This is my story

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Welcome to the city that never sleeps. The day time is coloured with the rush of traffic, the rapid flow of people and the symphony of cell phone conversations, car horns and the buzzing of a busy street. The night time is glittered with street lights, neon signboards and the glow of numerous offices behind tinted windows in high-rise buildings.

This is a city that is constantly active. This is a city that is always moving. This is a city that is alive.

This is a city that lives within every one of us.

One day, without warning and out of a sudden, the power goes out. Without fuel to run electricity throughout the city, the lights died down and the illuminated glow from the city faded to black.

Unable to continue working, employees went home. Unable to drive safely in darkness, the drivers went home. Unable to partake in any form of activity in the city, everyone went home.

There was no light. But yet, the city was not in complete darkness. The moon and the stars, once masked by the radiance of city lights, shone more brightly that night, blanketing the city with a calm silver aura.

The citizens of the city, who spent years behind desks, computer monitors and their work, gazed up at the sky. Families huddled together, couples bundled together and children cuddled with their parents, as they all stood in the streets outside their homes and looked towards the heavens.

Even if it was for only a while, they with their loved ones finally had the chance to appreciate the view before them and to notice what they have been missing all this time.

[5/31/2009 12:10:00 AM]

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Sunday, May 10, 2009

"Hurry, they are all waiting for you!" I hastily dried myself with a towel, put on my shirt before bursting out of the bathroom. My aunt nearby grabbed the towel and ruffled my wet hair. I struggled for her release then clumsily stumble in between my parents. A black forest cake with lighted candles was presented to me. My other relative wiped out her camera and attempted to seal the moment.

I was 8 back then. I still have that photo in my room. And I was smiling.

I sighed in frustration and closed my textbook after studying it for about an hour. I rubbed my eye as I made my way to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I saw my mother returning home with a white box. She placed the box onto the kitchen table and collected the matchbox off the overhead cupboard. "What's that?" I queried. She simply smiled, "Your birthday cake."

I was 14 back then. And I studied so much, I forgot about my birthday. But I still smiled before my birthday cake that day.

"Band practice starts at 10 you know. What are you doing in school so early?"

She grinned and shrugged. "Don't know..."

I raised an eyebrow as she giggled and turned away. I was in school early for Chinese remedial lesson, since the "O" Levels were near and I was on the brink of losing hope for my Chinese. After the lesson, 3 of the greatest friends whom I have ever met in my lifetime waited for me outside the classroom. One of them had a lighter in her hands, the other placing candles on a cake, and the last held onto a plastic knife and tissue papers.

I was 16 back then. And even till now, those 3 friends have always been making me smile when I need it the most. And yes, I was smiling when they sang me a birthday song.

I was crying as I walked home that night. Things haven't been going well at that point of time, and I was being pushed to my limits. It was a depressing feeling to have worked your hardest and yet still be unable to perform up to expectations. Somehow, I managed to drag myself back to school the next day. Halfway through the day, a classmate brought out a red box with a chocolate cake while my other classmates began to work on candle arrangement and the borrowing of a lighter from one of the canteen vendors. It was all laughs and smiles, and at that moment, I didn't feel so weak anymore.

I was 17 back then. Life was a little hard on me, and every day was a struggle. But my friends and classmates gave me that bit of strength I needed to just continue walking the "A" Level journey. That made me smile as they sang me a birthday song at the study benches in school.

It was getting late. But we still had to perfect the investiture to signify our proper stepping down from service. We all gathered around the piano to practice singing the council song which a few musically talented councilors composed and arranged. After singing it once and the comments for improvement were given, one of them signaled for another run through. Instead of the council song, they caught me by surprised and sang me a birthday song instead. I was then literally dragged onto the floor and got stacked upon by 4 or more of the council's heaviest and biggest guys.

I was 18 back then. I couldn't breathe when I was pinned down and I had no cake or candles to blow out. But I was smiling.

I was tired, but relieved that the day was over. After a whole day of training, anyone with the right state of mind would feel grateful to be able to finally rest. I knew the next day would be the same old mundane routine again, but at that point in time, all I wanted was a shower and an hour of doing nothing physical. I checked my cell phone and a flood of messages greeted me. It was probably one of the few times that I laughed a sincere laugh when I was in OCS.

