2 places

So. I'm now 23. To be honest, it doesn't feel much unlike 22. But perhaps that's just because I'm new to being 23. Who knows, this year may be different.

Was talking to friends, and it seems that things, have truly changed as we age. Some people, with whom we share so much of in the past, have vanished out of your life, existing merely as a snippet on facebook, or a tweet, or a faraway hearsay of what happened or not to them. And though it's true that these people, however big a part they played in your life till now, would be but a footnote for the chapters that would soon follow. Everyone seems to be having a great life now. And I'm happy for that.

And so here i am, newly 23, made a wish without a birthday cake this year. But this year more than ever, i want it to come true.

For you see, I'm more than ready for a new chapter. A new corridor in Destiny's gardens. 

And as I approach yet another birthday. Things feel different this time.

To be honest, this year wasn't bad. In fact, going by past years, one may actually consider it a good year. I mean, a car, living in the most liveable city in the world, one can hardly ask for more. But it too is this year where I feel the depression of social isolation. Sure, most of it may be self inflicted, my weaning off of social media has not seen a opposite rise in human interactions. It started with emails which I stopped replying, then it became Facebook messages, and now, even some texts. It seems a slippery slope. One which in the new year, I hope to stop myself from falling further down.

It's not a good birthday this year.

Hopefully. Next year will be much improved.

The Wongwagon

Tomorrow. I get my first set of wheels. They say, you'd never forget your first car. And hell I'm excited to get that car. More to follow.

Shadow days

Did you know that you could be wrong
And swear you’re right
Some people been known to do it
All their lives

But you find yourself alone
Just like you found yourself before
Like I found myself in pieces
On the hotel floor

Hard times help me see

I’m a good man with a good heart
Had a tough time, got a rough start
But I finally learned to let it go
Now I’m right here, and I’m right now
And I’m hoping, knowing somehow
That my shadow days are over
My shadow days are over now

Or I'm trying to put them behind anyway. Its hard to stay on the light side. 

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me.

Of new old songs.

Its wierd. How sometimes a song you suddenly found out about suddenly just fills up your whole life. It becomes the melody you hum on the sidewalk, the music playing while you study, the music you fall asleep to. The song may not be new, in fact, its a long time since it was written now. But there's a comfort in repeatedly playing and listening to that song, a feeling of familarity, a little of 'i've heard this before somewhere'. And you try to find a deeper meaning to that song, if it means anything beyond the record companies and dollar bills. If there's a something beyond synthesized love, or synthesized soothing. If there's just something more to that. 

Hello. Its been awhile. 

We dreamers have our ways

Of facing rainy daysAnd somehow we survive
We keep the feelings warmProtect them from the stormUntil our time arrives
Then one day the sun appearsAnd we come shining through those lonely years
I made it through the rainI kept my world protectedI made it throught the rainI kept my point of viewI made it through the rainAnd found myself respectedBy the others whoGot rained on tooAnd made it through
When friends are hard to findAnd life seems so unkindSometimes you feel so afraid
Just aim beyond the cloudsAnd rise above the crowdsAnd start your own parade
'Cause when I chased my fears awayThat's when I knew that I could finally say
I made it through the rainI kept my world protectedI made it throught the rainI kept my point of viewI made it through the rainAnd found myself respectedBy the others whoGot rained on tooAnd made it through


-I made it through the rain, Barry Manilow


I have not ''Made it'', but just counting down the days to be able to sing this song. and perhaps, in more ways than one.

I'm lucky this blog is away from the prying eyes of many who i associate with right now.

Because. Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Part 1

So yes. I'm in singapore. Yet, there's something inexplicably wrong this time around, that I find myself anhedonic. It may be a expectation mismatch yet again, but yeah, Singapore just isn't as I imagined it to be as I pulled myself through the months overseas.

