chapter 1: A new beginning, or maybe not.

The boat started to sink, ever so steadily. She knew how to swim and yet she couldn’t; her arms and legs were frozen. She tried to call for help, but nothing but a whisper escaped her mouth. It sank with her into the dark waters. She saw figures floating around. Figures of people she thought she knew. She could not breathe; she held her breath until she could no longer do so. She could not hold on much longer, she felt her lungs compressing. Her screams reverberated in her head, growing louder and louder and louder still.

With a jolt she woke up on her queen-sized bed, gasping for air with her forehead damp with perspiration. She swiped at her forehead wiping it and sat upright for some time, calming herself down from the horrific episode. She had been having these disturbing images while in deep sleep a couple of times now, often waking up, panting. It was especially bad after she lost Nathan, her husband of 6 years, a couple of months ago. It seems as though the mental wounds and psychological wounds never managed to fully heal, together with her aching heart. Pouring herself a glass of water from the bottle by the bedroom lamp, she steadied herself and reminded herself it was not real; it was a mere figment of her imagination, as she guzzled the cooling liquid.

Her alarm rang and she hit the top button. It was 7am. Her biological clock had gotten so accustomed to the time that she barely needed to rely on her alarm clock; she would wake up a minute or two beforehand. But she set it anyway, for precautionary measure. She placed the glass down and swung her legs off the bed to get up. Walking to the full length mirror she ran her fingers through her short, springy auburn curls. At thirty one, Catalina Rose Valdez had not aged one second. She could still pass off as a woman in her early twenties. She barely wore make up, save for occasion powder and blush. Alas, she did not need to, because her natural beauty spoke for itself. Her well-chiselled nose, almond-shaped hazel eyes and auburn curls were sufficient to make heads turn as she walked the streets.

Catalina grew up under the guidance of her grandmother, who she loved dearly, never knowing who her biological parents were. They had left her at her grandmother’s doorstep and Catalina never bothered to trace them down because her grandmother never made her feel as though she was alone in the world. Her grandmother claimed that the moment she laid her eyes on her, her heart sank at the act at her parents had performed, but she wholeheartedly accepted the bundle of joy. The moment she stared into her hazel eyes, she got reminded of an angel, and hence named her Catalina, which was Spanish for Aikaterine, the greek term for ‘pure’. Catalina called her grandmother abuelita , an affectionate term for grandmother, in Spanish.

Having spent her childhood and teenage years in Salamanca, a city in Western Spain, she was fluent in her mother tongue, or what she would rather call, grandmother tongue, Spanish but her English was never compromised. She studied in a catholic school and grew up with a passion for history, mythology and ancient civilisations. After all, Salamanca was so rich in culture and heritage that it was declared by UNESCO as a world heritage site in 1988. She loved the way things developed and evolved and civilisations grew and got erased from the surface of the earth. When Catalina passed her eighteenth, her grandmother passed on from old age, leaving her what hard-earned money she had from selling self-woven hats. Her grandmother was a breast cancer survivor and gave others with that incurable disease the faith to live. She was a strong woman. Catalina was deeply shattered by the loss of her confidante, her guidance and her pillar of support and was left with no choice but to travel to the states to live with her distant aunt, who she did not even know how she was related to.

In the present day, Catalina freshened up and walked to her kitchen to make herself some breakfast. She felt as though she was shedding weight by the kilos and needed some carbohydrate. Switching on the coffee machine, she scooped in a few spoonfuls of her favourite Arabica coffee beans and dropped two toasts into the toaster and went back to reminiscing. Her so-called aunt Muriel had accepted her into her abode in Los Angeles, near Westwood village, albeit unwillingly. She could sense it from her sourness-laden voice and the way her lips would scrunch up into a frown every time Catalina walked in. Catalina merely shrugged it off, though she felt the pang in her heart every time she thought of her late albuelita. It was then that Catalina decided to study what she was passionate about, history, with a second major in mythology at the University of Los Angeles, California (UCLA). She knew her albuelita would be proud, watching over her from the heavens. The college was a stone’s throw away from Aunt Muriel’s house.

