Okay, here's my food for thought for the weekend. Been listening to a wide selection range of music this week. Of course, the most common genre being pop music, but I've also listened to a lot of oldies, and funky disco/techno, and classical, and country folk music, and contemporary, and a bit of traditional music, and a bit of heavy metal rock. I can probably list more genres here (if I knew that many), but you must also keep in mind that classification of genres of music tends to be a little warped here. Each classification can be further divided into sub-categories, like if you were to be wholly strict here, you can classify rock music into punk rock and funk rock and mild rock and pop rock and a whole load of other combinations. Also, it is impossible to avoid controversy when categorising a musical piece into a specific genre, because the dimensions can sometimes be disturbingly similar, and that's not mentioning the consistency of that particular genre throughout the musical piece, and the many exceptions and variations that are bound to occur. Think in terms, like, what defines punk rock? While you can note common patterns, musical genres are quite useless when they become too specific and too localised. They are only helpful if it's a really broad genre, like pop and rock and classical.

Okay let's not get into there. That's not what I want to talk about. Blee it's a bit unnecessary right? Alright I shall try and make it more precise now.

I strongly feel that music is not a result of random pitching and rhythm. Music is music in itself because it is the culmination of a strict government of laws and perfect mathematics. And when all the laws are in accordant, any musical piece, no matter how simple or complex, becomes a form of artistic expression. In creating a melody, you cannot just jumble up random notes and rhythm because it would sound extremely jarring and awkward. Of course, you can still call that music, but let's not get into there either. A close examination oft all musical pieces would suffice to inform you that with a decently smooth melody (enclosed with all the prerequisite flats and sharps), all songs and instrumental music have a pretty good chance of "enduring through the ages". Like, if I were to ask you to quote me a well-known melody that signifies impending doom, or if I were to ask you to sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", I'm sure it flows out quite easily.

It happens that way because music is not a chanced coincidence. The mechanics behind the arrangement of musical notes is so important that without it, we would not even have music in the first place. The composer's job is therefore the most important, as he is the creator of an unique set of musical composition that is to express his artistic slants. It is also possible to convey emotions through music, like soft piano keys might be soothing, loud guitar riffs are energetic, et cetra et cetra. By saying that, musical instruments are also pivotal in this artistic expression. They are the sound-makers. Throw in a singer, unique in voice, tonal power and pitching, and it is another expression all by itself. Finally, add the lyrics of a song (if applicable), and you've mixed literature and music into an unassailable combination of artistic supremacy.

My point is, music is never accidental. It is crafted with such precision that even if it sounds lousy, it is still perfect in almost every sense because of the all-encompassing musical laws. That being said, shouldn't our lives follow a similar pattern as well? If we think of ourselves subservient and microscopic to the larger universe, aren't we just minions that are trying to introduce regularity in our lives? Wait a minute, we are already all stickers for constancy, and we detest the slightest change because that would mean chaos to our carefully structured worlds.

Just like music.

(I hope you understand what I'm trying to drive at, because I don't think I phrased it well enough to be comprehensive. I've got a lot more in my head, but the topic might be a little too abstract for words to define. Never mind, I've already tried my best, given that it's almost 1am in the night now.)

This week was probably the toughest and most trying period of my army trainee phase, since whenever. Maybe field camp was equally gruelling, or outlasting the 24km route march. But seriously, it was terrible because of all my inherent fears of practically the only thing that I've really feared in my life. We're going through a 2-week boat package right now. And that is not good for me, because I don't really like water. I don't mind water for consumption or for washing or bathing or whatever other usages there are for water, but I'm never very keen to submerge myself in a vast, foreign water body. Think rivers and open seas. Swimming pools are like the maximum I'll go, but even then, forcibly and reluctantly. I just don't like the feeling of being underwater. It's like entrapment, and it's not helping when I start thinking about how big the sea is or I might drown or something will pull me below the water or how to stay alive when I'm already floating with the aid of a life jacket.

On Tuesday, we loaded out the assault boats, the motors and all the respective stores, and set out into the open sea. Had to learn all the capsize and man-overboard drills, which meant that going into the water was unavoidable for everyone. I didn't mind getting myself thoroughly soaked or water getting into my boots or anything else. But I went into the seawater and panicked. Thought I was sinking down like an anchor, but the life jacket jerked me up. And for two minutes, I was trying to keep myself upright in the water without looking like some lost prey.

