Having a camera does not make you a photographer.

I admit, I'm addicted to Facebook. It's a lot of fun finding out what your friends are up to without the hassle of talking to them, or, God forbid, feigning interest in maintaining an actual conversation. It's kind of like reality TV: you satisfy your voyeuristic tendencies of what goes on in other people's lives without the need to actually get involved. Hooray for Facebook!

One thing I've noticed is the upcoming trend of people attempting their hand at amateur photography, then putting them up on Facebook for all to see, and comment on. With the advent of cheaper digital cameras and built-in cameras in today's mobile phones, nearly everyone can snap pictures with ease, anytime, anywhere.

I generally do not have a problem with people putting up photos and adding their own comments to the photo. Heck, I completely understand the appeal of camwhoring. The vanity aspect of having people commenting on the photos you put up is also totally understandable. Something caught your eye, a thought occurred to you concerning that image, you snap a photo and add your addendum. Completely normal.

What I cannot abide, though, are the poser amateur photographers. This subset of people run around everywhere with their digital handhelds, or, if they splurged, DSLRs and go on some kind of photo-snapping spree. They hang the cameras around their necks (making them great mugging targets) or otherwise tote their DSLRs with oversized flash modules in these boxy cloth bags, snapping anything and everything that captures their fancy.

What separates the posers and the actual, earnest amateurs aren't their techniques, surprisingly. The posers read enough and know enough about depth, focus, lighting and other photography jargon that I can't bear to look up. What separates the posers from the real McCoys/amateurs are their subjects.

People who are actually interested in photography try to capture stories in their pictures. The idea that 'a picture is worth a thousand words' is something that they adhere to. Good pictures evoke thoughts and get people thinking about what the photographer is trying to say. There is real meaning behind such photos, and the best ones are those that describe the world and the human condition in both subtle and aggressive tones.

Posers, on the other hand, snap pictures of things they think would look good. There's nothing wrong with the photos they take, visually. They use camera effects like foreground focus, lens flare and whatnot. The problem here is that the only thoughts they evoke run along the lines of,"oh, I like the angle of that shot" and "that is a nice colour!" and "good closeup", and the automatic "that is a nice shot. Good job!". Notice how all they can do is describe the photo. Nothing else. It doesn't make them think, it doesn't make them feel. It's just a photo.

When I look at such photos, I get thoughts like "boring" and "so?" and "huh?" and "it's a flower. Great. Good for you. You're definitely winning a Pulitzer for this" and "it's a picture of a pair of Crocs. Purple Crocs. Oh my GOD. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU PRETENTIOUS ASSWIPE."

They are airheads. They are fishing for compliments. They are wasting their time, and yours.

Losing ground.

The world isn't fair.

Equality is an illusion.

Fairness is simply a holding pattern while someone figures out a way to screw you over.

We are not all equal. Heck, we were not even created equal. There's always someone out there with the short end of the stick.

I used to fiercely believe that everyone had an equal opportunity to make something of themselves. This is slowly starting to ring hollow. Each person may have different strengths, but the fact that they have strengths doesn't make them equal. Some qualities are worth more than others. There will always be someone greater, and someone lesser. I used to think I was one of the former.

But I am a lesser, to my growing realisation and dismay. My advantages, strengths, and good qualities are easily overshadowed by my weaknesses. When compared against those I pit myself against, I come out the loser.

I detest my station.

Epiphany #3

If you want to make someone bleed, cut their skin.
If you want to make someone angry, cut their pride.
If you want to hurt someone deeply, cut their heart.

Of these three, the last is the hardest, because the only way to cut their heart is for them to give it to you freely in the first place.

Despondency #2

I am never good enough.

How A Programmer Goes Through Work And Life

I am a programmer by trade. I write ERP software for retail chain stores. It's a decent living.

As a programmer, any code I write has to be completely unambiguous. Everything must be as literal as possible. As many likely scenarios that I can think of which may be encountered by a user must be recognised, accounted and prepared for. My code structure is crisp, clean-cut and heavily commented, so that programmers after me can read my notes and have a clearer idea of what my code is trying to do. It may not be the most optimised or fastest code out there, but it is certainly well-planned and can be figured out easily enough by anyone else.

When customers put in a request for a new function, I interview them by trying to find out exactly what they want. I set parameters and software limits, trying to gauge their scope, their uses, possible points that they may have neglected to include. Once I list it all out to them, and they agree that nothing has been left out, I start work. I make sure that my software fulfills all their requirements. If I cannot, then I meet up with them to explain the problem and work out an alternative. Everything must be clear, literal and detailed to a certain degree. I do this because I hate repeating work, which wastes time and frustrates both myself and the customer. Thus it pisses me off greatly whenever the customer changes their expectations halfway, or signals get crossed and I misunderstand what it was they actually wanted.

In a way, I apply the same values and principles in life. I go about every day based on routine, clear instructions and boundaries, and performing tasks with an expected end result or goal in mind. Unfortunately, unlike code, the world and the people in it rarely follow predictable patterns. It is this kind of unpredictability that lands me in all sorts of trouble and makes life difficult.

I must admit that I have an appalling lack of instinct, especially with regards to other people. I miss obvious facial cues and subtle undertones in conversations. I am lousy when it comes to inventing things on the fly, which makes it very obvious to anyone when I attempt to embellish the truth or outright lie (so I never bother to - everyone finds out nearly instantly anyway).

When the unexpected happens, especially if its for the first time, (a car accident, winning a prize, dog goes missing) I find myself caught more flat-footed than others. I get tongue-tied, struck dumb, I flap my arms around ineffectually, I get frustrated and unnecessarily angry. Being caught unawares, or having something negative happen outside my initial expectations is something I hate very much. It offends my sensibilities. It shouldn't happen. I did it exactly the way I was supposed to do it, so why is everything falling apart? Why can't everything be systematic and clear-cut, like a well-defined scientific experiment? Follow the instructions and any established scientific fact can be replicated and proven, consistently.

I wish life was more like this.

I have a death wish while driving.