Spreading marmalade on her toast she threw a glance over at the easel next to the couch. Resting on it was a canvas block with a portrait of her late husband Nathan Smith painted onto it using Acrylic paint. She loved painting as it helped her go into pensive and put things into perspective. She dreadfully missed Nathan and she remembered his face all too clearly. His dimpled smile, his wavy dark brown hair, his well-chiselled jaw line and his twinkling eyes which lit up when he spoke of what he loved. She smiled wistfully as she recollected the day she met Nathan at UCLA. He was three years her senior and was majoring in forensic science and did a minor in mythology. They met at mythology lectures, sharing a common interest. They would study together at the Powell library on campus and have long chats in the cafeteria with scoopfuls of Baskin-Robins and occasionally do crosswords together. Chocolate chip cookie dough was their favourite. As the quarterback of the university American football team, he was popular, yet down to earth and had his eyes set on no one but Catalina.

After graduating, Nathan joined the Los Angeles Police Department, to become an LAPD officer. He had always wanted to serve the society, wanted to replace the bad with good, wanted to instill peace in the neighbourhood. A humanitarian, he always served when he could, be it at charity organisations or fundraisers. As an LAPD officer, he stuck firmly to his duty and was always ready to serve. He wore his badge with pride and Catalina wore him as a badge with pride. When Catalina was in her final year, Nathan proposed to her in his uniform in the middle of a luscious field on campus. He knelt down on a knee and pulled out a velvety red box which drew Catalina’s breath away and when she saw the ring she nodded without him having to utter a single word. They got engaged then and married the next day at a small catholic church. Catalina used to tease him, saying that his surname, Smith, did not go well with her first and middle names and Nathan used to reply cheekily that if that was the case, he would change it the next day to what she deemed fit.

After they tied the knot, Catalina shifted out of Aunt Muriel’s house, kissed her goodbye on the cheeks, hugged her one last time and thanked her for everything before moving into Nathan’s house. They built a home together and he urged her to follow her dreams. Upon graduating she decided to contribute back to her alma mater and teach what she loved. He believed in her and that made her believe in her capabilities. He used to joke that she would make a fabulous female president if she wanted to. Now he was gone, she thought to herself as tears filled her eyes. She wiped away her tears as they trickled down her cheek and ate what she could of her breakfast. She poured her coffee into a thermos flask and collected the notes which she burnt the midnight oil drafting. World history: a spotlight on Europe. She gathered her papers and carefully inserted them into her briefcase, which usually rested at a permanent spot on her couch. Throwing on a shirt and a pleated skirt, she took one final glance at her reflection and tried to muster a smile and she ran her fingers through her curls. She could do this - her first lecture for the semester. Although she was one of the youngest teaching staffs, she was well-revered by her colleagues and students.

Collecting her briefcase and thermos and swinging her handbag over her right shoulder she took one final glance around her apartment and left her flat, locking behind herself. She heard the joyful bark of her neighbour’s dog Powter as it pawed at her skirt until she delivered a pat to his head. The fox terrier was being taken for a morning walk by the neighbour living across her, Maurice, the sweetest sixty year old lady she ever knew. She knew she could never replace her albuelita but she deeply respected her and since she had been widowed at a young age, they could empathize with one another. She had only Powter and Catalina in her life and she loved Catalina like a daughter she never had. She smiled broadly as she saw Catalina and asked her to come over for some sponge cake and Himalayan tea, her speciality, in the afternoon. Catalina nodded and smiled back as she bade goodbye. ‘Hasta pronto see you soon’, she uttered.

The class was larger than she had expected, but the moment she entered and saw eager faces smiling back at her, she felt herself ease and introduced herself as Catalina Rose Smith. And so it begins, she thought to herself, as she smiled both internally and externally.

