dingbang

i sometimes get epiphanies about the most mundane, taken-for-granted truths. something happens that triggers an 'ah, so that's what it means' or 'that's what it feels like'. i suppose we never really know what we know until it slaps us in the face.

tonight's particular realisation was triggered by an easy, ambling feel-good song. (as is typical, i've looped it for the last hour now, which is more or less how every new song is ruined for me). the three of us were staked out in the car, parked right outside my house, the windows wound down, screeching along to songs and looking through old photos. there was something so familiar about the feeling i get around them, so comfortable and so broken in.

and so i get it; there's no point wondering and worrying, and there's no need for all the hurt and regret about the friends that pop in and out of our lives. not all the people we love and admire will stay all the way through the show, but if it's meant to be and if it's built to last, it will.

so yeah hahaha it might be a bit too early to be smug, but 14 years count for something, and damn i'm lucky. i'm lucky because some of us, just like the three of us old comfortable friends, are gonna last and will never be sick of each other.

i'm going to loop this song a little longer. this one feels like a keeper.

the grey exercise ball that always stands meekly and a little out-of-place at the end of the sofa has become a lot bouncier since all my binge eating started. i'm getting so stressed out that i'm starting to get tunnel vision. i'm going to sit on that grey exercise ball, balance, keep my back straight and listen to brahms and i'm going to think happy thoughts about beautiful things.

and then i'm going back to face almost certain death. just a little more than a day away - wish me luck.

i'm taking a break tonight. i haven't had a real night's sleep in two weeks and i look crazier every day, and tonight i'm calling a strategic retreat; i withdraw today to fight again tomorrow.

now while i comb through stacks and stacks of notes i start to scribble down small but important details i keep forgetting. during one of those interminably long toss-and-turn sessions in bed i started thinking about how i pay so much attention to history and apply so little of that same care to thinking about my life, and while i writhe in the frustration at how elusive sleep is i also mourn for all the important, little things i've forgotten.

i realise that just like in academic history, our identities and the way we are are the product of different forces; personalities that play leading roles in our lives have incalculable effects on our thoughts and actions, specific events change our perceptions and our ways of thinking, short-term factors decide the timing and bring to fruition what long-term factors set in store.

while it's ridiculous that i should be thinking about myself and talking like a self-help book instead of working on my paper, i realise that this all makes phil specter sense. the big personalities in my life - both my families, guang, debra, rich, ays, js, kenneth... - say and do things that build me up and send me crashing. the people i refer to as my army friends (only because of the context of our friendship and not the limit of their circumstance), feifan, leon, jerry, zh, ww, joshua and joel have made me want to be so much better than i am and shown me how much better i should be, and have set the standard i want to reach.

the short-term factors like the army and the exam i have to do, i hope, will make me stronger and won't bring me too close to death - and through them i've had a full survey of my own inadequacies and the urgent need for reform. and then chizy and edric, who've become so much a mainstay of my identity that they are not so much personalities as whole long-term factors grudgingly assure me that come what may i will not be able to help but survive all this and have my full share of joy and sorrow.

and it is comforting to know that in the whole space-time continuum and in the histories of the past and the future that all my minor trip-ups and childish unhappiness and you are just another minor illustration; and like the strike figures of the russian revolution you are merely one of those statistics i will inevitably forget.

just so it's clear, i didn't sell out. i'm staying in the office today, i didn't manufacture a power cable out of cat-gut in desperation.

i was looking through my old entries in an optimistic effort to find some good material for R. while i was reading them i couldn't help feeling morbidly embarrassed; eew, that was me? how avid. how earnest.

the... okay it's not the worst thing about it, but the scary thing is that these aren't really 'old' entries. i started writing only three months ago, and still every post feels like the issue of someone i was far in the past; less wordly, less (i'm spitting this part out) 'streetsmart'. i suppose this is the curse of writing things down instead of just saying them - because nothing is as ridiculous as the strong emotions we don't feel anymore, or the feelings of someone we have ceased to love.

then again, when did it become so cool to not care? is there victory in not putting the whole of yourself and your heart right out there, and why is there so much shame in feeling the raw and tender pains when they don't do it back?

anyway i'm trying hard to decide which kind of fast food i'm going to clog my arteries with tonight. the truth is that i don't mind being here at all anymore. i have a gentleman's agreement with the rest of the staff in the building, and no one ever bothers me. i've got my great cubicle, and i have so much practice sleeping in it that it feels comfortable all the time. and sometimes, the company's really interesting - and when it isn't, it's not like you guys are ever really far away anyway.

in the interest of serious studying, i'm going to remove my imac power cable and surrender it to my parents. and then i'm going to lock myself in a room with one window and a pitcher of water.

