writing and writing

I mentioned lately that I wanted to write more outside of blogging.


So I downloaded Advanced Diary.


Hmm, basically what I am going to be doing with AD is to write on it primarily from now on, and select samplers to publish online on worlds upon words. I don't mean to be strange this way deliberately.


It is exhilarating, because now I can write more and more, and I have already begun to do so:

Martell

I just came back home via Calvin in the Tan family Integra, from supper, and before that, the Martell event. Now I speak as if it were the Event, and really, in the world of would-bes and media-type posers, it seemed rather so.


A precursor to the event itself, was when our friend Kenneth (also affectionately known as Kenny, or KO) got out of the car and went to check out the parking lots jam we were in when we were arriving and looking for a place to park. It turns out some guy - a white Subaru WRX - parallel parked with his butt too far out on a sloping S-curved one way road. A bus could not get through, and thus neither could anyone else. Four police folk came, three of them men, and they and KO went to physically lift up the car into place so the bus could get through and clear up the traffic. Subsequently all the cars parallel parked (illegally) were booked. Hah.


Anyway I have no photos to show of the event itself, you shall have to just wait for it in Juice or from Dawn Yang's blog or something like that.


What I do have, is a large swollen bruise on my shin. You see, the organisers had this, manner, of putting strange boxed-up plywood contraptions in the way of the crowd, to act as platforms for Martell-high folks to dance on. It completely blends in with the surrounding darkness. Or maybe it is just me.


Martell is great, and we had a few nice drinks. One was with caramel - excellent. I had two of those. We each had a shot of something, which is also Martell, but with what else, we couldn't decipher, it was slightly minty. I don't like shots. There was also the green-tea version, which Eleanor liked and it was Cal's favourite drink at a time. They were all free flow, not that we could drink very much anyway.


Except for an uncle that Eleanor was rather amused by, because he obviously had too much Martell. He was sprawled on the street and on bouncers who were taking him away. He also, according to Eleanor, scolded cars and sprawled on their bonnets.


The music they were spinning was okay, the jumbled mix that events do because they have to please everyone, which meant that you don't get a long continuous strain of what you would personally like.


It is also amazing how many familiars you can spot at this kind of event. Spotted: an ex-church mate, an ex-banker-colleague, and the odd celeb and pseudo-celeb, important public type figures. Everyone here and there seemed either out of place or rather falsely-dignified that they got invited to the event, if you know what I mean. But well, so were we, we aren't even media or in the related industries.


The plus of it all, is still the Martell itself. Yum. We got a free bottle of Martell to take home too! Yay! No more lonely nights, ohhh, no more lonely nights. Well, not literally, it just signifies that it is probably a cue for another party at home very, very soon.


After awhile, we walked to the car a long way - the event was atop Mount Faber, at Jewel Box, and needless to say the nearest lots were occupied. And no valet parking either. C rested in the car and I with him, because he is actually rather allergic to alcohol - with blackening vision, low blood pressure, nausea and all that, thankfully seldom so. After about half an hour or so, we went to Geylang for supper - beef kway teow.


Yum, still lingering for some caramel Martell.

the long tail

Folks, folks,


I am getting a free copy of The Long Tail from author Chris Anderson, and I am elated, not only because I am Singaporean and therefore I love freebies, but because The Long Tail is the articulation of a business concept that I believe in.


(And how did I get this freebie? Well Chris was giving it out for free and I emailed him for one. But they are all snapped up now it seems. The catch is, I have to review it, here, on worlds upon words, after I am done with it.)


Rather than take it wholesale from the site I am going to tell you what it is about in my terms. We all know what niche marketing is about, basically it means catering to a select group of customers, instead of the mass population. For example, Jasons supermarket versus NTUC, Sheng Siong and Shop n Save. Or lemon tea at the Ritz Carlton (where even the ice cubes are made of tea, and you get it served with a pot and a tray) versus the lei-mong-tai you get at the kopitiam (that by the way is how the auntie hollers the order to the counter if you do indeed order lemon tea at the kopitiam near my place).


Well, when I studied (or briefly read, for the exams) marketing in uni, I just thought, hey, you can charge a higher price if you go niche, but if the market is so small, you probably will die easily too.


Of course there are really a whole host of other reasons why a niche marketing company dies:

too much monetary risk taken without prudence (hedge funds),
a lack of market research - thinking there is a niche market where actually there ain't but for an over-tapped mass market (education centres),
poor marketing communications on what exactly that 'niche' is (cafes that think they are so different but are just duds),
the industry sunsets before you have started on your next business unit (Yashica cameras), etc.

All that aside, assuming you don't over-diversify before you make it (think of the many years of the brand of the Osim chair before they prudently went into their other i-deas), you make sound reconnaisance before everything, you plan years and decades ahead, and you have a clear marketing strategy:


Then you really should consider going niche. Differentiating yourself so that you are not only the market leader in your industry-segment, but really, the only market player to a thriving, close-knit industry. Word gets around easily, from staff to their friends, from customers to other potential customers. There would be no other apple to compare to your apple. All other comparisons will be an apple to orange or kiwi-fruit comparison. People want to interview you because you are special, and you might even get free press on the internet and on tv.


And then, can you survive the niche market? Will there be enough to go around, monetarily?


