A Chat with a Stranger

He may be standing tall but he certainly showed genuine humility or at least courtesy…

“Is there any problem?” the guy asked with a deeply-accented voice.

“Uh…”

I was in a photocopy shop opposite USM. The heavily bearded guy, who I later learnt, was a Jordanian, came in a little while after me. When he first entered and greeted me with a warm smile, I was quite taken aback by his sheer height. He may be standing tall but he certainly showed genuine humility or at least courtesy, I thought.

I watched with amusement as Mr So-Very-Tall Guy took a seat and placed his black briefcase next to him. (That briefcase made me think of the one carried by Felix the cat.) He then helped himself with some Chinese magazine, which I believed was all Greek to him as is Arabic to me.

In the meantime, the lady working in the photocopy shop was switching from one photocopying machine to another… God knows why. It wasn’t long before Mr So-Very-Tall Guy “went though” the stack of magazines, wondering why she was taking so long.

When he asked me if there was any problem with the photocopy machine, I naturally took it as a rhetorical question. “Nope. The machine’s all right. The problem’s with the lady,” was what I wanted to say.

“Are you from USM?” I diverted his question instead.

“Yeah.” And it turned out Mr So-Very-Tall Guy was from Jordan, “one of the poorest countries in Asia”, as he put it. He came over to Penang to study Computer Science on his own expenses.

“You’re from USM too?” he asked.

“No, no! I’m still in High School.”

“Oh, you look as tall as an adult,” he commented.

Wow, what a joke! A so-very-tall guy calling a not-so-tall guy tall! I took it as a compliment anyway.

Then, we talked about this and that. And when I asked him why did he opt to complete his Master’s Degree here in Malaysia, “I find this place nice” was his reply. That’s the irony. While we Malaysians are dying to get out from the country, those from the poorer countries are ready to eke out their money to study in our local universities. Is it our mentality or our quality of living in relative, that brings to this? Frankly speaking, I think the former one is the stronger reason, for, like the stereotypical Malaysians, I’m sceptical of the local system of education.

As I was thinking of this, the lady was still struggling with the photocopying machine. Sigh, I wondered if she had just purchased this “sophisticated” technology from some alien workshop and had not have the chance to go through the manual.

“Slow. She works really slow,” Mr So-Very-Tall Guy remarked.

I replied with a wide grin. Couldn’t agree more!

Jekyll and Hyde

I'm complicated, sentimental, lovable, honest, loyal, decent, generous, likable, and lonely. My personality is not split; it's shredded. ~Jack Paar

“I didn’t know you’re so cheeky!” Cheeky, in this case, is just an euphemism for naughty.

“I’ve a Jekyll and Hyde personality,” I blurted.

My reply at that time was meant as a joke. But now, the more I think of it, I could be right afterall.

I believe there is a Mr Hyde dwelling inside me and is up to no good at inopportunate times. At the same time, there is an exact opposite of him to balance up, whom I shall call Mr Jekyll.

If you want a solid idea, a cartoon representation of Jekyll and Hyde will be a devil with a pitchfork and an angel with a halo, hovering on both sides of my shoulder. But strictly speaking, that is just an embodiment of the human conscience, while mine is a mild case of split identity, to put it crudely.

Mr Jekyll is a good-natured, slightly introverted gentleman who wishes to lead a quietude life which has nothing to do with the harsh world outside. He prefers to keep to himself and to immerse in scholarly pursuits. Also, Mr Jekyll is strongly against anything that raises the adrenaline for he is somewhat lethargic.

Taoists believe that where there is light, there is darkness; where there is warmth, there is coldness; where there is good, there is evil. And therefore, there won’t be a balance if there is a Mr Jekyll but no Mr Hyde.

Mr Hyde, on the other hand, has an outgoing nature and constantly yearns to bask in the limelight. He tends to be aggressive at times, though not at the expense of his principles, for he still has a moral backbone. With extra energy to burn, he is always on the move to seek stimulations in his otherwise bland life.

All is well if Mr Jekyll and Mr Hyde manage to reconcile and coexist in a balanced manner. But the problem is, these two conflicting personalities are always in a tug of war in the bid to take control of the physique. Whoever wins, consciousness shall succumb to him. I guess that more or less explains my constant moodswings and inconsistent personalities.

I’m sad to say that of late, the lazy, sloppy Mr Hyde seems to be in control most of the time. He’s rather sick of being confined to Mr Jekyll’s sedentary lifestyle which is lack of thrills. Forget about books! Mr Hyde’s golden axiom is: Life is all about indulgences!

So, who am I now?

Let’s see… Is that a full moon out there? Hmm, I believe the scale is tilted more towards Mr Hyde.

Now, please excuse me. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist.

