just be

The past weekend saw me back at East Coast Park, just before daybreak on Sunday. My intention had been to witness the sunrise and come into awe of its beauty. It had been a long time since I felt inspired by beauty, and there had been a growing desire within me over the past month or so to experience it again. As I sat by the shore, anticipating the golden sliver emerge beyond the horizon, a thought struck me. Why should a sunrise be anymore beautiful than any other single moment of the day? To live in the eternal now is to experience beauty in everything, from dawn to dusk and every moment in between. This is the esoteric that is found in the exoteric. Beauty does not discriminate; we, in our primal identity-preserving struggle, do. But to be still, and simply be in the moment. To simply "be." Once I realized that, everything around me took on a different, ethereal light. And that golden sliver hadn't even emerged from beyond the horizon yet.

the envy of low expectations

This evening saw me ramble along East Coast Park. I was in a pensive mood. As I strolled along a particular path, a group of four young people (late twenties, perhaps) walked toward me. A few paces before our paths actually crossed, one of them burst out laughing - a hearty guffaw befitting his rotund frame - elicited by some quip uttered by one of his mates. It was truly a laugh of the carefree; he didn't seem encumbered by the fact that it was late on a Sunday night - merely a few hours to the start of another week and all its concomitant drudgery. And judging by his torpid gait and the crude colloquialism of his speech (and I realize I'm being utterly shallow and presumptuous here), he was probably a blue-collared worker, whose manual abilities contributed more to his worth than his intellect. It was then that I thought: what bliss it must be to have as one's predominant concern only to eke out a living just to afford the bare necessities in life and still be able relish its "simple pleasures". The most consequential decisions he probably had to make the entire day were what to eat and what to wear (and judging by both his heft and quality of clothing, the former concern surely - pun alert! - outweighed the latter). As long as he had clothes on his back, food to eat, a roof over his head and perhaps the occasional indulgence in the most basic physical pleasures, he would be contented. But for the rest of us who are burdened by the torturous weight of knowledge and wonder, we can only imagine the opiate joy of such hollow bliss. For more than a while, I truly envied him.

love is neither straight nor gay

Keith Olbermann was on one of his usual rants at the end of his programme, Countdown. The subject of this particular diatribe was the controversial Proposition 8 law banning gay marriage that had recently been passed by voters in California. This one, which was delivered with his usual indignant stentorian flourish, was especially cogent, I felt. It was particularly moving as well. Transcript after the video.



Finally tonight as promised, a Special Comment on the passage, last week, of Proposition Eight in California, which rescinded the right of same-sex couples to marry, and tilted the balance on this issue, from coast to coast.

Some parameters, as preface. This isn't about yelling, and this isn't about politics, and this isn't really just about Prop-8. And I don't have a personal investment in this: I'm not gay, I had to strain to think of one member of even my very extended family who is, I have no personal stories of close friends or colleagues fighting the prejudice that still pervades their lives.

And yet to me this vote is horrible. Horrible. Because this isn't about yelling, and this isn't about politics. This is about the human heart, and if that sounds corny, so be it.

If you voted for this Proposition or support those who did or the sentiment they expressed, I have some questions, because, truly, I do not understand. Why does this matter to you? What is it to you? In a time of impermanence and fly-by-night relationships, these people over here want the same chance at permanence and happiness that is your option. They don't want to deny you yours. They don't want to take anything away from you. They want what you want—a chance to be a little less alone in the world.

Only now you are saying to them—no. You can't have it on these terms. Maybe something similar. If they behave. If they don't cause too much trouble. You'll even give them all the same legal rights—even as you're taking away the legal right, which they already had. A world around them, still anchored in love and marriage, and you are saying, no, you can't marry. What if somebody passed a law that said you couldn't marry?

I keep hearing this term "re-defining" marriage. If this country hadn't re-defined marriage, black people still couldn't marry white people. Sixteen states had laws on the books which made that illegal in 1967. 1967.

The parents of the President-Elect of the United States couldn't have married in nearly one third of the states of the country their son grew up to lead. But it's worse than that. If this country had not "re-defined" marriage, some black people still couldn't marry black people. It is one of the most overlooked and cruelest parts of our sad story of slavery. Marriages were not legally recognized, if the people were slaves. Since slaves were property, they could not legally be husband and wife, or mother and child. Their marriage vows were different: not "Until Death, Do You Part," but "Until Death or Distance, Do You Part." Marriages among slaves were not legally recognized.

You know, just like marriages today in California are not legally recognized, if the people are gay.