I was 19 back then. I haven't blown my candles or even celebrated my birthday yet. But the torrent of birthday wishes from friends who awaited my book out made me smile. And they still do.

I don't remember all of it, but I do remember always smiling, even if it is just for a moment. After 19 years, I finally realized why I was always smiling, even if my life was bleak at that point in time.

I was given a present to unwrap on my 19th birthday. It was quite skillfully bundled together so I took a bit of time to free it open. Halfway through my operation, I suggested, "What if I just rip the wrapping paper apart instead of being so careful?"

One of my friends smiled. "No you won't, I know you won't. Maybe after I said that you will, but I don't think you will..." And the rest of them smiled along.

Birthdays isn't about making someone feel special on that particular day itself. It is about reminding that someone how special he or she means to everyone else. For the record, I managed to preserve the wrapping paper. And the gift revealed itself to be a white watch.

I guess I've lived a good teenage life.

To the people who still have the patience to read my musings, to my friends who remember I was born on this day, and to my loved ones who have granted me warmth.

Thank you.

I'm still a 19 year old for the next few days, but hey, Happy 20th Kenny. =)

[5/10/2009 07:46:00 PM]

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Saturday, May 02, 2009

It was a warm night as I stood by the window. The humidity was like a blanket, wrapping around me and suffocating me. I probably just needed fresh air, coupled with being bored of having literally nothing interesting to do.

The chaos in my mind died down as I faced an opposing flat in front of my window. The buzz on the streets below contrasted with the silent night sky, with nothing but a lone crescent moon with a few stars keeping it company. It was a fitting imagery of my empty home comparing with my neighbours before me. It was like looking through a glass wall, into another world that I didn't belong to, or rather, no longer had a place in as much as I want to.

They were just so busy, walking around, doing the laundry and watching TV. They were so engrossed with their own activities that they failed to notice someone peering into a part of their private lives. Just then, something caught that someone's eye.

A girl was combing her long straight black hair. I have don’t understand why, but it was really entertaining to watch. All the other windows suddenly became of no interest to me, as my eyes fixated onto her. I have no idea who she is and at that distance between us, I could barely see her face. But surely, by living in such close proximity with each other, we could have crossed paths before. Perhaps we have taken the same bus home or waited in the same line to use the ATM.

All I knew about her then was that she owned a set of blue pajamas and a yellow towel, and she had beautiful long black hair with an orange comb to brush it in an (excuse me for using this word) inelegant manner (well, maybe she was in a rush) while standing before a mirror, every now and then pacing towards the window to fling out a strand caught in her comb. Still, her long hair bounced in an unusually cute way each time her comb crosses the length.

But that was all. I don't know her name or her age, where she's from or where she intends to go, her likes and dislikes or her hobbies and her hates. I don't know if she has a boyfriend or even a husband, or if she is interested in looking for one to begin with. I don't know her personality or her character, or the awkward moments she could possibly possess that I could use to poke fun at her, except for the way she combs her hair.

My 3 minutes of entertainment concluded with her walking into her house and turning off the lights in the room. After staring into the darkness for a few seconds, I followed suit, realizing that I was merely looking into a world that I no longer belonged to, that I was so forcefully separated and isolated from, that I so desired to return to, but no matter how much I beg, I am still faced with a glass wall.

[5/02/2009 10:52:00 PM]

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Sunday, February 22, 2009

Life is imperfect.

But who am I to comment about life when I only lived a little less than 20 years, barely even qualified to consider myself a matured individual, or even an adult in any sense. But with these short 20 years to adulthood, the pretty picture painted to me as a child eventually begin to smudge into an ugly scene.

They call it the reality of life. It need not be taught to a child, because it'll eventually appear magically before any innocent little one. And it'll do so with much stealth that the child would hardly even notice that it's there. Or at least that's what happened to me.

And I was wondering if I under-dressed for the occasion. I looked around and saw a myriad of emotions, proud faces of relatives, anxious expressions of the organizers, the blank faces of the photographers, the confused look of preteens, and the gushing of a few of the female guest, all lay await for the bride and the groom to enter the glass pavilion in the middle of the sunny Sentosa island. A decorated golf buggy rolled in as my cousin and an elegant lady stepped off and entered the pavilion as they got greeted by the crowd's standing applause.

