Observations through the whiskey glass
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Cat again
Take your time to see if you can read each line aloud without mistake.
Most folks can't do it.
"This is this Cat.
This is is Cat.
This is how Cat.
This is to Cat.
This is keep Cat.
This is a Cat.
This is retard Cat.
This is busy Cat.
This is for Cat.
This is forty Cat.
This is seconds Cat."
Congratulations.
Now read the third word of each line.
Take your time to see if you can read each line aloud without mistake.
Most folks can't do it.
"This is this Cat.
This is is Cat.
This is how Cat.
This is to Cat.
This is keep Cat.
This is a Cat.
This is retard Cat.
This is busy Cat.
This is for Cat.
This is forty Cat.
This is seconds Cat."
Congratulations.
Now read the third word of each line.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Free
I was having a smoke after lunch, when my attention was caught by a few mynas fighting for some leftovers. The sight of these small birds hopping around with bopping heads, brought a smile to my face. One jumped onto my table, cocked his head curiously at me. Then he started chirping away.
A flurry of thoughts surfaced in my mind:
-what was he trying to tell me?
-was he even trying to communicate with me?
-do birds ever question their own existence?
-is life as non-humans as simple as food for survival, territory for brood, copulation to ensure longevity of the species?
Some says they want to fly free as a bird. Do birds feel free when they are riding the currents? Do birds wish to have arms instead of wing?
I wish to be a bird, not to soar the skies(Ever heard of an acrophobic bird?). I wish to be a bird, just a tiny part of the natural food chain, not having(hopefully) the ability to question life and existence.
"Nature shows that with the growth of intelligence comes increased capacity for pain, and it is only with the highest degree of intelligence that suffering reaches its supreme point. " ~ Arthur Schopenhauer
I was having a smoke after lunch, when my attention was caught by a few mynas fighting for some leftovers. The sight of these small birds hopping around with bopping heads, brought a smile to my face. One jumped onto my table, cocked his head curiously at me. Then he started chirping away.
A flurry of thoughts surfaced in my mind:
-what was he trying to tell me?
-was he even trying to communicate with me?
-do birds ever question their own existence?
-is life as non-humans as simple as food for survival, territory for brood, copulation to ensure longevity of the species?
Some says they want to fly free as a bird. Do birds feel free when they are riding the currents? Do birds wish to have arms instead of wing?
I wish to be a bird, not to soar the skies(Ever heard of an acrophobic bird?). I wish to be a bird, just a tiny part of the natural food chain, not having(hopefully) the ability to question life and existence.
"Nature shows that with the growth of intelligence comes increased capacity for pain, and it is only with the highest degree of intelligence that suffering reaches its supreme point. " ~ Arthur Schopenhauer
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Rants
1. Why the hell do Macdonald's talk so much about healthy living on their trayliners when we all know that they serve junk food?
2. Employers of domestic help should be made to clean public toilets for a month if they do not give their poor employees at least one day off per week.
3. A man called one of the radio stations to dedicate a song to his first gf whom he was seeing for ten years and married to for three.
My take on this: After 3 years of marriage, and financial/career stability, he started to attract some sweet young things' attention. This being the first gf of his that he made the mistake of marrying, he couldn't stand the temptation of hooking up with the new, 'fresh' women.
In a nutshell, this dedication was to appease his own guilt.
4. When a man step into a ladies' restroom by mistake, the women inside would scream and call him a pervert. When a woman step into a men's room, it is just a mistake that would be greeted by amused looks.
5. When a man gets drunk and 'touch' a woman in a pub, he will be outraging the woman's modesty. When a woman does that to a man, everyone will laugh. Why can't the male victim be traumatised and the female victim be enjoying the caress???
6. I am sick of women saying all men are bastards. Once upon a time, men were romantic fools who were so hurt by bitches that they realised it is safer to think with their balls. So don't freaking put all the blame on men.
/rant off.
PS. These are my rants and I don't really care about how you feel about them. As such, you ain't allowed to comment.
1. Why the hell do Macdonald's talk so much about healthy living on their trayliners when we all know that they serve junk food?
2. Employers of domestic help should be made to clean public toilets for a month if they do not give their poor employees at least one day off per week.
3. A man called one of the radio stations to dedicate a song to his first gf whom he was seeing for ten years and married to for three.