And yesterday, we had to learn the proper techniques of carrying and handling the boat and the motor. Eight people to carry the 160kg boat, and two for the 75kg motor. The bloody motor caused a big bruise on my left shoulder. Had to carry four consecutive boats off the trailer, past a certain distance, and back after that. That just about killed me. I'm not that weak physically, but I couldn't handle the indignity and injustice when I was punished unfairly, and of some incompetent people on my team. Ended up doing FORTY PUSH-UPS just after shifting the second boat, which left me with a throbbing heart, loud gasps, little strength left, and a huge rage at the retarded people who do nothing to contribute to the carrying strength. I'm surprised I pulled through the last two boats, because I seriously thought I was going to get a heart failure and die from overexertion.

Today, we learnt some more about the boat and laying out all the stores and fixing the motor and blah blah. Then we wasted 4 hours trying to get into Pasir Laba Camp for the Army Open House. That just shows how efficient the army can get. Which also turned out to be a colossal joke because the few of us only made one cursory round before getting out of there in 5 minutes. But the amazing thing was, I managed to catch up with Chiew Yee at Boon Lay bus interchange. She was on her way home and so was I.

Okay. Enough rambling, because I got a out-camp run at West Coast Park tomorrow morning. But I will gladly run tomorrow, because I'm out of camp. Staying in makes me depressed times ten.

And I'm wishing for some miracle, because there's still another week of back-breaking boats to carry and out-in-the-sea training. I wish they would carry out the training in some tiny puddle of water instead.

Went for a jog with Khairul at Serangoon Stadium this morning. There's Army Half Marathon at Marina Bay tomorrow, but my name is also down for camp guard duty tomorrow too. So I figured that since I'm not running the 12km distance, I might as well try and make up for it by doing a bit of light jogging today. Only managed 3.2km today, because it became too hot towards the late morning. Sigh that's really miserable, considering the distances we cover in our army runs. But never mind, hanging out with Khairul is equivalent to hanging out with roti prata, so we walked up Yio Chu Kang Road to this Muslim eatery to have our prata quick-fix. Then we took a bus down to J8, went to the library without borrowing anything, then I spent $6 taking four passport-sized photos of myself in one of those instant photo machines, and Khairul went home. I went to find my mum and my sister for some more lunch and some shopping, before going to the market to get engineer gloves because we're going to be lugging a lot more heavy-duty things in training. Met Matthew on the bus. And after all of this, I headed home, and stayed there till now.

I need to find a girlfriend so that I can feel committed in some sense. It's kinda unhealthy when the only thing that sucks all my energy is army. C'mon!! I'm sure I've got better things to do than eat, sleep, run and train in the army all week long. Need a girl to keep me occupied and to distract things off my mind.

Hahaha. Easier said than done. Falling in love is quite a complicated process. But Khairul is helping me find a "cutesy sweet pretty and good-looking" girl, so I've got some hope. Yay.

This post is slightly delayed, but considering that I can't just walk out of my army camp on a normal weekday, I would say that this is kinda reasonable (don't complain you unreasonable woman). And besides, it's only late by one day. It ain't that bad.

Yesterday marked the end of a one year wait for me and Eleanor's first year anniversary. Yesterday, being 23rd August 2007. It was a highly anticipated date in both of our calendars. And just in case you're wondering, the answer is no, we're not attached. But it is still our one year anniversary. Whatever we did a year ago probably wouldn't matter to the most of you that are reading this. And, in any case, I wouldn't really want to spend one huge long post just to explain the entire story. So just accept the fact, will you? =D

Thanks for all those wonderful moments, the terrible quarrels, the tender concerns and the spiteful vituperations. Thanks for being a loyal friend, true and through. Thanks for being the most hideously disgusting pervert (and a girl) that I know. Thanks for loving me, and accepting my love in return. But I gotta apologise, no matter what, you'll at the very most be second-best, because we both know she is irreplaceable (cue: Beyoncé's song).

Okay I shall attempt to summarise my rather eventful week with this one post. This week in camp was quite terrible. On my last scheduled guard duty for the NDP period, I was caught using the broom to sweep the table. So that triggered a huge and lengthy lecture about positive and negative attitudes and whatever rubbish with the RSM that caught me, then he decided to email my company's CSM, who also gave me another stern reprimand about living up to expectations and a whole load of other non-related stuff. Bloody hell it was just for my convenience, and probably a moment's worth of folly, but I'm certain such a minor mistake doesn't warrant such a big fiasco. On top of that, a few of us didn't bring our rifle cleaning kits because nobody in the world clean rifles just for guard duty. And for that, we've all got three extra duties. AARGH I think it's dumb, but I don't mind la, because I've done so many guard duties that they don't scare me anymore.

