In the lift

The lift door opens.

There were about six of us waiting, and the Indian man in front of the door goes in first. He hesitates, and then walks into the lift.

I'm next, and I immediately find out why he hesitated in entering the lift: there was a puddle of curry in the middle of the lift floor.

I carefully step around it, making sure that my flip-flops does not get stained with the curry.

Next to enter is a family, and they do the same thing, carefully stepping around the curry puddle.

I shuffle to the back of the lift. And because of the puddle, I can't reach the buttons panel.

"Er..." Woman from the family attempts to ask me which floor I live at, but couldn't get the words out.

"Eleven"

"Eleven" She tells the Indian man who is standing closest to the buttons panel.

He presses the button "11" and waits.

The lift door doesn't close. So the woman tells the man to press the "close" button. And he does. Lift door closes.

Up the lift goes, and all of us just stare at the puddle of curry until we reach our floors.

Just a puddle of curry.

I wonder who will clean it up.

If I were a piano player, I'd play it in the goddam closet

"He had a big damn mirror in front of the piano, with this big spotlight on him, so that everybody could watch his face while he played. You couldn't see his fingerswhile he played—just his big old face. Big deal. I'm not too sure what the name of the song was that he was playing when I came in, but whatever it was, he was really stinking it up. He was putting all these dumb, show-offy ripples in the high notes, and a lot of other very tricky stuff that gives me a pain in the ass. You should've heard the crowd, though, when he was finished. You would've puked. They went mad. They were exactly the same morons that laugh like hyenas in the movies at stuff that isn't funny. I swear to God, if I were a piano player or an actor or something and all those dopes thought I was terrific, I'd hate it. I wouldn't even want them to clap for me. People always clap for the wrong things. If I were a piano player, I'd play it in the goddam closet."

- J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Night. Taxi driver. Jokes.

The night is a quiet one. No storm. No lightning. Just the cab driver and I ploughing down the lonely road home at 2am.

The radio plays softly over the stereo but a silent gap still exists between the driver and me. It's the gap that is always there when you take a cab. Two strangers forced to sit together for a good half hour. Usually we just stare at the road.

He was the one who attempted to break this gap first.

"Do you want to hear a joke?"

Sure thing. I didn't mind a joke on the half hour trip home. Besides, it's probably too rude to turn down his very kind offer.

"Which emperor of china is blind?"

The first thing that came to my mind: I've heard this one before. Second thing: should I just give the correct answer? I spent some time thinking this through, while the driver thinks that I am going through a list of Chinese emperors to find who lost his sense of sight.

My reply: "I don't know. Who is it?" I smiled.

"Kang xi hung di. Because he can't see ma."

Both of us laughed.

"Have you heard the one about the falling fruits on the head?"

I shook my head and he shared jokes with me all the way home.

my last night here with you, same old songs, just once more

I am typing this from my home in BLK 686B Choa Chu Kang Crescent #08-232 for the last time. IN another one and a half hours time, that is about 2130HRS, 9th November 2010, I will leave this place. Involuntarily.

Even until now, I find it difficult to accept the fact that we have to move. However, it's not just the moving that I find it hard to swallow. Actually, it is not even about the moving. It is about the fact that no one bothered about what I felt, or what my sister felt. It is about the eagerness to sell the place and not find a new home in time, causing us to have to shift temporarily to an old and lousy (which I haven't seen for myself yet, but my mum admitted to me that it was old and lousy, so) apartment in the remote corner of Taman Jurong, which you could probably guess that it is in Jurong (because, duh) but which you probably have no idea which part of Jurong it is in because it is so god damn remote and ulu and... and... stupid.

And even if it is not the wisdom that my parents have in selling and not buying in time (as Brother Lachman so aptly put it, "wisdom"), it is about the fact that no one cares to make it any better. No one bothers to talk to me about it (because it ends up in quarrels anyway), and no one bothers to pack, and no one bothers to ensure that everything goes smoothly. And now, because of all this, we have to give up our turtles for adoption. Like, WHAT THE FUCK. I am still not convinced that the place can't even hold 2 fish tanks. And that's the only bloody reason they are giving me. "Oh, the place is too small, we can't put the fish tanks." The stupidity, oh the damned pathetic stupidity (or perhaps I should say wisdom).