I've noticed that I cannot tolerate rudeness and aggression from other drivers while I am driving. I'm not sure why I behave like this; most of the time I simply ignore such behaviour and move on. This pattern gets thrown out the window, though, while I am behind the wheel. I present to you 3 cases:

I am in a parking lot. As I'm inching forward in a parking lot jam, trying to get home, a car in a lot in front of me starts reversing out of a parking spot, getting in my way. I wait until the car clears the spot and moves on. While I am waiting, the impatient driver of the SUV behind me starts gesticulating wildly and honking me. I get irritated, so I flip him the bird. He promptly replies with self-same gesture and then proceeds to hound me ALL the way through the parking lot, hitting the horn as he goes while he tailgates my car. I eventually get tired of the whole thing and manage to give him the slip.

I am once again in a parking lot. The car in front of me starts parking in an inappropriate spot, blocking my way. I get annoyed and frown very hard at him. Suddenly the driver rolls down the window and starts gesticulating wildly at me, at one point even lifting his steering lock and shaking the contraption at me. I am puzzled, but pay him no mind when he finally drives away. After parking my car, the same driver stalks towards me and starts yelling obscenities at me. Suicidally, I insult him right back (in a far more articulate and sophisticated fashion, of course). Now he's steaming mad and rushing at me with his fists balled. Suicidally (again), I stand my ground and prepare to get caught up in a fistfight. (I think I did this because I had a female passenger with me, and had this momentary need to protect her from the harm that an apparently crazy motorist can visit on nearby onlookers.) This seems to give him pause, and he stops his violent advance. Negotiations reopen, and we discover that there was some "miscommunication" (obviously a face-saving gesture). He thought I was insulting him in my car while he was trying to maneuver out of a tight spot. I assure him I was not. Apologies are made and the situation blows over.

I am driving down the highway, about to shift into the higher-speed middle lane. I check my mirrors, take a quick look to my right and start switching lanes, signal lights flashing. A really fast-moving vehicle from way back (right lane) suddenly switches to the middle lane and before you know it, is blaring his horn at me for obstructing his way. It's too late for me to switch back into my original lane, so I ignore him and finish the lane switch. The driver is incensed by my brazen move and continues to honk at me, flashing his high beams. When he gets no reaction, he draws up parallel to my car to do...I don't know what. Instead of ignoring him, I flash him a cheery smile and a wave. This really gets his goat. This uncouth middle-aged man then continues to tailgate me nearly all the way to the office, obviously going out of his way to do violence onto my person. I briefly considered driving straight to a police station, but instead manage to give him the slip by making an unscheduled (and therefore, dangerous) turn, leaving him stranded on the highway.

If I keep this up, one day this will all end in tears. I really need to learn to be less impulsive on the roads.

I refuse to say what I want you to know so badly.

Contrary to popular opinion, the idea that "if you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you" is not predominantly ensconced within the female domain. The trend is alarmingly popular among males too. The difference here is that guys simply do it differently...and are possibly even more prone to misinterpretation compared to the fairer sex.

Many guys will clam up and bunker down whenever an argument arises with their significant other. There are many reasons for doing this: it may be to avoid provoking her and fuelling the argument, to stop himself saying really hurtful things that he doesn't mean, or even to give himself time to think and prepare a proper response. The reasons are legion, and I cannot cover them all. What interests me, however, is the stony silence that occurs once the girl runs out of steam and quiets down herself.

This is the time when the man starts yelling in his head, screaming out everything he wants to say within the confines of his skull. He vents, he rages, he gets very emotional. He doesn't hold back; anything he wants to say will resound in his head there and then. Every retort or answer he thought of during her tirade will be presented at this time. The problem here, of course, is that it all stays in his head. The girl has no clue about what's going on. She thinks he's being cold, or even worse, disinterested.

Why doesn't he just let it all out, let her know, get it over with? Again, the reasons are too many to consider. But one common reason is that he expects her to know what he wants to say. It should be obvious, right? She's been with him for so long, she should understand him. He doesn't need to say it out loud. She can probably even read it all off the expression on his face. And this assumption is a bad mistake to make.

Stop assuming, be blunt, get it all off your chests, work it out.

Shut up, sit down, and listen.

I'm a very good listener when I want to be. Among my friends, I am the premier vent-o-matic and shoulder to cry on. Let me share with you the secret techniques I employ so that one day, you too can earn the dubious honour of 'Best Person To Talk To When Shit Hits The Fan'!

Which technique I use depends on the personality of my patient/tormentor. Some people just want to talk and rant and bitch, some are looking for comfort, some want to feel vindicated about their decisions and some are actually looking for advice on what to do. Of course, these aren't hard and fast rules. Use your own judgement. Mix and match if and as required.

I generally fall back on 4 main techniques:
- the void (or sponge)
- the acolyte
- the tear-stained pillow
- the wise man

With these 4 techniques, or any sensible combination thereof, I guarantee that you will be the target of every rant and crying session, or your money back!

Now, let's get into the techniques themselves and you can see for yourself how effective they are. The key is choosing the right one for the situation at hand.

The void (or sponge) is the persona you assume when the person who's ranting at you is supremely confident of themselves, quite intelligent and has difficulty accepting criticism. Such people are susceptible to long rambling monologues , and they HATE to be interrupted in any way. These are the easiest to deal with, usually. All you have to do is shut up and listen. Even if they say something you disagree with, don't say anything, unless they prompt you to. You can show signs of displeasure on your face if you wish, but don't expect them to react unless you strike a nerve. Preferably, don't strike a nerve. When prompted to respond, do it in a neutral fashion that does not invite too much argument, or keep your answers short. However, you MUST be attentive to what they say. This is because as they are winding down their monologue, you will be expected to cut in and give your opinions. There will be some debate; be prepared to defend your opinions properly. Don't worry too much though, these people eventually come up with the most logical solution to their problems and all you have to do is tell them that they've arrived at the only possible conclusion to this bloody mess.