And uncountable in our history are the number of men and women, forced by society into marrying the opposite sex, in sham marriages, or marriages of convenience, or just marriages of not knowing, centuries of men and women who have lived their lives in shame and unhappiness, and who have, through a lie to themselves or others, broken countless other lives, of spouses and children, all because we said a man couldn't marry another man, or a woman couldn't marry another woman. The sanctity of marriage.

How many marriages like that have there been and how on earth do they increase the "sanctity" of marriage rather than render the term, meaningless?

What is this, to you? Nobody is asking you to embrace their expression of love. But don't you, as human beings, have to embrace... that love? The world is barren enough.

It is stacked against love, and against hope, and against those very few and precious emotions that enable us to go forward. Your marriage only stands a 50-50 chance of lasting, no matter how much you feel and how hard you work.

And here are people overjoyed at the prospect of just that chance, and that work, just for the hope of having that feeling. With so much hate in the world, with so much meaningless division, and people pitted against people for no good reason, this is what your religion tells you to do? With your experience of life and this world and all its sadnesses, this is what your conscience tells you to do?

With your knowledge that life, with endless vigor, seems to tilt the playing field on which we all live, in favor of unhappiness and hate... this is what your heart tells you to do? You want to sanctify marriage? You want to honor your God and the universal love you believe he represents? Then Spread happiness—this tiny, symbolic, semantical grain of happiness—share it with all those who seek it. Quote me anything from your religious leader or book of choice telling you to stand against this. And then tell me how you can believe both that statement and another statement, another one which reads only "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

You are asked now, by your country, and perhaps by your creator, to stand on one side or another. You are asked now to stand, not on a question of politics, not on a question of religion, not on a question of gay or straight. You are asked now to stand, on a question of love. All you need do is stand, and let the tiny ember of love meet its own fate.

You don't have to help it, you don't have it applaud it, you don't have to fight for it. Just don't put it out. Just don't extinguish it. Because while it may at first look like that love is between two people you don't know and you don't understand and maybe you don't even want to know. It is, in fact, the ember of your love, for your fellow person just because this is the only world we have. And the other guy counts, too.

This is the second time in ten days I find myself concluding by turning to, of all things, the closing plea for mercy by Clarence Darrow in a murder trial.

But what he said, fits what is really at the heart of this:

"I was reading last night of the aspiration of the old Persian poet, Omar-Khayyam," he told the judge. It appealed to me as the highest that I can vision. I wish it was in my heart, and I wish it was in the hearts of all: So I be written in the Book of Love; I do not care about that Book above. Erase my name, or write it as you will, So I be written in the Book of Love."

president obama

Barack Obama, 44th President of the United States of America. The New World is finally new again.

euthanizing ideological autocracy

I wrote the following letter to the Straits Times forum page.

Dear Sir or Madam,

I refer to the article "Euthanasia is immoral" in Monday's edition which reported that Archbishop Nicholas Chia of the Catholic Church condemned euthanasia and said that "no health-care professionals must even contemplate the option of administering euthanasia."

This is a contentious issue and I believe the archbishop was perfectly within his rights to exhort and edify the members of his church on what is a fundamental doctrinal precept of their religion. However, to address members of the medical community in such a manifestly authoritative manner, without regard for their own religious creeds or professional opinions, smacks of ideological autocracy.

Any religious leader is free to instruct his or her own followers, and would certainly be remiss in their pastoral responsibilities if they didn't clarify their religion's doctrinal positions on prevailing matters of moral or ethical import. But to impose that position on society at large as though that were the only valid view, would surely be unwelcome pontificating.

Religious leaders like Archbishop Chia should be aware that in a multi-religious society such as ours, no one religion holds a monopoly on morality and ethics.

brideshead revisited

The manor that served as the setting for Brideshead Revisited's latest cinematographic incarnation is an absolutely sumptuous example of English baroque architecture, replete with the artistic hallmarks of aristocratic decadence at its luxurious best!

Although its real name is Castle Howard, the edifice is not technically a castle, since it was obviously not designed to serve a military function. The early-18th Century stately residence in North Yorkshire was built by the Third Earl of Carlisle and incredibly, still serves as a private residence for his decedents to this day. That such an ostentatious vestige of an era defined by insatiable opulence and institutionalized social inequity should still serve a private function in this day and age seems almost obscene. But to be fair to the current owners, they have allowed the building to be gazetted as a national heritage site and it is seasonally open to the public who are free to roam its expansive verdant vicinities and attend a number of concerts hosted on its grounds throughout the year.

