I'm quite sure no one drops by to check my blog these days. I don't expect them to; it's been dead for months. So I'm not quite sure if anyone will read this, but in any case, I feel that I should update, if for no other reason than to keep a record for myself so that 10 years down the road I may read this and laugh. Of course, Blogger might not be around 10 years down the road. That raises interesting problems about sentimentality I suppose.
Anyway, I wanted to say that I'm passing out of my Naval Junior Ratings course tomorrow. It's like the most basic course in the Navy that everyone goes through. Next week I'll be informed of my vocation, so hopefully I'll get a good one. Thuis will be the third time I'm passing out of some course, despite the fact someone once said you only pass out once...
I'm frequently amazed at the places and situations in which I find myself in the military. Amazement does not necessarily connote delight of course, but in this case I find myself pleasantly surprised to be doing something I'm fairly familiar with out in the civilian world. My OC asked me to be the emcee for tomorrow's passing out ceremony this morning. This morning I was onboard ship, entereing harbour. This evening I'm sitting in front of my computer typing. I often find it... interesting to note how much difference a few hours can make in the military. In any case, I find it quite nice to be able to exercise skills one would not normally associate with uniformed personnel haha.
You know, whenever I visit my friend's blog I begin to worry at my increasing lack of introspection. All too often I find myself just being content to let the days slip by without trying to achieve something worthwhile. Or rather, I find myself hoping the days will pass by quicker so I can escape whatever unpleasant activities I have lined up for me on that particular days. There's so much time lost in the process, so much time lost doing nothing that was significant. I have become spiritually lazy. Sitting down to spend some quiet time is almost a chore. I cannot, or rather I'm too lazy, to focus on God. I think I have allowed myself to fall into this habit. After letting time just fly past me, I'm too lazy to get a grip on myself and re-focus. And all the while, the masquerade must go on, while my foundations slip. Perhaps "lack of introspection" was the wrong phrase. I know myself all too well. I'm just too lazy, and afraid, to act on it. Or should I say, to let Him act on it?
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Collective Punishment
It's not often these days when I find something noteworthy to post about, but today I feel particularly determined to discuss one of the main reasons I dislike the military. The reason I've taken so long to write about this is because I've never really formed a cogent argument about it till recently, and after this week I am determined to present my clearest exposition on regimentation. This is partly to clear my brain of all its internal agitation, and partially to correct the notion some outsiders have about the army being simply about training. "How hard could it get?" is the question that irks me the most.
There are many things that make up the Army Experience. Combat training, physical training, lack of freedom, staying away from family for extended periods of time; these are some of the few. To me though, the defining characteristic, nay, its most abhorrent characteristic I should say, is regimentation. Regimentation means discipline, means having everyone look the same, think the same things, move the same way, and otherwise behave as one man. On paper, this does not sound that bad. After all, standardisation and discipline are crucial to the success of any army. Indeed they are, and for this reason it is a necessary evil. But while I recognise the necessity, not for a moment do I lose sight of the greatness of its evil. And its evil is this: regimentation means that men are inevitably punished for the mistakes of others.
Put it this way: If I make a mistake, I do not mind being punished. The punishment is justifiable. When I say I "do not mind", it does not mean I like punishment. I hate it. What I mean is that I feel the punishment is fair, since I myself made a mistake. However, when I am punished because some people in my company made a mistake, that is when I feel great indignation. I understand the logic behind such a policy. In order for, say, 50 men to work together as a team, everyone must be made to understand that their individual actions affect the group. One of the clearest ways of conveying such a message is by punishing the whole group each time someone messes up. That way, people will be forced to work together in order to minimise individual errors.
It is a harsh policy, an unpleasant policy, but unfortunately, it seems to be the only policy that works. At the very least, it has been tried, tested and proven down through the ages. And yet, I cannot accept it. If the policy had a 100% success rate, it wouldn't be so bad, but the problem is that no matter how much punishment you mete out, there will always be the incorrigible few, and under such a policy, a few is enough to cause misery for the many. The continuous usage of collective punishment is frankly very stressful to me, and very unfair.
I cannot adequately explain to you the feeling of trying to complete your own work as best as you can, while at the same time worrying about others, because doing your best is not enough. If others screw up, you will pay for their mistakes. For 18 years, I was brought up to be accountable for my own actions. In school you were paid or punished for what you did. Other people's business remained strictly other people's business. That was the environment I grew up in.
When I entered the army I suddenly entered a world where what you did was not enough to ensure you a good life. That would depend on whether others cooperated with you. And it has proven to be a most stressful experience. It is not the training per se that bothers me. If training was all we went through I would still be upset at my situation, but less indignant about it. The problem is that I go through training and collective punishment. That increases the stress factor tremendously. It's the one thing that drags down my mood on book-in days, that brings about a black depression in my heart each time I think about camp. Yes, training, physical or combat, staying away from home, marching, all these things are tolerable, but it is the regimentation, the stifling of one's freedom and individuality, the constant fear of punishment no matter what you, THAT is what makes my life so miserable. Henceforth my friends, do not assume that my distress stems merely from training. It is the least of my worries.
That being said, I realised, as I thought about it, that collective punishment is part and parcel of life. In life the actions of others will affect you no matter what, and many a time we will have to suffer for the mistakes of others. Indeed the more I thought about it the more I realised that despite my intense dislike of the situation, it was the very same situation that drove Christ to the cross, where the faultless Lamb of God was slain for the sins of the whole world. He suffered the ultimate punishment for the mistakes of everyone else. And it is this thought that stops me in my tracks. In fact, it lightens my burden, and makes life in camp more bearable, knowing that I have a Captain who sympathises with me, who knows what I'm going through, having Himself been there and done that. It always amazes me in camp to discover the great variety of situations in which God's promise to Paul comes true, that His grace is indeed sufficient for me, because His strength is perfected in weakness. This is the answer a suffering world requires. Not an instant, miraculous deliverance, though that assuredly has been vouchsafed for the future, but rather the present, comforting assurance of a Brother in arms.
There are many things that make up the Army Experience. Combat training, physical training, lack of freedom, staying away from family for extended periods of time; these are some of the few. To me though, the defining characteristic, nay, its most abhorrent characteristic I should say, is regimentation. Regimentation means discipline, means having everyone look the same, think the same things, move the same way, and otherwise behave as one man. On paper, this does not sound that bad. After all, standardisation and discipline are crucial to the success of any army. Indeed they are, and for this reason it is a necessary evil. But while I recognise the necessity, not for a moment do I lose sight of the greatness of its evil. And its evil is this: regimentation means that men are inevitably punished for the mistakes of others.
Put it this way: If I make a mistake, I do not mind being punished. The punishment is justifiable. When I say I "do not mind", it does not mean I like punishment. I hate it. What I mean is that I feel the punishment is fair, since I myself made a mistake. However, when I am punished because some people in my company made a mistake, that is when I feel great indignation. I understand the logic behind such a policy. In order for, say, 50 men to work together as a team, everyone must be made to understand that their individual actions affect the group. One of the clearest ways of conveying such a message is by punishing the whole group each time someone messes up. That way, people will be forced to work together in order to minimise individual errors.
It is a harsh policy, an unpleasant policy, but unfortunately, it seems to be the only policy that works. At the very least, it has been tried, tested and proven down through the ages. And yet, I cannot accept it. If the policy had a 100% success rate, it wouldn't be so bad, but the problem is that no matter how much punishment you mete out, there will always be the incorrigible few, and under such a policy, a few is enough to cause misery for the many. The continuous usage of collective punishment is frankly very stressful to me, and very unfair.
I cannot adequately explain to you the feeling of trying to complete your own work as best as you can, while at the same time worrying about others, because doing your best is not enough. If others screw up, you will pay for their mistakes. For 18 years, I was brought up to be accountable for my own actions. In school you were paid or punished for what you did. Other people's business remained strictly other people's business. That was the environment I grew up in.