The acolyte, on the other hand, is quite a vocal creature. You assume a stance of righteous indignation, a man who has been grievously wronged. Your target is easily excitable, has great belief in their (probably) skewed version of right and wrong, and can get quite violent if not properly handled. You have been warned. Assume this persona only if you actually believe their cause is just. Otherwise, it is safer to be the void. All you have to do is infect yourself with their agitation and energy. Get yourself a little worked up. Raise your voice. Agree with them a lot. "That fucker/bitch deserves a good kicking!" is a good exclamation to throw in every now and then. However, your goal isn't to work them up into a frenzy so that they actually go out and do something horrible to right the perceived wrong. You want them to vent in a controlled fashion, waste the energy away until they calm down. Therefore, learn to read them; the moment you note a moment of hesitation, cut them off and play the devil's advocate. They will direct some of their anger at you, but if you play your cards right, you can get them to doubt themselves enough so that they see the issue more clearly. Once they've lost a bit of their reason to get angry in the first place, you can gently lead them back to a semblance of control. They'll get a little grumpy, maybe sheepish. Do what you can to allay their discomfort.

The tear-stained pillow is the one that tries my patience the most, and is usually only required by a small subset of people, and they are invariably women. They will be crying. They will want comfort, and they will want you to understand them. They don't really want you to take their side, only to show sympathy. Lots of it. "There, there, it's alright. Let it all out." and "Oh, you poor thing." are good phrases to use repeatedly. Things may get messy. You may be required to provide hugs and tissues. Do not, under any circumstances, provide solutions to their problems, no matter how trivial or easily fixed they are. They'll figure it out on their own. Just sit tight and bear it out until they feel better and go home/away. Alternatively, you may have to cheer them up somehow. Good luck with that.

Last, but not least, is the wise man. This can be either the easiest or the hardest of the lot to accomplish, because you have to come up with REAL solutions. It is usually used in combination with any of the other 3 techniques, and doesn't really stand on its own except in particularly rare situations. In this form, you listen to the problem and give your own honest opinion on how to fix the problem. It has to be fair, and considerate to all sides implicated in the issue. The delivery varies, though. You can be professorial, straight to the point, or couch it as delicately as appropriate. You must also be able to determine if the target really wants to hear your opinion or is simply spouting rhetoric.

There you have it, my secret to winning the unsought-for title of 'Best Person To Talk To When Shit Hits The Fan'! Follow these steps and you'll be well on your way to losing sleep due to impromptu trips to beaches in the next state at 3 in the morning and silently hating yourself as you use the truth like a knife to hurt others when they come to you for help.

For questions, or to arrange speaking arrangements by yours truly, please record your statements in the comments section below. Thank you, and good luck!

I wait for no man.

I hate waiting. Waiting implies inactivity, and I am a perpetually restless person. I cannot sit idly by unless I know I am accomplishing something by doing so. I cannot be patient unless I know doing so draws me closer to my goal. Even then, I chaff at the self-enforced walls of restraint.

Now don't get me wrong. I am not impatient. I am not the kind of person who must have everything quickly, who must get quick results all the time. I am not about instant gratification; I can be deathly serene about waiting, as long as something is there to occupy my attention. As long as I am doing something, my mind and body can vent all its excess energy safely, if not productively. This is one of the reasons why I enjoy music; my mind runs through the lyrics as the song plays, anticipates the note changes and instrument flourishes, and my legs tap to the beat. I have to keep moving, all the time, until I tire myself out and sleep.

When it comes to waiting for events to happen or circumstances to change, I can be equally restless. This usually results in me falling into all sorts of emotional moods and going through mental anguish while I internally debate the pros of waiting versus the cons of lost opportunities that occur from my restraint while I vacillate, trusting the day will come. It is quite a horrible predicament. It's not even faith that keeps me going; at least with faith, you put all your hopes into a God who answers you all the time(I think)...just not in the way you expect. But when you wait for a person....you can't even call it faith. Instead, it is self-delusion, illusions of hope and grandeur, self-inflicted promises and encouragement to hold on for just that little bit longer. It is rubbish, there is no value in it, you cannot trust it, there is no institution that would back such currency. "This dream is good for 1 metric kilogramme of gold, vouched for by the Bank of False Hopes." Hardy har har.

I am so tired.

Yet still I wait. Resilient, unchanging, and constant.

Something significant has happened.

Well, shit. This wasn't part of the plan.

Honestly speaking, I don't think I ever had a plan in the first place. Just a really really vague idea of how I want my life to be in the indeterminate future. I don't have a 5-, 10-year plan or whatever it is that other more ambitious/confident people have. All I had was a vague idea where I lived a pretty comfortable and decent life, all my needs fulfilled and some luxuries thrown in for good measure. Maybe a small family. Nothing fancy. No expensive cars, no multiple properties. Working 5 days a week, maybe a weekend once a month, nothing too strenuous. My nights would be untouched. I would be free.

Things have taken a VERY sudden turn now though. It all started when I decided to pick up a freelance project from my boss. I would basically do it out of office hours. After studying the project, I knew I was way in over my head if I were to do it alone. So I decided to recruit my colleague to work on the project with me. We would split the payout and workload equally.

Near the end of the project, we started thinking about how we would want to be paid. After some thinking, we decided that we did not want to be paid a lump sum for our efforts. We weren't willing to just let go of something that took so much of our time and energy for a simple sum of money, no matter how large. In the end, we decided to work out an arrangement with our employer, where we would take a smaller initial payout in return for monthly royalties, based on how how many customers used this little software.

After some initial wrangling, we came out of the discussion mostly intact. But something had changed. We initially wanted chump change every month for as little responsibility as possible. But after negotiations with our employer(curse you Vincent and your rationalisations!), it looks like a very real possibility that I and my partner are on our way to owning our very first commercially-viable intellectual property. We would license the software out to our employer, who would pay us royalties periodically, based on how many of his customers used it. We would be responsible for maintaining and updating the software as and when required. Our employer would be mostly concerned with selling it.
This has essentially turned into a formal business arrangement, with negotiations, and contracts, products, services and goodness knows what else.

I am now effectively a businessman. Oh, the horror.

