Jolly Folly, Mighty Morphin'

I was back at Fullerton last night.

Might have been the towering pillars and high roof that made the place exude this familiar sense of grandeur, silencing me into admiration. Might have been the cascading flow of memories that had choked me, making me unable to speak. As guests with their roller bags passed by, I could not help but feel an urge to offer a helping hand, to tilt my head, to smile (like a fool) and offer a greeting in name of service. It is a feeling I miss.

What can I find to substitute the cliche "It only seems like yesterday"? But it really did seem like it was only yesterday when I walked into that interview room. Slipping into a suit everyday in the unbelievably musty locker room, sulking at the bad food at the cafeteria, feeling on top of the world when a compliment letter comes in from a guest who had had a great stay.

When people ask, "So how are things?", doesn't anybody feel like it's such a hard question to answer? I mean, where do I even start? Fragments flash before my eyes, episodically more than semantically. And a different set of fragments each time. I'm never a great talker to begin with, and when the mind hits a block arising from overflowing rather than uncertain information, I just don't know what to say.

Kena stun, they call it. That's when silence befalls me again. Mouth open, but unable to speak.

Posted by Brandon at Wednesday, June 17, 2009 | Permalink

Allow me to be ... what's the word? .... ulu, maybe?

Just when I thought ruffling through the pages of a book to obtain information is slowly becoming outdated, the world has already moved beyond Web 2.0. You'd think being in the States and in the center of the world's buzz would kind of elevate me to a greater level of cosmopolitan worldliness, but my sophistication in technological knowledge remains, well, unsophisticated.

The new media has become the old media, at a time when I shouldn't already be learning how to use Facebook applications, but rather, fishing for where schools of other fish are congregating in newly-established mass orgies of communication. And really, whoever has the keenest eye for new media, whoever can sow the seeds for tomorrow's next big thing, whoever dares flout the rules of convention, is in for the big catch.

Someone once said, "You do not ask Vera Wang to fit you, YOU have to fit into Vera Wang", alluding to the well-known, allegedly classy bridal outfit designer. ISN'T THAT WHAT OUR MEDIA WORLD IS TODAY? Consumers out there have become Vera Wangs, and profit-seeking suckers out there are bowing down and feeding our knightly kings and divine divas exactly what they want. Gone are the days when I tell you McDonald's tastes good. Consumers tell ME through their blogs, their virtual trumpets and their online ammunition, deflecting the very arrows that used to paralyse their own decision-making ability and choice.

And I'm just thinking, if everyone used the new media to woo consumers, then everyone becomes equally attractive compared to each other. Like a zero-sum game. So it becomes natural tendency to go faster, and the business world becomes more like a race to keep abreast.

Well, maybe, only maybe, in the future, the winner is the one who forgot to race. The one who becomes an accidental counter-culture, the one whom people so very much learn to appreciate.

A mobile phone is a mobile phone to me. Even up till today. You either call or sms. Now, I doubt the gadget that people have in their hands would be called a mobile phone for much longer, because soon we'd be able to activate short-range missiles with it. Then North Korea would move on - beyond missiles. Then, we end up catching up. And some unimaginable conception rises from the ashes.

I suppose we all can't help it. A mummy never returns to its tomb. A child, never back to its womb.

Posted by Brandon at Wednesday, June 10, 2009 | Permalink

Why do people see Singapore as boring? Why is it that the only two things people know about Singapore is chewing gum and its governance?

I kind of found some semblance of an answer from that office cubicle of mine.

I think tourism is a creative industry. (Cue: Singapore does NOT do well in that department. Look at our empty theatres and censored films.) To manage creativity with the clockwork efficiency and precision that we are so famous for is like catching a fish with a mousetrap. I'm not saying Singaporeans miss the point in trying to promote our arts, our country and our love for all things Singaporean. I'm saying we are afraid of, unable to face the consequences of the act of

CHALLENGING ASSUMPTIONS.

I love to bring up the example of the BEST JOB IN THE WORLD campaign in Australia. I vaguely remember it as a global call for someone to live the high life on a tropical beach. His or her job is just to comment on it. Something to that extent.

Well, it was kind of sensational. But it worked. People noticed.