Mass Hypnosis

He who joyfully marches to music in rank and file has already earned my contempt. He has been given a large brain by mistake, since for him the spinal cord would suffice. ~Albert Einstein

It is a laughing stock that despite being homo sapiens who are supposedly sapient enough to have our own free will, some people just don’t enjoy this liberty. Instead, those that make up the foolish multitude readily subject themselves to the whims of others, at least in the subconscious level. Such phenomena are dubbed mass hypnosis. Commonplace though ridiculous, marching and music concerts serve as good examples.

Marching develops one’s self-discipline, they say. However, just because I hate marching doesn’t mean I’m sloppier than you and my room is more like a pigsty than yours. No sirree! I don’t believe it can shape one’s character. Neither does my mom, luckily! Otherwise, she would have forcibly enrolled me into the nearest army camp!

I never like marching, despite the fact that I was a scout for two years. (How I became one is just another of those silly mistakes I’ve ever made.) But the point is, there are only two kinds of people who are involved in marching: sadists and masochists.

When I joined boy scouts as I first entered secondary school, we had a bunch of seniors who takes pleasure in their juniors’ pain. Every Saturday morning, we were required to attend a marching session in the wee hours, when we were still in a semi-comatose condition – half-asleep, half-awake.

Our commander, whom I believe is a perfectionist, would bark orders in front of the squad and expect everything to go accordingly, flawless. Twenty push-ups was a standard punishment for each mistake made. In short, woe shall betide those who failed to march to precision. I guess I have a good reason to hate marching.

Anyway, watching the others marching in the field is a form of amusement. Come the sports day and you’ll have a chance to ridicule those in marching squads.

Firstly, there are those from the school band who dress up colourfully (and not to say, outlandishly) like the Nutcracker. Away they march into the field, followed by the Police Cadet. I never seem to be able to stifle my laughter as I see these people marching in such an awkward manner as if they have severe athritis. They simply look like the Tin Woodman (from The Wizard of Oz) who hasn’t got his joints oiled. And, oh, as for the scouts, they march more like humans than machines, much to their rigid trainers’ chagrin.

As a rule of thumb, you need to brainwash your members if you want to have a perfect marching squad. In other words, a commander has to degrade his members into non-thinking entites that follow each of his commands without question. It thus amazes me how these people can seem to march on forever till the end of the world if they were not given the command to stop. What do you all this, if not hypnosis?

Music concerts are by large another form of mass hypnosis, which occurs at a greater magnitude. Take the recent Summer Concert, for instance. Fans were screaming as if they were bitten on the butt by some crazy dogs; some wildly shook along with the music as if they were high on drugs. Where else can you see such a chaotic scene? Noise pollution aside, I believe the crowd greatly contributed to global warming as well.

Never in this lifetime will you see me attending a concert like this. Most importantly, I don’t think it is much of an enjoyment to be elevated to the threshold of pain. Of course I can always choose to stuff my ears with cotton buds. But no thanks! I would rather stay at home. Don’t you notice that artistes usually sing off-pitch on stage? Frankly, even pirated CDs sound better than a live concert!

One of our local artistes, Michael Wong, was invited to Penang to perform in the Summer Concert. A day prior to the concert, he was spotted in Mc Donald’s in Gurney Drive. A friend of mine, who is apparently an avid fan went into a a state of frenzy, jumping up and down as if he was on a pogo stick upon hearing the news. “Did you manage to get his autograph? Did you? Did you?” he asked the other lucky guy who happened to be there at the same time as Michael Wong. The beaming look on his face was like that of an excited child’s face who just heard his friend met Santa Claus. “Did you manage to get Santa’s autograph? Did you? Did you?”

It is quite understandable if you like Michael Wong, because personally, I do. But, some people just have such shocking bad taste that they worship punky rock bands and rappers with perennial mouthache that they chant more than sing. And more ludicrously, there are even those who get bored listening to the best singers that they decide to switch to the worst ones, like our lovable William Hung, for instance. All of William’s fans out there, sorry but I’ve waited long enough to say this: William is more of a clown than a singer. Nevertheless, as a consolation to all of us who wish to strike it big, if you can’t be the best, you can become equally successful by becoming the worst.

Then, there are also those least sensible of all, who go into such an extent as worshipping their idols. Even though some celebrities have such bad fashion sense which earn them a place high up in the wanted list of the fashion police, whatever they wear, their fans would comment, “Gorgeous!”. And heaven forbid, if someone is willing to spend half his fortune to purchase Britney’s alleged pregnancy test kit, likewise, I can safely bet that a toothpick used by Brad Pitt can easily fetch millions on E-bay. Sometimes, I just wonder if the status of idol worshipping should be elevated to an official religion.

What do you call this if not mass hypnosis? Call me nerdy but this kind of trend is certainly not for me. No way!

By the way, Michael Wong’s songs are great, so is his down-to-earth fashion sense. I wonder where I can get his autograph…

Meet Uncle Sim

Uncle Sim… a stout man whose age is showing around his middle. ~Mr Blah

It survived World War II but is more than a historical monument; it is a prestigious learning institution which mass-produces the crème de la crème. The alumni of this school spread all over the world and to say the least, some of them are rising stars more successful and more reputable than Bush.