My take on this: After 3 years of marriage, and financial/career stability, he started to attract some sweet young things' attention. This being the first gf of his that he made the mistake of marrying, he couldn't stand the temptation of hooking up with the new, 'fresh' women.
In a nutshell, this dedication was to appease his own guilt.
4. When a man step into a ladies' restroom by mistake, the women inside would scream and call him a pervert. When a woman step into a men's room, it is just a mistake that would be greeted by amused looks.
5. When a man gets drunk and 'touch' a woman in a pub, he will be outraging the woman's modesty. When a woman does that to a man, everyone will laugh. Why can't the male victim be traumatised and the female victim be enjoying the caress???
6. I am sick of women saying all men are bastards. Once upon a time, men were romantic fools who were so hurt by bitches that they realised it is safer to think with their balls. So don't freaking put all the blame on men.
/rant off.
PS. These are my rants and I don't really care about how you feel about them. As such, you ain't allowed to comment.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
I don't want to be tomorrow-ed please.
If you enjoy a read here, thanks much. If you feel like introducing my writings to a like-minded friend whom you think will enjoy the post, go ahead. But please please don't submit my post to tomorrow.sg.
Thanks much.
PS. The banner is created by Ah9's fantastic creativity and photoshop skills. Thanks dude.
If you enjoy a read here, thanks much. If you feel like introducing my writings to a like-minded friend whom you think will enjoy the post, go ahead. But please please don't submit my post to tomorrow.sg.
Thanks much.
PS. The banner is created by Ah9's fantastic creativity and photoshop skills. Thanks dude.
Monday, June 13, 2005
National Service
I was called up by the authorities to serve the nation for a couple of days last week. Albeit having to sleep through most of the weekend to recuperate from the aches all over, I enjoyed the session thoroughly.
To me, getting called up for in-camp training is the best time to take a break from work to enjoy the little details of nature. Listening to the crickets chirping in the still of the night. The toads croaking in symphony after the rain. Leaves rustling lazily in the afternoon as I was cleaning the rifle in the training shed. I spent most of the 'free' time peering into the undergrowth observing the tiny creatures scuttling around. I observed with interest as a translucent, flat-looking spider crawled into the barrel of my rifle.
When I removed myself from the situation, I realised I must have looked like a curious boy fascinated with mother nature.
I remembered the days in my late teens when I was in the army. When we bitched and moaned about every training in the field we went. Funny how, only fourteen years down the road then I learnt how to filled up the pockets of free time there observing the wonders of nature.
Who says going for reservist training is boring? You just need to know how to appreciate the surroundings, away from the concrete jungle we live in.
I was called up by the authorities to serve the nation for a couple of days last week. Albeit having to sleep through most of the weekend to recuperate from the aches all over, I enjoyed the session thoroughly.
To me, getting called up for in-camp training is the best time to take a break from work to enjoy the little details of nature. Listening to the crickets chirping in the still of the night. The toads croaking in symphony after the rain. Leaves rustling lazily in the afternoon as I was cleaning the rifle in the training shed. I spent most of the 'free' time peering into the undergrowth observing the tiny creatures scuttling around. I observed with interest as a translucent, flat-looking spider crawled into the barrel of my rifle.
When I removed myself from the situation, I realised I must have looked like a curious boy fascinated with mother nature.
I remembered the days in my late teens when I was in the army. When we bitched and moaned about every training in the field we went. Funny how, only fourteen years down the road then I learnt how to filled up the pockets of free time there observing the wonders of nature.
Who says going for reservist training is boring? You just need to know how to appreciate the surroundings, away from the concrete jungle we live in.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
The Song
I was going through my old blog, contemplating deletion. Finally decided to port some of the old stuff that meant more to me, over, before I do it. This was something I wrote last May, inspired by a dream.
---
The Song
It was a solemn affair. Men and women, dressed in sombre shades, whispered in hushed tones. The common topic was, of course, the deceased. The questions hanging in the air ranged from the mysterious way he died, to the huge debts that he accumulated
I was sitting alone, away from the crowd, reminiscing the good times I spent with him. How, as kids, we won marbles from the neighbourhood gang. How we defended another kid from the neighbourhood bully (and got caned by our parents later for what we though was a righteous act).
A fresh, feminine and strangely familiar scent wafted passed me. I shook my head to clear the lingering traces of old memories as I peered about looking for the source.
It was Her.
She looked as beautiful as before, walking with that signature gait, which always reminded me of the transitional stage of a young cat gambolling around to the graceful catwalk of an adult feline.