Nowhere in my shitty little plan for the future did it say that I would actually be involved in business. I'm not a visionary. I don't come up with sweeping business strategies. I'm not driven to succeed. I don't want to work so hard in order to make oodles of money. I am shell-shocked, overwhelmed and more than a little terrified of what this all means, and will entail. I don't know what kind of price I'll be paying in order to run a freaking business of my own. I am not prepared. I don't have the right mentality. I'm just a simple, lazy guy trying to make a little more money, that's all. I am afraid that this is going to be well over my head, and it will all come crashing down like a skyscraper being demolished. Neat, controlled, utterly devastating and somewhat spectacular(fuck the house of cards simile. This will hurt.).

I can't think about it. I'm afraid to think about it. Something has changed, and I am fearful of it, and yet, I am curious to see how it will all pan out. The cat has yet to figure out that his curiosity will kill him.

I think I had better buckle up. Life is about to get somewhat interesting, I think.

A perfect evening.

It was the 19th of May, 2008. A public holiday, I had spent the afternoon wrangling around with some work that needed doing. At around 5pm, I had gotten very bored and decided not to waste the whole day completely on working. I took a book, my iPod, my phone and my car keys and headed out the door.

I drove around a bit, trying to decide on where to read. After a while, I decided to head to a small playground of sorts. It was a pretty sort of place, with huge fir trees around the perimeter, well-kept grass and aging but sturdy playground equipment and benches, as well as gazebo-like things scattered all over. I chose a seat on one of the spring-fulcrum see-saws and started to read, bouncing up and down gently like a vertical-motion rocking chair. It gave my restless legs something to do while the rest of my body was engaged in other more useful tasks, such as holding the book in place and reading words off the pages. I began reading.

The sun's rays were muted, filtering through a bank of puffy white clouds. It provided a very comfortable light to read by, and warmed my skin slightly where it struck. It was quite a pleasant feeling. To top it off, there was a light breeze blowing through the grounds, heightening the idyllic sense of being I was beginning to feel myself slip into.

After a while, a car pulled up and the driver released a pack of truly adorable dogs into the playground, two Labradors and a chihuahua! The chihuahua was especially friendly, it came up to me and immediately started prancing about. After a few friendly overtures, I left it to tear up and down the field, chasing the other dogs. Ah, a dog's life!

Eventually the dogs had to go home and I was left to my own devices again. The sun was going down but the breeze still had not abated. I relocated to one of the gazebo-like structures, put on my headphones, piped music from my iPod through them and continued reading. I had multiple trains of thought running through my head at this time. Number one, that I had not felt this relaxed in a long time, revelling in my self-imposed solitude. Number two, Bobby Shaftoe, please stop hallucinating, pull yourself together and help Lieutenant Root toss that decoy off the plane already before AA fire completely ruins the whole mission and you die for nothing. THERE ARE NO GIANT LIZARDS HERE. Number three, if only I could replicate this setting more often. Or ever.

Eventually the sun dipped low enough and I had to stop reading. I packed up, got in the car and headed home.

I want more evenings like that.

Epiphany #2

It's funny how my most enjoyable vacations usually require another, more sedate, vacation with which to recover. I am so tired.

I've got a little black cloud and thunderstorm hovering over me.

You know how people are always using light and darkness as metaphors for good and evil? From a scientific point of view, darkness (or shadow, as some are wont to argue) is simply an absence of light. If you relate this property back into the good/evil metaphor, it means that evil is merely an absence of good. Therefore evil in inherent, all-pervading, natural. Good is the usurper here. Being good is unnatural. So when we complain about how fucked up the world is, it should cross our minds that it really isn't so much of people being selfish or self-destructive. Rather, the majority of us are simply being true to ourselves, and our own nature.

Sad, right? I'll leave it at that.

People need to think through things more thoroughly...

...before coming up with signs like this. I love poor design, there's so much potential hilarity in it.

The consequences of failure.

You know that saying,"Reach for the stars; that way, even if you fail, you would have at least reached the moon."? Something like that. That saying really isn't applicable to a great many situations. Many times, when you fail to reach said stars....you fall from a very great height. The results won't be pretty.

First up would probably be the initial damage to your self-esteem and confidence. You build yourself up quite a bit just so you develop enough balls to go through with this hare-brained endeavour. Upon failing, the house of emotional cards collapses faster than you can say, "Fuck." Then there's probably some kind of residual fallout that may affect others around you. Your failure may reflect on them, actually hurt them in some way, such as when you fail to pull your own weight in a work-related project, delaying the progress of others that depend on your success. Of course, one cannot ignore the reputation damage that may possibly occur, as well as the loss of any time and/or other resources that you pour into the effort. I'm sure there's more, but these are the more apparent consequences of failure.

So, why try to achieve something that is so difficult to attain, comes with great inherent risk, especially if the prize isn't even certain? What if the rewards of success is merely a stepping stone to an even greater challenge? You're not even guaranteed to taste the fruits of your initial labour.

I would try, I think, because a part of me is quite romantic. For all my cynicism, I can still harbour quite a lot of optimism, I can be extremely stoic when need be, I can eventually shrug off all sorts of emotional damage given time without too many scars. Someone told me it's because I was born under the auspices of Gemini. This duality in nature is apparently inherent in such persons.

So yeah. I have hope, and I think I can succeed. I am willing to take chances, after weighing the potential reward against the risks. If I succeed, this could potentially be life-changing. It could be the best decision I've made in my entire life. I have great faith in my abilities, and in what I can do. And even if I fail, heaven forbid, at least I tried. I hate asking myself,"...what if...?"

No regrets. Life is too short for that kind of crap. I'd rather fall a long, long way than not try.

Besides, I'm resilient. I've made it alive for 25 years, I think I can take a catastrophic failure from time to time.

Why my job is hard.

My job is hard because no sane person wants to handle the details of designing, building and maintaining complex informational and logistics management systems.

My job is hard because in humanity's rush to get better (while slowly killing ourselves), we keep coming up with new technology that makes existing ones obsolete too quickly. I find it near impossible to keep up.

My job is hard because customers and bosses would rather see results in a short amount of time than implement the necessary amount of proper design concepts, which in contrast takes a longer time BUT ensures system maintenance becomes more manageable as time passes.