Well, if you are into maths, and you know the concept of the area under a curve, then read The Long Tail blog to know more it in terms of dollars and numbers. As for me, I am going try to put it in words. Factually, if you divide a large cake by a large number of people, for example, at birthdays with the whole extended family or with the whole church, then you get a small slice each, and maybe two if there are any more slices to spare. But if you were to celebrate your birthday by yourself, and you buy a slice of cake (like Chocolate of a Thousand Leaves from Coffee Bean, yum), then, you potentially get a much larger slice of cake per person, because, it is just you. Now it seems like no one knows about your birthday this way, but hey, if you like cake, and you have a good book with you or have loads of thoughts to write in your notebook, (and if you don't really care for big birthday dos) you might as well go for it this way! You get blessed solitude, and a whole lot more cake this way!


And you know what, if you can't find a good slice of your favourite cake anywhere in stores, bake it yourself or find someone who can. That is,


Create your own niche market.


Ooh and eat it all up by yourself, before anyone even knows about it. By the time they do, you are already doing some other thing, leaving them in your dust trail.


I hope that does the long tail concept justice, but regardless, I have to read the book to know if it is really a good book. Nonetheless, it will be free for sharing, and I will pass it around to whoever wants to borrow it after I am done (which means I know I might never get it back, but it is okay, good things must share).


More soon.

clean up

Yes I cleaned up the site some more. I previously used the font that was despicably hard to read because it looked like my handwriting, it really is me, if you know what I mean. But now I have found a neat version of me.


A sign of things to come.

Slinky

Acrylic on plywood, 21cm by 30cm

I finally got some free mind and time and energy to paint. Not much inspiration though, so I did this. It is very blur, because the previous versions I scanned were too big to be uploaded anywhere. But oh yeah, the 99mb version was the clearest. Even clearer than the artwork itself.

I think I like the shadow the best. And the way the floor and the background are actually the same palette of colours, just painted differently. I did a lot of layering of colours, so that through the translucency of the paint you can get a more 3D highlight/shadow effect. But the cat, is cartoonish because I was not painting with Slinky in front of me, and hence just did a cartoonish Paul Klee concept of a cartoon cat.

Oh well, I would probably frame it up and give it to Calvin.

a quote that makes me choke

"It is possible to modernise holy music," he conceded, "but it should not happen outside the traditional path of Gregorian chants or sacred polyphonic choral music". Pope Benedict XVI


Welcome to 2006. Where make-up is technologically-reliant and people are becoming so increasingly alienated that they have to scream 'me' aloud, everywhere, anywhere. Let's do chants! Whoopee! It would so help people to live meaningful lives.

random tidbits of late

1. The cars at my carpark, are often not parked, but rather, inhabited by people, waiting... for something. Often C and I turn into the carpark and find that the cars around us, suddenly light up and go. Strange.


2. Grey Cat is less hostile lately. I miaowed at him and he didn't run away. Slinky is still just as cute. She sits with her paws tucked beneath her.


3. The bloody Sony DVD player is spoilt. It cannot be turned on and it cannot eject. I have no money to fix it, and we can't get the CD out; it is due to be returned to Video Ezy Siglap today. Stupid Sony!
   


4. I had a dream that C and I were so poor, we woke up to go out for a meal, and he said, he had an idea and that was to sell his jacket so we could get money to eat. This dream really saddens me.
   


5. The dream was triggered by the fact that I really am poor, and so is C (because of me) so please stop asking when we are getting married. It is not about how old I am, it is about the very fact that we need to be able to at least survive as a new family, which currently, we are obviously not, even as individuals.


6. I have changed my handphone ringtone, so that I will not get stressed when I hear it ring. This is to break the physical reaction of anxiety (e.g. mad kicking frenzy, feelings of guilt, rapid heart palpitations) triggered by the sound of my phone ringing. Unfortunately I at first chose 'Horse' as a ringtone, and scared myself and C when my Mom called at 1am to say hi while we were already almost asleep. Note to self: do not select animal noises as ringtones, they sound terrifying (like aliens spawning, or something like that) when they actually ring. I have since changed it to another ringtone.

Working With You Is Killing Me by Katherine Crowley and Kathi Elster

I came across a review via ABC News on this book with the aforementioned title. Suddenly I got engrossed with the 4 page article, and might possibly even buy this book. Reading it brought to mind familiar instances, of mine and of friends' experiences, and suddenly I don't feel so alone and shitty any more.



Excerpts from the article:

Scratch the rational surface of any company, however, and you uncover a hotbed of emotions: people feeling anxious about performance, angry with coworkers, and misunderstood by management. You find leaders who are burnt out and assistants who are buried in resentment.

We call the experience of feeling caught in an emotionally distressing situation at work being hooked. If you find yourself consistently having a strong negative internal reaction to someone or something in your work environment, you are probably hooked.

Some people react to hooks by experiencing emotional symptoms. They feel strong negative emotions such as anger, fear, panic, anxiety, embarrassment, confusion, depression, repulsion, helplessness, or despair. If you are an emotional reactor, you may respond to people and circumstances that drive you crazy with emotional outbursts such as uncontrollable rage, sudden tears, or inappropriate laughter. Emotional reactions to hooks are often accompanied by physical reactions.