It is, thus an honour for Gossip Mag to have the opportunity of meeting the amazing man at the helm, face to face, in an interview conducted by Mr Blah, our award-winning journalist. In this issue, we’ll look into everything gossipy including Uncle Sim’s favourite food and the latest, hottest rap.

*****

I’m glad to be on time to meet this magnificent man whom the kids call Ninj– um, nevermind. After all, he is one of the best brains who is given the mandate to lead this prestigious school to greater heights. Indeed, without this place, the Pearl Island is like – um… an oyster without its pearl.

At the hall below the principal’s office, the affable Uncle Sim approaches me. He is a stout man whose age is showing around his middle. As Uncle Sim warmly leads me into his cosy office, I could hear a soothing somnolent tune playing in the background.

Mr Blah: Thanks for the bright red welcoming banner. You make me feel like a VIP! But I couldn’t help to ooh and aah upon seeing for myself how big a school you have here. I would have easily got lost searching for your office had I not have a map of your school with me.

Uncle Sim: Nah! That’s nothing. In fact, we’ve just recently expanded our territory to the brink of the river bank. Hmm… I’m even considering of reclaiming the river.

Mr Blah: But, doesn’t that mean environmental destruction?

Uncle Sim: Who cares? My visions come before everything else. However, I need to think of some way to justify my ambitious plans to avoid having environmentalists and tree-huggers enmassing in front of my office waving placards, demonstrating.

Mr Blah: I see. Anyway, back to where we were just now. Minding such a big place is a hefty responsibility. How do you juggle work and life?

Uncle Sim: There’re a great deal of pressure, you bet! But as you can see here, I can always unwind listening to my favourite music.

Mr Blah: Uh… You mean this lullaby you’re playing right now?

Uncle Sim: Lullaby? You must be kidding! It’s the MIDI version of our school anthem!

Mr Blah: Oh, no wonder it sounds so familiar! I heard that in the school’s official website!

Uncle Sim: That’s the problem with you youngsters nowadays. No one appreciates music these days. You people seem to prefer rock and rap.

Mr Blah: I guess you’re referring to the rap anthem.

Uncle Sim: Grr… If I find out who’s the one monkeying and “chimpanzeeing” around, I’m going to report him to Bukit Aman! The song gives me headaches.

Mr Blah: Too bad they are being circulated like hot cakes through the Internet. That reminds me of those days when the infamous Darth Vader stalked the net. If you look on the bright side, isn’t it some kind of a publicity for the school? I mean, wow! You’ve taught your students to be creative and to put information technology to good use.

Uncle Sim: …

Mr Blah: As a matter of fact, you should consider consulting these IT geniuses for some help on the school’s official website. It’s as dead as tree stump: no updates, no visitors.

Uncle Sim: With all due respect, you’re wrong, Mr Blah. Very wrong. We do update the website… uh… the main page, to be precise.

Mr Blah: But I heard complaints that students got fed up with it because they have to log in with a hard-to-remember alphanumerical password which is something like seven characters long. Most of them have lost the password which came with the receipt for the RM 10 registration fee.

Uncle Sim: They should have memorised the password by heart! Who have they to blame?

Mr Blah: The results database too, isn’t updated since two years ago. From what I see, there isn’t any reason to continue wasting funds for the domain. You might as well shut it down, unless, you plan to revamp the website.

Uncle Sim: A sound idea. Any suggestions?

Mr Blah: Well, why not convert the website to a music hub where students can download and share their homemade raps? Teens like that, you know.

Uncle Sim: No way!

Mr Blah: Or maybe turn it into a doodle board so that creative students can hone their artistic skills instead of making graffitis in the school compound.

Uncle Sim: Wait, how did you find out about that? Those walls where the mural drawings were have been painted anew.

Mr Blah: Well, words pass around. Any idea who’s behind all these?

Uncle Sim: We have our suspects. But worry not. I’ve installed state of the art cameras in the vicinity. Should the marauder make his presence again, we shall have him caught red-handed!

Mr Blah: Speaking of cameras, I see quite a lot of them in the school compound.

Uncle Sim: If I have more resources, I would have even more of them to cover every nook and cranny of this place! If you think that’s more than superfluous, listen to this: I’m planning to tag every student so that I can track their movements. Then, there will be zero truancy! Yippee!

Mr Blah: Creepy… By the way, a romantic escapade at the basketball court made the headlines recently. What is it all about?

Uncle Sim: Ah, it was some Upper-Sixer kissing with his girlfriend. Yuck!

Mr Blah: Frankly, I don’t see any problem with that. Hey, the world’s changing. I wouldn’t mind if I were to give you a peck on your cheek, right here, right now! You’re just too conservative!