My job is hard because developers before me (myself included) have abandoned most said best coding practices for short-term results, rather than design purity.

My job is hard because short-sighted customers are always changing their minds on how they want their systems to work.

My job is hard because sales support staff are always trying to appease said customers by giving in to their demands, no matter how ridiculous or dangerous.

My job is hard because of the high turnover rate in my industry. Apparently operator burnout doesn't faze anyone here anymore. Rather than seeing it as an overarching problem, employers simply assume it is a problem endemic to those in the IT industry, and don't bother doing anything about it.

My job is hard because people invariably make mistakes, and it's my job to fix them. People make a LOT of mistakes, it seems.

And my job is hard because while I am good at it, I don't really like it all that much anymore.

Malicious intent or no, it is wrong to bad-mouth.

I caught myself ranting about this dude that I get exasperated with sometimes to another friend. It was all about how this person was unreliable, opportunistic and selfish. After about a minute into the rant, I began to feel guilty and stopped. It was a pretty cowardly thing to do, bad-mouthing/complaining about someone behind their backs without giving them a chance to defend themselves. Now, to set the record straight, I have openly confronted him about his shortcomings and how much it annoyed me. However, this does not give me the license to continue attacking him like I did, behind his back. I got pissed with myself then. If I don't want other people to do this to me, why do I still persist in doing it to others? Is there some kind of instinctive flaw, or ingrained cowardice that makes me do this?

It is wrong, I know it is. Better to be blunt and upfront than malicious and cowardly. But better yet, to just keep your gripes to yourself.

A form of selfishness.

I used to have a problem with watching romantic movies while I was still attached. When bugged about it, I fell back on the standard male-chauvinist response,"It was made for women." The truth is, watching them back then made me feel conflicted. On one hand, I had the impression that the movies were unrealistic depictions of real life. On the other, I caught myself thinking,"I want my life to be like that. But I don't want to change a single thing about myself to get there." Not in so many words, but in retrospect, I'm sure that what I meant. So sorry for bursting your righteous bubble, me-in-the-past. I'm such a selfish bastard.

Epiphany #1

Those who cannot lie (but have to) should simply shut up. Silence affords ambiguity. Sometimes that is preferable to the knife-edge of truth and revelation.

*Edited because the first version did not properly reflect my meaning.

I love it when you rush-inhale.

You know what I find sexy? That sharp intake of breath you hear just before a singer sings a verse, especially if the verses are close together. It's usually only audible on studio recordings, since in live shows, the microphones are rarely that sensitive. I get a little thrill every time I hear it, particularly if the song is emotionally-charged. I cannot really explain why I get such a kick out of this phenomenon, hereby known as 'rush-inhaling'. Shut up, I can't think of anything better at the moment. Also, my attraction to rush-inhaling is gender-neutral. Singers who rush-inhale include Rob Thomas (from Matchbox Twenty), Liam Gallagher (from Oasis), Ingrid Michaelson and Marié Digby.

I don't know. There's just something vulnerable, crucial, precarious about it. "I need this breath, and I need it fast. I can't sing this next verse without it. I can't live without it." Oh, God. That's just so incredibly sexy.

P.S.: Damian Kulash from OK Go, especially on the song 'Oh Lately It's So Quiet'.

The incessant babbling of the young.

I was standing in line for an autograph from Marié Digby (yay! she was awesome!). Directly in front of me were two young girls, roughly 13 to 14 years old. I could tell because they had what I assumed would turn out to be boobs in a few years' time, even though they dressed much older and sluttier.

I spent about 40 minutes waiting in the line, half of that was spent in total agony. This was because I was forced to listen to the brain-dead chatter between those two. There were somewhat loud and I could not come up with any bright ideas at the time to shut them out without leaving the line.

For 20 minutes I listened to who was 'dating' who, which teacher was a 'hater' and why random girl X was such a slut for going out with whoever crossed paths with her. There was also an enlightening discussion on why getting a barely-passing grade was more than enough for most subjects. There was probably more to this but I've always had a poor short-term memory span and this one time I am grateful for it.

After a while I realised that I was carrying my laptop with me. It took me a few minutes, working feverishly on the stupid touchpad and balancing the weight of it on one forearm, but I eventually got the machine to completely rip Marié Digby's album on the spot(which I had purchased an hour before for her to autograph) and then...beautiful music and emotive, sensitive lyrics piping through my ears via earphones. Blocking out bullshit. Excellent.

This episode has given me a bit to think about, though. Does every age group find the topics that interest those younger than them to be trivial, inconsequential and immature? Do we all listen to such talk and smirk privately to ourselves, thinking,"Heh. Mere children. They have no idea what's in store for them later." or "My gods, why are they so interested in stuff that doesn't really matter anyway?"

The 13 year-old dismisses his 5 year-old brother's fascination with Lego bricks as childish. The 19 year-old scoffs at her younger sister's experimental forays with the opposite gender as clumsy and embarassing. The 25 year-old rolls his eyes and groans inwardly when he listens to 2 teenagers going on and on about the "dramatic events" going on in high school. The 35 year-old smiles indulgently and shakes his head when the 24 year-old dithers about whether or not to finally move out of his parents' house, wanting the freedom and independence but worrying about self-sufficiency.

Perhaps each of us forgets that were also once that age, once upon a time. Or maybe I'm just the stereotypical anti-social who can't be buggered about other people and their concerns.

The fears of the young and helpless.

When I was very young, around 4 to 7 years old, I used to have a particular recurring nightmare that would wake me up in the middle of the night, in tears.

As usual, details of the dream are hazy and certain parts would change, but it usually ended up with my parents being killed or put in prison. In my childish thinking, there was no difference in the circumstances behind it. The end result was what mattered; I would have to fend for myself. I was effectively an orphan. And I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

I would be alone. I would ALWAYS be alone.

It scared the crap out of me, every single time. Sometimes I am glad that I have difficulty remembering my dreams.

When a personal interest actually helps at work.

I had to call a customer back this morning on some matter. Sadly, I did not have his phone number on hand, and the only person with it was going to be coming in late. Go me.