How many times is Singapore going to pull the same tricks? The same bulbs light up Orchard Road every year during Christmas, but I doubt anyone feels differently from the previous, despite the thought and effort (I noticed during my internship) that goes into planning the light-up. WE ARE SO STUDIOUS, UNYIELDING and DILIGENT, pursuing a goal (cue: Tourism 2015 Plan) with fervour (cue: Key Performance Indicators), but whether that translates into people feeling differently about our nation is not something we can measure in definite terms.

What about our tourism product? For a country to feature the Zoo prominently (and repeatedly)in its suggested itineries, for me, is evidence of desperation. I don't think we have a lack of things to offer, but I think people do not search deep enough to find out what makes Singapore tick. People are afraid to admit that we are kiasu, kiasi, colourful and friendly in our own, special ways. It hits me as an irony that our campaign, Uniquely Singapore is about everything un-UNIQUE about us - an over-painted Clarke Quay, duck tour boats that more than half of Singaporeans have never stepped foot on and of course the world's tallest Observation Wheel (a monstrosity that rises out of a misdirected ambition).

Last week, I strolled the streets of Little India. The smell of the spices, the garland, the oils, the prata man flipping his prata in his tattered, tight, belly-revealing singlet, the flow of silk cascading down shopfronts... It set me thinking, THIS IS REALLY US. Sometimes, the understated becomes the real deal. It's so sad that organised trips to the heartlands, eating at a kopitiam and line dancing at community centres are considered OFF THE BEATEN TRACK - when honestly, these are the primary essence of our identity, waiting to be explored and for us to feel proud of.

We'll talk again when such "OFF THE BEATEN TRACK" tours become too touristy, but until we steer our boats in a different direction, we will never hit the dock. We'd be floating around, spinning in circles, as the rest of the world moves on.

What do you think?

Posted by Brandon at Sunday, June 07, 2009 | Permalink

The hardest thing about unplugging from a lifestyle of leisure and re-connecting into the socket of work life is probably staying awake. Becoz afternoon naps dissolve into your many cups of coffee, and couch-potatoing evaporate into the scented air.

Day Number 1 was a quick preview of cubicle life. My bad habit of leg shaking has to re-emerge, to get rid of that feeling of immobility. One feels hungry more easily. People converge at elevators, toilets and water-coolers, but quickly return to their compartmentalised sanctuary filled only with the sound of typing at the computer as well as stacked with piles of paperwork enough to kill acres of forests.

The life of a lowly intern. I've learnt to lower expectations. To learn to peel potatoes before plunging into the gourmet. Today, I expressed my opinion of Christmas lighting along Orchard Road in a meeting graced by designers, managers, executives and industry representatives. It must have been the longest silence in the history of my life after I presented my take - from the very back of the room. People were thinking, but I did not know what of. People were sceptical, coz eyes looking to the floor, fingers at the chin, pursed lips MUST mean doubt and apprehension. That was one of those moments where I thought, I need to vanish RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT. But couldn't.

The silence was broken by an awkward laugh by an executive, followed by a skilful re-direction of attention to someone else's earlier comment. My sigh of relief came in spurts.

Ok, I must have said something really stupid to get zero comments from the floor. Come to think of it, I MUST HAVE THROWN people off their thoughts, becoz my idea was just kind of random and on hindsight, irrelevant. Like a beautiful opera gone off-key.

Posted by Brandon at Monday, June 01, 2009 | Permalink

As the plane slowed its sprint along the runway, the airport's signature yellow neon lights seemingly flickering in the distance, this long overdue return has finally materialised.

I came back expecting a whole different Singapore, but as I laid eyes on every building on the taxi home, on the billboards, on the road signs, on the highway traffic, it feels like nothing has changed, and like I've merely been on a longer-than-usual holiday.

The weather sucks in this microwave city. But other than that, what else can I ask more for?

Posted by Brandon at Tuesday, May 26, 2009 | Permalink

Today was the day I broke the news to my coach that I will not be rowing again next semester.

It was harder than I had thought. It was a decision that I had arrived at, being tugged and pulled in all directions before it became final. How anyone can let go of the cumulation of the ridiculous amount of hard work that goes into a sport is beyond me, and but I guess I proved myself wrong today. At least 2 hours a day, 6 times a week. When frat parties are in full swing, I was dutifully in bed ensuring that I had enough sleep. When the sun busies himself preparing to reveal its head in the horizon, I was on a boat biting my tongue in the cold.