In a distant part of downtown Los Angeles they slapped him hard across his face. He was gagged and tied to a structure and looked like he had aged by decades. The light above his head swung precariously. He sat defeated and without an ounce of energy within him to struggle any longer. The figures in front of him snorted and spat distastefully on his face. He thought this was one of his better treatments he had gotten. In the pale light, red slashes of blood and gashes could be seen across his face, arms and body, some fresh, some dried. They ungagged him momentarily to force water down his throat and when they untied the cloth, he begged, ‘please, let me go. My wife needs me. He’s free now, what do you need. I’ll give you what you need. You already killed my son. Please let me go. Please.’ It hurt for him to talk, it hurt for him to move but nothing hurted like the pain inside of him. One of the figures laughed as he barked back ‘she thinks you’re dead. She thinks you’re gone. It’s over.’ He glanced over at the other figure as they laughed silently and gagged him back.

something i penned with a bout of inspiration (a prologue)

It was black, it always was. She could not do without a mug of black coffee from freshly ground Arabica coffee beans. Looking around, she heaved a sigh of relief as she sipped the lukewarm beverage. It had been some time since she could sit and breathe evenly. She reached into her pocket and drew out a photograph of her son and thumbing the photograph she reminisced about the moments she still had him in his life. It had been five years since she had lost James and the memories of that day haunted her. She could never wash those memories out and she will never forget his last few words. First she had lost her son James and then her husband Nathan, who she had tied the knot with 6 years ago. Her world had crumbled into pieces and it took some time for her to gather herself and re-build that faith to live. She had to keep fighting, for them, for justice.

It was then she noticed the back of a leather jacket with that logo she would never forget on a man at the counter. She immediately covered her auburn hair with the hood of her jacket and sipped the last few drops of her coffee. Paying the nervous waitress nearby, she hurriedly gathered her purse and belongings and slid off the chair to leave, without waiting for her change. She had to make sure she was not noticed as she walked out of the cafe, she could not afford to be recognised.

The skies had turned dark and a slight drizzle dampened the sidewalks, making them glisten as the pale moonlight reflected off them. She took quick, quiet footsteps and walked as fast as she could. As she half-turned, she noticed a figure walk out of the cafe. Not being able to make out his face and not daring to stare too long, she quickened her footsteps and tightened her fist in her pockets. The chilly November wind made her shiver through her cardigan but nothing caused more pain than the chill in her heart which was trampled to pieces. She could hear his footsteps now, quickening ever so gradually and her heart began to pound loud enough for her to hear in her own ears. She must not panic; she had to find justice for her son and her beloved husband. Her brisk walk turned into a slow jog and eventually a dash towards a familiar neighbourhood. Finally when she could not hear his footsteps anymore, she turned to check and sure enough, she was alone. Turning back towards her flat and upon reaching home, she locked the door and fell onto the couch to let her heart settle from what she thought could have been the last day of her life. And what could have possibly been the last mug of black coffee that ever entered her body.

She turned towards a photograph of James, Nathan and herself at the Grand Canyon when they were still one happy family, untainted by the horrors of what came after. Tears streamed down her cheek as she whispered that she will fight for justice; that she will fight for them till her very last breath. She promised.

stairway to heaven? maybe not.

Superiority and inferiority. Class. castes. Race. Religion. Colour. All these can section society into different categories and are the seeds which could plant marginalisation and discrimination.

Colour has sparked huge riots in the past, especially in the USA. The black-white divide has been one of the most widely debated issue over the years. It was so intense that people could no longer separate humane from inhumane, as long as colours were involved. It was only with time and development of a certain sense of tolerance and maturity that this issue became partly resolved. I say partly because inevitably there will still be some people who think they are superior because of the colour of their skin. People dared not speak up and those who did suffered the consequences when they were hushed either via assassination as in the case of Martin Luther King Jr. (who shared his "I have a dream" speech) or simply forced to seal their lips. But does colour mark the superiority status of Mankind? If so, who said so? These gross misconceptions are partly the reason why marginalisation and discrimination developed. This reminds me of a novel which really touched my heart and shone light on the divide based on colour - Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor and some of her other books such as Let the Circle be Unbroken. This particular book is one of my favourites and an utterly thought-provoking one at that.

