evaluation, but it probably does not matter too much how well they performed in such committees.
There is little extra "promotional potential" between doing an excellent job and an okay job in these committees. If a large proportion of the committee was made up of these people, the resulting welfare events will be of an "okay" standard.

How much more likely will you promote a worker who contributes an "okay"
performance into such a committee as compared to a worker who does his normal job well and is assigned more work just by the nature of his job?
What is the value of contributing to these committees? If it's much lower than the everyday work, then it'll be difficult to recruit for these committees and even more difficult to motivate them to produce just an "okay" standard. If it's as high as everyday work, then workers would work in these committees rather than contribute to his everyday work (which theoretically should have a more direct impact on the company bottom line).

Just what is this ramble about? It's not that these committees do more harm than good, in an entire HR perspective. It's not that such committees should be outsourced since they produce so many problems.
They do serve a purpose, the problems are not that big a deal in some companies and they will continue to exist. This ramble is about how the corporate world serves to drain your soul. Glory to those willing to give up their personal time for the company. Glory to those who flaunt their abilities to their evaluators. You don't have to be good per se, you just have to be good at showing your good sides to the people who are watching. -Jimmy

Relationships and Baseball

2009-11-09T14:36:00.007+08:00

Iz had a party at his house about a month back. It was around Hari Raya period, so it was sort of a Hari Raya "open house". However, it was also past Hari Raya, so there was no need for green packets. (Just kidding, Iz. We all enjoyed ourselves at your party. Green packets or not. =P)

The main point of me introducing the party was to bring up this Skype conversation we had with H. He happened to be online and we started Skyping to find out when he would return from Aussieland and what our next big project will be. (FYI, this blog started as one of those "big projects", but the 3 contributors gave up. Some just took longer to give up.)

H had just watched a whole documentary series called "Penn and Teller's Bullsh*t!", which tries to argue against certain pre-conceived notions prevalent in the USA. For example, the one episode I watched had them pointing out that the general American public feels that circumcised men will not carry STDs, then arguing that it was bullsh*t. Very candid. H wanted to do a similar documentary series, written, directed and starring us.

H's first suggested topic was "Non-sexual relationships like [myself] and M's is bullshit".

The issue about sex before marriage has been a major discussion point amongst the members of the bachelor's club. It is probably a serious topic that we touch on more than once. Most of the topics that we touch on more than once are more light-hearted. (N will always bring up the topic: "which girl in JC did you think was cute?". C and I will always bring up "[insert name of latest video game fad here]".) As far as I remember, H has always held the stand that sex is a natural progression of relationships. If it goes that way, then it goes that way. I have always held the view that sex should always come after marriage. C, Iz and N are usually indifferent.

H is probably the most "seasoned" member within our Bachelor's club. He's had to drop his membership status and convert to being an "honourary member" several times, if you get what I mean. And it is no secret that he's "done the deed" several times as well. Now that I'm an honourary member as well, he's been egging me to "develop the relationship" in that direction.

Being in a relationship has helped me develop a sense of what I want to achieve from it. Right now, it's about a "strategic partnership". It's like 2 corporations finding common ground and growing together. It's about leveraging on synergistic benefits based on a common vision/mission statement. Decomposed in this way, even warm, fuzzy relationships are cold and calculated in the engineer's mind. As such, M and I try as much as possible to share a common understanding on as many topics as possible. Our goals are not sex; they are of growth of the individual and the relationship. Personally, I'd like to think that it's a longer-term view, that it's about developing our expectations of what a future life partner should be like.

Evolution has wired in the minds of all species the need to reproduce. Logically, if a creature has a gene that doesn't give them the urge to reproduce, the gene will die off with the creature. Evolution has also wired in their minds the best way to ensure the continuity of the species. Fishes generally just lay eggs en masse, kittens can be weaned off their mothers very quickly, but elephants take longer to fend for themselves. Human young take several years of attention before they are mature enough to fend for themselves. Who takes care of the mother while she tends to the young brood?

I choose to believe that the chemicals that are released and the electrical impulses that fire between our synapses while we're building the relationship with a possible other half is meant to ensure that we will stay with each other while bringing the young brood up. The personal growth I talked about earlier prepares us to take on the eventual responsibility of parenting. Developing the relationship toward sex only fulfills the "reproduction" criteria, but developing the relationship towards a common understanding develops the stability required for the "continuity" criteria. So why no sex before marriage? Well, marriage is just a rite of passage to signal to others that we (as a couple) have reached that milestone in life and that we feel stable enough as a couple to bring our kids up on a good environment. Call me a prude, go enjoy your instant gratification of exchanging bodily fluids, but I'm entitled to my opinions.

More disturbing than one person's viewpoint, however, is that it seems like a contagious opinion. C had always been indifferent about this issue, but it seemed to have changed as of last week. We were out having dinner and ribbing one another as an expression of friendship. We told him that 2 years was enough time to befriend a girl and turn it into a meaningful relationship. He directed his retort to me, "What have you done in one year? First base only what!"

Now, the baseball analogy of sexual encounters is quite a popular term within the Bachelor's club, and probably amongst other Singaporean guys too. It almost seems like a contest to "score home runs", whether or not such remarks are said in jest or in all seriousness. With C saying that, it occurred to me that maybe he now sees relationships as a way to "move up the bases", rather than being a special friendship, support network and a search of a possible life partner. Could a relationship just be viewed as an entrance ticket to sexual experimentation? Could this be an isolated incident, or does this indicate the general view of the male population of our demographic?

I choose not to question C's views on this matter. I'm open about the fact that "we're only at first base". I don't impose my views on other people. I'd say it out candidly and argue it logically. To me, a relationship is about life, and not just a game. -Jimmy

Words of Wisdom from a Comic Strip

2009-09-24T23:04:00.003+08:00

A man needs 3 things to be happy: Something to do, something to love and something to hope for.

This ties in to an older post: Link here. In it, I mentioned that it's not just enough to live, but there is also a need to have something to live for.

When I saw this from a comic strip, it struck me that it was a much more robust statement, yet it is even more true.

Strangely though, I can't seem to put into words how these three add up. They just made sense to me the moment I read the statement. I'm either losing touch with my ability to express my thoughts into words, or I'm losing the inspiration to express thoughts that nibble away in my head.

Spot the Flaw in Logic!

2009-09-15T16:09:00.001+08:00

Food is left out for spirits to feast on.
Cat feasts on food.
Spirit must reside within the cat!

Kids and Exaggerations

2009-05-10T15:11:00.002+08:00

I was walking past a playground one day when I overheard a kid telling his father a story he had heard in school earlier. The story revolves around 2 animals that refused to help one another despite their unfortunate circumstances, thus resulting in their demise. The dad patiently heard his kid out, egging him on with, "Yes", "Uh hmm" and "And then?".

I say "patiently" because the kid was being very animated and kid-like in his discriptions. He had this shoutish voice that you'd expect of a 5 year old boy and kept pausing every 2 or 3 sentences to think about what to say next.

But the most interesting thing about the kid's story telling was how he seemed to be exaggerating everything. The two animals weren't just angry to be caught in their predicaments. They had to be "very very very very angry". They weren't willing to help each other. They were "very very very very unwilling". In fact, in every 2 or 3 sentences he had to take a pause, you're bound to hear some form of exaggeration. It's an exaggeration of the "very very very very" kind.

It got me thinking about how kids pick up languages. Obviously, the more commonly used words are picked up and put into sentences much faster by kids. (However, the exception is the Singapore Pledge. I only began to understand the meaning of "democracy" some time in secondary school, despite having to say the word "democratic" every single day since primary school.) Despite kids' amazing abilities to grasp and learn languages though, you cannot expect a 5 year old to possess a very comprehensive vocabulary.

My opinion here is that the exaggerations that make kids kids, with their truly enthralling brand of storytelling, is the result of a lack of vocabulary. Whereas adults will get straight to the point of saying the house is "huge" or "extremely big" or "immense", a kid will wildly flail his arms to encompass the "huge-ness" while pouting his lips to emphasize how "very very very very big" it is.

However, adults have lost the capacity to handle another adult telling stories in the same way. They think it's childish, immature and just plain freaky. Adults hardly get enchanted with one another. I guess it's a good thing, because that leaves all our attention for such enchanting antics for the kids. -Jimmy

The Teenage Exercise Book

2009-02-16T17:28:00.003+08:00

(Parody warning!)

YKK nervously eyed the girl from the corner of the book. Class reading time was supposed to provide the students brilliant, creative story writing ideas for their essay writing. However, the teachers who had begged the principal to reinstate the program after reading about the 2009 Budget in their students essays for the nth time were now regretting their call. They now had to contend with renditions of "Sweet Valley Secondary" for the nth time.

YKK put down his book "Guns: Relative Stopping Power and Projectile Ranges" (he did not believe that reading Neil Gaiman or Stephan King to add value to his knowledge) and turned to his good friend, Ar Lot.

"Ar Lot, I can't help it. Ever since school started, I can't help but feel all light-headed seeing Aimee."
His good friend put down his Enid Blyton compendium, carefully closing the pages to make sure the Playboy magazine he had hidden inside did not peek out. "Do you seek advice from the great Master, then?" He asked coyly.
YKK pensively licked his lips then nodded slightly. Ar Lot seemed to have a way about girls; they didn't mind going out with him after school. There were days when YKK would jealously watch as Ar Lot refused to level up their WoW characters after school and instead went out with a whole gaggle of girls. If YKK wanted any chance to strike up conversation with Aimee, Ar Lot was his first step.
"Waikaykay, in order to initiate you on the intricacies of intimacy, you will have to acknowledge me as master."
YKK sighed. If there's one thing he wasn't comfortable with having Ar Lot as a friend, it was his huge ego that needed to be pandered once in a while. He mumbled, "I recognise thee as master, Ar Lot."
Ar Lot smiled smugly, "The full name, dumbo."
YKK said less commitantly, "I recognise thee as master, Bates Ar Lot." He sighed at the end, thinking how his life story would make for MAD magazine type stories with bad puns. It would be written by testosterone-charged teenaged boys for hormonally-overflowing teenaged boys.

"Waikaykay, the first thing you need to understand is that there are four kinds of attraction. When you see someone you like, the kind of attraction you have dictates how you should respond." Ar Lot started his lecture sounding all self-important.

YKK nodded eagerly to egg Ar Lot on. Ar Lot needed to be shown that his grand theories were being accepted as fact.

"The first kind is gravitation. This kind appears when you are attracted to a person's gravitas, or status, or credentials. This explains why so many girls in all-girls schools end up liking head prefects."

Ar Lot paused as YKK nodded in agreement. So those rumours about all-girls schools were true!

"You must be careful with this kind. They probably have seen all kinds of requests from all kinds of people. My advice is to find out if you could progress to other froms of attraction.

"Which brings me to the 2nd type, electro-magnetic. This is what most boys our age experience. It explains why they call the attraction a 'spark'. It happens when you identify something in common with the girl and you are 'induced' into strengthening that commonality. Soon, a magnetic bond may form!"

YKK admired how Ar Lot ended the sentence with flourish. Somehow, though, the found the lecture someone reminiscent of a certain subject he was taking, but he buried that thought.

"The third type is the weaker attractive force. Now we're moving to mutual attraction. However, it is weak because some girls LOVE to play hard to get! Once you're here, you'll have to pull all the stops to get to the next stage!

"Speaking of stage, when you get to the stronger attractive force, they'd be like rabbid girls at a Tom Jones concert! They'd be dying to get up on stage and jive with you!"

YKK's mind was fervently processing the information, but finding it hard as he frequently got distracted by Aimee, who was flirting with his peripheral vision. He had so many questions, he had to find out more! Just as he started formulating his first train of questioning, the school bell went off, marking the end of reading period and the start of lesson proper.

YKK cursed the deus ex machina that always seemed to pepper his life. It seems like he will have to wait till the next issue of MAD magazine to have his questions answered. -Jimmy

The Interview Call-up

2009-02-11T09:45:00.003+08:00

(You know the author is looking for a job when his blog post talks about waiting for the interview call.)

If you don't have callerID.
So you never know who's calling you and you can never return the missed call.
And you receive a call during class time.
It may or may not be that company who's interested in asking you in for an interview.
Do you leave the classroom to pick the call up?

If you decide to let them tell you about the interview over email, and you choose not to leave the classroom.
And they decide to give the interview to someone else and forget about you.
Is that God's way of telling you that He has bigger plans for you? -Jimmy

Job's Last Hour

2009-02-10T09:24:00.004+08:00

The figure in the mud stared up at the oncoming rain. It lay in an awkward position, like a doll thrown carelessly by a girl throwing a tantrum. The right leg was twisted up, the right arm ended in a stump and its wings were torn. They shouldn't even be called wings; they had an ornamental look about them and you wouldn't believe they could provide lift for such a figure if you ever saw it.

There was blood all around the figure. A-ha. So now you know the figure is a carbon-based life-form. If you really want to know, she's a female human. And yes, it's her blood around her. Mostly her blood, anyway. She watched the rain wash down against her mask and just lay still.

An old lady walked past the figure silently, holding an umbrella to shield her from the rain, making painstaking progress with her walking stick. She'd pause to catch her breath once in a while, but she'd continue on her way, because she had to get somewhere. The old lady happened to catch her breath while she was over the figure and commented simply, "What are you doing lying there in the rain?"

The figure grunted, "I'm hurt. I can't move."
"I can't help you. I don't know first aid."
"I know, it just so happens that my right arm's gone. I won't be able to fix myself without my arm."
"Would you rather die instead?"
"Without my arm, I don't think I'd have much of a life anyway. Stop staring at me. Get lost. I want my own time."

A little girl skipped past the figure, holding up a little toy. "Would you like to know more about the latest technology?" She held the toy up gaily. The figure wanted to turn away, but she was finding it hard to do so.

"It's the newest thing called assisted mobility," the girl held up the toy.
"You wear this thing around you and you'll be able to move like a sprinter! The thing is powered by a small power source and responds to slight motions the body makes and moves the relevant portion of the frame that surrounds that body part!"
The little girl obviously doesn't realise how difficult it is for free movement: she's young and energetic and unhindered. The figure finally spoke,
"Such technology is still propriety. Only a select few people can benefit from it before the price finally drops. Only a few people can truly enjoy unhindered movement that this promises."
"By the time I grow old, it'll be mainstream! I won't limp about like my grandma with osteoporosis does!"
The figure smiled sarcastically. The girl was naive; she'd learn the ways of the world soon. The little girl skipped away with the toy.

A teenager with a book walked past. She swooned over the words and spoke randomly to the figure, "I never figured Norsk myths to be so romantic!" The figure hardly batted an eyelid. She'd continue talking about the book whether or not you want to hear it or not.
"It's so interesting how the warrior race had mythology regarding these creatures that picked the bravest warriors and accompanied them to Valhalla.
"Isn't it an empowering feeling, knowing that you get to pick those you felt fought the hardest or were the bravest? There's a balance of the genders, unlike books where only one gender was perfect."

Just as the teenager walked beyond the figure's peripheral vision, a shape appeared in the sky above her. It looked pretty bulky, although she could vaguely make out a homonid shape. It had spindly extensions from its shoulder blades, pretty much like a bat's wings without the skin stretched across the fingers. From the clouds formed under the wings, the figure knew that huge amounts of hot air were being vented out from the spindly appendages, providing the lift. The figure noticed that the shape was occupying more of her vision; it was going to land near her.

As the homonid shape busied herself near the figure, the figure noted how under the face mask was the wrinkled face of an old lady. This surprised her, since the figure had danced in the air like a nubile dancer performing a ballet. The shape touched her thigh armour, revealing a wide array of interesting looking implements.

"You're looking worse for wear." The shape's voice sounded muffled under her mask.
"Yea, I think I lost quite a bit of blood."
"Don't worry, I'm here to help you. I'm a valkyrie." The shape selected an auto-injector from her thigh pouch and twisted the dial, presumably to select the dosage quantity. Maintaining her conversation, the shape said, "I'd like to give you painkillers, but I think your heart rate might drop too low. Adrenaline will help get you up and give you enough kick to get back to the field surgeon. The clotting drugs you took before this probably saved your life."
The shape jabbed the auto-injector on the figure's neck, giving her a jolt of awareness. Around her, the sounds of explosions became apparent. The shape smiled and said, "Can you make your way back to the field surgeon?"

"I don't see any reason I'd want to preserve myself. I can't imagine living without my right arm. Do you even know what I am when I don't don this face mask? Do you even know why I agreed to don this mask? With my osteoporosis, I'm hunched over in day-to-day life. I'm growing old, when I walk, I make painstaking progress. What is my life if there's no quality to it?"

The shape stayed still kneeling beside the figure. Her lips were pursed into a straight line.

"With assisted mobility, I felt young again. Life was worth living for, even if that meant I had to be fighting a war."
"Is life really all about quality of life? I think there are other things worth living for despite being disabled. I've read stories of how amputees can be happier than multi-millionaires."
"At the crux of this issue is how happy these people are. Life has less meaning for me just because of who I am. It seems like a cosmic joke that I only truly feel alive on the battlefield."
Tears were streaming down the figure's face. The conversation wasn't going anywhere; they both knew it. Perhaps it was good that the shape beside her stirred and turned to assist other fallen soldiers on the battlefield. She did not know how to continue the conversation with the shape anyway.

The shape leapt into the air to fly towards her next casualty. She would have to find them, decide if she had the tools to administer first aid, diagnose the injury and provide either the drugs or dressing necessary. She could pull casualties great distances with her assisted mobility suit, taking them to the relative Valhalla of the field surgery. She was a Valkyrie.

A sudden bright flash lit up the figure's view of the sky. Where she last saw the shape, there was now a cloud of black smoke. She couldn't see clearly, but she knew that a cannon shell had exploded against the shape's right arm. The armour could withstand small-arms fire, but not an anti-aircraft shell. She knew how it felt falling through the air now that the wing was destroyed. The shape was probably teetering on consciousness from the shock of the explosion and from the massive haemorrage. Even as the shape dropped below her field of vision, she knew that she would land awkwardly on her right leg, driving her left side into the soft, sticky mud. She knew that the figure would lie in that awkward position for a good two hours.

She knew because the little girl, the teenager, the old lady and the Valkyrie are all the same person. From being naive and idealistic, she'd become disabled to the point of being crippled, tottering about her life finding no rhyme or reason. Assisted mobility offered a respite from this life that was proving painful to live. It was so amazing that even her seventy-year old frame moved like a young teenager's within the suit. But unlike the ideal vision her eight year old self foresaw, assisted mobility remained in the domain of the military. They gave her a new lease of life, and they're the reason she's dying in a wet, muddy, unidentified battlefield.

As the ultimate irony, the Valkyrie, the one who chooses warriors and gives them a new lease of life, loses hers in return.

I just want to die, the Valkyrie, numb from its pain, bleeding to death in the muddy field, screamed in her mind. -Jimmy

3rd Feb 2009

2009-02-04T09:32:00.002+08:00

Just a ramble in a boring class that's going through a topic I've studied for before. Met up with the Bachelor guys yesterday, which is supposed to be phase 1 of our "Have fun in Aussieland, H!" get-togethers.

It was supposed to be just one night cycling event this Saturday, but H's parents aren't too keen on their son exerting himself so close to his fly-off date, so it got turned into Phase 1: Dinner and Phase 2: Drive-about.

The whole point of the post was to highlight how I realised that quite a bit of who I am also exists in these bunch of friends sitting around me. Whether it's H's nuggets of wisdom about relationships, or N's pointed questions/observations of jobs, student life and our future, or I's silly remarks and ahem (alcoholism), or C's dry humour and sarcasm, I saw how their behaviour is reflected in me.

H pointed out as we drank along the waterfront that beer isn't about the alcohol, but about the company. And it got me thinking: am I shaped by these people, or is it who we are that draws us together?

