You know you're severely sleep deprived when you can hear yourself snore. Yes, I'm not kidding. My mind wakes up before my body, and I can hear my own gentle snoring. And yes, it was gentle.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I'm been a little too lazy to blog. Work's good; I find myself doing similar work to the other engineers and it feels good on one hand, but then again I've only been doing this for a month and I'm already tired of it.
OpenBSD and CentOS are cool I suppose, but being locked in a server farm or office interacting with only a black screen and white text can get extremely depressing. Coding is not much of an improvement either.
I guess a good job to have would be one that requires me to be mobile; having lunches/drinks with clients, trying to sell some big ticket product or service. Mobile is good. Extremely Mobile, ie. traveling abroad, would be even better.
Thursdays are official Dumb Days. I'm getting far too old for two hour sleeps.
I read Memnoch the Devil again. It's still captivating, but this time it didn't screw my mind all that much. I see the flaws in her story, and it's not halfway as convincing the second time round as it was the first. Still, check it out - Anne Rice's Memnoch the Devil. And the takeaway quote by Lestat:
"I don't like myself you know. I love myself. I'm devoted to myself till my dying day. But I don't like myself." - Lestat
"Even the greatest of empires are conquered inch, by inch. Attempt not a frontal assault, which will undoubtedly be turned away, if not out of shock, then of principle.
Borrow instead from the ancient Greeks the idea of the Trojan Horse, where with an innocuous and even welcomed gesture, you get troops behind the enemy's line of defense.
Advance steadily deeper into enemy territory, avoiding the cities most strongly defended. Establish a presence in lightly defended cities. These shall be your beachheads and your safe havens. Retreat to these cities when the expeditionary force encounters stiff resistance.
Any ground gained shall be garrisoned and used as forward bases for further attacks. Never cede these lands;any resistance thrown against you by the enemy will now be weak, half-hearted and ineffectual.
When all land surrounding the fortified cities have been successfully conquered, it will be time, then, to convene the main assault."
he strains to see her in the dark, sitting a metre of so across him. he can hardly make out her features, let alone make eye contact. she's a friend of his cousin whom he met online when his silly cousin added her to his contact list and was probarly to lazy to delete it. he recalls their first encounter online, or at least he tries to. it comes back to him in bits and pieces. the only thing he remembers clearly was his confident online flirting with her. he smiles. how interesting. he keeps his eyes locked on her, trying desperately to catch her attention. at times it really seems that she's looking at him, but he really can't be sure. the thought that's constantly on his mind is 'she's cute..real cute..but ah..don't be crazy'
he reluctantly walks away with his friends, unwilling to take his eyes away from her. he feels it. 'damn..shit shit shit..don't even think about it..damn.' he's not going to have yet another crush on yet another girl again. this is crazy. can't someone put a rein on his whatever-you-call-it. he can almost predict the results, the outcome of this ridiculous feeling. here's his life - he likes girl, girl doesn't return the affection, girl rejects, he feels sad, he sees another .. ah the cycle goes on. what does this look like to you? its something he himself can't even comprehend. he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. he's a gonner. silently he sings the lyrics of 'heaven'. oh and guess what, he hasn't even spoken more than ah..3 sentences to her.
