Trees

I remember what it was like going down the mountain in the dark. I remember flinging myself from tree to tree, grasping blindly, ignoring the the scrapes on my fingers and the cuts on my thighs. Tree to tree, trying to stop my inevitable descent.

Its odd, but it seems to be the perfect analogy for what I have been doing.

Unconscious Behavior

I feel like we keep making the mistake of presuming that other people are fully conscious of the intentions and consequences of their own actions and words. Often, we remember what other people say, yet forget our own constructs. We try holding other people accountable to their words and yet we are never accountable to our own.

We need to stop thinking that words or actions are deliberate, because most of the time, they are not. Most of us don't even know what is it that we want, how then, are we to devise a manipulative plan to get it. But admitting this, leads to the realization that we cannot take anyone- including ourselves too seriously.

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I am tired of trying to fight battles with armies that have put down their arms and built impenetrable fortresses around their territory. I think its time I take a leaf from past experience and stop fighting the pointless fight. There is no victory in slamming oneself repeatedly against a wall.

This time, I surrender. I'll walk away. Even if it means tearing my entire stronghold from the ground.

Cappuccino

My greatest pleasure during this period of time must be the making and drinking of cappuccino. Its something about the perfectly steamed velvety and slightly caramelised milk, the swirling of the milk to lend it that beautiful gloss, the tilt of the cup and the careful pour. 50% of the time, I will manage to create a perfect little heart with the foam, the ultimate manifestation of how much love I put into that cup. I must admit though, when put into the hands of a callous customer, it causes my own heart to break a little.

A cup of cappuccino provides such comfort. The smoothness of the foam, the warmth of the milky fragrant coffee and the slight sweetness of the chocolate powder combined, create a sensation unlike any other. I wish could live in a cup of cappuccino... of course, I would have to make it myself.

与狼共舞

最近，我终于了解你所谓与狼共舞的心情。我也害怕了，但我弄不清楚敌人是谁。现在的我只能尝试用距离来争取那虚假的控制感。有时觉得为了幸福，我矛盾的一直跟自己的欲望展开斗争。

Dreams

I dreamt a strange dream last night. The details of which are beginning to fade away.

I was at the abode of a Burmese holy man with someone that I knew. The holy man made jokes that were laced with a certain quality that made me fear. There were tests, black rope bridges that culminated in hammock like swing seats where we were asked questions. I think we passed because the next scene was us sitting with the holy man at a table where there was a platter of large peeled whole oranges, smaller peeled half oranges and finally small whole green and orange ones.The holy man said that things are made more desirable when compared to others. The plates of oranges looked beautiful from afar, but upon closer inspection, they were crumbling, rotting. The holy man and my acquaintance started eating. I saw them eating the large oranges, it was as if they did not notice the worms breaking the surface. I reached for the smallest whole orange one and as I ate, a smooth green worm emerged.

没有钱你会爱我吗？

没有钱你会爱我吗？At work, I hear this at least once a day. It has come to the point where I have run out of ways to make light of that statement.

The boys I work with are young, independent creatures. Be it 19 or 25, they all have the same tale of leaving their homes to try find better paying work here in Singapore. They are cooks drawing the same hourly rate of $5.5/hour, but the crucial difference is that for me, this job is merely a sojourn into a different world but for them it is something they have to struggle to rise above.

Its odd really, the difference between them and the other young men of my acquaintance. They all think about girls, cars and gadgets, however the conversations about these are vastly different. Its not "will she like me? Shall I get an iPhone or a BB? When should I buy a car?" but its "How can I find a girl if I am so poor? How am I to buy her dinner? Will she be upset if we take the bus? Should I replace my old broken phone?" Sometimes, I find myself at a loss, I just do not know how to reply. What am I to say to "Alison, will you love me if I am poor?" The thing is, they are not asking if a girl would love them, they are asking if a girl would accept them and entrust them with her future.

I was pushed to do some self reflection upon hearing the above question over and over again. I remember the first time I answered with a "I don't think I could marry an unsuccessful man." Now, don't ask me to define success, that would be a whole different blog post. However, I wanted to swallow that sentence whole after I saw the look on the cook's face. He reacted by slapping the towel he was holding on the metal table exclaiming "how am I supposed to become successful! I am stuck working at this job 10 hours a day to make ends meet, how am I supposed to become successful!" Despite the overly personal language that seem to hint at a direct reply to me, I think he making a general statement about such affairs in his life. Now, the phrase "没有钱你会爱我吗?" has become their mantra... its played on their handphones as they cook, on the tips of their tongues when they converse and each time they say it, I feel like someone shoved a cotton wad down my throat.

