i wish there was music playing. 12:46 am

"in focus, on the line" | brawn F1 car @ Singapore GP 2009

I sit on my room floor, exhausted. Like in the movies, how I wished there was music playing. But there was none. At least with music, the loneliness seems easier to bear.

As we walked one, one by one people departed from the group; some headed to loved ones others to places of comfort. I just tag along, hoping in the end there would be something to smile about. The group gets dangerously smaller, and yet I still trudged along, the flicker of hope dimming. Soon, the group would just be left with me. In the end, there was nothing to smile about.

If this goes on I'll really learn to stop hoping.

Then there's you, to whom I've actually become a passing memory. Right from the start, the insecurity of being insignificant was always there. Naturally, my youthful optimism would constantly tell me otherwise; that I am special and significant. But nope, I'm not. Not even significant enough for goodbyes. So now you're off, and I've served my cause. All I'm left with are memories I can no longer trust.

If this goes on, I'll really learn to stop hoping. After all, everyone has warned me of the cynical adult. I'm starting to wonder if its true.

At the very least, in the meanwhile, I wish there was at least some music playing.

"all a blur" | bmw racing car @ Singapore GP 2009

Uncle T

interesting people 1:07 am

I need to meet interesting people, people that get you thinking. No, more than think; ponder and make you reach right in for answers.

I cannot help but recall Ms Latiff's wise words via email earlier this year:

"But what I think is important to always keep living an inspiring life is to always surround yourself with inspiring people."

I wish she were around to tell me this in person, but instead, she is right in the heart of Kabul, struggling each day to make a difference to lives less fortunate than hers. Here I am, here. Yet somehow her work in Afghanistan is not lost on me; her words and the memory of her spirit continue to inspire me.

And meeting other interesting and inspiring people since coming back 2 months ago continually keeps Natasha's words alive.

And if I had words to share today, this night, it would be Ms Latiff's wise words above.

something i created for fun.

Uncle T

4 things of today. 10:47 pm

1. Humility is one of the hardest lessons of life.
"Pride isolates you from the rest of the world," came the voice from the other side of the confessional curtain. In our daily interactions with people, it is so easy to be proud; silently thinking that our opinions are superior, thinking the other person doesn't really know what they are talking about. I'm sure I am right; how can I be wrong? "Humility often comes with first being humiliated," the bearded voice continued. Learning to re-join the rest of the human race in good humour was the priestly advice. Told you it was bloody tough.

2. I miss the quiet peace of devoting a little time each day to prayer and reflection.
Going back to the same place of A Levels reminded me of how strong I was then spiritually; even when reality seems to work against you, somehow I had no fear. I knew I couldn't finish revision thoroughly for the big A Levels exams, yet the kanchiong me had no fear. Its that quiet peace of devoting little time each day to prayer and reflection.

3. My father is a hero;
a man brave enough to stick to principles he believes in and not boast about it for 7 years. I thought such characters only existed in feel-good Hollywood movies.

4. I miss sitting in my Hurst room in Warwick just watching my TV series Heroes.
In a different country, a different time, a different room, I do the same. But this time I need to get up the next morning and be an employee. Crap.

Uncle T

how fast does time crawl 8:43 am

How fast does time crawl. So quickly, so stealthily.

Today marks 2 months since graduating from University; two months since leaving the shelters of school to the world of responsibilities and limitless possibilities. Two months since I had to start pretending I was an adult.

So far, the ride has been very decent. Sure, when we take-stock, hindsight tends to blight out the imperfect spots; zooming out of the picture helps ignore the pixelated blemishes. So, on the whole, its been looking decent. Yet, its those imperfect details that have come to be the crucial learning points in painting the next picture.

But really, how fast does time crawl. Two months since leaving the UK, two months since learning to find home in Singapore once more.

Uncle T

It is raining. 10:19 am

It is raining.

It is raining heavily on this late Sunday morning. I am snug in my Starbucks seat with iced brewed coffee, piped-in Merseyside beats playing; the daddy in front of me eating baby food (out of a bottle) that his baby boy cannot finish. The baby boy is in his lap, asleep. The mummy gets to eat her breakfast in peace, and steal precious moments with the daddy as baby sleeps.

I somehow feel at home.

Yesterday wasn't the best of days, neither was it the best. There were so many moments of the day that I felt so unsettled, though I cannot put my finger on. The evening was especially edgy; I was expecting the worst, and the worst came as the night wore on.

But it is Sunday today, and Saturday is now past. Yet I feel this unsettling brewing, and it is slightly frustrating not knowing what this all means; perhaps it is the caffeine over-load from the work-week. The daddy puts the baby boy back into his pram. The baby sleeps.I do wonder if the mummy and daddy feel unsettled too. With the two working as a team, perhaps not.