The film, based on the eponymous novel by Evelyn Waugh (who was a dude, in case you're wondering) dilutes the theological didacticism found in the original work of its author and is more concerned with recounting the scandalous romances revolving around the protagonist, an young man of modest means who suddenly finds himself in the favour of the scion of a noble family dominated by a maniacally staunch Catholic matriarch. The noblelad, who is unambiguously gay, takes his unassuming handsome friend to his ancestral home - Brideshead - and into his confidence and overtime, the two become bosom buddies, seeing in each other a part of the social and ideological misfit that each had always believed himself to be.

Their unlikely friendship unravels when he is caught by his rich friend, who by now had obviously taken a more-than-platonic interest in him, trying to seduce his sister while the trio were on a holiday to visit their father and his mistress in Venice. Tensions mount as his erstwhile benefactor descends into alcoholism in an attempt to numb both his perceived betrayal and his mother's overbearing religious strictures. Meanwhile, his mother detects a budding-if-tense romance between his sister and his friend (who is an avowed atheist) and arranges for her to be wed to an obnoxious Canadian man, whose only virtue is apparently the religion that they shared.

Four years later, his former friend's desperate mother begs him to go to Morocco, where he had run away to, to persuade him to come home. He traces him down but discovers that his body is so ravaged by his years of drinking that he is in no condition to endure the arduous journey by ship back to England. The now-sober scion becomes an afterthought for the rest of the movie and we eventually learn that he joined a monastery where he is to spend the rest of his life.

Years pass and our protagonist is now a promising painter - the darling of high society on both sides of the Atlantic. Chance leads to an encounter aboard a ship between protagonist and love interest and they both consummate their latent love on board without regard for their own spouses from whom they are estranged. Although they agree to separate from their spouses in order to be together, the prospects of "living in sin" loom over her like a dark cloud as her Catholic neuroses inflicted upon her by her now-deceased mother come back to haunt her. As the illicit pair return to Brideshead to seek an annulment from her husband and bid a final farewell to her elder brother, they meet their dying father who had come home to spend his final days. Thoughts of eloping take flight in the face of her father's impending death. Upon his deathbed, she is overwhelmed by emotion as she sees her father makes the sign of the cross, a signal that he repented of his infidelity and was reconciled to god. In the same vein, she decides that she could not bring herself to offend god's mercy by living in sin, in spite of her love for our protagonist.

Years later, during the Second World War, he revisits Brideshead as a military officer. The manor has now been possessed by the military for use as an army base. Walking the familiar halls, he reminisces and finds himself in the chapel, where his friend had brought him to half a lifetime ago. He is tempted to extinguish the votive candle lit in front of the Virgin's statue, an act of resentment and retribution for the loss that religion had cost him, but hesitates and eventually decides not to. He turns around and leaves the chapel, walking into the chaos of the War, but not before remembering an internal battle that had claimed him long before.

pax hormones

I woke up this morning feeling a calmness and peace of mind that I had not experienced for a long time. Taking into account the pile of work that was awaiting me in the office, I shouldn't have felt such sanguinity. I couldn't help but wonder if this was the "peace that the world cannot give" that the Christians are so fond of talking about - a mere hormonal cycle.

ramblings

I don't care I will write no matter what. I don't know why but Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment just popped into my head. It's a story about a deranged man who sinks into a guilt-induced fevered delusion - or "mania" as the English translation termed it. I love archaic expressions like that. A modern person would probably say "obsession" or "paranoia", but "mania" has such a visceral feel to it. It connotes a maniac - someone ruled purely by the craziness of his own miasmic imaginings. Miasma - another term that strikes a chord in me. It is a word introduced to me by someone I used to date. I still remember the setting - we were strolling along Marina Bay on a Sunday evening, watching the kite flyers refusing to yield to the ebbing gusts and retiring sun, and I was talking about how messy my room was. "Miasma" was introduced into my vocabulary then by my more literarily-sophisticated date. That was the last time we went out I think. I received a message over MSN a few days later from my date, complaining that I did not seem to reciprocate a satisfactory degree of mutual affection. I did not want to pursue it. The prospects of a relationship at that point in time with that particular person would have felt contrived anyway. That was the first medical student I dated. The second medical student I got to know and dated for a bit turned out to be living almost in the same neighbourhood as the first. More coincidences were uncovered after that. It didn't work out either because both of us had our fair share of emotional baggage. But it was from this experience and facing up to my own emotional baggage that I learned the most about myself. I know I am a better person today and am able to manage my current relationship much better precisely because of the lessons I took away from it. I think I have written enough at this point. I just needed to flex my literary muscle again, which has all but atrophied over the past few weeks of intellectual ennui. Apropos of my previous post, I hope the figurative nib of my mental pen has now been sufficiently lubricated by this deliberate exercise in rambling.

short posts

My posts have become markedly shorter of late. It seems symptomatic of some impediment to constructing a more developed train of thought.

daydreams

In a room full of Morphean mirrors we see fantasies of ourselves in a cacophony of images. Moving through the waking dream, skipping from blink to wink within hypnogogic spaces.

zz_

Physiology's need has been relegated by the latent passion for success.

whingeing whingers - a response

I wrote a letter to The Straits Times' forum today, in response to a letter I had read. I'm not sure if they will publish it, but I'm reproducing my letter here.

