Expectations cannot coincide with reality, and both of which are closely attached to the emotional state. To set high goals without a view of the ground, is to take too much risk and set ourselves up for possible disappointment somewhere down the road. It thus seems necessary sometimes, to lower goals and expectations to be at peace with ourselves. The process is extremely painful as you digress from the intended path, straying from the well-lit path well-travelled by horse carriages and into the bushes where only the foolhardy will care to explore. Straying may be the result of circumstances, in which one does not have the luxury of choice. Yet it may be a blessing in disguise, as there is no point insisting on joining a particular class if in the process we lose ourselves. The result will be similar to Paul Pennyfeather's whirlwind experience with Margot Bestchetwynde, summarised in Otto Silenus' ferris wheel at Luna Park. I saw how my uncle's high-flying friends are stiff and formal, deficient in humour and spontaneity. Yet, reducing personal expectations is to let myself off too easily, because lessons without significant emotional scars will be easily forgotten.
I cannot return to the past and wilfully erase the mistakes. Yet, they will not hold me back as long as I have another day to live.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
two months into tabloid writing
This whole week has been a quiet one spent working on one assignment that is due next tuesday. Perhaps I am just a very slow worker. Yet on the whole I have been unbelievably lucky. I manage to track down all three targets and have nice and long conversations with them, even if they have just undergone 12 hours of gruelling work. They answered amicably to all the questions I ask, even really personal and somewhat embarrassing ones. Thanks to them, I will not have to tell my boss that I have failed the mission. Besides, in comparison with my friend at zb, I have received a great amount of coaching from very nice people. My friend is left on her own after following expert reporters for a week. After two months, I still collaborate with the experts on stories and can ask them if anything crops up.
On the other hand, I cannot believe I spent nearly 3 hours on Coyote, typing something like 30cm worth. It partly has to do with my bad handwriting in my notebook and partly how the story refuses to stick together as a coherent whole. Perhaps I am becoming very nit-picky with this particular piece since I have so much time to get it done.
I think I am addicted to my job. Even though I really will not like to be on the other end of the line, being harrassed by someone you never knew existed. At times, it feels like I am initiated into other people's lives. At other times, I am an intruder, rudely prying into secrets and precious information.
My apologies to good friends who have constantly received work-related smses and calls from me. Admittedly, I do ask extremely odd questions sometimes, but tabloid reporters do not have much choice with regard to this. Sorry for bugging you, I know you too have your work-related difficulties.
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
It is odd how we want freedom, but have a very large degree of self-control, such that we do not use our freedom to its legitimate limits. We fear sanction, for its unknown potential to cause grievous harm. It is amusing how my uncle warned me against writing anything that may be even slightly anti-establishment in the most indirect way, because "it is an election year". We are not about to write a piece the equivalent of the cartoons published by the Danish paper that insulted the Islamic faith. My parents were shocked that the paper published a piece on lift upgrading in opposition wards. People want media freedom, but they do not know what to do with it. This is similar to the campaign for free speech and a speaker's corner, which is now derelict, sparsely populated and has unobtrusively merged back into the broader landscape of Chinatown. We want the space to express an individuality that has never existed.
On the other hand, I cannot believe I spent nearly 3 hours on Coyote, typing something like 30cm worth. It partly has to do with my bad handwriting in my notebook and partly how the story refuses to stick together as a coherent whole. Perhaps I am becoming very nit-picky with this particular piece since I have so much time to get it done.
I think I am addicted to my job. Even though I really will not like to be on the other end of the line, being harrassed by someone you never knew existed. At times, it feels like I am initiated into other people's lives. At other times, I am an intruder, rudely prying into secrets and precious information.
My apologies to good friends who have constantly received work-related smses and calls from me. Admittedly, I do ask extremely odd questions sometimes, but tabloid reporters do not have much choice with regard to this. Sorry for bugging you, I know you too have your work-related difficulties.
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
It is odd how we want freedom, but have a very large degree of self-control, such that we do not use our freedom to its legitimate limits. We fear sanction, for its unknown potential to cause grievous harm. It is amusing how my uncle warned me against writing anything that may be even slightly anti-establishment in the most indirect way, because "it is an election year". We are not about to write a piece the equivalent of the cartoons published by the Danish paper that insulted the Islamic faith. My parents were shocked that the paper published a piece on lift upgrading in opposition wards. People want media freedom, but they do not know what to do with it. This is similar to the campaign for free speech and a speaker's corner, which is now derelict, sparsely populated and has unobtrusively merged back into the broader landscape of Chinatown. We want the space to express an individuality that has never existed.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Alive.
The dream of becoming a psc scholarship to oxford has been my primary motivation in the past 2 years at least. Things have not turned out that way. I failed to make it to oxford, and even the top 30 list in school. It was strange how 3As and 1B at prelims, 120 hours of CIP and 2 CCA positions still failed to put me in the school's good books.
Yet, I am not very upset by it. I feel betrayed, but has grown so careless about it I cannot be bothered to pursue the matter. It does not matter to me that I will never enter the league of oxbridge hc alumni. After all, I am just a name out of many on the school's register, worth nearly nothing to them. They celebrate the glorious, and conveniently forget the fallen. I can tell B.e.r.n.s I don't care about prestige or reputation, because I really do not.
My life is not going as planned, and unlike some who have gotten scholarship offers or have private sponsorship, I still have no idea where I will be at the end of the year. I used to plan everything and hate meaningless conversations, our "prancing and chattering on our little stage of evolution" with all its irregularities. Now I cannot even decide what time I am going to have dinner. (for the record: I ate dinner last Wednesday as breakfast on Thursday at 12.30am, because of a wild expedition to KKH with Sam.f.)