I guess either way, it should hold our friendship strong as we move on to the working world and H attempts to start his Uni life anew in a subject none of us thought we'd go into. -Jimmy

The SIA Job Interview

2009-01-06T16:12:00.002+08:00

Well, it seems like I haven't been updating my blog for ages. I'm still alive and well, just that I guess even with the multitude of thoughts and issues that's been running through my head these past few months, they have been relatively happy ones for me. The period since I returned from exchange have been really great for me; given me much to appreciate for in Singapore.

So what brings me to this tired old blog? Well, as expected, I had to air out my thoughts and put them into words. It has to be something big enough for me to want to revisit this place after such a long haitus. It has to be disturbing enough in my mind that even friends and family do little to alleviate it.

Last week, in view that it will be my final semester in SMU, I started seriously considering all the possible companies I will cold-send my resumes to. Top of that list was a job that I knew doesn't fit with the Accountancy degree that I was taking. But I had to send the application in. I owed it to myself, my FT prof, and lots of random friends, some of whom prolly won't even remember that I made such a promise to them.

I put in an application for cadet pilot in SIA.

It's a job I've always dreamt of since I was a kid. I mean, it's one of those airy-fairy things you dream of when you're five. Jobs that demand a certain amount of "air" (no pun intended), a certain dignity to them. Jobs that place ideals of heroism, determination and calm. I'm sure you've had such dream jobs before: policeman, fireman, astronaut and the less glamourous cousin rocket scientist. And pilot. Every boy must have dreamt of being one at least once in their lives.

For me, the thought that man created a machine that can take to the skies will always fill me with wonder. It is a wonder that makes me want to be up in front of the plane, looking out and seeing clouds and blue skies around me. There is something about flying, something magical about sitting amongst clouds.

I only found out about the Singapore Youth Flying Club when I was in JC 2. A booth was set up early in the year to promote it as a CCA. However, when I asked about it, I was told that if I qualified for the Private Pilot's License course, I would not be able to complete the course before my A levels came around. Between chasing my dream and scoring good grades, I did what any other Singaporean student would do.

I re-looked the requirements for joining the YFC when I entered university. I wasn't well-integrated into SMUX yet, so I was considering all options available for possible CCAs. However, when I called YFC up to enquire further, I was told that my PES C status in army automatically disqualifies me from the YFC program.

So there you go. All the times I thought I could chase my dream, my hopes were dashed. This application to SIA is the last time I would think of pursuing this dream. My accounting degree and OM major should put me in good stead in the corporate world, enough for me to establish a career and climb the ladder. It's not the end of the world if my hopes get dashed again.

However, seeing the email from SIA's HR department arranging an interview for the cadet pilot position filled me with dread. It occurred to me that all this while I'd been simply following the motions of chasing my dream. But now that SIA's letting me have a shot at being a pilot, I also realise that if I fail now, I will have to banish all thoughts of ever becoming a pilot and focus on a career in accounting or operations management. I get butterflies in my stomach thinking how a part of my childhood that had fervently wished to become a pilot might die off after the interview.

Right now, I must sound so idealistic, so naive, so dreamy. Many others have kissed parts of their childhood goodbye, and a good handful of them at ages much younger than I am now. So what's the big deal? I don't know. But it's sad when you lose your innocence and you don't even realise it. It's sadder still when you knowingly lose your innocence. -Jimmy

Cross-section of Singapore

2008-09-02T20:16:00.001+08:00

I've vaguely mentioned this phenomena in a long-ago post, but given that I didn't elaborate fully back then, and the recent dearth of posts, I'm revisiting this old musing. It's not really an old musing, cos I'm sure I notice it pretty often. However, the thought only crystallised with such clarity yesterday as I took the bus back from dinner and dessert.

It was a normal bus ride back home from City Hall MRT. I pretty much do it every school day. In the first deck of the SuperBus, sitting facing two Malay girls, was this old man. He had wiry silver hair, bulgy eyes, a really gaunt look on his face, a frame that was almost all bones and he kinda stank like a person who showers once in three days. Every ten seconds or so, he'd look towards the girls (they were about their twenties) and give two or three curt nods.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but that action (and its associated glint-in-eyes look) will pass off as a -ummm- pass in any nightclub.

The girls probably knew that he was staring and nodding in their direction, but they ignored him. The scene got me thinking about all the other weird characters I've noticed on my bus rides. A particularly memorable instance was this other old man with thick glasses who wears an army jockey cap. Every five minutes, he'd get off his seat, turn around to face it, stare it up and down for a while, then get back on. Another chap I remembered was this thirty-something man who dressed like a China-man (navy blue pants, white short-sleeved button-down shirt -tucked out, worn leather shoes). He was lying across 4 seats along the back of the SuperBus catching some shut-eye. His shoes were arranged neatly on the floor in front of the seats and he was showing his unbranded socks for all of us to see.

I then thought about how the bus provided one with a wholesome cross-section of Singapore. Besides these strange characters, you also have the lanky youths in their drainpipe jeans and over-sized T-shirts, bony shoulders jutting out awkwardly under the black cotton, chatting blissfully on their iphones with their girlfriends. There are the Filipino domestic helpers chatting happily with one another after their day out at Lucky Plaza. There are the workers from Bangladesh and India. The old chinese couple, sitting together, holding hands and communicating without exchanging any words, trained from over thirty years of marriage; as blissful as they were when they first went out to pak tor. Then there are the people who wear their power suits, neatly pulled-back hair and manicured nails, wearing their favoured blue blouse to face the torrent of work on Mondays.

Even the driver can be an exhibit sometimes: faces plain as they go about doing their job, watching expressionlessly as people tap their cards. However, watch them as they try to filter across 4 lanes within the space of two junctions and that face is all alertness, concentration and a bit of cunning determination.

Sometimes I wonder about "the elites" in Singapore: people who had sheltered childhoods, cruised through the best schools, got scholarships and Swords-of-Honour, climbed fast and high in their careers and end up leading Singapore. Sometimes I wonder if they have the pleasure of watching the cross-section of Singapore unfold before their eyes. -Jimmy

The Adventures of Al Truist: "Vigilantes"

2008-08-01T18:31:00.002+08:00

The high tide brought in lots of starfish, leaving them strewn across the beach when the tide backed down. It was like the milky way on the beach. Along this rather deserted stretch, the old man watched as a young boy padded across the beach, picked up a starfish and flung it back into the water. The little boy seemed unfazed by the seemingly impossible task of flinging the thousands of starfish back into the sea.

The old man walked out from under the shade of the tree and shouted to the boy, "Hey, you there, what's your name?"
The boy glanced at the man before giving the starfish a good lob, replying, "My name's Al. Al Truist. But you can just call me Al."
"Al, there are more starfish here than the hairs on your head, why would it matter to throw some back into the sea?"
The boy looked down at the crimson red starfish in his hand, hesitated. He then gave it a hard swing, sending it spiralling towards the sea, skipping over a few waves and dislodging one or two of the starfish's arms. "It mattered to that one."

"You're pretty much an optimist, aren't you?"
"And you're a pretty cynical old prune." Al picked out a particularly shiny specimen and gave it a good throw.
"And I'd imagine you'd always do the good things?"
"Anything to make the world a better place, no matter how small."
"If you could have held the gun to Hitler's head and ended World War 2 and the Jewish Holocaust, will you pull the trigger?"
Al scoffed and replied without hesitation, "Of course. Without hesitation."
"Ah. So you'd save the life of a starfish, but not spare the life of another human?"

Al held his arms akimbo. Saving starfish was an important job for him, but changing another person's principles was even more so. The starfish had to wait in the scorching sun while he knocked sense into this old man.
"But Hitler caused so much suffering! He had to face punishment for his atrocities!"
"Does the punishment amount to a bullet to his brain delivered by you?"
"If that's what it takes to make the world a better place, then yes, I'd do it." Al Truist believed he stood for everything that was just and good in the world.
"But wouldn't that make you a murderer?"
"For the greater good, I'd do it!" Al puffed his chest out, unhappy that his morals were being challenged.
"If you stand for justice and all that is good, what kind of justice is robbing a person's life? Will you be willing to commit atrocities to stop greater atrocities? In killing one person just to stop the suffering of many, aren't you still a criminal?"
"But I could just apprehend him and... and.... and justice will be served in a war criminal's tribunal!"
"But the altruist in you will not accept the delay. You will want punishments to be meted out swiftly."

Al was silent. His mind raced with ideas to counter this old man.

"Remember boy, that in being altruistic and aiming for the greater good, you may have to end up harbouring evil thoughts against people who are impeding this goal of greater good. Are you then still an altruist for harbouring such thoughts?" The old man turned and walked back into the shade, leaving Al to think about what he said.

The boy silently picked up another starfish and flung it into the sea. This was much easier than thinking about what the man just said. -Jimmy

Mary and Bar Bar in The Bedbug Bitterness

2008-06-04T05:01:00.002+08:00

The Girl casually carried her little girl's bag. She was humming a tune to a nursery rhyme, but she wasn't quite sure which one, because all the nursery rhymes seemed to have the same tune. Didn't the Alphabet song have the same tune as Twinkle twinkle? It was late at night, definitely not a time for a little girl to be out alone. But she wasn't alone.

Following exactly three paces behind was a sheep, one as black as the night. The sheep would follow her everywhere she went; the Girl couldn't imagine her life without him. However, despite his unfailing loyalty, he wasn't exactly in the best of moods.

"Sir, I don't understand why I have to pretend to be a normal sheep following you around. Firstly, it's already abnormal that a sheep would follow you around everywhere and more importantly, it's not very comfortable for my opposable thumbs."

The Girl stopped humming, but continued her girly skipping. "Bar Bar, there are some things people just cannot accept. Opposable thumbs on sheep are fine, but one that talks and is bipedal just doesn't cut it. Now, we both know how important this assignment is, so please be a nicety and stick to the plan?"

Bar Bar the black sheep muttered, "Yes, sir. Who gives us these assignments anyway? Do you even know who sends you those little strips of paper that appear in your doll house?"

"Bar Bar, you do understand that The Agency is the one behind all this, including their gift of a bipedal, loyal and well-trained sheep. Our job has always been to better the lives of the general public and for tonight, Yeetchee Soft Toys will have to clean up their act, literally."

The duo approached a huge factory building nestled in the industrial estate complex. The guard manning the post at the gate was fast asleep, so the Girl crawled under the gate arm. The black sheep simply trod on as normal. As The Agency had reported, the factory lines were still open and the CEO's office looked occupied. Everyone working the graveyard shift was so zoned out that they didn't notice the girl and her sheep stealthily making their way up to the CEO's office.

The Girl simply tugged the door handle and pushed the door open, as if she knew that it wasn't locked. The CEO's office was pretty huge, which is pretty much what you expect from someone who controls the daily operations of a million-dollar business. His tie was drooped low as he went through the last few of the monthly reports. He looked up as the girl barged in and in his surprise, only managed to utter a weak, "What?"

The Girl stopped 2 paces short of the table and waited for her trusty sidekick to nudge the door shut. Then she began, "Hi! I'm Mary Hadd, and this is my close companion, Bar Bar. I don't mean to be rude intruding this way, but I need to highlight that the soft toys your factories are churning out are riddled with bedbugs. Thousands of children who buy your toys end up with itchy rashes everyday."

The CEO nudged his silent alarm while he answered, "Girly, it's late at night, where do you stay? I'll get someone to send you home."

"Sir, I have a name. Please call me Mary. Also, I will not budge until you agree to stop production for a week for the fumigators to clean out your factory processes and for the Environment Agency to come in to give the all clear."
"Alright, Mary. I have no idea what you're talking about. This factory isn't where you belong and I have people ready to throw you out."
"Please, sir. We both know that a fifth of your staff have come down with bedbug bites over the past week. It's on one of the reports you just read." Mary innocently pointed at the pile of reports on his desk.
The CEO gulped and tried to hide it, but Mary's eyes spotted it.
"There's no way I'm closing my factory lines for a week. Yeetchee toys are the most popular cuddlies in the market! A week's disruption to production will affect our bottom line! Our lean inventory will not allow for it!" He had obviously started talking as if to an adult, but Mary Hadd was no ordinary girl in the first place.

Bar Bar's ears detected the disturbance outside first. "Sir, we have company." Mary took off her bag and lobbed it over to Bar Bar, who stood up to catch it. He deftly unzipped the bag (thanks to his opposable thumb) and reached in.

The CEO was dumbfounded. Here he had a girl who knew so much about his company and will not budge until he agreed to stop production and her sheep companion could talk and move like any human.

Bar Bar drew out a Tippmann X7 marker from the little bag. This made the CEO tense up slightly and the reaction was not lost on Bar Bar. He grinned, "Relax, matey. It's a paintball marker." Then, turning to Mary, he grumbled, "I thought I specifically asked for the G36 mod for this thing? No one will take me seriously if I carry what looks like an MP5SD!"

Mary had had her innocent gaze locked on the CEO all this while, but she allowed it to drift to Bar Bar momentarily. "The G36 doesn't look girly! What if I need to wield the pepper gun? I won't look like a girl with a G36!"

Bar Bar waved his hand dismissively while he turned to walk out to the corridor, deadpanning, "Sir, we both know you have no idea how to handle firearms. Knock sense into this dude quick; I'm hungry for my supper."

Once he opened the door, Bar Bar made out the number of guards approaching from their footsteps. "They brought in a lot of people. Must be one of the few times they could prove their worth." He dropped to a knee and waited for them to come within range of his marker. The special pepper cartridges loaded in the hopper was sure to make anyone cough and tear.

Pleased that Bar Bar had her back covered, Mary asked again, "Sir, will you agree to shut the factory lines?"
Seeing that he was shocked with the turn of events, she stepped forward and banged the tabletop. This immediately drew his attention back on her. She giggled and continued, "So far, Yeetchee has been very deft at denying any responsibility, but I have letters ready to be sent out to anonymously tip-off all major newspaper, television networks and magazines. You know I'm not lying. Little girls will never lie."

The CEO blinked, tried very hard to swallow and finally gave a weak nod. Mary's face immediately lit up as she broke into a wide smile. "I knew you'd be co-operative! Thank you, sir!"

At the same time, Bar Bar walked into the room, the X7 held casually across his shoulders. "Sir, peppered them enough to dry out their tear ducts for the next few hours, but no permanent damage done. Of course you know how paintballs bruise and sting... I couldn't help but shoot them at their... ahem... critical areas."

Mary happily picked up her bag and pulled out a grappling gun. She reported excitedly, "He agreed! We're done here! Can you use this for exit plan London Bridge?"
Bar Bar sighed as he heaved the grappling gun from her hand. "Sir, the grappling gun escape is plan Little Star, not London Bridge."
Mary giggled, "You're so cute, Bar Bar. I love you."

Bar Bar opened the office window, took aim and fired the grappling gun. Securing his end, he turned to Mary. "We're all set to go, sir. Hang on to me." After ensuring that Mary was holding on tight, he threw a playful salute at the bewildered CEO and disappeared into the darkness.

League of Extraordinary Superheroes

2008-06-03T04:44:00.003+08:00

Iron Man: Laborious Laundryman
"Spray starch and steam works wonders on those wrinkled clothes."

Hansel Gretel: Androgynous Adventurer
"Who cleared the cookies from my GPS navigator?"

Mary and Bar Bar: Girl and destructive sheep
"Bar Bar, will you follow me everywhere I go?" "Yes, sir. Yes, sir."

Spiderman: Anxious Arachnid
"What time's the appointment again? Aren't we supposed to be making a move by now? Am I dressed for the occasion? I'm so worked up I'm sweating silk!"

The Flash, Green Lantern and Human Torch: Individuals of Illumination
"Batteries not included"

Twinkle: Cheeky Celestial
"You wonder how I am? I'll show you the diamond of the sky."

This: Aged Neurotic Numerophile
"Would you like me to play knick-knack on your thumb?"

Hickory, Dickory and Dock: The trinity of clocks
"That mouse just ran over my erogenous zones!" -Jimmy

You Gotta Admire British Wit

2008-05-11T23:49:00.003+08:00

The British military writes EPRs as officer fitness reports. The form used for Royal Navy and Marines fitness reports is the S206. The following are actual excerpts taken from people's 206s:

- His men would follow him anywhere, but only out of curiousity.
- I would not breed from this officer.
- This officer is really not so much of a has-been, but more of a definitely won't be.
- When she opens her mouth, it seems that this is only to change whichever foot was previously there.
- He has carried out each and every one of his duties to his entire satisfaction.
- He would be out of his depth in a car park puddle.
- Technically sound, but socially impossible.
- This officer reminds me very much of a gyroscope - always spinning around at a frantic pace, but not really going anywhere.
- This young lady has delusions of adequancy.
- When he joined my ship, this officer was something of a granny; since then he has aged considerably.
- This medical officer has used my ship to carry his genitals from port to port, and my officers to carry him from bar to bar.
- Since my last report he has reached rock bottom, and has started to dig.
- She sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
- He has the wisdom of youth, and the energy of old age.
- This officer should go very far - and the sooner he starts, the better.
- In my opinion, this pilot should not be authorised to fly below 250 feet.
- This man is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.
- The only ship I would recommend this man for is citizenship.
- Works well when under constant supervision and cornered like a rat.

Discriminate against Discriminants

2008-05-11T20:44:00.003+08:00

If you've read my other blog (see entry here), you'll know I experienced racial discrimination first hand during my time in Reykjavik, Iceland. In a gist, a teenaged boy used a laser pointer to shine into my peripheral vision. The boy knew that pointing directly into the eye is a no-no, but he also knew the peripheral vision would irritate. The boy could have pointed at the others at the shop (all locals), but he picked the only asian there.

What happens when you experience discrimination first-hand? For me, the instinctive reaction was to pummel the guy into pulp. If people are ignorant enough to discriminate by skin colour, they deserve to be taught to lose such ignorance. And pain is a very good teacher. At least, in my mind, it will make me feel better taking my anger and irritation back to the source.

However, the first thing that popped up in my mind stopping me from doing so was the fact that I was in a foreign land. If I pummeled the guy and got into trouble with the police, I wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of Iceland. This also entails the fact that I was a minority in the country, so in the case of any questioning by the authorities, I was going to receive the short end no matter what.

Secondly, the guy had a friend with him while I was alone. This meant that if I were to take action on one, the other might intervene. I have less of a right to harm the second guy because he merely watched the wrong being committed but didn't commit the wrong himself. The worst he deserves is probably a slap, not being pummeled.

And finally, by the principle of retributive justice, the punishment must reflect the severity of the offence. In this case, the dude only meant to irritate, so will pummeling be the best punishment?

Faced with all the above arguments, I finally decided to let the guy off, merely sneering a sarcastic, "Having fun, eh?" Sarcasm usually doesn't get through to people, especially those stupid enough to commit discrimination, but I let it be that way. If I'm told to offer my other cheek to the enemy, I can at least throw in some sarcasm, right? So the first food for thought for this post is: if faced with discrimination, what will you do? Also, whatever answer you gave, will you actually do it when such a situation arises?

The other food for thought is: We all know that discrimination clearly leaves a bad aftertaste for the tourist and will often overshadow the good memories of that place. Cognitive maps formed in a person's mind will take a very long time to be reshaped. Given the above two facts, a tourist's impression of the country will be easily tarred and remain so for a long time to come. The tourist is not mute, he will tell his friends about the discrimination at the travel destination. This obviously hurts a country's tourism industry. Even 4 million smiles cannot cure a single incident of discrimination. And yet, it's such a simple act to perform. So whose prerogative is it to prevent discrimination? The individual has proven time and again to be incapable of changing discriminative behaviour, so how can the government step in? Fines, perhaps? Caning? A discrimination police force?

The third and final food for thought is: Dammit, so much negative energy and hatred over one small incident. -Jimmy

I'm not anti-dog. I'm anti-stupidity.

2008-03-28T05:08:00.004+08:00

Some of my friends who know I prefer cats to dogs have asked if I hate dogs. They've probably heard me mutter "dogs are dumb" everytime I see one fighting its leash to sniff at something or stopping in the middle of the road because it feels like taking a crap.