This would help if you are in a sticky situation at work, or know of someone close to you who is. Read it if you love your job and in dire straits trying to keep it.

random thoughts

I don't really know how to describe how I feel at the moment. Somewhere between shit and hot soup: relieved, but shitty; whetted and pleasured and floating in hot soup. Everything cuts both ways. It is a strange feeling.


What one does in shit and hot soup, is think random thoughts, that swing between those of pleasure and those of gloom.


One random thought I have, is that I think I write rather shabbily lately and perhaps might have declined in skill. I am thinking seriously of writing more outside of blogging, since women have fifteen thousand words to expend at least, in a day. It is romantic to have scraps of paper with feverish poetry scribbled on it in the dim night lights, when you know you cannot get through to him save by writing, when you know that if you don't write you will explode with a myriad of unspoken thoughts, tapestries undone.


Lately I spoke aloud a random thought to Calvin; literally ran to him in the bathroom to tell him that I think I am suited to be a tai-tai. I said, 'I think I might be allergic to work, plus I like taking care of the house, doing leisurely things like read and lie around.' C just said, 'Well, I think you have to wait until I earn enough money first.' Not after a pregnant pause of course. I said we could take turns, and that I was only (half) joking anyway.


Recent nights, I volley between wanting to sleep all the time, and wanting to stay awake to chase the morrow away. Social affairs tire me, going out and friends and all that. Work, albeit in smaller, global-bite-size, is tiring - even the thought of it. I wish I didn't have a mobile phone which gave me messages to answer, and contactability to be accountable for. Lunch is something that tastes better when taken at home, yet I have no longer any interest in cooking. I postpone everything, and my house is now like a hostel, or a large messy room. I wish tomorrow never comes.


I feel really sad about things, like what I wrote in last post. And yet, I feel like I shouldn't have to be sad, because sad is a state of being that should not be, it is rejected, never validated by men, always shunned, and makes for terrible reading pleasure. No one dares ask you why, it makes you weak and appear weak, and you indeed appear whiney as shit. Plus, tears wreck your complexion.


So, I stand relieved, for some things I cannot say in completion. Shush now, and just hear the music play, sheets against your skin, night light and reading pleasure. I will go to sleep regardless, and tomorrow will be a cinch. I am not depressed.

current read, and inspiration

Jack Kerouac - On The Road



I first heard of this book proper in Haruki Murakami's Sputnik Sweetheart, through Sumire. Sumire, aspiring writer, Kerouac fan. She had no money, but she bought books. At first, a lack of knowledge on my part halted a possible attraction to Kerouac - what the heck is the 'Beat' generation? And On The Road seemed to be yet another travel journal. Nothing against travel journals per se, but hey everyone travels, unless you are Che Guevera then your travel journals are just like everybody else's, right?


Then I stumbled upon Kerouac's quotes.


Then I found out that he actually invented something - spontaneous prose. Much like blogging, only we are talking late 1940s, 1950s.


Plus, I am poor like Sumire. What else better to spend on, then books. Books make life easier to bear.


So what is the book about?


Sal Paradise, Kerouac's protagonist, decides to make across America and back, and he details every high and every shitty encounter (not with people mostly, as far as I have gone so far, more like with himself for taking the wrong route and things like that). On The Road, to me, is not story telling, but truly a revelational writing style. I feel like I am reading someone's diary, only it is more in depth because he is a real writer; and don't we all like reading diaries.


I feel a parallel: I remember watching The Motorcycle Diaries lately, and amidst the comic scenes they had with their trusty Mighty One (the name of their motorcycle), I wept with them in every heart stopping moment of the film. Literally. The camera captured the life and non-lives of the souls who represented South America. I mean, no one cared about displacing the Incas, no one dared touch the lepers, some people were so poor, they could die of something so treatable like asthma. Asthma! It is like drowning on dry ground.


I stood with them at Macchu Picchu, taking it in with the camera, suddenly seeing the history of a people before me, as the boys did. They each took a spot at Macchu Picchu, and comforted in each other's solitude, made a life-changing moment right there in their hearts and journals.


At the end of the film, I wept with each black and white photographic replay of the lives they met - it was almost exactly like the vision I had in the late 1990s, at a Singapore Indoor Stadium event. I saw flashes like black and white photography, of so many displaced people! I knew I had to live for people like them, to restore to them what God has promised them, what is originally theirs. I felt like God placed this slide projector collection of images in me, branding them in my heart. Now, you really must watch The Motorcycle Diaries, don't you? And yes, I will read the books too.


I don't think On The Road will be like that, seeing that Sal and his friends seem to be even more decadent than Che and his chubby friend and their motorcycle. But Sal, and more importantly the man behind this alter ego, the author himself, they are both writers. Kerouac makes me think this: if I can inspire people, and move them through my writings, then - imagine the impact. Kundera spoke of Immortality: through your art, and your writing (letters, books, papers), you are perpetuated through eternity. But more importantly, it is not about you, the writer, but about every reader who reads your words. You may not change the world much, but through your writing, art, music, work, love, inspiration - you might move someone who will change this world. It is worth every tear drop spent at the scraps of collected writing, at the keyboard, in your prayer bed. As I read Kerouac, I want to be moved, so that I can also be one who moves this world too. It is not for me, but for to release away this heavy burden in my heart.


