It was past 2am and I was still awake. I was looking for my black ink pen. It wasn't amongst my organized pile of mess on my coffee table. It wasn't amongst the unorganized stash of stationery in the drawer. It wasn't amongst any of the messes on any horizontal surfaces I could think of. Where could it be?
It'd been a long day, I was tired, and I was about to go to sleep. I just wanted to pen a few words before I did, and I noticed my black ink pen wasn't next to the blue one where they should be. So where was it? I remember I used it to write dates and stuff in the new books I got last week. Or was it the week before? Or was it two weeks before? It wasn't where the books were. I can't recall if I put it back. So, where was it?
It was past 2am and I ought to be in bed. I was aware that it was just a pen, and I have many others. I was aware that I misplace things all the time, and they usually turn up the moment I stopped looking for them. Yes, I was aware. So, where was it? Where was it?!
No, I'm not obsessed with a missing a pen. I'm not obsessed with proof-reading and editing a post countless times before and after publishing. I'm not obsessed with having every little thing my way and my way only. I'm not crazy. A little out of my mind, perhaps. Just a little.
Now, excuse me while I wrap those new books. Nobody - myself included - are allowed to read them before they are properly wrapped. Of course, nobody but me can wrap my books because nobody can do it the way I want it done...
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Are You A Musician?
I wish I could say yes. I do. Alas, it wouldn't be the truth if I did. I can't create, write or arrange music. Heck, I can't even perform music decently on any instrument. Sure, they say the voice is also an instrument, and most of those who'd heard me sing would say I sing rather well; I think, though, the judges at the only singing competition I'd ever been in would disagree.
I guess I could say, like I always do, that I'd never been formally trained in music. Technically though, that's not completely true. When I was a little girl, I had several years' piano lessons.
My first teacher was a family friend. I was her very first student. I don't know how she did it, being so young and inexperienced that she was then, but she was amazingly patient and taught me very well. I lost her, however, when my family moved away from that town. The second teacher I had taught piano for a living, and made it so, extremely obviously. My third piano teacher was better than the second, though not much. She taught without passion, and frowned upon questions. I didn't like that at all. It was 5 or 6 years since my first lesson, when I stopped going for them (... and started writing my first "book"). I was somewhere between Grade 4 and 5, I think. Right now, I'd place myself at Grade -1.
I don't know how I fared as a music student - though I guess I must not have excelled, for I don't recall having garnered any praises from my teachers, nor admiration of family members and friends. The only thing I remember, is how my teachers always reprimanded me for banging too hard on their piano keys. I remember I learned The Blue Danube (an arranged-for-children version, of course) while with my second teacher, and once, when visiting, played it for my first teacher. She hid a smile while I was at it, and when I was done, told me that the beautiful waltz was meant for ladies in elegant ball gowns to dance to, not for stomping elephants. I was a little indignant; had I known then, how my final teacher would put it (= "STOP pounding on my NEW piano!!!"), I'd have appreciated the humour and sugar-coating a lot more.
I'd previously written a very brief note on getting my guitar (= here). Well, the Guitar Society was offering lessons at the time, and I thought - well, why not? I ended up going for 2 lessons in the span of a year, and only managed to learn ONE complete song (the easiest of them all, of course) before the poor thing was confined to its god-forsaken corner for years.
If it wasn't for my joining YKLS last year (and also being somewhat obsessed with Jason Mraz), and thus rekindling my yearning to play the instrument, it would still be in its solitary confinement.
So, yes, I can play a miserable couple of songs miserably on my miserable guitar; I can read a little music (though hardly enough to manage sight-singing); I believe I can play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the piano...
But no, I am not a musician. I love music and would love to do more musically, but unfortunately, I am unworthy to be termed a musician. As yet.
And no, I couldn't tell you where you could get a decent guitar. I couldn't tell you where you could get affordable lessons. I couldn't tell if there are teachers who teach with patience and passion. Still, I wish you all the best in your quest.
Now, I should stop writing and go practice some...
I guess I could say, like I always do, that I'd never been formally trained in music. Technically though, that's not completely true. When I was a little girl, I had several years' piano lessons.