Since I was a kid, the has always been something that I craved for with all my life, wanted so badly that I'd give anything for it. The things I want change as I grow, but I can still remember every vivid detail of my desire. I remembered in kindergarten the only toy I wanted, was a sword, a plastic one, any shape, any size. I remembered being caned for bringing sticks home posed at swords. I remembered power rangers being out of bounds because it promoted violence, and I remembered wanting them so badly I started drawing them on paper, and that continued till today. A look at my notes will most likely reveal a sword or two perfected since young, crafted by the mind, wielded only in spirit. And ask me now which medieval job I most want to do, and it'll be blacksmith, no doubt about that. In fact, I almost put it into practice, weapons design and engineering came up many times during my course selection and career decision. An option, vehemently opposed by my father. In fact, I think he was more against it than me doing arts.

And i remembered when I primary school, the thing I craved above all others was a gameboy, and really, there was only one game that I really really wanted to play. Pokemon. For 3 years, after every exam, there will be a day where everyone brings their gameboys to school. To make battle, to trade, and to play. And there alone amongst the players, there would be one pair of very envious eyes. Happy to get perhaps 15 mins of play from a friend. My parents was not against Pokemon, but rather the fact that I will own a device solely for the purpose of gaming, which they are once again, strongly opposed to. I remembered, buying a few copies of pirated CDs telling me that there's Pokemon in them, and rushing home to run in on my computer. The early attempts were sad and painful, the games were either not present, or I could not save my progress. And given that I've only an hour or so on the computer, ive played the opening sequence in all possible possibilities so many times. It was only until secondary school that I manage to properly play Pokemon on my computer. I also remembered borrowing a gameboy from a friend once in primary 6, I hid it in my bag and then a secret compartment in my room (a hole caused by a design flaw)and taking it out to play at the playgrounds in my hour out in the sun everyday for the 3 days I borrowed it for. It only lasted 2. Day 2 I was busted and scolded and made to return it the next day. I reached vermillion city. I will one day in JC own a psp, one I fondly named Morpheus. And people have asked once, or twice why I sometimes name my gadgets, well. That's why. And I never owned a gameboy in my life.

And then upper secondary and JC came, 4 years I still regard the best of my life until now. Ok, maybe living overseas this couple of years have been pretty sweet too. But events that transpired after my JC days have led to today. Another long period where I crave many one from my parents, a good good meal. I don't mean they don't feed me well now. But I have not had crab for what must have been the best part of 5 years and have not ate with them in a non-vegetarian restaurant for such a long time. Religion, health, and cost comes up as the reasons put forth to me. And I don't like to say this, but religion, over this past few years, have taken a toll on me and my relationship with my parents. I yearn for a day, perhaps a Sunday, where as a family, we could go out perhaps for dim sum, instead of having committments to the temple or vegetarianism. Or maybe a dinner, once a year when I return, where we go to a seafood restaurant, and order dishes I want. I may sound selfish, I know that more that anyone else, which is why it took me 4, and almost 5 years, to type this out. But theres this desire, and it's eating me from the inside.

Part 1 of why I am not enjoying Singapore right now.

The Razor

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Occam's_razor

So simplicity over plurality?

Perhaps by far, the Occam's razor has been the most interesting aspect of clinical studies of the year. It is not always true, especially as the dear Proffesor said today, in old age, infancy, and many other genotypes of people. But its a beautiful concept nonetheless, and one i agree with. For in all our complexity and multiple diagnosis, perhaps what we are looking for is that one single explaination, a one truth if you may, to answer everything.

And you may tell me, that's perhaps taking the easy way out. Or perhaps that not what the razor's talking about anyway.

And of course. We all know that the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything is not 1, but 42. 

Past the point

There's a point, they say.
Halfway between the island and the coast.
Midpoint between half-empty and half-full.
The second when dawn become morning, and dusk becomes night.

And it's that point that I find myself wondering if i had past. If while smelling the roses, i had unwittingly wandered by. If while burying myself in books to pasts tests, I'd missed it knocking by my door. Some call it, the point of no return. That magical moment where the banker says 'no more bets'. That moment when you click 'Buy' on a website you swore moments ago never to shop on again. The second, the balls passes the line pass the goalkeeper's outstretched hand. That instant, when the scalpel hits the skins and makes the first incision, or may be the second, or the fifth. I wondered if mine had past the moment i decided to do medicine, or perhaps its was the day i decided to apply, or the day i paid my school fees, or the day i finished year one. Or perhaps the day have not arrived, perhaps it will never arrive. And perhaps we will be always able to choose our paths, be it now, or later in life.