There are times when I feel like I had enough of hearing about all the 'me's. True, our very self is important. But it comes to a point when I don't want a miracle for myself, thanks Pastor, I need a miracle for the people who are dying in floods, in danger of being buried in volcanic mud, for people who have no home to go to today, yesterday, tomorrow, for the kids being trafficked for sexual slavery in Asia. I really don't want a miracle for myself God, I need it for them! Are we really that in need?! We ain't, no matter how much we bitch about it. Every 'through it all', every 'I trust in You', God I want to sing it for them.


Hence we need to be inspired, constantly, constantly. If nothing moves you, you cannot move the hearts of people.


More on Kerouac, when I am done with him. (If you hear nothing, it probably means I have been disappointed).

not here

folks, I am not around anymore.


I am not here: I am in my house,
in limbo, and rather it be this way.


where is elaine?




I am not here anymore, don't look for me.
My mobile is not with me, and I dread it to ring.

I will have to go out tomorrow
to run errands, maybe then I will make calls.

And pretend I am a-okay! And smile.
Only once have I been spoiled for my mocking smile.

- I can yet continue that act.

I feel sick, but I am not sick - yet or anymore.
I wish I can sleep the whole day, and barely wake.

Some absolute essentials when going to colder, drier climes:

from my Sydney trip

1. Conditioner for your hair is a must. It eases static, makes sure you don't get hat-head if you wear a hat, and you can go without combing or blow-drying. I use Sunsilk/Organics, the pink one with yogurt, weighty and smooth.
2. Lotion to prevent skin dryness and thus eczema or other kinds of dermatitis. Currently I am using a lovely gift from Jan, from Bath and Body Works, a raspberry vanilla flavour. My mistake was not getting a manly one for C, thus he also smelt equally yummy, not necessarily a bad thing.
   
3. Moisturiser for face, more than usual. Normally I use Clarins Multi Active Day Gel for day, but in Sydney I doubled up with Clarins Extra Firming Concentrate before the moisturiser itself. For night I used Clarins Multi Active Night Cream, after using Clarins Hydra-Care Mask, which I leave on for 5-10 minutes while catching the nightly matches in the hotel room.
   
4. If you don't moisturise enough, or if you have eczema like I do, then it is wise to bring some betamethazone valerate cream, otherwise known as steroid cream. It gets rid of rashes, skin flakiness and redness. Available only through a doctor. OTC only offers hydrocortisone, a milder and in my opinion less effective version.
5. Since it is dry, consider washing your clothes because it will dry overnight. Even socks and scarves. Then you can bring less. And leave the space for shopping!
6. Always bring a shawl. It can be used as a blanket (on planes), a pillow (when rolled up), a scarf which can be tied in many ways, and of course, as a shawl. Plus it dries faster than woolly scarves. Just beware the static.
   
7. Hand-moisturiser is important for the plane rides, to prevent said static, or at least, reducing it. I am currently using one that Jan gave me too, from Denmark. Small green tube like a Lion toothpaste-tube.
8. Bring water bottle where ever you go! Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.
   

ten simple pleasures

Just when I was all alone at 4am, Popagandhi puts this up, brightening up my quiet Bloglines.

I am a meme-partaker:

1. Reading. Before falling asleep, next to C, who is also reading before he sleeps. He is the only person I know I can read with in silence together, without feeling a need for conversation to fill up the non-existent empty space. (Of course, he reads different stuff, like Raymond E Feist, etc.)
   
2. The internet. Bloglines. Stumble Upon. 'How To Be A Successful Evil Overlord', just so I can discuss it maniacally with C after sharing it with him.
3. Beer. Its chill composes me. Fridge-essential.
   
4. Being at home by myself in the daytime.
   
5. Writing.
   
6. Lounge music. Right now Zero-7 is playing on my Itunes.
   
7. Playing with Slinky downstairs.
   
8. Buying groceries when I have money.
   
9. Sleeping, lying down on my bed, with my 5 pillows.
   
10. Getting dressed to go out.
    

Now, they all seem vain and lazy, right. How about 5 complicated pleasures to add-on:

1. Painting when there is an idea of what to paint.
   
2. Giving tuition to my secondary school students.
3. Shopping for girly things.
4. Going out with C.
5. Playing the guitar.

Complicated because I am not as good at or as able to do these things, or because they require more effort to achieve the same amount of pleasure.

at 3+ am

It is an amazing night here.


I was lying down next to C who is now asleep, with every breath he takes I thank God that he is alive and here with me.


Attempting to sleep, but not before talking to my God. I find my side of the bed awash with a glow, that comes only from communion with Him. He hands me an emerald - this is the second jewel that has appeared in our dreams and visual-conversations.


'I want you to make kings.'


'What are kings? Prideful beings? Spiritual leaders and ministers? Leaders of nations?'


I see children of the street in many nations, and that one child I see now, brown and covered with dust, with nary a clothing on him, that child, is a king.


A king is esteemed, not to enslave, but to serve. A king is empowered, not to take away, but to provide. A king encourages. Makes changes for the better of his own people. Makes history.


'That was my ordinance, until humanity screwed it up with elitism and the fabric of aristocracy they scaffolded, messing up the fabric of my house.


'Deep in your heart of hearts, what is your passion?'