Okay, EVEN if it is not that. Ultimately, it's the promise. From the moment they mentioned the house selling to me, the images have been playing in my head.

We are walking home from dinner. That was in 2002 I suppose, when we first moved to this place. And I ask, "So how long will we be staying here?"

"Until all of you get married, and move out on your own, of course."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

And we go home together, smiling, as a family, knowing that this is going to be our home.

Because of this promise, I treated this place as my permanent home. I keep stashes of memories, things that remind me of my past, thinking that I don't have to move. I make my room comfortable, and fit everything nicely according to how I like it.

Then this happens. As I pack everything in boxes, as I tear down the things I pasted on the walls, as I remove the different things from the different stashes that I placed them into, AS I THROW THE THINGS THAT SERVE ONLY NOSTALGIA BECAUSE I COULDN'T BRING EVERYTHING OVER, every single item I hold and put into the box or throw reminds me of this promise. And in reminder of this promise, it reminds me, oh how it reminds me, of how the promise is broken. Shattered into a million pieces like sand that just flows out of one's hand. A promise treated as if it has never been spoken of before. A promise of which it's value goes down to naught.

But ultimately, I have to let go. Let it all go. Like the memories that I let go into the rubbish chute, I let it go and I lose a part of myself. Give up the fight and surrender, for it is a meaningless battle. I have fought up till this moment, and defeat is knocking on my door. Another hour! And I will be gone. This place, MY HOME for the past 8 years, no longer my home.

I pray, with all sincerity, that this will go away. This stubbornness, bitterness, this part of me. That I will soon get used to the new place (which I will not be moving into until a month later, anyway). That I will stay strong and happy. That I will be myself again.

The most beautiful

The man said, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

But of course, for her that was something very difficult to believe. Women these days find such things too cliché, too common and too superficial. So she says, “I’m not.”

You see, the problem is this: It really is very difficult for the man to prove otherwise. Because it is very unlikely that his girlfriend is ACTUALLY the Miss Universe, which would then make it very easy to argue that she was INDEED the most beautiful woman in the world, although that might not be true as well.

To say something like, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, or “beauty is subjective” (they mean the same thing anyway) is really quite cliché, and it actually doesn’t mean anything much either. Because the fact that beauty is subjective makes his statement of “you are the most beautiful in the world” a very subjective statement as well.

But the thing is, when the man said such a thing, he meant it. He didn’t say it just to please his girlfriend or make her happy. He didn’t say it just so he can end the night on a “beautiful” note. He said it because he meant it.

Well, when the man said she was the most beautiful woman in the world, it’s not because she’s the Miss Universe, or that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but because in his eyes, in his world, there really is nobody else.

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference."

打就是疼， 骂就是爱。

The Chinese has never hit the bull's eye as accurately as this does when it comes to such paradoxes.

Sometimes, I do wonder - why do we do the things we do, say the things we say, not do the things we don't do, not say the things we don't say. I wonder why, oh why oh why is it so difficult to say "I love you" to the person that should have been the easiest to say it to. Why is it that we say the most hurting things, the most stupid things, the most ridiculous and the most outrageous things to the person who is least deserving of such abuse. Why do we always, always, always, hurt the one who love us, and whom we know, deep in our hearts, no matter what we say or do or show or tell others or write or shout or scream or cry, deep in our hearts we know we love. Not just love, but love deeply, treasured.

We contradict ourselves in this most basic of all things - love.

Why? Because we are humans. And not just because we are humans. Because love blinds. Love takes us under her arms, cover us with her shadow, and we are surrounded by the immense feeling of powerful, what you call that, LOVE, all with capital letters, that feeling of immense pleasure and security and protection from all that surrounds us, such that we become immune to anything that is NOT love. To indulge in it, to be filled by it, and then, to drown in it.

