| Conundrum |
[Dec. 31st, 2010|07:20 pm]
soct
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A few days ago I had a dream. It was so strange, so vivid that I could still remember a large part of it.
It was from the third person's vantage point. I was at a cemetery, hugging a tree. The sky was dark and gloomy and it was raining cats and dogs. I was either crying, or shouting at someone, something. There were about three to four figures excavating a rectangular hole, large enough to fit a small lorry. There was a woman spectating from afar; shadowy, vague and thin. She seemed to be the one in charge.
In the next instant I was begging the woman. I also remember feeling pathetic. "Don't put me into the hole!" But she was relentless and almost immediately I was hoisted and flung into the hole. I reached out frantically and dug onto the walls for dear life, afraid of hitting the bottom. I was blindly feeling around for grooves to dig into when I felt a depression. It was a perfectly square hole in the wall. I reached in further and to my horror I discovered that there was a pair of legs with the shoes still intact jutting out of the hole, cold and rigid. It then came to my realisation that the rectangular hole was a lot deeper than I thought. As I looked down into the abyss, I could make out many other similar square chambers, all arranged in columns in perfect symmetry, and each with its own pair of legs protruding in the same fashion.
And then I was on the ground again. The woman was asking me a question. This time I could make out her thin face. "All these people, why do you think they are there?"
I said I do not understand. And then I replied, "They are dead, that's why there are in the holes."
She smiled. She then took out an intricate crystal-like object, the size of her palm. In the middle of the object was a pattern - a symbol of some sort. "All of them have one thing in common. They have been branded with this," - she pointed to the symbol - "and when they die, they do not really die."
What do you mean?
"Their bodies will remain in this world. But they won't be them. They will be replaced."
By who?
She smiled again. She showed me who.
In front of me was another woman in a willowy dress. She was grinning, and I felt uneasy looking at her. And then she started transforming. Her face turned broader, her sharp features blurred and her body grew wider. And then, when it was done, I realised that the woman has transformed into me.
The first woman spoke. "When they die, beings like her will replace them. These beings will take the form of the departed ones; they will look like them, talk like them, act like them, but they will never be them." She then looked straight at me. I looked at her, and then down at my wrist. The skin was pale but there was a scar - the shape of the symbol from the object she showed earlier.
"You will also be replaced."
And then I woke up.
*
Everyone has the capacity to surprise, but to what extent, that's the real surprise.
First you ask, "Why?" The first step towards acceptance is denial.
And then you ask yourself, can one person be the same forever?
Don't be stupid, no one will. He dies and will be replaced, and things won't be the same again.
Nothing will be the same again.
*
Happy New Year, everyone. May the new year bring you more pleasant surprises.
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| One Day |
[Oct. 31st, 2010|10:53 pm]
soct
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I uploaded this, together with another cover, a couple of months back, largely on impulse. I really don't think this is the best rendition out there (if you listen closely you might even hear an off note here and there) but I'm posting it up anyway; if I don't start I never will. Maybe I will look back on this one day in the future and wonder what in Yao Ming's shoes was I thinking.
What makes it so alluring is the full, exquisite sound that reverberates from deep within the cavity of the fiddle. If you play the G string right it might even strike a chord in your body, as cheesy queasy as it may sound. My violin now sits quietly in my sad room, untouched, collecting dust. Perhaps one day it will see light again, when I'm feeling it. One fine day.
And, happy Halloween, everyone! |
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| Colourama In A Para |
[Oct. 10th, 2010|03:58 pm]
soct
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It was loud, entertaining before it got a tad bit repetitive and then even the headbangers had their heads held low. Energy level was high, but after two or three similar-sounding 8-bit tracks your ears tend to go numb. It was colourful, but not enough to convince me to go through all over again the horrendous experience of taking the public transport just for this when it returns in two years time. Decent job done; could've been more rewarding.
On another note, have you ever dined in a restaurant, quietly minding your own business only to have a woman sitting a few tables away suddenly asking her child if he needs to go to a loo? "Bibi, you want to go shi shi?" she would say. Thanks ma'am, now I'm stuck with the mental image of your son taking a leak while I eat. |
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| Speaking Up |
[Oct. 2nd, 2010|12:08 am]
soct
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Yes, I love the fact that it's already October and in the past few months, I've learned the secret to juggle between resting well and doing well in tiresome midterms and assignments: you simply can't. It's a cruel, sad truth and there's nothing you can do about it.