I had hated the pain. Rowers arrive at "the wall", three-quarters into a race, where one has to summon the deepest stores of remaining energy, if any. In a sardonic way, it is the most enjoyable part of a race to me. That's when the boat beside you starts to make a move, and you hang in there to maintain the lead. Every splash of the water, accompanied by perfectly-timed oar connections and catches, edges you that much closer to the finish.

I could not even bring myself to say that I was quitting, oddly enough. It almost felt disgraceful, unethical. To push aside the hand that had fed you. To simply give up. It's probably one of those adult things, where you have to stay super duper rational, straight-faced, look at all the cards you have laid on the table, and come to a bold, definitive verdict.

Every opened book has to come to a close. Now, in my treasure chest of experiences, I have a new addition. Next semester, the meter's set to zero. I have a fresh canvass to paint - the pursuit of the new, the unknown and the unfamiliar as its primary colors.

Ain't that what life is all about?

Posted by Brandon at Saturday, May 16, 2009 | Permalink

All I knew was that I was in a Boston Medical Center in the middle of Chinatown. The ambulance had brought me there, with many a jerky turn that made me want to puke more than I already was. I had called the YMCA Front Desk Agent, whom I asked for medical attention, who in a moment of kan-chiong fit, called an ambulance. The medical personnel had asked me on the way to the medical center, "If it was you, would you have called an ambulance?" I replied, "Probably not." But I knew that in my heart, I WOULD DEFINITELY have, because the 8-hour old bloat in my stomach at that time has caused me so much pain and vomitting that there was no way I would have trekked on foot to a medical facility nearby.

The night was a cold and merciless one. The nurse really couldn't be bothered. I came into ER without a busted head or a broken leg, and probably was treated with less seriousness. I hated her nonchalance, her presenting me a small plastic container for me to puke in, something which I actually had to hold on to, like a small bowl of milk cereal. She didn't empty it frequently enough, so imagine holding on to a bowl filled with puke, when trying to lie down and rest, which of course couldn't be materialised because of the nagging pain.

She forced me to down this white liquid, apparently to allow a later scan to track the movement of the fluid down my small intestine. Preliminary scans have revealed an obstruction at the first quater of my small intestine. Suddenly, more attention poured in. The nurse started to ask if I was alright, doctors from various departments began flooded into my ward, bothering me with details and fishing for details which I had to repeat again and again like an unfixable broken record. Packets of IV were changed more frequently. More eyes peeked into my ward.

"Hi, I am Dr. Austin from the GI department!" (still don't know what GI is)
"Hi, I'm a student intern here, can I do a survey with you?"
"Can you tell me what happened since you first vomitted?"

For a moment, I thought I was at the wrong place - a police station or something. I was interrogated by so many people, interviewed like a patient with a disease unheard of in history. Not far from the truth, one of the doctors diagnosed my situation as "an extremely rare case of unknown cause, especially for a young adult" like me.

THE WORST was when they had to shaft these tubes into my nose and down my oesophagus. The same nurse pushed the tube so hard into my nose, but couldn't get it all the way into my gut. She tried my other nostril and when I actually hit her arm in protest of the ridiculous force she was exerting, she stopped. She changed the tube to one with a smaller diameter. For a moment, I hated her. Really. Finally it went down. What followed was the most painful, awful 4 hours of my life.

Everytime I swallowed saliva, roughly 6 times a minute, 360 times an hour, I would feel that straw of a tube behind my throat. Super duper uncomfortable. Let's not even mention the procedure of shafting liquids up my anus, poking me for blood, asking me to urinate into the smallest of containers etc. It was a nightmare.

Finally after 4 hours of being connected to tubes, I said enough was enough. I was actually waiting for the next available specialist who "had the expertise" to put a scope/camera down my gut to check what the obstruction was. As if 4 hours wasn't enough long of a wait, the nurse could not tell me when this specialist would arrive. "Could be this afternoon, maybe early next morning..." NO WAY WAS I GOING TO HAVE THIS network of tubes down my throat waiting for the elusive doctor. I said, "I AM LEAVING." They had no choice but to let me.

On hindsight, what was this discomfort compared to the more serious life-and-death situations that this ER department oversees? We watch drama serials that tells the story of the lone patient who survives only because of of his strong will to live. I would not have been this person. I was beaten by discomfort. I gave up treatment.

