My most recent manifestation of Work Avoidance Syndrome saw me rummaging through all my old photos, taken in the days before digital. It was funny seeing how much I'd grown, and all the various permutations of my hair and my glasses. Some things I noticed:

(1) My alleged high forehead is NOT a recent thing and has been there all the while, at least since I was 18, as some class photos demonstrate. It is NOT the beginning of balding. What a horribly short haircut it was, too.

(2) I had some seriously appalling haircuts in my time, by the most incompetent of barbers in Queensway and elsewhere. How in the world did I put up with those severe, short crops which made everything stick out in the wrong places at perfectly wrong proportions?

(3) It also appears, from one picture at least, that I unknowingly and inadvertently pioneered the emo boy look of pale skin (natural), long black hair almost covering the eyes on one side (didnt cut hair for a while), black plastic framed glasses (preparing for army), a slim brown shirt and skinny light coloured tie (prom night - shirt and tie was substitute for poser blazer).

(4) I forgot how tiny I was in secondary school, always looking 2 or 3 yrs younger than my true age. This didn't change till much much later. I came across a photo of me in Taiwan in my army gear -- I looked 15.

(5) Very strange feeling stumbling upon the set of photos, gifts and birthday scrapbook that B gave me. I originally meant to collect it all in one bundle, so I could chuck it, but could never bear to and it lay untouched for years. Somehow flipping through them gave me twinge of sadness. We looked really young, and happy, and I remembered how I felt for her when we were together. Also reading the stuff she wrote, in cards and scrapbooks etc, gave me strange feelings. I wonder if, with the detriment of age and experience, we're still able to think and feel and write in that way?

(6) Photos of travelling and roaming about were excellent, they really captured the spirit of the times. One of my favorites is the slanted picture I took of myself, bending over to be in the frame, with my camera balanced on the seat of a small 150cc scooter, in the middle of a padi field in the early morning, with the background part covered with mist, after a light drizzle, somewhere in Kanchanaburi, whilst trying to find my way in that 2 hour solo motorbike ride to the Bridge over the River Kwai, when I didn't have a license to ride. There was something about that me in 2001 that I really liked, it was a confluence of everything == leaving the army, getting ready for my first semester of university, with everything ahead of me, not knowing what school would be like again, young and happy and curious and loving the fact that I was out there travelling alone and seeing everything for the first time. That rush!!! I was completely alive, every one of my senses was engaged and attuned 100% to everything around me, I had no worries at all and, to repeat myself, I felt completely alive. Sometimes i miss feeling that way, adult life is so much more complicated, we're always reminded about the consequences and opportunity costs that come with everything, so much that we don't do anything worth doing anymore.

Here are the closing words from a great growing-up semi-autobiographical novel from an author who sadly died prematurely:

". . . Last time i attended a comic book convention in Atlanta, a man from DC comics in NY came to my booth and asked if I'd be interested in mass marketing Altar Boys now that the Comics Code Authority was dead and they could do whatever they wanted. I;m going to sign a contract next month.

I want the people to see and hear the things I can see and hear. And I want them to remember how it was when they were children. I don't want them to grow up entirely.

Every adult is the creation of a child. My own signature, that identifying scrawl required by parcel postmen and valued by a handful of comic book fans, that signature was devised by a 13 year old boy who thought I'd want to seem important one day. I am stuck with it. My life is the result of that boy's dreams and limitations, and of the company that boy kept a long time ago, back when things could still happen for the first time."

END

I'd been having strange sleeping patterns recently (yeah again), and i was kept up one night while i was tossing in bed with this thought -- every day is a gift from god* right? (*god = whatever that means to you, its a non-denominational thing).  We've got so many ailments, arteries could burst, JBK just upped and died etc. Yeah so every day that we wake up and see the sunrise, its really a gift isnt it? Something that we didnt do anything to deserve. So why do we spend so much of waking hours doing so many meaningless things? I can remember being at work, wasting hours and hours doing something that, in the grand scheme of things, had no importance to anyone, not least myself. Is anything really worth that kind of angst, that kind of hours?

Anyway i'm completely bushed. Slept for 4 hrs last night, woke up in the morn to play 4 hrs of tennis, then was going to sit in the pool for leisure when we decided, on a whim, to go Sentosa. It was nice and pretty but ridiculously crowded (it was holiday after all). Oh yeah and cos it was a holiday, it meant that the entire foreign worker population was also on holiday. So Siloso beach was like a sneak preview of Serangoon Gdns when they finally build that damn hostel! HOHOHO!!

YOu know, if we think about it, we're always just one moment away from complete down-and-out ruin, whether emotional, financial or physical. A loved one might pass, a relationship might fail, our savings might get wiped out, our bodies might sag under the weight of its flaws and chain us to a lifetime of hospital bills and chronic woes. The fact that we're still coasting along, bumbling our way through without harm, is lost on us most of the time. We're like forgetful soap bubbles floating through the prickly mimosa forest of life eh?