Once again, i find myself thinking in poker terms. Its always a hard decision, when you have half your chips in and the opponent calls you. You have a chance, to perhaps go for the win. But with the chance to win, comes the chance to lose everything. Yet it is a chance you have to take, for you have so much in it already.

They say medicine is a calling. And I once heard it calling my name. I hear it still, time to time, when i find myself looking at a sad child, stricken with illness, or a man, spirit beyond broken repair, sometimes, when my compassion rises within me. But its not those time i am concerned about, its the hours i find myself wandering the hallways of the living dead, or finding myself having great difficulty bringing up that compassion when all i can think of is what am i going to ask next, or sometimes worse, when i feel sometimes perhaps that i shouldn't be there at all.

And its worse sometimes. When i feel myself not up to the tasks at hand, not prepared to give my life for others. When selfishness and laziness triumphs over selflessness and energy. When fatigue wins the war of mind and body.

And i wonder, if its something every student go through, to become a Doctor, to become a teacher, to become an engineer, to become a linguist, to become an actor, a singer, an artist, a unemployed. Do we all struggle with ourselves to win that fight? And what do we win, can passion be won? or cultivated? or is there somewhere, a calling involved.

The idealist in me is fighting for survival. fighting to no go past the point. 

wrong side.

Its possible, i guess, to wake up on the wrong side of a bed even if there's only really one side of the bed you could get out off. You get one of those days where nothing seems to be going right, where you are forced to end off your email with thanks when there's none meant, and regards when the only regards is the ones you find in a italian mafia movie, cue godfather saying, 'Send my regards to his parents for me'. And then you turn to cook, and find fungus in your oyster sauce, and that the electric stove you've switched on for 5 minutes was actually not on at all. And you wish for a little luck, not that a little luck is ever enough.

And i guess its time like this that you have to take a step back. Pull out that bottle of Gin you have in your fridge. Add a little bit of fruit juice. And take a sip. And perhaps sit in front of your computer, guitar by your side, and muse about the world, and its coming and goings.

Couple of weeks back i talked about regaining a little of that confidence, a little bit of ego i have lost. And it seems now, and time to time that it just isn't me anymore. I hear the alpha male movie characters telling me that i'm becoming soft. and therein i guess lies the intrincities of the gardens of destiny, you never knows which paths leads where and what happens if you try to retrace your steps. Funny thing this life is, it changes with you, tripping you when you see no stone, yet lifting you when you're at the bottom of a well. Bob Marley comes to mind, 'Sold I to the merchant ships, minutes after they took I, from the bottomless pits'.

And it seems my mind is floating everywhere. Maybe due to the alcohol. Maybe the melancholy. But in any case, I don't think i can write much further.

Oh wells. Till next time.

Of forgotten words

You know how you sort of remember from the past, say a poem you wrote, then with feelings and emotions and magic, and now you just want to re-read it for its 'artistic value' or what not. So you open your computer, dig up the oldest files. And then you fail to find it. And then you remember it's in the old com at home, but yet none of the computers at home are as old as that poem which to be fair isn't that old. I guess that's what having a 'lesion' in your brain feels like. Like you know the memory is somewhere, but yet also know that that somewhere is beyond reach. And trouble is, such lesions are more often than not, irreversible.

Funny how our physiology reflects part of the world. Perhaps earth is really one big organism. And we are the cells, making 'lesions' while constantly renewing. Haha. No wonder so many has referred to ourself as the human cancer. Well, hopefully we find a cure to this cancer then.

Curious word this 'lesion', being used to describe anything from a missing chunk in the brain to a wart on your nose. Just curious.

'to hold them in their carpals'

And just trying to regain abit of that confidence, and a little of that flamboyance that made me me last time.

And that's i guess, the bad thing about change, you never quite know if you're heading in the right direction. FOr the past 5 years or so i've been trying to learn a lesson in humility. And perhaps i've gone around it the wrong way, as i find my self losing quite a bit of self confidence and quite frankly, my way in the world.