And on another subject, my army vocation for the next year and a half is finally confirmed. I'm staying in bridging and operating the gigantic chunk of metal, mobile bridge called M3G. They were deciding whether to post me to boat, but in the end someone else is getting out instead of me. Which was both a good and bad thing for me, because that means I don't have to shift all my stuff, but it's terrible because my feelings were cheated for one entire month of worthless speculation.

And on yet another subject, I sprained my back on Wednesday. I sneezed a bit too hard I think, and next moment I've got a sharp pain in my lower back. Don't scoff at me, it's true! Couldn't walk properly, tossed and turned the whole night cos I couldn't find a sleeping position that didn't hurt. Went to report sick the next day and they just gave me painkillers and a few days of excused activities. But it's a lot better now, except that I still take 15 minutes to try and get out of bed every morning, and I can't bend down to pick something up, and I can't get up if I sit cross-legged on the floor.

Out of camp, I went for youth service and cell group last night. Then I went out for lunch with Edmond at Suntec today. We ate at Crystal Jade! It was supposed to be a farewell thingy, because both of us were supposed to be posting out to boat, but it turned out that he is and I'm not. Then we walked all the way to Esplanade just for fun. After that, I went down to town for A01 class gathering! Chiew Yee, Kai Jie, Jaslyn, Qiling, Beetsma and Dora, and me included, went for buffet at Sakura at Orchard Shopping Centre. Then Khairi and Annie joined us and we accompanied them for their dinner, and all was catching up good and fine. Catching up with friends is always nice.

It's back to Vivo again, this time with Dora, Rachel Tan, Andre and Biru. Had lunch (of sorts, since it was 3pm) at Marché, which included all the familiar pies and potato dishes and dessert, and a mini celebration for Rachel as it was her birthday last week. Then it was shopping around Vivo for a while, before we all went back home. I didn't though; I stayed behind at Junction 8 to meet my family for dinner at Din Tai Fung. It was my dad's birthday today. I'm happy I managed to get out of house today, not to mention catching up with oldie friends whom I haven't met in months. Hooray.

There's this regular radio programme on 987 FM radio station that I've recently taken to listening. It's called 987 FM Stripped, and it's an one-hour weekend segment that only play songs in their acoustic, unplugged versions. Sounds really cool huh? Okay you can call me skewed, but I've always been attracted to songs with a really distinct acoustic mix to it. Maybe it's because I play the guitar, or maybe I think there's something really attractive in the sounds of a guitar strumming and a voice crooning to the tune. Or maybe I just like instruments like the banjo, or the ukulele, or some acoustic synthesizer, or those sort. Whichever.

I think it's for good measure that they named it Stripped. It actually makes it mean the way it was supposed to mean. When the song is reduced to its bare minimum, with no additional frills and mixing and such, it is where the real essence shines through. There can be no hiding behind overpowering electric guitar riffs or loud drums. The singer has a direct communication with the listener. If the singer has weak vocals, the listener can tell almost straight away. And of course, there's just some special earthy quality from the acoustic guitars. There's a stronger emphasis on the higher tones instead of the bass, which further evokes a pastoral, contemporary folk feeling to it. Remember the song "Country Road"? That's where I'm drifting towards.

And if you take it one more step further, try and apply this concept on the whole debate of appearance and reality. When you strip away the outer layers, you get the underlying core that is undisguised and practically naked. Isn't that a sort of representation of the human appearance? On the surface, you can be all goody and fine, but deep down, there's all those insecurities and fears. Or you can be hideous and mean, but deep down there is a yearning for love. You know, the whole thing about never judging a book by its cover and uncovering the truth behind the façade.

So which is more appealing? Do we prefer the fuller version of being, where we run the risk of finding more than just skeletons in the hidden, masked closet, or do we prefer the ripped creature that is vulnerable and exposed, but very much the quintessence of truth? Do we wish that people will be more like themselves in their nature, or do we wish that everyone can just pretend to be good for good's sake? Do we ourselves wish we could hide behind a hidden mask, or wear our hearts on our sleeves and allow ourselves to be interpreted like an open book?