Uncle Sim: Heck! This interview is going to stop right now if you can’t refrain from acting indecently!

Mr Blah: Sorry! On another matter, I think I have to congratulate the school for being the first one to install ceiling fans in the toilets. It’s simply… Cool!

Uncle Sim: (Beaming with pride.) That idea is my brainchild! Now that the fans are installed, there’ll be no more sweat even when you’re constipating! Of course, it has another ingenious purpose too.

Mr Blah: How so?

Uncle Sim: Visitors like you who are unfamiliar with the school no longer get lost looking for the restrooms. With the help of the fans, the whole balcony now smells like a sewer! You can literally sniff your way out! Brilliant, huh?

Mr Blah: One last question: what is your favourite food?

Uncle Sim: Just between you and me, okay? Pizza. You know, I don’t rejoice in that name without a reason!

Broken

Too much tears shed,
Too much time wasted;
Just let go and forget,
As it is fated.

Note: If you’re having doubts on whether this is directed to you, chances are: it isn’t. However if you still insist on carrying on, do this poor guy a favour by forgetting it after reading. Many thanks.

To Whom It May Concern,

I’m sorry it has to come to this but I do not seem to have much of a choice. I guess, the pain is more than I anticipated and more than I can endure.

When a person is hurt, there will inevitably be a period of grief. It is during this time when he is most vulnerable as haplessness and self-pity undermine cognition. There is then, not much a difference between him and an ensnared beast – feeling confused and impotent.

The magnitude and duration of the suffering may vary from individual. All is well if he succeeds in surmounting the issue; woe betides he who fails to undo the bindings. It is in the latter situation in which a distressed man would seek a radical approach, which is nonetheless, crucial. Radical because it bypasses the process of cognizant considerations; crucial because it stems from the atavistic instict (albeit a selfish one) for the sake of survival.

For so long, I’ve been caught in a one-way traffic, naïvely resorting to it as a preferable alternative. I don’t mind showing you concern and attention but at the very least, show some appreciation. Lest you’re unaware, let me tell you once and for all, your little actions do matter a lot. Yet, I’m ashamed of myself for having need to say this. Who am I, in the first place, to demand anything from you? You have made it clear from the beginning but I’m the foolish one who adamantly insist on hanging on.

Perhaps you did not notice it, or, perhaps I’m a tad too sensitive. The truth is, sometimes, small actions speak louder than words – body gestures, facial expressions – they subconsciously convey the subliminal truth that you’re uncomfortable with my presence. I understand it may not be deliberate because it is rather the inner-voice which is cautioning the consciousness to be wary. Still, there is no point fooling myself; there is no point fooling yourself, either.

I’ve come to learn the hard way that, concern, without reciprocal isn’t the way. It doesn’t work. I’m unfortunately neither as magnanimous nor as open as I thought I am. From what I see, this has got to end.

Sad to say, the tough guy image I project has long been relegated as a legendary but distant person that I was. I’m no longer as confident as I seem to be but rather, an empty vessel. Howeverm I’ve ventured thus far by myself, and no doubt, I can go on, alone, however disheartened I may be.

As far as I know, you don’t call it a choice when you’re not in the position to decide. Currently, the only “choice” I have is to completely put you off my mind. I’ve wasted too much time and energy.

My apologies. That means I can’t keep up with my promise. I may have to avoid you for the time being – at least until I find a better solution to deal with my emotions, or until I’m ready to face you once more.

May both of us have peace of mind.

*Conflicting thoughts: There were second thoughts on posting this entry but I deem it necessary as a means to organise my thoughts and more importantly, to vent my dismay. No hard feelings, please.


Yours truly,
Broken

Ghost Ship

Author’s thoughts: I have no idea why I wrote this silly piece of story, if it is qualified as one. Skillessly attempted and filled with ill-suited symbolisms – that’s what it is.

From the platform, Dolore catches a glimpse of a silhouette standing in the ship’s control room. He squints his eyes, trying to get a clearer look at the man’s face but could not. The room is just too dark.

Quickly, Dolore rushes to the bridge, eager to meet this first, and perhaps the only person on the ship. This man may be able to shed some light on this mysterious vessel on which they are sailing.

Moments ago, Dolore woke up from his sleep, only to find that he was in a cabin of a ship. He felt exactly as confused as Dorothy she was blown away from Kansas, with the only difference being that he had not the faintest idea of how he exactly got there. No, not even now.

There is countless number of cabins down the never-ending corridor which is hung with elaborated photo frames on the walls on each side. Oddly, all of the frames were empty. No photos.

He searched the cabins, but each one he entered was just like the one in which he woke up: no windows, no tables, no chairs. Empty as a vault.

*****

As he approaches the door to the control room, he could feel his heartbeat reverberating through his body. His chest is rising and falling profusely and his breathing is deeply laboured as he pushes open the door, only to find himself starring into an empty room!