When I entered the army I suddenly entered a world where what you did was not enough to ensure you a good life. That would depend on whether others cooperated with you. And it has proven to be a most stressful experience. It is not the training per se that bothers me. If training was all we went through I would still be upset at my situation, but less indignant about it. The problem is that I go through training and collective punishment. That increases the stress factor tremendously. It's the one thing that drags down my mood on book-in days, that brings about a black depression in my heart each time I think about camp. Yes, training, physical or combat, staying away from home, marching, all these things are tolerable, but it is the regimentation, the stifling of one's freedom and individuality, the constant fear of punishment no matter what you, THAT is what makes my life so miserable. Henceforth my friends, do not assume that my distress stems merely from training. It is the least of my worries.
That being said, I realised, as I thought about it, that collective punishment is part and parcel of life. In life the actions of others will affect you no matter what, and many a time we will have to suffer for the mistakes of others. Indeed the more I thought about it the more I realised that despite my intense dislike of the situation, it was the very same situation that drove Christ to the cross, where the faultless Lamb of God was slain for the sins of the whole world. He suffered the ultimate punishment for the mistakes of everyone else. And it is this thought that stops me in my tracks. In fact, it lightens my burden, and makes life in camp more bearable, knowing that I have a Captain who sympathises with me, who knows what I'm going through, having Himself been there and done that. It always amazes me in camp to discover the great variety of situations in which God's promise to Paul comes true, that His grace is indeed sufficient for me, because His strength is perfected in weakness. This is the answer a suffering world requires. Not an instant, miraculous deliverance, though that assuredly has been vouchsafed for the future, but rather the present, comforting assurance of a Brother in arms.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Smooth sailing, my foot
Ok, time for another rare post. For all those who have yet to find out, I've been posted to the navy, and no, I am not going to become some vulgar, tatooed Singaporean version of Popeye or Jack Sparrow, although, as I told Owen, this adds new meaning to my title as captain of the 2005 debating team. In reality my job is far more mundane, or at least, I hope it is. For now I think it involves mainly pushing buttons, but I haven't been assigned a specific post yet since I haven't been trained. I will not say more about my posting here because, well, if walls have ears, then the Internet has too many eyes. With regards to my feelings about my current situation, all I will say is that I hope I will be able to tolerate one month of inanity because after that, my life, from what I gather, will literally be smooth sailing. Right now, frustrated tedium would be a better term to describe it.
Moving on, I went down to ACJC yesterday to watch my new juniors debate. Thankfully they show much more potential than their immediate predecessors, and are far humbler and willing to learn. Of course if you think about it, the person who admits he has still much to learn is often the wiser person. In any case, these are diamonds in the rough who just might be able to move past the quarter finals at this year's Nationals. It remains to be seen however, what the impact the entry of polytechnic teams into the championships will have on the dynamics of the debating circle. I foresee some interesting arguments.
Anyway, those few hours spent listening to debates made me realise how much I missed being on the floor. Hopefully I'll be free enough to adjudicate in the Nationals. After all, if I can't debate, I guess judging would be the next best thing, painful though it often is...
Moving on, I went down to ACJC yesterday to watch my new juniors debate. Thankfully they show much more potential than their immediate predecessors, and are far humbler and willing to learn. Of course if you think about it, the person who admits he has still much to learn is often the wiser person. In any case, these are diamonds in the rough who just might be able to move past the quarter finals at this year's Nationals. It remains to be seen however, what the impact the entry of polytechnic teams into the championships will have on the dynamics of the debating circle. I foresee some interesting arguments.
Anyway, those few hours spent listening to debates made me realise how much I missed being on the floor. Hopefully I'll be free enough to adjudicate in the Nationals. After all, if I can't debate, I guess judging would be the next best thing, painful though it often is...
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
When a Saint goes marching in
I did not, indeed could not see this day when first I set foot on that wretched island 13 weeks ago, and yet here I am, sitting back at home typing this, after having successfully completed my BMT Graduation Parade.
I am officially a private now. I have passed out of basic military training into almost two weeks of block leave. The sequel to this is something I will not think of now, since I'll only know of my new posting next Friday. Until then, we may rejoice.
Rejoice! Rejoice! And again I say rejoice!
Right, anyway, my immediate concern is my university application. I'm pretty set on NUS, since its the only uni in Singapore with a credible Arts Fac. Why not overseas you may wonder. Well, firstly, there is the question of money. Secondly, even if money wasn't an issue, I can't bear to leave home for long. Staying on a bloody island off Singapore's shores is bad enough, what more studying on an island off Europe's shores? At the heart of the matter, I'm just too lazy to do my own laundry. And, I'm sick of communal living.
So, back to NUS. I'm currently interested in majoring in philosophy, because I'm fascinated with the subject. The philosophy class at NUS is very small yearly, but that's fine with me since students will get greater attention from the professors. Personally I would like to sit in an ivory tower for the rest of my life musing on life's imponderables, but that's impossible, so I'll settle with a philosophy major. If possible I'd like to do a double major, with Lit as the second major. Alternatively it could be history or political science. I haven't made up my mind. I'll wait for the first year when I take the introductory modules. The problem with university education, especially in the Arts, is that I find so many things I'm interested in, and yet have so little time, and energy, to do them. Ah well, one cannot have one's cake and eat it.
Ok, I'm tired. Going off now.
I am officially a private now. I have passed out of basic military training into almost two weeks of block leave. The sequel to this is something I will not think of now, since I'll only know of my new posting next Friday. Until then, we may rejoice.
Rejoice! Rejoice! And again I say rejoice!
Right, anyway, my immediate concern is my university application. I'm pretty set on NUS, since its the only uni in Singapore with a credible Arts Fac. Why not overseas you may wonder. Well, firstly, there is the question of money. Secondly, even if money wasn't an issue, I can't bear to leave home for long. Staying on a bloody island off Singapore's shores is bad enough, what more studying on an island off Europe's shores? At the heart of the matter, I'm just too lazy to do my own laundry. And, I'm sick of communal living.
So, back to NUS. I'm currently interested in majoring in philosophy, because I'm fascinated with the subject. The philosophy class at NUS is very small yearly, but that's fine with me since students will get greater attention from the professors. Personally I would like to sit in an ivory tower for the rest of my life musing on life's imponderables, but that's impossible, so I'll settle with a philosophy major. If possible I'd like to do a double major, with Lit as the second major. Alternatively it could be history or political science. I haven't made up my mind. I'll wait for the first year when I take the introductory modules. The problem with university education, especially in the Arts, is that I find so many things I'm interested in, and yet have so little time, and energy, to do them. Ah well, one cannot have one's cake and eat it.
Ok, I'm tired. Going off now.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Reader, with a word unbury him
And thus do I resurrect my blog, which has not seen a post since the last day of the A Levels. Perhaps it is fitting that as the results loom ever closer I should deliver a new post.
I find that there is surprisingly little that can be said here about my recent history. I cannot condense my army experiences into a few words here. All attempts invariably result in a patchwork of fragmented incidents and anecdotes that, while providing glimpses into that world, fail to convey the full extent of my experience. In any case, it is not an experience I wish to relive here. What I can say is that I am passing out from Tekong soon, in fact that will be in two weeks time, following which I will have two weeks of leave. At present however I am only concerned with the coming week.
