Someone gave me kinder's Happy Hippo chocolates for Christmas because she said I remind her of happy hippos. Weight problem aside, I was wondering why people get that impression. It might be because I laugh too often, smile too much, seem like I never take anything seriousl..
(I've always wondered what prolonged repression leads too. Hopefully not colon cancer or the such like.)
I begin to think that happiness is an ideal that's best never attained. It's an ideal, because it's always too fleeting, or it just never happens. And even when it happens you're not sure if it's really happiness or some poor self-deluded mind cloud. It's best never attained, because you'll want more when it comes, and waiting everyday for something good to happen will actually give you something to live for.
("Wah a lot of crap leh, not happy then not happy la, why need to think so much?!")
Rationalising emotions works about as well as spray painting rusted metal bits. The paint doesn't stay, the rust remains.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
staked
"But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. " - Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
Got this in the mail recently, and it made me think a bit more than the collective brain efforts of the past month. I don't agree with it entirely, mostly because it has too much of a capitalist-prole slant (duh it's Dickens), but also because in the middle of my church switching saga, I feel more like the race of creatures bound on another journey and leaving my fellow passengers to the grave behind.
And so, I would tend to identify more with this:
"If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"
Celebration of God's grace, yes; but ultimately I think it's more a cause for mourning - that we should have caused Him the trouble in the first place, and that he had to die for people who often take his sacrifice for granted, who get distracted by the poor imitation of His gift giving and trivialise its significance with festivities. I suppose it's quite a harsh stance to take and I suppose most people aren't like that (hopefully), and I could just attribute this crap to my crabby mood, but I think it does apply a lot ot myself to. Christmas for me is largely a time for introspection, and I suppose it brings to light all the deficiencies which I then get irritated at. The plague of introverted-ness.
Got this in the mail recently, and it made me think a bit more than the collective brain efforts of the past month. I don't agree with it entirely, mostly because it has too much of a capitalist-prole slant (duh it's Dickens), but also because in the middle of my church switching saga, I feel more like the race of creatures bound on another journey and leaving my fellow passengers to the grave behind.
And so, I would tend to identify more with this:
"If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!"
Celebration of God's grace, yes; but ultimately I think it's more a cause for mourning - that we should have caused Him the trouble in the first place, and that he had to die for people who often take his sacrifice for granted, who get distracted by the poor imitation of His gift giving and trivialise its significance with festivities. I suppose it's quite a harsh stance to take and I suppose most people aren't like that (hopefully), and I could just attribute this crap to my crabby mood, but I think it does apply a lot ot myself to. Christmas for me is largely a time for introspection, and I suppose it brings to light all the deficiencies which I then get irritated at. The plague of introverted-ness.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Pavement island in the middle of road
I suppose there are tons of articles on festive season depression, but identifying reasons for it and thus rationalising it into a manageable pathological state doesn't make it better. Orchard Road is insanely packed on weekends, the lights are jarring - too many colours vying for attention become an unwelcome distraction. Halfway through crossing a road, a tourist stops and takes the traffic and the lights. Another balances his mini tripod on a traffic light pole trying to take pictures above the heads of human traffic. The huge decorations that pipe Christmas carols have "Danger High Voltage" signs stuck all over them, and I wonder why they bother with those signs, when it's a direct way to celebrating Christmas forever.
It's the season to get married, the season where the country clubs hold huge parties for children separated into age groups, the season for indiscriminate spending and whatever else. Too many things to do, too many rehearsals, too many carols, too many people to meet even if you don't feel like it, too many smiles to distribute. It isn't difficult to acquire a laughless smile.
The rest of the year will be spent waiting for something better. But it's the ambivalent sense of restless un-belonging and the need to cling on to things I feel are already slipping away that's killing.
It's the season to get married, the season where the country clubs hold huge parties for children separated into age groups, the season for indiscriminate spending and whatever else. Too many things to do, too many rehearsals, too many carols, too many people to meet even if you don't feel like it, too many smiles to distribute. It isn't difficult to acquire a laughless smile.
The rest of the year will be spent waiting for something better. But it's the ambivalent sense of restless un-belonging and the need to cling on to things I feel are already slipping away that's killing.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
multiracial
As it turns out, it appears that blogging increases in frequency with exams, I suppose because it's just another outlet to get rid of the excess words swimming around in my head. Now that everything's quiet up there (which isn't a bad thing), there isn't much to blog about, except maybe weird sightings and interesting functions.