It was beautiful. It was like someone breathed life into a painter's work of art. But it is only the truly matured individuals who appreciate and understand how the painting came to life. It is only then when you begin to realize that every colour, every tone and every texture created in the painting tells of a story of the painter's hardship and hard work.

My uncle is down with a disease so uncommon and unusual, that the doctors don't even know what it is. What they do know, which he already did otherwise he wouldn't even bother visiting the doctor, was that his vision is fading. They told him about how rare this disease was, what could have been the cause and how baffled they were about it as much as he was. But they couldn't tell him how to cure it, or to at least stop it from getting worse.

I respect my uncle. As the eldest son of the family, he was the head, the backbone, as well as the ears for his siblings; more so especially when his mother passed away more than half a decade ago. It wasn't as if his own immediate family was perfect, but it didn't stop him and his wife from listening out his sibling's own problems with work, money and their own immediate families. My own parents went to him in times of their own trouble and I could tell my dad looked up to his elder brother. He told me once that my uncle was the only officer of the family when I enlisted in National Service. It was another reason why I chose to take the added responsibility.

But his eyes were failing him. His eyes were much needed for his retirement plan which included reading, watching sports on TV, playing golf and most importantly, watching his kids get married. Life robbed him from his well-deserved rest, but his son and his girlfriend was gracious enough to give him that one thing they still could. And they did.

Following custom and tradition, the bride and the groom always say a few words to thank the guest for their time and for their blessings in their marriage. When he got to the part about thanking his parents, for they made him who he is today, his eyes redden and his face flushed a little, as though trying to hold back a tear from ruining the joyous event.

His new wife, sensing the need to distract the attention of the crowd took her turn to talk to the guest. At the corner of my vision, I saw the graying eyes of my uncle turn a shade of red, as though reflecting those very eyes of his son. My own father, who wasn't laughing at the joke the bride just cracked, probably realized the same.

Life is imperfect. But because of the imperfection, it is beautiful.

[2/22/2009 04:20:00 PM]

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Sunday, February 08, 2009

"Where to sir?" He queried energetically. With dark clouds and gray winds surrounding us, part of me wondered how he managed to preserve that little bit of sunshine in that grin of his. On the contrary, my candle was about to burn out its last ounce of light.

"Home..." I sighed, while struggling to maintain my weak smile. He raised his eyebrow as he looked towards my half-dead self. "Well, that's a nice place to go to isn't it?" He giggled.

The entire journey was about a short 30 minutes or less. We didn't say much though, except for the occasional asking of directions and me attempting to guide him with as much simplicity as possible.

"So that was your camp over there?" He questioned.

"That's it right there."

"What's it like?"

"It ain't pretty."

He laughed. And for the first time in what seem like ages, so did I. Well, if anyone spent 2 weeks at work being pushed to the limits of one's capacity, he would also understand what I mean.

"Well, it's the weekends you know. Time away from camp means time for some EPL... you do watch football right? No? Well, then maybe you could go find some girls, expand your investment portfolio of that sort if you know what I mean, ya?"

I felt like shit. But by some shear force that I couldn't understand even up till now, he could make shit smell good. And for the first time in what seems like ages too, I smiled a sincere smile.

He went on talking about random stuff, like how bad the weather was that day and where he just sent his family to before picking me up. It's hard for me to explain how, but not hearing anything related to work felt peaceful. It was as though listening to him talk with such friendliness and hospitality was akin to appreciating musical melodies that soothes my throbbing headache.

"Okay sir, we're here." He exclaimed, with that exact same smile he used to greet me. I smiled back, while fumbling with my wallet, handing out a ten dollar bill, then return to fumble with my wallet again.

"Its okay sir, just this will do." I looked at him with a slight hint of confusion, but he smiled back with such assurance and comfort that I just couldn't reject his kind gesture.

"Thank you." I said, as I got out and closed the door. Then, he did the one thing that I've never seen cab drivers do. He looked back, smiled and waved as he drove off into the distant. I barely knew him, and yet it was as though he was cheering with me that I've finally reached home.