My first teacher was a family friend. I was her very first student. I don't know how she did it, being so young and inexperienced that she was then, but she was amazingly patient and taught me very well. I lost her, however, when my family moved away from that town. The second teacher I had taught piano for a living, and made it so, extremely obviously. My third piano teacher was better than the second, though not much. She taught without passion, and frowned upon questions. I didn't like that at all. It was 5 or 6 years since my first lesson, when I stopped going for them (... and started writing my first "book"). I was somewhere between Grade 4 and 5, I think. Right now, I'd place myself at Grade -1.
I don't know how I fared as a music student - though I guess I must not have excelled, for I don't recall having garnered any praises from my teachers, nor admiration of family members and friends. The only thing I remember, is how my teachers always reprimanded me for banging too hard on their piano keys. I remember I learned The Blue Danube (an arranged-for-children version, of course) while with my second teacher, and once, when visiting, played it for my first teacher. She hid a smile while I was at it, and when I was done, told me that the beautiful waltz was meant for ladies in elegant ball gowns to dance to, not for stomping elephants. I was a little indignant; had I known then, how my final teacher would put it (= "STOP pounding on my NEW piano!!!"), I'd have appreciated the humour and sugar-coating a lot more.
I'd previously written a very brief note on getting my guitar (= here). Well, the Guitar Society was offering lessons at the time, and I thought - well, why not? I ended up going for 2 lessons in the span of a year, and only managed to learn ONE complete song (the easiest of them all, of course) before the poor thing was confined to its god-forsaken corner for years.
If it wasn't for my joining YKLS last year (and also being somewhat obsessed with Jason Mraz), and thus rekindling my yearning to play the instrument, it would still be in its solitary confinement.
So, yes, I can play a miserable couple of songs miserably on my miserable guitar; I can read a little music (though hardly enough to manage sight-singing); I believe I can play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the piano...
But no, I am not a musician. I love music and would love to do more musically, but unfortunately, I am unworthy to be termed a musician. As yet.
And no, I couldn't tell you where you could get a decent guitar. I couldn't tell you where you could get affordable lessons. I couldn't tell if there are teachers who teach with patience and passion. Still, I wish you all the best in your quest.
Now, I should stop writing and go practice some...
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Early Morn
It is yet so early one could hardly tell it will be dawn soon, looking at the sky. The darkness, the fog, the still and vacant roads - intimidating, yet alluring.
I'd forgotten how blissful it is to be awake at an hour where most in this part of the world are fast asleep.
Good morning!
I'd forgotten how blissful it is to be awake at an hour where most in this part of the world are fast asleep.
Good morning!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The Fine Line
Well, I mean that one between the want to show genuine concern and sticking my long nose into someone else's business. I care, and therefore I want to do something about it; I want (though I am fully aware that I probably am unable) to protect one from being hurt. So, how do I know when I've crossed the line from being a caring friend to being intrusive?
I am not talking about relatively straightforward right-or-wrong choices: to continue or to quit smoking, for an example; to consume alcohol excessively or in moderation, for another. I mean matters in which no one could ever be sure what would turn out good, or otherwise. I want so much to say outright that I am extremely unsure of whether one has made the right decision; it would be easier if I knew for a fact that my opinion doesn't mean much. However, I know otherwise. My thoughts aren't, and will never be inconsequential to this person. For this, I must exercise a lot more care in what I say, and how I react.
For, how could I be sure that this isn't meant to be, just as how I have doubts on whether it is? True, history made me cynical, but still, how can I be sure? How can anyone be sure of anything? So, does that mean we are to live in fear of what we cannot predict? Are we to avoid and to forbid every single choice and course of actions that we believe might lead to the worst of our fears?
I cannot know for sure - but I know a truly happy friend when I see one. I can see the light and the life shining from the eyes, the smiles that come straight from the heart, the bliss and content that radiate from the being. Therefore, in spite of past heartbreaks, how can I confidently say the choice is a bad one when it gives one this much happiness? I cannot.
I am wary but I accept one's choice. I want badly to make certain one does not get hurt again, but definitely not at the expense of one's chance at happiness. I guess I could be like the mattress at the bouldering walls - no matter when or how many times a climber falls, it will be there to provide soft landing - constant and unwavering. Yes, that I can be.