Another major divide which can be noticed in mostly developing countries would be the rich-poor divide. This divide was evident on the streets of Cambodia, when I went over last December. It would be a common sight to come across an elaborately decorated mansion sandwiched between two huts for instance on the streets of Cambodia or aluminium-lined rooftops and barely sheltered homes in front of condominium flats in India. However, we should never treat a fellow human being in a certain manner based on how much cash they horde. This would be unjust as we came to this planet with nothing and we are leaving without anything and what matters the most is who we are as a person.

The past as seen several other cases of such discrimination; one of which is the caste system of India. This was a system which divided the general populace in different sections of superiority based on their occupation. I.e. merchants would be ranked lower than warriors and kings and these would be ranked lower than priests. While much of this structure has been abolished, snippets of these can still be seen in society. Labelling people as 'pariahs' or untouchables is not uncommon in India for example. This is the sad truth; people labelling themselves as worthy of the upper echelons of society and looking down on those 'below' them.

This brings me to my thoughts of how there are inevitably superiority issues whether in the workplace or any other organisation. Divisions are bound to be established be it for training purposes or management. I would call it climbing the rungs of a ladder. When you start off, you are like the bottom rung, stepped on by almost everyone, especially so that they can move farther at your expense. Slowly but surely when one rises in ranking and moves to the next rung and beyond, they are less stepped on and when at the topmost rung, people only reach out to you and barely step onto you. Such are office politics, university politics and so forth and such is life. But no matter which rung you are, no matter which stage in life you are at, never forget that at the end of the day we are all human beings who came with nothing and leave with nothing and it is what we have done rather than what we have that truly matters.

Walking through crossroads with thousands of others, I take a moment to stop and glance around myself and I realize no one has stopped and the world continues as per normal.

hogging the roads since 2007.

12th of December 2007 - the day I passed my driving test and attained my license. Today marks the 3rd anniversary of that day. Time undoubtedly and inevitably flies!

It seems like yesterday that I first sat behind the wheel and shuddered nervously when I was asked to drive at merely 40km/h. I remember climbing into the car next to my test instructor and taking a deep breath before starting. That was the first time I had driven without music from the alpine system in the car. I tried to remember the route I was given, but it came to me as nothing but a number. I kicked off my sandals (yes I drive barefooted) and checked my settings before starting off. Unlike my previous test instructor, this one looked remotely friendly so I gave a nervous sideway smile and set off. I focused and survived and he told me I was a smooth driver, which made me smile internally (and would have manifested as an ear-to-ear smile if I had let it). Upon reaching the centre, he refused to tell me if I had earned the right to travel the roads on a four-wheeler controlled by me. I trudged up the stairs behind him and sat down across from him at a table. It was there he handed me my score sheet and I had passed! I might have squealed there and then.

When I freshly passed, everything had to be by the book but now it seems estimation and gut has taken over. It ultimately becomes a task akin to swimming or cycling, where your body automatically takes over as though it is pre-set.

This maturation process applies to a multitude of things in life. Be it a caterpillar taking a temporary hiatus or morphing period in a cocoon only to emerge a butterfly or a baby graduating from sucking his or her thumb to lecturing in a university. Changes are all around us. But with changes comes the baggage of memories of the past. Some sweet, some painful, some happy and some sad and these inevitably become part of us. Whether we use these to our advantage and prevent history from repeating itself or we let ourselves sink into these and allow those emotions to erupt yet once again is entirely up to us. But no matter what we do with these memories, they get planted into our brains till anatomically erased by old age. They are part of us, and will remain part of us; especially if they mean a great deal to you.

In any case, I miss driving a manual car!

sat down with inspiration and a pen.

The gust of wind

The words of life just pass me by

I wonder if I should laugh or cry

I hold out my hand with apprehension

But your words seem to escape my comprehension

Where did I err, I ask myself

As I look at pictures of us upon the shelf

Tears stream down my cheek

As I recall our memories that summer at the creek

We were happy; things were perfect

My heart was whole and fully intact

Somehow this gust of wind took with it our dreams

It was not that perfect after all, it seems

I tried to bring a smile upon your face

Thoughts of you, in my heart I would place

But you slammed the door into my soul

So now with these memories left, I will grow old

By Vibha

A quarter of the pie.