Fortunately, my misfiring brain recalled the fit of giggles I got into when I first dialled this particular customer's number. It turns out that the keypress tones the phone makes when dialling this number is an exact copy of a fragment of the Mission: Impossible theme.

So instead of dialling a number, I played a song on the phone. And I got the right person.

Freaky huh?

Sometimes it's not the thought that counts, it's the amount of thinking that went into it.

My colleague recently returned from a trip to Bali. As expected, she brought back a few trinkets for the rest of us. Look at what she got each of us:

In case the awesome resolution of my phone's camera didn't clue you in on it, it's a miniature wooden slipper fridge magnet. The whole thing is about the size of my thumb. Note the flowing white script along the bottom that, with a little imagination, can be taken to read, "Bali".

This cute little doohickey will now be stuck onto my fridge door, forever reminding me of the wonderful and relaxing trip that my colleague went on and I did not.

Now, I like and appreciate souvenirs as much as the next greedy bloke, but it's gifts like these that generate more resentment than happiness. If she had gotten us something actually useful, practical, or wearable, this would not be such a sore point for me. Hey, you went on a trip, and I got a free t-shirt. Everybody wins.

With trinkets like these however, I gain no use or satisfaction from it apart from seething envy. When someone looks at it, they'll say,"Oh! So how was Bali?", to which I will answer,"I have no idea. I've never been there." Then truth dawns on the commenter, and an awkward silence descends that can only be broken by vodka or a dirty joke.

Or maybe I'm just an ungrateful piece of shit. Anyway, thank you for this thing. Regardless of any feelings of jealousy that may spill over from your gift, I still find it abominably cute.

A negative thought about marriage.

I get the feeling that one reason people get married is because marriage offers the assurance, the guarantee (no matter how false) that the other person will not stray, will stay committed, will remain devoted to them for the rest of their lives. In this light, would it not seem that marriage is, rather, an institution of MISTRUST?

I don't really believe in the above statement, I just thought it was worth thinking about, for the sake of objectivity and posterity.

The spoken word.

I am not a phone kind of guy. My cellphone is so old I don't even know its model anymore. It is one of those first-generation colour screen and polyphonic ringtone Nokia types, no mp3 playback, no camera, nothing. It is at least 4 years old, ancient by today's standards, and about the only thing going for it now is that the battery runs out quickly if someone tries to hold an extended phone conversation with me.

Yes, I admit, I don't like phone conversations lasting more than 3 minutes. They try my patience, make my ears burn, and are either totally one-sided with me shutting up most of the time or filled with awkward pauses. If I want to talk to you for more than 3 minutes, there are better ways to do it. ONE: instant messengers. TWO: I fucking drive to your place or we meet up somewhere and talk face to face. Long phone conversations strike me as the lazy person's way of catching up with someone, or ambushing the callee (I may be making this word up but I don't care) to entertain you while you're stuck in traffic or doing something equally boring.

If you live reasonably nearby (within 40-50 kilometres) then I would rather meet up with you, drive if I have to. If you don't, there's the ubiquitous instant messenger software. The only time I would actually call you for a long phone conversation or entertain a long call is if I have not seen you in a while and genuinely miss your awesome company. Then, and only then, would hearing your digitally recompiled voice for more than 3 minutes be welcome, rather than resented.

Confession: I like chick flicks.

I go alone. I catch them in the cinema, so as to leave as little proof as possible. Another plus of watching these movies alone is that when I react emotionally, no one significant is around to see it. No witnesses.

So I'm a real sucker for chick flicks. They do the same thing for me as truly great romantic love songs do. For a moment, strings of empathy and emotion bind me to the characters, and I feel as they do.

It gives me hope. Hahaha.

Arrogance #1

The only difference between Mr. Random Famous Philosopher and I is that he is published and dead while I am not.

A dream is a wish your heart makes.

A sentence, a point, an idea that has existed since 1950, when it debuted as the title of a song in Cinderella. Being the poster boy of sloth, I am too lazy to troll the net looking for scientific theories on what dreams actually mean. I have a vague recollection of reading somewhere which theorised that dreams are simply a collection of thoughts and images that the subconscious strings together while the body rests. There is a rough storyline involved(usually) in a dream, but it is mostly just the subconscious playing in the dream sandbox to keep it from being bored to bits while you sleep.

But what kind of idea, concept or image actually makes it into a dream? A part of your brain is trying to stave off boredom, so it needs to come up with interesting situations and ideas with which to amuse itself. Depending on what it feels like experiencing, there's a quite a variety to choose from. You can have a dramatic, emotional dream filled with heartache and sorrow, or go for an action-packed dream filled with explosions and heroic achievements. Or maybe you're one of those who like to be scarred psychologically, so you dream of ghosts and zombies and other stuff that horror movies are made of, with a liberal helping of blood and gore. And then there's the standard romantic dreams, and dreams where you are the opposite of what you are in real life.

The topic that interests me here is the one where your dreams are based on possibilities, the different routes your life might have taken if certain circumstances had occurred. So the question is, when you get this sort of dream, is it simply a random production of your brain, or is it really a wish your heart makes?

I ask this question because I have been having dreams with a certain recurring theme, on and off for a while now. It pops in every once in a few weeks.It is a nice, fanciful dream, that COULD happen, but most likely will not. As in, I MAY be able to make it happen if I wanted it bad enough, but the possible repercussions involved as well as the initial effort expended to achieve it...I don't know. It's fantastic if it were to come true. But I know it won't happen. Yes, I'm being deliberately vague. Shut it.

What I'm wondering here is, in my heart of hearts, do I wish it would come true, or is just another patched-together play my gambolling subconscious puts on to entertain itself? Are such dreams really wishes of the sleeping heart?

The argument for pessimism. Or not.

Sometimes you wake up and all you want to do is grunt, roll over and go right back to sleep. Sometimes you're stuck in a jam, but don't take the right lane which seems clear at the moment because with your luck it will probably stop moving 5 seconds after you switch lanes. Sometimes you eschew a new way of working that is potentially better for the tried-but-not-so-true method since the new way will probably backfire anyway, with worse results. Sometimes you see an opening in a chess game that may give you a significant advantage if you take it, but refuse to do so in case the opponent knows something that you don't. And sometimes you don't make the effort to talk to that cute girl reading a book you've read before (and liked very much) in the cafe because she'll probably ignore you or think you're a loony for being so uncouth and brazen.