The reasons for this are few and simple: This week promises to be one of the most strenuous weeks I've had in a long time. Starting from tomorrow I will have a 16km route march, and then a whole week of repetitive and tiring exercises. But the real terror lies at the end of the week, when the results are released. It is a thought that robs me of joy in many moments, because I simply cannot predict what my scores will be. When I think back on those stressful days not too long ago (and yet to me I can now barely recall them), they fill me with uncertainty. I do not know whether I wrote those essays correctly, whether they were good enough, and deep down inside of me there is a real fear that they did not meet the mark. But fear has a strange way of making me feel as though I am the only one who feels this way, that I am alone in my fear, although I know this to be untrue. In all probability the people around me fret as much as I do. They just don't show it. And yet how well I know that misery loves company. It is the reason why I get irritated when I am surrounded by happy faces in the midst of my gloom. Thankfully I've found a few friends in camp who share similar feelings. In my worst moments, the bitterness I feel usually stems from the fact that there are too many people with whom I do not connect, not that I want to, because their company is not exactly pleasurable. It therefore helps a lot to meet a familiar face here and there who understands, or whom I think understands. In any case, in most instances, the silences are enough for me. Indeed they are what I want, and do not want.
My one hope to which I cling as I face Friday is and has to be God, Whom I have found to be dearer and more faithful to my unfaithfulness than I've ever felt before as I plow through army life. It is true, after all, that in the wilderness experiences we often encounter our appalling inadequacy and then run to the source of all fullness. What a joy and comfort it is that His love is so humble it accepts even these pitiful excuses we give when we turn back. After all, how noble can we seem if we only run to Him when our ships are sinking? And yet even so, His grace is sufficient for me.
I find that there is surprisingly little that can be said here about my recent history. I cannot condense my army experiences into a few words here. All attempts invariably result in a patchwork of fragmented incidents and anecdotes that, while providing glimpses into that world, fail to convey the full extent of my experience. In any case, it is not an experience I wish to relive here. What I can say is that I am passing out from Tekong soon, in fact that will be in two weeks time, following which I will have two weeks of leave. At present however I am only concerned with the coming week.
The reasons for this are few and simple: This week promises to be one of the most strenuous weeks I've had in a long time. Starting from tomorrow I will have a 16km route march, and then a whole week of repetitive and tiring exercises. But the real terror lies at the end of the week, when the results are released. It is a thought that robs me of joy in many moments, because I simply cannot predict what my scores will be. When I think back on those stressful days not too long ago (and yet to me I can now barely recall them), they fill me with uncertainty. I do not know whether I wrote those essays correctly, whether they were good enough, and deep down inside of me there is a real fear that they did not meet the mark. But fear has a strange way of making me feel as though I am the only one who feels this way, that I am alone in my fear, although I know this to be untrue. In all probability the people around me fret as much as I do. They just don't show it. And yet how well I know that misery loves company. It is the reason why I get irritated when I am surrounded by happy faces in the midst of my gloom. Thankfully I've found a few friends in camp who share similar feelings. In my worst moments, the bitterness I feel usually stems from the fact that there are too many people with whom I do not connect, not that I want to, because their company is not exactly pleasurable. It therefore helps a lot to meet a familiar face here and there who understands, or whom I think understands. In any case, in most instances, the silences are enough for me. Indeed they are what I want, and do not want.
My one hope to which I cling as I face Friday is and has to be God, Whom I have found to be dearer and more faithful to my unfaithfulness than I've ever felt before as I plow through army life. It is true, after all, that in the wilderness experiences we often encounter our appalling inadequacy and then run to the source of all fullness. What a joy and comfort it is that His love is so humble it accepts even these pitiful excuses we give when we turn back. After all, how noble can we seem if we only run to Him when our ships are sinking? And yet even so, His grace is sufficient for me.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Omega, and Alpha
There's nothing like a walk down Orchard late in the year to stir up my Christmas spirit. But before I go any further, allow me to make the mandatory announcement everyone's been making on their blogs, and one which I now declare with unabashed delight:
IT IS OVER. IT IS ACCOMPLISHED. IT IS FINISHED.
Apart from the unexpected easiness of the paper (it was remarkably straightforward, compared to what the other papers have been. One of the comparative poems for the PC section was even one of the comparative poems that came out for our prelims!), the sheer joy of having the weight of the A Levels being lifted off my shoulders is cause enough to make me smile all day. And indeed I have been doing that mostly today. First there were charming Brazillian chefs fawning over us with assorted skewers of meat (I personally loved the lamb. It wasn't that smelly. Too bad I discovered it late into the meal), then a cruise around Vivocity, then mindless entertainment by none other than Jack Black himself (I loved Ben Stiller's cameo), topped off with another meal. By the end of the day I was so bloated I felt positively nauseous at the sight of food. All that meat at lunch went a long way towards keeping me fairly fed for the rest of the day. Oh! and I even discovered my favourite type of coffee! The Columbian Supremo, from TCC. It is, as the menu eloquently puts it, the strongest of the mild coffees.
Yes, yes, yes, so Joel was a busy boy today, indulging in a whirlwind tour of entertainment not seen since, the end of the prelims? I doubt if I even came close then. And tomorrow, we shop!
I actually had a forecast of what prom would look like this evening. I was walking down Orchard past the Meritus Mandarin around 7, and as we looked in we realised another school's prom was about to begin. Lots of teenagers milling about fashionably dressed. I liked the look of it. I think this year's setting is much better than what it could have been, the Grand Copthorne. The Christmas decorations of Orchard certainly up the glitz factor, as well as making me feel all Christmassy and nostalgic. I always feel nostalgic when I look at Christmas decor. There's this sense of warmth, and longing within me for the past, and the nagging sadness that what was can never be again, at least, not for this year. Ha, well do I remember my incessant search for a Braun Buffel wallet last year. This year, such things matter so much less. Indeed, I don't even have a gift list for Christmas. My greatest wish is to snuggle up at home, next to the tree, eating roast beef and turkey and admiring the beauty of my boned in ham all sliced up on the table (it really looked like it was straight out of a catalogue when we set it up last year. Should have taken a picture). Oh well, one cannot always get what one desires.
To tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow! May all our days be as carefree as this season!
IT IS OVER. IT IS ACCOMPLISHED. IT IS FINISHED.
Apart from the unexpected easiness of the paper (it was remarkably straightforward, compared to what the other papers have been. One of the comparative poems for the PC section was even one of the comparative poems that came out for our prelims!), the sheer joy of having the weight of the A Levels being lifted off my shoulders is cause enough to make me smile all day. And indeed I have been doing that mostly today. First there were charming Brazillian chefs fawning over us with assorted skewers of meat (I personally loved the lamb. It wasn't that smelly. Too bad I discovered it late into the meal), then a cruise around Vivocity, then mindless entertainment by none other than Jack Black himself (I loved Ben Stiller's cameo), topped off with another meal. By the end of the day I was so bloated I felt positively nauseous at the sight of food. All that meat at lunch went a long way towards keeping me fairly fed for the rest of the day. Oh! and I even discovered my favourite type of coffee! The Columbian Supremo, from TCC. It is, as the menu eloquently puts it, the strongest of the mild coffees.
Yes, yes, yes, so Joel was a busy boy today, indulging in a whirlwind tour of entertainment not seen since, the end of the prelims? I doubt if I even came close then. And tomorrow, we shop!
I actually had a forecast of what prom would look like this evening. I was walking down Orchard past the Meritus Mandarin around 7, and as we looked in we realised another school's prom was about to begin. Lots of teenagers milling about fashionably dressed. I liked the look of it. I think this year's setting is much better than what it could have been, the Grand Copthorne. The Christmas decorations of Orchard certainly up the glitz factor, as well as making me feel all Christmassy and nostalgic. I always feel nostalgic when I look at Christmas decor. There's this sense of warmth, and longing within me for the past, and the nagging sadness that what was can never be again, at least, not for this year. Ha, well do I remember my incessant search for a Braun Buffel wallet last year. This year, such things matter so much less. Indeed, I don't even have a gift list for Christmas. My greatest wish is to snuggle up at home, next to the tree, eating roast beef and turkey and admiring the beauty of my boned in ham all sliced up on the table (it really looked like it was straight out of a catalogue when we set it up last year. Should have taken a picture). Oh well, one cannot always get what one desires.
To tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow! May all our days be as carefree as this season!
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Hatred
Words cannot fully express how much I hate the army right now. I cannot even bring myself to write down here all that is running through my mind because I can only do so with such bitterness, such anger, that it can only come out with the foulest vulgarities.
My friends, I beg of you, from now till the 15th of December, please, say absolutely NOTHING at all about the army in my presence. Not a word about the SAF, not a word about NS, not a word about enlistment dates. Nothing. No institution in the world right now can foul my mood faster than it can. Please, as a friend, I am asking all of you now to never ever mention anything about it again. We can talk about absolutely any other thing under the sun, but not this, not this, please. Don't even try to console me, or I shall suspect that you do not understand. Indeed I suspect only very few people have any authority at all right now to speak to me on this matter, and the only one I know is leaving very soon, and I shall miss you dearly, old friend, when you are gone. I hope with all my heart you enjoy your stay on Langkawi.
Sometimes it is better to remain silent on a topic you don't understand than to offer words of pity that can only engender more hatred.
My friends, I beg of you, from now till the 15th of December, please, say absolutely NOTHING at all about the army in my presence. Not a word about the SAF, not a word about NS, not a word about enlistment dates. Nothing. No institution in the world right now can foul my mood faster than it can. Please, as a friend, I am asking all of you now to never ever mention anything about it again. We can talk about absolutely any other thing under the sun, but not this, not this, please. Don't even try to console me, or I shall suspect that you do not understand. Indeed I suspect only very few people have any authority at all right now to speak to me on this matter, and the only one I know is leaving very soon, and I shall miss you dearly, old friend, when you are gone. I hope with all my heart you enjoy your stay on Langkawi.
Sometimes it is better to remain silent on a topic you don't understand than to offer words of pity that can only engender more hatred.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Well! I have a new template. It's um, very boring, yes, but I can't be bothered to find anything else. I'll just stick to what Blogger has. I changed because I;ve just switched to this new Beta Blogger thingy. Now it has improved layouts and management desktops, yada yada. I've been meaning to do it for a while now, never had the time. Well, this weekend just presented an opportunity, so here it is!
Friday, November 24, 2006
The End (almost)
I must say that I didn't feel particularly exhilarated after today's paper, partly because there were so many things to do immediately after it, like sign Mr Smith's card and rush off for lunch, and partly because, as always, the thought of the S Paper still to come was foremost in my mind. You'd expect that with every passing hour as the end draws nearer I'd get more excited, but the truth is actually counter-intuitive. I find that when the A Levels started, last Monday for instance, I was more hyped up as each paper passed, because I had the feeling that the end was drawing closer, that I was completing more papers each day, that I was actually doing productive work. Then, this week, today especially for instance, just when the A's are ending, I feel more and more impatient and lethargic actually, instead of happy, because to me it seems that despite all that's been done the end is still not here. This feeling happens all the time to me actually, on journeys especially. Like when I'm coming home from school sometimes, I feel ok at the start of the journey, but as I draw closer to home I get impatient cos each step is taking so long to bring me home. Actually come to think of it, I think it's a normal feeling. Beginnings are always fresh, but ends are often stale.
Anyway, I had lunch with Mr Smith today! He kept up a running commentary during lunch as you may imagine. Most of it was about dogs. He keeps a dog, a large crossbreed between Alsatian and something else which he's not sure of. He got it from the SPCA in 2000 anyway. Oh yeah, he's going to Cairns, and his dog has to leave one month in advance cos Australia has a one month quarantine rule for all animals entering the country. To prevent rabies epidemics and all...
But the most interesting thing was this. Owen asked him what Irish sounds like. Now a lot of us think the Irish speak English, or at least a variant of it, but in reality Irish is not English at all. It's Gaellic, with it's own alphabet and writing style. In pronunciation I suppose it sounds close to Tolkien's Elvish. Anyway, his name in Irish is actually Shawn MacGowan! That's not the proper spelling, I can't remember how he spelt it. I'm just typing it out the way it sounds. The "Mac" is pronounced as "muck", not "mack" like Macdonalds. "Mack" is the English pronunciation of it. In Irish it's "muck". And, "Mac" means "son of", like "Bin" in Malay. So he's basically Shawn son of Gowan. Ah, so now we know that Ewan MacGregor is the son of Gregor. (Ok, irrelevant digression)
Ah, dear old Mr Smith. I shall miss him when he leaves.
Anyway, I had lunch with Mr Smith today! He kept up a running commentary during lunch as you may imagine. Most of it was about dogs. He keeps a dog, a large crossbreed between Alsatian and something else which he's not sure of. He got it from the SPCA in 2000 anyway. Oh yeah, he's going to Cairns, and his dog has to leave one month in advance cos Australia has a one month quarantine rule for all animals entering the country. To prevent rabies epidemics and all...
But the most interesting thing was this. Owen asked him what Irish sounds like. Now a lot of us think the Irish speak English, or at least a variant of it, but in reality Irish is not English at all. It's Gaellic, with it's own alphabet and writing style. In pronunciation I suppose it sounds close to Tolkien's Elvish. Anyway, his name in Irish is actually Shawn MacGowan! That's not the proper spelling, I can't remember how he spelt it. I'm just typing it out the way it sounds. The "Mac" is pronounced as "muck", not "mack" like Macdonalds. "Mack" is the English pronunciation of it. In Irish it's "muck". And, "Mac" means "son of", like "Bin" in Malay. So he's basically Shawn son of Gowan. Ah, so now we know that Ewan MacGregor is the son of Gregor. (Ok, irrelevant digression)
Ah, dear old Mr Smith. I shall miss him when he leaves.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
It started last Friday. First my grandmother came down with stomach flu, vomitting and all. Then late Saturday my maid had stomachaches till Sunday morning. During that night my mother got stomach flu too. And on Sunday morning my brother woke up not feeling well. It later developed into diarrhoea and vomitting.
Just as it seemed to subside (my brother's problem cleared up quickly on Monday and my maid was fine by Monday too. My mom was feeling better by yesterday night), my father caught it. He blames it on the char kway teow he ate yesterday for lunch. So now he's stuck at home with stomach flu too.
I have no idea why, but one by one all the members of my family are coming down with stomach flu-related problems. The symptoms seem to be primarily occupied with what comes out of either end of the body. Now, I am the last man standing, ha!
Just as it seemed to subside (my brother's problem cleared up quickly on Monday and my maid was fine by Monday too. My mom was feeling better by yesterday night), my father caught it. He blames it on the char kway teow he ate yesterday for lunch. So now he's stuck at home with stomach flu too.
I have no idea why, but one by one all the members of my family are coming down with stomach flu-related problems. The symptoms seem to be primarily occupied with what comes out of either end of the body. Now, I am the last man standing, ha!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Turning Point
On this most auspicious of occasions (it is the weekend), I would like to take the opportunity to congratulate all of us taking this combi for making it thus far. I believe congrats are in order, not because the A's are over already, but for the sheer fact that we've made it through the most stressful week of our lives thus far, intact. Take time to consider this most wondrous fact, that as of today, each of you has completed 14 hours of A Level papers, 11 of which were done consecutively in one week, and all of which you never have to do again. Whether we have done well for each of those papers is another matter, and frankly, it is one that we cannot do anything about now and thus should not trouble our already troubled minds too much about. Rather, let us rejoice in the meer fact that we've actually sat for the papers, and completed them.