I used to pride myself on not being a materialistic person. I thought that wealth was not important. My only criteria for a man was for him to love god and be intelligent. However I think the old me was never confronted with men in their position before. I was complacent and arrogant enough to completely ignore the presence of others beyond my comfort zone and thus stupid enough to make self satisfied proclamations about not caring about money. I struggle with my ideas of inequality, with my just discovered materialism and my prejudices.

After watching Jane Eyre the other day, something struck me during the epic dialogue between her and Rochester.

"Do you think I am an automaton? ­ a machine without feelings?...Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong — I have as much soul as you, — and full as much heart...I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh; — it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God's feet, equal, — as we are"

It was not the romance of the latter words that tugged at my heartstrings but the sentence "Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong — I have as much soul as you, — and full as much heart" Who am I to disregard someone because of their social status, success or money making ability. Is my heart ruled by elitism? The romantic love that I can have for a man, does it come dangling with requirements, sculpted by my socio-economic class? If so, then is that kind of elitist love true and proper?

Mental Health

Psychology best sellers always claim to know the secret source to all our problems. We often find out after hours spent re-examining our thought processes, that a large percentage of our problems stem from a mixture of unrealistic expectations and cognitive discrepancies. Their solution? Learn that our minds are limited and dismiss the assumption that we are the exception rather than the rule.

I used to think that these authors were equipping us with the tools to achieve happiness, or at least get the ability to understand our emotions in a more scientific manner. However, I finally realise that the ultimate goal for many of these authors is mental health. I think it is now important for me to understand the importance of mental health, and its relationship with the more philosophical interpretation of happiness.

The Public Pool

Dearest Alison,

The next time you fancy taking a dip in the public pool, please consult this blog post.

3 reasons why you should not wear a bikini to the public pool.

1 The pool is situated beside a mosque.

1.1 As you swim, you can literally see the crescent moon rising into the sky.

1.2 You can't shake the knowledge that there are masses of praying men in the building right next to the pool.

2 Malay families

2.1 Malay families - Hoards of screaming children, diver-suit like swimming costumes and judgmental parental eyes.

3 Everyone, with the exception of teenage boys at the pool is either over 40 or under 12. One word- Stares.

7 reasons why you should not go to the public pool.

1 The water is salty.

2 You can't swim a lap without bumping into some really old or really young body.

3 No hot water in the showers.

4 The water in the showers only run for 2 seconds per press of the button.

5 No hair dryers or electrical outlets.

6 You never know what sort of diseases the people sharing the same body of water with you have.

7 Swimming lessons, aqua-aerobic lessons, everyone else has more claim over the pool than you do.

BE WARNED

The night is mine

I like to complain to others about my insomnia, my screwed up sleep cycle. The complaints are really just an attempt at normalcy that I hide behind. The truth is, I love my late nights, my early mornings, my solitude. I can close my eyes and dance under the fluorescent light of my room. The light that seeps through my eyelids has the quality of sunlight that only exists in photographs. The kind of light that permeates three-quarters of the frame, dusty and enveloping.

At times, I go to the McCafe a short walk away with a book. The barista always prepares my coffee with such exceptional patience and care, at a time where he has no one else to serve. He brings it to me, me in my grey dimpled chair next to the transparent glass, made dark by night. Smiles and no conversation.

When I grow restless, I take a walk. Sure enough, there are always these stragglers walking alone at night. There is a code for wandering, you can look from afar but when you draw near to another being, you must look away. Strangely enough, the darkness isn't so much of a cover when one is purposeless. I always think of the same thing when I see middle aged drifters. I wonder if their existence on the streets have to do with a quarrel with their spouses or their children, if a hostile home environment is what drove them out.

I like how a few hours means so much more at night than it does in the day. The difference between 2pm and 5pm isn't so much to a day person. At night though, the difference between 2am and 5am is phenomenal. Similar to its pm counterparts, it can pass by in a heartbeat with a good book, some work or even quality television programming. The key lies in how the three hours between 2pm and 5pm feels like time that should be lived and used, whereas using time between 2am and 5am feels almost sacrilegious. Every time I look at the clock, a small, slightly guilty bubble of delight rises in my tummy. I feel like I am getting something that others do not have, like the night is mine.