22 years and approximately 11 days have passed since I completed 22 years on this planet. If one considers the life expectancy of an average healthy Singaporean (~80.7 years), that would mean I have completed one quarter of my life. As I stare at the 3/4 of pie left in front of me (where pie = my life), I cannot help but wonder how the rest will taste like. Sure enough there will be a myriad of tastes (sweet, salty, sour or bitter) based on my experiences hence forth and this pie of life definitely has an unpredictable set of fillings which would provoke different feelings within me.

I have reached a stage where a multitude of decisions have to be made. Decisions which seem to be battling out within me, stretching me in different directions. I guess I have to shut off these external noises and truly find that inner voice somewhere within me. And so I close my eyes and meditate and hope that I find those answers. And meanwhile, stick with my gut feel. Because the gut never lies. And perhaps try not to practise romanticism (i.e. mixing reasons with emotions and leading to a perpetual battle between both), which would certainly be a difficult task for me especially since my heart is soft like a marshmellow.

On another note, I truly value the people I have in my life. Some may have entered my life earlier and some later, but all of these people hold a special compartment within the four chambers of my heart. I love all of you dearly; you know who you are :) Cheers!

soccer for dummies, my style.

This is a recycled post from my old blog :)

First, grab a spherical object. Cylinders, cuboids and pyramids are out of the question, but worth a try. Next, find something to kick it into. Well, the wider the structure of the 'goalpost' is, the easier the game due to several obvious reasons. For a greater challenge, get a narrower region to kick the spherical object into. Here's the trick, someone from the opposing team has to place his body in grave danger by guarding this 'goalpost' with solely his body. Hence make sure the spherical object has no sharp or jaggered edges to ensure that the human being does not have to taken away on a stretcher.

So far so good? Now, the tricky bit is the movement of this circular object. Hands are out of the question, so if you'd like to look stylish while playing soccer, tuck your hands in your pockets. It is the emerging style. Feet can be used, don't worry. Well, if you're not too worried about brain damage, use the back of your head or your forehead. For those without heart problems, use your chest by all means. Otherwise, feet work fine. Next step - how many men are required to chase this spherical object and pass it around before shooting it into the 'goalpost'? 11 in total, per team. Oh keep some players on standby. Accidents happen more often than not.

Oh yes, referees are a necessity. They like to keep two coloured cards in their pockets. Red and yellow. (No, they're not all Spanish) They wave the red card if they would rather you get off the field while yellow serves as a warning. Watch your tongue because vulgarities can get you a yellow card or even a red card. Oh and if you like doing chokeslams or headbutts on people, you'll be better off in a wrestling ring.

Soccer politics. Something that churns out millions in terms of the press. So if you're not in for some sweaty action, pick up that typewriter and churn out a story on soccer politics and sell it to tabloids. Likely to get you hordes of cash, if you're really professional.

Scoring. Some people like to kick the spherical object in various arrangements around the field for a bulk of the time and then score a goal whereas others prefer kicking the spherical objects into the crowd. There are some, of course, who rather get to the point and score from one end of the field to the other. Of course, that is only possible if all the players are asleep on the field apart from the one delivering the shot.

So, as you can see, soccer is not all that complicated after all. Go and grab your spherical object and a couple of people today!

molds of plasticine or bricks of clay?

Conformity to the norm or daring to be different. Human beings tend to take different stances, but ultimately they funnel into conformity at some juncture or point in time. How different can we be and how often do we let ourselves stick out like a sore thumb?

This raises the issue of our locus of identity and whether it is external or internal. The former are comparable to molds of plasticine whereas the latter are comparable to hardened pieces of clay. It is difficult to classify humans into either of these two categories and most possess a little bit of that plasticine and a little bit of that clay, just that how much of each vary. Plasticines let themselves be molded and adjusted by the fingers of society whereas clay pieces have set their own standards of living and values, which are immune to external perspectives.