Maybe what drives us to love sometimes really isn't love itself. Imagine you are in darkness, and you see a beacon of light; what drives you to the beacon of light wouldn't be the light itself, but rather, the darkness. Or imagine you in the coldest of winter; what drives you to the fire isn't going to be the warmth, but the cold that besiege you. The knowledge and understanding of the might have been and might not have been, the possibilities, the fear. The more we indulge in love, the more we lose sight of what is not love, and the more we lose sight of what is not love, the less we realise that we are in love.

Hatred. What does it mean when we say that we hate somebody? Hatred does not come from nowhere. When someone hates another, he/she does not simply hate the person because the person is hate-able. Or simply because something displeases him/her about the person. When there is hatred, there has to be love. Love that you hope there was something more in the person, that you hope something in the person could change for the better, that you hope that things could just be different.

It takes effort to hate. In fact, it takes more effort to hate than to love. To constantly be displeased about somebody, to be agonised by this hatred, to be distracted and to be caught in between hatred and reconciliation. It doesn't feel good to hate. Why would anybody with a sound mind choose to hate people who are not even related, who he/she does not even care about? Before you can hate somebody, you have to really love that somebody.

So please know that even though I always bicker with you and make things so difficult, I love you. I love you and I hope things, these things these bad and horrible things, will only get better.

Clouds are singing a song, marching along, just like they do.

"In all those years he was the beneficiary of the infinite generosity of women, but he was the victim, too, because their forgiveness made possible the deepest and sweetest corruption of all, namely the idea that he was doing nothing wrong."

- Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses

School has started again for me. I woke up just half an hour before my first lecture (overslept) but arrived on time anyway. (because really, it takes just 10 minutes by the taxi while it takes an hour by the train/bus)

I didn't realise that I never stepped into school since my last paper last semester until I was having lunch in the afternoon. YOG isn't counted since I only went to NIE compound and part of the North Spine during the period.

School food is really cheap compared to what I've been stuffing myself with for the past few months. I must raise my discipline because all the cheap food especially Mr. Bean is tempting me to over-eat.

Church, Competition and Create

Attending "Create" last night made me realise something that has been at the corner of my small mind - competition improves quality, but kills meaning.

Being in the youth ministry, I've seen how competition has played a big part in almost everything that we do. Every time there's an event, we become all secretive about our projects, we poke around to see what others do. Intelligence, counter-intelligence, I've seen enough of this in the military. And then this attitude goes full blast especially when it comes to "Create".

I'm not saying that competition is all that bad. And I'm not saying that I'm totally not competitive either. But when the event becomes a time to outwit each other in terms of talent more than just enjoying a time of performance, something is seriously wrong.

Perhaps it's the introduction of the Inter-Region points, or the sheer number of events that the youths go through, but I realised that the way people from CGs view "Create" and the way people from YCGs view "Create" is vastly different.

For CGs, "Create" is just a time for them to get together and do something creative, something interesting outside of the usual church stuff. For the YCGs, "Create" is really more of a time to prove themselves, to showcase their respective talents to the rest of the congregation. I'm not saying either way is better than another, I'm just saying that the view that YCGs hold is slightly easier to tip over the edge, becoming a competition to find out who's better than who. (if you get what I mean)

And again, I must reiterate that I'm not saying that I'm not competitive here. I'm competitive, or I wouldn't have been in a competitive sports team myself. But when winning becomes a goal bigger than gaining experience, then perhaps we need to reconsider what we are doing this for. (even in canoeing, we still maintain the attitude of "experience over medals". We aim/train to win, but winning is really secondary, because the real reward is the training we put in and the experience we gain)

Personally, I believe that gaining a valuable experience, or learning something new is a greater reward than some vouchers or even gaining the title of "Best X of Create". And that was the main reason why I went out of the way to get myself out of the video team and put myself into the dance team. (okay, Christian Body Worship)

And now we learn that there is a very high possibility of us being last (because, out of point, yes), that doesn't mean that we will sulk our faces and go onto stage to do a mediocre performance. We'll still go up there and dance our best, because really, winning isn't everything.

