What's so interesting about us anyway?
I think... After being influenced by the americans for so long... i think... we singaporeans need work.
Well, i think.
Wait. What the hell am I talking about, you, whoever YOU are, must be thinking.
I was just thinking... If i want to be a writer, i'll need material, right? And writers usually draw material from their immediate surroundings: The people. According to a friend, people outside asia find us exotic... they find us appealing to them because, well, we're different.
It's this way: things that are new, people will take notice. And then they'll react. So it's good news that they like us.
But i'm way ahead of myself.
Write with an audience in mind, right? And similarly, my audience is the people around me.
So what makes us tick?
I guess jackneothesonofabitch figured it out. Films about money, making more money, jobs, work, and the more recent, marriage: Things that Singaporeans tend to think about. Pepper that with with local dialogue: Hokkien, Chinese, broken English,etc. It's all fine, really. The only problem? He's making money out of it, and not me.
Alright, i'm joking. I won't be caught dead writing crap like that. jackneothesonofabitch writes for the mainstream, and given Singapore has a population of 50 people, 48 of which thinks like him, of course he'll hit the big time.
But jackneothesonofabitch does films that scratches the surface. He makes films that leaves you thinking: oh, familiar dialogue accurately portrayed on screen... But wtf was the point of that show?
Now, I don't watch alot of local arthouse films... Maybe i should. BRB.
****
AND... 21 days later.. im back!
Yes yes, im a sgt now. Life is better. U don get bossed ard anymore. Hang up your feet.
Now's the time to get plan and prepare for the future!
Yes. Erm. So....
How do we do that?
Well... The only viable plan of action now is to hone your writing skills!
So that's it! Start writing! Start.... WRITING!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
The innate pursuit of happiness
So here i am. At home. On a monday day. Inundating myself with american media. Listening to american music, learning how to play american songs on the bass, watching americans talk, letting it all sink into my head, transforming me, my outwards, into america.
By the way, I'm a 3SG.
Yeah. I'm out of Charlie. So they say sweet days are coming. Cause i'll be going to tekong to be a king amongst kings. It was tough, thailand and all. The heat, the endless walking, no sleep, the field, sand, grass, mud, the loads, the quarrels, the laughs, the quiet resistances against authorithy. Now i'm going to be authority.
Should i be excited?
Yeah, they say.... go ahead... be elated, feel good, be happy.
I won't deny. Being a 3SG in tekong has always been part of what i wanted. But i just don't feel it. It's this undeniable oppression on me. This disability, the failure to appreciate what i have. Just what the hell do i want. Why am i so hard to please? I'm still a young brat who bawls for his candy. I've yet to get over myself.
It's hard to think. You don't think really. You just let each day pass you. You don't really get a sense of fulfillment in what you do. You haven't seen the fruits of whatever labour you've laboured for. What you did to get here... you despise.
Clearly, i'm knee deep in self pity. Story of my life.
I'm thinking of what i'll do when i'm out of army. I spent a sleepless night thinking of what might have been, had i done things differently. I imagine waking up the next morning in my room with familiar yet incorrect surroundings and realise i'm back in the past 5 years before.
Ah, the infinite possibilities. Yet such thoughts are to be perished like an unwanted child in an untamed civilization.
Damn, writing this stupid blog is well... stupid. It's nothing close to therapeutic. You just immediately turn on this self-absorbed view on yourself when your typing your thoughts. Are you that cynical, Pete? Or are you hoping for an audience who will take pity on you? Well, are you willing to sell these words out to the public?
But, me knowing me, I don't remember things. I need to. I need to learn. From experiences, to let them mould me, to show me who I was, and what i've become. And this is a way of recording those experiences. So instead of ranting and raving and filling up these pages with self-piteous thoughts, let's just pen down what's happened the past weeks since the last post:
The major thing was Thailand.