She saw me.
I wondered what her reaction would me. Anger? embarrassment? Or would she just plainly ignore me
I got my answers in the next split second. She broke into that unconstrained grin of her. She walked over and sat next to me, resting her hand on mine reassuringly. There were so many questions i wanted to ask her. How has she been? What happened since the last we met? And most importantly, what was her relation to the deceased. Somehow, instincts told me not to ask, commanded me to maintain silence and wait....
There was a sudden shuffling as the priest walked up the aisle. It was time for the final prayers.
She stood up and intercepted the priest. She flashed her angelic smile at him. He nodded, and stepped aside.
She faced me again and gave me a reassuring smile. Then she started to sing....
This was the first time I heard her sing. Her voice was mesmerizing and ethereal. She sang in a strange language. I was sure none of us present understood the it. Yet through her song, images of the past flooded our sensory ducts. The creation of the world, the rise and fall of the First, the coming of Man, the Golden years of the Heroes. Adrenaline raced through our blood she marched us through the Wars. Anger filled us when she sang about the Betrayal. We wept on our knees when she lament the destruction of the Great Forest. Then she sang about blood ties, the bonds of kinship and the blessing of friendship. How these bonds form the basic blocks of the society.
Realization hit us, all who were present at that moment. Those who were criticizing the deceased's lifestyle stared at their feet in embarrassment.
I felt a certain sense of peace. I knew he was a good man put through difficult circumstances. I knew then that he has moved on through the Veil, to be the hero that he has always been.
The song stopped. I looked up to find that she is gone. I smiled.
Thank you for the Song of Passing. You have given us, the ones still caught in the Web, Hope.
I was going through my old blog, contemplating deletion. Finally decided to port some of the old stuff that meant more to me, over, before I do it. This was something I wrote last May, inspired by a dream.
---
The Song
It was a solemn affair. Men and women, dressed in sombre shades, whispered in hushed tones. The common topic was, of course, the deceased. The questions hanging in the air ranged from the mysterious way he died, to the huge debts that he accumulated
I was sitting alone, away from the crowd, reminiscing the good times I spent with him. How, as kids, we won marbles from the neighbourhood gang. How we defended another kid from the neighbourhood bully (and got caned by our parents later for what we though was a righteous act).
A fresh, feminine and strangely familiar scent wafted passed me. I shook my head to clear the lingering traces of old memories as I peered about looking for the source.
It was Her.
She looked as beautiful as before, walking with that signature gait, which always reminded me of the transitional stage of a young cat gambolling around to the graceful catwalk of an adult feline.
She saw me.
I wondered what her reaction would me. Anger? embarrassment? Or would she just plainly ignore me
I got my answers in the next split second. She broke into that unconstrained grin of her. She walked over and sat next to me, resting her hand on mine reassuringly. There were so many questions i wanted to ask her. How has she been? What happened since the last we met? And most importantly, what was her relation to the deceased. Somehow, instincts told me not to ask, commanded me to maintain silence and wait....
There was a sudden shuffling as the priest walked up the aisle. It was time for the final prayers.
She stood up and intercepted the priest. She flashed her angelic smile at him. He nodded, and stepped aside.
She faced me again and gave me a reassuring smile. Then she started to sing....
This was the first time I heard her sing. Her voice was mesmerizing and ethereal. She sang in a strange language. I was sure none of us present understood the it. Yet through her song, images of the past flooded our sensory ducts. The creation of the world, the rise and fall of the First, the coming of Man, the Golden years of the Heroes. Adrenaline raced through our blood she marched us through the Wars. Anger filled us when she sang about the Betrayal. We wept on our knees when she lament the destruction of the Great Forest. Then she sang about blood ties, the bonds of kinship and the blessing of friendship. How these bonds form the basic blocks of the society.
Realization hit us, all who were present at that moment. Those who were criticizing the deceased's lifestyle stared at their feet in embarrassment.
I felt a certain sense of peace. I knew he was a good man put through difficult circumstances. I knew then that he has moved on through the Veil, to be the hero that he has always been.
The song stopped. I looked up to find that she is gone. I smiled.
Thank you for the Song of Passing. You have given us, the ones still caught in the Web, Hope.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Change
It's been 3 years since I last saw her. As I was on my way to meet her, I was wondering how much this quiet, petite girl with a sweet smile could have changed. I could still remember the last conversation I had with her before she flew off to Brisbane...