So when we see the risks, and accept that we're always only one step away from being a wreck, and that often we're kept together by sheer force of will, then any sane person would dramatically rearrange their lives to prepare for the doom that is sure to befall us. But the when we see things in that sort of focus, the stark reality pretty much paralyses anyone. If nothing means anything anymore, why bother?

The only way people get by with life is to pretend, or convince ourselves, that we'll be ok, that everything is ok, or that (if you're religious) there's really more to life than trudging through this existence saddled with our mortal bodies full of flaws, or that (if you're not religious) its perfectly ok to be resigned to the idea that this life is profoundly meaningless in itself, and that we shouldnt expect any more.

I don't really know what i'm trying to say here... I'm not down or anything, its just that when you have to walk down the slope alone at 10.30pm, away from the comfort of the buzz of people, you just naturally, you know, drift to stuff like that. I think maybe this is another reminder to (a) treasure every happy moment, (b) not take things for granted, (c) if you haven't found meaning, find it, and finally (d) do more of the things that would make you smile when you reminisce on them on your deathbed, and stop spending so much time on the things that won't give you good happy memories.

Was very surreal reading about the Al Qaeda bombing of the Marriott in Islamabad over the weekend. I stayed there once, and it was a grand old hotel, with an exterior straight out of the 70s or 80s but with jazzed up fittings inside. It was a hotel in transition -- while the rooms were pretty luxe and modern, the broadband connection was nonexistent, the pool was being upgraded and the lobby was mega quaint, and linked to a small, musty smelling arcade of bookshops and jewellers.

It was especially strange following the TV crew into the lobby, where the reception desk seemed to be the only thing standing. I have a very vivid memory of me leaning against that very reception desk, waiting for ever to pay my bill, rapping the desk with my knuckles and marvelling at the rock solid construction of it. It was made of one giant block of dark greenish marble, cool to the touch, and I remember noting that the gold "Reception" font was cutely gaudy. I quite liked the lobby for that old world charm it gave off.

I also remember lunch at the hotel restaurant, with fantastic hummus full of olives, and good tandoori-style chicken. And being taken to drinks at the bar by a young, fast-talking Pakistani diplomat, with his upper crust investment banker friends in the sharp suits, slick hair and US business school degrees (no shit). Also, having to sign a form declaring my particulars, nationality and religion (no shit) before i could buy a couple bottles of stale beer. And pulling in to the driveway of the hotel, just metres away from the entrance where the truck bomb detonated, in an official Pakistani hospitality Mercedes E200 in the middle of a mild sandstorm. And getting into a standoff with the slightly dodgy, oily protocol officer because I wouldn't, as a matter of principle, aid and abet him by giving him some ridiculous tip "for the staff", which he would doubtless just pocket for himself. Fucking asshole!

So its really strange thinking that so many people were killed that night there, and that the old place is gone for good. Life is so unpredictable eh.

In biblical times, Saul the Hebrew was a persecutor of the fledgling Christian faith. He  set out from Jerusalem to Damascus to destroy the Christian equivalent of the Rebel Alliance (i.e. Christians in Damascus). This makes Damascus the equivalent of the ice planet of Hoth, which isn't too far off because it snows in Damascus in winter. Anyway, somewhere on the road to Damascus, he was struck by a series of blinding flashes of insights where God spoke to him personally -- something to the effect of "I am Jesus whom you are persecuting", "go get instructions in the city", and finally "you are now representing me as my servant and messenger". Paul, as he now called himself, then went forth to spread the word as Paul the Baptist and the rest is biblical history.

Anyway, the point is that Paul the Baptist received a sudden epiphany that completely turned his most entrenched views around whilst on the Road to Damascus. A flashing insight of profound significance, that suddenly placed everything in its correct perspective and showed the path ahead. This is how the phrase "Road to Damascus" came into popularity. I think there are books about this.

The ultimate point of all of this, is that I'll be embarking on my own road to Damascus shortly in December, in the literal sense, on the largesse of an old friend who also needs to find his own road to Damascus, both literally and figuratively, and who desires the company of a fellow pilgrim along the way (of course, barring any sudden political upheaval). I don't know if I'll be fortunate enough to be privy to any insights inspired by the divine, but often these things just can't be ruled out.

It will be good to see the world through fresh eyes and a sense of wonderment again, and I think Damascus will do the trick just nicely, just before I lose sight of it all again when I start work and revert to spending the best days of my life on the inconsequential (i.e. swapping the tedium of notes of conversations, filenotes, flight schedules, rooming allocations, infonotes, interminable gossip, high faluting "strategy" ahem papers and bouts of loathing my esteemed foreign counterparts for the tedium of court deadlines, rules of civil procedure, letters of representation, billings and costings and bouts of loathing my esteemed clients and paymasters).

Anyway, geographically, Damascus is in modern day Syria. It's said to be beautiful, being the seat of thousands of years of Muslim and Christian civilisation, surrounded by sites of immense historical significance, and bordered by the the fun-loving states of Israel, Lebanon, Iraq, Turkey and Jordan. I am quite excite.

In other news, the most beautiful blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of the week -- on a bus, at 10.30 pm at night, with the classic Blue in Green on the ipod, with the sax just about starting after the piano head, looking down and seeing a young couple in each others' arms, kissing, silhouetted against bright lights for all of a split second. Fantastic -- God's art.