Dear Sir or Madam,

I refer to Jonathan Quek's letter, "Anti-government grouses on Internet sometimes too much" posted on the online forum.

The immediate reaction from readers who posted comments to his letter certainly proved Mr Quek's point. The vast majority of them were critical, cynical and captious, displaying the typical facileness that complainers are wont to indulge in.

Although in the online world, lone voices like Mr Quek's often appear in danger of being drowned out by the cacophony of malcontent whingeing, I would like to assure him and others of similar sentiment that, in the real world, their voices are part of a chorus that resonate with a much larger segment of our people than often realised. It is perhaps time for this silent majority to become more vocal and join in the singing of our nation's hard-earned praises.

In many ways, our government is a victim of its own success. The very complainers who find reason to decry our leaders for every policy that does not benefit them immediately, individually and directly, would not have the presence of mind to do so had their other needs and living requirements not already been provided for by the very hand they are biting.

To our great fortune, we have a national leadership comprising uncommon men with unconventional wisdom. It is a depth of sagacity that common men possessing conventional wisdom and limited foresight cannot truly appreciate. Thus the perennial whingeing. They would choose the effortless indulgence of destructive rather than constructive criticism. As Oscar Wilde wrote, "A cynic is one who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing."

But for people like Mr Quek and others who appreciate the value of what we Singaporeans have, I am confident they will do their part in collaborating with our leaders to make an already great nation even greater, while leaving behind the rest who choose to be mired in their complaints, stewing in their own resentment.

catching up with "boss"

I had a dinner meeting with my ex-boss yesterday. He brought along a former colleague who is one of his most-trusted lieutenants. My ex-boss is a professionally-accomplished and very busy man. I was honoured to spend the evening with him. Even though he is technically no longer my boss, I still address him as "Boss" - a combination of the familiar and the entirely-deserved honorific.

He shared with me the latest developments in the organization. I was very happy to learn that under his direction, it truly is growing from strength to strength. He just purchased two properties - one is a terraced house and the other a large plot of land whose backyard faces Pierce Reservoir. The former will be used as a satellite office cum chalet for the organization, while the latter is a private investment. He is an enthusiastic proponent of qi gong and the location of that land will be an ideal place to practise the art.

I was also honoured that he expressed deep appreciation for the help I had rendered in the past, the most recent instance being helping him ghost-write an article for a financial magazine. Dinner was in part to thank me for the assistance. He also reiterated his interest in exploring further collaborations between myself and the organisation in the near future. It is a growing firm that will need to upgrade its marketing, branding and technology knowledge. He believes that I will be able to play a role in these endeavours. I am humbled by his confidence. I told him that it would be an honour to be a part of the growth of the organization.

Over dinner, we also shared and reaffirmed each other in our common admiration and support for our country and the ruling party and its founder, our Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew. We also talked about the ministers we admired and those who perhaps had a few idiosyncrasies that made them stand out. It was a wonderful evening with fantastic company. I'm looking forward to our collaboration.

the singapore song

This brought tears to my eyes. And I'm a 25 year old guy born post-Independence. Obviously I was not around to experience the pangs of my nation's birth and cannot viscerally compare the conditions before and after the war. But the fact that I am one of the beneficiaries of modern history's preeminent socio-economic developmental success story has never been lost on me. I am agnostic, so I do not thank "god" for this. Instead, I bow in gratitude to that god among men - Mr Lee Kuan Yew.

the tension of opposites: a message for a friend

The main lesson I learnt vicariously from Morrie too many Tuesdays ago than I can remember, is the idea of what he called the "tension of opposites". It is essentially a function of the confluence of conscience and reason. In his (paraphrased) words: "Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know it shouldn’t. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted."

In this "series of pulls back and forth," most of us, the author explains, exist somewhere in the middle. He continues: "So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-sleep, even when they are busy doing things they think are important. This is because they are doing the wrong things. The way to get meaning into life is to devote yourself to loving others, and to create or do something that gives purpose and meaning and help each other."