------
"It is not easy to let go of a relationship of this length." She said quietly, finger tracing the condensation on her pint glass.
"Sometimes we have to learn to let it go when we know that it is stifling us. I let go of my 10-year relationship remember? Both of us are happier now." I replied.
"Not everyone has the guts to do it." She shifted nervously on her bar stool.
"Well, ask yourself whether you can put up with this shit for the rest of your life. If you can't, it might be better to let it go now." I took a long, slow drag on my cigarette as memories flooded in.
"He is too big a part of my life. I don't think I can do it. I don't think I could face life without him." She answered meekly.
"Your life. Your choice." I smiled tiredly. "Let's drink."
------
When I saw her at the bar, I was relieved that she still look the same. The familiar small frame with that shy, charming smile.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries friends do after a long period of absence, we updated each other on what happened in our lives.
Sometime later, the inevitable topic surfaced.
"I broke up with him 4 months ago." She beamed.
"You sure??" I was shocked. "So how are you feeling now?"
"GREAT! I have never felt so liberated in my life before!" She grinned and ran her fingers through her hair.
"Now I can date whoever I want to date and do whatever I want to do without answering to anyone!" She giggled.
"You sure?" I asked hesitantly.
"Of course! I have been busy dating different men. I feel free. I feel alive.. Finally." She replied as she eyed a lone man sitting on the other end of the bar. "Don't tell me you are not happy for me? These few years I have been thinking of what you told me back then. I finally understood. You should happy for me!"
"Ermm... ya.. I suppose so.." I smiled. "Let's drink to that."
------
Change.
Sometimes it is tough to come to terms with change.
Especially if it was your own words that catapulted someone's life in a totally new direction.
Hope.
I can only hope she knows how and when to keep a tight rein on the horses. Before the carriage of her life get smashed to bits.
It's been 3 years since I last saw her. As I was on my way to meet her, I was wondering how much this quiet, petite girl with a sweet smile could have changed. I could still remember the last conversation I had with her before she flew off to Brisbane...
------
"It is not easy to let go of a relationship of this length." She said quietly, finger tracing the condensation on her pint glass.
"Sometimes we have to learn to let it go when we know that it is stifling us. I let go of my 10-year relationship remember? Both of us are happier now." I replied.
"Not everyone has the guts to do it." She shifted nervously on her bar stool.
"Well, ask yourself whether you can put up with this shit for the rest of your life. If you can't, it might be better to let it go now." I took a long, slow drag on my cigarette as memories flooded in.
"He is too big a part of my life. I don't think I can do it. I don't think I could face life without him." She answered meekly.
"Your life. Your choice." I smiled tiredly. "Let's drink."
------
When I saw her at the bar, I was relieved that she still look the same. The familiar small frame with that shy, charming smile.
After exchanging the usual pleasantries friends do after a long period of absence, we updated each other on what happened in our lives.
Sometime later, the inevitable topic surfaced.
"I broke up with him 4 months ago." She beamed.
"You sure??" I was shocked. "So how are you feeling now?"
"GREAT! I have never felt so liberated in my life before!" She grinned and ran her fingers through her hair.
"Now I can date whoever I want to date and do whatever I want to do without answering to anyone!" She giggled.
"You sure?" I asked hesitantly.
"Of course! I have been busy dating different men. I feel free. I feel alive.. Finally." She replied as she eyed a lone man sitting on the other end of the bar. "Don't tell me you are not happy for me? These few years I have been thinking of what you told me back then. I finally understood. You should happy for me!"
"Ermm... ya.. I suppose so.." I smiled. "Let's drink to that."
------
Change.
Sometimes it is tough to come to terms with change.
Especially if it was your own words that catapulted someone's life in a totally new direction.
Hope.
I can only hope she knows how and when to keep a tight rein on the horses. Before the carriage of her life get smashed to bits.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Archives
October 2004November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
previous posts
- shifted
- Happy Lunar New Year
- How I wish.
- It's a dog's year.
- ME!!! ME!!!
- At times like these
- 1963
- Sleeping Tiger
- Blue Christmas
- 42
misc
sites i visit
blogs i read
- firecow
- xena
- milktea
- jackal
- maded
- tetanus
- eck
- whyistheplatypus
- twicepoisoneddog
- alexandra
- laughingcow
- dawn
- val
