The Hundredth Post

This post, my hundredth post will be a post for milestones. Milestones achieved, and surpassed. Not just personally but for the people around me.

I am almost at the end of my service in the Singapore Civil Defence Force, in fact there is about 229 days left and every single day that I pass in this force reinforces my belief that it can be as good as you choose to make it out to be, or as horrific as you choose to make it out to be. Ultimately it is up to you.

I am 19 turning 20 and I’ve accomplished certain things with my life, but living alone *effectively* for the past couple of years has told me that I am and can be independent, but has also showed me the true value of companionship camaraderie. I treasure my friends, my family and the people around me more for this experience.

I am 1/5th of an elite team of Podcasters, all of whom are warm, friendly, helpful, and yet appreciative of humour, serious when need be, and have shown me confidence, humility, and love for technology, contemporary issues and all my pet peeves.

This day marks the day I won my iPod from Microsoft. Yes. An iPod. From Microsoft. The irony has not escaped me. But is that not my life? Irony after Irony. So much so that sarcasm is my middle name, and periodic cynicism from me is expected.

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The Judge

You brought this upon yourself, said the judge sternly, looking down on the defendant/accuser/witness/lawyer/jury. With the Righteous fury vested in me, I must pronounce you guilty. The crowd stared at him and asked one question in unison, all expecting, What is he guilty of? He is guilty of Guilt! Of that sinful emotion, of that life sapping sensation that confuses him, when all that is obvious is obscured. I sentence you to self-exile! You can’t do that the crowds screamed. And why can’t I? The judge bellowed, sonorous and exultant, Je Suis Vous! Et Vous Etes Moi! I am You and You are Me! And the scene faded with a pan across the ornate, musty, delicious chocolate furnished room, into an oblivion filled only with silence and the knowledge of what he was too weak to do.

The Confusion

When It Came down to it, I realised that its too easy to look away, to try and find an alternative, and yet I knew, that ultimately I can only choose one or the other.

The Now, or The Future.

Or Neither.

And it seems like this impossible situation of living, has become the definition of living. And I cannot understand it anymore, cannot continue like this. All this has become so tiring and yet its a kind of ennui induced fatigue. Just too tired to try anything. Too tired to do anything. Too tired.

Somehow it is no longer a comfort but a nervous tension. And its Me. Its nothing to do with them/you/us/me/her/Mom/Dad/Bro. I am too quick and my defenses while adequate for the odd argument, the evenly matched discussion, is mere glass for those who deign interest, who just want to talk, who love but cannot express, who enjoy my company.

Has it always been that easy to figure me out? That euphoric state of trance that you get when you hear, when you see, when you smell. That somehow these states of mind were only the illusion, to deceive, to give you the false hope that somehow all this could last… beyond an expensive plane ticket, and an almost insurmountable distance.

Saint Valentine

Saint Valentine must be a pimp,
with fish swimming in his platforms,
with big-ass sunglasses,
with syncopated rhythms,
stolen from pink cards

Saint Valentine must be an angel,
Drifting through azure and sangria,
bestowing unbeknown wonders on those who believe,
believe in the unforgettable,
and dream of their deep city dreams.

Saint Valentine must be a sadist,
taunting us, those without,
those who just want to live this day like any other
enjoying the jealous looks thrown,
thrown like a towel into the ring.

Saint Valentine must want love to prevail,
he created this day for you and me,
for him and her, him and his, they and them,
to forget that would be disappointingly human,
and yet I am forced to by exigencies of the service,
to sit this one out, even when,

Saint Valentine’s all of these things,
to all of us,
its up to us to believe,
in this Clausian charecter,
that a rose deliever’d by a burst of light,
through the ether that is Fibre-Optic,
that a cheap card, dinner and 2 kisses,
1 lip/1 cheek,
or just the simple Happy V-Day *Just like in ’45*
still works.

It works. It just does.

Chinese New Year’s Eve Eve

Here I am sitting here, with my parents after a great meal at Corduroy and Fitch down Bukit Timah Road, off 6th Ave. Watching Golf. Waiting for the enforced gaity to begin.

Just alittle annoyed at work right now, but nothing new really. Same old issue, different if weird timing.

Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex.

Chinese New Year’s Eve Eve

Here I am sitting here, with my parents after a great meal at Corduroy and Fitch down Bukit Timah Road, off 6th Ave. Watching Golf. Waiting for the enforced gaity to begin.

Just alittle annoyed at work right now, but nothing new really. Same old issue, different if weird timing.

Music Is My Hot, Hot Sex.