Contrary to the word proportion of the title, this post isn't about dogs, but more about stupidity. I don't hate dogs. By "hate", I mean I don't go around kicking dogs, or torturing puppies or veer away from them when I see them. I don't taunt them. In fact, if my friend has a dog, I'd play with it and pet it. But once I see a dog do something silly, I'll mutter again, "dogs are dumb". Barking at a squirrel hiding up in the tree won't make it come down or dance for the dog. But the dog still does it anyway. And sometimes it'll sit there for a good half hour just watching the squirrel and barking intermittently. What does that achieve?

Cats do not want to appear stupid. Some of you will argue that they hardly do anything, so there's very little chance for them to screw up and look stupid. I'd grant you that. But if you've seen a cat trip and fall, you'll know it gets up again and pretends nothing happened. If it sees a squirrel up a tree, it'll try to climb it. No loud mewing. Just silent, steady actions. (Of course, that means it'll get stuck on the tree later on, but at least it tried to change its circumstances rather than watching the squirrel from ground level.)

So, as the title proclaims, I don't hate dogs just because they're dogs. I generally hate stupidity. If I caught a cat doing something silly I'd still mutter "now that's a stupid cat". And it appears that with the help of the internet, people's stupidty can be broadcast for the whole world to see. This is most apparent when you can observe the cross-section of internet-users, namely in forums and the comments function some websites have.

For today, I'll focus on the comments some people leave on Youtube relating to the videos they've just watched. To set the proper context, here's the video that got me thinking about stupidity: My Name is Lisa

I felt that it was a very nice short film, so I read the comments to find out what others thought of the film and perhaps hear some insightful comments. If you've never been to youtube, allow me to say this blatantly: don't expect insightful comments. Below are the 3 classic examples of stupid internet-users.

1) "I don't understand it"
Well, it's nice that there are people honest enough to admit their shortcomings. The world isn't so rotten after all. I guess the movie's cuts were not meant for people brought up on no-brainer Californiacation. The show doesn't scream in your face "The mother's got Alzheimer's!". Instead, you see her gradual loss of memory through short snippets. So perhaps some people don't understand why this woman's acting strange in the show.

I'm fine with people not understanding shows that require some from of neural activity. Even I don't understand some of the artsy shows I've watched. What I found totally stupid was the fact that posted right beside the video, under the poster's video description was.... hmmm, let's see now... "'My Name is Lisa' is a short film about the Alzheimer's Disease, which is one of many serious and scary diseases still without a cure. Alzheimer's causes gradual memory loss."

The note clearly points out that it's about Alzheimer's and that it's about memory loss. Some idiots just didn't read and understand the context of the video before shooting his mouth off and saying that he doesn't get it. It's just like crossing the road without looking both ways first: when he gets honked at by cars he'll say, "I don't get it."

2) "Hey, you're hot!"
Another comment revolves around people saying that the actress is good, or that she's pretty. I have nothing against comments that go "I think the girl conveys the stress that such a family member is facing very well. I think you should let her act in more of your shows." because these people understand that the video was posted by the production team, not the actress herself. However, some people again miss this context and post comments like "Hey girl, your (sic) good. I hope to see you act more.". Even if people wanted to comment on the actress, would it hurt just to find out if she really was the one who posted the video?

3) "Your opinions are different from mine, so you must be an idiot"
Now this is prevalent in any form of online discussion. These discussion boards are natural grounds for people to air their opinions. In the case of this video, most of them sing to the tune of "very moving story. good vid". However, there are bound to be people who don't like the video and that's fine with me. They can put comments like "I didn't like it". They don't even have to substantiate why, because it's the internet.

What I think is stupid is how some of these people go on to call everyone else an idiot for liking the show. I'd imagine they won't do very well in the service industry. ("Hi, welcome to McDonald's. What would you like? A Big Mac? No, you idiot! Big Macs suck! I'm placing an order of Apple pies for you instead.") Opinions and choices have been weighed in each individual's own mind. Everybody attaches a different connotation to each choice they make or each opinion they have. And that's what makes us human. Calling someone an idiot just because he has a different opinion simply reeks of ignorance. And ignorance is stupidity.

My JC teacher used to say how democracy is based on the assumption that the voting population is made up of rational individuals. These individuals will make the best decision for themselves. If more rational people think this person should be elected, he should be the better choice. Democracy has its drawbacks (not everyone is happy, the individuals may not get all the information they need to make the best decision), but at least the theory of majority is a self-checking mechanism against possible stupidity from autocracy. -Jimmy

National Service in Sweden

2008-02-18T01:33:00.003+08:00

One of the first things I asked about when I got to know a few Swedish friends was whether they have National Service here like Singapore does it. As it turns out, Sweden still practices the "militaristic independence" I've read about. However, it appears that the people volunteering for military service far outnumbers the slots available within the military.

This could mean 2 things:

1) Swedes are a lot more patriotic than I'd imagine them to be, willingly putting themselves through NS.

2) There aren't a lot of slots for NS enlistees.

It appears that it was a case of the latter. The Swedes I talked to say that the military gets a smaller percentage of the budget each year, so they can't afford to spend so much on conscription.

That's great now, isn't it? As your economics lessons will tell you, government spending is made up of either spending on bread or guns. The less you spend on guns, the more you can spend on neccessities and economic development. What money Sweden saves on guns goes to further the country's already impressive economy and infrastructure. (Have I told you that students here enjoy free university education? Yeap, the perks from having a 25% GST.)

But wait, you ask. If they spend less on their military, aren't they afraid of being attacked? Good question, because that's the next question I asked these friends. Their reply was a very nonchalent one: "Who will attack us? We're (Sweden and her neighbours) are all members of the EU. And even if some other country attacks us, they face the military might of the entire EU."

As another Singaporean pointed out, "Why would a non-EU country want to attack Sweden? There are so many resource-rich countries to attack within the EU."

All these sounds too good to be true for me. Here we have a whole region that is steeped in age-old conflicts like the Anglo-French wars (thus making it home to many impressive castles), but now they're cooperating to bring the entire region to greater heights. Just some of the examples of the close cooperation amongst the countries is the embracing of a single currency and the passport-less travelling between countries covered in the Schengen Agreement.

So why isn't Singapore in the same boat? Why is national service still crucial for our military defence? Why the continuous drilling in Total Defence? Why did we practice our fire movement drills in rubber and oil palm plantations when we know Singapore doesn't have such plantations? While Sweden trusts its neighbours in the EU, Singapore thinks its most probable attackers are its ASEAN neighbours. While Sweden has taken out immigration requirements for neighbouring countries like Denmark, Singaporeans only recently stopped filling out "white cards" for the Malaysian Immigration Department.

What is needed to transform an ASEAN into an EU? For critics who think that ASEAN shouldn't become like the EU, allow me to ask you this: What's so bad about a shared feeling of trust, co-operative growth and region-wide economic growth? I asked an Italian how the EU came about. As suspected, it started with the 2 big countries in continental Europe, France and Germany, joining hands after the end of World War 2.

Both countries were strong economically, have large populations and are basically formidable countries on their own. But placed together, they're a dominant power in Europe. With such strong countries as part of the EU founding members, other countries joined the bandwagon. The smaller countries saw benefits in having a united front with allies like France and Germany. Even the stronger economies knew co-operation with their neighbours was the way to compete against the economic powerhouse of United States of America.

What about ASEAN? The strong countries in terms of economy (GDP per capita) are Singapore and Brunei. Incidentally, they're also amongst the smallest members in terms of land area and population. That makes them pretty weak militarily and do not impose a strong "powerbase" like France and Germany. The biggest members are the Phillipines, Thailand and Indonesia, but they aren't strong economically and still suffer a host of problems in areas like corruption and political dissent. We won't see a banding together of big, strong countries in ASEAN like France and Germany for the EU.

There's also the issue of trust. Theoretically, an economically strong country can band with a populous country to impose a strong "powerbase". But can you imagine Singapore banding with Indonesia, or Brunei with Philippines? There are simply many other socio-political-cultural undertones that prevent such close co-operation on multiple fronts. I'm not being particularly particular here, but heck, Singaporean politicians sometimes make fun of our developing neighbours.

Perhaps there's hope. The Italian girl pointed to a bunch of us within the conversation circle. "You're a Malaysian. You're a Singaporean. You guys represent the future of the region. Make something happen." Indeed, this exchange has shown me how interacting with students from other countries can open us to new perspectives that we couldn't have grasped simply by reading Wikipedia or listening in class. And indeed, we represent the future. If we, as students, started holding hands, perhaps our countries might do the same a few years down the road. -Jimmy

Flings in a Foreign land

2008-02-14T23:50:00.004+08:00

I was early for class last week and the classroom wasn't opened for us yet. So three of us were standing outside the classroom. The other two guys were talking with each other, so I just stood there like the wallflower I usually am.

The French guy was saying how he was at so-and-so party and he met this girl. And that they met again at so-and-so party and that he's been trying very hard to get to know her and "become something" with her but she's been very coy about it. So you get the drift; the guy's desperate and the girl's not giving him anything.

First of all, let me clarify that I have nothing against desperate guys. The year of the rat means I'm 24 and that makes 24 years of singlehood. Which really is fine, but I might end up a desperate guy the next time the rat year comes around. What I have something against is how quickly the guy wants to "get somewhere" with the girl. This is a blog, so here you get a dose of personal opinions: 2 parties hardly counts as being close to getting to know a girl. Maybe a lunch out first, or maybe doing some other activities besides parties.

Ok, maybe I've pigeon-holed the guy to become something he really isn't, I told myself. So class starts and it was an interesting lecture by a young prof in jeans and sneakers and really messy hair (girls, take note that Dutch guys look pretty good) about an innovation system and how it works in a framework of universities, firms and research institutes.

During the break, the French guy continues talking to the Italian. The conversation now shifted to the Italian's side. He was saying how he had an enjoyable time with so-and-so girl. Immediately, the French guy asks, "So what kinda girl is she? Girlfriend? F**k buddy? Complicated?"

Right. That drove the nail into the coffin. The term "f**k buddy" sealed this guy's status as both desperate and horny. Is this what they call flings while on exchange? The way the person talked about it so casually surprised me somewhat. Maybe I don't hang out with people like that back home, but I have never heard of guys call their female friends f**k buddies. Hf will tell you that it demeans girls and she will personally hunt you down and demean your manhood.

Ok, even the guys who talked about their sexual experiences back in army talked about their girlfriends. Not someone they met twice at a party. Man, I feel like I'm harping so much over what may possibly be nothing.

So anyway, the Singaporean friends I have over here were saying what they were going to do for Valentine's day. One couple bought new board games to play together on boring nights. 3 guys sent parcels back to their girlfriends in Singapore with various gifts. (Which, for the purposes of "keeping it special", they're not willing to tell me.) Another guy set aside a few hours for a video chat with his other half.

So this Valentine's day, I hope the world celebrates with the silly little gifts that mean nothing and yet mean everything, rather than with a drunken party and some f**k buddies.

If a Blog is not for Ranting...

2008-02-12T23:39:00.000+08:00

Then what is it for?

1) Kitchen guard

Because I stay in a hostel that has a communal kitchen, I'm expected to treat my kitchen guard duty with responsibility. Kitchen what? Well, the kitchen guard will ensure the general usability of the kitchen for a week. That means for a week, the guards will have to store the plates on the drying racks back onto the shelves, throw out the rubbish, clear the recycling, wipe the kitchen counters and mop the floor. It isn't too much work, and I don't mind doing it because I use the kitchen a bit too.

I was rostered to do kitchen guard with "rum310". That's how things are: you don't do kitchen guard alone. But alone I did it. I arranged the plates alone. I was the only one throwing the rubbish. Even when I came back late from my CNY party, I cleared the plates and the rubbish. (Doing kitchen guard makes it so much more obvious what lousy hygeine habits university students in a hostel have.) I could have knocked on the door of rum310. But somehow I knew I wouldn't get an answer.

Well, I guess I wouldn't have gotten an answer. I met rum310 on Sunday when I was mopping the corridor. She said that she's been out of her room often cos she spends more time at her friends' places. Therefore she hasn't helped out for kitchen duty. Brilliant. When other countries attack Singapore, they won't attack me personally, so I won't serve National Service. When the house next door is burning down, I won't call the fire service cos it's not my house. Perhaps only when it spreads to my place will I call. Hmm...

I hated her soooo much for saying that. And it just so happens that she's this cute China girl who speaks English very well.

2) Exchange finances

During the 2nd Malmo trip, everyone was happily shopping at H&M while I sat there eating my haw flakes. They asked me why I wasn't shopping. So here I'll list the full set of reasons why I don't.

1) I don't find it fun. I see no point in looking around at clothes, randomly selecting a few pieces, deciding if I like them and then trying them on "just to see".

2) I don't need the clothes. Right now, I feel that the clothes I brought in my luggage are sufficient. If I feel that I need a new pair of jeans, I'll look around the jeans section if I happen to be in the area. It's never a forced exercise that I have to buy jeans by that shopping outing, or by 3 shopping outings, or whatever. If I happen to see something I like, I'll buy it. After that, no more shopping until I feel I need new T-shirts.

3) The clothes aren't exactly cheap. Barring the super discounted (50% over the original discount of 50%) items, things generally cost more than Giordano. Sure, they're H&M quality. But they're both made in China, and I don't need a label to define a style quotient. (Yes, I have no style, but I can live with that.)

4) The money that is spent shopping can be better spent on travelling. That's what I came all the way to Europe for.

So Tis was making a general comment that his parents told him to "just go ahead and buy if you really like it" and he was rationalizing it in the context of "the clothes are reasonably cheap" and "they're quite nice, what". And then I realised that every one of them there was on exchange on scholarships. So they didn't pay for the plane tickets. Nor the accommodation. And to a certain extent, textbooks and living expenses too.

Me, every week that I spend here is taking away a hundred dollars from my parents' accounts. I know my parents want me to experience living on my own, to learn more about a foreign land and its cultures and basically enjoy myself travelling around Europe. They willingly took out the money and set it aside for my exchange budget. If that budget is not enough, I'll be paying from my pocket. (That should be around the time I start doing my crazy "Around Eastern Europe" tour.)

So every cent I save from not shopping will go to me enjoying my travels, thank you very much.

Well, rants aside, I'm enjoying my time here a fair bit. I had to minus some points cos I'm starting to miss home and home-cooked food. I probably won't miss these things when I'm travelling around Europe! -Jimmy

Massive Multiplayer Online. Massive entertainment, massive lessons.

2008-02-07T00:18:00.000+08:00

One of the wallpapers available from the Eve-Online website. Note the fleet formation and the size discrepency of the ships. Each one of the ships is piloted by a real person logged into the game.

While looking through Gamespot the other day, I noticed the side banners proclaiming the release of the new Eve Online expansion. I've always been a sucker for space themes (Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica and Homeworld), so I decided to find out more about the game. Eve Online is one of the many MMOs out there. Of course, the most illustrious one at the moment is Second Life, which mimics the real world by giving people occupations and entertainment and dating options. Another widespread gameworld is that of Azeroth in World of Warcraft. However, while many of the MMOs are set in fantasy realms, Eve Online is one of the few set in a sci-fi background, which really irked my interest.

In Eve, you play one of 4 races who are remnants of human space explorers in New Eden. New Eden was cut off from the rest of human civilisation when the wormhole connecting the 2 main pockets of human colonisation collapsed. Much of the game revolves around you training yourself up to command different kinds of ships. As you progress into the game, you begin to specialise in several occupations: warfare, trade, mining, bounty hunting and the works.

What really intrigued me was how complex the game world is. Training in the game occurs in real-time and works offline too. For example, you can begin to learn "how to operate a capital ship", log off and when you log on again, you can be halfway through that training. Also, there are huge markets for players to trade raw materials, finished goods and blueprints. While such items can be bought from NPCs, many of the high level items require player interaction to create. Thus, you can only buy them from other players.

As such, Eve has a vibrant open economy. There's lots of trade going on throughout the gameworlds represented.

Eve also features large corporations. That's when players band together and recruit more and more players into their corporation. Each player in that group can specialise in whatever he wants; there is a use for everyone. Thus, the corporations earn wealth from the miners and merchants. Meanwhile, the individual merchants benefit from the economic and political clout the huge corporations provide.

Warfare in Eve comprises of dozens of players, each controlling his own ship, engaged in fleet actions. Each ship serves a function in a battle. The scouts report enemy fleet strength. Black Ops sabotage enemy operations deep within their lines. Frigates jam enemy electronics and increase their lock-on times. Battleships engage one another with massive turrets. The massive Titans destroy entire fleets with a single shot from its cannon. It is a fleet battle on a massive scale. Each ship contributes in some way. Each ship is controlled by one player who happens to be logged on through his computer terminal somewhere in the world.

So why is this enthusing about some online game that I don't even subscribe to over here on a blog that offers food for thought? Well, the world represented in Eve links to the subjects I'm currently studying: Economic development.

Much of economic development arose from specialisation. When farmers were working for subsistence, the nation was generally poor. But throw in technological advancements and they sow more crops than they could eat. So they began selling the crops. People began to move away from farming because they knew that the farmers will sell their excess. With the time people saved from not subsistence farming, they began to work on other things, like research, or trading, or smithing. This led to specialisation and became an economic multiplier. Scientists discovered new technologies that could be exported, or used to improve current methods. This meant blacksmiths could produce more than they originally could. More goods can be exported. The traders were more than happy with the increased volume of goods changing hands.

In a condition where people know that they will be given due credit for their work, trade flourishes. The blacksmith can continue working on his metals without having to touch grain or wheat because he knows his smithing is valued and that gives him money to buy food from the farmer. The farmer plants more than he can eat because his excess crops are of value to others. He needs the money to buy better tools for farming.

This is why I find MMOs with open economies and diverse occupations intriguging. Each player logged on does something he enjoys, but he is contributing to the overall well-being of the corporation he belongs to. The politicians will act to put their faction in a favourable light in the eyes of stronger factions. The tacticians will plan strategies to gain territories that are rich in resources. The navy will fight to gain those territories. The researchers will come up with new designs to increase the fighting strength of the navies. The miners will dig more raw materials to trade and build bigger ships with.

The best part is that you get so much more from the game than if you do everything on your own. For example, the Titan class ships are so massive a person playing on his own will never be able to build one in his lifetime. (Well, prolly not in his lifetime.) However, the corporation has enough resources to build one. And similarly, the corporation has enough resources to improve the mining tools you have, or the research facilities you have access to. And that one lucky person who gets to pilot the Titan gets to show off his fancy new toy. But that person has a responsibility too. The titan is a tool for power projection. You don't mess with a corporation who owns a Titan because that's folly. (Unless of course you have a Titan of your own.) That person has a duty to command the Titan well so that it does not get destroyed in the line of battle.

This is why MMOs are not just games. It's real people using their people logic in a virtual setting. Much can be learnt about the economy, or how technology is diffused or how political clout affects neighbouring factions. All these are real-world issues. All these can be studied in the "laboratory" of MMOs. In fact, Eve Online has a real economist in its payroll studying the statistics the servers capture about New Eden's transactions.

It's not real, it's just a game and there are bound to be erratic behaviour from certain players. However, MMOs still provide a treasure trove of information on human behaviour relating to real-world issues. And that's fascinating. -Jimmy

Happy 100th Post!

2008-01-27T23:23:00.000+08:00

So there you go. 100 posts on Coffeestruck. Somewhere between number 50 and 100, I was remarking how a blog's age shouldn't be marked by dates. I could go for months without a blog post. So you have a blog that's a few months old, but is it filled with more substance than one that is brand new?

A blog is a collection of one's thoughts. An online diary maybe. A place to pin all your hopes, angst and jubilations. While these feelings and emotions arrive over the course of time, the record of such events is not a function of time. Events and emotions get consolidated into a single blog post, a post which covers a period of time. We grow older from the experience we gain over time. Blogs grow older from the records that they keep and build up.

Well, my life is definitely different from when I wrote the entry for the 50th post. I'm now on exchange in a foreign land, I had seen through a year in Kroo and when I return from my exchange, I'll already be in my final year in school. (Check link on right for the Exchange Blog!) It's been a great 50 posts, let's see what happens in the next 50!