(and I hope the finger pointing don't start, because we've discussed this issue at length even before we started practices, and we all agreed that we'll do this even if it meant that there was chance of it being out of point.)

Time

If I asked you, what time is it now?
What would you tell me?
23:19?
Wrong.

Because as you tell me it's 23:19, it has already jumped to 23:20.
There is no "now", or "present".
Even as I say "now", it would have been something of the past.
The "present" is nothing more than the future moving, transforming, becoming the past.
Time is fluid, in fact, too fluid for us to even think of measuring.

Because if I were to ask you the same question in London instead of in Singapore, it would have been 16:19 instead.
While we think our world as in the night, another man, in the same world, think his as in the day.
While we sleep, another awakes.
While we rest, another begins to work.
And that is just on our small tiny little planet.
Think of it in terms of the universe, of the galaxy.
If it was 23:19 here in Singapore, what time would it be on Mars?

Because if not for "time", you wouldn't even know what time it was.
If I had stolen away all the clocks and calendars in this world,
if I stopped the Earth from orbiting the Sun,
would time continue to run?
Yes, time would continue to run, but would we still know what time it was?

Because, if I asked you, "what is time?",
what would you say?

I would perhaps tell you,
that time is the most unreal thing in this world,
that has become the most real thing to us.

i'm not listening.

"Hey, do you have a scanner in your room?"

"Yes I do, why?"

"Oh, can you help me scan my IC?"

"Can."

"Ok, coz I need a photocopy of my IC la."

"Oh, you need a photocopy? Then I just photocopy for you la."

"Your scanner can photocopy? Ok, photocopy lo. Thanks."

"Is this for selling the house?"

"Yes... need the photocopy of my IC..."

"I won't do it."

"What?"

"I won't do it. I won't photocopy your IC to sell the house."

"What, don't like that la."

"I'm sorry. If you want to sell the house, go do it on your own. I will have no part in the selling of this house."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

damn it.

And I’m always pretty happy when I’m just kicking back with you

This post should have been published about 2 weeks ago, but it never did make onto the online world because:

1) I was writing halfway and then I stopped.
2) I thought I saved a draft.
3) The draft wasn't saved when I came back to check.
4) I didn't have the time/inspiration to write anything since.

Anyway, It's been 3 weeks since I started working as an Assistant Chef, or Chef Assistant, whatever makes you happy. But technically, this is only my 2nd week at work, because the past week was spent... er, preparing myself to protect my motherland (whatever). My job scope is simple, assist the chef in the kitchen, and sometimes, be the chef in the kitchen. And this includes, cutting the ingredients, preparing the ingredients, cooking the dishes, washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen, clearing the trash, packing the fridge... amidst other random things like eating sandwiches and steak.

Overall, I like this job. It's really quite an experience, and I'm learning quite a lot. No I don't actually learn how to dish up the "fantastic" dishes because most things are already prepacked, but I did learn many "kitchen skills", and of course, I can differentiate an onion from a garlic from a ginger from an asparagus from a spinach from a broccoli. I can smell what things went bad and what can still be used. I know if something is burnt or if it's undercooked. I can cut almost anything and not make a mess in the kitchen. And most importantly, I discovered how amazing a microwave can be. And to sum it up, it's been a tiring, painful, and fun experience for myself.

It's tiring. Yes it is. Standing in the kitchen and working non-stop for up to 10 hours is seriously no joke. If I'm not washing the dishes, I'll be cutting vegetables. If I'm not cutting vegetables, I'll be packing the ingredients. If I'm not packing the ingredients, I'll be clearing the trash. If I'm not clearing the trash, I'll be cooking. If I'm not cooking, I'll be washing the dishes. Simply put, the work never stops. (and as my colleague told me, if the work stops, there won't be a need for me to work part time)