A fellow patient in my ward was in an intense argument with her husband as to whether to take on the next procedure. She echoed my sentiments exactly. "Honey, I AM ALREADY in so much pain, and the doctors want to put me in a procedure that subjects me to more pain. NO I AM NOT going through this!" Amid cries, shouts and comforting exchanges of words, she finally gave in and stayed for her next procedure.

For me, this familiar voice of a "honey" was not around. I was alone in this unfamiliar city - location unknown, kin afar, and voice of rationality unmoved. This has been an experience. Very much so.

Posted by Brandon at Thursday, May 14, 2009 | Permalink

BMA - Bite My Ass. Slogan for the Cornell Big Red. We are the 2009 CHAMPIONS of the Ivy League. Bite My Ass.

Posted by Brandon at Thursday, May 14, 2009 | Permalink

The glass panels are a blank canvass, the table a foundation, the chairs a frame. Two by two, coffee aficionados, or simply academics in need of conversation, ease themselves into the picture. The cherry blossoms smoothly floats to the fore.
The bitter-sweet aftertaste of that fresh brew bounces off that well-rested tongue. At some appropriate pause or at some moment of impulse, his hands reach out to the cup. There’s steam wheedling from the brim, and with each sip, every verbal expression and outpouring is fuelled. Conversations open up. Laughs –hearty ones – permeate the spaces between the flowers.

That cup sits in the middle, observing the exchanges punctuated by nods, gestures, smiles and blinks. The occasional glance at the sidewalk outside hastily returns to the center of the conversation. Only an earthquake could shake up quite a distraction. His fingers embrace the cup’s body, like it was a substitute, a tool of comfort or merely a source of composure.

The lady stands up and leaves.

He opens up his laptop, head turning around, looking quite like the lost deer I saw on the road three days ago. His phone rings and he picks it up, fumbling for his hand-set. He suddenly becomes sensitive to the noise around, a pen drop or a shuffle of exam notes, catches his unnecessary attention. He plugs his headphones into his ears and like one of those head-bobbers in the café, becomes immersed in his individual world, unfazed and unaffected, or decidedly so.

The image loses its symmetry, the cup loses its steam, the library returns to the silence it was meant to provide. Where is that perfect moment? It stands tall like a cup of latte, hoping to get your attention. You only just let it slip by.

Posted by Brandon at Monday, May 04, 2009 | Permalink

Whenever I reach the Facebook main page, my mind throws itself back to the time when primitives still saw leaves as clothes, smoke as signals and rice as luxury. People of the past just long to be fed, to have a roof over their heads, and put simply, to maintain the status quo. I think that's why we LOVE facebook because it gives us the exact opposite.

Because change has become the cornerstone of our lives today, the faster the more definitive, Facebook has seen unprecendented success in dumping truckload after truckload of information on us, and quite frankly, not showing much restraint. We are the hands that feed this trend. Even the wonder-thing of yore - emails - does not come close enough to represent our fetish for change. I compare our constant refreshing of the Facebook news feed page with that of our email page. The former always promises updates.

What's more interesting is that this change is actually kind of hollow because nothing has really altered. Our lives have remain the way they have been, just that we have chosen to subject them to greater transparency, scrutiny and controversy. We take these "Which seven dwarf am I" tests, or RSVP to some bogus event, to give our intangible characteristics some body, some physicality and form.

Of course Facebook users are known to "stalk" others, not that I am not guilty of it sometimes. But what can you learn about someone through 2-D pictures that capture a moment in time, a gazillionth of the days, months and years you need to REALLY get a feel of someone? Even then, you could be wrong. Maybe the pleasure lies in the anonymity of knowing. In our show of openness on Facebook, manifested in the seen-by-all profiles that connect strangers across networks, we simultaneously hide ourselves behind an opaque drape, peeking at others' private (or maybe already public) lives. Are we forming more and more arbitrary connections with others, when the purpose of interaction is to galvanize these relationships?

Posted by Brandon at Sunday, May 03, 2009 | Permalink

I don't know which is worse. Feeling like a cold duck rowing in the evening rain, or getting sunburnt on the same day in the splendid morning.

Ithaca is full of surprises.

The end of the semester is in sight. Really doesn't feel like a full academic year has passed, because when you are doing silly things and excuse yourself blatantly by saying, "I'm just a Freshman. Honeymoon period," time whizzes you by and snatches away your ticket to stupidity.