Being cautious, being negative, refusing to take chances....it keeps me safe from disappointment. It places me in familiar territory. It gives me confidence. It protects my pride. It shields me from potentially hazardous results. And it keeps me wondering, "What if I had just..."...

Despondency #1

My heart is a lump of coal. It is a cold, black thing; small, ugly and insignificant. At its best, it flares up brightly, vividly, but only once and never again. Only ash marks its passing.

When people say 'I know him/her well'.

I find it privately hilarious when someone says,"Oh, person X would/wouldn't do that. I know her, she wouldn't do it." The claim that you can know someone so well that you can predict their actions and thoughts so accurately is ridiculous. I don't care how close you are to that person, I don't care how long you've lived with that person, I don't care how much that person talks to you...you can NEVER know EVERYTHING about someone so as to predict their thoughts, movements, actions and reactions. Making such a statement is simply the height of conceit. The most you can do is anticipate....give yourself an 80% accuracy rate. That's it, no more than that.

Does your victim follow a fixed schedule to which you are privy to? Are you telepathically linked to the victim? Does your victim pander to you and is willing to live her life around YOUR expectations? Are you the victim's personal deity?

You may think it unfair of me to label the subject as a victim, but that's definitely what she is. If you subject them to your high-and-mighty assumptions without their knowledge, then you ARE victimising them.

I describe myself the way I am not.

I am a walking contradiction. I am a mini-paradox. I'm pretty sure other people are, too, but let's focus on what we can genuinely confirm here. I go through life doing stuff I don't like. I occasionally tell people what they want to hear rather than what I really feel. I sometimes blatantly lie about who and what I am. I wake up each day thinking about how to achieve goals I don't really believe in. I tell myself that I am something I am not. There are parts of me that I suppress, for the sake of myself and others.

The ideal is for me to do what I want, when I like it. This is almost never possible. My actions are governed by social guidelines, my regard and concern for others, my need to present myself in a certain light to people, and their own expectations of who I am (or who I should be). In order to preserve this delicate ecology of My Reputation and How Others Perceive Me, I am forced to speak, think and act in certain ways, ways that I naturally balk at but have to conform to.

Why do I do this? Why do I toil at going against my nature every single day? Why do I expend any effort at all cultivate a not-entirely-true picture of myself?

Realistically, the benefits are manifold. Some aspects of my nature can be classified "detrimental". My inherent sloth, my tendency to procrastinate....these are all properties that are best suppressed, since we all know that no one really changes, and therefore such "qualities" cannot be scoured away from my psyche under most circumstances. Overriding such tendencies provide immediate benefits that may or may not affect society at large. The most important thing here is that, for a while, I do become a better person.

Other benefits become apparent only in the company of others, and then perhaps only in certain situations. These include my habit of speaking plainly and bluntly, as well as my tendency to automatically stereotype a person based on whatever quality I happen to latch on about them, especially if I do not know them very well. Obviously, indulging in my nature in such situations could have disastrous results.

I like to think that we should all be free to just be ourselves. I like to think that this subtle game of charades I(we) play on a daily basis is totally unnecessary. I like to think that most of us are sensible, reasonable and tolerant individuals who understand and accept variety and differences within each person. I like to think that I am all that which I have described previously. But I'm not. I am ruled by emotions. I am a selfish, miserable soul that sometimes fails to rise above my own petty thoughts and inadequacies to think better of others. I am occasionally too lazy to give other the benefit of doubt, because it is so much easier to assume. And if this is how I function...how can I expect others to do otherwise?

It is far easier to pretend to be something that you are not, if only for a little while, than to actually change yourself. We are the generation of materialistic convenience. We want it fast, we want it easy. Apparently, this also applies to our personality matrices.

It is far easier to pretend, than to actually be.

Let's talk about Henry Thoreau and what a bitch he was.

I'm going to ignore the significance of today's date. It doesn't apply to me.

Anyway, a sweet, well-meaning soul sent me a little e-mail which had some religious significance, bla bla bla. The important thing here is that one of the comments within the e-mail implied that in order to live a better life, one should simplify. It gave the late Mother Theresa as an example, who had very little personal posessions and still led a life many people would be envious of.

So naturally this led me to think about simplifying my life. It took me all of 10 seconds to dismiss this ludicrous thought. Egads! Just 2 weeks ago I was trying my best to be as shallow as possible,"money is everything" and all that jazz and now I'm thinking of simplifying?! What would be left of me if I started dropping all the stuff such an ascetic lifestyle would deem unnecessary?

My new goal in life is to make more money, faster. My secondary goal is to use that money to do other stuff. Stuff like learning new things, picking up new hobbies, finding new friends, doing more travel, buy new STUFF....you know what I'm talking about. If I were to simplify, it would mean dropping all those goals to work towards another goal. And what goal is that? The lack of a proper mission in life is what led me down this dark, empty, materialistic, shallow road in the first place. I don't have anything to look forward to. I don't have someone to give my life to. In absence of such things, is trying to be a little richer than I already am so bad?

Strip away such materialistic ambitions and its rewards and all you've got is a guy who doesn't know what to do with himself.

I need this. I need to work for something, no matter how shallow, or ultimately worthless. I need to know that I am doing something beneficial with myself, no matter how temporal the results. I need to shield myself from the stark reality: that I am a reluctant rock, an island I didn't mean to be.

This is the new year.

Alright. I'm eating crow. I'm going back on what I said a few weeks ago. I admit it. Stop hounding me already.

Last weekend, while I was slaving away on this as-yet unfinished freelance project in a hot and stuffy office, all alone, I noticed a stunning difference.

I'd stopped complaining. I had gotten used to it. It was like I didn't care anymore. It seemed as if I no longer minded working a few extra hours on weekends and holidays. Hmm.

At that juncture, I had a choice: I could REPENT, and decide to never work like this again, and preserve what I'd considered my steadfast principles....or leave the old perspective, let it die, and embrace the new opportunities that this new attitude and focus afforded me.