Know that I will always be your friend, and be here for you, regardless of everything. Everything.
I am not talking about relatively straightforward right-or-wrong choices: to continue or to quit smoking, for an example; to consume alcohol excessively or in moderation, for another. I mean matters in which no one could ever be sure what would turn out good, or otherwise. I want so much to say outright that I am extremely unsure of whether one has made the right decision; it would be easier if I knew for a fact that my opinion doesn't mean much. However, I know otherwise. My thoughts aren't, and will never be inconsequential to this person. For this, I must exercise a lot more care in what I say, and how I react.
For, how could I be sure that this isn't meant to be, just as how I have doubts on whether it is? True, history made me cynical, but still, how can I be sure? How can anyone be sure of anything? So, does that mean we are to live in fear of what we cannot predict? Are we to avoid and to forbid every single choice and course of actions that we believe might lead to the worst of our fears?
I cannot know for sure - but I know a truly happy friend when I see one. I can see the light and the life shining from the eyes, the smiles that come straight from the heart, the bliss and content that radiate from the being. Therefore, in spite of past heartbreaks, how can I confidently say the choice is a bad one when it gives one this much happiness? I cannot.
I am wary but I accept one's choice. I want badly to make certain one does not get hurt again, but definitely not at the expense of one's chance at happiness. I guess I could be like the mattress at the bouldering walls - no matter when or how many times a climber falls, it will be there to provide soft landing - constant and unwavering. Yes, that I can be.
Know that I will always be your friend, and be here for you, regardless of everything. Everything.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Lament of the Forsaken
As I lay there helplessly, darkness, silence and emptiness all around, I can't help thinking back on the days I was happy. I was once happy. I was once his heart's dearest, his constant companion. He used to want me so near him always, we're almost never seen apart. I was his pride, I had his undivided devotion and attention, I was perfect for his needs, never wanting in any aspects. I was then, truly happy.
It is strange how the happiest times always seem the shortest. The blissful days passed as if in a flash. It got more and more often that he didn't want to have me with him all the time anymore. More and more frequently I was left behind while he went about his ways. I tried not to let the hurt and disappointment get hold of me too strongly. He still needed me, didn't he? He still came to me every now and then, didn't he? I was still the only one he had, wasn't I? I was still perfect, complete and not wanting in any aspects, wasn't I?
I was - and then, I no longer was. Though through no fault of mine, an essential, irreplaceable part of me went missing, and needless to say, I would never be the same to him, ever again. Feeling acutely his waning passion for me, I knew it would be a matter of time before the inevitable came. True enough - soon, I overheard him speak of another. He spoke of how much better it'd be for him, all the characteristics which would make it superior to me, and how he was bent on owning it soon. My heart broke - I was about to be replaced. I was devastated. I feared that I would be confined to a solitary, forgotten existence, for the rest of my days. I dreaded every passing day, which brought nearer the arrival of what would be his new love. But meanwhile, I told myself, he still was mine exclusively. He would still have me, keep me and care for me.
Till this day. This day was the day he'd left me behind. Although I do not believe he'd done it intentionally, but the fact remains that I was left behind. Others came and left, and as the day drew to an end, I was the only one still here. The night would be long and hard, and I was all alone.
Morning came, and I was still alone.
Days passed, and he did not come for me. Did he not miss me? Was he not anxious about my well-being and whereabouts? Perhaps his new companion had arrived. I could not bear to think of how I might actually never see him again. Little by little, I fell into deep despair and depression. Then I met it - the one was so like myself, we might have been twins separated at birth.
It was glad to see me again. It told me not to fret, and assured me that its owner could get me back to mine. That, I do not doubt. Of his affection however, I could only hope...
It is strange how the happiest times always seem the shortest. The blissful days passed as if in a flash. It got more and more often that he didn't want to have me with him all the time anymore. More and more frequently I was left behind while he went about his ways. I tried not to let the hurt and disappointment get hold of me too strongly. He still needed me, didn't he? He still came to me every now and then, didn't he? I was still the only one he had, wasn't I? I was still perfect, complete and not wanting in any aspects, wasn't I?