'Missions.' That word itself shakes my bones, conjures up the whole repository of dreams I have had in the last ten years about my very calling, and brings forth tears that will follow.


I am lost. Which is why I sit here in the still of the night, very awake, MSN strangely down, with tears in my eyes, waiting for an answer. I want daylight, but also to have nothing to do with all that daylight requires of a healthy, functional and responsible adult.


I have been having strange dreams. Of things going wrong, subtly. Of overcoming things that shouldn't be overcome. Of unlikely allies. Of regrets that are thankfully but dreams. Of idyllic things, like Serangoon Gardens, children and having fun on a bike. I should narrate these dreams to make sense to you, but I am not a storyteller.


Speaking of storytellers, I stumble upon Oscar Wilde, and read The Happy Prince just awhile ago. Strangely, it is about jewels, and people who are in need, and about immortality.


About a master, and a servant-messenger. No one without the other.


I no longer have that.

quote

My aunt once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness.

—Jack Kerouac

here it is

Sydney by E and C,
highlights in a list:

15 June to 19 June 2006.

1. 15 June we arrive at Sydney's airport, at about 540am. Bloody Kingsford Sydney Transport service that was due to bring us to the hotel, finally got us going at 740am. It was 7 degrees c and as cold as is required to see your breath forming in the air as vapour clouds. The sunrise was fabulous, since we got to actually see the sky lighting up itself during the wait. Now I know that the winter sunrise has cool colours, even if to the common eye it is just blue and orange. It is beautiful. I never really liked sunrises, but I always love the sky, it tells you a lot you need to know about art, and God's brushstrokes.



Waiting on the shuttle bus at sunrise


2. One thing I realise, Sydney folks aren't as friendly as Brisbane's. No hollers of 'thank-you's to the bus drivers or whatever. But then again, it was a long cold wait, perhaps everyone was just being quietly pissed.


3. We finally reach the hotel, Swissotel at 68 Market Street. The hotel is great, they let us check in early, so we slept till past lunch, and I woke up having gastric pains. But thankfully, I had replenished my Omeprezole at the doctor's before the trip, for situations like this. We head out on to the street.



Our hotel room as we enter


4. Market Street is perpendicular to George Street, a main artery in the city. Turn right to Darling Harbour, left, a longer way, to Circular Quay where the Opera House and all that are. We head to Darling Harbour to try and find a late lunch (unsuccessfully, and no ice cream either, we couldn't find it Syl!) and take a ferry just for fun, to Circular Quay. The cold air is lovely and breezy. It is almost dark, almost 6pm.



Darling Harbour at sunset


Waiting for the ferry to Circular Quay


5. We are going to the Sydney Observatory, a place for l337 science geeks, which I planned because I know I have to appease C before we head to the art gallery the next day. And yes he loved it - a happy man makes a happy girl. We peered out of the Observatory's dome through really scientific looking telescope-thingummies. My favourite was the binary star called Alpha Centauri - two huge bright lights, so bright and lovely looking as they are seen next to each other. (Daffy you would have loved this place I think!)


6. After that we finally get to eat something. I had my favourite beer in the world - Hahn Premium dark, and yes you must try it - at a warm pub called Jacksons on George (I think) where we got ourselves fed before we took a walk back to the hotel.


7. I think we watched soccer, though I cannot be sure, we slept till past (our free hotel-) breakfast time the next day.
   


8. 16 June was our second day at The Rocks (Circular Quay) and we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art. The Sydney Biennale 2006 is on at this point, and the MCA is one of the venues. We had lunch al fresco by the harbour at the MCA's cafe, really good atas food, and superb coffee as it is usual in Australia's cafes.



At the Rocks


9. The Biennale was okay, there were just one or two exhibits I liked. They were mostly video installations, which I do not like very much to be honest. I feel that art should be art, and video installations are more informative, like video-documentaries. If they are arty, like those I can appreciate in clubs, together with music and sound, then yeah. But not like that. A bit of a disappointment. I still enjoy the Queensland Art Gallery a whole lot more. Another up to Brisbane there.
   


10. We took a walk around the harbour after that, avoiding the cute fat flying gulls like mad (C's coat got shat on on the first day at Darling Harbour, damn gulls).
    


11. Again, nice cold winds, icy looking grass in the gardens, Opera House and all that.






















12. We then had dinner at Pancakes on the Rocks. Affirmed by many friends that we have to eat there. They are right. I am still lingering for another chomp on those chocolate pancakes.
    





13. After our fabulous dinner we walked back to the Opera House to catch a dance performance - The Director's Cut by the Sydney Dance Company. I now affirm that I am not a dance person either. The parts I enjoy most about the dance were the music and the set design, which were brilliant. C and I nearly fell asleep the first part of the performance. How irreverent we are.
    


14. After that we met Estee and Nelson for a beer at Lowenbrau. Nice!



Estee and Nelson



E and C and yummy German beer


15. We head back in Nelson's car, and probably watched soccer again!


16. 17 June we missed the free hotel breakfast again, and also we never made it to the other art gallery I wanted to go. We nearly missed Paddington's markets too, save for 15 minutes of it before closing time. We had a late lunch somewhere enroute to the markets, along Oxford Street, at a coffee parlour called Aristotle's. Yeah we actually walked to the Paddington's markets, through the lovely Hyde Park and along Oxford Street, which actually houses a lot of nice female-friendly shops. We did some shopping on our way back (I bought a pair of pants for A$19.95 and a couple of gifts) after the markets closed, and also had a coffee/tea and toilet break in a cafe along the way.
    