Why exactly do people conform? Why would someone not dare walk out of their house in their PJs? Why would people not dare break out into a musical on a train? Why are there unspoken norms of behaviour and conduct and who exactly created these? It is quite interesting to think about the roots of origin of such practices and how these differ across the globe. In Japan people would look at you aghast if you were to set your mobile on ringing mode, while in America you see people talking at the top of their voices. True enough, we can connect or link these to culture and traditions, but it does not address the issue of people having to be similar or at least not too different from one another. This is an entirely different issue on its own. Is it a need for identity or a fear of being judged? It could be either or perhaps just an easy way out. After all, it takes less energy to do exactly what your neighbour practises instead of having to decide what to do. We begin to doubt our own actions and try and match those of the norm. Also, people may fear being left out or ostracized for being different. But that makes them become someone they are instructed to develop into rather than someone they want to be.

Not convinced? Several psychologists have tested on subjects in the past and proven just what I am rambling about - the need to conform. One of the earliest of these studies is that done by Solomon Asch in the 1950s. Check this out:

Even though the need for acceptance haunts our minds, I think in order to be truly happy we need to take our lives by its reins and take critiques with a pinch of salt. Dare to be different and have that clay within us while maintaining some plasticine as well. Only a healthy balance of these two will make us truly us and unique. It is perfectly fine to stick out like a sore thumb once in awhile and create a whole new direction and perhaps a whole new norm, the irony of it all.

an apple a day keeps the doctor away?

The time has come where apples and blackberries are no longer seen as fruits, but spark thoughts of technological brands. An i-age is what I would define today as. And yes, I am referring to iphones and ipads and iproducts. Not just that, today our opposable thumbs seem to be indispensible in performing our daily tasks (not hard manual labour, but SMS-ing). It's 2010, and the days of snail mail and messenger pigeons are long gone. It is amazing how even siblings living under the same roof can facebook wall each other while seated in their own rooms. Or take the example of handphones and how they have become some sort of appendages on us, without which one begins to feel handicapped and agonized.

Are we truly moving into a society that is non-functional without these gadgets? Are we moving into a materialistic world defined by products and brands? These questions are worth raising and contemplating on. Somehow products have begun to embody our own aspirations and even bits and pieces of ourselves. But is this healthy? Probably not.

Even though, I may have fallen prey to consumerism in several instances, I believe it is of extreme importance to not lose ourselves in the process. A bag, for instance, should be to hold your items and make transportation of objects easier and not something that personifies you. Personification of oneself via objects leads to an unhealthy obssession and drive to attain more objects to express oneself. I recently heard from a friend about a mother who purchases branded goods for her child, just so she can drive them to work hard to attain such brands. But is what we want for the future generation? Children talking in the language of Gucci and Prada and aiming to get that latest design burberry coat rather than personal development?

On the whole, we as individuals need to draw that line between over-indulgence in materialistic possessions and remind ourselves to keep close what truly matters - friends and family and personal development. After all, that latest Gucci handbag may develop holes after a period of time, but our values and morales remain.

the toast always falls with its buttered side facing down.

Murphey's law - one of the merciless laws of nature which strike suddenly and so forcefully that it throws you off balance. And more often not, when you least expect it. For those who are unaware of what this law is exactly, the trusty (and sometimes not so trusty) wikipedia may help you out:

Murphy's law is an adage or epigram that is typically stated as: "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong"-wikipedia

Take for instance this scenerio. You walk out of your house feeling good about things, with a smile on your face, wearing a new dress/sandals and the sort. You feel a light drizzle and do not let it dampen your spirits (pun intended) and walk on. Then it gets heavier so you take out your umbrella, only to discover that there is a leak right above your head. Yet you go on thinking at least the rest of me is sheltered and the next thing you know, your umbrella gets blown inside out by a gust of wind. And as you walk along with a slight frown on your face, you get splashed with murky roadside water by an oncoming vehicle as you're walking along the pedestrian walk. AND you miss the bus and you sit at the bus stop, shivering in the cold. And yes, this unfortunate soul was yours truly, albeit quite a few years back.