Of course, there will be the whole controversy about what is the truth and what is fake. How do you know when the appearance is reality? Or how do you know reality is reality? Appearance can be the actual reality sometimes. And then again, how far do you have to go in order to reach the reality? I'm sure there will still be remaining shards of disguise even when the stripped creature is just sitting there on its bare butt.

Bah. I'm lazy to keep expanding on this issue anymore. And, I apologise for the languid and lifeless prose, because army has rendered me quite dry linguistically. Right now, I'm trying to decide which version (the actual or the acoustic one) of Kelly Clarkson's "Since You've Been Gone" do I like better.

I have finally finished reading the entire Harry Potter series. And my goodness, what a journey this has been. Ten years of exhilarating moments, of happiness and joy and wonder and sympathy and grief and barely-withheld excitement for that boy with the lightning-bolt scar. I remember the nice lady who was organising this book fair in my primary school. It was she who first introduced me to the underground magical world that existed in secrecy. I wasn't convinced enough to purchase a book, but I eventually loaned a copy of the first book from a classmate. And that pretty much signalled the start of the long journey that only ended last week.

From a literary point, I feel that I must give credit to J. K. Rowling for an absolutely brilliant creation of the whole story's plot and a fantastic narrative voice that dictated not only the story, but also the reader's emotions as well. It is engagement with the story at the highest level, where one feels and reels from the realism of the story in every detailed entirety. The amount of detail that Rowling introduces with each book is staggering, but it is equally amazing how she can still render every thing as memorable as can be. The whole world becomes stunningly alive and detailed in every aspect, right down to the huge array of believable characters, the way of life, enjoyment, and the intricate relationship of magic and spells in every sense unimaginable. And the way the whole story's complicated plot weaves itself to a sophisticated end is truly remarkable too.

I think there was definitely a mixed sense of catharsis and euphoria upon finishing the entire series. It wasn't tremendous, but when you start thinking of the resultant triumph of the good over the evil at the price of so many character deaths, it is hard to think whether the eventual trade-off is fulfilling or not. That said, I still wish that the ending wasn't so soft. It was kind of predictable, to speak the truth, and I was hoping for a much larger twist.

I like the way Rowling integrates the big themes of love, life, and death into story plot as thinking fodder, forcing you to evaluate which outcome you would have preferred. Through the narration of the story, she somehow found time and space to introduce all these moralistic choices that encapsulates what we humans go through too. I think it is her way of bringing across her own interpretation of what she thinks of love, and of death. Commendable. I also particularly like her methods of using Harry as a surrogate for the readers' foray into the magical world. I'm a sucker for things like that.

However, I still wish that Voldemort turns out to be Harry's father all along, in a mock Star Wars style. Sherwin and I came up with that. Don't you think this ought to be the case? The whole Potter thing is a bit like a cross between Star Wars and Lord of the Rings. There's the Dark side, and magic, and battles and adventures, and the outrageous plot revelations. My favourite preferred ending though, might still be the one that Eleanor and I came up with: Hermione crosses over to the Dark Magic side and runs off with Voldemort happily ever after, while Ron, Ginny and Harry have a twisted threesome which would mean brother, sister and brother's best friend in some perverse orgy. But that wouldn't exactly be wholesome reading for the kids, won't it? Sigh.

My current circumstances and choices aren't exactly great now. Perhaps there is a much simpler way to extricate myself from this mess that I've landed myself into. But, at the moment, I have yet to find a reasonable solution for myself and the people around me. So I guess I have to keep trying. Keep on having a go at it, keep on trying to improve the lousy situations.

I don't know which is more terrible: constantly getting snubbed by the people I cared most, or struggling with issues of confidence, self-worth and belief. It's as if my carefully constructed universe is shaken out of its natural order.

I feel like a carpenter. Trying to chisel away huge chunks of wood just to create a wooden sculpture that is wholesome and beautiful. I don't know if that is possible, but I do realise that I'm a perfectionist in this sense and nothing short of excellence is to be tolerated. But all it takes is just one tiny slip, and the perfect sculpture that exists in potentiality will be ruined. All my efforts might as well be like the wasted wood that is unnecessary to the sculpture; redundant, worthless, useless.

Ugh. The only thing lifting my spirits up is the magical date 13th August 2007. My final guard duty, after enduring one and a half months of abuse from walking around the camp, or stationed at the gate, or answering meaningless phone calls, or being treated like thrash.

And, of course, in a blink of an eye, it's August again. You don't think I would have forgotten, would you?