-
his heart is beating at an amazing rate. she's sitting beside him. they're sitting on a damp bench, both their brains must have been slacking to have allowed them to ignore the dampness. he smiles again; realises that he has been smiling a lot, even breaking out into big grins, sometimes cheesy ones. doesn't matter, he's happy, happy like um..anything. she likes him too, he knows that by then, she having already confirmed his suspicions over the phone. an idea struck him. risky, no doubt, but feasible. he smiles yet again. 'eh..see your hand?' yeps, its this corny. doesn't matter though, she fell for it. he raises his right hand slightly, palm facing the sky. she looks at him; places her left hand onto his right hand, exclaims something about his hand being big. he's not listening. he shifts his hand slightly and gently bends his fingers inwards, in doing so holding her hand. silence. time passes. he holds on to her hand. another thought. he looks down at their hands, fingers interlocked. he brings up her hand and kisses it. shock on her face. he looks at her. time passes. 'are we attached?' 'nopes, not yet.' 'okay..' he pops the question..the question he thinks he knows the answer to, he can't be wrong can he? she nods her head, says something like 'yes' or 'okay'. doesn't matter. he isn't listening. he's overjoyed. he grins, like a little boy who finally got the toy plane he longed for. - he sits at an uneasy 2 feet away from her, sideways. her bag is in between them. hm. he pauses, listening to the sound of the waves crashing onto the breakwater. its high-tide, he notices. its cloudy, he notices. the darn bag is in the way, he notices. he takes a deep breath, picks her bag up, places it onto her other side, and shifted himself next to her, reducing the 2 feet to 2cm. much better. a chain of events led to him hugging her from the back while leaning against a wooden pillar. thoughts flooded his mind at this instant. he realises once again that this is not all there is to a relationship. no doubt, they were both adolescents, but thats hardly an excuse for irresponsible behaviour. a relationship, at any age, involves a commitment. think about it, even a young kid who owns a pet goldfish has a commitment to the little creature - he has to feed it, change the water in the tank, scrub the tank, et cetera. what happens most of the time? the young kid gets sick of his new toy, not realising that the little fishy is a living creature. what happens next? the fish dies of course. the kid may feel the pain, or he may not.. corny analogy. but thats what most adolescent relationships are about. each regarding his or her partner as a new fish, alacriously carrying out the required responsibilities. they live in blissful happiness till the day the infatuation wears out and they tire of each other. its sad but true. don't you think so? this relationship will never end up this way, not if he can help it. he makes a silent commitment to the relationship, silent but strong. promises..promises he will fulfil. - the relationship grows well. there are times when he feels like a little kid's fish but well, things are still going fine. insecurity comes into every relationship, but shouldnt it be present in the girl most of the time? he shrugs mentally, continuing his observation of the ceiling in his room. hm maybe observation is the wrong word to use here; the room is dark and the ceiling is almost flawless..whats there to observe? he has fallen completely in love with her and he knows it, at least in his current mentality it is love. it may not be really how true love is, but give him a break will ya? he's sixteen, how much does he know? he's happy, more or less, on the whole. he wants to grow with her, to mature together with her, to enter this savage garden together, the real world. 'growing old with you' .. how appropriate. -
8 Days Ago:
I'm Shaun, the nice guy, the weak guy, the one trampled upon, the one who's clingy, needy and, adaptable(to use a euphemism) to the whims and desires of the girls I date. I'm still Shaun, but I've turned apostate, exchanged idealism for cynicism, embraced hedonism instead of faithfulness, and in the process, lost myself.
There's Black, there's White, and there's a whole spectrum of colors in between. I love being an oddity, a contrast. I've pulled off several roles, and now it seems I'm trying for the role of an Honest Asshole, or as honest as honest can be without appearing to be a total jerk.
What do you do when you find you aren't attracted to your partner? What happens when you know how awesome the person is but are simply not attracted? What happens when you realize this when you're 9,000km away but harbor hopes that the flame will re-ignite upon reunion? What happens when reunion, instead of sparking a bonfire, darkens the heart?
A better man will press on. A man better than myself.
One day God will slap me, and wake me up. Till that day, I will attempt to successfully indulge in hedonistic pleasures.
Today:
Tear your clothes and weep, kid, for instead of growing, you've descended into debauchery and exchanged wisdom for folly. The devil offers the world on a silver platter, and for mere potential you sold your soul. Just a little bit more, he cajoles, Heaven is forever, life is short. Jesus forgives all sins and washes them with his blood, turning your rotten soul white as snow. Even a little sin is unbearable in his sight, so what difference does it make how filthy your soul is upon repentance?
Quite a compelling argument. The danger lies though, in falling so far from the glory of God that he hardens your heart, and you never ever find it in your soul to confess and repent. So far down the road to ruin that inertia alone prevents salvation. In time you lose sight of God, and forget his voice. He still calls, but you no longer listen. If the world is your oyster, then hell is death by hepatitis.