i love this. it's such a feel-good video that it's almost impossible not to feel bummed out at the end of it. sometimes i wonder what it'd be like to be from that other world where the sunlight's always gentle and i'm one of the beautiful people who don't have to worry about hauling themselves into the bestest school in the entire world, but spend my time frolicking around sprinklers with someone long-limbed and gorgeous. but that, as kenneth (and huxley) would say, would be to deny the 'whole truth'.

right now the whole truth is that i'm tired and almost defeated by how horrific my exam preparations are turning out. it feels the way midas losing his gold touch must've felt if he could activate it at will, except that instead of turning things to gold i used to be able to write passable essays as opposed to these reams of debilitating crap.

anyway in an effort to divert my anger at myself outwards I CANNOT STAND HOW SOME PEOPLE USE THE WORD 'ACTUALLY' AS A COMMA REPLACEMENT. HOW CAN ANYONE BEAR TO USE 'ACTUALLY' OVER AND OVER AGAIN IN EVERY SENTENCE, AND WRONGLY EVERY TIME?!

i don't really know anything about tennis, but i've had the good fortune of watching maria sharapova (courtesy of my friend samjo) when she played in the country. one of those things that seem to be true - through my dilettante eyes - is that the player with the advantage never quite seems to be able to push through the matchpoint at the onset and it's not difficult to imagine why; all it takes is that one ball to win the game, and the pressure to hit it right is enormous.

i feel like i'm playing a game and i'm now at the matchpoint, and i have the advantage. all it takes is for this one ball to go through and my big dream will come true in all it's transformative glory but the pressure is enormous and i'm scared as hell that it won't go through.

oh but how incredible it would be for me to have that fresh start and get the next part of my life completely right. and i'd bring all the wonderful friends i have with me and finally leave and forget all the rest and the unhappy and messy feelings with them. it just feels like the whole of my life and my first real love is waiting there, and someday soon i'll make out illegally in historic libraries and walk on the same roads my idols walked on. it is, right now, everything i want and i'm going to give it all to this ball.

sogyal rinpoche's seminal work 'the tibetan book of living and dying' is one of those books i recommend without reservation all the time. the truth is that i haven't actually read it. i made a touching effort to finish and i worry all the time that the bad karma i've accumulated by lying about a religious book will be proportionately greater, but in my defense it genuinely seems to me like the sort of book that makes you a better person.

among the incomplete lessons that i've drawn from sogyal rinpoche is the vague impression that happiness has to come from within. in essence, if i'm ever going to be happy i'm going to have to stop being resentful that i wasn't born better looking, smarter and more talented. it's all about taking what you have, being brave and making the best of it.

so i'm going to grow up, be brave and make the best of it. it isn't so hard to do, because even though i wish my exam was over and that i was already happily married, right now's not so bad. i like my job, i like the people around me and i've got friends who invite themselves over and invade my personal space all the time. i've got chizy and edric since forever and they've stood by me through my lowest and always picked me up. and now i've got a good shot at realising one of my big dreams, and even though sometimes i get lonely and scared it's still a pretty blue sky.

i've got a good feeling about it all. so i'm going to be happy even if i'm ugly, in possession of only pedestrian intelligence and of unspectacular and mediocre talent. because things are looking up, and because according to facebook in 9 years i'll find someone who'll be ugly and mediocre with me for the rest of my life. and just as there's a time for everything, for now i'm right where i need to be.

even though it goes without saying, i love you too, and i don't know what i'd do without you. and i'm grateful as anything that you're part of my life.

when i went to the usa many bad years ago i bought a mood ring. it was all the rage back then (i'm feeling the full weight of my years hahaha) - simple, cheap steel band with this part in the middle that kept changing colours depending on your mood. it was an interesting experience, because i kept looking at it to figure out what my own mood was (something akin to going to a chef to find out if you're hungry or not).

now that i'm about to sleep i'm feeling also the weight of all the things i've let go of or that, for one reason or another, have left my life. the mood ring doesn't feature high on the list, but it'd be pretty now because tonight as in every night, i feel first a bit of anxiety. then full grown worry, then a bit of irritation (not least at myself), then anger, and then i hate you for a bit, because (ah, this one has a colour too i remember) i love you, and then some affection, and then intense self-loathing, then i thirst for revenge and i really wish that you're miserable (dirty red), and then the dull brown of resignation, a bit of self-pity, and then regret. not about what i did (ah, maybe a small shade of pride regained), but that it had to be this way. and then, to my delighted chagrin,

a bit of hope.