It continues to pour.

Uncle T

Random Post 163 9:47 pm

I am on the bus home. Same number, but new bus. The seats are now some untearable synthetic red thing. The bus passes through a familiar route, one literally that captures much of my teenhood. The bus pulls into the stop where the ex-girlfiriend lives.

an observation
One observation, other than the one that you now have to wear seatbelts at the back of the bus. I do wonder how young couples make out at the back of buses these days. The observation: nearly everyone on the bus is engaged with an electronic device, including me, in trying to type this. The boy next to me is figuring out some love triangle over the phone.

The lights on the bus are so bright I feel naked. Just a few years back, dim buslights were conducive for falling asleep, creating alluring orange hues that guarantee you miss your stop.

where will it take me...
I wonder where this ride will take me. Hopefully to a place where there is good company, love, jazz, coffee, a pen and a paper...


Uncle T

"i think you need a girl from outside the circle".

"kor kor nicky, i've just re-evaluated my values, and girls are not my priority now. cannot la..."

It is 0748h on a Wednesday morning. I am locked out of office, sitting at McDonald's working on powerpoint slides.

Uncle T

As uncle limps downstairs 11:21 pm

Kow! It hurts.

I limp downstairs. My right leg is nearly useless after I uselessly got injured at floorball over the weekend. Yet I limp with enthusiasm, in anticipation. I limp towards the letterbox.

I am hoping to receive the postcards. Funny how my comfort comes in the form of pieces of cardboard, likely with hyper-contrasted and kitsch pictures on one side. Naturally, all the limping is for the other side of that cardboard; the words from a foreign land.

Yet all that greets me in the letterbox is indeed a cardboard, an over-sized one at that. Walao. In it, is a piece of paper. On the paper, there are many many many many many numbers. The numbers tell me squat. Yet apparently this piece of paper is of the utmost importance. I tuck it away without even fully taking this UK paper out of its envelope. Exam transcripts, so they call it.

I limp back upstairs, still waiting.


Uncle T

Untitled Poem 11:08 pm

context of the poem: this was randomly written on the way home. not everything always has to make sense la :) this is one of them that might not; at least not to some.


Hideous sores that cruelly fester.
Their romantic affection, irksome.
Paper hearts and plastic stars
Seem like vintage memories of teenhood.
I can nearly touch the Catalan sun
Yet all I hear is silence. Cruel silence.
Comfort seems only to rest
In the crevices of life's randomness.
The amphibious orchestra now sing,
Yet all I hear is silence. But
why the silence?

I don't know. Do I want to know?



Uncle T

Trains of Realities 11:07 pm

White tops, blue bottoms. White tops running. The familiar morning chatter of kids heading to school in the morning. I spot the few shirts tucked out, one of the crimes you can commit at this age to earn a place at detention.

I walk past the other shuffling bodies as the the orange morning rays find their way across the grey building; I was taking the morning train to work.

I have done this for so many years of my life,taking the trains at rush hour, to school and later to work though work then was temporary. Sure, now things are slightly different. Now, work is permenant, and it looks to be so for a long, long time. I have done this in New York, I have done this in London. So, by any measure, I should be used to this. Yet, this train journey to work felt foreign.



- a day at work transpires -



I am back on the train. Only this time in the opposite direction towards Jurong East.

A young teenage couple kiss. They smile at each other and kiss again. I smile at them. People on the train are surely more chatty than 12 hours ago.

I have taken the train back home from work before too, both in New York and in London. Yet, somehow it was far more exciting taking the train there. Maybe its because it was all an adventure, working in a foreign land, living on your Own. Your life then was yours to screw up, yours to do as you please. It was solely yours. Now, perhaps not so; try staying out past midnight on a weeknight and see if I will get a text message from mummy asking where I am. No, I'm not whining, but just stating a fact.

So perhaps that is the difference taking the train there and here. These are two different realities, and the reality now is that perhaps it is all less than an adventure, and I must accept this. And I will.

Only problem is, right now, I prefer that other reality more; going home to Brooklyn.

My thoughts get interrupted, 'next station, Yio Chu Kang...'



Uncle T

Eavesdropping the past 11:22 pm

Sorry, but I couldn't help but eavesdrop. It was just too tempting, too familiar.


Girl: Would you allow your girlfriend to go out with other guys?

Boy: Of course I will allow.

Girl: Won't you get jealous?

Boy: Of course I will. But I won't stop her because I love her...


Fine, this is not word for word eavesdropping (hey, I was also busy pretending to do work on my laptop!). But the chivalry and righteousness seemed so familiar. Too familiar. I smile.