"Sitting cross-legged on slightly damp grass in the middle of a park with the Buckingham Palace on my left and endless streams of french speaking tourists strolling pass me on the pavement by the lake, I'm in London, the sun's in a cheery mood and there's a plesant breeze.
A distant clock chimed twelve; six more hours before I have to make my way back to the Underground and catch a train back to Heathrow airport for my flight back home. It's beautiful here, and many a time I don't want to leave. I want to work, study, bum around, do anything here. In fact, I love every city I've been to in my travels this exchange. Chicago, New York, Seattle, Vancouver, Montreal, Quebec, Toronto, heck, even Waterloo, I love them all. I love the weather, I soak in the smiles, the friendly faces, the new friends, the partying, the crazy flip cup game.
But I'm going home; to family and friends, people who love me and in whose hearts I've significance, it's where I belong. I am truely glad that I'll soon see familiar faces. The most beautiful sights in the world mean nothing if you've nobody to share them with.
So I'll enjoy my day in London, my first city in Europe, and pray that the next time I'm here it will be with people I love."
And so it begins again.
Today my conscience speaks, in a gentle whisper echoing from a dusty grave.
Mercy would have it be enough, but Karma wields a heavy hammer, and the barrage I will face will by no means be small, and by no means would I not deserve it.
If she's a spacecraft I'm unqualified to pilot, and this flak I get is for getting off, what will be in store for me should I continue piloting and crash into the Atlantic.
I write this entry sitting on board an United Airlines domestic flight to New York, LGA, while my $20 imitation North Face duffel bag sits somewhere in the Chicago O'Hare airport waiting to board the next available flight to New York. How did this happen, and why would American air transport rules allow a passenger and his luggage to travel on different planes?
For the second question I can only shrug, and mention that might it not be possible for a time-bomb to go undetected in a check-in bag and detonated on a different flight as the terrorist? Heck, suicide bombing will be passe if this catches on.
As to why it happened in the first place? It all started with me asking for directions to the airport from the asian lady behind the hostel's reception desk. All I managed to understand from her chupsomebonk accent was that I should go west of Congress to La Salle station and take the blue line. Blue line, I thought, I know for sure how to get to Jackson station and it's also on the blue line, so I made my way there, only to find that Jackson's closed for the weekend for upgrading. Closed, on a weekend?! Why don't they work in the middle of the night like considerate Chinese and Singaporean construction firms; it's dark in the tunnels anyway.
What followed next was 30 mins of me walking haphazardly asking for directions to La Salle station and realising that there are 3 Lasalle stations; one serving the purple/brown/orange lines, one some sort of rail station, and the last serving the blue line. With a tip of the hat to ol Murphey, I paid a visit to the other 2 stations before finally arriving at the correct station, and hauling both me, and my duffel bag on board the train to O'Hare.
I settled down with Shadow of the Hegemon and was minding my own business reading when the train operator announced that the track between some station and some station is closed, and that we should alight at the next station to transfer to a shuttle that would take us two stations down towards O'Hare. Fantastic, more upgrading. So, off the train, to the shuttle, to another station, and back on the train towards the airport; 30 mins worth of traveling time.
Finally, we're at the airport(I used "we" purely to avoid soundly like some lonesome soul) and I brisked walked to Terminal one, half appreciating the soothing vocals of a black busker while wondering why he was even allowed to busk in the airport. Maybe it's because of the crumpled handwritten "God Bless You" sign he has with him. Terminal 1, United airlines check in desk with probably 50 people ahead of me in line. Awesome. Joined the queue, made my way to the front, found out it was too late to check in, put my luggage and myself on waiting list for the next flight, and left with a confirmation ticket.
Confirmation ticket in hand, I went through security where like in Heathrow, I had to remove shoes and belt, and found myself at gate B9 where my flight was boarding. Presented the confrimation ticket to the staff and got in exchange a boarding pass for that flight. What of my luggage, I asked, and was told that it would be on the next flight out.
