Water

THIS IS WATER – By David Foster Wallace

A really good video on the “day in, day out” of modern adult existence – and how not to turn into an unconscious idiot that stumbles through life (before death).

The only thing that is captial T true is that you get to decide how you are going to try to see it. This, I submit, is the freedom of true education. Of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn’t. That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing feeling of having had and lost some infinite thing.

***

In other news, I have gotten my hands on the entire collection of Sandman graphic novels, which means that my reading debt has increased by a good 25%.

How I love happy problems like this. If there is ever a “rub my hands in glee” moment, this will be it.

And: life has been chugging along steadily over here. How is it on your side?

Over-rated + Diary

*Except for reading physical books, walking in a new city or a favourite old one, my dog, weekend afternoon naps, writing, writing, writing, having morning tea alone in a crowded place, seeing an old friend after a long time, laughing with all your might and you, you, you.

***

I wonder, in a world where blogs have evolved far beyond their online diary origin, is there still a point to keeping this one alive?

Of course, I am glad that such a small number of people actually read this. Believe it or not, I do feel shy and ungainly about putting my private thoughts in view of the public eye. Alright, I can see how that is hard to buy. But seriously, I am not kidding.

Yet, I think that I will always need a space like this to write random notes to myself. I know I hardly write here anymore but somehow or other, I will come back to this.

All I can say is that old habits die hard. I am a child of the days when everyone still uses blogspot and know a bit of HTML because they had to (and also because they want to DIY their blog skins).

So to me, the blog will always have this journal element to it, a place to document the details of one’s life and the thoughts in one’s head.

It is important to write things down. Because we keep forgetting. It Is as simple as that.

I am not vain enough to claim that I do not need people to read what I write. Anyone who writes anything wants to be read. But on this blog at least, I do no aspire for a vast readership.

Its like that comforting feeling you get when you reassure yourself in the head – only this is your “internet head”.

The trick is to pretend that nobody reads you. But then it gets all cyclical and confusing (because I just said that I do want to be read) and a little bit pretentious (but the trick IS to pretend!). [And this is why writing things is dangerous and should only be attempted if you have considered the possibility of losing your mind and do not find it all that repulsive.]

Days

I’ve attached rather specific sentiments to each day of the work week.

Perhaps, for some people, every working day is more or less the same, but there are certain unique pros and cons to each day for me.

MONDAY

Unlike most people, I am fine with Mondays (and do not plot it’s death on a regular basis).

Pro: I do not have to go into office (which makes me feel like a lucky soul when I imagine the other poor souls on the peak hour train).

Con: I still have to work. And like everyone else, there is a certain inertia to working again after the weekend (which is actually worse when you factor in the temptations of naps and TV at home).

TUESDAY

Tuesdays are tough, after the 5 days away from the office.

Pro: I’m the only writer in today. I kind of like just working with the tech and admin people because they pretty much do their own stuff, but I don’t feel too alone at the same time. This is also the day where I tend to go off for lunch on my own (yay to me-time) or meet the boyfriend for a bite.

Con: Having to commute to office + I often feel unproductive on Tuesdays (long lunches are often to blame).

WEDNESDAY

Wednesday is my “communal” day. I see my co-writers today.

Pro: It’s nice to have a group lunch once a week since I eat alone most of the time when I’m working from home. Plus, the boss usually picks up the tab today, which is a nice treat.

Con: The office can feel a little crowded on these days.

THURSDAY

Thursday is probably my favourite day of the week.

Pro: After two days in the office, I feel liberated to have the day to myself again. I have tea on my own in the morning and maybe again in the afternoon. Whatever I like. As I said, liberating.

FRIDAY

Even when you work from home, it is still difficult to get anything done on a Friday.

Pro: It is Friday. That’s all.

Con: It feels like its the weekend already. (Actually, this can be a pro too. Really depends on how you look at it.)

And then it’s the weekends. Which is always, always glorious (even if it is not).

Dive

This is adorable. [Hint: There are a whole bunch of giraffes in it.]

There is something about giraffes (my bet is their goofy, impossibly friendly faces), isn’t it?

Grandest

But Dora was never confused about Toller. When he left my studio after I took his portrait that day, she placed a jazz record she’d brought on the gramophone and wound the handle. She swung me around and around til we were laughing and dizzy. Her eyes shone. “That self-conscious, lung-afflicted fellow,” she said, “is the grandest man I will ever know.”

- All That I Am by Anna Funder

The biggest risk we take when reading about great loves, is that we may come to find our own loves to be small and ordinary. But why shouldn’t they be? There is a reason why epic love stories are almost always tragedies. Let me be a coward and hope for small loves.

Invisible

An invisible bookend – going right onto my birthday wishlist.

Also, I write on DesignTAXI now. You may want to give that link a click. Actually, just go ahead and do it. [It is good for you, like carrots and moisturising daily.]

Blind

I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don’t find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever!