Recently, a very close friend of mine felt the full force of that tension. The stolid pride of his emotional facade crumbled but the edifice of his character remained intact. Time and effort will see that the debris is swept away and a new structure built. A building that is rebuilt is often stronger and more beautiful than before.

on democracy

The following was my response to a question posed in a forum that I participate in.

Question: Is a one-party system of government a viable alternative?

Reply:

The question itself presupposes that there is an absolute standard in political ideology. This is hardly the case. While most countries in the world are democracies to at least some degree, it is a relatively new phenomenon compared to the rest of their histories. History records autocracies that have thrived culturally and economically. But I concede of course, that it was during a different time.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not opposed to democracy. It has served many people well. And I think with an increasingly globalized world, aspects of democracy will inevitably insinuate into systems of government of countries that want to engage the rest of the world. China is a good example. Although its politics remain Communist, its largely-free market economy bears the hallmarks of a democratic system.

However, what I am opposed to, is the imposition of a particular institutionalized form of democracy as an absolute ideal. This is what is happening today. The West believes that what works for them must necessarily work for everyone else. And it regularly prescribes it as though it were a panacea for the world's ills. This is utterly ludicrous. Look at Iraq. Look at Palestine. Look at Lebanon. All democracies. And all failed or failing states (I know, Palestine isn't technically a state, but you get the point). One wonders if the West's enthusiasm to push for democracy in historically non-democratic states is not just an insidious means to an hegemonic end.

So is a single-party government a viable alternative? Yes and no. It really depends on the time and place. Democracy for democracy's sake is foolish. If it works for a nation at a particular time in its history, then so be it. If not, don't trouble trouble if you don't want trouble to trouble you. The right political ideology is not necessarily democracy; it is whatever works for the country.

Singapore is a good example. For better or for worse, we are officially a democracy. Some would argue that we are only nominally democratic. But it does not cause me grief. I take heart in the fact that I am a citizen of what is today a First World Nation with one of the most vibrant and advanced economies in the world. Our government and people achieved this in the mere span of 40 years. Would we have been able to do this if we had subscribed to the democratic ideals espoused by the West? I submit an unequivocal "No". We built an improbable gem of a nation because we had a strong leader and a strong government that did not need to waste time in a useless tug of war with an opposition.

Today the opposition in Singapore seems worse off than if was 40 years ago. It is more fractious and populated largely by hollow demagogues who make better clowns than leaders. The two or three credible opposition leaders make for sorry figures not because of their political isolation, but because of the buffoonery within their own ranks. But this doesn't cause me grief. The future of my nation lies in an able government that it already has, not in a rabble-rousing opposition. Many people think that democracy necessarily means opposition for the sake of it. I reject that notion completely. It is not only puerile but also pernicious to a young nation's development.

But some would argue that an opposition would serve as a check and balance for the government. True, in principle, but not necessarily so. In another post in this forum, I asked: "What is the purpose of checks and balances?" Someone replied that it was to ensure accountability. But I begged to differ. They are both the same thing. Both checks and balances and accountability are not ends in themselves but means to one. That end being good governance. Why would anyone want a completely transparent government that cannot govern competently? So while accountability is important, more critical is the quality of government. In Singapore, I think we have a good measure of both. Again, not because of the presence of an opposition, but I believe, because of the ethic and wisdom of our carefully-chosen leaders. Singapore's socio-economic achievements speak to the efficacy of our system and the quality of the leaders who run it.

And with regard to your question on how to ensure the best policies are in place in a one-party system, it boils down to the same thing - you get competent and qualified people to enact them. Now if you leave politics to the whims of the electorate alone, you will end up with popular but not necessarily competent leaders. Limiting or at least managing the impact of the "free market" on your eventual candidates by having a very stringent party recruitment regime will go some way in ensuring that you keep the riffraff out. It smacks of elitism, but hell, if you're not superior to the rest of us in some way, what qualifies you to lead in the first place? Sure - Liberte, egalite, fraternite. But also "elite" for a well-qualified government.

So in summary, the right form of government for a country is not necessarily democracy, but whatever works for it, be it a one-party system or otherwise.

penguins

This is so incredibly sweet.

very, very unremarkable

We went up on the Singapore Flyer last night. It was memorable only for the fact that it was not.

if it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck, it must be a...

This is too precious!

it wasn't about the camcorder, it was about you

A's stressed out at work. Which makes me feel bad. I tend to vicariously assume the emotions of others. I think I acquired this empathetic hypersensitivity during my years doing community work. Meeting people as a mentor and having them pour out their hearts and souls to you during counseling sessions tenderizes your own heart and soul; you become porous to others' emotions. That has made me the quintessential SNAG.