I have taken to writing things in my spare time, under the protective and representative moniker 'Bob' (which stands for Bored Office Boy.)

bring it back, god damn it. bring back that heat-thumping, mouth-drying, goofy grin feeling i used to have around you.

you shot it in the head, now don't you fucking dare let it die.

most sunday evenings find me lying in bed, defeated by the inevitability of another week of the same bullshit after an unsatisfactory weekend - but not tonight, for several happy reasons.

i'm on off tomorrow! i was a bit iffy about not saving my 'get out of jail free' pass for a rainy day, but those fears are slowly melting away because it feels so great that i've got a free weekday to plan! i've got someone great to spend it with, and already i'm choosing the places we'll study, what time we'll swim, where we'll eat... it feels like we're going to be on mini holiday and there won't be people to clog up the restaurants and cafes. and i can wake up whenever i bloody want.

it's actually been (last night's fiasco nonwithstanding) a really great weekend. i finally went out with my twin brother after weeks of botched attempts. rowell and i joined nic, eby and vernon at dbl o for 'retro night', which was the most fun i've had in ages. most of it was far too embarrassing to talk about without the influence of alcohol, but i had a blast with puakz.

speaking of puakz, some people will believe anything as long as it's said with a straight face. rowell borrowed one of my uniforms once when he stayed over, and when people wondered why his nametag said T P SIEK too we told them that he was my twin brother - i'm ting pang, and he's ting pong. and they bought it, and even now people are confused about which one of us is victor, and how 'ting pong' translates in cantonese. on some level it's not so hard to believe; we've got a lot in common - we read the same stuff, like stoppard and greuber, and we both have an embarrassing tolerance for graphic novels. and i've hardly had better saturday night company.

but then again we look nothing alike, and he's an evil bastard and next to him i'm practically a minor saint.

i finally got to see sarah today! she, js, zee, sam jo, chengchai and i had lunch together before we went to watch 'lift'. i felt really badly about 'lift', because i kept giggling at inappropriate places. i really didn't mean to it was just that there was this kid who was describing how he cut himself and he was talking about how first he makes these really shallow cuts before he cuts deeper and deeper and then he forces out amid his almost-tears that he never feels anything and there i was like a lunatic, shoulders shaking with badly suppressed laughter.

i have tremendous respect for the guy who wrote the thing; he's a year older than i am, and while i wile away my time doing meaningless, plebeian things he stages a full production. i really didn't mean to be rude, it's just... there's something incredibly embarrassing about watching someone else's very strong, 'painted' emotions. if the production doesn't manage to suspend disbelief everything seems very trite and it becomes painful to watch, like pumpkin carving.

so now i'm just sitting down, waiting for my friend to come over; full, content, and raring for tomorrow. it feels great to finally sound like i'm on the right side of the self-help aisle.

the wonderful paris je t'aime ends with a counterintuitive vignette. the rest of the little stories are all fabulous, glamorous parisian things; autumn in a famous cemetery, a rich, divorcing american couple ('wanna elope?'), an art-deco vampire with tim-burton blood... and then it ends with something sweet, modest and homely, like a first attempt at baking an apple pie.

the woman in the story is a fat american, living a lonely and unremarkable life. she's single, she tells her french class. her last boyfriend's now married and has two children. she misses her two dogs back home while she's on her french holiday. she conveys this story with all the finesse and elegance of a determined hippopotamus, but no one can miss that this woman is sweet, innocent and honest.

there's this particularly arresting scene when she's sitting in one of paris' lovely, anonymous parks. it is the perfect day, the sort we used to set our primary school compositions in. elysian weather, soft rolling green hills, children laughing, a Publicly Affectionate Couple (more on those later) on the next bench, and she's sitting there alone in a checked shirt. that's when she falls in love, she says, with the whole of paris. and she feels (she repeats this word twice, in the same rapture, in her first instance of perfect pronounciation) vivant.

i think i felt that today. after a long and trying week, stepping out of bryner's car illegally and running to cross the street, living my lonely unremarkable life, i too felt vivant. i joke all the time about losing my love for life but i got hit with it again, walking towards island creamery for a date with myself and some apple pie icecream (while my ex remains married with two children) around young, Publicly Affectionate Couples.

completely miserable, angry that it's cosmically unfair but still, alive.

with that full and beautiful moon, on a boat we borrowed for twelve bucks between us both - it was just what i needed to feel like i could do this and that everything could be fine and plain sailing again.

you were wonderful tonight.

my old friend tiffany bought me a book once; i still maintain that this book is the only local book i can read all the way through without regretting it. the book's titled 'mammon inc', by hwee hwee tan (a name almost as unfortunate as my own). that book taught me alot of things; i didn't really get the moral message, but it was one of those intensely referential books. it referenced everything - arthouse cinema, dali... when you're trying to evoke a genius that isn't yours, go straight to the source and borrow.