As for the rest, they should be relatively ok, even though I know I'm making an outrageous prediction here because after this week I think everyone knows the guys in Cambridge must have gone slightly off their rockers when setting our papers, but hey, I choose to be optimistic. Time will prove me wrong. Nevertheless, I marvel at the fact that it is actually Saturday, because I vividly remember last Saturday, when I was going around with thoughts of Monday plaguing me, thinking about how miserable the week was going to be. But tada! the week is over! We have only 2 more papers, 6 hours more. For us poor Lit S paper people we have 9 hours more, yes, and we have the unfortunate honour of being the last in Singapore to finish the A Levels, but still, The End is near!!! The bloody end is near!!! It's just nine freaking hours away!!!! Nine rather drawn out hours yes, but the end is still near!!! Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!!!
That brings me to my next point, which is yesterday's PC paper. I tell you, ever since Mrs Tan messaged me to ask what questions I did I've being going around muttering "sonnets" under my breath. The two bloody comparative poems were sonnets. Of course, it's not absolutely crucial to note that, but it would have been a bonus. I smack my head for not noticing that fact, because now the irony of the poems is further reinforced in hindsight by the usage of the sonnet form. Bloody sonnets. I can't seem to get that word out of my head. Sonnets. Of all the silly poems in the world, sonnets.
Ok ok, I'm going to stop thinking about it. I shall take my own advice and wash my hands clean of them. But I did truly like those poems. I love the word Ozymandias. So rich, so ancient, so exotic. "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" It echoes perfectly all those magnificent, dramatic and ancient statements that I'm so fond of. Hmm, I suppose that reveals something of my character haha. Power complex maybe.
On a sidenote, thank you to everyone who's commented positively on my last post, although I'm not quite sure why it's so critically acclaimed. I mean, I guess it's funny yes, but they're my genuine feelings. Ok, I'll concede that the crumbling walls thing was deliberately enhanced. I had merely a vague sense of bathos in the hall that day haha.
As for the rest, they should be relatively ok, even though I know I'm making an outrageous prediction here because after this week I think everyone knows the guys in Cambridge must have gone slightly off their rockers when setting our papers, but hey, I choose to be optimistic. Time will prove me wrong. Nevertheless, I marvel at the fact that it is actually Saturday, because I vividly remember last Saturday, when I was going around with thoughts of Monday plaguing me, thinking about how miserable the week was going to be. But tada! the week is over! We have only 2 more papers, 6 hours more. For us poor Lit S paper people we have 9 hours more, yes, and we have the unfortunate honour of being the last in Singapore to finish the A Levels, but still, The End is near!!! The bloody end is near!!! It's just nine freaking hours away!!!! Nine rather drawn out hours yes, but the end is still near!!! Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!!!
That brings me to my next point, which is yesterday's PC paper. I tell you, ever since Mrs Tan messaged me to ask what questions I did I've being going around muttering "sonnets" under my breath. The two bloody comparative poems were sonnets. Of course, it's not absolutely crucial to note that, but it would have been a bonus. I smack my head for not noticing that fact, because now the irony of the poems is further reinforced in hindsight by the usage of the sonnet form. Bloody sonnets. I can't seem to get that word out of my head. Sonnets. Of all the silly poems in the world, sonnets.
Ok ok, I'm going to stop thinking about it. I shall take my own advice and wash my hands clean of them. But I did truly like those poems. I love the word Ozymandias. So rich, so ancient, so exotic. "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" It echoes perfectly all those magnificent, dramatic and ancient statements that I'm so fond of. Hmm, I suppose that reveals something of my character haha. Power complex maybe.
On a sidenote, thank you to everyone who's commented positively on my last post, although I'm not quite sure why it's so critically acclaimed. I mean, I guess it's funny yes, but they're my genuine feelings. Ok, I'll concede that the crumbling walls thing was deliberately enhanced. I had merely a vague sense of bathos in the hall that day haha.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
An update.
Fear of something makes it larger than it really is. A simple, common truth that I forget again and again. It's actually mildly amusing when it happens. For example, last Thursday when we sat for GP, I went in and sat there thinking like, oh gosh, ok this is it, it's the A Levels!!! Every word I write is going to determine my future!! I must be extra careful!!!
And for around 5 minutes I could not actually calmly go through the list of questions, what with all that agitation inside me. And yet, after the paper, I realised that, hey, it was just another paper. It felt, afterwards, just like any other paper I've ever sat for in JC. Perhaps, one could almost call it anticlimatic. The atmosphere was just like after the prelims, or after BT2, or after BT1. It was like, oh well, here we are again in the hall, same old, same old, ladeedah, write the essay, pass it up, feels like any other class essay. You walk out of the hall and realise yes, it's still the same campus, stairs on your left, benches to your right, toilets ahead.
Somehow, I was subconsciously expecting more, like I thought the atmosphere would be more rarified, somehow exalted, the very air you breathe smelling more academic than usual. The Chief Presiding Examiner (for such a grand title I wished he looked more presidential) would announce dramatically, "Lo! It is the A Levels! At the opportune moment when the clock striketh Twelve, thou mayst begin thy furious writing! Godspeed and avaunt!" And then suddenly a clock will chime solemnly and the whole hall will look like some magnificent ancient Hall in Oxford or Cambridge with crumbling stone and ivy growing round the pillars, while beneath the vaulted roof march row upon row of wooden desks and seats, as far as the eye can see. And then one and a half hours later the clock will chime solemnly and the CPE will once again proclaim, "Behold! The hour is past and thy doom draweth nigh! Hold up thy pens and cease thy writing. Invigilators! (and here there would be a dreadful pause... before a sinister whisper) Collect their scripts..."
Oh well, compared to all that, I guess Potong Pasir just doesn't cut a very dashing figure. And it is for the best that the real thing isn't half as dramatic as my imagination. Familiarity still allows for the most ease in writing haha.
Fear of something makes it larger than it really is. A simple, common truth that I forget again and again. It's actually mildly amusing when it happens. For example, last Thursday when we sat for GP, I went in and sat there thinking like, oh gosh, ok this is it, it's the A Levels!!! Every word I write is going to determine my future!! I must be extra careful!!!
And for around 5 minutes I could not actually calmly go through the list of questions, what with all that agitation inside me. And yet, after the paper, I realised that, hey, it was just another paper. It felt, afterwards, just like any other paper I've ever sat for in JC. Perhaps, one could almost call it anticlimatic. The atmosphere was just like after the prelims, or after BT2, or after BT1. It was like, oh well, here we are again in the hall, same old, same old, ladeedah, write the essay, pass it up, feels like any other class essay. You walk out of the hall and realise yes, it's still the same campus, stairs on your left, benches to your right, toilets ahead.
Somehow, I was subconsciously expecting more, like I thought the atmosphere would be more rarified, somehow exalted, the very air you breathe smelling more academic than usual. The Chief Presiding Examiner (for such a grand title I wished he looked more presidential) would announce dramatically, "Lo! It is the A Levels! At the opportune moment when the clock striketh Twelve, thou mayst begin thy furious writing! Godspeed and avaunt!" And then suddenly a clock will chime solemnly and the whole hall will look like some magnificent ancient Hall in Oxford or Cambridge with crumbling stone and ivy growing round the pillars, while beneath the vaulted roof march row upon row of wooden desks and seats, as far as the eye can see. And then one and a half hours later the clock will chime solemnly and the CPE will once again proclaim, "Behold! The hour is past and thy doom draweth nigh! Hold up thy pens and cease thy writing. Invigilators! (and here there would be a dreadful pause... before a sinister whisper) Collect their scripts..."
Oh well, compared to all that, I guess Potong Pasir just doesn't cut a very dashing figure. And it is for the best that the real thing isn't half as dramatic as my imagination. Familiarity still allows for the most ease in writing haha.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Travel far
I was just reading Neil Humphrey's book on Singapore, and it made me feel incredibly sad. I was reading a chapter where he talks about his experience of going on a trip to America with a Singaporean tour group. The chapter was mainly about him griping about the usual ugly displays of kiasuism, but what struck me more was the fact that the itinerary he described seemed quite similar to the one I had when I visited the Land of the Free four years ago. And for that reason, it made me incredibly sad.
