When was the last time...? 5:59 am

When was the last time...?

When was the last time someone ever called me generous?

This evening. By a stranger.

It is one of those compliments that has lost itself in our vocabulary of "nice" and "cool". A compliment that carries so much sincerity and thought. One that we should share more with the people around that deserve a compliment as this.

Generous. To share and not to count the cost, to give and not to seek reward.

If only I were.

Uncle T

Swirling Oxymorons 8:00 am

Swirling Oxymorons

Slowly the concrete makes way for pavements of autumn leaves.

The autumn leaves, swirling oxymorons.

Uncle T

An amazing process: Gift-giving 4:32 pm

An amazing process: Gift-giving

Gift-giving is an amazing process. Yes, a process that has in-built notions of rights and freedoms, as well as benefiting both giver and receiver. Especially in this age of consumerism and commercialisation, where corporates "guide" gift-giving patterns and seasons, it is no better time to ponder upon this process.

A friend casually mentioned how amazing this CD was but he didn't want to get it because it cost GBP10. It was a passing comment. Then whilst I was at Tesco's on a seperate shopping mission, I came across the CD and somehow my mind instantaneously made the link that this was the CD that would make my friend happy. So without thinking much, motivated only by that irrational desire to make my friend happy, I bought it.

Wrapped in beautifully environmentally unfriendly Tesco's bag, I gave my friend the CD. He couldn't believe it, that he got a gift out of the blue for no reason. His sheepish embarrassment made me embarrassed momentarily. And so, in line with my glorious attempts of one-liners in this country, I replied with a "So?" when he said: "Eh why you give me? My birthday next year leh".

Gift-giving indeed has been patterned, both on the balance sheets of corporate companies as well as in our psyche, that there are appropriate times and occasions to give gifts. These are set nearly in social concrete. It is sad how gift-giving, once an expression of free-will to voluntary give one's own property to another, has fallen prey to the corporates.

Where has the spirit of giving? Can Christmas not be the whole year round? Must it be Christmas only when the departmental stores scream "Christmas Sales!"? I surely re-found the wonderful joy of giving gifts, and it is all the sweeter when its least expected.

Why not let's try giving gifts the next time we can? No need for a special occasion. Just give. From the heart.



Uncle T

Ironically the saddest is the most beautiful.

It is starting to get dark early. My final autumn before returning to perennial tropics. The happy autumn breeze is giving way to an impatient wintery wind.

Uncle T

It's Back, Smiling. 7:36 am

its back, smiling.

its back. that feeling.
that sticks to your skin like
revolting sweat in the tropics.
that familiar stench,
the familiar irk.

yet i like it.
like how massages feel
repulsive yet soothing.
i smile at it, yet
i wish to tear from
seething just below the skin.

it smiles back.
i want to lash out but
i'm bound by social ropes.
it smiles in my face,
i can feel its breathe
yet cannot gnarl back like
an itching sore on your back.



Uncle T

Walking Oxymorons 7:05 am

walking oxymorons...

Are we not all walking oxymorons? Or the very least we are often oxymorons at some point.

Arrogantly humble, timidly brave, happily sad, hating to love, stupidly smart...

But do people know that they are oxymorons? That there is hardly any clarity of black and white, that we all thread amidst the massive grey?

Uncle T

It Never Leaves 4:33 pm

It Never Leaves.

the night never leaves.
it quietly finds
recesses in our hearts
but it never leaves.

it merely gives way
to the sun.
but it never leaves.

o moon, o melancholy, o sweet romance!

Uncle T

What Makes Me Tick?

Plugged into my little world created by Chet Baker's soothing voice and trumpet, I walked from room to lecture theatre. Its cold. Winter beckons. The wind finds its way through the threads of the fabric.

I meet someone familiar; I smile and move on quickly. Then another. And another. Chet, take me away faster. Familiar faces, quick smiles. Some trees are shedding the last of their leaves. Winter beckons.