I took a look at last year and tried to pinpoint where my current principles and focus had led me. End result? Decent money, but I always felt I was a little short. I had a lot of free time, but I frittered most of it away on stuff that didn't really matter. I did not manage to find love as I had hoped, and activities that originated as hobbies became obsessions and started defining who I was. My goals of trying to be happy were not met. Instead, I was left indulging in multiple forms of escapism while waiting for THE BIG THING to happen. in hindsight, my intentions were noble, but what really disappointed me was the stuff I was doing in between.

For this year, I want things to change. I'm going to make money this year! I shall spend more of my time finding ways to increase my financial income. I will not neglect my hobbies and interests, I am merely scaling them back. I want to spend less time moping and being depressed and wistful; less time brooding and reflecting on memories. I want to be less dependent on others when it comes to the use of my time. I will even make slightly more effort to be a social animal! Im going to fucking travel too! Hahahahahahahaha.

This is the year I increase my nett (financial) value significantly. This is the year I make a little something more of myself, my way. This is the year I learn new things, meet new people, change perspectives, attitudes and views, and visit new places. This is hopefully the year I meet someone that.....you know.

So. This is the new year. New year, meet the new (and slightly improved) me. Nice to meet you, how do you do.

Music, direct from their throats (and strings) and straight into my ears.

Switchfoot is coming to town in a few more days!

I can't wait. I've been anticipating this for a month now. I've had tickets to the show for 3 weeks. I went out and bought their albums and have been listening to their songs regularly so that I can sing along during the performance. I made the effort to memorise the lyrics of the songs that I like very much, and to get the chorus down pat at least for the less-liked ones. I've been trying to predict which songs will make the cut.

The last time I went to a concert was a show by My Chemical Romance, last year. That was also my first time attending a rock concert. It totally blew my mind away. I was screaming and singing and bouncing up and down and pumping my fists in the air and waving them in time to the music. And all this under a light rain! I scream-sung for so long that I was hoarse near the end. I also managed to scare this girl next to me with my incessant scream-singing and jumping. She was so cowed that she sat down and eyed me nervously for the rest of the night. My sister later commented that she had gone deaf in one ear solely from the noise I was making beside her. But, you know. Whatever. I don't hear the other 3 thousand-odd spectators complaining.

The experience of a live rock concert is incredible. The lights, the music, the antics of the performers on stage all combine to create a sensory high that you can't get anywhere else. But what really gives the shows that critical mass is the audience. A thousand or more fans screaming and jumping and singing to the songs in unison....a thousand minds tuned in simultaneously to the same melody, being affected by the same lyrics, reacting in more or less the same ways....You could almost describe the whole thing as spiritual, at the risk of bordering on blasphemy. The fans are the acolytes, the band members are the servitors, and the singer is the fanatical archbishop who whips the followers into a screaming cacophony of praise to the gods of rock.

Don't knock it until you try it.

Pedal to the metal.

I discovered a new potential hobby a few weeks ago: go-karting. Yes, you read it right the first time. Go-karting. An old friend introduced me to the thingie, I decided that no one's going to miss me too much if I crash and burn, so I said what the heck.

Things I learned about karting:
1. The kart feels ridiculously fast even though I'm only hitting about 50km/h. This is because it has no cabin to speak of and no safety belts.
2. I finally got to use all those dangerous driving skills I picked up playing computer racing games.
3. Karting is expensive. It's like RM30 for 10 minutes.
4. Karting is crazy fun. Especially under slick conditions. Driving in the rain is recklessly exhilarating.
5. I need to learn how to restart a stalled kart. The stupid track monitors are too lazy to respond quickly to a stalled kart, and every minute that passes by is precious.
6. It is important to make sure that a moving kart NEVER runs over your foot. Ouch.
7. I may be the most reckless driver in the whole of karting history. My driving mates were avoiding me like the plague.
8. Buy your own freakin' helmet. Try your level best not to use the communal helmet. It is....unhygienic.

Daredevil stunts aside, I think that this extravagant hobby is something that I will take to, although not regularly. I may need to get my own helmet though.

VROOOOOOOOOOMMM.................wahahahahaha.

I'm not cut out for this shit.

It's the third Sunday in a row that I've been in the office half-heartedly working, all alone in a stuffy office with no air-conditioning and no windows.

I want to die.

But wait! you ask. What is yours truly putting in extra hours into a job he complains about continually? In truth, I am not. What happened was, I got sweet-talked by the devil himself into taking on a freelance job to earn a little extra cash. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, I'm single and alone and waste most of my weekends lazing around anyway.

Unfortunately, I found out the hard way that I have little motivation, inclination and drive to do freelance work while also being gainfully employed. I just can't summon the enthusiasm. Coupled with the fact that I'm going to be late handing this in and that the devil is getting nervous with the impending deadline and me not showing much progress, you can get the pressure I'm under. In fact, today is the projected deadline I told him. So much for commitment, haha.

Obviously I am not that hard a worker as I thought. I promise myself to never do such a silly thing again. Whatever money I may make from this ill-fated endeavour may very well be blown away in a spending spree just to make up for the mental pain and suffering I'm under right now. Working on a Sunday! How stupid.

I need a new everything.

So, it's the new year. Supposedly time for resolutions, to try and make yourself a better person. So be it.

I resolve to be a more considerate person, to think more about the welfare of others.
I resolve to nurture a slightly better work ethic.

Alright, now that that unpleasant piece of business is over, I've realised that I'm running around with a lot of old and outdated gear. This includes college-era clothes, an old phone that is starting to develop problems, and lack of my own working computer. My athletic shoes are a shambles, I want new glasses and a more mature watch. I may need new loafers, or a pair of new sandals, of which I have not worn for at least a year (I love my hush puppies too much, poor loafers.) I want a kickass laptop, dammit.

Therefore, what better way to celebrate the trap of consumerism, of which many of us are willing captives, than by splurging on a new pair of headphones for my venerable iPod? I like my new headphones very much. They keep the music in, while keeping financial reality out. It's great.