So I decided to drop by A's office this evening to pass A the camcorder that I had forgotten to bring along when we met for lunch yesterday. A had asked to loan it in order to record fingering techniques during the cello practise sessions A's been having. And I thought my unexpected appearance would provide some much needed distraction from the travails that had consumed A's entire day. So I timed my arrival this evening to coincide with when I knew A would be going out to get dinner. My approximation of when A'd actually be going for dinner was more precise than I thought. As I was concerned about A's health being affected by stress, I had intended to buy a traditional nutritional drink for A from the hawker centre across the street from the office and then meet A at the office lobby to hand over both the drink and the camcorder. As I headed there, I spotted A right in front of me at one of the stalls at the entrance of the hawker centre, ordering dinner to go. Stress and weariness was written all over A's face. Poor thing. A saw me approaching. I think A displayed more bewilderment than pleasant surprise, which I don't fault. Knowing the intensity of A's ability to focus, A's mind was probably still throbbing in front of the office computer. We bought the drink at a nearby stall together and walked back to the office.

I think we spent less than five minutes together. But for me, the fleeting smile that appeared on A's face when I attempted to crack a joke as we were walking back was worth it. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the only time A'd smiled all day. It's a beautiful smile that A has. A texted me later to say my gesture was touching. A's assumption was that I had come down specifically to hand over the camcorder. But the camcorder wasn't the reason for my going down into the heart of the CBD at the height of evening rush hour. I hope to correct that misconception with the title of this post. And I wish things improve for A as the week progresses. Now that would put a smile on my face.

of dreams and butterflies

The untoiled field of my dreams has lain fallow for so long I fear it's becoming barren. //

But I'd rather be a butterfly that flutters freely from flower to flower, facilitating creation with its pollinating touch, than a caterpillar whose slow and predetermined path is dictated by the rigid stalk of a single plant. //

time to call it a day, dude.

You're reading this in the office, clad in the dowdiness of your trusty white, blue and green sports jacket, affording you polyester respite from the lingering cold of the afternoon's artificially chilled air. Your nose is probably a little clogged up, the victim of a conspiracy between the air's erstwhile frigidity and its present staleness. Even the air molecules have taken a break; why haven't you?

Your briefcase is void of most of its contents. One occupant drapes your back and obscures the shapeliness of the gym-toned musculature you're so proud of; another one (the aluminum one with a small dent in it) sits on your desk, probably half-filled (or half-emptied if you prefer) with warm (the only kind you take) water. The Trinity finds completion in the third item that remains uninvoked, in your bag. The heavens were kind today and so its intercession was not needed.

I hope your left index finger is feeling better.

farewell, kong kong joseph

5 June 1926 - 22 February 2008. You lived an inspiring life.

Eulogy, delivered at the funeral on 25 February, 2008.

As I was writing this eulogy last night it occurred to me that about twenty-five years ago, my grandfather received one of the best birthday presents a person could have - he actually became a grandfather on his birthday. He and I shared the same birthday - June the fifth.

On behalf of my grandmother Nellie, my aunt Angela, my parents Michael and Im Choo and my younger brothers, Julius and Justin, I'd like to thank all of you, family and friends, for being here to join us in celebrating the life and times of an extraordinary man, my grandfather, Joseph.

There are many anecdotes and accounts that fill the pages of the story of a life as rich and enriching as my grandfather. It is both rich and enriching because in enriching the lives of those around him, he found a wealth of purpose and joy in his own as well.

My grandfather may have led an upright life but he did not live the easiest of lives. He was tried and tested by adversity. And in a very real way, his character was also shaped precisely by the adversity of his circumstances. Like precious metal that is tried by the fire of the crucible, my grandfather's moral mettle (his values and principles) was forged in the heat of the crucible of his circumstances. And like precious metal that has been purified, he enriched the lives of all around him.

My grandfather grew up, and raised his own family in, what by today's standards would be considered a large family. He, together with his own family members, parents, siblings and extended family comprised a household of sixteen - all living under a single roof. How that house, which was actually a modest three bedroomed flat at Tiong Bahru, actually managed to hold sixteen people all at once is something lost on my generation. My grandfather, as the eldest son, was a central figure in his household.

As a young adult, he worked hard to live up to his responsibilities to his family, never seeking praise or reward, believing in honest work in exchange for an honest dollar. And slog he did. How hard he actually worked can best be appreciated by the fact that at one point he had to support a total of ten people relying on his income from the three simultaneous jobs that he held in order to make ends meet.

He took care of his parents, put his younger siblings through school and raised his own family all by himself. The stooped shoulders of my grandfather's later years perhaps bore testament to the weight of the responsibilities he bore.