Soon I was smiling without conscious effort to familiar faces, more like a Pavlov response than a sincerity that is meant to be attached to a smile. I was only caught up in one question: what makes me tick?

What makes me tick? What makes you tick?

I'm so afraid once I return to permanently live in Singapore, I will fall into a rut, one that catches you and tends not to let you go. A rut, due to locality or just permanence? A rut that finds hard to shake off the inertia to try new things, go out and discover, putting yourself through the baptismal fires of self-reflection, a rut that will make me yearn for my days here in Warwick. A rut that I have seen some friends fallen into upon returning home to Singapore.

As I near the doors to the lecture hall, my mind could only grasp one solution for now: find what makes me tick, what makes me passionate, what makes me want to disregard meals, skip temptations to laze, what makes me want to lose sleep over. Once I identify that, I will ensure the activities and people I surround myself back home will continue to be in-sync with this rudiment.

I could be totally wrong, yet totally right. As the lecturer's voice booms through the air, I reluctantly remove my earphones, and Chet Baker, and settle into lecture on theories of justice and with a momentary resolve to find what makes me tick.

What makes me tick? What makes you tick?

Uncle T

Sigh of the falling human 7:07 pm

Sigh of the falling human...

Ever since keyboards took over pen and paper by storm, people have stopped writing letters as much.

With the backspace and delete keys, people put less thought before they pen (or rather type) their thoughts.


With informality creeping into our languages, metaphors are slowly being shelved for short-forms. The beauty of languages are fast becoming an obsolete and uncool obsession. Rather, other beauties have taken centre stage, led by emaciated young models and the likes of our modern world.

I miss the appreciation of words, regardless of the language. When people stop to think before expressing themselves, verbally or in writing. I miss the appreciation of values and morals, which have been relegated to mere satirical devices on TV (like Little Britain perhaps) and movies.

this picture is from deviantart.com

This is the sigh of the falling human.

Uncle T

The Autumn Leaves 7:14 pm

With the full-frontal view of autumn leaves here in Warwick, I read on about the latest subtle strategy of Northern imperialism of the South.

But all my mind falls back to are academically senseless thoughts, but thoughts I'll rather dwell in. Don't you too?

...about the painting I was working at 3am this morning. Oh how I wish I could get back to that now, with the autumn leaves in company on the park bench, hands on my lap.

...about how friends at home are changing; becoming bitches, getting married, hating new bits of the world they thought they loved.

...about the Brooklyn as I stubbornly stay in the company of coffee machines; the smell of coffee beans ground, the hiss of the steamer of the machines, the tills going "ting". I want to be a coffee maker.

...about my friend whom I met yesterday in London. She wants to be a writer, and I know she will be a great writer, if only the world will give her a chance, and if only she gave herself that chance too.

Yup. Thinking about everything that is academically senseless; that's blasphemy for a student isn't it? What do you think about that is wonderfully senseless, that you're not supposed to but want to?

Do tell.




Uncle T

The Latest Non-Solution from Capitol Hill 4:20 pm

Democracy gets in the way...?

Capitol Hill finally came up with a rescue plan, pumping in $700b into the ailing capitalist economy, already an embarrassing about turn of the Washington-Consensus pride. And now, one house of the lauded American bicameral democracy, can't seem to agree on the plan that is essentially America making-up for its corporate greed that has forced global markets into a plummet.

Some may argue this is democracy at its best, preventing a Republican government from abusing its power. But some, and rightly so, have argued that this has sunk to the base wrangling of domestic politics in the light of the American elections. And if the real reason is the latter, which we might never know, I am terribly disappointed; where the American elections has fallen to become the playground of narcissists, with the world suffering from it.

Capitalistic Plague: The Real Economy Affected

Imagine ambitious investment bank, headquartered in New York. Greedy to get balance sheets to look impressive, so shares can go up, so their dividends go up and so do their bonuses. Along comes risky securitised mortgages which equally ambitious rating agencies say are "investment-grade". Investment bank takes on this risk, unsurprisingly risk fails, bank goes bankrupt.