So i guess its time, not to abandon humility, but to try regain that confidence i once had. Or believe i once had anyway. See what i mean?

After all, confidence is key to scoring goals.

Till next time. 

And after a long hiatus from books, I think i've rediscovered my love for literature. All thanks to Apple's new Ipad and the advent of ebooks. Sure, it may not compare with the feeling of holding and flipping a paperback, but ebooks offers benefits of mobility and i don't know, flipping an imaginary page on a screen feels fun.

Back to martial arts novels.

Only lord of the castle

And so it happens again. As much as modern technology promises to conquer distances and 'bring people together', I find myself terribly worn out and vitally exhausted as I once again concluded a journey to the south(east). I find that as we grow older, many things that we once thought are bearable, grows increasingly difficult to accomplish. The 'too old for this' argue net, some calls it.


And the story continues with our barbarian, a new man in a new land, as he continues his exile from home. With his new identity, the knight soon found himself in the company of a different sort of crowd, neither to and against his wishes. He now partakes in dinner parties and Saturday afternoon brunches. Gone were the days where he would walk miles to find the nearest watering hole to quench his thirst, now he's surrounded by lords too willing but to lend him their horses. Things were looking good, in fact, the barbarian was enjoying it so much that the memory of those barbaric times seems to belong to another person in another time.


Yet, as we always know, good times does not seem to last in stories, nor in life. Through the dinners, brunches and literary events, the knight found himself the lord of a far away castle, master of the wild lands of the far north. The first few months were happy, as the knight commander fed off the fat of the land. Yet, the easy life has taken a subtle toll on him. Gone was his spirit and his battle readiness. And in his haste of accepting this new role of command and the experiences he will have, he ignored his rusty battle arts, and his lack of a weapon after the events that led to his exile. And, as with every changing of hands of land, there are always those who would 'try their luck' so to speak. A group of bandits, a thousand man strong, soon gathered at the gates of the castle demanding gold, women and plunder.


News of the rebels soon reached the ears of the barbarian and he marched into battle, with whatever little troops he had. A thousand rebels isn't a big number, and his days as a knight has trained him to battle with numbers far beyond the current small patch of thugs gathered outside his door. Yet, a battle is a battle, and the knight called for his messengers to summon his bannermen. And it is then he realised, how far away his bannermen are from him. His mind turned to the lords of the nearby lands, who was willing, to commit here and there, 'a dozen of my finest horsemen' or '10 of my most trusted archers'. But none so as willing to march full scale to his castle like his bannermen of old.


And the knight wonders, when will he reunite with his friends again.


- Written this lonely day as the sole lord of the castle.


Till next time.

When johnny come marching home again.Hurrah.hurrah.

We'll give him a hearty welcome then.hurrah.hurrah.

And we'll all feel gay when johnny comes marching home.

Of titles and insignificance

So, as i was walking home today. A post finally started to shape in my head. There was finally something i'd like to talk about. Something, that with the events of tonight, suddenly feels insignificant. But to not write it will perhaps be a pity, and perhaps i will regret it in the future as forgetfulness takes it from me. So here goes.

Its about titles. Titles have always appealed to me. If someone's name has a 'Sir', a 'Lord' or even a 'Dato' in front of it, i automatically sit a little more upright, and listen a little closer to what he has to say. Same for someone with say, a 'Prof.' or 'Dr.' or 'Chief Justice'. And perhaps its immature, and very rightly so, that i put any notice to titles as such. It has to do somehow and somewhat from all those old chinese legends i grew up with, the 108 heroes of the marsh, the 5 tiger generals, the 7 demigods, and those chinese martial arts novels, each hero with a title of his own. Or perhaps its King arthur and his knights. Or maybe its arises from my chinese parentage, of feudal lords, and marquisses of the plains, of honor(pride) to the family (Actually the literal translation of my chinese name). And i may have mentioned it somewhere before, but somewhere along my motivation to do medicine, as my degree and my future career, is a dark streak, a little dark cloud in the clear skies that is idealism.