It's painful. That's just part of the deal I suppose, and it made me realise just how unprepared I was to work in the kitchen even though I had experience cooking at home. First day at work and I cut my thumb while trying to chop some tomatoes. The knife is sharp, VERY SHARP, and it doesn't take much effort to leave a deep cut on my thumb. Technically, the kitchen knife is the chef's best friend and worst enemy. And since then, I've been wielding my knife like a pro. (I'm exaggerating. I just haven't cut myself since) Second day at work and I burnt my fingers. Left quite a few blisters on my fingers. (but as my colleague says (again), every chef has burn scars to show *and then he shows me his*)

It's fun. And I'm just glad it is. Well, I actually find it quite nice that people in the cafe calls me "chef" (even though I know it's probably because they don't know what else to call me because they don't know my name). Kinda feel a little important in the place. Okay, no big deal, I know. I also picked up a whole bunch of "chef lingo", and here's a few just for starters.

a) 打仗 - to fight a war - basically, to "battle" the rush hour, usually lunch hour, madness. It is actually quite mad working during lunch, because the orders just keep coming, and one wrong move could cause the orders to just jam and... well, things can get quite crazy and frustrating. So yes, it's like a war.

b) 清场 - to clear the battlefield - well, after each dish is served and there is a little pause between orders, it is mandatory that the chefs clear whatever is around his workzone, such as ingredients, knife, bowls, whatever. It can get quite messy, and if things are not cleared, it gets messier.

c) 你来戴帽子你来做啦 - you wear the hat and do it yourself, lah - a very common retort to the crew members who keep rushing us for their orders to be ready. Basically, rush hour is frustrating for everybody; the chefs are trying to get everything out, and the crew is trying to get the orders served fast. So when people get rushed, they get irritated. Simple.

In other news: 'Inception' was amazing. And I enjoy it all the more because I've always been someone who have been very interested in dreams, because I dream a lot, and because I love my dreams.

I won't go so much into providing a review, because that would cause this post to have 2 topics (which it already has anyway, but I want to pretend there isn't) and that would be overloading. But I like how they map the dreams so realistically, not realistic in the sense that they are real, but in the sense that this is how I dream. Love things like having dreams within dreams, how you don't know how you end up where you were and you never bother to question it, and the "kick". So true.

One thing though, the dreams were too "real", too logical, to be dreams. Okay, I know it's subjective, but my dreams are damn weird, and they are set in the weirdest places with the weirdest characters. And the things I do are things which are damn weird, and have no logic in them. And here's the best part: I don't find that there is anything wrong in my dreams. In my dreams, weird is logic.

I don't wanna gain the whole world and lose my

Soul. What is a soul?

The event last Friday at Hearts on Fire was quite ambitiously named "I don't wanna gain the whole world but lose my soul", but I never got to find out what a soul is even after the event is over.

I never really got involved in the event this time, other than pumping my brain dry of ideas during a meeting at Somerset 313, which happens to be becoming our favourite meeting location for the Region B think tank. My mind was really on other irrelevant but "soulful" things.

For all my life as a christian, and I have been a christian for a really long time, I have been told that animals, ALL animals, do not have a soul. Only humans, we GREAT humans, have souls. Well, I understand the whole theory behind this, that humans are more superior than animals, created in God's image, therefore it is unthinkable that animals have the only immortal thing that humans possess - souls.

But that is really a difficult theory to accept. I will not go into how it is difficult to assert if we were created in God's image or if God was created in our image (because that is really too darn dangerous), but I will have to say there is nowhere in the bible that ever mentioned the non-existence of souls in animals. All we have are references and interpretations. So it is safe to say that no one actually knows for sure that animals have no souls.

Before I even go on to explain why, I think it is only fair that I define what soul is. Alright, this is no formal definition, but this is just how I define soul and what I will use for this write-up. Basically to me, a soul is really who I am. My character, my emotions, my memories, my identity. It is what defines me as me.

I came to this definition only because I watched the movie "Wall-E". And the last scene showed how Wall-E, though fixed from his damages after saving the plant, lost all his memory and identity and emotions. And on the spot, I'm sure most people would say he had lost his "soul". The body is an empty vessel which does not last, if not for the soul that it contains. As C.S Lewis so aptly put it, "You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body."