I was - and then, I no longer was. Though through no fault of mine, an essential, irreplaceable part of me went missing, and needless to say, I would never be the same to him, ever again. Feeling acutely his waning passion for me, I knew it would be a matter of time before the inevitable came. True enough - soon, I overheard him speak of another. He spoke of how much better it'd be for him, all the characteristics which would make it superior to me, and how he was bent on owning it soon. My heart broke - I was about to be replaced. I was devastated. I feared that I would be confined to a solitary, forgotten existence, for the rest of my days. I dreaded every passing day, which brought nearer the arrival of what would be his new love. But meanwhile, I told myself, he still was mine exclusively. He would still have me, keep me and care for me.
Till this day. This day was the day he'd left me behind. Although I do not believe he'd done it intentionally, but the fact remains that I was left behind. Others came and left, and as the day drew to an end, I was the only one still here. The night would be long and hard, and I was all alone.
Morning came, and I was still alone.
Days passed, and he did not come for me. Did he not miss me? Was he not anxious about my well-being and whereabouts? Perhaps his new companion had arrived. I could not bear to think of how I might actually never see him again. Little by little, I fell into deep despair and depression. Then I met it - the one was so like myself, we might have been twins separated at birth.
It was glad to see me again. It told me not to fret, and assured me that its owner could get me back to mine. That, I do not doubt. Of his affection however, I could only hope...
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Insanity
How does one tell eccentricity from insanity? Of course - if one is crazy because one purposely wants to be crazy, that's eccentricity; if one is crazy because one can't help being crazy, that's insanity.
Seeing Things That Are Not There
The Right Optic Nerve observed to the Left Optic Nerve, "You know, these eyeballs have been motionless for a long time now. The Brain's making it stare at nothingness. I'm so bored of signaling nothingness back. If this goes on, I think I will go into spasms!"
"Stop grumbling," the Left Optic Nerve replied, "As if the repetitive firing of the signal of nothingness isn't maddening enough, you have to complain about it too!"
"We should just send the signals the Brain is craving for."
"That's fraud. We can't do that!"
"Do you want to be trapped in this existence of delivering nothingness for all eternity?
The Left Optic Nerve contemplated it a while. "Do you really know what the Brain wants to 'see'?"
"You would too, if you lurked around a bit more, observed harder and gossiped a little with the other nerves."
"Alright. Let's do it!"
"One conjured visual information coming up!" and they laughed.
Hearing Things That Are Not There
"It's extremely still, do you not think?" the Right Auditory Nerve said. "I wish there are some to encode and deliver. Music will be nice."
"Depends on the kind of music, you know," the Left Auditory Nerve replied. "I don't want those loud, booming ones. They're so obnoxious they make me feel like killing myself."
"Killing yourself?"
"Yes, killing myself. Ha ha."
"Hey, I could help you with that. What do you call it? That's right, MERCY KILLING! I'll kill you! Ha ha ha..."
"Ha ha ha..."
"Oops..."
"What?" the Left Auditory Nerve was taken aback by the Right Auditory Nerve's sudden solemness.
"My last message to you, I accidentally sent to the Brain as well. Now it's thinking someone is talking to it."
"We can do that?!"
"Apparently so..."
"Cool! Let's try again!" and they laughed.
I can't decide. I'll need to have a serious talk with those naughty, misbehaving nerves.
Seeing Things That Are Not There
The Right Optic Nerve observed to the Left Optic Nerve, "You know, these eyeballs have been motionless for a long time now. The Brain's making it stare at nothingness. I'm so bored of signaling nothingness back. If this goes on, I think I will go into spasms!"
"Stop grumbling," the Left Optic Nerve replied, "As if the repetitive firing of the signal of nothingness isn't maddening enough, you have to complain about it too!"
"We should just send the signals the Brain is craving for."
"That's fraud. We can't do that!"
"Do you want to be trapped in this existence of delivering nothingness for all eternity?
The Left Optic Nerve contemplated it a while. "Do you really know what the Brain wants to 'see'?"
"You would too, if you lurked around a bit more, observed harder and gossiped a little with the other nerves."
"Alright. Let's do it!"
"One conjured visual information coming up!" and they laughed.