No! Where are you! Dolore cries.

Even though the room is relatively so empty compared to a typical control room, it mercilessly drains away Dolore’s voice. There isn’t even a faintest echo. That even makes him feel more nervous and confused.

Where is the man I saw? Coul he be the captain of the ship? Otherwise, what is he doing on the bridge?

Now that he thinks of it, perhaps the silhouette was just a self-delusion; a phantom which his mind projected in order to comfort him that he is not alone. Unfortunately, the naked truth is that he is alone! Dolore may be the only person on the ship after all. That is the quintessence of denial. In the process of deluding himself, the subconscious mind offers false hopes and when the illusion is seen through, the consciousness is subjected to excruciating pain.

Dolore rummages through a stack of documents on the table in the attempt to search for some clues. But, he is so shocked to find them to be blank pieces of paper!

Please! What is happening?This is just getting repetitive.

It is then, perhaps by chance, that a hefty book on the table falls to the floor. Its hard cover is made of leather. Ship’s Log, the golden letters embossed on it read. At last, Dolore feels a sense of hope as he picks up the log book. Alas! As he flips through the dog-eared pages, he notices that a quarter of the pages are torn out of the spine, leaving only the unfilled pages.

Shit!

Again, Dolore is getting disheartening. It just doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone destroy all the entries? There are perchance, some secrets which he should not discover.

But the missing pages have to go somewhere. The dustbin perhaps. Shucks, no! There isn’t any dustbin in the room. The drawers, the drawers! No, nothing again.

That is when Dolore remembers something. When he was young, he used to write secret messages to his friend. Pretending to be undercover agents, they would write a message on a piece of unwanted paper, with another one below it, applying pressure with the tip of the pen as they wrote. When they pass along the apparently-blank piece of paper at the bottom to each other, they could retrace the hidden message by shading lightly on it.

No doubt, it is child’s play but here, it proves useful.

Tilting the log book in a suitable angle, he could make out several incomplete words.

TH S CR T D E W TH ME

It doesn’ take much of a guess for Dolore to fill in the missing letters. Unless he is very much mistaken, he has stumbled on another dead end. It seems that the key to the entire mystery is only with the captain and if he goes into such an extent to hide the truth, there is no way Dolore could make him talk even if he could find him.

Just then, another idea comes to Dolore’s mind. There is a radio in the room and he is going to try making a distress call. Switching it on, he is overjoyed to find it still working. But he has no idea of his location. How then is he supposed to tell his rescuers where to look for him? Never mind, he is going for a shot anyway.

Mayday, mayday…

Static.

Dolore checks the frequency and tries again.

Please! Please reply if you hear me! Anyone! This is a distress call!

Again, all he gets is only crackling interference. Dolore almost broke out in tears. No one is coming to his help!

Face it!

Battered by numerous futile attempts and false hopes, there is an inner voice that tells Dolore to give up. However, another part tells him to cling on. The self-conflict goes on.

Sick of being inside the ship, Dolore walks to the deck outside. It is frigging cold and the fog is so thick that visibility is almost nil. Dolore shivers. Still, he is not going to return into the ship. He is sick to be confined alone indoors.

Everything has been so surreal that it has a dream-like quality. Any moment now, he is going to awake. However, denial is not an option when reality bares itself, naked, in front of him.

Dolore could picture the magnificent size of the ship. He believes a ship of this size, when viewed from the outside, should easily rival the grandeur of the ill-fated luxury liner, Titanic, which ran into an iceberg in its maiden voyage. In contrast, this ship is only an empty vessel which is sailing on and on in the sea of unknown, neither with a compass nor a captain. It is only a matter of time before it runs aground and silently slips into the sea to its final resting place.

Lying down on the deck, he queerly hopes the cold would numb his senses. All is going to be a bliss when he could no longer feel anything.

As he gazes into the sky, he is glad to still be able to see the stars. In fact, never before has he seen more stars than this. They are generously sprinkled over the black canvas. Even the water reflects the twinkling stars, creating an illusion that the ship is sailing in the night sky. There isn’t fog; there are only clouds.

As if in a trance, Dolore leans against the railings on the deck while trying to grab hold of the brightest star, only to find himself plunging into the unknown darkness…

Black Mood

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top. ~John Keat

Dear Blog,

You’ve been staying with me for quite some time now and I truly appreciate your company. For one thing, you have provided me with a means to keep track of my progress in life, which I would say, is rather gloomy of late. Frankly, I would say this is the worst year I’ve had so far.

As I browsed through my previous entries, I noticed that I’ve been ranting a lot. Although I’ve promised myself not to always wallow in unhappiness, or, at the very least, not to discuss too much about it, there comes certain times when the bucket of sorrow is inevitably filled to its brim. That, I know is rather unhealthy if left unaddressed.