So once I got out of the metaphorical abyss of angst and despair, I watched a movie with Han 'Imperial' Yang (Devil, brainchild of Manoj Nelliyattu Shyamalan, or better known as M. Night), had a rather satisfying experience shopping for clothes at a new retail store (like Topshop, only cheaper. What?), ate some frozen yogurt, had some Krispy Kremes, deliberated over many pairs of Jack Purcells (my Oracles are wearing out!), went to the gym (twice), did my laundry, bought myself a graphic guide on psychology and a local art magazine, played my guitar, thinking of getting a new guitar, and watching numerous beautiful, eargasmic videos on the net like this particular one:
I first heard about them a couple of years ago, didn't like them as much so I didn't bother. But this! this is pure mind-blowing music crafting, definitely a hundred times better than their Waiting For A War days. If you like this, then you will love their 'Yours Truly' studio take of another favourite of mine, Excuses. So, so good.
Be right back, am going to sit back and see how time flies. |
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| Time Out |
[Sep. 12th, 2010|04:02 pm]
soct
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Taking a break from revision!
( Cut for CheesinessCollapse ) Should get back to the books now! |
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| One Morning In Cyberjaya |
[Aug. 2nd, 2010|10:45 am]
soct
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I'm wearing the relay tee you bought for me, typing on this dusty keyboard without having a clue what I want to say while sipping the instant hot chocolate mix you said was too sweet. I know that I have a paper to sit for in approximately ten hours. Thank God the net came back on so now I can do some last minute Googleference (Google + reference; making up words is one of my favourite pastimes).
I know I should be reading up on the Maxwell Equations but sometimes I feel that the only thing missing from the equation is a mutual understanding between Maxwell and I. I'm confident Maxwell will screw me royally if I let him, which I'm not going to.
I used to think long, windy, wordy posts will put my points across. Not anymore, just because shorter ones are much straighter to the point. Well not really. The way I write is never straight to the point anyway (I know engineers are never straight to the point).
Anyway I guess what I'm trying to say is - yes darling, you're right. It is a little too sweet for me too. |
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| 3 AM |
[Jul. 21st, 2010|02:57 am]
soct
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I don't like how I'm still awake well after 12 and blogging at this hour. I should be sleeping, but unfortunately my brain is at its peak when the rest of my body needs its sleep. Or rather, I'm willing the brain with all the willpower I can muster to stay awake while I slave off the rest of my lab report which I had told myself countless times to complete earlier before it's too late. My noisy printer has just finished printing the graph to a simulated circuit I had been working on for hours, meanwhile my roommate snores, tosses and turns away. Poor Xiang. I wonder if I would've been as patient if I were sleeping with the lights on instead.
I have an opened packet of Wonka Chewy Runts next to my laptop and they taste like any cheap candies you buy off the mamak stall by the roadside. I should've known better than to sample anything artificially flavoured, but artificial being fake, they always seem so much more attractive than they actually do. Some lesson in life right there.
I'm beginning to think things over. I should get myself together and start looking out. The A's won't come if I can't even properly distinguish between divergence and curl. Sorry, those are some jargon unfamiliar even to myself. I'll hold on to them. |
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| TTT |
[May. 22nd, 2010|04:28 pm]
soct
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| [ | Tags | | | art | ] |
| [ | Look |
| |  Accomplished | ] |
You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment of liberty and not having to worry about the next due date (lies; I worry every day about my results, but whatever lah). I've had this feeling of an interminable drought, like a plague in your head, which is rather stifling but I'm saying this without pomposity. I don't mean that I've always been wet in the head, or ideas in my head are like surging water on a riverbed. I'm saying I'm afraid I'm losing my touch. I bring my sketchbook with me whenever possible but I don't know what to do with it. There are only ugly scribbles and this is not something I'd like people to see.
I forced myself to do something. Draw, write, compose pieces of self-assured artistic monuments of narcissism. I had to do something, if not I'm afraid there won't be any left to do if I take too long to start again.
Sorry, I felt like I was ranting.
So I was talking to Yeen about wanting to paint again. Not on paper but on a different kind of canvas - t-shirt. Hand painted graphic tees, since the surge of 'indie' t-shirt designers a couple of years back, are very popular among kids nowadays (I can use 'kids' now yeah). I've done once or twice for family and friends but they are all very experimental. This time I want to do something different. I started with a sketch:
Long story cut short, this is way too complicated even for myself to be hand painted on a tee. So I took away some objects, moved things here and there, added some in, etc before ending up with a more tolerable design.
The plan was to draw a tree of dreams. Not necessarily the REM ones but random thoughts, interests and whatnot that define your consciousness one way or another. So instead of wearing your heart on your sleeves, you wear your thoughts out. (Ha ha).