And i am not afraid to admit it, i am not proud of it, but it certainly is there and it would be foolish and perhaps worse to try ignore or hide it. Fame appeals to me. Not your rockstar-hollywood-harrisonford kind of fame. But the heroic kind, the florence nightingales and Hua Tuos and apricot groves and medicine. And once again, i'm not proud of it. People do not achieve such fame by wanting such fame. But its again one of those things that i struggle with when my mind is free of books and knowledge. I am motivated by money only by lottery, motivated by power only if it holds fame and reknown, sad, but sadly true. And its a daily battle i fight, to not give in to these temptations and stay on my ideals. And its not easy.

And its there where my thoughts end as i pull out my keys and enter my apartment. And there's a story somewhere about how my stethoscope looks both like a snake and a hangman's noose, but is so absolutely essential for survival of the patient. And perhaps one day, i'll write that story. That battle between light and dark.

And then comes that sudden reminder, of how utterly selfish and pointless my thoughts were. of how in the big picture, all of these seems of little or no significance.

One voice. Just one voice.

You know what, i had time to think about the whole Sun Xu thing and i decided to add this.

I'm on his side now. I rather full freedom of speech than none.

A tale of two cities

Just been reading on the whole 'dogs' incident as well as its related post. And truth be told, i feel its a little blown out of proportion. Here is a man, scolding another man because man B pissed him off. Exactly what i would have done, and what many whatever they may say, would have done. I'm not saying what he did was right, but that what he did was common place. And we need some freedom of speech anyway. And that includes, fortunately and unfortunately, giving the old 'up yours' in the modern fashion.

I just led me to think once again about my dual identity, both as a malaysian, and as a singaporean. Yes, i am not a citizen yet, but if circumstances permit, i fully wish to become one, and i've did my part in NS and whatever bullcrap opposers of foreigners talented or otherwise likes to throw forward when faced with increasing competition for their jobs.

http://temasektimes.wordpress.com/2012/03/02/exclusive-ex-moe-prc-scholar-left-singapore-for-good-to-start-company-in-china/

Unlike this person, I'm not under any scholarship in singapore, in fact, i've been rejected by almost every school i've applied for in singapore. I started out in a school that started on the same day i started school in Singapore. I got in to my secondary school despite being out of the qualifying score published in the school selection handbook by the MOE. I got into my JC of choice after an appeal. And most recently, i was denied a place in NUS to study medicine.

But that has nothing to do with anything.

The only reason i'm writing this post is to say. Yes. Its possible to feel like you belong to two places. And Yes. Dual citizenship should be allowed, in my humble opinion. And if you ask me who's side i'll be on in case of say a war. I'd say up yours, and be found in the nearest operating bar enjoying a quite drink, a la wolverine in first class.

9pm. Kid looks up at the enormous machine he now knows as a plane. Funny, he thought people rode on the top of planes like he read in those books, not too different from say, a flying carpet.

9.30pm. Big sister on the plane performs a wonderful charade of things falling from the sky in bright yellow costumes with so many interesting gadgets. wants to touch and play with some of them, but am firmly locked in place by mum. Looks expectantly at mum to be released.

9.45pm. Lights dimmed. Sensation of being thrown backwards. Loud noises coming from unknown sources. Cries for faith.

9.50pm. Wonderful display of lights out of the window. small cars seems to be moving on small roads, whose's toys are these? stops crying. Wonders how is it that i am flying.

9.55pm. Wonders too much about how am i flying. Lost faith in magic for a moment. Plane jerks. Scared. Cries. Concludes planes flies on faith.

and so it goes again. Another holiday comes and goes. This holiday have been weird. It started with a lot of drive and ambition, of dreams of things to accomplish. It then dies off, which by observation, seems to occur at increasingly common rates to me. And to be honest, i really have no idea why. I could blame medicine, and its immense workload, and with it the lack of time and energy to pursue any other train of thought, or my many other interests. It could be, the beginning of the death of my dreams. Or it could be, that morpheus died a couple of years back and i just wasn't able to remember the funeral, or that daniel is now in the dream throne and that all i am experiencing now is a different form of dreams. Of perhaps the uke, and the fantasy world of games. Or perhaps that's me just being too distracted.

Or maybe i lack a muse. nah. not an excuse. i blame having games on my computer. I think they're taking my soul away.

Someone help! haha.