Going far away from home. Living in new surroundings. Of course, i'm a season soldier, so i wasn't too averse to the shitty conditions the camp offered. By the way, the camp's called Sai Yok Camp. It's filled with mango trees, where some of us helped to some which dropped.
Man, I'm boring myself.
Anyways, almost everywhere there's a perpetual stench of rotten, unconsumed mangos on the floor. Not cool.
it was hot. Throw a egg in the air and it lands on the floor as a hard boiled egg.
it does rain. which shocked the shit outta me. But the aftermath was 30 zillion post-rain insects swarmed the place, esp. the lit areas. Imagine the bathing area. Not cool as well.
We walked alot. ALOT!
70km for 3 days 4 nights navigation. There's walking to live firing areas, walking to missions, walking to knolls. Yay for infantry.
It's tough. But not commandos kinda tough. I'm here. I took it. I survived.
Being tired is a great way of knowing a person. Let's talk more on being tired.
There are different kinds of tired. There's the quiet, suck-it-up kinda tired. There's the trooper, i'm-tired-but-let's-finish-this-shit-up kinda tired. Some, obviously, are more vocal than the other. And by vocal i mean bitching about how tired they are, refusing to lift a finger to help, never having a kind word, being argumentative... The basic kinds of tired. The most common kind of tired.
There is a discernible pattern. Let's assume everyone is pissing tired. It starts with Guy A, who is usually IC. Guy A's given a task. Obviously Guy A can't do it alone. He asks for help. Guys B-H can't give a shit. Guy A gets frustrated, uses pissed-off voice. Guy D goes, ah what the heck, he offers himself. But it's not enough. Guy A, getting more pissed off, asks for more help. Guy G, who only just recieved the cry for help because Guys B-H can't give a shit and refused to pass down the info, quickly runs to Guy A's aid, because he's morally upright and has love for his fellow men. Some follow suit out of guilt. Eventually Guy A will have to resort to picking manually. Which will create yet another argument. Which will hear alot of, i already helped out last time, and, i can't, my feet hurts, etc. Eventually the task is either not done within the alloted time, done half-heartedly, or not done, and the shit rolls down the hill. Damn i'm so american.
Let's relate this to the modern context. Let's say i'm married. My wife is Jessica Alba. She's hot. Very hot. And the weather's hot. And she's back with the shopping, and she wants help with the unloading. And I want some rough and tackle. She's having her period. I don't get what I want. It's ok. I have Megan Fox. I chide her for her self-fishness and meet up Megan for some wrestling fun. Before i leave, I tell Jessica that if she behaves, maybe she can come join later.
... Clearly, i got derailed. Where was I? Oh yes. Mangos.
My favourite fruit, those mangos, put them on ice cream, heaven.
Anyways, I survived Thailand.
And the ensuing graduation parade. Which was ok la.
So here i am. Going thru some prep course. Lectures everyday. And we get to roam the whole camp area. Yay.
I'm running dry. And i hope i never hear these 3 words from my future wife.
By the way, I'm a 3SG.
Yeah. I'm out of Charlie. So they say sweet days are coming. Cause i'll be going to tekong to be a king amongst kings. It was tough, thailand and all. The heat, the endless walking, no sleep, the field, sand, grass, mud, the loads, the quarrels, the laughs, the quiet resistances against authorithy. Now i'm going to be authority.
Should i be excited?
Yeah, they say.... go ahead... be elated, feel good, be happy.
I won't deny. Being a 3SG in tekong has always been part of what i wanted. But i just don't feel it. It's this undeniable oppression on me. This disability, the failure to appreciate what i have. Just what the hell do i want. Why am i so hard to please? I'm still a young brat who bawls for his candy. I've yet to get over myself.
It's hard to think. You don't think really. You just let each day pass you. You don't really get a sense of fulfillment in what you do. You haven't seen the fruits of whatever labour you've laboured for. What you did to get here... you despise.
Clearly, i'm knee deep in self pity. Story of my life.