And animals, they have character, they have emotions, they have memories, they have identity. I have interacted with many animals (okay, cats) and I know it straight away when I look into their eyes that it isn't just an empty vessel that I was looking into. Animals have souls, and when we go to heaven, we will be seeing animals there as well. Cats, lots of cats for sure. And if you need a bible verse, here you go:

From Isaiah's description of "New Heavens and a New Earth" in Isaiah 65:25, "The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox, but dust will be the serpent’s food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, says the LORD."

So that's animals in heaven for you.

But maybe animals have "lesser" souls, souls that are inferior to us humans. Well, that is an acceptable theory, considering how God specifically made humans in his image. However, the skeptical me just can't shake off the whole idea of how stubborn and self-centered we are. Don't we just love to put ourselves in the center of everything? But I'm going out of point.

Nevertheless, if there is any one difference between the human soul and the animal soul, it is that the human soul needs saving, and the animal soul doesn't. Jesus came to save the human race only because the human race needed saving, only because the sins are only sins by human standards.

And perhaps, I shall close with this story I got off the internet:

An elderly widow's beloved little dog died after fifteen faithful years. Distraught, she went to her pastor.

"Parson," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, "the vicar said animals have no souls. My darling little dog Fluffy has died. Does that mean I won’t see her again in heaven?"

"Madam," said the old priest, "God, in his great love and wisdom has created heaven to be a place of perfect happiness. I am sure that if you need your little dog to complete your happiness, you will find her there."

You'd break your neck to keep your chin up.

I have a rather queer habit.

Every time I listen to my iPod, I like to put it on "shuffle", so that the songs I listen to will be random.

However, I would always already have a song/songs in mind that I would like to listen to, and the iPod would usually never play the song/songs I have in my mind. And then, I would keep hitting the "forward" button until this song/songs play.

So, does my iPod really have the freewill to choose for itself what songs to play?

Do we really have the freewill we think we have? Or is it a freedom equivalent to one of a dog on a leash?

Oh there will be love love love wherever you go

Sonnet 14 - If thou must love me, let it be for nought

XIV

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Talismans/men

Two pieces of talisman.
Black ink on yellow paper.

A secret message,
an ancient riddle.

He dare not read
any deeper.

the glass eye

I walked home today
without my spectacles
showing the world to me.

How different would my life be
if I had perfect eyesight?

Or, if I am actually blind.

oreos are now upon us

Ipsen and his good friend Colin worked at a tavern in Treno.

One day, Ipsen got a letter. The letter was so wet from rain that most of the writing was illegible. The only part he could read said, 'Come back home.'.

Nowadays, we have airships and stuff, but back then, it was really hard to travel.

He didn't know why he had to go back, but he got some time off, gathered his things, and set out on his journey home. He walked a thousand leagues through the Mist. Sometimes he was attacked by vicious monsters, but he made it, because his friend Colin was by his side.

And then, after much time on the road... He had to ask Colin something:

"Why did you come with me?"

"Only because I wanted to go with you"

- Zidane, in Final Fantasy IX

And who'll hear the echoes of stories never told?

“Think of this – that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other. True, the writer may have been alone also with Spenser’s golden apples in the Faerie Queen, Proserpina’s garden, glistering bright among the place’s ashes and cinders, may have seen in his mind’s eye, apple of his eye, the golden fruit of the Primavera, may have seen Paradise Lost, in the garden where Eve recalled Pomona and Proserpina. He was alone when he wrote and he was not alone then, all these voices sang, the same words, golden apples, different worlds in different places, an Irish castle, an unseen cottage, elastic-walled and grey round blind eyes.”

– A.S Byatt, Possession

Flight of Icarus

They stood at the ledge, both Daedalus and Icarus, ready to escape Crete in magnificent flight. Two wings were specially furnished, fashioned remarkably in wax, waiting to bring the two mortals into the open sky.