Call it nostalgia, but for me it was also a realization of the future. I suddenly remembered what it was like to stand on the hillside overlooking Toledo, Spain, a lovely medieval town. I suddenly remembered watching the waves of the Pacific crash onto the American coast. I suddenly remembered my family together on tour. And I also suddenly realised that such an experience might quite possibly never happen again.
You see, the last time I went on tour with my family was two years ago, after the O Levels. It was always my dream to go flying again after the A's, before I entered the army. That dream is now gone. And by the time I leave the army, I don't know if the circumstances will allow another trip. It is quite possible that my tour to Spain was my last family tour. And that struck me to the heart.
I walked out of my bedroom and I was suddenly struck by the sight of all those photos. My family displays photoframes of the places we've been in the living room. So everywhere I turned I saw pictures of us smiling, in San Francisco, Paris, Korea, Lisbon, Australia and so on. It sounds melodramatic but I really felt sad at that point. The only possible planes I'll be on in the next two years will be ugly green transports ferrying me to my next destination where I shall further my training in shooting, trekking in jungles, and generally trying to defend this island. Even when I do tour again it probably won't be the same again without my family. God, I hate the army for what they've done.
To the guys who only enlist in January or April, to the girls who don't have to enlist at all, please, buy a plane ticket, and go somewhere with your loved ones before it's too late. If all travel does is to broaden our horizons, it will have been enough. There is more to this world than this concrete jungle ensconced by water.
As for me, there remains a box of chocolates.
Call it nostalgia, but for me it was also a realization of the future. I suddenly remembered what it was like to stand on the hillside overlooking Toledo, Spain, a lovely medieval town. I suddenly remembered watching the waves of the Pacific crash onto the American coast. I suddenly remembered my family together on tour. And I also suddenly realised that such an experience might quite possibly never happen again.
You see, the last time I went on tour with my family was two years ago, after the O Levels. It was always my dream to go flying again after the A's, before I entered the army. That dream is now gone. And by the time I leave the army, I don't know if the circumstances will allow another trip. It is quite possible that my tour to Spain was my last family tour. And that struck me to the heart.
I walked out of my bedroom and I was suddenly struck by the sight of all those photos. My family displays photoframes of the places we've been in the living room. So everywhere I turned I saw pictures of us smiling, in San Francisco, Paris, Korea, Lisbon, Australia and so on. It sounds melodramatic but I really felt sad at that point. The only possible planes I'll be on in the next two years will be ugly green transports ferrying me to my next destination where I shall further my training in shooting, trekking in jungles, and generally trying to defend this island. Even when I do tour again it probably won't be the same again without my family. God, I hate the army for what they've done.
To the guys who only enlist in January or April, to the girls who don't have to enlist at all, please, buy a plane ticket, and go somewhere with your loved ones before it's too late. If all travel does is to broaden our horizons, it will have been enough. There is more to this world than this concrete jungle ensconced by water.
As for me, there remains a box of chocolates.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Yesterday part of the cell went to Woodlands to celebrate Tedric's birthday. Yes, Woodlands, of all places. At first I was shocked, cos the message read that he had a night out so I assumed that he had the whole night out in which case why go to Woodlands if his camp is nearby? It turned out that army guys get Wednesday night off each week, but they have to return to camp by the end of the night.
However instead of the birthday boy being the center of attention, it was Shannon. Shannon is this most adorable four month old baby with absolutely marvellous large round eyes. I'm a sucker for large round eyes in babies. She has cute little bulldog cheeks (it doesn't sound nice here, but you have to imagine her cheeks bulging out, a bit like a bulldog's), and she hardly ever cries. It is technically possible to just sit and watch her for hours without growing bored. She has the entire cell enraptured everywhere she goes, and it's impossible to describe her cuteness wihout using superlatives all day long. She's just soooo cuuuttteee!!
However, Shannon is also a sign of our age. By the time she's 18, I'll be 36. When she's 21, I'll be 39. When your cell leader becomes a father, you know you're growing old. I really can't imagine the cell walking around, middle aged, while Shannon and co. run past, echoes of our long lost youth. It will be, "Hi, Uncle Joel! Hi, Uncle Landy! Hi Aunty Anna, etc..", while I, in polo tee and shorts (the classic uncle look as Quek calls it) watch on benevolently. Benevolence. The very word implies age.
Ah well, there is a certain dignity in a paunch and shiny top. I can very well imagine myself sipping kopi in the verandah of the club house after a game of golf somewhere in Malaysia.
In other news, I have somewhat to say about the haze. I can't stand this irritating white smog everywhere I go. Even now as I write I'm breathing in ash. Every morning upon awakening I see my surrounding neighbourhood blanketed in white clouds. As you may know, I live on the 19th floor, so I command a view of the entire south of the island. On a normal day I can see the whole city, plus Orchard Road (I can even see Tangs and Ngee Ann City). Now, all I see day after day is a blank wall in every direction. It wouldn't even be so bad if it didn't smell so much like smoke. The only redeeming quality about the haze I can think of is the European fog-like ambience it gives Singapore, albeit a choking, smelly fog-like quality...
However instead of the birthday boy being the center of attention, it was Shannon. Shannon is this most adorable four month old baby with absolutely marvellous large round eyes. I'm a sucker for large round eyes in babies. She has cute little bulldog cheeks (it doesn't sound nice here, but you have to imagine her cheeks bulging out, a bit like a bulldog's), and she hardly ever cries. It is technically possible to just sit and watch her for hours without growing bored. She has the entire cell enraptured everywhere she goes, and it's impossible to describe her cuteness wihout using superlatives all day long. She's just soooo cuuuttteee!!
However, Shannon is also a sign of our age. By the time she's 18, I'll be 36. When she's 21, I'll be 39. When your cell leader becomes a father, you know you're growing old. I really can't imagine the cell walking around, middle aged, while Shannon and co. run past, echoes of our long lost youth. It will be, "Hi, Uncle Joel! Hi, Uncle Landy! Hi Aunty Anna, etc..", while I, in polo tee and shorts (the classic uncle look as Quek calls it) watch on benevolently. Benevolence. The very word implies age.
Ah well, there is a certain dignity in a paunch and shiny top. I can very well imagine myself sipping kopi in the verandah of the club house after a game of golf somewhere in Malaysia.
In other news, I have somewhat to say about the haze. I can't stand this irritating white smog everywhere I go. Even now as I write I'm breathing in ash. Every morning upon awakening I see my surrounding neighbourhood blanketed in white clouds. As you may know, I live on the 19th floor, so I command a view of the entire south of the island. On a normal day I can see the whole city, plus Orchard Road (I can even see Tangs and Ngee Ann City). Now, all I see day after day is a blank wall in every direction. It wouldn't even be so bad if it didn't smell so much like smoke. The only redeeming quality about the haze I can think of is the European fog-like ambience it gives Singapore, albeit a choking, smelly fog-like quality...
Saturday, October 14, 2006
In the light of the North Korean nuclear crisis and the worsening international relations with the Dear Leader, I have seen fit to create a new email account for business only. If you look at my current email address you will understand why I have undertaken this move. I don't think universities or scholarship committees would be very impressed with the sentiments my address seems to imply I have. I will still be using the current account though, since all my messanger contacts are there. If anyone wants my new account just msg me and I'll send it over. But no spamming please...
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
These are the last days
These are the last days of the sun at dawn,
The morning draws to a close.
Weep farewell to the mists of youth
That softened the glare of life.
What though the mid-day be glorious
And the sun's light strongest?
Strong light burns harshest.