But his stoop shoulders belied the moral backbone he possessed as well. He conducted his affairs, both private and professional, strictly according to the principles of integrity and honesty. He was a man of fantastically good humour and got along well with everyone. But when it came to a question of morals or ethics, he was unwavering. In fact, on one occasion, while he was working as an officer at a shipping company, a supplier had tried to bribe him to the tune of ten thousand dollars in order to secure a deal. Bear in mind that this was ten thousand dollars in 1980's value. He refused to succumb and politely but firmly suggested to them that they give the money to his company instead.

The only time he stole something, was during the Japanese Occupation, when as a cook for the Japanese army, he regularly took home rations from the kitchen in order to feed his family.

My grandfather's priority was to take care of his family, and this he did not only at the expense of his own safety - he could have been executed if the Japanese soldiers had found out - but also at the expense of his dreams. My grandfather was one of the most intelligent and mentally agile people I knew. His prowess in mathematics and proficiency in English befitted the standard expected from a student of Raffles Institution, which he was, up to Secondary level. While the Japanese Occupation cut short his studies, he did not pursue it either after the war because he had to work to support his family. Not being able to continue with his education was perhaps one of his regrets in life. But even without a formal higher education, all those who knew him well will attest to his erudition. I have no doubt, that with his intellect, he would have been outstanding academically.

There is no shame in talking about regrets, even as we gather for the purpose of celebrating a person's life. For without at least some degree of regret, there can be no real sense of hope. It is only when we look to the past that we see the possibilities of our future, and in my grandfather's case, the futures of the people he loved and set aside his own desires in order to help them realize theirs. When sacrifice is made out of love, the light of hope eventually overtakes the shadow of regret.

So we cannot truly value the depth of my grandfather's hopes and dreams without also being aware of his fears and regrets. In fact, in the final months of his life, his greatest fear was not the fear of death itself, for he was prepared and drew a certain peace of mind from the conviction that he had lived a full and good life. His fear was that his family would drift apart after his passing. He appeared more at ease when all of us gathered around him to promise that we would never allow that to happen. The nature of a man's fears is a reflection of his character. Confronted with the prospects of his own mortality, he didn't fear for himself, but for his family. There is perhaps something heroic in that.

My grandfather was also a man of faith. He came to a peace of mind towards the end precisely because he believed in the reward he would go to, having led a full and good life. One specific instance of his trust in “god” stands out. According to my dad, in the last few months, every time he was sent to the hospital he always felt compelled to share with his doctors and nurses how he was healed of a particular health condition in his youth. As a young man of thirty four, he had developed a kidney condition. Doctors told him it required surgery and a transplant. But girded by their deep faith, my grandmother went to the Novena Church and asked for Mary’s intercession. And a while later when my grandfather went back to the doctor for a check up, they were amazed that his condition was completely cured without any sign of disease whatsoever. He never stopped being grateful to god for what he believed to be a miracle. And he continued to give thanks up to his last days.

My grandfather may have reached the end of his life's journey, but the final chapter of his life story has not yet been completed. From his days as a teenager up till his very last breath, his life had never been about himself; it had always been about his family. At the bottom of each page of his story, we will not find numbers, for he never kept score of how much he gave. In the place of numbers, we instead find the words "love" and "sacrifice."

It is a story that will live on after him. Because he gave so much and so freely of himself for our sake, his story really belongs to us. And we, together, constitute the living story of my grandfather's life. Each of us holds in our hearts and minds, a different chapter of that story. These are chapters filled with the accounts of how he had touched each of our lives. Each of us, directly or indirectly, is a beneficiary of his extraordinary generosity. By coming together today to honour what this man meant and continues to mean to each of us, we represent a complete volume of his life story. But the final chapter of that story remains unfinished - for by living our lives according to the values of love and sacrifice that he lived with, and we benefited from, we represent the ongoing story of the life and times of Joseph Chua.

predictum

Predictability in a relationship is like oxygen to our lungs. In the appropriate measure, it sustains; too much, and it kills.

last night

The look on your face was priceless.

getting head

Don't know what manner of itch tickled my brain last night, but I decided on a whim, to shave my head completely bald. The feeling of running my hand over my bare scalp is amazing; it's like an amalgam of familiar sensations that result in an entirely novel one. It's like touching your knee, butt and sweaty chest at the same time! (You're most welcome for the mental image I've just painted for you.) But it's very cool.

I took the photo this morning after I was roused by A's SMS. Attached the photo to my reply and was promptly rewarded with A's approval ("You're so cute."), followed by commiseration with my "poor follicles". A's adorable. But I like the look. And I think I have an extraordinarily round head for a chink.