I wonder if the boy really meant what he said; I hope he did. I wonder if this 15 minute talk on BGRs would impress the girl and the silly righteous boy gets the girl; I hope he does.

I wonder if I can still say the same things he said and mean every word. I really do wonder.


Uncle T

Living, Not Just Existing 11:21 pm

Today I left work whilst the sky was still bright. It is the first time in 2 weeks.

I bumped into an English couple just outside my workplace. They were from Birmingham, and my lips smiled as I recognised their accent; less than a month back I was there, living in another world.

But that brief encounter lifted my spirit, enough for me to smile through the packed peak-hour bus through town. But it is not just this brief encounter with the couple that is the only spirit-elevator.

Over the weekend, a semblance of purpose to my new life back in Singapore started to take shape. Well, not exactly a grand single vision; at least not as yet. Rather, there is a growing excitement as I attempt to embark on projects that will hopefully lead me to that grand singular. There are many things that interest us, yet only one or two that we are passionate about. I am seeking that passion-object, and it is exciting.

You might quip that it sounds all too philosophical. But don't we all sometimes ask if we have a greater purpose? A purpose beyond being slaves to daily routines we impose on ourselves or allow others to? Perhaps it is just me, but it might just be us all.

I can't stand just existing. I want to live. Don't you?


Uncle T

a short reprieve 1:44 am

Away from the mulling, away from the thinking; away from the tossing and turning of a troubled mind. No, not a devastated mind, neither is it self-pitying. Simply troubled.

So away from all this I will be, even if just for a night in Melaka. I think the company there will be a refreshing one as well.

So before jumping right back into the fray of the third week of work, I am going to bask in whatever Melaka has to offer.

A short reprieve.


ps. Happy birthday Singapore :) I am proud.


Uncle T

Lost in Bewildering Helplessness 11:12 pm

The music froze
My fingers stiffened
The blinking cursor just
Stopped blinking.
Just didn’t know where
I was.
Choked, choked, choked.
A little sense of how He
Felt as Judas came by.
Choked.
Love being drained and
Still choking.
I’m lost in bewildering helplessness.
I…
Don’t…
Know…

I choke, lost in bewildering helplessness.

Uncle T

I cannot order my chocolate tart tonight. 12:48 am

I cannot order my chocolate tart tonight.


Impatient headlights and jazz.
Headlights started to cut and dot the growing darkness of the Saturday night; my first Saturday of my working life. I, too, turned on my headlights as the jazz soothed the impatient weekend cars worming in and out of traffic. I lean back into the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other against the door, propping up my chin.

The jazz helped; it always helps make wrong situations alright. It just calms my nerves even as a reckless and plain idiotic driver cuts my lane dangerously without signalling. Its as if some of these drivers knowingly make a dangerous manoeuvre and close their eyes to pray to their god(s). Either that, or they are simply dumb to not realise there actually are consequences to such potentially fatal side-steps. The jazz always helps; each time my nerves palpitate, jazz walks over quietly and squeezes my hand, smiles and says “everything will be alright darling”.


“Happiness…coming soon”
Alone, I drive from Bukit Timah to Lasalle Arts School. I was going to watch a play “Happiness…coming soon”. I quite enjoy the drive in these private moments with jazz, alone in her tender caresses. During such drives, I never feel lonely when I am alone. Yet, the reality of the solitude hits when I get out of the car as I headed for the theatre doors. That reality hits, and hard.

Good theatre is temporal enjoyment, but great theatre inspires. By that definition, it was a great 55 minute play. Then again, nearly everything inspires something in me. Whether it is inspired to fruition is a different matter altogether. But for those 55 minutes, I did not feel the loneliness of the empty seats on my left and right. Credit to the cast and crew, I felt part of the play. Yet once the houselights came on, I could nearly feel the glare of the empty chairs next to me.


“In my solitude…”
After one cup of dao huay drink (soya bean drink), I head to a faraway place, Portsdown Road. Tucked amidst the ancient trees and the ghosts of British military presence, this was my sanctuary; almost. Here, the solitude feels romantic. Even the weak street lamps have an enigmatic aura. Here, solitude is powerful. I sip my black coffee.

But I cannot order my chocolate tart tonight. The tart smiles at me seductively from the display window, but it is not to be, not tonight at least. What is in a good chocolate tart when you are alone and cannot share it? What is in a good tart when there is no one there to laugh at you as your fork makes a crumbly mess of the crust? What good is it if there is only one pair of lips to praise the tart to another pair of ears? What romance is in a burning tea-light candle when there is no face for its glow to embrace?

Tonight, I cannot order my chocolate tart. Because tonight, I am alone. I am waiting for my jazz girl.



Uncle T