I'm thinking of what i'll do when i'm out of army. I spent a sleepless night thinking of what might have been, had i done things differently. I imagine waking up the next morning in my room with familiar yet incorrect surroundings and realise i'm back in the past 5 years before.
Ah, the infinite possibilities. Yet such thoughts are to be perished like an unwanted child in an untamed civilization.
Damn, writing this stupid blog is well... stupid. It's nothing close to therapeutic. You just immediately turn on this self-absorbed view on yourself when your typing your thoughts. Are you that cynical, Pete? Or are you hoping for an audience who will take pity on you? Well, are you willing to sell these words out to the public?
But, me knowing me, I don't remember things. I need to. I need to learn. From experiences, to let them mould me, to show me who I was, and what i've become. And this is a way of recording those experiences. So instead of ranting and raving and filling up these pages with self-piteous thoughts, let's just pen down what's happened the past weeks since the last post:
The major thing was Thailand.
Going far away from home. Living in new surroundings. Of course, i'm a season soldier, so i wasn't too averse to the shitty conditions the camp offered. By the way, the camp's called Sai Yok Camp. It's filled with mango trees, where some of us helped to some which dropped.
Man, I'm boring myself.
Anyways, almost everywhere there's a perpetual stench of rotten, unconsumed mangos on the floor. Not cool.
it was hot. Throw a egg in the air and it lands on the floor as a hard boiled egg.
it does rain. which shocked the shit outta me. But the aftermath was 30 zillion post-rain insects swarmed the place, esp. the lit areas. Imagine the bathing area. Not cool as well.
We walked alot. ALOT!
70km for 3 days 4 nights navigation. There's walking to live firing areas, walking to missions, walking to knolls. Yay for infantry.
It's tough. But not commandos kinda tough. I'm here. I took it. I survived.
Being tired is a great way of knowing a person. Let's talk more on being tired.
There are different kinds of tired. There's the quiet, suck-it-up kinda tired. There's the trooper, i'm-tired-but-let's-finish-this-shit-up kinda tired. Some, obviously, are more vocal than the other. And by vocal i mean bitching about how tired they are, refusing to lift a finger to help, never having a kind word, being argumentative... The basic kinds of tired. The most common kind of tired.
There is a discernible pattern. Let's assume everyone is pissing tired. It starts with Guy A, who is usually IC. Guy A's given a task. Obviously Guy A can't do it alone. He asks for help. Guys B-H can't give a shit. Guy A gets frustrated, uses pissed-off voice. Guy D goes, ah what the heck, he offers himself. But it's not enough. Guy A, getting more pissed off, asks for more help. Guy G, who only just recieved the cry for help because Guys B-H can't give a shit and refused to pass down the info, quickly runs to Guy A's aid, because he's morally upright and has love for his fellow men. Some follow suit out of guilt. Eventually Guy A will have to resort to picking manually. Which will create yet another argument. Which will hear alot of, i already helped out last time, and, i can't, my feet hurts, etc. Eventually the task is either not done within the alloted time, done half-heartedly, or not done, and the shit rolls down the hill. Damn i'm so american.
Let's relate this to the modern context. Let's say i'm married. My wife is Jessica Alba. She's hot. Very hot. And the weather's hot. And she's back with the shopping, and she wants help with the unloading. And I want some rough and tackle. She's having her period. I don't get what I want. It's ok. I have Megan Fox. I chide her for her self-fishness and meet up Megan for some wrestling fun. Before i leave, I tell Jessica that if she behaves, maybe she can come join later.
... Clearly, i got derailed. Where was I? Oh yes. Mangos.
My favourite fruit, those mangos, put them on ice cream, heaven.
Anyways, I survived Thailand.
And the ensuing graduation parade. Which was ok la.
So here i am. Going thru some prep course. Lectures everyday. And we get to roam the whole camp area. Yay.
I'm running dry. And i hope i never hear these 3 words from my future wife.
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