And have not men turned fey
In a quest for second birth?
Yet, to Cuivienen there is no returning,
And the sun, being risen, must fade into evening.
Let us therefore make our farewells sweet,
And gird up our loins as we speak,
For these are indeed the last days of the sun at dawn.
When I got home today I was seized by a strong realization that tomorrow, my twelve years of education in St. Andrew's formally draws to a close. Of course, I've known this fact all along. But knowing something and knowing it are two different things. That realization brought a tinge of sadness along with it. It's like an entire chapter of my life is now closing. No more classes, no more morning assemblies, no more morning devotions, no school song, no national anthem, none of the regularity of the school year, no more teachers. My childhood ends tomorrow. From then on we are on our own, borne along only by the support of friends and family. But in the rest of our lives, especially the educational sphere, we will be for the first time truly on our own. There will be no teachers in the conventional sense to guide, just distant professors. The spoon feeding comes to an end. And in the looming background, now drawing all too close with every passing day, is that terrible debt of service to the nation, my pound of flesh.
I think a lot of people feel it differently from me. In class I think only Hanis would understand what I mean when I say a chapter in my life is closing. For others I think it is also the end of a part of their lives, but they might have already gone through institutional changes in the past, so tomorrow, the end for them means the end of formal pre-university education. For me it's that plus more, the end of the St. Andrew's era in my life. The end of that unique brand of education through all my formative years, warts and all. It will not be long before I stop wearing the blue and the white forever. I think I'll go and preserve my uniforms.
The morning draws to a close.
Weep farewell to the mists of youth
That softened the glare of life.
What though the mid-day be glorious
And the sun's light strongest?
Strong light burns harshest.
And have not men turned fey
In a quest for second birth?
Yet, to Cuivienen there is no returning,
And the sun, being risen, must fade into evening.
Let us therefore make our farewells sweet,
And gird up our loins as we speak,
For these are indeed the last days of the sun at dawn.
When I got home today I was seized by a strong realization that tomorrow, my twelve years of education in St. Andrew's formally draws to a close. Of course, I've known this fact all along. But knowing something and knowing it are two different things. That realization brought a tinge of sadness along with it. It's like an entire chapter of my life is now closing. No more classes, no more morning assemblies, no more morning devotions, no school song, no national anthem, none of the regularity of the school year, no more teachers. My childhood ends tomorrow. From then on we are on our own, borne along only by the support of friends and family. But in the rest of our lives, especially the educational sphere, we will be for the first time truly on our own. There will be no teachers in the conventional sense to guide, just distant professors. The spoon feeding comes to an end. And in the looming background, now drawing all too close with every passing day, is that terrible debt of service to the nation, my pound of flesh.
I think a lot of people feel it differently from me. In class I think only Hanis would understand what I mean when I say a chapter in my life is closing. For others I think it is also the end of a part of their lives, but they might have already gone through institutional changes in the past, so tomorrow, the end for them means the end of formal pre-university education. For me it's that plus more, the end of the St. Andrew's era in my life. The end of that unique brand of education through all my formative years, warts and all. It will not be long before I stop wearing the blue and the white forever. I think I'll go and preserve my uniforms.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Yesterday in school while I was buying food Mr Lian walked up to me and patted me on the baxk, asking how I was, how I did for the prelims. I was quite surprised actually, since I only know him because of College Day. It's nice having a fellow kinsman in school, hahaha.
Later that day I went out for dinner with John, Kevin and Vincent, the Presidents' Association of Elohim (PAE), hahah. I love seeing these guys around in school. They never fail to brighten my day. I think I'm very blessed in a way to have my cell members in school. It's a pity I'm only fully appreciating this fact at the end of my tenure in JC. People like them really remind me of God's love; that warm, understanding environment where Christ is the head of the family. I wish at times I could just spend the rest of my days in church, but then again church is where we are empowered to go out into the world, and we can't all be hermits.
Later that day I went out for dinner with John, Kevin and Vincent, the Presidents' Association of Elohim (PAE), hahah. I love seeing these guys around in school. They never fail to brighten my day. I think I'm very blessed in a way to have my cell members in school. It's a pity I'm only fully appreciating this fact at the end of my tenure in JC. People like them really remind me of God's love; that warm, understanding environment where Christ is the head of the family. I wish at times I could just spend the rest of my days in church, but then again church is where we are empowered to go out into the world, and we can't all be hermits.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Introspection and humility
Introspection is a thing sorely lacking in our world. There are too many people busy peering into other people's lives, giving their own opinions and comments about them, without once considering their own lives. I have no doubt that this world would be a better place if everyone thought before they spoke, and by think here I mean not merely to check if what you want to say is sensible, but also if it is necessary, and helpful to the situation. The greatest problem with advancing such a stance, however, is that in order to promote introspection, a judgement first has to be made on the current practices of others, which is in itself a contradiction of the principle of introspection,that is, to judge not. You see, one can never tell people, "do not judge", or "think before you speak", or "consider the feelings of others if you were in their shoes", without arousing the self-defensive instincts of others. The reaction is almost invariably to hit back. "How dare you judge me yourself! Practice what you preach," or "It's very well for you to say so, but I don't see you doing what you just said". These are possible responses. And since the person who raises the objection to judging in the first place usually cannot respond credibly to such accusations, the cycle of accusation and recrimination goes on (sounds like Long Day's, I know, but it's the only way I could think of to express my point haha). Introspection can never be effectively preached; it must first be practiced.
It is a sad state of affairs, because it is a point desperately in need of acceptance, and yet one that few can propagate effectively. To be introspective, or to be circumspect, is a message superficially well-received from pulpits. I say superficially, because when preached from pulpits everyone of course agrees with it. After all, they think, X really ought to mind his business, or, how I wish Y could hear this message, what a slap to the face that would be. And therein lies the irony. That while listening to a message of introspection people would be busily thinking about all the people who should practice more introspection, without considering how the message applies to themselves. What is even more distressing is that apart from the pulpit the only really effective way to bring home such a point would be to raise it in those particular situations where introspection and consideration of others' feelings most need to be practiced, since those moments are the ones where people can really be made to see how introspection actually applies to their own, internal lives. And yet, those moments are also the ones where people get most defensive, since the credibility of whoever is raising the point can never be entirely secure, unless of course it was a pastor, in which case the defensiveness might be transformed into private mutterings of "It's easy for him to say..."
And so the problem perpetuates itself. If anything I think this is something that's been brought to my mind repeatedly recently, so maybe God's trying to tell me something. You know what's the biggest obstacle to introspection? Pride. Admitting that you have a plank in your own eye. The fear of others saying, Ha, he's finally learnt his lesson. Sometimes, isn't it easier to continue in a sin simply to avoid the admittance of guilt? Because to change one's ways would be to admit one was wrong in the first place.
Introspection must go hand in hand with humility.
It is a sad state of affairs, because it is a point desperately in need of acceptance, and yet one that few can propagate effectively. To be introspective, or to be circumspect, is a message superficially well-received from pulpits. I say superficially, because when preached from pulpits everyone of course agrees with it. After all, they think, X really ought to mind his business, or, how I wish Y could hear this message, what a slap to the face that would be. And therein lies the irony. That while listening to a message of introspection people would be busily thinking about all the people who should practice more introspection, without considering how the message applies to themselves. What is even more distressing is that apart from the pulpit the only really effective way to bring home such a point would be to raise it in those particular situations where introspection and consideration of others' feelings most need to be practiced, since those moments are the ones where people can really be made to see how introspection actually applies to their own, internal lives. And yet, those moments are also the ones where people get most defensive, since the credibility of whoever is raising the point can never be entirely secure, unless of course it was a pastor, in which case the defensiveness might be transformed into private mutterings of "It's easy for him to say..."