Now, car manufacturers, pharmaceuticals, toy-makers, food manufacturers etc are paying for this greed and ambition because of the inter-connected global market.

This great big invention of liberal capitalism has now become a plague.

Uncle T

That Stinking Feeling 1:03 pm

The Final Sip...

Took my final sip of Gorilla Coffee this afternoon. After drinking from the same local coffee shop nearly-daily for a month, the start of September rains play my exit music out of Brooklyn, out of New York. What a month it has been here on the East Coast of America; the Elections, the arts, the finding-kyself, the financial meltdown, the mega-consumerism...Finally I can say to myself the next time I watch "Ugly Betty", "Sex in the City", "Friends" (yes yes, the re-runs ONLY BECAUSE friends around me watch it again and again) or some Hollywood scene with surgically-dashing actors run through New York subways or blow up yellow taxis, I can say I have been there, done that, and got the "I Love NYC" t-shirt.

And so I take my final sip of the Brooklyn I have grown to hold so dear.

That Stinking Feeling...

It's stinking. It catches my attention. Even as my mind loiters towards thoughts of near-futures, dreams, aspirations, evil plots to take over the world, lust, hunger (i'm a foodie), that feeling grabs my attention like trash on the streets that grabs your eyes by the ankle and tugs at you.

That feeling that I will miss Brooklyn so much that I will start comparing Singapore when I finally return to the sunny island in a year's time. Yet, that lingering stench also tells me that I need to go back to Singapore to find some permenant footing to take steps towards my dreams, my aspirations.

Tools in Hand...

Having lived in London and New York, and in the new-found pastures of modern art and insights into the working world, I am now armed with the hammer, the nails and planks of wood. I am now ready to start building the foundations of my life ahead. But I must patiently wait to return to Singapore before I can start. The design is slowly taking shape in my head. Now I must nurture myself to fill this construction with the spirits and cultures of this world.


But in the end, I'm just a little boy in a crazy world, who does miss his kopi-peng along Thomson Road, Singapore.

Uncle T

How I wish our MAJULAH SINGAPURA was like this too... 9:22 pm

Move over Prada & Nike; here comes national solidarity...

"Would you now please rise to proudly sing our National Anthem..." the announcer from MFA emphatically said. It is early September 2008, Manhattan, New York. It is the celebratory dinner of Singapore's National Day held by the Singapore's Permenant Mission to the UN. The turnout is good; students, families, diplomats, kids who seem to have come in a busload of their own.

Everyone stood up awkwardly. I could have sworn I saw some rolling their eyes, turning to their friends and giving awkward smiles, sheepish grins, a scratch to the head. If you walked into the room, you would have thought you walked into one of those awkward Hollywood wedding ceremonies where someone says he loves the bride (but he's not the groom). No. This was just before MAJULAH SINGAPURA. "Shit, I never sing this song for 4...no no 6 years oredi. Cham," was what I heard someone whisper in the not-so-loud-Singaporean-whisper.

And the whispering "marikita...." began. Barely audible. The kid runs across the room laughing...So many people came to this National Day dinner, yet when it came to the Anthem, many go quite. If I had not known better, one would have thought many just came for the food.

But I know that is not true. Many Singaporeans miss home. Especially being away from home, this was like homecoming. Be it missing the food, the friends, the Singlish la-lohs, its still coming home. Yet it saddens me to see how the "system" (whatever that is) has made us roll our eyes, feel sheepish proudly singing the national anthem, that represents the sovereignty and independence of what we call home. Can you imagine a Singapore, that small, belonging to another modern country of today? Would we be what we are today?

National education has often been decried as propaganda, and treated with contempt by most (I'm not saying all) younger Singaporeans, and singing the National Anthem even at this event has been subconsciously rolled into that cynical fold.