Okie here's a "non-emo" post, just to force myself to be more realistic and pragmatic with my current state of being. I got a new phone today! My subscription plan ended 5 months ago, and I haven't really bothered about it. Come to think of it, what happens when your plan ends? Hmm. I don't know, cos my dad pays for my phone bills while I cover the rest of my expenses, transport, whatever else. Bah I'm not going to bother to ask also la. Anyway, back to the new phone. I'm currently using my mum's phone now (because I'm not allowed to bring camera phones into SAF camps), so my mum is using my old phone, but she dropped it 3 days ago and something cracked, so we had to go get a new phone. And we did, which was, to replace my phone which my mum was using. But, the thing is, the new phone came with a camera, so I can't use it and hence I'm still using my mum's phone while she gets the new one. And I updated my subscription plan for another two more years, and transferred the phone line to my name (it was under my dad's previously) and got to retain the number and I get 9 months free subscription under the plan and now I've got 1000 SMS-es to burn each month because they decided to throw in that tiny offer. Which, for me, is kind of pointless, because I'm averaging at most 300 SMS-es a month only. Eh I hope you manage to catch up with the story so far hahahaha. I know! I should go get a girlfriend, then I'll message her every day and night and she'll love me to bits for being such a devoted boyfriend. Or something like that.

And after my little phone adventure, I went down to Jurong East to meet Chiew Yee! Haven't seen her for as long as since I was in army. And that's almost 5 months. But okay, she seemed to be taller again. Then we went to find Carmen and Natania, cos I had some photos to pass to them. Chiew Yee left, and I ended up sitting there and chatting nonsense with them while they were studying cos I had 2 hours to spare before I was supposed to meet Eleanor at Yishun. But while I was halfway travelling towards her house from Jurong East, she decided that she doesn't want to meet me after all, so I went to eat dinner on my own before getting home.

I'm a bit sad now. And slightly pissed off too. Nahh don't be too alarmed it's nothing major, but I think the whole thing was quite ridiculous and unreasonable. But then again, I don't think I should feel this way, because it was partly my fault too.

Ahh. Whatever. I'm determined to weed it out from my head. I shall be happy. YAY.

Only Hope by Mandy Moore

[Verse 1]
There's a song that's inside of my soul.

It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again
I'm awake in the infinite cold.
But you sing to me over and over and over again.

[Chorus]
So, I lay my head back down.
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope.

[Verse 2]
Sing to me the song of the stars.
Of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again.
When it feels like my dreams are so far
Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again.

[Bridge]
I give you my destiny.
I'm giving you all of me.
I want your symphony, singing in all that I am
At the top of my lungs, I'm giving it back.


This song crept into my brain like an insidious vermin. And now it's stuck in my head. You know, from time to time there will be this particular song that just keep playing itself subconsciously in your mind over and over again, even though it might not be your favourite song. For the purpose of this blog entry, this song, "Only Hope" by Mandy Moore, has never been one of my favourite songs. In fact, everytime I hear this song on mp3 player, I tend to skip it because I don't really like the piano introduction. I think it's one of the more horrid piano arrangements that does not befit the beautiful lyrics of the song.

Anyway, the point is, this song just came bursting into my head and caught me unawares. And the same as it was so often these few days, it triggered an emotional nerve in a small corner of my brain. It's quite a meaningful and special song. Not for the lyrics alone, but for the weight, significance and representation of the circumstance I was in, when I first heard it.

Without looking too deeply into any emotional slant, I think I can boldly claim that I once heard the most tender rendition of this song sung by someone who was close to me. It introduced a much-needed amount of hope at a timely point in my life. It reminded me of the importance of being earnest, being truthful to yourself and knowing your meaning in life. And, it was probably one of those pivotal moments which signalled the start of something new. At that point of time, it was kinda a bit too emotional-ridden; coupled with a lot of kindness and understanding, encouragement, support, a little tinge of jealousy, a very contrived capacity to do any more than what is required, and overwhelming love. Yep. Overwhelming love.

That song brought back quite a lot of meaningful memories. It made me cry. It filled me up with an inward warmth that very little things could have brought. It taught me how to love. And looking back now, I don't think I could have believed that once upon a time too long ago, there was this innocent, saintly boy inside me who was torn apart at the decisions he had to make in his love and his life.

Most of all, I will never forget the way you ran towards me and held me so tightly to you, and I reciprocated with equally fervent intimacy, because I was afraid of letting you go.