And so the problem perpetuates itself. If anything I think this is something that's been brought to my mind repeatedly recently, so maybe God's trying to tell me something. You know what's the biggest obstacle to introspection? Pride. Admitting that you have a plank in your own eye. The fear of others saying, Ha, he's finally learnt his lesson. Sometimes, isn't it easier to continue in a sin simply to avoid the admittance of guilt? Because to change one's ways would be to admit one was wrong in the first place.
Introspection must go hand in hand with humility.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
I came home, and felt completely exhausted after a bath. It's been happening more often these days. It's as if the experience of going through a school day is just so physically draining now. Maybe it's just the tension of waiting to get back all the results. Do you realise today is only Thursday? One week ago we were still revelling in our post prelim freedom. In fact, it's only been less than two weeks since the end of the prelims. And yet, it seems so long ago when I wrote the last sentence of the last essay of the last paper. Paradoxically, the five weeks left before the first A Level paper seem too short for me. Hai, I just want to get back all my results quickly so I can stop mental marking and anticipating and actually focus on pure mugging.
Today we got back our Lit pc paper. I shall not talk much about that here. What's done is done, really, and I shall just pray that in the A's I'll interpret the passages correctly.
What was more interesting was our GP lesson. An essay question on God and Science turned into a really philosophical discussion, the kind I like. Morality is such a fascinating field of study. Someone once said that it takes more faith to be an atheist than to believe in God. I really think that's true. Science is actually a poor place to begin if you want to disprove the existence of God. So many physicists have turned believers in recent years because their study of the universe throws up more and more evidence of the unmistakable print of Intelligent Design. The chances of life randomly forming out of inanimate matter, back at the beginning of the universe, were as low as if a tornado were to blow into a warehouse and accidentally form a working Boeing 747 plane, as a researcher once put it. Ignoring all other evidence, I think even this point alone must give atheists pause. They say we believe blindly, ignoring all the evidence against God. On the contrary, I say we have made a thorough study of the universe, and having found it incredible that such a world as this could exist by chance, have reached the logical conclusion that at least a creative higher power exists. Which is more unbelievable? That the Red Sea could part due to divinely directed wind, or that by random chance the human brain, in all its marvellous complexity so much so that if even one small part were out of place it would cease to function, could evolve from inanimate matter? It's like believing the pieces of a watch could assemble themselves to form a fully working device by the chance of a hundred million years. Nay, for all of creation redounds to the glory of God, so that men are left without excuse.
Deep thinking on a Thursday afternoon, and we're only scratching the surface. I'm going to bed...
Today we got back our Lit pc paper. I shall not talk much about that here. What's done is done, really, and I shall just pray that in the A's I'll interpret the passages correctly.
What was more interesting was our GP lesson. An essay question on God and Science turned into a really philosophical discussion, the kind I like. Morality is such a fascinating field of study. Someone once said that it takes more faith to be an atheist than to believe in God. I really think that's true. Science is actually a poor place to begin if you want to disprove the existence of God. So many physicists have turned believers in recent years because their study of the universe throws up more and more evidence of the unmistakable print of Intelligent Design. The chances of life randomly forming out of inanimate matter, back at the beginning of the universe, were as low as if a tornado were to blow into a warehouse and accidentally form a working Boeing 747 plane, as a researcher once put it. Ignoring all other evidence, I think even this point alone must give atheists pause. They say we believe blindly, ignoring all the evidence against God. On the contrary, I say we have made a thorough study of the universe, and having found it incredible that such a world as this could exist by chance, have reached the logical conclusion that at least a creative higher power exists. Which is more unbelievable? That the Red Sea could part due to divinely directed wind, or that by random chance the human brain, in all its marvellous complexity so much so that if even one small part were out of place it would cease to function, could evolve from inanimate matter? It's like believing the pieces of a watch could assemble themselves to form a fully working device by the chance of a hundred million years. Nay, for all of creation redounds to the glory of God, so that men are left without excuse.
Deep thinking on a Thursday afternoon, and we're only scratching the surface. I'm going to bed...
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Reading through various blogs I began to hope that as we age, or should I say mature, our angst will decrease. I won't say a majority, but a great many of the blogs I've seen are filled with posts that reek of teenage angst. I sometimes wonder why so many people around this age seem to go through such miserable, dysfunctional private lives. Perhaps that's over-stating the problem a bit. Everyone has their own internal problems after all, and God knows I flare up in angst from time to time. And angst itself (such a..."teenage" word), is not strictly confined to adolescence. It is used to describe a strong feelings of unhappiness and anxiety about a situation in life. I think the reason why it's been applied to teenagers so often is because this is the age group that handles problems worst. We are not more prone to troubles than others. We just handle them badly, and out of the mire of our messes there arises a need for catharsis or expression, amply found in blogging. And because if this, we see plenty of blog posts filled with rants and angst, spewing forth frustration at the world/school/whatever's-bothering-you-now. This therefore exaggerates the actual amount of angst in the lives of teenagers, making them all easily stereotyped as emo/angsty/conflicted types.
Then there's another, simpler explanation of course, that we all really lead such miserable lives, and that the angst in blogs is not exaggerated at all, but rather an honest expression of misery and frustration. Indeed, who can say how miserable one should feel before becoming angsty? One person's molehill is another's mountain.
If you ask me though, I subscribe more to the first explanation, but like every good arts student I realise there are many factors in this issue, therefore no one explanation is sufficient haha. And I would add that teenage angst is often exaggerated because of language. I am quite sure that people of all ages and of all time periods in history suffer from angst, but one reason why this particular generation seems so angsty is because of its language. Vulgarities and curses adorn the pages of many a blog, because in this day and age, the f-word is apparently the best way of expressing one's frustration. And since the f-word was orginally created as an extremely vulgar word, its assimilation into the everyday language of youths, indeed of society in general, must appear as a reflection of the moral degradation of our time, that we have allowed our standards to slip. And what is more, the development of blogging has allowed people to post such language online for the world to see, where once it was confined only to conversations. This therefore amplifies the sense of angst among the youth of today. No doubt the people of the past had their own unique curses, but I do believe rectititude, self-control, and social grace was higher then, thereby limiting the coarseness of everyday language.
In conclusion therefore, I have no idea why I posted that whole load of pseudo-pyschoanalysis and why the whole thing began to sound like a gp essay. It's the first time in a long time I've posted on a random issue out of the blue, I think. Haha, ah well, I think I'm too bored...
Then there's another, simpler explanation of course, that we all really lead such miserable lives, and that the angst in blogs is not exaggerated at all, but rather an honest expression of misery and frustration. Indeed, who can say how miserable one should feel before becoming angsty? One person's molehill is another's mountain.
If you ask me though, I subscribe more to the first explanation, but like every good arts student I realise there are many factors in this issue, therefore no one explanation is sufficient haha. And I would add that teenage angst is often exaggerated because of language. I am quite sure that people of all ages and of all time periods in history suffer from angst, but one reason why this particular generation seems so angsty is because of its language. Vulgarities and curses adorn the pages of many a blog, because in this day and age, the f-word is apparently the best way of expressing one's frustration. And since the f-word was orginally created as an extremely vulgar word, its assimilation into the everyday language of youths, indeed of society in general, must appear as a reflection of the moral degradation of our time, that we have allowed our standards to slip. And what is more, the development of blogging has allowed people to post such language online for the world to see, where once it was confined only to conversations. This therefore amplifies the sense of angst among the youth of today. No doubt the people of the past had their own unique curses, but I do believe rectititude, self-control, and social grace was higher then, thereby limiting the coarseness of everyday language.
In conclusion therefore, I have no idea why I posted that whole load of pseudo-pyschoanalysis and why the whole thing began to sound like a gp essay. It's the first time in a long time I've posted on a random issue out of the blue, I think. Haha, ah well, I think I'm too bored...
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