Went for a reservist briefing on Saturday. This is the first time the unit met at full battalion level. Apparently its a pretty unique one, but we're not supposed to talk about it anyway. I snuck a peek at the estab, I'm in the battalion HQ branch handling operations / training / planning for the entire battalion and reporting directly to CO. There are two officers for that role so I hope i'm the deputy and not the main go-to guy. I'll very likely need to defer because of school commitments. The schedule looks good though.. weapons training, infantry movement, navigation, and shooting YEAH. I love guns and range. If i was American, i'd have an arsenal and I'd go shooting on weekends in the forest. I want a stock M16, without all the add-ons and bells and whistles. Just a plain stock one. And an MP5 for the sexy factor.

Strange sensation today
on the way home, on MRT, at night
train passes by Fusionopolis in the distance
first time i saw Fusionopolis like that
super futuristic, like neo-tokyo
for fleeting moment, suddenly had strange feeling
of wondering where i was
and if i was in the right place
or the right country
or the right time


didnt mean for this to look like poem
i'm just rushing, and want to put it down fast before bed
night

I went to Batam for a day trip with family last week, along with a busload of senior citizens. They took us to view a supposedly scenic bridge. Well it turned out to be rather pretty, with a good view of the surrounding islands and blue seas that cried out for a dip. Not so appetising was the sight of some sad-looking fried crabs that the locals were trying to peddle us. The crabs really did look upset / depressed.
Next stop was lunch at this kelong seafood restaurant. That was pretty much the highlight of the day trip, cos I was bored by the fake Polo shopping, nonya kueh shopping and the dismal shopping centre with the bookshop full of bahasa books. The second highlight of the trip had to be the boat ride. I scored seats on my own on the top deck, so my face was in the gorgeous cool seabreeze each way. On the way back, the chinooks carrying the gigantic Spore flag flew over our ship on their way to the floating platform. What a sight..

I played poker for the first time in my life this weekend. And what a way to start, there was a proper poker table with proper casino chips, and some experts too, who analysed every move down to the card. Very impressive, but analysis wouldnt have worked against someone who played irrationally (me). But as life would have it, I caused my own downfall by playing too irrationally. I lost half my buy-in of $20, which was ok considering it was a friendly game and that they werent playing to kill.

I'll never get into poker as a hobby because its too cerebral. I can't deal with the math of it and I'm simply too lazy to learn the protocol. Same reason why i've never learnt mahjong -- i blank out at all the funny looking characters that i have to make sense of. Even worse would be card games like Magic; eyes just glaze over looking at the stats. Any game of D&D (the old school talky version) would never last past recess or a break period, past the character formation stage. I just liked reading the D&D manual because it was cool and had nice pictures. I've also subconsciously forced Bridge out of my brain because it was complicated, and the people i played with always took it too seriously. As a kid, i'd always preferred drawing, or playing pretend lightsabers with rolled up newspapers, or Sega, or Rebel Alliance, or the massive Secret Weapons of the Luftwaffe. Hell yeah!

Had a good round of tennis today, working on the control really helps a lot. I got about 10% of my practice serves in play today, so thats an achievement.. yes i have low targets..

Tonight's Beijing 2008 Opening Ceremony was magnificent. I don't normally watch rah-rah events like these becuase they tend to be boring. I just wanted to catch a glimpse of the Spore team, but I ended up watching quite a fair bit of the entire ceremony because it was brilliant. THe Chinese pulled out all the stops on this one and it was just mindblowing. It was beautiful, creative, well executed, really really high tech (stuff i'd never seen before at parades, like gigantic LCD screens playing computer graphics) set on a massive scale and just stunning. For the finale, they set off fireworks over what seemed to be the entire city of Beijing. Amazing. Plus, that roar when the Chinese team entered the stadium --- hard to imagine any Chinese national not feeling proud.

Its been an uneventful holiday, which i've spent mostly working. Well one thing that did come out of the work experiences, both of them, is that i've now a better idea of what i want (or not want) to do once i finish school. My reticence towards big firms has softened somewhat; the work culture seems genuinely humane there. Oh, and very surprisingly, one of the places actually made an offer, which i wasn't expecting at all since its generally too early (2 yrs to graduation). Well it might be symptomatic of the immense competition amongst big firms for graduates, especially with the impending introduction of foreign firms. But its a reassuring thought nonetheless, that given the hiring climate, i won't have to go knocking on doors too much.

In other news, i'm nursing a not-too-serious but rather deep looking cut on my left shin, but the bleeding's just about stopped cos i left it to coagulate. Came about when i was swinging around a tennis racquet at home. I was trying to figure out an overhead serve.. i overshot and the follow-through connected straight to my shin bone. Funny though, there wasn't the sickening sound of a crunch or thud.. the sound of a full force swing connecting on my bone was pretty comic and hollow.. like a cartoon sound effect.. like a "clonk". Fortunately my shin bone is apparently strong enough. If i connected on one of my famously fragile toes........