Again, here are some of my favourite posts over the past year or so!
To see the list of posts I highlighted for my 50th post: Happy 50th Post!
"Behind Closed Doors" I think it's hilarious how I spent one paragraph trying to picture how this poor guy was sneezing. I hope I still can hear that when I return from my exchange.
"R and J" This was a rant thinly disguised as a love story.
"My Special Power" Super powers do not maketh a superhero. It maketh good entertainment.
"The Spoils of War" This post, like the special powers one, came about from interesting situations and even more interesting conversations.
"The SMUGS President" "Our president has a happy tummy"
"Apollo Cuffs" Believe it or not, this short story was based on a dream I had. I should have submitted it to some writing competition, but you know me.

So there you go, some interesting posts amongst the 50. And I'm sure more interesting posts will come from the next 50! -Jimmy

Kroo in Retrospect

2008-01-27T22:41:00.000+08:00

I was looking through a fellow Kroo's blog recently and noted how this person was ranting about the things we had to go through, about how some people didn't seem to be pulling their weight or were out of line with their roles.

And it reminded me of my time in Kroo, how I got in, the insecurities I had and what I expected from all that.

Like I've said to so many people in SMUGS, I never expected to get into Kroo. There were just so many good candidates that I figure I shouldn't get my expectations up and then have to deal with the disappointment later. I didn't figure that those "non-expectations" could rebound back on me when I eventually did get in.

All the things they tell you about Kroo? About how you're going to make a difference to an organisation you love, about being at the helm making changes, about sharing the passion? Yea, they're all true. In an oblique kinda way. You can make a difference just about anywhere in the organisation. Just by turning up for SMUX events and helping out and being myself, I'm spreading the passion I have for outdoor activities. So what's with Kroo? Well, I get to be at the helm of changing SMUX. Yea, if I wasn't too busy firefighting the daily operations of my own team.

If you think about it metaphorically, yea, I did change SMUGS, most notably in my own team, when I officially transfered an activity that wasn't going anywhere, when I (with some help) came up with guidelines on how activities "graduate" in SMUGS, when I worked closely with TH to prepare Skating to fly on its own. But in my mind, I'm not willing to accept myself as a "good" Kroo. My team still had no identity. When the new Kroo stepped up and a huge "discussion" came about regarding an exco for the team, I had no real answer.

Then those doubts came in. Why put me here when I felt there were other deserving people who were nominated? I asked a notable ex-kroo what it takes to be a good kroo. His theory was simple: just pick the person who has the most passion for SMUGS. These people, by virtue of their passion, will think for the best of the club. They will not try to get in to pad their resumes, or to chase for power. They will undertake their jobs with a sense of responsibility Also, the passion they have will (hopefully) be infectious and spread their love for the outdoors to others.

Ok, so now I felt better about what I've been doing, cos within my locus of control, I've done what I could.

My dad once asked me what I got in return for all the time I invested into SMUGS. We don't get any fancy thank-you dinners. (Ok, our president does give us treats once in a while.) We're not recognised outside the organisation (and sometimes inside too!). I told him how by allowing myself to be nominated, I've accepted that I'd serve with little or no tangible benefits.

OSL recently announced a number of students who have contributed to the "vibrant student life" we have in school. Yea, I wasn't one of them. But during the times I'm alone here in Sweden, I've noted that it's not that we didn't contribute at all. I know other Kroo who worked so hard to contribute to SMUGS and also didn't get it. It's funny. I'm sure many of us will still want to help out with SMUGS activities. Just give us a few months to rest a bit after a year of giving our best. -Jimmy

Colour My World

2008-01-21T23:37:00.000+08:00

I know I posted once with the same title. Heck, the food for thought will be similar too. However, now that I'm considered a minority in a foreign country, the context of this thought process is somewhat different for me.

For those who forgot, the post was about how colours brighten up the world. So roses are red and morning glories are ... uhh... purple? In that same sense, there are caucasians, there are chinese, there are indians and there are malays. Does that make the world a bad place because only one race can live here? No, that will simply make the world a more boring (and totally dreadful) place.

However, now that I'm on exchange in Sweden, I'm surrounded by caucasians everywhere. While Lund university accepts over a hundred exchange students every semester, the bulk of students are Europeans. It doesn't bother me that much to be a chinese in a land of caucasians. If they don't make a fuss, I won't either. Unfortunately, I have heard of some who do make a fuss.

Although I didn't experience these situations myself, it's enough to remind me that I'm a minority here. When Stan walked into his Swedish Orientation class the first day of lessons, many of the seats were already taken by the other students, most of them European. When he asked around if he could sit beside each of them, they claimed that they were saving their seats for their friends. However, many of them turned out to have strangers sitting beside them later on. The only difference was that the strangers were white-skinned, whereas Stan is a Singaporean Chinese.

When Tee walked past the pizza shop in front of the train station, the people working in the shop started chanting, "Chink, chink, chink...". There wasn't anyone in the shop, and no one else was walking near Tee, which leads to the reasonable conclusion that they were chanting to him.

This might sound disturbing. Here we have a world that is shrinking as Globalisation takes its course. Here we have a first world country with a high standard of living, where a simple meal costs 3 times as much as in Singapore. Here we have a country so conscious about the environment that they sort their rubbish into recyclables and boycott bottled water because of the waste it generates.

And also here, you hear stories about skin colour still being an issue.

I was out with my mentor group yesterday and we were talking about how some places in Europe aren't so safe if you're a different colour from the locals. Gangsters will beat you up and steal your money. However, everyone in that conversation circle we had agreed that skin colour is such a petty thing to squabble over. That people should never be judged by their skin colour. One of the people pointed out that while most people will willingly agree to that, there will always be some people who continue to discriminate. As I quote: There will always be some people who are sick in their minds who will continue to do that.

As a response, another person said, well, we're the lucky ones in our respective countries; to be able to get into university, to be able to go on exchange in a foreign land.

We're indeed the lucky ones. And we're also the ones who will have to propogate our belief that skin colour should never be an issue. -Jimmy

A Daily Dose of Chee-ting

2008-01-06T01:06:00.000+08:00

After a lot of attempts to get me to go down for one of their sessions, I finally joined a Laser Tag game today. Our game made use of cute plastic guns produced by Tiger Electronics. I can almost imagine American kids running around their front yard playing with these guns. The guns probably shot infra-red beams, much like TV remote controls, cos I believe laser might prove harmful to human eyes. In any case, the gun had a variety of modes; I heard some game modes can have the guns programmed to activate personal shields.

Some of the games we played include Escort, Assassination, Capture the Flag and King of the Hill. Yes, they sound very much like any LAN shooter game you find out there. However, playing in real-life is very different from playing in a LAN game. Guys who have been through army (and especially those who went through Sispec and OCS) can attest to the sheer exhaustion and frustration of having to run up and down the field attacking an objective again and again until we got it right. Just like any real-life tactical game, sprinting from cover to cover leaves you gasping for air.

All this seems like a recipe for a fun-filled afternoon, right? Well, running around was fun, but the games weren't fun. It's like playing DOTA for five straight hours and being owned every single game. It's like watching as your opponents deny you of towers, then have the cheek to stun you and then gank you. The first few games, I was still getting used to handling the gun, which cost me a few "lives". How would I know that the beams reflect off walls and still score as kills? Why wasn't the gun designed more ergonomically so that aiming down the sights was a lot easier and more intuitive?

Throw in girls who don't know anything about gun handling, fire movement and arc of fire, and that's a recipe for a whopping. I don't blame the girls, really. It's really just a game. We had fun. (Though I wish we could whopp the vendors' smug a**es just once.)

However, the event that stuck to my head was how one of the vendors cheated. Yes, they're supposed to be facilitating the game, making sure that we have a good time. Apparently, that wasn't on the mind of this individual. He went out of the playing area, ended up behind us, and started shooting. Of course he scored a few kills. And he was happily gloating about his cheap shots to the fellow vendors when their team won. (I hope you're reading this Leonard. This was what got me screaming down your back the following game.)

The irony was how another vendor mentioned earlier that it is mostly the beginners who cheat in paintball.

If I had known that he had cheated to get such cheap shots, I would have thrown down my gun and ran for his throat right then. But I only found out later how he got behind our position. (Which was supposed to be tight cos my team-mates were covering the other route.) Isn't that what you want to do to someone who doesn't play fair in a game? Beat them into pulp?

It's a good thing most games have rules that don't allow under-hand methods. But what about real-life? Haven't you heard of the back-stabbing that goes on in the corporate world just to get the promotion? The skivers who get by with minimal work but still receive the same amount of recognision? How about those who take credit for work done by others?

This brings about two questions:
1) Is it fair to do it if so many others are doing it and getting away scot-free (most of the time)?
2) Since I believe it isn't fair, how should they be punished?

Some people believe that such things affect one's karma. If they do something bad, they are opening themselves to bad things happening to them. Like a carwreck, maybe. Others think such acts will result in divine punishment.

Oh, really. So while waiting for karma to do its job, this guy continues having things his own way without a regard for others. I can imagine him giggling with glee as he rubs his hands furiously, his mind a clockwork of sinister ideas. Shall he blackmail his supervisor next? Or how about cheating a trishaw uncle of his fare?

Frankly, I think these people should have situations twisted back to hurt them. A punch in the nuts for that guy who shot me from the back. Probably a "leaked" email to the manager for that colleague who backstabbed you. Maybe they'll understand the meaning of pain then.

Am I being mean thinking about such things, ranting about them? Maybe. At least I feel better now. Now guys, on the count of three, let's pierce the voodoo dolls. -Jimmy

An Unabashed Request for Company

2007-12-19T00:17:00.000+08:00

Just like all the exams I've taken before, this term's exams left me in a void after the last paper. While this new oilwell of free time is welcome to get down to doing stuff that I've put off during the sem (like months-old Readers' Digest that I haven't even pulled out from the packaging), I hate how structureless my days are.

In school, I get cocooned with all my friends, the busy school weeks, the meticulous jotting down of appointments into my organiser. We're all so busy the only thing we think we're lacking is time. However, take away the morning lessons, the trips around school looking for lunch and the SMUX table at Library lvl 4, and I realise how school makes me feel more important than what I really am.

In school, if I wanted to meet up with someone for a movie or dinner, all we had to do was match schedules and say, "Ok, Wednesday night after your lesson!" During the hols, my mindset goes more along the lines of "hmm... I prolly won't ask him out, cos he's prolly out with his own friends." Yes, it's a lousy train of thought, but I'd hate to plan for an outing with someone and then realise that he/she can't make it. So I end up walking down the same boring stretch of Orchard road with the same bunch of friends. Every other day.

I asked some of my friends for suggestions to keep myself occupied during the hols. Many of them suggested watching a movie with a friend. Fine and good, except that there really aren't many nice shows this Christmas. The only shows I'd want to watch are those offered by Picturehouse, once a day, a different show each day.

For the 12 days leading up to Christmas, they will show 12 "artsy" movies for a low price of $5 a ticket. Most are done by independent studios, some have won awards. Notable movies include "Paradise Now", "Where the Sun Rises", "The Wind that Shakes the Barley" and "Paprika". I've already missed the first 2. I won't be in Singapore for the last one. So I resolved to dust away the new layer of fat I've accumulated from doing nothing at home and catch a movie come rain or shine.

Now all I need is someone who'd be willing to watch an intense movie about the war for Irish independence. I guarantee good company! -Jimmy

Apollo Cuffs

2007-11-20T01:13:00.000+08:00

The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to any person is purely coincidental.

The good thing about being thrown in the deep end is that you learn how to keep yourself afloat very quickly. It always amazes me how quickly a human learns to adapt to his situation. It amazes me even more how this act of adapting can occur in a blink, especially when his life is on the line.

As Sarge had predicted, our squad's operating strength was now down to twenty. That works out to two and a half casualties for every operation we went out on. The other thing that amazes me was how I treated those deaths the way I did: as mere statistics.

In the three weeks since I signed up as a Volunteer Corps soldier, I'd heard a lot of things about the ongoing war with the Republic of Dominique . Most of them were picked off the grapevine, so I had no way of telling how accurate the stories are. Humans also have a way of bloating some things out of proportion. However, it seemed to me that the Dominiques had truly been successful in their foray into biological weapons. Military intel remained tight-lipped, but speculation was that the Doms could release an airborne bacteria that attaches itself to living things. Once a host is found, the bacteria will multiply and somehow "brainwash" the host. The Doms didn't have to send their armed forces to invade us. Our own citizens became their army. The more I heard about it off the grapevine, the more the hairs on my back stood on their ends. We weren't the only ones who came face to face with victims of such atrocities. All across the south border of Constella, soldiers have been attacked by these ex-citizens-turned-zombies.

The Volunteer Corps Regiment was now moved to the east border of Constella. The Republic of Dominique had shelled the south border intensively, but our east border had remained relatively untouched. However, intel believed that with our forces spread thin along the south containing the zombies (which intel has taken to call an "infestation"), Dominique might try sending in their regular army along the east border.

Around 800 of us, all volunteers, were bundled off on 3-tonners for the journey east. The journey would take twenty hours; I figured it was the perfect opportunity for me to find out what Sergeant William knew.

As the tonners cruised along the major expressway ("number four") that cuts north-east through the forests that cover most of southeast Constella, I turned to the Sarge and asked, "Hey, umm, you remember our first mission?"
Sarge half-opened one of his eyes at me. "I'm trying to get some rest here, kid."

I nervously fingered my BAR.

Sarge sighed, sat up on the bench and muttered the way he does when having a one-on-one conversation, "You want to know what exactly happened back then, and in the next mission we went out for. You wonder why those people turned against us. Listen, kid. Those weren't normal people. Something got to them and made them sick. That's why they started chewing up Ada . I don't want you hesitating the next time I order you to shoot. As far as the military is concerned, those civilians were already dead."

I slouched on the bench and hugged my gun. So he admitted the fact that our citizens have somehow turned against us. He says that they're "sick." Hmm. But he didn't specify how they could end up like that. He remembered the first casualty our squad suffered. What does he feel when he loses a person under his command?

I opened my mouth, hoping to extract more answers from him, but he was slouched back, eyes closed. His head rocked from side to side as the 3 tonner chugged uncomfortably along. "Don't bother asking. I don't know either." He said, as if he was replying the questions in my head. I think I doubted him then. But I figured out much later that while he seemed like a capable ground commander, sergeants exist near the bottom of the information chain, just above the footsoldier.

I had another 16 hours on that 3-tonner, but the questions remained unanswered.

We were pretty much stretched thin along the east border. Our squad, along with another squad from Baker company, was posted to the small city of Ursamin , population 4000. Upon arriving in the afternoon, we learnt that the CAF had already deployed a platoon from the medical reserve at the Gypsy town even further east, close to a pass that led demarcates our border. We were due to replace them the following morning. Sergeant William wanted us to wind down after the long ride up, so he gave us a choice for dinner: combat rations or do-it-yourself over R and R. It was pretty obvious which one I wanted.

Audrey wanted to visit the Gypsy town as she "wanted to see a real Gypsy". I wasn't too sure how far we were allowed to go on R and R, but it so happened that Sarge was interested in seeing one himself. Over at a deserted corner of the city, we found ourselves abandoned bicycles that we could "borrow".

We stopped at a quaint resthouse at the Gypsy town. At least it was supposed to be a resthouse, before the infestation. The whole town was quiet, but the owners, a middle-aged couple, were very warm and welcoming. For a few tense moments, we thought that we would not be able to find any hot chow in such a deserted town, but the couple quickly availed our fears by sitting us down at the benches while they busied themselves with preparing dinner.

Audrey gave the shelves amongst the gift shop a once-over. "Max! Check this out! Apollo Cuffs!" She cooed excitedly. I walked over to figure out what the big deal was. The wrist-cuffs she held up were a dirty golden colour, with red trimmings along the edges. I raised an eyebrow in question.

"Don't you know?" She asked, holding the cuffs up right under my nose. As if sniffing them will make me realize what they're for. I shrugged.
"Apollo Cuffs are what Gypsy women give away to bless the wearers. They are normally passed down from generation to generation, with mothers passing the cuffs down to their daughters. The girls will then pass the cuffs to their beaus before they head off on ardous tasks in the hopes that they will return safely and return the cuffs to the girl. However, the guy has a choice which girl he wants to pass the cuffs to. If he returns it to the girl who passed it to him, the girl takes it as a sign that they will end up together."
"That's so fairy tale." I deadpanned. After watching the destruction Dominique laid down on my hometown, I'd developed a bitter sense of cynicism.

"It's not fairy tale. It's tradition." A cold voice shot across the room. Audrey and I spun round towards the voice. Behind the sales counter stood a girl about our age. I guessed that she was the owners' daughter, and that she had been told to man the gift shop since there were guests. She had piercing green eyes, a honeyed complexion and bee-stung lips. So gypsy! I remembered thinking to myself.

Audrey slowly placed the cuffs back on the shelf. She asked unsurely, "I don't suppose they're for sale..."
"It's tradition." The girl replied simply.
She suddenly flashed a wide grin and said, "But I can offer you guys a fortune telling session! I'm not very good, so I need lots of practice with the crystal ball. Absolutely free!"

The girl pointed towards a small partition demarcated with heavy drapes. Audrey looked hesitant. She took half a step forward, then turned to push me towards the partition. "Y-y-you go first!" The girl smiled and pulled me into the partition. "Yes, we'll tell this young master's fortunes first!"

The girl pulled the drapes close, plunging the partition into relative darkness. I closed my eyes to condition them to the darkness, but suddenly felt something cold grab my hands. "What the? Your hands are cold!" I couldn't see her, but the girl's simple reply shot through the darkness, "I'm nervous about this too. Now, I'll need us both to relax."

Her hands led me to a small table at the centre of the dark space. I settled into an uncomfortable little stool. As soon as she placed my hands on the table top, a globe on the table top glowed to life. It looked like a dull purple flame encased within the glass sphere. "Oh dear, you're not in the best of moods, eh?" The girl muttered. "I need you to close your eyes, relax, and take deep breaths. I won't harm you."

I closed my eyes. I felt her fingers dance over mine intermittently.
I took one deep breath. I heard a crackling sound from the globe, and forced myself not to open my eyes.
I took my second deep breath and WHAM! my mind went totally blank. I felt that I'd been pulled into space. I couldn't breath, I felt every bit of my skin being pulled apart. Everywhere around me, I sensed great things, scary things, things that wanted to rip my flesh apart. I was one with everything, and yet one with nothing. This continued for what felt like hours.
Then I realised that I could breath again. I was breathing hard.
Then I realised that I wasn't feeling pain. I felt something wet and soft on my lips.
Then I realised, through my closed eyelids, that the globe was emmanating a warm, steady glow.

When I opened my eyes, I felt the girl's lips move away from mine. And I heard a click around my wrists. "You have a future ahead of you, Max Squire. I have none." Her face was still close to mine; so close that I could feel every warm breath from her words caress my nose. "I saw a period of cold in your life. But with that cold came warmth. I saw you throw down your weapon at the end of this conflict. And I saw you a long, long time later."

In the dim glow from the globe, I saw her pull her lips into a smirk. "I'll let you figure out the ending yourself." She fingered the Apollo Cuffs around my wrists, attempting to draw my attention to them. I had already figured that she'd snapped them on, so I asked simply, "Why?"

"Cos I want you to have something to remember me by. Cos by this time tomorrow, your memory is all that is left of me."
"You sound so cryptic! The reason we're here is to protect you!"
"No. You are protecting Ursamin, not the Gypsy community."
"But - "
"Remember me in the cuffs."
I subconciously touched my lips.
"Remember me in the kiss."

***

I slept really well that night. The dinner we had was the best warm food we had in a very long time. Of course, Constella was in a state of emergency and we had to be thankful our supply lines still provided us with combat rations, but nothing compares to a good home-cooked meal.

At daybreak, I was roused by Sergeant William's shouting. "Everyone up! Stand-to! We'd be deployed in 5 minutes!"