According to Henry Miller, being in love is being blind.

[And why do we not write love letters anymore? They are so lovely. And they certainly last longer than a text message. Unless you're the obsessive-compulsive kind who backs-up text messages on the computer. Then, good for you!]

Old/Wise/Young/Stupid

To be old and wise, you must first be young and stupid.

One of the best quotes I’ve heard all month.

Maybe I like it because my days of being young and stupid are rapidly running out.

***

There was once a man who was born without eyebrows.

A perk he enjoyed was to never making it onto one of those embarrassing candid camera shows, because he simply doesn’t exhibit the kind of utterly-caught-off-guard, surprised expressions that the producers usually looked for.

Otherwise, he led a pretty normal life.

It did occurred to him, once or twice, to have eyebrows drawn on. (Any permanent inking, on the other hand, was out of the question because he could not imagine having to commit to an eyebrow shape for the rest of his life.)

But then he thought, “Meh. I can do without.” And that was that.

99%

The mistake ninety-nine percent of humanity made, as far as Fats could see, was being ashamed of what they were; lying about it, trying to be somebody else. Honesty was Fats’ currency, his weapon and defense. It frightened people when you were honest; it shocked them. Other people, Fats had discovered, were mired in embarrassment and pretense, terrified that their truths might leak out, but Fats was attracted by rawness, by everything that was ugly but honest, by the dirty things about which the likes of his father felt humiliated and disgusted. Fats thought a lot about messiahs and pariahs; about men labeled mad or criminal; noble misfits shunned by the sleepy masses.

- The Casual Vacancy, J.K.Rowling.

Not a trance of her signature Potter-ism. I’m still deciding if I like the book, but it definitely gets more readable as I go along. The thing about the British is that they are always so entrenched in their obsession with “class” (the socio-political concept); they can’t stop talking about it. Probably because they are so painfully aware of it. Its like the mid-20th century never left (and is that really a bad thing?).

Coincidentally, the other book that I’m reading simultaneously (yes, I do that), Zadie Smith’s NW, deals with the same issues of English council estates – public housing for the not-so-well-off (the working class, and sometimes the underclass).

I think what is fascinating about these books is how they are able to make something mundane appears interesting and worthy of be written about (e.g. the characters think and do things that are utterly believable; you get an idea that there are real people in the real world just like them).

Why do Singaporean fiction writers not write about life in the heartlands in a similar fashion? [Perhaps they do, just that I've not read these stories - I'm guilty of not reading much local fiction.] I really look forward to reading a story that do not portray Singaporean lives in caricature, from a myopic perspective that can’t help but produce a cliched view. I suspect that our general inability to produce such literature is due to a lingering self-esteem problem: we just don’t truly believe that our regular lives are interesting enough to hold the reader’s attention on its own, without unnecessary embellishments.

I think that Singaporean dialogues are fantastic. We are not boring – we say the funniest, cleverest things that are entirely our own. But capturing that, in written words, seems to be the most elusive, frustrating and impossible task. Does our language, our inimitable accent, only work in sound waves and not on print?

[I've seen this "Singaporean-ness" neatly captured in other places though. 12 Storeys by Eric Khoo seems to me one of the greatest snapshots ever made of Singapore in the '90s. And then there are these hilarious t-shirts from local label Superwhite.]

One day, we shall need to be brave enough to document our unique way of being on the printed page – and to do it honestly, proudly. Because writing things down is so important.

Heaven

This is good to know.

***

I can’t remember the last time I truly care about Valentine’s Day. This year, I care about it even less (if that’s actually possible).

I’m not just saying it. It’s just true. [I did enjoy some of the wittier Valentine's Day cards that have been flooding the internet this week - good copy-writing always makes me happy.]

And I have someone with whom I can be all lovey-dovey with this time around (actually, no – he’s out of town, but I’m quite sure lovey-dovey-ness would have been a potential course of action if he’s around), so it’s not one of those sad, forever-alone situations where I have decided to hate love.

If I have to state one reason for my apathy towards this holiday that commercializes love, it will probably be that the socialist in me simply rejects the capitalistic decadence of over-priced quick-to-wilt flowers and unimaginative set dinners.

At this point, I want to point out that I’m not against heart-shaped stuff in general. [In fact, I think they can be quite adorable; its nice to find hearts on things like shoes, cardigans and other people's latte art.]

So, I don’t hate Valentine’s Day (any occasion that makes people feel socially obliged to give me gifts and chocolates can’t be all bad), but I can’t muster up any real, un-ironic enthusiasm for it either.

Then again, I’m so chronically under-romanced that I’m probably immune to all forms of V Day propaganda by now.

But if anyone wants to buy me jewellery – or books, or shoes, or a new MacBook – in the name of love, I won’t say no to them.

Now that I think about it, love should always comes with a pretty little something that costs (too much) money. I mean, how else are we supposed to valuate it?