Hyde Park


17. Back at the city, we explored it at night, and had dinner at a Japanese place, and then (at C's suggestion of course) watched a movie at George Street cinemas- too fast too furious tokyo drift. Was expensive but fun anyway. The movie was horrible - inane conversation with no storyline. Like porn but only it's about cars. Oh but I had waffles with our hot chocolates before the movie started at The Dish, a cafe inside the cinema, and they were good.
    


18. 18 June was Bondi Beach day! And we finally ate our free hotel breakfast before we went, half an hour before breakfast time closed, the staff were shocked unawares to see us coming in at 10am.
    


19. We took a bus 380 to the beach, (2 adults cost A$5.60) and we got to the market at Bondi, which was really fun. We had lunch at a beautiful restaurant along the beach called Nick's, which had the loveliest oysters, C says the best he has ever had. Then we walked along the (sidewalk on the) beach, watching the surfers, shivering in the cold wind and taking pictures. There was nice graffiti art, and the waves were really lovely. Everwhere around us was the horizon. We then took a bus back.




E and C at Bondi Beach





E (running amok) at the Bondi Markets




Lunch at Nick's on Bondi Beach






C's lovely meaty lunch





Bondi's graffiti art





20. Went to Abbey's bookstore, at Kelvin's advice. C bought something from their Galaxy bookstore - their sci-fi books wing.
    


21. We caught the Sydney Film Festival too, that night at the same cinemas on George Street. Not very good, but entertaining all the same. And before that, ice cream just opposite, Gelatissimo, how unoriginal we are. The Singaporean girl at the ice-cream shop gave us a card so we could get more (free, but don't say that) ice-cream when we came back to Singapore.
    


22. Watched soccer again, at our hotel room though, though it was really swinging at Circular Quay that night. The Socceroos lost to Brazil of course, but it was such a good match to watch (Cahill is cute!). Unfortunately I fell asleep during half time and missed the first goal during the start of the second half.
    


23. 19 June and we are due to go back home already. Had lunch really quick at a cafe in Queen Victoria Building just near our hotel. QVB is like Ngee Ann City type of shopping, very atas and posh. It is our last day and C and I had our first and only argument for the trip, but it was all okay soon enough. C is a lovely boy. We never quarrel for long. Soon we are on our way to the airport.


24. I forget I am not in Singapore and do the typical Singaporean women thing, that is, wonder aloud why the check-in lines at the airport take so long. It looks like POSB at lunchtime, and just as slow too. I guess I wasn't prepared for the slow service because I wasn't in JB but in a cosmopolitan city. But then C shuts me up and we finally check in with only about an hour to go before our flight.
    


25. We do some more touristy airport shopping while waiting, but soon enough, we get onto the plane. Horrible flight, as mentioned. But the good thing was that the seats were not purple on this part of the plane we took back (I hate purple, it distresses me). And I could continue watching I Not Stupid Too, which I only caught half of on the plane to Sydney. Movies On Demand are the best thing about SIA. To and from Sydney I watched Failure To Launch, 13 Going On 30, I Not Stupid Too, and Shrek 2. After all that, we took a taxi home. Good to be back!
    

welcome home, welcome humidity again

(good to be home; I thank God I came home to a safe and unviolated house).



I just got off the plane a while ago, off a horrible flight, so much so that I am still whoozy, and had to take some Panadol to rid myself of a still-present and very terrible headache. The flight was about the worst thing I had to take on my short trip to Sydney - longer than what a usual Asian-destination traveller is used to, and so choppy, think boat ride to Rawa ten years ago, think noob pilots or terrible weather or both.



So I will write more later, to report on my trip.



Update: I ended up taking two tablets of Novomin (travel sickness medicine) to ease the horrible nausea (worse than a hangover). I fell asleep without knowing so, with lights all on in the study and in my bed room. Awoke in the afternoon, and still having a headache.

between me and Him

God: If I repaired this, would you stay? (To use it).


Me: Yes, I would.


God: (silence, to denote waiting, deliberation)




and this goes through my mind:



Maybe God won't repair this, because if it were in a wonderful working condition like never before, then I would be still here to use it. Maybe the ends of this working of things, is to get rid of me. Replace with a newer, better body part.


But if I take that downward spiralling thought route, there would be no end to it, no God in it eventually either.


God: (silence) No, I won't repair it Elaine.


(smoke enshrouds Him, silence resumes)

drive

I lift my hands off the wheel, and let it go steering wildly, free-rolling me wildly. I ignore all road signs, traffic lights, radio and mobile audio trespasses, pedestrians, and other motorists.



Suddenly I realise, I cannot just do that. A car cannot drive its driver. Not wanting to drive, is not a legitimate excuse for shabby driving.



This is what I do: I stop the car, without a heed to the rest of the motor-world, get out, and walk on the pavement, or side of the dirt road when the pavement ends. And I don't look back.

world change

I wouldn't even bother to list them all down, there are too many. I read and come to know of many shit-happenings - of injustice, calamity, devastation - around the world, not those that befall just one man, but to many, to those who are of innocence but for the fact they exist.