And after 4376 hours (a rough approximation), this is the fruit of my labour.
It's not groundbreaking but it's a refreshing take on my art. It feels somewhat invigorating on a personal level. I call it the Thought Tree Tee, which sounds a lot like Thought Treaty now when I say it out loud (not really).
Sigh. It feels so good to be on a break. |
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| Hymns for the Sea |
[May. 22nd, 2010|01:44 am]
soct
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| [ | Look |
| |  horny | ] |
Hey,
You must understand by now that I am no ordinary blogger. I have good reasons to believe that when the imaginary graph depicting a web journal's fiscal activity reaches a cold, hard plateau, a reader would be less than interested to check back regularly, unless said reader is a friend who visits just because. Of course when the line plunges, the visitors follow suit. There's nothing much you can do about it, except to come back with pathetic attempts when you're finally ready to revive these dusty, stale pages. No, I refuse to use the word 'abandon', because to do that is admitting that I'm finally ready for renunciation. I am neither relinquishing all desire to write, to dictate, to embellish your body with fruitful accounts of the morning's breakfast, nor am I entering the final phases of my writing pursuits.
But you see, like I said before, there are so many ways I could put this into perspective but doing that means I'm compromising myself. Sometimes, you may have noticed, I come here unprepared and think that I could at least churn out something proper, something decent but oftentimes the post never get past the first paragraph. It's revolting. I could no longer write and write proper. Decent is a thing of the past. Frustrated, I would then close the window and when prompted I would save the draft in hope I could find better inspiration or hire another muse before coming back to continue.
It's not you, it's definitely me. Sometimes I feel your sympathetic pats on my back when your cursor blinks intermittently. Sometimes, it annoys the hell out of me. Again, I close the window.
You probably would want to know if I'm doing good. I've been alright, thanks for asking. I now realise that I'm no longer a teenager and have finally turned adult, but it doesn't impress me at all. In fact I'm more frightened than ever, if anything. It's like you're bungee-jumping and you're halfway there and suddenly you realize that there's a long way more and the wind gets bitingly colder with every cm you plunge. Not sure if that's a good analogy but at least it worked for me. Actually, I still feel like 19.
Varsity's been treating me fine, I suppose. I just had the worst semester so far, but you know what they say about lemons. I might've said this unconsciously countless times but sometimes I ponder if I'm really cut out for this branch of Science I'm tempering with. I know about the obligations for a son like me, alongside the filial piety every book of God glorifies, but you know, I'm not sure if I'm happy. I feel very contrived, like I'm limited by my education. The cage is so vast yet I'm peeved that I cannot roam free. You see, I want to do this. If it doesn't make me happy, at least being good at it would.
I'm not the type to go against and bite the hands that feed me. I'm not going to take that kind of risk. It's stupid, you should know by now.
I've been watching a lot of movies of late, while I still have the time. If I feel like it I might let you know how they are in the future. Some are mindfuckingly stimulating. Some just fell short of the telltale psychedelia. Some are better left unsaid.
I'm also inspired to film a short, but the irony is I don't even have a recording instrument.
I feel like I have so much to do but I don't know where to start. I've just finished painting a t-shirt, and I have an idea involving a business and busyness but I think I might be getting a little ahead of myself. Next up is to finish reading Kesey's Cuckoo, and then watch the movie with Yeen, who is now probably having lunch in Chicago with her family. I should probably write more but the well is kinda dry at the moment. Will wait for a change in tide. I cannot wait for next week.
I apologise, if I must. Unlike you I'm very much susceptible to temptations and the thief of time. I don't want this to come between us. I won't promise when it is, but I will see you again. Though, by now you'd probably have a pretty good rough estimation of how things work.
Always in spirit,
Your friend and keeper. |
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| ★ |
[Jan. 17th, 2010|09:09 pm]
soct
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| [ | Look |
| |  blah | ] |
Am back in one piece. The ride back was like never before. I had Rice and Hannigan rocking it out in the car (yes I got a new Kenwood with bass boost and new Sony speakers!), my polarised Raybans on, gum in my mouth and a spiffy haircut to boot. You know, just for the fun of it.
And then I realised my timetable's not as neat as I hoped it would be. And then I realised I will have to move out by the end of January. And then I realised there's no one to have dinner with. And then I realised I might really have to survive on shakes after all.
At least this turned the frown upside down. A little. Never thought I'll live to see the day Carrey/McGregor turn to the rainbows.
I miss Mom's food. I miss you. |
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