There is no other way for me to express myself. Neither is there anyone whom I can trust to be my confidant. Thus, once again, I’ve come to you to share my despair.

I know that life has got its ups and downs so don’t repeat to me that platitude. Nevertheless, how I wish I could beg for mercy and be freed from this mortal suffering. I don’t like to feel like a weakling or, needless to say, to be one. But it is just so frustrating that it really brings to such a situation.

The exam is just around the corner and no doubt, the air is getting tense as pressure is builds up. Unfortunately, I still bear with me those despised mental burdens which I could not rid of. Worse still, the frustration gets amplified when triggered by certain incidents.

I don’t feel like coming home. The return journey seemed to take a shorter time than it typically does despite the fact that I was driving only a little above 50km/h on a road where I can usually breach 80km/h. Of course, driving at such a speed was like testing the patience of the other drivers that I unconsciously drove the emergency lane. How I wish I could stay longer in the traffic jam; how I wish the road stretches longer; how I wish I could be left alone, away from the judgments and the comments of the others.

Of all colours, I used to dislike black as I deemed it to be so dead and unlively. Only those with dark, gloomy moods would choose to wear black. But now, I think I’ve fallen into the category. I’m starting to view black as a colour that offers me comfort; I’m starting to wear black. It camouflages me from the rash world outside. I just want to blend into the background, unseen; I just want to be at some place where I don’t have to keep my feelings all to myself. Solace seems like an easy way out.

For some reasons, I had a hunch it would turn sour. But still, I chose to remain in denial. So, here I am, feeling all down. Humph! Serves me right!

Envy is by no means a luxury which I have the right to indulge in, considering my position. Yet, I am ashamed to tell that I can’t seem to let go of the mental burden. Who says Librans are rational? That’s rubbish. If I have been rational, things wouldn’t have gone this way.

To let go – that’s the only solution for my current quagmire. But can I succeed if it is against my will to do so?

Butterflies in the Stomach

Nothing is so exhausting as indecision, and nothing is so futile. ~Bertrand Russell

Shucks, I’m having butterflies in my stomach!

Just what is the matter with me? I’ve been waiting so long for a chance like this but when the opportunity comes along, I’m stricken by profound uncertainty and indecisiveness.

It sounds like a fine idea which nevertheless leaves me with second thoughts. It sounds like treason, or betrayal of trust, to put it rather bluntly. Hey, my future is at stake over here. I wouldn’t dare imagine the consequences should it backfire.

Which kind of response will it elicit? What if it brings undesirable outcomes? What if I make the wrong decision which I will later regret?

I can almost picture my future self heaving a sigh of disappointment reprimanding my present self. “Tut-tut, what a fool you’ve been! You should have seen this coming, for goodness sake!”

This morning, JJ and Rag played two rounds of Chinese Chess, in which JJ lost both, much to our surprise. Rag were so “unexpected” that he made several careless moves, leaving loopholes here and there. As everyone thought he was apparently losing, he skillfully executed the fatal blow in an equally unpredicted manner, instantly turning the tables on JJ.

If Rag had been indecisive and lack the guts to take the risks, he would most probably lose, considering his track record (no offence!). But, instead of scrutinising each of the pieces and contemplating the outcomes of his moves before devising his plans, he took bold steps. Was it because of this that he held the advantage? Perhaps, this is the lesson I should have learned long, long ago.

It’s certainly going to be a checkmate if I stay this way. But if I make my move, there’s no telling what developments are going to take place. And I just don’t want the current situation to worsen, even though this is not what I would anticipate, given the chance.

Courage! Courage! That’s exactly what I need! Rationality should be put aside for the moment.

Oh God! I’m at a loss on what to do; I’m in a total dilemma! However, I have to make my decision, and quick! Time is running out!

Seems like my plan to do revision has just gone down the drain!

Sigh, this is going to be a long night…

A Dissection on Humanity

Man, as he is, is not a genuine article. He is an imitation of something, and a very bad imitation. ~Peter Ouspensky

There was a great commotion going on in the classroom. The subjects were three white mice, ready to be dissected. A number of excited students were standing around the poor creatures, giggling devillishly at the sight of their drenched victims without the slightest tinge of remorse. Donning aprons made out of newspapers and masks – a fitting outfit for the barbarous murderers – they carried on with their condemnable work which would guarantee them eternal damnation.

If you’re still wondering what’s the brouhaha about a simple biology dissection, let me tell you that the mice were drowned in a pail of water.

Of course, such ruthlessness are not to be expected from these people who aspire to be doctors. Which patient could trust a doctor who operates on him akin to a butcher on a pig?

The truth is they could not get chloroform from the lab to put the mice to sleep and therefore, some psycho came up with the “brilliant” but barbaric idea of drowning them in a pail of water relatively warmer than the blood running in their veins.

Murderer: Oops, bad news! It seems that we do not have chloroform!

A brainstorming session ensued.