After 2 semesters at Cornell, I wouldn't say I have become a more clever person. But then again, since when was the whole point of education about increasing intelligence? If anything, I think I have opened my eyes from beyond a peep into a glary exploration into the Western psyche. Up to this day, I still disapprove of partying till you puke, wasting the weekend away and the speak-before-you-think disposition. Granted, no man is perfect, but somewhere deep in me, there is a Singaporean shouting out to remain Singaporean and proud to be all things Singaporean, for good or for bad.

I love the "any person, any study" philosophy here that means that everyone gets a chance to do what he wants at Cornell, and the flexibility and choice offered is really pretty amazing I must say. Being at the center of the buzz of the world, hours away from the bright lights of New York City and on the same continent as the man of the century Barack Obama, a cosmopolitan air wraps me, but doesn't necessarily stick onto me.

Above all, however, this year was a really lonely year. Maybe it's University life or just my personality, but despite the U.S. being the hub of all the world's connections and networks, I have pretty much been a soul floating on my own platform. I believe it's because as you age, you mould a voice of your own, and I'm beginning to see how people differ from me, and as a friend put it, "Brandon, you are wired so differently!" Blame it on my parents or something, but I THINK I REALLY ENJOY BEING MYSELF FOR WHO I AM. I know I say weird things at times, but I think I make a point! I ALWAYS wonder why people just can't think beyond a certain framework. People get pre-occupied with boundaries. And get all defensive and sceptical when a different opinion is raised.

It sure doesn't help that the 3 most important things in my life - family, friends and food (authentic food)- are miles away. I remember my father's pitch-imperfect tone-deaf rendition of "A Thousand Miles", where he goes "A thousand miles, a thousand miles, a thousand miles, a thousand miles, you are a thousand miles away from home...". The karaoke screen shows a train moving quickly on the railway tracks and the incongruous image of a long-haired blonde waving her hair in the wind, which moves the tall cattails in the plantations. If only that train appeared before me this very moment and sent me on my way home, and even if I land on a plantation of cattail, I wouldn't mind, because I know from there, I could still find my way back home, or at least begin to.

As I finish this entry, the sky outside turns dark. It's kinda cold. I'm drunk from downing water. Heck, life goes on. I need to bathe, wash up, feel my body again and get down to work. Reminding myself the reason why I'm here, it kind of feels better.

:)

Posted by Brandon at Wednesday, April 29, 2009 | Permalink

What is this inner state,
That leaves the newspapers stacked in odd dimensions,
That builds dust on that age-old printer,
And condensation in an empty bottle.

What is this fine imagination,
That turns an eye on cereal bits by the vase,
The dustbin brimming like a popcorn maker,
And the crooked blinds since 1984.

My name is on a placard,
I can only see some letters.
My heart might be ticking over,
I can feel it counting nickles.

What is this funny new song,
Immaculate like a Vegas card dealer,
Filthy like a Manhattan deli owner,
And mysterious like a Hollywood chick flick director.

I wished I had a chocolate bar,
A beer, a babe and a spanking car.
I wish I had a mind,
A space, a love, a music, a sunset,
If not, just time.

Posted by Brandon at Friday, April 24, 2009 | Permalink

When you are in a boat, it takes 8 people to move it as fast as possible. It becomes presumptuous and ridiculous when people start fighting over who's giving more and who's holding back. I hate it when someone throws a tantrum and appeals to the excuse that someone else is not pulling hard enough. It just sows unnecessary distrust. Just do it man.

My "favourite" groupwork has all come rolling onto my lap again. Haiz, what to do. Hell week this week. All braced.

I think I've grown up a little more recently, only because I've started to take to coffee in the morning. It makes you feel more adult, doesn't it? Maybe it's just those gourmet coffeehouses with their exotic blends boasting Fair Trade, in cups nestled in colourful coffee collars, coffee beans spilling out of antique burlap bags - a whole image that makes one feel... elevated... distinguished to be holding on to a coffee.

But to me, coffee really lifts the spirits. I mean, sometimes, when I just feel like what the lecturer's saying is going into one of my ears and marching out from the other, I gallop with anticipation to the cafe for a dose of my favourite Kenyan or Columbian coffee. Coffee in hand, especially when the cold stings your ears as you realise that Spring has decided to marry Winter for some reason, you trumpet your way out of the building, and really feel rejuvenated and renewed. Maybe it's the caffeine or just me over-thinking things again, but there's something to it that puts you in a different mood without fail.