What am I doing right now that can effect world change? This thought is a stick shift that is my only resistance against the barrage of world calamities happening in too many places to too many people.


(Not affected? Think about it: In a world of affluence for the everyday person, where monarchies have been shamed and economies of scale have been made available for everyone, there is still poverty and affliction just like in the days of freaking-yore.)


Recent events on the home front have also jolted me into thinking, whether the direction I have been taking, requires a break for a parallel journey, one that more directly accelerates my stick shift into world change.


(Where am I in all this?)


I am depressed by all these things happening all over this world. And what am I doing about it actively? Apart from praying sometimes for them, apart from that one bloody mission trip I take a year, apart from trying my hardest to make money in a meaningful way (which to date still sees me poor, but at least I have a house and stuff, albeit on a negative balance sheet), what have I done? So what for all this?


Maybe this feeling of nothing-accomplished is a passing depressive phase. Or it might be God's wake up call again and again to me. Maybe this desire to change, or add, plans is a desire to be personally happy. Or maybe it is something I truly must re-think, re-work into my my current work-ministry direction.


I know this is part of my destiny: missions. For the health, safety, providence, love and salvation of as many as are in need. This has never changed in the last ten years since this vision was planted inside me.


Just unfortunate now that I am a sick rabbit who also wishes to be happy. I once thought, it is far better to be unhappy and in love, than to be happy and not in love. Yes, unfortunately I did meet a villian of a man that forked my choices into only those two listed above. Now, seeing that I am unhappy but walking the seemingly right (till a week ago) course of work-ministry, perhaps in a week I shall be able to tell myself, what my other choice will be.

destination course

Habakkuk 2 -

1 I will stand my watch
And set myself on the rampart,
And watch to see what He will say to me,
And what I will answer when I am corrected.

2 Then the LORD answered me and said:

“ Write the vision
And make it plain on tablets,
That he may run who reads it.
3 For the vision is yet for an appointed time;
But at the end it will speak, and it will not lie.
Though it tarries, wait for it;
Because it will surely come,
It will not tarry.
4 “ Behold the proud,
His soul is not upright in him;
But the just shall live by his faith.


-


Even Paul and Barnabas split ways, seemingly against the mandate that God had given to them as apostles, but yet, not so. For without their split journeys, less of the world would have been impacted by their ministry.


Did they run with the vision?


-


Which is more important, if ever there be a contention: happiness, or destiny (vision)?


It may sound incredible and wholly selfish to say this, but happiness precedes destiny. Before man was around, there was already provision for his well-being. Before I was to be, I was already provided for. Destiny was only delivered after creation was completed, and its delivery sufficed as the first conversation between man and his God. So, destiny is important, but before it happened, God already provided for you and me to be happy and cared for, first and foremost. "How can you love others if you do not know how to love yourself?"


It almost hurt me to know that God would value my happiness over my destined portion of work in this life.


Therefore -


maybe:


I am reminded that I once had to see myself become as a raven. (Not a crow). Ravens are often solitary. I am prone to build my life around accomodating others' plans in mine: I inquire and plan away with them in mind, and am inclined to follow than to create my own path. But that vision of a raven harkened me to wake up and think this: that I don't always have to wait for a group, that some seasons I must go it alone.


I shouldn't write this, because it offends. It may lead readers to think, that I don't need you. It shouldn't be true, for denying our need for others, ratifies pride itself in us. But sometimes, I don't need misaligned plans, I don't need abuse, I don't need to be mis-informed time and again of my slavish position, I don't need disagreement because disagreement (or lack of understanding etc.) leads to failed plans like that of the tower of Babel. Maybe I am like Paul, or Barnabas, and I need the other to leave me so that we can reach this world together, apart.


As I muse selfishly, in search of finding some happiness, I wonder, so what does He want me to do? I said I will follow Him. I haven't changed my mind yet. The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head - no comfort, no sense of belonging, no safety. If I were to follow, in exchange, He gives me His rest, and His burden in exchange for mine; His house and fatherly love in exchange for my loneliness; His providence where there seems none, and His promises to trust as they are fulfilled. I will never change my mind about following my God, so I hope I know soon, that is, if I can be both happy and destiny-fulfilled eventually.


Surprised that I am panting on and on about this dilemma? So am I, for I have yet to seriously doubt to this extent that I am on the right course. I am feeling the bearings change: as I move, I see the location of my next destination at a more and more obtuse angle, with the wind cutting against me differently as I run.

Theft

As mentioned previously, I want to read Peter Carey's new book - and I bought it! Now I am hungrily finishing Jane Eyre so that I can read Carey's Theft.


And how apt, for I am going to Carey's home country next week.

St John from Jane Eyre

'And yet St John is a good man,' said Diana.

'He is a good and great man; but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelings and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views. It is better, therefore, for the insignificant fo keep out of his way lest, in his progress, he should trample them down...'

from Jane Eyre.



Jane probably said this when she was indignant; yet she is without folly as she muses this declaration aloud. Should we really stay out of St John's way? Or should we, all the more, seek to enslave ourselves to such people, to continue to be their tools of success? Perhaps I am mistakenly behaving like a St John: not great, but prone to trampling.