Still with me? I'm bored on the plane after finishing my book. I need to get the next one, and probably end up returning to Singapore with 10 books. Getting sleepy, think I'll watch some bleach while the flight attendant walks down the aisle repeating "Seatbelts" at the rate of once every 4 seconds.
Especially my dad. Doesn't he look sweet and harmless. Ah, I thought I was a rock in canadian winter, but a little bit of web camming with Gwen, and a few of my dad's photos, and I miss home like crazy.
I'm still alive. Facebook is killing the blogging star. Why blog when Facebook is so much more convenient, at least where posting photos is concerned. The last I checked, I've over 700 photos on Facebook, gosh. I don't write much on Facebook though, so here's an attempt at regaining some writing ability while listening to mandarin songs.
Speaking of mandarin, the term used for mainland Chinese here is FOB, as in, Fresh Off the Boat. Interesting, eh? Not a very nice thing to say, but yeah, interesting.
I've one more week in Waterloo before my last day of exams and getting kicked out of residence the next day. Unlike NUS which at least is merciful about moving in/out dates, the students here are only allowed to move in one or two days before term starts, and have to leave 24 hours within the end of their last paper. Quite ridiculous if you ask me.
Where will I be going after that? Chicago, for two nights, and after that I've no idea. Maybe New York City. Then it's back to Toronto before coming back to Sunny Singapore. I'm positive that I'll melt as soon as I step out of Changi Airport. Double digit temperatures are rare here, and when that happens, everybody goes out in tee shirts; girls in skirts(:D).
Just as how I miss my friends in Singapore while I'm here, I'm sure as hell going to miss all the cool people I've been hanging out with here. As how Japheth put it recently, it's cool to sit down at a table and ask "so where's everybody from?". Ask that in Singapore and you'll get quizzical looks and "er, Hougang?".
I'm glad I'm coming home though. I miss all you guys back home! I'm coming homeeeeeeeee.
Facebook has this Compare application that's good for a few laughs. Check out my rankings:
1st in "Who has better taste in music" 1st in "Who more likely to succeed" 2nd in "Who is more attractive" 3rd in "Who is more talkative" 3rd in "Who more likely to skip class" 3rd in "Who has a better body" 5th in "Who is a better listener" 5th in "Who is smarter"
That's okay right. Apparently people don't think I study very much, and nobody trusts me. And of course, how can someone who stutters be a good public speaker.
175th in "Who is a better public speaker" 181st in "Who is more trustworthy" 194th in "Who studies harder"
I can't remember whether I've posted this before, but it looks like a relatively nice piece so here it is.
I can't understand why some people do the things they do. I can't understand greed. I can't understand lust. I can't understand resentfulness, though of course, of all the above I've experienced.
I weep for loss, shed tears for broken hearts, pity the weak, love the lonely. I love, but I am locked. Locked deep within the deepest, darkest corners of my soul. Useless, those emotions.
People expound on those, to impress, to cheat, as weapons to fulfill their hidden desires. Nobody loves, for the sake of loving. Nobody cares, for the sake of caring. I love you. Love me back. I give to the poor. LOOK AT ME! I care for my children. They better return the favor.
I mourn, for the loss, of innocence.
and one more:
An unbidden tear flows from my right eye, as I trudge slowly home. How fitting, I thought, that I should tear from only one eye.
The hot tear on my right cheek It's almost like a part of me is weeping For what I've become.
The Author, born 7 Sept 1984, graduate of Nanyang Polytechnic with a diploma in Engineering Informatics, currently studying Computing in the National University of Singapore and residing in Sheares Hall.
Antagonised Christian, Cow-killer, Beer-guzzler.
Marked by indolence, has an unhealthy aversion towards work and is the self-proclaimed master of procrastination. Is a regular user of Dictionary.com and calculators(or fingers, sometimes toes) due to having the spelling and mathematical ability of a 3 year old.
Breaks easily into cheesy grins, laughs raucously, and is capable of under-the-belt stabs of sarcasm as well as the occasional honeyed words of flattery.