Accomplice A: I suggest dropping them from the fourth floor.

Accomplice B: Why don’t we just choke them to death.

Murderer: Ah, I say we drown them!

The murderers started with a silent prayer and then, with a heart of steel, the they pressed the mice into the water.

No doubt, the mice struggled for their lives. No doubt, they were aware of their doom. But, I doubt there were flashes of memories through their mind. Perhaps those sinister looks on their murderers face were the last images they had. Perhaps, they were wondering what was it that they had done which made them deserve such an ending. Not only were they denied of their right to live but they had to made a painful exit, nilly willy.

I’m not particularly an animal lover. However, I can proudly proclaim that I still have a part of humanity left in me, at least the one that sets us apart from the “animals”, as we so arrogantly call them. In the animal kingdom, even the most ferocious kill to sustain their lives; they don’t hunt for pleasure, unlike man who gleefully butchers other creatures and not to say their fellow mates, just to fulfill their atavistic bloodlust.

Some may argue that animals do not have self-consciousness and we are therefore free to take away their lives whenever we feel like it. Never mind about the reason. But think again: does that warrant us the power to kill?

Curiosity is man’s strength and simultaneously his weakest point. The human nature to probe into the unknown has brought us thus far into the era of science but when it comes to killing merely to quench our insatiable curiosity is totally out of the question. No, I just can’t tolerate such injustice which depreciates the value of humanity.

Me, Me and Me

The greatest hazard of all, losing one's self, can occur very quietly in the world, as if it were nothing at all. No other loss can occur so quietly; any other loss—an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc.—is sure to be noticed. ~Søren Kierkegaard

There is this person whom I’ve spent with all these 19 summers yet, don’t fully understand his nature. Everytime I look into the mirror, there is no doubt I recognise that person staring back but do I really know him, within?

True, teenage years are a period of turbulence and metamorphosis. Even trivial instances can easily trigger a change in personality, for better or worse. Thus, it is often a journey of introspection and self-discovery.

There is a famous quote which goes along these lines: Maturity comes with a great price, that is age. As one bids farewell to nonchalant childhood, he begins to be plagued by woes, insecurities and confusion. Welcome to reality!

The me from the past was a happy-go-lucky person with an optimistic outlook on life (or was it insouciance?). Everything is taken care of by my parents: tuitions, music lessons, transport to school; no worries. Ironically, I couldn’t wait to become an adult and indulge in the carte blanche to do anything I desire, the way all grown-ups do. Too bad I didn’t have any idea of what’s in store for me in the real world.

With freedom comes great responsibilities. I’ve come to realise that to become a responsible young adult, I have to constantly ponder of the consequences of whatever actions taken, whatever words spoken. And the world doesn’t seem to be as simple as I thought. There are all kinds of people out there who you have no idea what’s going on in their mind. Unfortunately, they are there to judge you on your actions, like it or not. Some behave cynically as if they have a personal vendetta against you but of course, there are always also those who show the bright side of humanity.

Indeed, this transitional period is a real eye-opener. At least now I know that the world is a lot more complicated than I thought. Sad to say, this has subconsciously caused too many a radical change in me; more than I anticipated.

Just when I thought I have firmly established those principles of life and so naïvely presumed that I would cling to them come what may, there came all those self-conflicts instigated by some unpleasant experiences. It seems that my principles are not so steadfast after all.

Interpersonal relationships are always the toughest to handle; there are no formulae for you to work out the best solution to an interpersonal problem. For this reason, I have learnt to become more withdrawn. Although I tried to be more sociable, I just could not seem to strike a balance between being an extrovert and an introvert. Sociology just isn’t my métier. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m a sociopath.

Then there are all those problems one encounters in life. Less than half of the time, you find a way to undo the knot; more than half of the time, they seem to be insurmountable. The latter is when you should learn from Mr Ostrich, leave the problems out of sight and pray from the bottom of your heart that they will somehow get solved.

Add up all of the above and you get a picture of the present me: less enthusiastic, more introverted and more pessimistic than before.

Anyway, I still have a long journey to go and whether I would be happy to meet the future me is still a hanging question.

Going Beyond Absent-Mindedness

The secret motive of the absent-minded is to be innocent while guilty. Absent-mindedness is spurious innocence. ~Saul Bellow

Bloody hell! I’m going senile and for heaven's sake, I'm barely 19!

I suffer from memory loss all this while. Misplacing items, forgetting things… Those are but the typical ones. But what happened today is by far the most brainless act I’ve ever committed. Sad to say there could be more, considering my deteriorating mental condition. I’m losing my precious braincells exponentially as the ageing effects set in prematurely. It is terribly depressing to be aware that it’s just a matter of time before my grey matter shrivels into a peanut.

Get your thesaurus and fire me with anything you can find under “stupid” and I promise you I won’t be so much as retort. How could I be so absent-minded? How could I return home from school with her car key in my pocket, not realising it until I’ve almost reached home? Bah! What a shitty memory I have!