[2/08/2009 03:58:00 PM]

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Tuesday, January 27, 2009

That look again. That look of disbelief.

It appears that my attempt in describing how a triangular square looks like was futile once again. I end the conversation quickly, but not too abruptly enough to be considered rude, before dismissing myself.

Why wouldn't anyone believe me?

But why would they? After all, a square in a triangular form defies logic. It's absurd that one should even consider the existence of such an object to be true and not part of some drunken imagination at work. A square to have a triangular feature is just wrong.

But I've seen it. I've seen it appear before me, formulated, created and presented itself as a triangular square. There's no other name I can seem to call it. But yet, with the annotation that I'm already out of my mind, how can I describe it in a way that people can understand me?

And so they don't. People just don't enjoy hearing things that they can't comprehend at first grasp, especially if they already had the mindset that triangular squares simply don't exist in the first place. My attempts to relay the image in my mind becomes noise to them and they brush it aside as insignificant.

Is that what I have become? Am I now insignificant after seeing something people deem crazy like a triangular square?

I never asked to bear witness to such a logic defying existence. I never wanted to see such a weird thing appear before me. I never thought that triangular squares are actually possible. But now that I have been enlightened, am I now insane to speak my mind that triangular squares are not out of the ordinary?

Why won't they believe me? Do they even listening to the words I say? Or am I simply brushed aside the moment I try to explain to them my observation of that strange shape?

All I want is someone to believe me that triangular squares do exist. All I want is someone to listen and understand how a triangular square look like. All I want is someone to trust me that I'm serious and not out of my mind. Is that really a lot to ask of?

You there, you believe the existence of a triangular square right?

See, that look again. That look of disbelief.

Looks like I'm alone on this one.

No one is going to believe me anyway.

[1/27/2009 12:04:00 AM]

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Sunday, November 30, 2008

I am an officer cadet of OCS.

And even till now, I'm still unsure of my presence here. I wasn't even expecting to come here to begin with. And now, as I draw closer to the end, that question remains unanswered, drifting around within the sea of my thoughts.

To inspire myself onwards as an officer to be, I shall now state with reverence and respect, the officer's creed.

I am an officer of the Singapore Armed Forces.

Or at least I will be within the next few weeks, provided that nothing out of the ordinary happens to me. It is nothing to be proud of nor is it worth any bragging points of any sort. When I received the scroll which commanded me to "loyally and diligently discharge your duty and serve honourably at all times" I knew I have gotten myself into something more that I can bite.

My duty is to lead, to excel and to overcome.

And they made me into a trainee for 9 whole months to ensure that I know how to carry out that duty. For those 9 months, or 38 weeks to be exact, they threw whatever hell they wanted or could at me, in hope of molding me into the ideal soldier to serve the nation. 9 months felt like forever.

I lead my men by example. I answer for their training, morale, and discipline.

Unfortunately, these 9 months has given me doubt. On many nights, as I lay down to rest on the bed in the bunk or on the grounds of outfield, I question my place. Why am I here? How did I get myself into this? Am I even supposed to be where I am? Sometimes I even wonder if it is due to the result of an accident, or an administration screw up. Either way, I felt as though I don't really belong.

I must excel in everything I do. I serve with pride, honour and integrity.

So how do I do that when I have practically messed up so many times? I have failed my examinations, too laid back for my own good and barely made the cut. I am far from what they expect me to be, and now I do admit that I'm guilty for not meeting the mark. How do I perform when I can't even settle the minute things both in and out of camp? How do I do what I'm supposed to do when my personal life is in such a mess?

I will overcome adversities with courage, fortitude and determination.

With all the stories that I've heard, with all the incidents that I have seen with my own eyes, and with all the common trends that have been set, how do I do that when most surely, I'm already expected to fail miserably? How do I fight a battle when almost everyone looks upon me with the mindset that I and my kind are already doomed? Should I even attempt to struggle?

I dedicate my life to Singapore.

Or rather, for a moment, it feels as though my life isn't mine to own anymore.

[11/30/2008 05:48:00 PM]

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