Hearing Things That Are Not There
"It's extremely still, do you not think?" the Right Auditory Nerve said. "I wish there are some to encode and deliver. Music will be nice."
"Depends on the kind of music, you know," the Left Auditory Nerve replied. "I don't want those loud, booming ones. They're so obnoxious they make me feel like killing myself."
"Killing yourself?"
"Yes, killing myself. Ha ha."
"Hey, I could help you with that. What do you call it? That's right, MERCY KILLING! I'll kill you! Ha ha ha..."
"Ha ha ha..."
"Oops..."
"What?" the Left Auditory Nerve was taken aback by the Right Auditory Nerve's sudden solemness.
"My last message to you, I accidentally sent to the Brain as well. Now it's thinking someone is talking to it."
"We can do that?!"
"Apparently so..."
"Cool! Let's try again!" and they laughed.
I can't decide. I'll need to have a serious talk with those naughty, misbehaving nerves.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
An Excerpt
Bee Ree was showing us some applications on her new iPad.
Recently, it's been the world of Apple around us. Mee Mee got herself an iPhone, and then, Bee Ree got herself an iPad. When emails were exchanged, half of them ended with "Sent from my iPhone" or "Sent from my iPad". Not wanting to feel left out, I manually ended my replies with "Sent from my Office PC". I didn't think it was that fresh or funny then.
So, Bee Ree showed us her organizer app. She demonstrated how she creates new entries and adds to-do tasks. She created a new entry.
"So here, I type Shell Shell; under that entry it's Wedding, and the tasks - buy gift, buy new dress..."
Mee Mee was so impressed!
"Wow! Buy a new dress! I'll need it too! Can you sync that to my iPhone???"
I didn't know if Bee Ree was in earnest or in jest -
"Can, can!"
I pouted. "Too bad you can't sync it to my Office PC as well..."
Shell Shell, who was having some cake, snorted, almost choked, and had to cover her mouth to keep the half-chewed food from spurting out. For a while, she strained to contain her laughter from bursting forth full-forced; when calm, she glared at me.
"Please watch what you're saying! Do you want history to repeat itself?!"
Once upon a time, we lived together, all of us. Once, we were hanging out in the living room, and I happened to blurt out a comment so crazy that Shell Shell, who was drinking at the time, had such as hard time containing her laughter she had to RUN OUT of the house to spit the water out.
"Do you want to make me run out of this place and spit my food out?!"
"No, no. Sorry... I'll try not to do that again. Hee hee....."
"OK, OK, let's play a game on the iPad now, shall we?"
The full story:
Part 1
Part 2
Recently, it's been the world of Apple around us. Mee Mee got herself an iPhone, and then, Bee Ree got herself an iPad. When emails were exchanged, half of them ended with "Sent from my iPhone" or "Sent from my iPad". Not wanting to feel left out, I manually ended my replies with "Sent from my Office PC". I didn't think it was that fresh or funny then.
So, Bee Ree showed us her organizer app. She demonstrated how she creates new entries and adds to-do tasks. She created a new entry.
"So here, I type Shell Shell; under that entry it's Wedding, and the tasks - buy gift, buy new dress..."
Mee Mee was so impressed!
"Wow! Buy a new dress! I'll need it too! Can you sync that to my iPhone???"
I didn't know if Bee Ree was in earnest or in jest -
"Can, can!"
I pouted. "Too bad you can't sync it to my Office PC as well..."
Shell Shell, who was having some cake, snorted, almost choked, and had to cover her mouth to keep the half-chewed food from spurting out. For a while, she strained to contain her laughter from bursting forth full-forced; when calm, she glared at me.
"Please watch what you're saying! Do you want history to repeat itself?!"
Once upon a time, we lived together, all of us. Once, we were hanging out in the living room, and I happened to blurt out a comment so crazy that Shell Shell, who was drinking at the time, had such as hard time containing her laughter she had to RUN OUT of the house to spit the water out.
"Do you want to make me run out of this place and spit my food out?!"
"No, no. Sorry... I'll try not to do that again. Hee hee....."
"OK, OK, let's play a game on the iPad now, shall we?"
The full story:
Part 1
Part 2
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