"What's up, Sargeant?" I shouted as he walked past.
"Didn't you hear? They've been shelling the Gypsy community the whole night! They've just lifted the barrage, so we're moving in to help extract the medical platoon!"

I felt a lump in my throat. I busied myself with gearing up to keep my mind off things. I slipped on my webbing, adjusted my helmet straps, drew more ammo for my BAR and filled up my water bottles.

At 7am, we marched into the Gypsy community. How one night of shelling changed the landscape. Much of the community lay in ruins. Sergeant William couldn't find the route to the medical encampment that he'd planned, so he led us zig-zagging through the rubble.

Suddenly, we heard gunshots near the original medical encampment site. Sarge looked back at us and said, "Let's roll." We were like dogs off their leashes. We leapt over the rubble, side-stepping, jumping, flying. We saw a few of the medics holding off a wall of zombies. The infestation had come to Ursamin.

Amongst the frenzy of helping to pull away the wounded and laying down automatic fire from my BAR, I didn't notice that the medics were wearing heavy, metal-lined vests, or how their rifles didn't have the wooden foregrips like those on our Garands.

"Max, lay down covering fire while we extract!" Sergeant William tapped my shoulder to despatch me to my position. I nodded, pressed myself against the wall and brought my BAR into firing position. And there, amongst the wall of zombies trudging towards us, I saw her.

Then I remembered the Apollo Cuffs around my wrists. And I remembered how I'd shared my first kiss with her. And how her premonition had come true. How do you expect me to shoot the girl who'd given me my first kiss? How am I supposed to return my cuffs to her if she'd become the enemy?

I squeezed my eyes shut. Should I pull the trigger? Be strong, Max! That's what the Apollo Cuffs are supposed to remind you to do! I felt the recoil from that fateful bullet.

When I opened my eyes, I saw her fall into a heap on the ground, before the rest of the zombies trudged over and around her, unfeeling, unknowing. And that's how I killed her. Shot her through her heart. What happened next was a blur for me. I remember holding down the trigger on my BAR. Even at slow auto, I emptied a mag in over 10 seconds. I remembered reloading and shooting again and again and again.

I remembered someone pulling at my sleeve. It seemed like a silent movie, because I couldn't hear her, but I could make out that Audrey was telling me to fall back. I ran with her. I ran away from it all. The mayhem, the blood, the dead citizens of Ursamin.

***

Ursamin was a lost cause, and later that evening, we were ordered to fall back to consolidate a defensive line along the east border. As we loaded up onto the 3 tonners, Audrey came running up to the rear gate with a pair of metallic cuffs in her hands. "Max! You forgot your Apollo Cuffs!"
"No, I didn't. They don't belong to me, so I'm leaving them in Ursamin."
Audrey looked quizzically at me. She carefully placed the cuffs on the ground, then allowed me to pull her up into the 3 tonner.

I didn't need the cuffs to be strong. I didn't need the cuffs to remember her. She lives on in my heart.

Un Agony

2007-11-19T22:39:00.000+08:00

Dear Aunt Agony

Hello again. Now I'm confused. Yesterday, I was on the bus with my parents. Halfway through the journey, they asked if I'd noticed that the person who just got off had been "checking me out".
Now this should be a cause of concern, because it's bad enough if they suggest a girl was checking me out. But the person who'd just got off was a gay. A broad-shouldered, wide-jawed, spaghetti-strap wearing specimen.
Why is it I can draw the attention of gays, but not girls? Aunt Agony, what's wrong with me?

Single, but not desperate

Dear Desperate

Now you've irked my interest. The next time you write in, would you mind sending in a picture of yourself?
Frankly though, what's wrong with people looking at you while you're on the bus? I'm sure Gurmit Singh faces the same fate. In fact, I think he has it worse: imagine both guys and gays, old ah-mahs and smelly school kids will watch him in the bus, if they ever caught the same bus as he did.
Just be glad they don't ask you where your yellow boots and mole is.

Aunt Agony

Un Agony

2007-11-09T09:53:00.000+08:00

Dear Aunt Agony

I think my father's worried about me. I'm 23 years old this year and I've been single all my life. At first I thought that it was my fault that I'm single. Perhaps I'm disgusting or that I'm not charming enough or that I'm being too picky. But I've reached an age when I know it's not my fault that I'm still single.
I have a wide circle of friends, both male and female. I'm not some social outcast. While I have many female friends, it just so happens that I have never found a girl who provides that -oomph- to differentiate a friend from something more.
However, my dad now thinks that everytime I go out with a girl, it must constitute a date. I think he's just chiding me to hasten my search, but it's a silly way to do so. What do you think, Aunt Agony?

Single, but not Desperate

Dear Desperate

(Is your first name Single or is it Desperate?)

It seems to me that you already have the answers to your own questions. What was your question anyway?
If it's the issue that you're worried that you're still single, then you're right in saying that you're not a freak. If you have a wide circle of friends (a circle of 3 friends is by no means wide), and you have not met anyone who has had that -oomph-, then fret not. Someone will come along to do that soon. Or you could live a single life, which I hear is pretty fun too. Yours truly didn't find true love till he was nearing forty and found a Vietnam bride.
As to your point that your dad keeps making fun of you, let yours truly relate his personal experience. Every time the stork delivers the baby to new parents, he brings with him a parenting handbook. It covers everything from teething babies and curing colic to telling your child to become a lawyer/doctor/accountant.
Just like your first tooth, your first word and your first step, your first girlfriend is a major milestone in your parents' eyes. It proves that the child they brought up is not enough a freak that he is unable to find a girlfriend. Also, it completes the circle of life that they started a long time ago. First a girlfriend, then marriage, then a kid... who will then grow up and find his/her own girlfriend/boyfriend.
Your dad will be as excited as you are about your first girlfriend (whenever that maybe). However, till that happens, just grin and bear it. Take heart that you have a dad who cares enough about you to nosey around your love life.

Aunt Agony

The Ipod Generation

2007-11-07T09:23:00.000+08:00

We are the Ipod generation. Just like how the Sony advertisment hilariously showed an audiophile trying to figure out how to work around his addiction to sound, portable music is a large part of our lives.

I'm a member of such a generation. I insist on getting large capacity memory cards for my mobile phones so that I can have music on the go. There's nothing like a good, energetic song like "Outsiders" by Franz Ferdinand to perk you up in the morning. One thing I can't help doing when I listen is how I like to bob my head to the music, or sing along silently.

This morning, while I was on the bus, I spotted a middle-aged man in business attire plugged into his Ipod. However, instead of acknowledging a fellow member of the Ipod generation, I was thinking how weird bobbing one's head to the music looked. His semi-bald pate made the look even more comical; his fingers tapped the Ipod, supposedly in beat to the music.

It's strange. If we love our music, there shouldn't be any reason why we shouldn't let the music move our bodies. But spot just one person doing that and we all think he looks weird. Perhaps that's how we Singaporeans were brought up to be. Sitting still in our buses, sitting still in our cubicles, the picture of ultimate efficiency: any other action that does not add value to our work is a waste of our energies.

Am I looking at it wrong? Does anyone out there think that it's fine that people plugged in to their music players behaved like they're possessed? Is everyone really expected to sit still, the picture of a highly-efficient, yet seemingly apathetic population?
Once more, the reason I keep posting is to raise the questions, not provide the answers. -Jimmy

Thought Experiments

2007-11-02T11:25:00.000+08:00

When we had the Kroo party at YC's place over the weekend, YC passed a book on thought experiments for me to entertain myself. It was a book that presents 100 thought experiments that also come with the author's own arguments.

The Pig who wants to be EatenIf a pig were able to tell you that he will willingly die for your gastronomic enjoyment, is it still right to kill and eat him? If a chicken were genetically engineered to have no mind, such that it grows pretty much like a vegetable, can you still be considered a vegetarian if you eat its meat?

Teleportation = Murder?In teleportation, the transporter device scans every single cell in your body, destroys them and transmits the data to another transporter device. The 2nd device will then recreate your cells based on the data it receives. Does that mean that you've effectively killed yourself and have replaced yourself with a clone somewhere else?

Which is the real Bismarck?When the German battleship Bismarck limped into the dry dock, the German engineers began planning a way to nurse the legendary ship back into its prime. As repairs progressed, however, they realised that many of the ship's original components were either outdated or beyond repair. Part by part, the Bismarck was replaced with new components fresh off the factory lines, products that showcase the Third Reich's technological whizbangs. The new and improved Bismarck now waited in the dry dock for its next mission. However, the engineers felt some sentimental value for all the old components that were taken out of the ship. So the pooled together the old components and used them to build a totally new ship. So which is the real Bismarck? The ship almost totally made up of new components, or the one that was made up of the old components?

Thought experiments are really fun cos stripped of all the "real-world inconveniences" that make such a situation impractable, they are exercises in logic and allow one to hone their judgements relating to certain topics.

Unfortunately though, the real-world is a lot more complex than the simplistic "two-option" models provided in the book. For example, my BeePee prof provided the example of the decision tree analysis. In a traffic accident, where you are the injured party, the insurance company of the other party will offer a one-time settlement fee. However, you can also choose to bring the matter to court, with a 90% chance of getting a much larger claim. Should the court proceedings fail, however, you still have to foot the lawyers' fees, thus incurring a loss.

The expected value of taking the matter to court is much higher than the out-of-court settlement. Thus, it is more logical to bring the matter to court. However, most normal people choose a guaranteed payout as opposed to a small chance of losing more money. Doesn't that defy logic? Does that make humans irrational?

Just like the time when I had to choose how to handle the cable-ski section in SMUGS, while there were only 2 options, I also had a choice how much work the Wakeboarders should put into developing the activity. When I discussed the formation of skating as a team, I had to consider the potential benefits that the team stands to gain versus a system that wasn't broken.
In the long run, the value derived from your decisions falls far below the expected value in a decision tree analysis. But life goes on, time introduces amnesia into people. Mulling over a decision for far too long might end up giving you a much lower payoff as you'll end up with more regrets. -Jimmy

Friday is Skating Day!

2007-10-27T01:01:00.000+08:00

The time I re-established contact with inline skating

I hardly skate in school as I find it a hassle lugging a backpack with your laptop and then adding the weight of the skates. It's worse when the area we have for skating is so limited that I can't put my fitness skates to good use. I drop by every week to watch the skaters at practicing at our weekly skating sessions though. I might not be in skates, but I can still teach.

Today was slightly different. I was looking for some Friday evening activities since my parents' happen to be in Indonesia. Anything that can keep me occupied and provide me company would have sounded good to me. I brought my skates to school, joined in the skating session, then followed the crowd when it got to the night urban skate. Man, urban skate is a whole lot more fun with a big group. Back in school, HH and I finished off with a sprint race up the giant slope.

The last time I had a great inline skating urge was back in JC, when I'd skate as part of my training for 2.4. But back then, I didn't know the value of good skates. I bought cheap skates which ended up hurting my feet and I wasn't very keen on skating for very long periods. Then, during the summer holidays in 06, a bunch of us from the EllTeeBee class got together to skate at ECP. What a surprise soft boots turned out to be! I had never experienced such comfort in inline skates before. Very soon, I was making trips to ECP early in the morning to rent skates and doing "the East Coast Run" just to drown out my post-Kili blues.

I somehow managed to scrimp enough to buy a new pair of skates despite being so broke after Kili. The first time he saw it, XZ looked disappointed. "You'll never be able to do slalom with those fitness skates." It didn't matter to me: I prefer the wind in my face to swirling around cones. I got into the mailing list for the skating sub-activity in SMUX. When I got into Kroo, I decided to run for XSeed manager partly because of skating.

The skating sub-activity grew under commendable leadership from XZ and Ter. They were both passionate about skating and never complained about teaching any newbie how to skate. The members also proved that while they can't commit on a regular basis, they'd still make an appearance during the events that matter. Me, since I re-established contact with skating, I've found that I like teaching others how to skate. Part of it is from the sadistic glee of watching newbies fall. But the other part is from watching as these newbies work hard to learn new skills and eventually flourish on their own.

I guess that's part of the draw in my involovement with SMUGS. I love the outdoors. I love outdoor activities. And I love how in SMUGS, I could enjoy the outdoor activities that I love with a bunch of like-minded people. And I love how, after enjoying the outdoor activities, I also get to interact with others and get them to enjoy the outdoors like I do. I guess that's what Yujian meant when he urged me to run for Kroo last year. "As long as you embody the SMUGS mission, you will do SMUGS a service." My term as Kroo is coming to an end, but I know I will still pop by for SMUGS activities. There's no other place I see myself in. -Jimmy

You're in my Prayers, Auntie Jane

2007-10-25T23:28:00.000+08:00

About a year ago, I talked about how Auntie Jane had been stricken with Stage IV cancer and that her days are numbered. I have a confession to make: since then, I've hardly met her. She's in increasing discomfort, so she hardly goes out. Which is fine, cos my parents will make the effort to visit her. But I never follow when my parents go visiting.

I've always had this impression that she's still doing well. Even though her treatments have had limited effect, my parents say her fighting spirit is commendable; that she's willing to live life to the fullest while she could. In my mind, Auntie Jane was how I remembered her: smart, joyful and definitely not someone you'd imagine suffering from cancer.

A week ago, while I was having dinner with my family and Auntie Lin, she mentioned how Auntie Jane is clearing showing signs of her sickness. I'd heard from my parents that she'd gone for several operations, but Auntie Lin gave a more graphic description. She mentioned how her abdomen has been operated on so many times that the doctors would no longer make incisions there. They thus cut further up, closer to the ribcage. Auntie Jane has been cut and patched up so many times that her abdomen can no longer stretch out as it would when a person stands up straight. She now walks with a perpetual hunch, aided by crutches.

My father was commenting how she was complaining to him, "Look at me. I'm hunched like this; like an old woman!" On the surface, it was simply a complaint about the crutches, but it was also a complaint about many things. Why cancer? Why her? Why now? Why not later, when she has seen more to life? Can it be cured? Will things ever be the same?

It's interesting how we conveniently forget things that are not immediately in front of us. Is it true that the age of instant gratification has really shortened our attention spans such that "out of sight, out of mind" truly holds? Was I being ignorant? Perhaps I was being optimistic: if I don't remember her as being sick, she might be fine the next time I see her. Maybe I'm just apathetic.

Maybe I was simply practicing what the education system has brought us up to be: extremely pragmatic worker drones, continually improving our work efficiency, without realising the uncaring cores that we're harbouring.

Unlike the optimistic ending I had one year ago, I'll end off sober this time. She's out-lived the doctors' expectations and judging from what I've heard from my parents, she's enjoyed when she could, what she could. Auntie Jane, you're in my prayers. -Jimmy

Monday Talks to Friday

2007-10-15T22:50:00.000+08:00

Monday looked over to Friday. Friday was wearing his favourite pout and furrowed brows.
"Why so glum, Friday?"
"I'm having a freaking bad day la, Monday. Can't you tell?"
Monday's reply was a short sharp laugh of disbelief. "What's so bad about your day? I'm the one who's supposed to be complaining. Everyone sighs and pulls a long face on Mondays. Their tempers flare up so quickly, they tsktsk silly emails that they have to answer with political correctness and everyone wears blue to the office!"

Friday deadpanned, "And that's supposed to be better than people who don't do work over the week, people who don't plan in advance and then realise that they have to get things done on Friday? That it's better on Friday cos people start pushing their panic buttons and pulling all the strings they can just to get things done in time for the weekend? That it's fine that people are put through someone else's frayed tempers even though the latter simply was inefficient but had to take it out on someone?

"Tell me why I should feel happy that these people think they have the right of way to get things done on time when they were the ones holding work up. Tell me why no one thinks that these people were the ones who were slow, that they were holding the line up. Tell me why it's only the people who consolidates the reports, who eventually sends out the email blasts, who has to reserve a room for meetings, tell me why only these people get blamed for being "slow"? What about the others who took their time doing their bits for the report and submitted past the deadline? What about the others who couldn't do their graphic designing earlier so that the email could have been sent out on time? What about the others who couldn't decide when to hold their meetings and decide to put off that decision until wayyyyy past the meeting room booking deadline?"

"Oh gee, Friday. That's some temper you've got brewing. But look on the bright side, you've got Saturday and Sunday to keep you company. They sure have hot figures. By the way, can you pass me Saturday's number? She's still single, right?"

"Yea? Well, these people who want things their own way simply laze through another week, then push the panic buttons again the next Friday. It's disgusting. F**king idiots." -Jimmy

Random Thoughts Collection - Batman

2007-10-05T11:22:00.000+08:00

How come Batman doesn't have a sense of humour? Take for example when Batman drives the Batmobile and drops a Batmine (which, for the purposes of this Collection, is supposed to stop the Jokermobile from giving the Batmobile such a heated pursuit by way of a massive explosion which in theory should destroy the Jokermobile. In actuality, however, the Jokermobile will appear in the following week's episode of Batman. Blame it on a studio's limited budget; creating a new character and car is far too expensive.)

*Klunk* [Batmobile drops a Batmine]

Batman: [Cheeky smirk] I call it my personal guano

*Boom* [Jokermobile goes up in a huge fireball]

Robin: Holy shit!

Batman: Quite right. That's some really explosive shit I put in there.

The Mighty Stag

2007-09-13T10:28:00.000+08:00

He was dying. He was in his prime, yet he was dying. His mom would have been proud of his mighty antlers, but that's not the way amongst his kind. He had left the comforts of his herd like all young males had to. He had found his own territory, marked it out the only way he knew to and had grown big and strong. He had grown his massive antlers, good enough to challenge the dominant male in the adjacent territory. He wanted to pass his bloodline.

But he was dying.

His knees were shivering now. Very soon, he would have to crumple into a heap on the grass. He didn't want that as much as possible. He was destined to be the alpha male; alpha males face death bravely. But he had expected it from a younger male, he expected to be maimed in a fight for dominance, he expected to be left for dead by the group. He expected to at least be head of his herd for a few years.

He had been hit when he least expected it. He had felt it before he heard it; a sharp sting through his ribs; a searing stab into his vitals that spread heat as it travelled through his insides. And then the sound came, a sharp crack that echoed amongst the hills. How was he to know that death could strike him while he was eating breakfast? His knees buckled. He had so much to life, but he didn't have any to spare now. -Jimmy

Important Agreement Inked, Another Event in SMUGS Heritage

2007-09-05T18:39:00.000+08:00

OSL-The SMU GS group (SMUGS) today signed an agreement that will forever change the SMUGS heritage. Yes, we simply repeated the title in our first line. SMUGS finally scratched ink on the dotted line in an issue that has been through countless delays and seen 2 batches of both SMUGS kroo and WB committee.
WB had approached SMUGS with the intention of taking over an activity that SMUGS had started. Concerns were immediately raised in some corners of the SMUGS camp that they would be giving away their heritage, since the activity was founded and painstakingly built up by the pioneers of SMUGS. To make matters worse, one of the teams under SMUGS was originally named after the activity.
Mr Tjeng, the SMUGS representative who inked the deal, recounted the ordeal: "It was a tumultous time. We had just taken over the reins of SMUGS, and here was an issue that we immediately had to look into. Many mother hens wanted to keep the activity, but there were also many other factors to consider. It was a relief when we reached a consensus as to who had the final say."
Mr Tjeng had the final say.
Over the next few months, he sought the opinions of several stakeholders, including some of the SMUGS seniors, WB committee members and the Kroo. "The hardest part was weighing the reasons, the pros and the cons," Mr Tjeng tells reporters. Mr Tjeng mumbled on a bit about initiating the uninitiated, but the gist of it lies in the balance of heritage versus the relentless march in the name of development. "They both had strong backers. How can you expect to give away something that you had built up? It's akin to giving your kids up for adoption. It's ridiculous, but it happens. WB definitely was more suited to developing the activity as compared to SMUGS. I took a very utilitarian approach to it: the student population gains from the transfer. We have an interest to serve the student population." At this point, Mr Tjeng hands out little badges declaring "James for President!".
Mr Tjeng thus set down to making the transfer official. "We needed it on paper. We had something they wanted, but we didn't want to give the impression that we were just going 'nah, let you take!'. We had expectations from them too, they had to prove they can better serve the school population." Thus, work began on the "Proposal of Transfer", which puts down in words the viewpoints of WB and SMUGS. "We also wanted to show that we're not setting a precedent with this transfer, that we had thoroughly thought it through and that WB eventually proved to have the right qualities."
But the proposal was long in coming. Voices of dissent whispered amongst the WB members. Mr Chai, a friend of Mr Tjeng, and also a WB member says: "Yea, I did meet him casually one day and tell him how some people were blaming SMUGS for taking a long time, that because some people were dragging their feet, (the WB members) can't enjoy."
The proposal was delayed further when the WB committee had to update information in the proposal. First was the confusion over the details required, next came the absence of a key WB committee member. What was expected to take just a few week stretched to almost a year. The final step was in arranging an appointment with Tam. In a private ceremony only attended by 5, SMUGS signed off part of its heritage. OSL and SMUGS say that the original copies of their documents will be kept in their respective offices. The WB spokesman was unavailable for comment.
"Ten years down the road, people may wonder what the big deal was. But for me, knowing that there was something I had to take on, and giving it my best, that's good enough for me." Asked what else people can expect from SMUGS, Mr Tjeng winked, "Adventure at your doorstep. We still have activity development plans up our sleeves." - Chua Boh Liao, with further reporting by Zhng Zhi Zi

Parody of Sorts

2007-08-30T16:42:00.000+08:00

KFC Surf and Turf Meal
Barber: The usual?
-
Mamak shop owner: The usual?
-
Guy with funny hair: The usual, please.
KFC counter girl: Si Mi usual? KFC is only sell chicken one! You want 2 piece or 3 piece?