- whichever the scenario, Charlotte Bronte has carved this brilliantly of the brilliant folks in our lives. I regret having met these St Johns, or having ever behaved like one. But if there are such, please, refuse to be ensnared, for traps are of the devil, and not meant for you.


I have this vision, had it more than once, more than of my own conception, of myself as a ruby. A ruby, like many precious stones, sits in crowns of kings. I am meant to crown kings. My success lays in the success I establish in others, but will the kings forget their priests in the aftermath? This is my ultimate pride-wrestler: to be thrown into ditches again and again while the others climb their stairways to castles, and yet, to be destined to make their success as a silent warrior. I cover up my shame by becoming a St John.

Dignity

What is this thing called Dignity?


I scarcely knew it till hours before: Till that hour I have never fought for it that belongs to me, nor even yet known it intimately.


Slaves have no dignity; their only dignity lies in serving their master, and Dignity is accorded to their master thusly. All that is fine, if we are still living in the age before the abolishment of slavery, if the Veil had not been torn, if Jew and Gentile have not come under the same household of Christ.


Unfortunately I forgot. I took my pride in slavery, and abolished Dignity instead. (In that sentence when I first wrote it I still forgot to make it in the past tense instead of the present).


Now I look her in the eye and say, "I need you back. God has not intended that we be apart, allowing me to be trampled upon like snakes."


I am not a peon of Satan. I may be weak, a mere mortal man, but I am not a peon of Satan. I am more capable of love than of hate, more capable of speaking truth than of lies.


-


Then again, at what price, Dignity? I have scarcely known it, hence I barely know its worth. Justice - right from wrong - I have known. Love, I have known, and thereafter, Forgiveness. I barely know them too, but my acquaintance with them, longer.


If I forsake Dignity, Justice, Love, for mere housecleaning that is Forgiveness, will it be a worthy exchange? I have given my love but it is rejected, with dignity taken by force, and justice disregarded. Now I have room for but forgiveness, fuelled by traces of residual love. Perhaps I am meant to be trampled upon by those I love and serve.


If I fight for my dignity, to know her and behold her, to learn to earn her for myself and for others, then perhaps: I must forsake forgiveness without repentance. I must not forgive without justice served. I must not forgive because I love.


Do you understand my moral dilemma?


I am not a victim, but I am not free.

new wine

I awake with dread:


Every waking moment means work, sleep is taken on borrowed time from work itself.


It is not just formal work that is business, but also housework, for my lack of dedication to housecleaning has seen my home festoon into a rubbish heap. My living room will soon no longer have much walking space. The floor is dirty, the windows too. Laundry is created more than it is done. My house has reached this state through steady degradation, caused by lack of time (and energy when time is present).


I cannot complain any further; my lack of time is for a good problem, implying that, too much work means a whole lot of business and soon-to-come prosperity.


You see, no one complains about new wine. Fresh oases of replenishment, prosperity, refreshing, new joy, new businesses and satisfying customer relationships. I cannot complain that I rather not have all this. But the truth is that the new wine is bursting at my old skin's seams at this point.


Hence I need a new wineskin, that is, change. I have to change myself. (To what?)

an email I received

I got this in the email today:


Hello,

My name is William currently a mass comm student in Singapore. As I've found out you are quite a regular blogger, maybe if you could assist me with a few questions I have below.

1) How strict are Internet laws in Singapore? Which laws would you
change/retain? Why?
2) How much of your blog/podcast is self-regulated? Give us some examples of
what you decided against publishing on your blog/podcast.
3) In your opinion, how has blogging/podcasting changed the world?
4) With regards to the media, do you expect industry self-regulation to
increase or decrease in Singapore? Why?

Thank you so much for your time. ^_^ Take care too~

Warmest regards,
William


My reply:

1) How strict are Internet laws in Singapore? Which laws would you
change/retain? Why?

To be honest, at the moment I am not fully aware of all the internet rules in Singapore, except that we are not to make any seditious remarks, nor persistently propagate political partisan views. Which, to me, are rather fair in concept.

2) How much of your blog/podcast is self-regulated? Give us some examples of
what you decided against publishing on your blog/podcast.

I don't publish podcasts, so my reply is purely about blogging. I self-regulate merely because what is written and read on a blog, symbolises the online persona, and alter ego of the author. I have to self-regulate so that my views will not seem contradictory to the moral character that is required for my job.

3) In your opinion, how has blogging/podcasting changed the world?

Now, ideas are free, and are more easily propagated than ever. This means a lot for business (cf. Seth Godin), for ministry to those in need like Postsecret, personal fame and recognition as a writer or any profession like Opinionistas. And for the internet consumer (like me) point of view, it means free entertainment in reading, viewing and listening pleasure. I hardly watch the tv, and now I refuse to pay for anything e.g. online reader subscriptions, cable telly.

4) With regards to the media, do you expect industry self-regulation to
increase or decrease in Singapore? Why?

I don't think I can answer nor understand this question effectively. But we do know now that the government and its agents have dipped their stick further into the blogosphere, to find that there are many opposing views, against them. They might clamp down their actions, or they might encourage the bloggers to come forward with their views, in a bit to control them, which is either way all very necessary if you were the reigning political party.

Hope this helps.

Elaine

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