In any case, somehow this law has its way in our everyday life. But it is how we approach these situations that makes the difference. And the best way is to laugh at yourself once in a while, especially when murphey's law seems to magnify itself. After that, you shrug and move on and hope that the next day would be a better day. Laughter seems to lighten that load by folds!

On another note, balancing both my final year project (or honours project) and modules is getting to be quite a challenge. It almost feels like I am balancing on a tightrope with no circus training and holding a rod with weights hung at both sides. But no matter what, I shall not look at the valley below me. I just hope the tightrope does not break!

Cheers!

getting the ball rolling.

World cup 2010 season just kicked off as Mexico and South Africa headed towards each other within the demarcated field of play (puns intended). By now it should be clear as to what the title of the post was inspired by. In any case, I am rooting for Spain (for obvious reasons) and Honduras (for not so obvious reasons). We shall see how this season goes!

In any case, getting the ball rolling in not so literal terms can prove to be a pretty daunting task at hand. Getting the gears into motion for example needs oiling, tweaking and many other strenuous tasks. Overcoming this initial barrier may be equivalent of a hike up Mount Everest or braving a storm in the midst of the Indian Ocean. Some may give up, some persevere and wear themselves out but only a select few make it to the peak and then move on with ease. I am faced with a similar problem or obstacle as to whether I should pursue this or I should head in another direction with hopes of greener pastures. But the ultimate question is whether such greener pastures really exist or are this a figment of our hopeful imagination. Is the grass equally brown at the other side? Nobody knows until they go over to find out and by then it may be too late to return. What a big headache-causing dilemma this is! Maybe I should just roll a dice. Maybe I should consult a gypsy with crystal ball. But for now, I wait and watch and let myself try to reach that peak.

On a side note, I am officially addicted to this years worldcup official theme song wakawaka by Shakira. Tsamina mina, eh eh, Waka waka, eh eh.. Tsamina mina zangalewa, This time for africa!cheers!

stuck in MUD.

The topic for today is something that a large number of university students can relate to. It is a silent killer, which strikes in their early twenties. It is something that robs the sleep of many and turns them into panda-eyed zombies during the day. Something that makes them turn and twist in bed and hence spoil the springs in their beds. Something that makes them invest in wigs because they have ripped out their hair. It comes unannounced, and catches you at the worst possible hour and hangs onto you like a persistant flu bug. It makes you hallucinate and turns you into an insomniac, with loss of appetite as a side effect in many.

Ok, melo-drama aside. I'm talking about Mid-Uni Depression, or MUD for short. You reach a juncture in the ultimate or penultimate year of uni life where you begin to question what exactly you desire in life. At a young age, one has the freedom to dream large and churn their mental futures. However, when the time to execute it nears, they soon begin to look faint and you question their practicality and possibility. It seems like I have reached that phase of MUD. Hopefully some miracle will hand out a stick and pull me out of this MUD before it dries out. I shall perserve till I find that solid ground again. I have to.

And I really wonder why some people forget that they are humans at the end of the day. It does not matter if you are the president of the US or a domestic helper, at the end of the day you should never forget what you on this earth for and you should always maintain humility and respect for others. Some people simply cannot see beyond themselves, it seems. But alas, we cannot change others, so we live with them and tread on our own paths, without letting them knock us off. God is always watching, after all.

The thicket to life.

The other day, while I was trudging through a forest on an eco field-trip and swatting away random bugs that nested on my skin albeit temporarily, with beads of perspiration rolling off my forehead (don't mind the slight exaggeration), I realized how similar life in general is to a rainforest. In this instance, our life starts off as seeds in this already populated world. Here, if we're lucky enough, we find nutrient filled ground to nestle in and grow. From birth, competition towers over us (representing the older canopy trees). We grow, nevertheless, with whatever nutrients we find around us (mostly given to us, in the seed cases, by our parents). When we're self-sufficient (upon growing our own leaves), we reduce our dependence on our parents and start to fend for ourselves. In countries like the USA, this would be synonymous to moving out of our parents' homes into our own apartments. And perhaps this would refer to being financially independent, in the context of Singapore.