Looking out towards the sea, they could see only the water and horizon. Freedom laid itself out before them, the open water and the endless sky. They would escape Crete at last.

"Are you ready, son?"

"Yes, father, I am."

"Remember, never go too near to the sea nor to the sun. For the sea will dampen your wings, making it too heavy for flight and the sun is too hot for your wax wings."

They jumped off, and their wings flapped in silent flight. Angry waves were crashing below, and the sun was shining greatly above. The two mortals took flight like angels, or some might even believe them to be gods.

As they were in mid-flight, Icarus began to fly higher and higher. Some said the heat got to Icarus, and that he became giddy. Others said he was dazzled and fascinated by the beauty of the sun. As he went higher in flight, the wax on his wings began to slow drip off, feathers were slowly becoming bare arms.

"Icarus! Stop! You are too near the sun!" Daedalus screamed but his caution landed only on deaf ears, for Icarus was not listening. He was in his own world of thoughts.

"What's the use of flying if I could only fly to a certain height?"

Icarus's fingers began to show.

"What's the use of wings if I was only supposed to return to land?"

The wings were disappearing, his hands were showing.

"I shall fly high, even if it meant that it would be my last flight."

There were no more wings, and he plummeted toward the sea.

"At least, I've been higher than where I was supposed to be."

At least, he flew.

Our paths they did cross though I cannot say just why

And, yes, it's my birthday. Yeah, I am 22, I am so happy.

I do believe I've grown up, despite my rather childish behaviours. It's just... everyone is growing, everyone is losing their youth every second, but they only realise this once a year and it's already too late. I just want to... be childish before I can no longer.

Well, anyway, I've received this card from a group of my friends (Alex, Andrea, Bryan, Chen Min, Dixon, Jeff, Jia Yan, Shu Ting, Xin Di, Ying Hui, Yong Jie and Zhi Wei). Not the small birthday card that you can buy from Kinokuniya, but a big custom card on which all them drew their variations of Cloud, who is one of my favourite characters from my favourite video game, Final Fantasy VII.

It is a very touching gesture, and I know that many of them would not have known who Cloud is and would have needed to go onto the internet to find out, and I know that many of my friends aren't exactly artists, but still, the pictures were all excellent and the effort made everything even more beautiful. This gift of friendship is invaluable and I would not trade it for the world.

I shall not do the card injustice by taking a picture of it, so just try to imagine its awesomeness as it lies in my room while I try to think of a place to properly place it.

Okay, my birthday aside, I must tell everyone who is reading this a very special something which I saw one morning when I went for training at MacRitchie. I forgot when this was, sometime during last week. As usual, I arrived at the reservoir in the early morning, and I saw on top of the water a layer of mist. And the whole place looked like a dreamscape.

Mist is such an interesting phenomena. Maybe it's called fog, I am not sure. But it's actually water evaporating from the surface, but then, never quite left the surface of the water. It's as if it's in a "liminal state". Trapped in between leaving and staying, and yet at the same time open and ambiguous, free from definition.

"Liminality", this has been the word on my mind for quite some time now. We are liminal creatures. Always transiting, always ambiguous, always not open for definition, and yet, we are trapped in this very ambiguity that we surround ourselves in. We contradict ourselves but yet affirms in contradictions. We are mutable and our mutability becomes our only constant. We believe only because we doubt. We let go because we love.

We are like mist, which wants to ascend to the sky but at the same time, misses the water body. And then we remain there, in a state of limbo, not wanting to lean to one side or the other, because we do not know what's on one side or the other. Could it be hell? Could it be heaven? We choose not to make a decision because we fear the consequences of making one, but in choosing we have already decided. We have decided that we shall be this way, hanging in the in-between, as if we were trying to keep the see-saw from leaning on one side.

Like the mist, we disappear eventually. We could be blown by the wind, we could have returned to where we came from, or we could have really ascended to the sky. And the beauty of creating a dreamscape becomes only a short lived one. However, the beauty, though short lived, would have remained eternal in the eyes of those who beheld it.

All of us are dreamers and dreams at the exact same moment.