so now, like diane lane in 'under the tuscan sun', i'm done. i'm done with being sad and pathetic, and all the things that i love and i need, i'll just get straight at the source. if i need to feel like i'm alive and there's blood coursing faster through my veins, i'm going to swim. if i miss your smile that feels like sunshine, i'm going to get some sunshine. and if i need to feel satisfied, whole and content the way i did when i was holding you, now i will eat and hug my evil teddy bears.

i don't know how i'm going to get my heart to beat faster and slower at the same time anymore, but i've got a pretty good feeling about using a defibrillator. i'm back, bitches.

my dear friend mary jiang, now resident at reed college (and formerly reigning monarch of the peony forests) lists 'the symposium' as the solo work under her favourite books. it would be mine too, if i understood it better. when i was younger and when christmas trees were still tall i took plato's word for it on love. he was consistent with the general consensus: 'there's someone for everyone'; it was a shining promise that somewhere out there was a person who was meant just for you and needed you and you alone to be complete. aristophanes' writes:

'And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.'

it is a beautiful idea beautifully expressed - two bewildered halves of the same being find each other across the universe and then they become whole.

but i don't really believe that anymore - and i don't want to. it's too much of an all or nothing game. you either find a match that is so perfect and makes complete phil specter sense, or you end up with someone else's other half who cannot hope to complete you. and our lives are slaves to billions of tiny little chances and random events. for all we know that damned butterfly flapping its wings in the amazon made me miss my other half in a taxi queue - or maybe my other half only speaks swahili.

so maybe it's different. maybe there are a hundred different possibilities of 'the one'. maybe like it says in xkcd, there's no celestial chorus and no trumpet-call when you meet the love of your life, and it's all about taking what you have, being brave and making the best of it. 'the one' is not a person, but a condition; one of maybe the hundred people it'd have been possible for you to love with every fibre of your being, but the only one who actually made it and lasted through all the millions of big and small things that can go wrong in a relationship. because that'd already be bloody special, and aristophanes was probably very drunk.

when people say 'all who love are blind' i like to think they're not merely referring to the beautiful people who end up fancying and dating their more modest companions. surely they mean that people in love are forever taking steps in the dark. we only know (and even then to limited degree) our side and our own affections. we make hopeful guesses and then sometimes silly leaps of faith on the feelings of the people we love. we never know for sure. maybe this is why those sickening couples on american tv play the coy 'i love you more' 'no I love you more' game, ad nauseum et infinitum.

i would give anything to go back to the time when it was all mysterious. even if it's true and even if somehow i already knew deep inside, i don't bloody want you to tell me that i love you much more than you do. the love songs don't prepare you for the time when your bluff is called. but strangely enough, lydia sum does.

now that lydia sum is dead they show all these clips of her teaching life lessons. she has the benefit of an almost edith piaf experiece, and now she's giving everyone with cable tv advice from beyond the grave. among the other inspiring things she's said is something that loosely translates to 'you can't be afraid of losing out when it comes to love.' and now i think she's right. it's not like we compare, measure for measure, how much we love each other and the person who runs out of love first wins, and the person with the excess loses. you deal with it and behave with the nobility your love behooves you to act, and then you fight for your happiness and your place in the sun like crazy.

i have this sour taste in my mouth when i remember all the times i told my lady friends never to get caught in a situation where they love the bastard more than he loves them, and now i think i'd have been better off shutting up. we operate with imperfect information, betting our hearts on something that cannot really be measured. we're already very stupid. the only thing i can hope to do is to follow every road and never stop fighting for the happy ever after.

when i imagined having 'tender feelings' for somebody else before, it evoked the thought of soft, fluffy things; dusky clouds of affection, the steady glow of warmth you get from watching a puppy at play, the so-near-laughing mood you get from sugar highs - a list even more innocuous and joyously pure than 'my favourite things' from the sound of music.

the truth is spectacularly different. having 'tender feelings' is easiest understood in culinary terms. i recently had the good fortune of seeing a tenderizer - a pretty name for a hammer with two very jagged, geometric ends. it looks like a prop from one of the 'saw' movies. they whack slices of meat over and over with it. that's what it feels like when you're upset at me and i don't know what to do about it - not like being pounded over and over (mm hahaha) but raw, earthy, like a bruise that's about to form. it doesn't strike at the heart first, but at the base of my stomach, and then there's this pulling feel, like someone's tugging at me to do something. and you're so bloody difficult i never know what i'm supposed to do.