Ask James
Tai tai 1: Eh, I saw Mdm Tan drive in a new Honda Jeeveek. Her husband not reech, so how she afford one?
Tai tai 2: Don't ask me, Ask James
-
Kroo 1: Eh, what's going to happen during CCA day?
Kroo 2: Where the hell are banners going to be hung?
Kroo 3: Eh, which photoboards are we going to display? Display by team, or mix n match?
Kroo 4: How much space are we allowed to use? How much space can we actually use?
Kroo 5: Freaking hell, don't ask me. Ask James la, dammit!

Management School

2007-08-27T22:46:00.000+08:00

You'd think that being in a management school trains the "bright young minds" of our nation to be good businessmen. You'd think that with our "broad-based curriculum", us students will be able to tackle the hijinks of the workplace. If that's the case, we're in a very sorry state. I present to you exhibits A and B.

Exhibit A
Before the summer holidays, I had arranged a meeting with this person to discuss the handing over of an activity. Unfortunately, it was very close to the exams, so we put it off till the summer holidays. However, he got an internship at Thailand (Ny's motherland), so we had to put it off once again.

Before school started, I emailed him to pin down a date we could meet up. There was no reply. At least not until school started, when he asked if I'd be free later that day, and that he'd call me.

He didn't respond to my reply that I'll be available after lunch. No email, no calls. He didn't even reply to my SMS providing him my location if he wanted to look for me. When I got tired of waiting for him, I went home, only to see his reply at 11pm saying that he had lessons on from 12pm onwards. You'd expect that he'd have replied with that fact earlier.

The events panned out in an eerily similar fashion the next day. He told me that he'd call, but never got down to doing so. I stayed back in school another day for no apparent reason.

This is a management school we're in. They teach you things like crafting emails to request and reject clients. They teach you how to dress to impress, how to ace that interview and how to give suave and slick presentations. If they expect us to go through so much trouble for our clients, we should also treat our peers and colleagues with some amount of respect right? Who likes working with someone who doesn't keep to a promised call, someone who can't even shoot off a quick email reply that he'd be busy that day so we'd have to reschedule. He isn't the only busy person around.

Exhibit B
I worked with this person to claim money from his CCA. His club sent people down for our event to have some fun. However, their members weren't willing to pay entry fees and we made an arrangement with their club president to buy tickets on credit. I had to collect the accounts receivable from him as he's the club's financial controller.

I passed him the receipts for the tickets to expedite the admin he needed to do on his side. When doing so, I also told him which receipts were for amounts already paid, and which were for amounts that I need him to pay me.

He didn't take note of all that. About a month later, he sent an email asking me how much exactly his club owes our club. "Hey, was it $60 I'll need to claim for you guys?" As I had mentioned so many times previously in my emails to him, his club was in $102 of debt to us. Did he bother checking those emails out? Apparently not. But never mind, I replied him once again with a breakdown of how his club owes us $102.

Two weeks later, I received a cheque from him for - wait for it - $60. Okay, I'm still calm, so I ask him, "So when can I expect the rest of it? 42 dollars?" I even helpfully attached the email reply I mentioned above. He still had the cheek to reply "Huh? We owe you more than that? Where does the $42 come from?"

We're taught to be businessmen. And in businesses, money is everything. You think your suppliers will be patient with you if you keep asking them how much you owe them? You think they'll be willing to work with you if you short-change them? Do you expect them to read your emails for you?

So there you go: two samples of Singapore's very bright future. -Jimmy

The SMUGS President

2007-08-27T16:51:00.000+08:00

This is the SMUGS president. He was voted into kroo like the rest of us, and he was voted into position by the kroo.

This is our president sleeping on the floor during CCA day. We don't blame him. Sorry guy was busy running around the previous night making sure things were up to mark for SMUGS recruitment.

This is us playing a prank on our dear president. Nope, I assure you that despite what it looks, we weren't going to rape him.

Our president has a happy tummy.

Leadership?

2007-08-19T01:16:00.000+08:00

Here's the irony: I study in a management university. (Gee, no prizes for guessing where I'm from now.) The university prides itself in moulding future leaders with its blend of broad-based learning and technical skills. They churn out "well-rounded individuals" from their conveyer belts. Our compulsory courses include "Leadership and Team-building" and "Management of People at Work". You'd think I'd know a thing of two about leadership.

Here's the irony: I don't know shit.

Some people were born knowing how to lead. (For further reading: Neil Gaiman's Sandman, Vol 8. Read the story of Prez, the kid president. Although the story brings to light the ideals of a leader, there is a dark undercurrent to it. I shan't spoil the fun.) But me, I've always been content being the executor. Someone who will do what is given to him. And given my wallflower tendencies, I'd rather keep a low profile instead of leading a charge, a bold change in any organisation. Don't expect me to be the one chastising a team-mate for lax work. I'm non-confrontational; if I can let it pass, I will.

I dunno why I ran for Kroo. Maybe Yam knocked some love potion no.9 into me. Maybe I felt I had it in me to be at the helm of SMUGS. Maybe cos I wanted a learning experience and I was quite sure I'd have friends with me in it.
But I can't lead. I hadn't considered how in gaining experience to add to my hilt, I could very well be jeopardizing my team. I hadn't considered that while I have friends running with me, they count for nothing if I can't be totally, brutally frank with them. I hadn't considered that while I may be at the helm now, someone better could have been in my place, spotting the rocks faster, steering the boat with more finesse, avoiding the huge waves to keep the boat stable.

The previous team manager passed me a book about leadership called "The 360 Degree leader". It was an inspirational read; one can be a leader no matter what position he's in within the organisation. Early on in my term, I decided that I'd lack the charisma to lead like Er Jun when the took D2D. He was the kind of leader you'd listen to, the kind that makes you hang on to his every word to do up his requests to the best of your abilities. I took on a more sublime take on leading my team. I don't order; I request and suggest. I'd like to believe that my team does things not because I'm telling them to do it but doing it as a favour.
It fit my style. But it has shortcomings. You end up spending a lot of time on the ground, and you find that you can't push things at a more strategic level. I've put off driving an aggressive marketing campaign like my predecessor did. I've held back on introducing new initiatives, cos I've enough on hand as it is.
And when things like this happen, you begin to wonder: did they make the right choice voting you into office and giving you this power to be the leader? What makes a good leader in the first place? Do I count as a good leader? I mean, you're looking at the guy who has not transferred out cable-ski to the Wakeboarders.

I think a leader is someone who gets things done and does it with his team. D adds that he must also do it efficiently, and his team must do it to his specifications. Well, I've tried telling my team to do things to my specification during the recent SMUGS camp. It felt like I was being the "bad cop". That i'm anal, uptight and by-the-book. It doesn't help when your fellow leader gives the impression of nonchalence. It also doesn't help when you use your initiative to get things done, but you fail to get recognision from fellow leaders, but you end up irking your charges for making them pull extra duty.

After one term as a "leader" and 2 years in a management school, I still know nuts about being one. One day down the road, I might blog again ranting about how I still have no idea how to lead. I should be better off as a wallflower. -Jimmy

Another Birthday

2007-08-02T16:33:00.000+08:00

Since my parents stopped buying me presents, birthdays have had very little significance for me. I mean, it’s just a date when I officially add one year to my age. Nowadays, I don’t even care what date it is, I take my age based on the year, as if my birthday is the first of January (yes, old age does that to you).

I know some friends who will fuss over their birthday and make it known to the whole world. They build up their excitement in the days before their birthday comes, they plan out what they want to do on that special day and they are absolutely beaming when people remember to wish them happy birthday.
I prefer to keep a low profile. The less people remember about my birthday, the less they’ll make a fuss. And the less they make a fuss, the better.

Firstly, I don’t fuss over someone else’s birthday. If I happen to remember it, then I’ll send an SMS. If I don’t remember it, forgive me, ok? Since you can’t expect me to remember and fuss over your birthday, I don’t expect you to do the same for me.
Secondly, even if someone fusses over my birthday, my social ineptness guarantees that you’ll be disappointed at my response. I won’t be all excited, and jumping up and down saying, “Wow! You guys remembered! I’m so surprised! This is my bestest birthday ever!”
It’s more like, “Oh, gee. Thanks.”
Better that people don’t remember it, so people won’t fuss, so I won’t have to feel uncomfortable that I actually mean something to them.

My 23rd birthday came along recently. I knew the Kroo will find a way to celebrate it like they do for every other member of the Kroo. But that’s about all I expected, which is fine, cos I could rehearse my surprise and “oh, gee. Thanks.” And I hoped everyone else forgot.

But they didn’t. Tf managed to get a muffin during her lunch break, gather all the interns at the fish tank, and get Pi to trick me into going there. (Sorry, Tf, but the muffin really was gelat.) I had no idea to respond to that. The nice perm staff sitting around me got wind of my birthday, and they bought a slice of cake, a card and a 4D ticket with my birthdate, all during office hours, and all co-ordinated without me knowing. (The numbers didn’t strike. I do not have a lucky birthdate.) The Kroo snuck a cake into the dance concert we were watching, and tricked me into going out to blow out the candle that was on it. (I’m starting to believe I get tricked easily. The next thing you know, you’ll prolly hear me ranting about some salesmen selling me valuable “healing stones”.)

Then there were the nice SMS and emails that I got from Mr. President, Bene, Lt Goh, Fenny, H’s wifey and L. (Although L was one day late. But I didn’t mind. The less people know about my bday, the better.)

For all the people who bothered, thanks. For those who didn’t know, it’s fine really. I can’t guarantee I’ll remember your bday. When 1st Jan rolls along next year, I’ll be 24. -Jimmy

Short Story Project - 2 Aug 07

2007-08-02T10:51:00.001+08:00

“My racing heart can’t explain,
How a girl like you so plain,
Can bring me such joy,
When you your giggle employ.”

“So?” Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“So what?” Elijah looked bored. He was slouched on the couch; the newspaper he was reading was crumpled in a haphazard pile over his nearly horizontal belly. At least he had the decency to remove his music player’s earpieces, which were still blasting out music so loud Sam could hear it from where he was standing.
Sam waved the stack of papers with all his scribbling in front of Elijah. Despite his seemingly lazy vibe, Sam noticed that his good friend’s eyes were still sharp. I bet he’s calculating a firing solution on one letter on this piece of paper.
“So?”

“You’re turning into mush over a girl, Sam.” Elijah answered simply.
Bang. That firing solution was dead on.
“And rhyming poems are so… Never mind. Look, I don’t mean to be mean, but besides suddenly realizing that having a member of the fairer sex can make doing the most mundane things fun, besides finding out that you converse over very different things as compared with conversations with me, what else is there to it? If you’re asking her into a relationship, what is there in it?

“Think about it, if there is nothing else special about it, what difference is there between a girlfriend, and a girl friend? Think about those stories you hear about people who go on rebounds, breaking up and finding a new girl shortly after. Do you seriously think that they have something special? That ‘snap!’, and ‘hey presto!’, new girlfriend? Are you itching to be in this relationship just so that you can be in one?”

Sam twitched. Elijah plugged his earpieces into his ears again. I don’t know, El. I just don’t know. -Jimmy

Shades of Blue

2007-07-31T00:00:00.000+08:00

It was a horrible Monday.

It's a long story that will bore all of you, cos no one will understand what I was feeling then. Suddenly, everyone seemed to think "hey, let's all arrow the intern with work at the same time!" I had work piled on me from a manager, 2 assistant managers, the administrator and an admin assistant. If I had showed myself to her, I bet even the coffee lady would have arrowed me with something.

I was angsty. That was the first time I felt that way since I joined the firm for my internship. That was the first time I wasn't just dragging my shoes, I wasn't just sporting droopy eyes, I wasn't just looking unkempt. That was the first time I was doing all of the above and more. I was throwing rubbish across the walkway, I left "balls" in the shredder. If I had the guts, I would have deleted the M drive.

And then I watched the Simpsons. Sometimes, Mondays aren't all that bad. -Jimmy

The Spoils of War

2007-07-16T11:28:00.000+08:00

It is common knowledge that couples exchange gifts. These range from the simple yet thoughtful to the really extravagant showy gifts. H got a guitar from his “wifey” recently. (He calls her wifey, or “dear”, as in “Hey, dear.”) It was a thoughtful gift as they both love music and it was her first guitar, the one she trained on. Even an emotionally dead person like me could see that the gift’s value was far beyond the price of the guitar.

As I glanced at the guitar yesterday, a thought struck me.
“When a guy and a girl breaks up, and the guy gave the girl lots of expensive stuff (eg, a precious guitar), is the stuff the guy’s or the girl’s?”

“Girl’s,” H replied without batting an eyelid. “I’ve been through enough of those to tell you that with confidence.” And indeed he has. You see, even though he set up the “bachelor’s club” back in our JC ODAC, H was what you’d call a “buaya”. He even proudly proclaimed once: “Take any single digit number, and that’s the number of relationships I’ve been in. Find that number squared, and that’s the number of rejections I’ve had.”

“How about personal items? Stuff like clothes and shavers? You know, when you take showers at your girlfriend’s place, you sometimes leave some of your clothes with her just in case.”
“Still the girl’s.”
This was not entirely true, because I’ve heard of some of my friends going back to their ex’s place to collect their personal stuff. But I guess the jurisdiction lies with the girl whether she wants you to take your items or not, which means H’s answer was still right: It’s the girl’s but she can choose to return the items to you.

“Look, if I hadn’t had so many girlfriends, you think I’d be wearing the same clothes over and over again?” H joked. Along with that joke, came the old joke: the girls will say, “My money is my money. Your money is also my money.”

I’ll probably stay single for a long time for saying this, but relationships are an expensive investment. Your capital is not assured, some investments do not net dividend or interest yields and even parting with the investment brings with it costs. They’re worst off than unit trusts. In a way, it’s almost like gambling, like buying futures or forwards without a hedging option. (You could get a hedging option, but it’s risky if the investment finds out.)

“Oh, so what happens to all your underwear you leave behind? It’s not like she can use it right?”
Everyone fell silent. Of course she can use it. Rip it up and use them as rags maybe? Put it on her soft toys to create a zoo of boy-brief wearing animals?
“She could give it to her new boyfriend.”

Laughter all around.

Tf thinks that this problem probably occurs in an unclean break-up. I mean, if it was a clean split, what’s the point of holding onto something you find (mostly) no use for? However, in an unclean split, she suggests hanging it outside his door with hate-mail attached to it.

In conclusion, the two ways about it are:
1) Don’t leave clothes at your bf/gf’s place, or if you want to, just leave disposable underwear, or 2) Try for clean break-ups. Being a “swah-kuu” in this, I think all break-ups should be clean. I’m assuming we’re all rational, grown-up individuals who can still face their exes without spouting profanities. Okay, maybe give a month or two. The world has enough problems without petty quarrels between exes. At least that’s how I hope my break-ups to be, if I ever had to face one. -Jimmy

My Special Power

2007-07-09T17:38:00.000+08:00

Remember how we’d want special powers when we were kids? I remember wishing that I was Superman, flying everywhere I wished. I even tried wearing my underwear on the outside on one occasion. Trust me, if you think red underwear on the outside is bad enough, try locking yourself in your room, wearing your cotton briefs on the outside of your pants and looking at yourself in the mirror.

There were other powers I wish I had too, like mind-control, or self-heal, or owning some super-powered armoured suit that could beat the cr*p out of bullies.

I happened to have one of these “what power would you want now?” conversations with Tf and L on 2 separate occasions recently.

A few options we arrived with:
Time manipulation: Allows the user to move back time up to a degree of several minutes. Also allows users to pause time.
Tf and I agreed that this will be very helpful in getting out of sticky situations which you got yourself into in a matter of the past few minutes, like accidentally sending a sarcastic email meant for your peers to your boss. Also works best for dates:
Person: You look great today. I love how your low cutting emphasizes your breasts
Date: Excuse me?
[Time manipulation]
Person: You look great today. I love how your pretty dress with the plunging neckline shows off your umm…
Date: Excuse me?
[Time manipulation]
Person: You look great today. You have nice assets.
Date: Excuse me?
[Time manipulation]
Person: You look great today. Let’s enjoy the night.
Date beams at the compliment and they both enjoy a wonderful night.

Wall meld: Allows user to meld with the wall, choosing either to press himself flat against it or going through it to the other side.
Tf thinks this will appeal to the wallflower in everyone. Since you already look so good leaning against the wall with that fruit punch in your left hand, why not go one step further and make yourself totally camouflaged when pressed against the wall?
Also works well when trying to avoid the girl who dumped you, the girl you had a fling with and the big muscular jock you just made fun of.

Tf and I were looking at why these powers appealed to us. Apparently, we both didn’t want to be caught in situations where we won’t be comfortable. At large parties, we don’t expect to mingle well, so we prefer to stay at a quiet corner, thus the wall meld power. With that in mind, we came up with our greatest power:

Normalcy: User sends weak-form psychic signals up to the size of a room. Users will find even the most boring jobs normal. However, others will also see whatever the user is doing as the most exciting thing in the room.
Remember all those times when you felt silly tripping in public? Or you wish people hadn’t seen you when you knocked into a low-hanging lamp in Plaza Singapura’s KFC? Or the time you walked into a glass door without realizing that it was there? Or the time you tripped on a floor tile while running through a busy shopping centre and was sent flying through the air?
Instead of wishing you were invisible, or melding into a wall, or going back through time, why not make whatever you’re doing the coolest thing to the people in your immediate vicinity? People will be trying to trip themselves in order to look as cool as you flying through the air!

We wish for powers to get out of embarrassing situations. But like all normal people, we have to contend with sheepish grins and a very thick skin. -Jimmy

The Alternative Review for Transformers

2007-07-04T17:52:00.000+08:00

The reviews slammed the show for having no plot whatsoever. They pointed out that it joins the ranks of summer blockbusters that kill grey matter by their sheer budget and amount of hot air.

Well, I caught Transformers nonetheless. I second the opinion that the plot is thinner than a Whisper Ultra-thin (with wings). I groan at the sight of the caricatures; the on-the-ball Secretary of Defence, the actioner Spec-Forces soldier, the smug I-know-more-than-thou secret service agent.