Yet, I have not felt so alive in a long time. Planning has given way to spontaneity. The introvert has learnt to talk to others, and enjoy it. The rationalist has learnt to feel for others at the same time. The born pessimist is now not too worked up about incidental misfortunes in her life. So many things have changed in such a short span of time. I will survive.
Yet, I am not very upset by it. I feel betrayed, but has grown so careless about it I cannot be bothered to pursue the matter. It does not matter to me that I will never enter the league of oxbridge hc alumni. After all, I am just a name out of many on the school's register, worth nearly nothing to them. They celebrate the glorious, and conveniently forget the fallen. I can tell B.e.r.n.s I don't care about prestige or reputation, because I really do not.
My life is not going as planned, and unlike some who have gotten scholarship offers or have private sponsorship, I still have no idea where I will be at the end of the year. I used to plan everything and hate meaningless conversations, our "prancing and chattering on our little stage of evolution" with all its irregularities. Now I cannot even decide what time I am going to have dinner. (for the record: I ate dinner last Wednesday as breakfast on Thursday at 12.30am, because of a wild expedition to KKH with Sam.f.)
Yet, I have not felt so alive in a long time. Planning has given way to spontaneity. The introvert has learnt to talk to others, and enjoy it. The rationalist has learnt to feel for others at the same time. The born pessimist is now not too worked up about incidental misfortunes in her life. So many things have changed in such a short span of time. I will survive.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Places
I went to a cemetery on Friday. It was a solemn and eerie feeling seeing rows and rows of stones marking the had-beens. They came and went. The soil I stood on may be filled with what will be left of someone now alive, as we all eventually return to earth and degenerate into dust.
It is odd how all of us, regardless of our differences will become the same in the end. Tombstones marking plots of land are artificial. The segregation of burial grounds for different faiths is created by the living. When the living requires the space where you supposedly rest, they will take it away. As a plot is exhumed, new bodies arrive to fill the empty space at the other end of the cemetery.
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
I was wandering in Raffles City last Sunday, some time past midnight. The bustling shopping centre is quiet and lifeless, but filled with needless echoes. The terracotta soldiers on display are just absolutely freaky in their life-like statures. Mannequins stood behind glass windows which shimmer a green light. "Orange lollies on silver sticks." My heels clacked on the polished tiles, as I rushed to the washroom and back, to the good company of people, real ones.
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
I have had a lot of problems in the past two years, but there is a lot I should be thankful for. Some people have gotten in the way, wittingly or unwittingly, as if they are just bound to curse me. Naming them will not help, I don't think they know what they have done. They do not judge me objectively, but I will survive.
Perhaps, troubled times are over. I have met an amazing number of really nice people in the past month, who have been guiding and teaching me a lot, including how not to get in trouble. They helped me get the necessary contacts, even though it was a really round-about way. They stayed to edit my disasters, even though they did not really have to. God knows how on earth am I going to repay these people.
It is odd how all of us, regardless of our differences will become the same in the end. Tombstones marking plots of land are artificial. The segregation of burial grounds for different faiths is created by the living. When the living requires the space where you supposedly rest, they will take it away. As a plot is exhumed, new bodies arrive to fill the empty space at the other end of the cemetery.
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
I was wandering in Raffles City last Sunday, some time past midnight. The bustling shopping centre is quiet and lifeless, but filled with needless echoes. The terracotta soldiers on display are just absolutely freaky in their life-like statures. Mannequins stood behind glass windows which shimmer a green light. "Orange lollies on silver sticks." My heels clacked on the polished tiles, as I rushed to the washroom and back, to the good company of people, real ones.
.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.
I have had a lot of problems in the past two years, but there is a lot I should be thankful for. Some people have gotten in the way, wittingly or unwittingly, as if they are just bound to curse me. Naming them will not help, I don't think they know what they have done. They do not judge me objectively, but I will survive.
Perhaps, troubled times are over. I have met an amazing number of really nice people in the past month, who have been guiding and teaching me a lot, including how not to get in trouble. They helped me get the necessary contacts, even though it was a really round-about way. They stayed to edit my disasters, even though they did not really have to. God knows how on earth am I going to repay these people.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
la ville lumiere
Light is often seen as representing progress and civilisation. Yet, it is also an outward projection of our fears of darkness, a creation of a false sense of security. We need to see what we are up against, who our enemies are. Darkness breeds ambiguity, which humans detest.
Singaporeans have become so used to brightness. Evenly placed lights lining every street shine through the night. It is unnatural, yet we have no qualms about it. The urban environment is our natural habitat. The road outside my workplace is admittedly slightly dim. They are now installing streetlights there as well. Additional unnecessary expenditures that perhaps cultivate the weakness of spirit.
150 years ago, our ancestors lived by a single kerosene lamp in each household, and France tried to illuminate the region with the light of civilisation. Now, there are still countries in need of electrical lighting.
Singaporeans have become so used to brightness. Evenly placed lights lining every street shine through the night. It is unnatural, yet we have no qualms about it. The urban environment is our natural habitat. The road outside my workplace is admittedly slightly dim. They are now installing streetlights there as well. Additional unnecessary expenditures that perhaps cultivate the weakness of spirit.
150 years ago, our ancestors lived by a single kerosene lamp in each household, and France tried to illuminate the region with the light of civilisation. Now, there are still countries in need of electrical lighting.
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