There is no questioning this, but I DO ROW FASTER after drinking coffee. There is enough of a sample size to establish this hypothesis as fact. Really.

I am coming home. Counting the days.

Posted by Brandon at Tuesday, April 21, 2009 | Permalink

It's snowing now even in April in this god-forsaken place. Please stop snowing. There comes a time and place for everything and the sun needs to take reign.

This Sunday, I am going to a restaurant for lunch and reviewing it. How amazing. EXPENSE-PAID REVIEW! This offer came from someone on campus who chanced upon my blog (hey there!) and enjoyed some of my rants about food. And this review is going on THE CAMPUS DAILY. How COOL IS THAT! Cannot wait to see my first venture into journalism bear fruit.

O well, this period is busy as hell. Out of the 6 classes I have, a grand total of 5 of them consist of group work! I CANNOT HELP BUT LAMENT AGAIN... on how I hate group work. Basically, you come together, chat a lot, and then decide on who does which part. Zero production of results. Then the division of labour is so awkwardly skewed, it sometimes gets hard to avoid overlaps in work, not to mention inequality of workload, which I am less concerned with. I feel like I have more meetings than scribblings, more group management than work management.

Only 1 month more. Can one.

Posted by Brandon at Friday, April 10, 2009 | Permalink

It's easy to look at a row of eight people walk away from you, each rain-jackets with the words HARVARD embossed on their backs, and immediately feel a sense of creeping trepidation. I mean, there are only few words in this world that carry as much weight in one's mind as in another's. I wonder what kinds of storms brew in the mental troves of these Harvard boys.

But outside of our bags of bones is a true storm gaining strength. The waters were constantly crashing perilously on craggy rocks that dotted the river. There has never been worse waters to row in.

But that we beat Harvard and Penn for that matter, goes to show that nothing can stand in our way. A 16-second clear victory.

Names are really only names, letters at most. They stand for nothing in the harsh conditions that reset all psychological advantages to zero. It was a time to test who had let their fears take flight with the wind, and who had allowed the wind swirl fear into their hearts.

Today is a glorious day. Really glorious day.

Posted by Brandon at Sunday, April 05, 2009 | Permalink

Today the front page of our Cornell chronicle bore an article that announced that our dining halls were going to start serving beer. In another headline, the Dean of our school was going to jail because of corruption.

I'm like what?

Ok I totally forgot that it was April Fools' Day! And I was deceived big time. How dumb.

Then I come back to my dorm and another headline caught my eye on the Internet-"UCSD Sends Acceptance E-mail to Wrong List". Armed with a new-found caution against sensationalism, I scanned the article looking for traces of illegitimacy or incongruency. No there weren't any. UC San Diego -- a school for the smart ones, supposedly -- had really mistakenly congratulated nearly 29,000 applicants on their acceptance.

I think our world has been turned so topsy-turvy that the line between truth and false has taken off and flown into a garbage can. How ridiculous can our rational world get? How far can limits stretch such that we still recognise them? We become immune to the big news, because every piece of newly-acquired information shocks us with equal strength. We are no longer surprised that a huge, fatal fire in the corners of some upstate town that killed hundreds only managed a pathetic last page 3-paragraph write-up.

With that, our emotions have turned mellow, if not jaded. Laughs turn into smiles, smiles into blankness. As we march forward with our steel eyes and armored bodies, we think we have a stronger control of our premises and our mental faculties, when in fact, we have unknowingly spun out of control.

Happy April Fools' Day. One would be a fool to take my message too seriously. Smile. Or maybe laugh.

Posted by Brandon at Thursday, April 02, 2009 | Permalink

I am getting reticent really. Writing more often here seems to ignite a departure from reality, a drift into a web woven by words. Upon landing, it gives great comfort and even a greater bounce back into where I come from.

I hope it's just "one of those days", where you just don't want to listen to anyone, where you wished the world understood, where you wished that you didn't have to try. It's like everything doesn't fall into place - the shower doesn't come on hot, you've over-eaten again, there's so much work but you have no motivation.

My chin resting precariously on an empty bottle, my body arched forward. In a position I don't want to leave... I swear I could close my eyes and fall into a deep sleep right now.