Needless, she was stranded in school for something like an hour before I rushed all the way back to return her the key. But who have I to blame if not myself?

Congratulations! I’ve just proven myself to be one who cannot be entrusted with responsibility. Hey, even I can’t forgive myself for my absent-mindedness; self-esteem is at an alarmingly low level. Shucks! How can you trust someone who could not even trust himself?

It’s normal to be angry of someone; you can tell that straight in his face. But to be mad at oneself is totally a frustrating experience; what can you do? Splash yourself with a bucket of cold water?

For the first time, I hit 90km/h on a cranky Kancil with four gears, and could have gone faster had the parts not rumble in resonance as if they were going to fall apart. (It felt like flying a jet – at turtle speed.) Now, I understand why they say it is unsafe to drive when you’re under emotional stress.

I could feel the negative energy overwhelmed the body. I felt much better after a cold bath and typing this away at the computer. Nevertheless, I reckoned I needed to vent out the emotions one way or another. Ten laps in the swimming pool was a feat I had not attempted since a long time. It was indeed tiring, and I was not left with any surpluss energy to depreciate myself after that.

Bah! I don’t feel like talking about it anymore! Perhaps I should do some meditation to let go of the malicious qi, if only I can get the right vibrations… Om…

Enslaved by Determinism

The Oracle: Candy?
Neo: You already know if I'm going to take it?
The Oracle: Wouldn't be much of an Oracle if I didn't.
~The Matrix Revolutions

One disadvantage of not having a religion is that atheism doesn’t hold the key to the intrinsic purpose of the universe. Neither does sciencism nor existentialism. An atheist, must therefore seek another means for the answer. What else can be a better candidate if not philosophy? After all, it is the fundamental component of any religion ­– minus the fables, of course.

A mere mention of philosophy would naturally project the image of a contemplative Zen monk in some monastery far away from human civilisation. On a contrary, the quest for philosophical truth doesn’t necessary require a visit to the abode of some legendary old sage in Mount Ararat. You may, for starters, get a taste of the philosophical aspects that permeate The Matrix.

Even though cinematography and computer manipulation are the oft-quoted plus-points of the trilogy, the equally significant part that made it stand out from other high-budget Hollywood movies is the philosophical issues it presents. Unlike the typical dumb action-packed blockbusters that do nothing good other than serving as adrenaline boosters, the Wachowski Bros – um, siblings – effectively delivers some subtle philosophical messages that keeps the less dumb viewers pondering long after watching the movie.

Beginning from the first installment, determinism has been one of the themes, as illustrated by the Oracle and the Merovingian. For instance, in one scene from The Matrix Revolutions, the Oracle offered Neo some candy, even though she very well knew Neo’s decision. She “wouldn’t be much of an oracle” if she didn’t. Yet, Neo was given the choice to choose. But, is there free will? Are choices a mere thin veil that deludes us from the fact that we’re ruled over by determinism?

In Newcomb’s Paradox, reverse causation is introduced into the system. Unfortunately, the average Joe would fail to see the significance of the paradox from the arguments put forth by different philosophers. Show it to ten persons and chances are nine of them would only analyse the problem skin-deep.

Wikipedia has a full version of the paradox, together with the analyses and its variant conditions. But, it is thus, in essence:

There are two players named Predictor and Chooser. Chooser is presented with two boxes: an open box containing $1000, and a closed box that contains either $1,000,000, or $0 (he doesn't know which). Chooser must decide whether he wants to be given the contents of both boxes, or just the contents of the closed box.

The complication is that the day prior, Predictor predicts how Chooser will choose. If he predicts that Chooser will take only the closed box, then he will put $1,000,000 in the closed box. If he predicts that Chooser will take both boxes, he will leave that box empty. Chooser knows this rule of Predictor's behavior, but he does not know Predictor's actual prediction.

The question is: should Chooser take just the closed box or take both boxes?

(†Source: Wikipedia: Newcomb’s Paradox)

The idea that the Predictor’s prediction will affect the Chooser’s choice brings unimaginable consequences. One of them is reverse causation. It suggests that events may not affect outcomes in a chronological way, as we naïvely presume. The future may determine the course of events in the past.

Another troubling conclusion is, if time machines or perfect Predictors were to exist, then, there is no such thing as free will – the Chooser would have to do whatever he is fated to do. We are but slaves to determinism. We are merely pawns manipulated by Fate… or Destiny… or Providence… or God… or whatever you want to call it.

Mortals, you may struggle till the end of your days in the attempt to liberate yourselves from this eternal slavery but “behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind”. Perhaps, one should heed Solomon’s advice and be a God-fearing person.

As for me, the revelation brings more frustrations. Nevertheless, it is my rebellious nature to go against Fate.

†http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newcomb's_paradox (accessed on 31 July 2005)