However, Michael Bay knows that he’s catering for the Fanboy/Action crowd, and he serves guilt-inducing portions of just what they want. Within 5 minutes of the show starting, Industrial Light and Magic works a magical transformation of a Pave Lowe. The robots aren’t the same clean, man-shaped ones seen in the cartoons. They look more like the menacing mechs in Mechwarrior, with extensive moving part detailing featured in Matrix Revolutions.

The show also showcases the fruits of USofA’s defense spending: V-22 Ospreys in full-motion glory, F-22 Raptors swooping through dense cityscapes. I might have been watching too many arthouse movies recently, but this is the first time I’ve seen these 2 weapons systems on the big screen, and man, do they look good. Throw into the fray an AC-130 Spectre gunship serving out huge platefuls of 40mm Bofors / 105mm howitzer shells and you have a military junkie’s wet dream.

Take note of the many asides that pay homage to Transformers origins as a cartoon, including a Bumblebee dangly hanging from the rearview mirror of – you guessed it – Bumblebee.

I have certain gripes about the show though. The “raw” look of the robots isn’t what most fanboys would expect. Also, as reviews pointed out, it’s pretty impossible for “a robot the size of a flatted factory to contort itself into a car”. Gone also are the old cars/planes that the Transformers used to mimic. No yellow Beetle. No flatnosed container tractor. No F-15. (At least Megatron looks cooler as a Cybertron jet than as a silly laser pistol.)

While the battle scenes drip with excitement, the action is captured from unusual camera angles and snaps from one camera to another. Most of the time, you only see metal hulks slamming into one another, if you even figure out where the camera was pointed.

As mentioned, the plot is wafer thin, a fact that is not helped by the giant leaps of logic. If Megatron was chasing the Allspark and they both presumably landed near the arctic circle, and Megatron recorded such information right after his crash landing, how could Optimus know that they have both been moved away by reading such outdated information? Or, how could the Autobots learn English from the World-Wide Web if they just crash-landed that same night?

Despite all its shortcomings, Transformers serves up the correct dishes for its main target audience. Girlfriends will probably just be accommodating to their boyfriends and laugh at the silly moments. But boyfriends will go home after the movie and dig up their old toys and sing out, “Transformers! Robots in disguise!” –Jimmy

Paintball

2007-07-04T17:51:00.000+08:00

I don’t remember when I first heard of paintball. The first time I played it, I already knew that the game (or sport) featured guns that fired little paint-filled pellets.

My very first attempt at the game was at Orchid country club, in far-off Yishun. TAG paintball offered pretty decent guns (called “markers” within the paintball circle) in the Tippmann Pro Carbine. The objective was a combination target elimination/capture the flag mission, and opposing forces are not allowed to cross into enemy territory.

Amongst the six of us who played, N was probably the most vocal. He was shouting, “Cover fire! Bridge off!” to his team-mates. The mix of dodging fire, suppressive fire and firing from cover brought with it an adrenaline rush not many other sports have.

The next day, I woke up with aching legs. All the sprinting for cover brought along one huge draw for paintball. Here was a game where you have to sprint to stay in the game. In a game like soccer, you could choose how fast you want to chase the ball, or how fast you want to run to steal the ball away from the opponent. However, in paintball, you don’t have a choice; you run or are gunned.

The price tag for paintball was quite hefty. We paid about 60 dollars for just over half an hour of actual game time. Much of the cost comes from the paintball pellets. Imagine thinking to yourself, “50 cents!” every time you pull the trigger. And because of that, I dismissed paintball, putting it on my list of “done once, good enough” activities (like skydiving).

N was much more hyped over it. He introduced me to several paintball websites and showed me some videos of paintball matches. Paintball, it dawned on me, was more than just shooting your friends with coloured balls. In countries like the US and Malaysia, there are tournaments for teams to showcase their gun-slinging prowess and tight co-ordination. The two main types of competitions are tactical paintball or speedball.

Tactical paintball simulates actual warfare in that matches are normally played out in classic battlefields like forests and bunkers. It also features military-like objectives such as assassination, defensive operations or capture the flag. Just think of the multiplayer mode in games like Unreal Tournament and you get the picture. Competitive teams in the US take their tactical paintball seriously. Where game rules allow, they trick out their markers with mods such as the Tippmann Flatline barrel. Each member has a well-defined role in the team, and buys equipment based on that role. The chain of command is similar to any military unit; squad leaders respond to situations on the ground and communicate with platoon commanders. Platoon commanders take note of the changing enemy positions and place their squads in the best position to capture the objective or repel a flanking move.

Speedball features a large patch of grass with obstacles littered across as the playing field. Opposing teams rush out at each other and eliminate their opponents. Match organizers are more inclined to provide less cover to force teams to be more aggressive. More aggression means more excitement for spectators.

Over the weekend, the Kroo went over to KL for a paintball shootout. There was shopping, silly MagBlast games and eating, but the highlight for me was just the paintball. Donning that mask, carrying that marker, pressing myself against cover, dodging fire, returning fire, sprinting in for a flanking move, marking people with paint, feeling the sharp sting of a paintball hit all provided me some much-needed escape from the dreary office life that I’ve had over the past weeks.

Perhaps, by some stroke of luck, Woody allows a paintball CCA, and we’d train with the Red Sevens. Perhaps, if people don’t see the violence linked to firing a gun but instead see the stress relief and the teamwork. Perhaps one day, I’d be able to pick up my marker, shout “Heavy suppression, cover me!” and sprint out from cover. -Jimmy

9mm Pandemonium

2007-06-09T21:35:00.000+08:00

You know the steel bars they use in construction? Imagine someone puts a steel bar in a fire and makes it red-hot, then stabs you with that. It's a stabbing that enters and exits.

Reader's Digest published an article in December 2006 documenting an interview with a gunshot survivor.

Bullets leave the muzzle of guns at different velocities, depending on the type of gun. Rifles have muzzle velocities close to 900 metres per second, handguns have much lower velocities, around 400 metres per second. Wind resistance and obstructions slow down the bullet, which has to travel at around 60 metres per second to puncture human skin. The entry wound is usually small and round, but because the bullet is spinning, it tears through the tissue under that small wound.

When the bullets entered, I felt like something was expanding in me.

As the bullet tears through flesh, it starts to deform and tear through a larger cross-section area of tissue. Also, the force of the bullet causes the bullet hole to temporarily expand outwards; this is known as the cavitation effect. The bullet leaves "shock waves" in its wake and in some cases, this shock wave does more damage than the bullets themselves.

They came around and shot me in the head. It felt like a piece of steel. But it only grazed the top of my skull, leaving an indent.

90 percent of gunshot wounds to the head are fatal. If a bullet hits bone, the bone may fracture, sending fragments tearing within the body. Most gunshot victims die from internal bleeding. Even if a person was shot in a vital organ such as the heart, he still has up to 10 seconds of purposeful action before the brain suffocates from the shortage of fresh oxygen.

I looked at my wounds. The entrance would was like a little circle, about 1.5cm wide. The exit wound was like a tear, more than 3 cm wide, like a half-moon shape.

When someone fires a gun, he probably does not see the consequences of that action? The act of pulling the trigger will in all likelihood kill the victim. Beyond that, that bullet leaves broken hearts and families in its wake. That act tears through the fabric of society, of helping one another, of universal brotherhood amongst all men. -Jimmy

NovaMatrix Chapter 2

2007-06-06T22:25:00.000+08:00

Unlike other ships of the same tonnage, the sub-stealth fast attack vessel ("sub") is lightly armed. However, that was the trade-off for the installation of a localized stealth field generator. The stealth field generator had a list of very specific requirements, including a maximum ship length of 70 metres, a maximum surface area, a minimum internal space to fit the generator and maximum traveling speed while the generator was engaged.

However, the stealth field allowed the sub to fire torpedoes while cloaked, and only momentarily reveals the sub's location when it fires its single 155mm beam gun.

The trick to successfully commanding a sub in a combat mission is to understand where it lay in the "food chain". Enothe always found it funny how by some great cosmic joke, the biggest battleships or carriers were so focused on their jobs that they lacked the offensive or defensive powers against subs. However, pit a sub against the lean destroyers or frigates and you get a very worried sub captain.

It was another ordinary mission for Enothe. One of the Great Nations wanted supplies to another Great Nation's fringe planet cut off. Colonel Woolf had given Enothe the juicy "Zenith" route to patrol, and Enothe knew that any cargo ships jumping into the system would want to make use of the strong solar winds along the route to make a quick entry and recharge for a jump outsystem. I heard that Woolf will get paid a tonnage bonus on top of the base pay, Enothe smiled to himself. Let's hope Woolfpack scores today, then.

"Contacts! Bearing zero-seven-one, grad minus two-two. Long range!" Enothe's sensorman reported with a tinge of excitement.
"Gavin, plot me an intercept route. I want us to engage as fast as we could, and I want the last 50 klicks in cloak."

Enothe could have called him Lieutenant Rato, but he went on first name basis with everyone on his ship. We're mercenaries. Among our kind, we earn our respect. We don't rely on little symbols on our epaulettes.

"Suggested route plotted, Nothe."
Enothe brought up the plot on his display. Using his stylus, he made some changes. He forwarded the edited route to his helmsman. "Mehl, bring us into intercept position."
"Aye, captain."

Enothe then scribbled a note and sent it to Gavin along with the edited route. "Gavin, you correctly accounted for the solar winds, but the gravitational pull of the sun would have reduced the effectiveness of the Shade particles, making it easier for them to sniff us."

Enothe saw Gavin look up at him and give a sheepish smile. He's got potential, that kid. He just needs more exposure. Enothe then leaned his head against his fist. Now we wait.

Part of understanding the concepts of a sub hunt was to understand the concept of stealth. Enothe had watched old video clips of lions hunting when he was a kid. His parents had died by then, and he was under the care of his grandfather, a well-decorated soldier with the former Inter-stellar Alliance and an avid nature lover. A lion never pounced on the attack until it was quite sure it could nail the prey with little effort. It stayed downwind, moved up close, and then…

"Fire tubes one and four!"
"Yes sir, firing tube one! Fire tube four!"

The dumbfire torps streaked away, eating up the distance between the sub and the behemoth class cargo chip. While Dumbfires lacked any intricate guidance system, they flew faster than any other torp in Woolfpack's arsenal, and they packed the most punch. They covered the five kilometer distance in mere seconds, punching two holes in the huge target's side.

Enothe held his breath as Mehl maneuvered for the next shot. Normal torpedo blasts rarely did enough damage on a ship as big as a Behemoth. However, if Enothe had correctly set the pulsed explosive and the torps had landed correctly, 2 torps could cripple even the mighty Behemoth. The pulsed explosives were custom orders by Colonel Woolf from his suppliers. Instead of one massive detonation, the explosives detonate in phases, creating concentric shockwaves. If two of these shockwaves meet in phase, they create a bigger shockwave, by principle of superposition. A line of explosions blossomed along the midpoint of the torp impact points, telling Enothe that shockwaves interfaced. The ship dipped towards the planet below, its main propulsion no longer powerful enough to fight the gravitational pull. Enothe half-smirked.

"More contacts approaching, Nothe! They're jumping in much closer to the planet!"
Enothe gaped at his display as it updated the new contacts. That's not possible! Only a madman will jump so close to the planet! The calculations required for a jump point that safely avoids the planet's path and pull is beyond any computer we have on our ships!

The ships were of unidentified design, but looked menacingly insectoid. They quickly moved in towards the convoy and opened fire with their beam guns. Scarlet hyphens dashed across the vacuum, igniting fuel cargo and fusion reactors. The convoy's escorts moved forward to form a protective screen, but were quickly crippled by the hail of beam fire.

Any ship spots us now, we're dead. Enothe frowned. "Mehl, creep us out of here and get us to a jump point." The sub crept away at a painfully slow pace. Enothe wanted to get away from the destruction as quickly as possible, but he also knew that moving too quickly will affect the shade particles keeping his ship cloaked, possibly revealing his position. He'd have to move slow and hope to move out of sensor range before anyone could pinpoint his position. -Jimmy

Change

2007-06-06T22:13:00.000+08:00

Friend H, over the last half a year or so, changed a lot. He used to be the charismatic, bubbly founder of our JC ODAC's "bacehelor's club". Over a period of a few months, he took on several personalities, most of them being of the silent and withdrawn archetype.

The most notable of these was the "L" phase, when he mimicked L in so many ways. He'd squat on chairs instead of sitting, he'd drink lots of coffee, he'd suck the tip of his thumb when he was thinking and he'd pinch his mobile phone and hold it against his ear. (His hair already looked like L's before the episode, and thankfully, he didn't start wearing mascara.)

However, he became that same friend I knew about 2 months back. He's now more content and fulfilled. Gone are the L behaviours.

Friend F has been with his girlfriend for close to a year. He's spent about the same amount of time trying to change her. F reckons that she often likes things done her way, and even though F has given in to her a number of times, he wants to show her how to consider others' opinions.

Acquaintance K joined our bachelor's club activities a couple of years ago. Friend I brought him along. Unfortunately, K didn't quite fit in. It's not that we were being difficult; we really are quite a bunch of misfits. Birds of a feather flock together, but K probably fits closer as a reptile than a bird.

We couldn't understand why he'd ask the stupidest questions. Stupid questions like "Eh, so who from ODAC did you think was pretty?" from N, we could still handle. But K is a different animal. "I don't get the joke. So are you saying you'd rather jump off a building?" in response to a totally unrelated joke about fire extinguishers.

We couldn't understand why he'd never shave this long curly hair growing from his cheek. We'd tell him, "K, it looks gross. Could you please cut it?" The next time we saw him, it'll still be there, attention-grabbing as ever.

We tried. We showed him that beer should never be sipped, it should be gulped. We told him that old, fuzzy t-shirts shouldn't go beyond a certain distance from his house. We asked him why he kept asking such painfully lame questions that creep up our nerves and send jolts to our heads.

Recently, H asked K to come along for one of our outings, something he hasn't done in a long time. K was still the same. Same whiskers. Same dress sense. Same questions. Long fingernails, long toenails.

Some people change. Some of them change for the better, others become worse. Some people help others change for the better. And yet there are some people who stay the same. -Jimmy

A Rose by any Other Name...

2007-06-04T13:18:00.000+08:00

Will smell just as sweet.

A rose by any other name

Will still prick and make you bleed. -Jimmy

Random Thoughts Collection - Silver Surfer

2007-06-03T23:33:00.000+08:00

Has it occurred to you that the Silver Surfer, yeap, that uber cool dude in the upcoming Fantastic Four movie, the guy who could fly through anything cos he could cross trans-dimensional planes, the really well-built and shimmery guy... you get the picture.

Did you realise that he's bald?

Wonder how he'd look like in an advertisement for Beijing 101. -Jimmy

NovaMatrix - Chapter 1

2007-05-23T17:22:00.000+08:00

Enothe Bulwark stirred in the seat. It creaked under his weight. In this day of space travel and clean synthetic materials, the wooden chair felt so quaint. Everything about the place was quaint. Who cooked with spices anymore? Most of the food cooked at homes were pre-packaged with flavours infused into the freeze-dried ingredients.

This "Oracle" must be some old hag, Enothe thought to himself. He wondered why Colonel Woolf had sent him on this “mission”. Seems more like a spiritual rite to me, he muttered to himself. This wasn’t a mission, it was something to pander to Woolf’s superstitions. At least I’m being paid a normal rate for it.

The brunette who answered the door walked through the bead curtains into the sitting room. She was stunning, in an awkward way. Her green eyes don’t go with her hair, but man! She has great skin and a wonderful figure!

“The Oracle is ready to see you now, Lieutenant Bulwark.”
“Call me Enothe. And you are?” Enothe gave the most dashing smile he could offer, but got an impassive smile and an uncomfortable silence in return. He quickly held his arm across the bead curtains, pushing them aside and walking through the doorway.

Enothe had never seen so many plants indoors before. Where were the smooth, dirt repellent walls? All he saw were leaves, like he was inside some living organism. Tending to the plants was another stunning lady, wearing a vibrant green toga and a brown sash draped over her exposed shoulder. She had green-grey eyes and long black hair with luscious waves.

“So you’re the one.” She remarked coolly as her eyes studied his form.
“I’m Enothe, actually. That’s E-N-O-T-H-E.” He stepped forward and raised his hand out for a handshake, inadvertently brushing it against his slug-throwing sidearm. It was a subconscious reaction whenever he was in an unfamiliar place.
Her face betrayed a hint of scorn, but she quickly covered it up. She kept her hands firmly on the watering can, only choosing to say, “Woolf tells me you’re a real soldier. A real fighting man.”
Enothe weighed the words in his head. That was hardly a compliment, but she wasn’t being rude either. “Woolf told you that I’d be coming?” He replied simply.
“Ah, at least you’re smart enough to side-step my earlier comment. I’ve seen many other ship captains either take insult or let it go to their heads. What did he tell you about me?”
Enothe bit his tongue. She didn’t answer my question! Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he answered, “That you’re the oracle. That you’d tell me some things of importance.” He wanted to continue to say ‘That you could tell me about my parents’, but thought it trivial.
“You’re holding back. You’re not feeling comfortable in this unfamiliar surrounding. But today’s session will end with me saying this: A powerful enemy approaches. A knight will come forth and end the constant feuding amongst the Great Nations. But strength is not your enemy. Fear is.”
She smiled inwardly at his scowl. “You’ll come back to me soon, Enothe. I’ll be at Mumble Jumble night. Find me there.”
Enothe did not hide the disbelief on his face. “The Oracle goes clubbing?”

“Oh, please. Don’t call me that. It makes me sound like an old hag. You can call me Iris next time.”
Enothe walked out of the door, feeling extremely light-headed. This is just some silly trick by Colonel Woolf, Enothe. The Oracle, the gift of foresight? Iris? What the frack do they take me for? He quickly left the place and headed back for his ship.

“So what do you think, dear?” Iris asked the brunette.
“I thought that someone with his reputation will be more confident. He did try to be charming on me though. I expected him to hit on me outright.”
“You’re not fully using your gifts, my young templar. But is it just as I have foreseen?”
“Yes, mum. I’m starting to fall for him already.”

R and J

2007-05-21T20:04:00.000+08:00

This picture is about as irrelevant as the post that follows. That's a very nice Honda Civic, by the way.

For the longest time, Romeo Montague had been a Singtel user. His father was a Singtel user, so it was only natural for him to be one. It made the handling of bills by his father easy. His father didn't want to make the billing even easier by subscribing to the MIO plan, but that's another story.

Romeo never had a problem keeping to under 300 SMS each month. His old plan allowed for 360 sms, and he had to struggle just to hit half that number. Romeo never was popular. He often hung out with the same few people; they would communicate with very curt SMS messages like, "Same time, same place, doing the same thing". He never had that problem, of course, before he met her.

Juliet Capulet was an M1 user. Like most mobile plans go, it didn't make any difference who the provider was. They offered very similar plans, caused by this freak of nature called competition. She had always overshot the sms limit, but it didn't matter to her father, who paid for her bill.

Romeo and Juliet were the in the throes of SMS passion. He's send her an sms every morning to greet her and wish her a good day ahead. From there, they'd continue messaging till they slept at night. It was a good tool for communication and for staving off boredom.

"Romeo! What the h*** is this?" Mr Montague bellowed. Romeo glanced at the piece of paper in his father's hand and answered, "It's a phone bill."
"Not just any phone bill, young man, but YOUR handphone bill! You overshot your talktime by 7 minutes!"
"It's 7 minutes, dad. And it's the first time I've done so in my 4 years with this subscription plan."
"And what about this? Doesn't your plan provide 1000 free sms? Why are they charging us for the 45 messages over 500?" He stabbed an accusing finger at the figure on the bill.
"Oh, the plan's only allows 500 free sms to Singtel customers, on top of the 500 free. That adds up to 1000."
"So why the h*** did you send so many sms!"
"Dad, all this while I've only sent 200 sms TOPS. You complain that I'm not fully utilising my allocation, that we're not milking the most out of my plan. I overshoot by 45 messages this time, and you start yelling at me. So what is more important to you? Scrimping, or fully utilising my quota?"
"I want you to control yourself! Stop sending so many messages!"