Some of us, start off as parasites and live off others as climbers or parasitic plants for the rest of our lives, often inconveniencing the people we live off. This could be synonymous to people who prefer to get ahead of others by using them as stepping stones. Others practice friendly competition or compete with their inner selves to strive for the better and grow on their own accord with their own roots. Very often the former tend to forget where they come from, while the latter stays grounded and rooted in their values (pun intended) and stay true to their morales.

Whichever route a person (or a tree) adopts and treads upon, determines their fate in this world (or rainforest). Often, once we grow above or become more affluent than another, for instance, there is a tendency to look down on and steal resources from those who are still struggling (the seedlings). This happens among human beings, as much as it happens in nature. However, those who are able to maintain humility and perhaps in the context of the rainforest - develop leaves with gaps to allow some resouces to reach those below, can truly be considered as true human beings.

Eventually one's life nears an end and ends in various ways - catastrophically (being struck by lightning) or being martyred (being logged down for furniture or paper). Or one could grow to a ripe old age and allow generations to follow suit and eventually get gnawed away by termites, and leaving but their contributions to the rest of the world, in the form of their nutrients. This is the way life goes. From a seed to immense competition and eventually death. But will human beings ever break out of this cycle and find peace in simply being who we are, or will be continually get stuck in this ecological cycle of life where we constanly strive to survive? Some food for thought. Cheers!

For better, or for worse.

I believe everything has to get worse initially in order to get better. Somehow things work that way. Think about it, in order to convert a dough into a scrumptious muffin, it has to go through immense heat in the oven. Or take the example of a child, who has to fall and scrape his knees before learning to ride a bike or skate or how he has to struggle in the deep end before he or she learns how to do the butterfly stroke. If you're not convinced, take the simple case of catching a cold or the flu. Your condition inevitably worsens only to get immune to the flu for some time. It seems to a formula that all walks of life use. Take for example a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly. I would call this the 'delayed gratification' formula.

But sadly, this 'delayed gratification' formula is the very thing that seems to be holding human beings back from doing much about the world's impending devastation. It is only when we realize that the ozone has a hole or when the panda is growing extinct that human beings seem to see the need to act. It is when a condition is driven to the a critical point that people see the need to find a solution. But hopefully it isn't too late when we do act and hopefully the formula still stands by the time we are done.

Made-up reality

It's 2010 - two years prior to when the mayan calender predicts the world is going to come to an end. Fact or fiction, no one knows. People and religions churn out other hypotheses of apocalypse and accumulative natural disasters, but no one truly knows what is in store for us. It is in our human nature to make theories in order to make sense of what happens around us. Justifications for what transpires and the invisible hands that mould our future. That is how religion plays such a crucial role in our lifes - it makes all these happenings around us make sense.

On another note, I was just wondering how real reality shows really are. I mean, take the show Survivor as an example. While the 'castaways' eat off fallen coconuts and boiled rice, what do the producers, camera crew and the host eat? And what truly transpires in the hours when they do not telecast anything remains a mystery. In those 1-2 hour snippets, we are shown their hardships and what not, but what about the lapse of time in between the telecasts? For all you know, the contestants meet up and have a glass of beer. Just a random thought. Who knows, maybe they even sensationalize shows and sieve for contestants who can potentially create certain conditions on the show. Everything goes in the tv industry and we get drawn in like drama-hungry consumers. But that's the name of the game. As human beings we tend to create drama in our own lifes anyway, so much so that we lose touch of reality and start living in fantasy worlds of materialistic possessions.

To wrap it up, I think even though these shows and fantasy worlds we create add spice in our lifes, we should never forget to take it with a pinch of salt. What things look like on the exterior, may not be representative of the inner self and one should always attempt to look at that inner soul of anyone that they meet. It is easier said than done, but it is true that you only know half of the story till you try to read the inner half.