Just watch me.

Posted by Brandon at Friday, March 27, 2009 | Permalink

Why every meal should end with dessert

Chefs sometimes bust their heads thinking of new entrees. It seems like the longer the name (topped with xxx, drizzled in xxx sauce, with a tinge of xxx), the more it makes the menu sound more sophisticated. Well, for the unpretentious dessert, it's the other way round. Green Tea sorbet. Chocolate Pralines. Flourless Chocolate Torte.

I think it's because dessert is functional. It definitely is sweet. It seals the palatte. It signals the end of a meal. But this simplistic view of desserts does little justic to the shocking variety of flavors that desserts come in.

Sometimes, I feel like my meal should be the dessert. I bite into my greens because I have to. I have to eat some potatoes and rice because the food pyramid tells me to. But I have dessert because I live to eat it. It is the climax. It is the full story itself without the decorative lead-ins or denouement.

Desserts lose their form easily - ice cream melts, glaces soften, dry ice fizzles out. Because it is so hard to catch it in its greatest moment of splendour, it becomes a concise story, a book which you close the moment you open it. Now, that makes it valuable to the palatte. What your eyes can only catch in a split second peek-a-boo, the tongue wants it even more. A dessert is never the full-stop, it is the sentence. It hides at the end of the line, but it is the star. Just that the paparazzi has been snapping photos of the wrong celebrity, that's all.

People always feel sick after dessert buffets. Coz it's like eating the goose so as to savour the eggs that have yet to be laid. You can never get enough of desserts, but you must, because like a story with too many climaxes, you feel drained at the end, so jaded at repeated works of beauty that they no longer appeal to the senses anymore.

I could use a cheesecake right now. Just a slice though.

Posted by Brandon at Thursday, March 26, 2009 | Permalink

The night falls and all I can hear is the spinning of the fan on my flapping wet clothes.

The recent food-to-eat is butter. I never would have thought that it would be my cup of tea, but yea, butter on rolls are hell good. No, I'm not becoming "angmoh" to quote Shazzy, but sometimes you cling on to sensations that excite something new in you, something that has been hiding in the closet for a long time.

Butter brings me on a wave. It has to be cold, but not too cold, for it will be solid like rock. As it nestles on your tongue, there is no taste, but as it spreads, it oozes such flavor. Quite ineffable, but if you could imagine yourself being hauled up to the crest of a wave, to a point of milky saturation, to a point of oily clunkiness, then being brought down to the calm of the sea, as it maneouvres the carbs it's on and slides down the gut. Absolutely stunning experience.

Posted by Brandon at Sunday, March 22, 2009 | Permalink

Today, it dawned on me that having a purpose-filled life can sometimes take the fun out of it. We always gawk at perfection and there's no point where we humans aim to backtrack on our paths. It's always BOOM! let's go, forward, no looking back!

I envy the angmohs for being able to go home during Spring Break (one-week). Even the Singaporeans are travelling around, eating good food and snapping pictures, and fleeing into the arms of warmth. Me? Stuck in this icehole rowing twice a day. I woke up today, but could barely lift myself off my bed. Coz my back was aching like a heartbreak and my arms were heavy as an elephant.

I have no complaints coz I chose to do this. It just came as a major disappointment that I only made it to the second boat instead of the first, for this spring's race season. It's almost like all the extra training I've been putting in has come to naught. Something I've worked for, for a good half a year, pulling my ass off 6 am in the morning, biting the bullet. I guess there'll always be someone better out there, someone stronger, more experienced and luckier.

There's this moment in a race rowers call "the wall". Basically, you hit it, you just have nothing left in you. And this happens usually 3/4 into a race. Trust me, when I say nothing, I really mean ABSOLUTELY nothing left. I've done marathons and the pain is nowhere near. Which means that last 1/4 is sheer torture. Worse still, it's torture you force yourself into.

Coz if you let go, you crush the dreams of another 7 people on the boat. Coz if you let go, that hard 3/4 that you had taken will go down the drain.

It's such an irony, but up till today I STILL BELIEVE that this is the one thing that keeps rowers rowing. That last 50 strokes, the blade piercing into the water in unison, that internal hell of a scream imploding. Then the calm. Turning to the guy behind you, proudly holding your arms up in the sky and saying,

"We did it."

Posted by Brandon at Thursday, March 19, 2009 | Permalink