In a cab along the PIE, I spotted a lonely national flag hanging from a HDB apartment in Bedok, and wondered if the owner was extremely patriotic, or that the symbol of a nation was particularly forgettable. Or maybe she finally washed it after National Day and was leaving it out to dry. Either way, any tourist coming to Singapore will receive confirmation that he/she's in the right place.
Interesting function would have to be Chandran and Amy's wedding. Last week's Indian wedding was elaborate, colourful, complicated, and rather long-drawn especially for poor people sitting at the back with no idea what's going on on stage. Sunday's Oriental wedding was one huge variety show though. There were lots of comedies, reenactments of courtship processes, and one more memorable standup (dunno what jiapalang) comedy act that seemed to talk about Amy, though it seemed more of a gratutious listen-to-my-voice piece. Anyway the person in question basically called Amy an 'integrated resort', which in my opinion is not too flattering considering the amount of controversy behind the term. It confirmed my suspicion that the entertainment industry is really all about self-absorped vanity and the immaculate upkeeping of an Image of accessible personality unattainable beauty. And the men are mostly, if not all gay. Although strangely enough though the room was split into the act3 and the fly entertainment camp, the act3 camp was relatively gay free though I decline comment for the other side. I'm not homophobic, but sometimes the camp and the look-at-me-i'm-gay-and-gay-is-cool, in your face act doesn't really go down well.
Maybe that explains why my whole affair with theatre is at best an ambivalent one. As a medium it's powerful, because it's so in your face. As a self-indulgent thing, it's really fun to play characters that allow your to exorcise your inner demons, characters so far removed from your ordinary person yet you know that they are actually parts of your alter ego. Also, there's the whole thrill of being on stage, the adrenaline during and after the thing that's tons better than the post-exercise/chocolate endorphine rush. But then there's how your interaction with other people become a huge act until you don't really know whether you really like someone or it's just a whole act; maybe your whole life is a huge performance and you don't take down your mask until you die. Perhaps by that time the mask will fuse with your face and define you.
Pardon the unintelligible, pseudo-intellectual crap. Merely post exam verbal diarrhoea.
In a cab along the PIE, I spotted a lonely national flag hanging from a HDB apartment in Bedok, and wondered if the owner was extremely patriotic, or that the symbol of a nation was particularly forgettable. Or maybe she finally washed it after National Day and was leaving it out to dry. Either way, any tourist coming to Singapore will receive confirmation that he/she's in the right place.
Interesting function would have to be Chandran and Amy's wedding. Last week's Indian wedding was elaborate, colourful, complicated, and rather long-drawn especially for poor people sitting at the back with no idea what's going on on stage. Sunday's Oriental wedding was one huge variety show though. There were lots of comedies, reenactments of courtship processes, and one more memorable standup (dunno what jiapalang) comedy act that seemed to talk about Amy, though it seemed more of a gratutious listen-to-my-voice piece. Anyway the person in question basically called Amy an 'integrated resort', which in my opinion is not too flattering considering the amount of controversy behind the term. It confirmed my suspicion that the entertainment industry is really all about self-absorped vanity and the immaculate upkeeping of an Image of accessible personality unattainable beauty. And the men are mostly, if not all gay. Although strangely enough though the room was split into the act3 and the fly entertainment camp, the act3 camp was relatively gay free though I decline comment for the other side. I'm not homophobic, but sometimes the camp and the look-at-me-i'm-gay-and-gay-is-cool, in your face act doesn't really go down well.
Maybe that explains why my whole affair with theatre is at best an ambivalent one. As a medium it's powerful, because it's so in your face. As a self-indulgent thing, it's really fun to play characters that allow your to exorcise your inner demons, characters so far removed from your ordinary person yet you know that they are actually parts of your alter ego. Also, there's the whole thrill of being on stage, the adrenaline during and after the thing that's tons better than the post-exercise/chocolate endorphine rush. But then there's how your interaction with other people become a huge act until you don't really know whether you really like someone or it's just a whole act; maybe your whole life is a huge performance and you don't take down your mask until you die. Perhaps by that time the mask will fuse with your face and define you.
Pardon the unintelligible, pseudo-intellectual crap. Merely post exam verbal diarrhoea.
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