I am looking forward to the day we Singaporeans can sing the anthem proudly, be it at home or abroad, just like the way the New Yorkers sang theirs at the Yankees game and at the local marathon that I witnessed in the summer I was in New York.

I know many are proud to be Singaporeans. And I hope that someday we will step up to wear it proudly on our chest, the way we wear Prada, Gucci, Nike, Adidas daily.


Uncle T

photo parking lot 1:03 pm

all photos in this entry are original, unedited. i also took photos on film SLR.

film or digital?

has the latter made us forget about patience and precision in attempting to capture a moment?

Blue skies. Blue uniforms. The UN. Distinguished or extinguised?

Shapes of the New York Financial District

The peacock that has our eyes glued to the Box; "Friends", "Heroes", "The Office"...

Was television the invention that revolutionised or cripple human communication? Either way, this made a good picture.

Big Bro watching? Really? How'd know he ain't takin' no nap?

Big Yellow Taxi. Symbol of New York I saw only on TV. Now, its like an invasion.

I thought Picadilly Circus was "wow". Times Square was "wooooooahhhhhhhh....."

Abandoned? Or standing watch?

Who needs to assimilate when you see this in New York?

more to come.

Uncle T

The Day of the Black Umbrella 12:14 pm

Dropzone...

London, New York, Singapore. If I had a free choice, where would I settle? For now? For the future? What would be my deciding factors? The big-questions, the small answers? I don't know. Can we build upon stereo-types to inform our choices? Can I say "New Yorkers are... whilst the British are...and therefore..."? Would anything like that make sense or be a fair judge?

I don't know. Too many questions, too many factors. In a way, jumping off the plane of life, the wind guiding my parachute right back to Singapore for the next 6 years makes the above frustrations mere hypothetical scrabble. My landing spot has been determined by other forces. I'll just land and fight till I achieve my objective (which I have to find out).

I'll fight on until I get my next chance to stand at the door awaiting a new drop zone. Where the winds of chance and opportunity will take me, amen.

---

The morning I didn't know what crashed into my Head...

Muffins, coffee. Gorilla coffee. Oh damn! I still have so many more stamps needed on my loyalkty card to get my free 10th. 

It is raining in Brooklyn. Just on the morning I escape from the office-desk entrapment. Wet mops of hair, my favourite Brooklyn coffee place. I will miss it dearly. Red lights, the therepeutic coffee breeze.

Electronic squeezes, big-question taunts, what-if pressures. I'm wading in a drugged morning, a drugged life. I don't know what crashed into my head this morning.

Toilet door swings open, good-looking Brooklynites.

I'm still here...my head hurts.

---

Sunday's Brookyln Life. Missing it.

Prospect Parl. Brooklyn's Central Parl; Manhattanites may disagree. The Sunday sun has brought the amiable crowd to Park Slope; frisbees, writers, football, little boys on kites, clouds, bikes, families...Its so difficult to get a picture to capture the moments.

Sitting here gives me a better idea of how I'll like to spend weekends a few years along. Look, there's the little girl unsure of where to go, ball bigger-than-her-head in hand. Possibly, slightly further away from the weekends of corporate-ads overload; green, blue, white, children's laughter would be nice.

I guess one wants to escape the buttons, clicks, wires, glares, bitching, screens of the weekdays; real nice cappucino please, instead of instant-coffee at the office's pantry.

I don't want to go.

But I do go. McCarren Park, Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Parts of New York you never, I never, saw in the movies: warehouses, factories, empty graffitti streets. Can't ever trust hollywood or american tv can you? But I got down to 3 hours of football with the newly formed Vampire Squirrels FC. We then went for a pint, English-style.

Then it was time go home.

I don't want to go. I didn't want to. But I did.

---

we think too little;

question too little,

be cynical too much.

worse, being cynical

without thinking why.

all pictures in this entry are courtesy of deviantart.com

Uncle T