Lucy looks like she's trying to shove her maraca up my nose.

manually completed ii

Oh, and I also bought an aunty-umbrella to populate my new bag with. I'm sure A and Weijie would approve. :)

manually completed

Just bought me a new handbag, from Esprit. Only $129! (I had actually set my sights on an uber-chic cK bag that cost $799 [$600 after discount] and was almost bent on purchasing it when the decision to take another ramble around town turned up this beauty, so my wallet and I are particularly pleased with it.) While its design is simple and clean, without the ostentatious trimmings and motifs that are often concomitant with the haute brands, it is accented with a couple of rather nice touches that give it a feel of understated elegance. I was contemplating between this and a larger, gym bag for the same price. That one was definitely more capacious, and with the amount of things I'd probably need to bring with me in my new job, the space would definitely have come in handy. But I eventually thought the better of it. Every other person seems to be lugging a gym bag around these days. And as you know, I'm no sheep when it comes to fashion. I'm quite the pragmatist, but sometimes form must necessarily trump function. So I'm pretty satisfied with my new found bag and new bagged find. Now my arm feels complete and trendy! One more reason to strut. :D

losing loss / for a.

You once said that you thought something is irretrievably lost when words are given to emotions. You will remember that I initially disagreed. But upon reflection, I have changed my mind. And that is precisely why I am putting my emotions to words now.

Yes my dear, something is indeed lost in that leap from emotion to word. The fear of loss is lost. The hollow chasm of mute uncertainty is breached by something greater than itself. In letting go of the imagined fear of losing something, we find someone. First our self, and then ourselves. I wish to take that leap with you, to never cease finding our self and ourselves in each act of communion that flies in the masqueraded face of loss. For what is a relationship if not a journey of discovery of self and selves, and self for selves.

I'm looking across at the other side now, and bracing myself. I don't think the gap looks very wide. Between the both of us, I think we can make it. I'm extending my hand to you now. Won't you take it?

signing off (a retrospection)

As my transition to another career has begun, I was tidying up my email accounts and stumbled upon this email that I wrote to my former colleagues at RSI. It is a poignant reminder of the sentiments that number the pages of the story of my life as yet another is about to be turned.

Written on 21 March 2007.

Dear Friends,

Eight months to the day I first met all of you, it's time to bid you farewell, as a colleague. Eight months precisely: the Chinaman in me thinks it bodes rather auspiciously. (That "2103" failed to garner me First Prize in last week's draw is secondary.)

While I do not subscribe to luck, neither do I discount it. But in the grander scheme of things, perhaps "Providence" lends itself as a more accurate term in describing how I feel about my opportunity to have gotten to know each of you. Life is not linear, but an intricate web of relationships. I never fail to wonder at how on audition day, the first two fellow candidates I met were actually Loretta and Mubin. Serendipity.

The first time I met each of you, my immediate thought was: must be Photoshop! I had, of course, seen each of your portraits on the website prior to joining and was looking forward to working with rather more... er, photogenic colleagues. :) I kid, of course! Each of you really is beautiful in your own way. (Yes, even Jack.) That I do not kid.

Eight months on a job is way too short when you get to spend it with people whose company you thoroughly enjoy; people whose acts of kindness, sense of humour, graciousness and generosity of spirit (except maybe when it comes to the upstairs Dalet system) drain each day of drudgery and fill it with bonhomie. And in spite of the typical complaints we typical Singaporeans are wont to indulge in, we know there's something truly unique and good going on here: a splendid confluence of wonderful individuals. Treasure it. You only begin to truly appreciate what you are about to miss. Yes, eight months among friends really is too short. (Yes, even with Jack.) But it is long enough to refine your understanding of what your calling in life is and what it isn't.

Switching careers wasn't an easy decision, of course. It was a choice sometimes reigned in by realities but always spurred on by ideals. In that tug-of-war, I learnt that sometimes we impose our own insecurities on the people we care about the most. But true fulfillment lies within the daring embrace of that restless tension between ideals and realities. Personal growth after all, is determined by the willingness to move out of one's comfort zone. Thank you, each of you, for your kind words of encouragement. I truly appreciate them.

I have been touched by each of you over the past eight months and will carry fond memories with me always.

Finally, if I had done anything within the past eight months to offend or vex you, I apologize and ask your pardon. And if I had done anything worthy of commendation, I ask that you may remember me kindly for it and allow that to define our friendship from here on. I have enjoyed your company immensely and will miss each of you terribly! (Of course, even Jack.)

Very sincerely yours,

Joel