Mr Montague was not making sense to Romeo. To stop sending "so many messages" was to not fully utilise his sms quota. But oh well. Romeo decided that his SMS relationship had to end. The only way out of this was for Juliet to move to Singtel.

"Why Romeo? Why can't you move to M1?"
"My dad's a Singtel shareholder." Romeo answered simply, as it that answered the question at all.
The couple sat quietly, watching each other fidget once in a while.
Romeo ventured unsurely, "So I guess this is it. Your dad won't switch to Singtel, and mine won't move from it. Our sms relationship is doomed."
Juliet stirred. She wanted to say, "Don't leave me, Romeo." But she could only have done it over sms. So she reached out and grabbed his hand.

For the first time, they touched. It was a different sensation as one they got from tapping plastic keys repeatedly. It felt... warm. They pulled each other close and shared a long kiss. "We'll have to meet up more if we stop our SMS relationship." Romeo whispered.
"I don't mind. I feel so much more complete this way." Juliet cooed in reply.
Romeo pursed his lips and said, "Good. My ez-link card doesn't have a quota." -Jimmy

All's Fair in Love and War

2007-05-17T11:58:00.000+08:00

The dying moments of a U-boat. The captain is forced to surface in an attempt to slow the heavy flooding. Once on the surface, he is at the mercy of the massive guns on the destroyer hunting him.

While combat submarines made their debut in The Great War, they were much more notorious in WW2, most notably in the form of German U-boats. Of course, U-boats are the anglicised form of u-boots, which itself is an abbreviation for unterseeboot. It's all the same, really. They're "undersea boats", adept at both surface cruising and underwater operations.

U-boats were ultimately just sophisticated launch platforms for their primary weapons: torpedoes. Early war models ran on a straight course to their target. All the torpedo officer could do was set a gyro angle for it to turn to, such that the sub need not directly face the target. Misses were high, duds were common, but a shrewd U-boat captain could rack up a large amount of merchant tonnage with a combination of both skill and luck.

Hundreds of thousands of tonnes of merchant ships, cargo and fuel were sent to the bottom of the ocean in the few short years of the war. Ok, the fuel won't sink... the tanker sank. Needless to say, the number of lives lost could almost reach the figure for tonnage sank.

However, the allies developed anti-sub tactics. Subs could not move underwater, move fast and move silent all at the same time. Destroyer and frigate captains used these limitations to full effect: the sub had to move underwater in the presence of these ships. The captain now had to force the sub captain into moving fast, thus creating more noise and making it easier to detect the sub. Forcing a sub to move fast usually involves dropping depth charges into the water over a sub's suspected position, forcing the sub captain to take drastic action or risk losing his boat. In moving into his attack run, the warship captain has to throttle up his engines, creating more noise and making it harder for him to detect the enemy sub. A skilled (or lucky) sub captain can use this increased noise to quickly put some distance between him and his predator. It was a harrowing cat and mouse game for the sub captain.

Once out of the depth charges' range, a cunning sub captain might want to initiate a little payback: firing from the stern mounted torp tube. The hunted now becomes the hunter; the destroyer captain now has to scramble to react accordingly.

Thousands of lives were lost in battles like these. Many were because of attrition. But many were also shrewd soldiers who ran out of luck. Literature calls the U-boat "wolfpacks" people who fought hard and fair.

Did they really fight fair? Was it fair to take out unarmed merchant ships or oil tankers? Was it fair to call the 2 years before allied ships wised up to U-boat attacks "happy times"?

All is fair in love and war.

In a war, an unarmed, undefended convoy is fair game. Don't lament over the few ships that were taken out by the U-boats. Blame the powerful governments and the politicians that started the war. The submarine captain was merely following orders; the politician declared the war.

How about in love then? Have we only ourselves to blame for looking for love? Is it fair to backstab a friend so that you end up with the girl both of you were fighting for? If you are heartbroken after a breakup, isn't it your fault then for investing so much of your emotions? Don't complain if you can't find a boyfriend/girlfriend, ask yourself why. Is it something about you? Are you trying hard enough?
I've had friends who keep making a big fuss about how they've been single all their lives. Hey, I've been too, so just go home and hunt some British destroyers on your PC -Jimmy

L

2007-05-14T20:24:00.000+08:00

I've always respected the privacy of people mentioned on my blog, so I've never posted names of the friends I blog about. So today, L comes along and asks me to write a post about her. My very weak counter-argument (besides the fact that I was feeling lazy) was that 'S' was reserved for another friend. So L says that she'd be known as L. Not "Friend L", mind you, but just "L". She thinks it's cool to share the same letter name as the kooky detective Laweit, the mascara-ed dude who has a fetish for sugar in the popular manga "Death Note".

Anyway, L wanted a piece of her legacy imprinted on my blog, so she demanded that I say she's awesome to the very few people who actually know the existence of this blog. (That's you. And you.) It wasn't so much a demand, really. I kinda negotiated a bargain such that I gain airtime on her blog too. We are so shallow.

I was wondering how I was supposed to cast a blog post around just one line proclaiming her utter greatness. I'm really not that good with words.

L and I met last year during the SMUGS nitebiking event. We had a very brief chat about how a superhero with the powers of a lizard could ambush his supervillians by dropping his pistol-wielding hand and leaving it as a 'present' for the enemy. No worries, though, he'll grow that hand back. Lizardman could also wage a psychological war with them by leaving poop all over the place and hiding his reptilian brethen in the supervillians' Milo. (Think kiss-kiss lizard suprise)

During my election speech, I feigned interest in her to gain a few cheap laughs which boosted my confidence for the rest of the speech. And we didn't keep in contact since. Earlier this year, though, I added her on MSN and we started having kooky conversations about ice cream, lying to our mothers and standby spouses. However, I really got to like her when she let me drive her dad's car. (It's a long story. I may or may not talk about it next time.)

She's goes clubbing, I hate it; She's extraverted, I'm far from it; She's got cable, I don't.

Just now, while reading her blog, I realised how some of her posts are actually replies to some of mine. She also provided some convincing counter-arguments to the ones I put forth. I've been impressed by her a number of times, this one should count quite high on the richter scale.

I had been part of the "envisioning process" when Friend H wanted to start a blog. We wanted 4 guys and a girl to provide viewpoints on issues that were bugging them. Someone posts an issue and the others provide their points of view, each with his/her own quirk. I was supposed to be this boy meets world guy, giving very conservative views on things. In some ways, I've always been like that when posting. The girl was supposed to be the fiesty one, providing really kooky viewpoints that still hold water about as well as ziploc bags.

I think I found that girl. L, I think you're awesome! -Jimmy

Darts of Pleasure

2007-05-14T20:22:00.000+08:00

Words of love and words so leisured
Words are poisoned darts of pleasure.

Some time ago, I had this conversation with my JC friends. Friend I had just gotten attached, and Friend H was sharing some of the things he could look forward to in a relationship. H talked about pet names.

"Pet names are one of the things that are unique in a relationship. You come up with names like Hunny Bunny for each other."
Friend I asked H what pet name he gave for the girl for his longest lasting relationship.
"Oh, I'm a lazy person, so I just went for the one syllable 'dear'."

At this point, I blurted out, "I 'dear' everyone on my MSN la."

The point of this post is about how easy it is to call someone "dear". Everyone does it in business letters. "Dear so-and-so,", they all begin with. But are those clients really dear to you? In monetary terms maybe, but is that the only way they endear themselves to you? By increasing the thickness of your wallet?

Friend D and I once had this conversation about calling a friend with terms of endearment. I remember telling her back then, "I'd only call close friends dear. Other than that, it's more like a term for exasperation. Like, 'Dear, now look what you've done'."

So what does that make me? A person who says 'dear' without attaching any emotional weight on it? A mere hand-dryer whose sole purpose is to blow hot air?

I might have gotten the answer last week. While I was grilled by friend Hf (I sure hope I've never assigned Hf to anyone else) on who I was dating, I coyly replied, "My heart only beats for you, dear." To which she retorted, "But I won't date you, cos you only say sweet words and nothing else."

Ouch. I guess I better find that power socket and start blowing hot air, then. Some of you might want that from me. He's much better looking as a cute little plastic box with a fan and heating element anyway. But don't you want to hear my side of the story?

Hf really is a dear cos she's smart and receptive. She has very good interpersonal skills and we have very easygoing conversations. That explains the 'dear' bit. How about the other thing about you only spouting sweet nothings like a Glade Air freshener? Well, if I said it once, and I meant it then, and I said it again, except that I was indifferent about attaching an emotion to it, does it count? I *might* mean it, but I definitely did not *not* mean it.

My view on the issue lies in the line from a Franz Ferdinand song. Leisured words of love are darts of pleasure, providing us with pangs of euphoria and ecstacy. But these same darts that provide pleasure are also laced with poison. Fire those darts wrongly, or let them hit you at the wrong spot, those darts might not be so pleasurable after all. -Jimmy

Boys will be Boys will be Boys

2007-05-03T22:19:00.000+08:00

"MG squad, set up on this position!"

Meet Greg. He's your average university kid. Dresses in t-shirts and berms, complains about proffessors like most normal university kids, does quite well in school and is great to have in a project group cos he comes up with lots of wacky ideas.

Now Greg and I didn't have much in common, besides one ill-fated semester with him in my BeeGeeAss group. Then, I went out for a LAN session with some of my friends, and he tagged along. We had found common ground.

Many days, we'd hit the LAN shops after school, earning our "Special Ops Specialist" badges and getting ourselves promoted to sergeant. We'd discuss our in-game performance after the sessions, and he was always entertaining to discuss with, cos he gave silly sound effects for every single thing that he did in-game.

Our other friends will always wonder how these two buggers always seemed to have time for "another lan session" while they were busy studying in the library. Many of them never afforded the time to go with our struggles for honour and glory in the virtual battlefields. Greg and I would discuss new games, or coo over the latest previews of the perpetually delayed juicy new titles. When the games come out, we'd raise our spynets and find out which LAN shop offered such games. (Actually, it's more like which LAN shop could handle the intense graphics of such games.)

We'd then exclaim in unison when we drop V1 rockets on the enemy base. Or giggle when the enemy tanks get shredded by our AT guns while passing through a chokepoint. It's a strange giggle, part euphoria, part sadistic glee, part exclaimation. It's a giggle only gamers understand.

So what's the point of my post? Well, we started interning recently as part of our degree programme. We're now part of the army of corporate drones, filtering into the impassive office buildings in the central business district. I have to wear a silly monkey suit everyday. I look like the thousand other guys, long-sleeved shirts, tie, dark pants and dark leather shoes. Greg has to dress like a monkey too. Admittedly, he doesn't look like the laid-back Greg I know. However, one day, while eating lunch together, Greg started on the topic of computer games. I was explaining to him how glorious shield generators looked on "high" detailed graphics settings, what with the shimmery effect they produce. Then I got stumped trying to describe the "ripple" effect that the shields produce when dissipating the energy of incoming projectiles. As I fumbled through my vocabulary, Greg exclaimed, "Oh! You mean that 'pje-yonw' effect?" And immediately, I nodded.

Beneath the starched stiffness of our business shirts and the polished leather shoes, boys will be boys will be boys. -Jimmy

Shrek the Third trailer

2007-04-04T14:38:00.000+08:00

I've always thought Shrek 1 had a lot more soul than Shrek 2, but watching this trailer, I'm sure Shrek the Third will be a blast!

Enjoy!

Shrek the Third - Preview
Uploaded by DTV

Ride on the All-new Disco Bus Today!

2007-02-13T00:00:00.000+08:00

After introducing the world's first outdoor mobile digital TV broadcast in TVmobile, SBS Transit has outdone itself with its new disco bus!

The disco bus might look normal from the outside, but once you get in, you'll notice how the lights provide the all-familiar stroboscope effect! Flickering on and off randomly, disco lovers will immediately feel at home. Senior citizens will be baffled and giggly teenage girls will continue giggling, but remember, SBS Transit has the commuter in mind.

So why wait? Tap your ez-link (no extra surcharge!) and hop on board today!

Seriously, SBS Transit. We love your new buses. We love how your buses (mostly) run on time. We love that your buses are now wheelchair passenger equipped. But what I don't understand is how a bus with a presumably faulty alternator is plying the roads. How often are the buses maintained? Is this an isolated problem or is it common for this particular bus model? How would passengers be compensated for their inconvenience when a bus breaks down?

We have seen 2 fare increases in the past few years. I'm not going to complain about how the buses have not improved, because they have. What irks me is how SBS sometimes doesn't sound apologetic when commuters are inconvenienced by them. No apology letters. No vouchers as compensation. Only having your next ride free. (Which really doesn't amount to anything, cos you have to pay for the ride you're currently on.) -Jimmy

Behind Closed Doors

2007-01-30T21:53:00.000+08:00

As I lie in bed at night, I often hear the sneezes of a man who lives in the block across from mine. He has the loudest whooping sneeze I have ever heard. The strange thing is, I only notice his sneezes in the dead of the night. Whether his sneezing attacks only come about then, or his sneezes are audible when all other noises have died down, I have never cared to think.

Isn't it interesting? The little quirks which come with living in a city with apartment blocks packed so closely together. In the dark room, while waiting for entry into lala land, I could almost make out how this man could suddenly be attacked by the urge for phlegm-y sounding sneezes. The first sneeze he sprays saliva all over his room, he reaches for some tissue paper and attempts to cover his mouth for his second and third sneeze. His body jerks involuntarily with each explosive blast of air; tears well in his eyes from the sheer force of the blasts.

It's just a sneeze, dammit.

But stop to think: Do you know what happens in the lives of your neighbours? How good are we as neighbours? Do we give a damn how well their sons are doing in the PSLE? Who cares?

Frankly, no one cares. And that is why it's so sad. I've always patronised a nasi lemak stall at a hawker centre near my place. For 2 dollars, I could get 5 items, including this huge (probably even growth hormone laden) chicken drumstick. My family would always wonder how they managed to keep their prices so low all this while. It was cheap, it tasted good and it was close to home. How good can it get? Recently however, the stall has been closed quite often. When it reopened, it only offered 4 items. But the drumstick was still included, so we didn't mind. Just last week though, we found out that the stall was permanantly closed.

For the first time in my life of patronising that stall, I wondered how the stallholder made a living. And that was only because I wondered why he closed in the first place. Was it because he wasn't covering his costs? Was it a problem with supply side economics? Did his license expire? (The wonder of studying in a business school is how all your questions end up being very business-like) My mother told me that the uncle had once told her that he was intending to wind up. His mother was getting to old to help out at the stall.

And then I remembered the mother. She was of very slight build, looked frail and was perpetually hunched over a huge wok of oil, deep frying chicken wings and drumsticks to golden perfection. She was indeed old. Or she looked the part. Then again, the stallholder himself looked old. Or the whole family ages fast. In any case, the stallholder probably feels it best for his whole family if he no longer sells nasi lemak.

While it seems incredibly selfish for me to be angry with them for not selling such wonderful nasi lemak, that was exactly how I felt. And then all these thoughts came in. Do I really know the stallholder's life? Did I even care what he did while he was still faithfully serving nasi lemak? Do we really need such a turn of events to turn our focus on other people instead of ourselves?

And I wonder how I'd feel if I notice that I can't hear the man sneezing anymore. How long will it take for me to realise that he's no longer there? -Jimmy

Save Your Tears for the Plants

2007-01-21T03:38:00.000+08:00

It hurts so bad when you're so glad
it hurts so bad i cry in bed
And only cos I saw you dance
I saw you dance with Joel

I was nursing quite a broken heart
Had a night out wanting a fresh start
Why did I see you there?
Why should I even care?

It hurts so bad when you're so glad
it hurts so bad i cry in bed
And only cos I saw you dance
I saw you dance with Joel

Drown my sorrows in my alcohol
Had no courage for a little chat
Then I saw my best friend
Found him to be your man.

You were happy dancing with him
And then he leaned, leaned in for a kiss
Those lips you touched, could've been mine
The lips you touched last valentine

It hurts so bad when you're so glad
it hurts so bad i cry in bed
And only cos I saw you dance
I saw you dance with Joel

And then I ran, I ran, I ran
And my mind was all a blank
And my heart a gaping hole
My tears I pour over my plants

It hurts so bad when you're so glad
it hurts so bad i cry in bed
And only cos I saw you dance
I saw you dance with Joel

It hurts so bad when you're so glad
it hurts so bad i cry in bed
And only cos I saw you dance
I saw you dance with Joel -Jimmy

Sudoku Nut

2007-01-16T21:18:00.000+08:00

The 2 Routes

2006-12-17T16:08:00.000+08:00

Friend H and I were sitting on the bus on one of those lazy afternoon trips when I remarked about how Friend I should probably be enjoying his date at that point in time. H replied that it's interesting how Friend I reports the little things that happened during dates, considering that H has gone through all that before and is now more seasoned and a lot more cynical.

"But you see, I think he likes the part of being together with a girl. I don't think he really likes the girl."
Whoa. That's a heavy accusation to level against your close friend, pal.
"He enjoys the hand-holding, listening to things from a girl's point of view, doing things that would never happen with guy friends. But those things come with every girl. I've never heard him say what's so special about this particular girl that he finds charming."
So you're saying he likes the medium, not the subject? Kinda like watching movies cos you like the darkened hall?
"But the thing is, loads of people do fall into that trap. People don't realise that while that bit of being attached is attractive, it's only supposed to be the icing. The real cake is the person. At the end of it all, the trick is to find something special with the girl, not the perks with being with a girl."
Whoa, heavy.

And it really is unfortunate that I still notice people falling for that trap all around me. What friend H said really does make sense, and I might have secretly vowed not to fall for that trap myself. However, it's so easy to get back down that route. Blame it on testosterone. Blame it on endorphine addiction. But how often do people realise that they're going down one path and not the other? Don't the paths look eerily similar? What's wrong with people who love darkened cinema halls anyway?

Okay, nothing is wrong with darkened cinema halls. But there might be repercussions if human feelings are involved. The good news is, logically speaking, it is possible to bash towards the other route once we find out that we're going down the wrong route. All is not lost. Unless of course you lose your way while bashing. In which case.... ask for directions. -Jimmy

Flights of Fancy

2006-12-14T23:30:00.000+08:00

"One day, people from both sides will just drop their guns and life will go back to normal. Tall grass will cover the battlefields. And all those pilots who died, you realise, died for nothing. But I wanna make sure that more Germans end up dying for nothing."

From P-51 to Mig-29s, it's the sensation of just floating in air that counts.

Watched Flyboys with friend H today. While it has all the recycled elements of war movies like the brotherly bonding chats, the "meaning of war and life" sharing sessions, "I'd die for you" bravado and all the neccessary action scenes to ensure the pacing doesn't slack off, I don't mind. Sometimes I need reminding on just how lucky we are at this age, without a "great war" looming like a thunderstorm, something I'm sure not many of us could truly fathom.

Flyboys also covered topics like racism. One of the "flyboys" was a black, and his father was a slave. At the time the movie was set in, blacks were still very much looked down upon. During a heart-to-heart chatting scene, the black mentioned how flying brought interesting career prospects later on in his life. He wanted to deliver air mail when the war ended. He claims that "as long as people get their mail, it doesn't matter that it was flown by a black guy. They won't know."

However, it was the other thing the black guy said that struck a chord in me. He mentioned that he loved flying as he felt that as long as the bullets are not flying around, it's "mighty peaceful" up there. He loves the fact that nothing can touch him, that up there, there's no one to look down on him and that he's free to go anywhere. Well, that was the illusion I got. I still wanna fly. I still wanna be in the middle of (almost) nothing, suspended by that magical phenomenon of Bernoulli's effect.

Oh well, thank you Singapore Youth Flying Club for taking that avenue of learning how to fly away from me. I might find a way to learn as a private student next time. I might not. But I'll always remember the bureaucracy surrounding your admission policy. Whatever the case is, I'll also always have Microsoft Flight Simulator. -Jimmy