I choose the Queen of Hearts.

2009-05-24T13:22:00.001+08:00

Earbuds - the tiny speakers that fit inside your ears - are universally more popular with young listeners than the less stylish headphones, but have been proven by medical research to damage hearing irreparably, and to do so fast.

In the past, it was when you were visiting your elderly relations that you automatically shouted. Now, I do so when addressing children and teenagers who are already - even if not actually wired up at the time that you bellow at them - slightly deaf.

Exposing your ear drums to badly mixed rock music at 110 or 120 decibels is the equivalent of standing near a jet aircraft.

Many young people expose themselves to this level of noise for hours each day. No wonder, when they sit next to you on the bus, they create the infernal nuisance of noise from their earphones. If they turned down the decibels to the level that most of us would consider a normal level for radio or music-listening at home, they would be unable to hear.

It is one more indication of the fragmentation of what has been called our broken society. Cut off from being able to hear one another, we all sit around, locked in our private worlds, deaf to what the person next to us might be saying.

I notice that when I travel on trains, and sit in the 'Quiet Zone', many fellow-passengers believe that they are being quiet because their deaf ears are tuned into these earbuds. You can hear the bass drums and the annoying tsst-tsst-tsst yards away from them, as they sit, rhythmically nodding in their deaf solitude.

Music used to bind us together, whether we liked classical music at concerts, or whether we enjoyed the sort of light pop played on the radio. It still does so to a much greater extent than anything else in our divided society. But the phenomenon of plugging in earbuds removes the social element from musical enjoyment.

There is something bleak about this. Societies are happy when the greater number have mastered social skills, and this must depend upon people learning to appreciate one another.

How can this be done if we are all plugged in to our separate earbuds, shattering what was left of our hearing, and completely insensitive to the nuisance we are creating for the person sitting at our side?

He Wears His Heart On His Sleeve.

2009-05-22T10:26:00.004+08:00

I've no doubt that Wayne Rooney is the future Manchester United captain.

Rooney is one of the most complete forwards in the modern game, having improved just about every aspect of his game ever since he left Everton for United. His attacking awareness, pace, power, strength, aggression and vision set him apart from other forwards, making him an indispensible member of any team he plays for. His boundless energy, tenacity, indefatigability and winning mentality endear him to the fans, for we are all too aware of what a delightful gem Rooney is - an exceedingly rare combination of talent, skill, passion and hard work. He has been at Manchester United for six seasons now, and yet he is only twenty-four, with his best years still ahead of him. Rooney has scored 17 goals or more in each season he's been with the club, a consistent if unspectacular tally, but he clearly brings so much more to the team than mere goals. He provides innumerable assists and creates attacking opportunities for his teammates, a testament to his tactical awareness and vision. He has the craft, but this wouldn't mean anything without his willingness to graft. He is a true match-winner, and, in my opinion, is just as important to any team as the Messis and Ronaldos of the world.

Wayne Rooney wears his heart on his sleeve, and no one, in this little sport we call football, embodies the meaning of passion and desire better than he does.

The Art Of Defending

2009-05-08T17:21:00.007+08:00

DEFENDERS DESERVE MORE PRAISE THAN THEY RECEIVE, by Rojit Brijnath

When history spits out the names of famous duos, real and imagined, they won't find their names up there with Lennon and McCartney, Magic and Bird, Butch and Sundance. But say this much about the pair of Nemanja Vidic and Rio Ferdinand: They, and their shirt-tugging, fine-tackling, bone-jarring, mind-reading fraternity of defenders, are worth at least part of the price of any football ticket.

In a Champions League week, most conversation will start with Ronaldo and end with Messi. Even Hiddink will earn more centimetres, but defenders will shrug. They're re used to getting praised about as often as accounting clerks and show up on highlight reels even less often than streakers. Unless they produce a massive blooper like Vidic letting Torres go.

The football defender is a job that ranks just higher than being Rafael Nadal's training partner and holding down the ball for the kicker in gridiron. Certainly, it's the unsexiest assignment in the coolest sport. Even goalkeepers get to do their mid-air heroics, but defenders rarely strike such a romantic chord.

It shows in the nicknames. Strikers get called 'Der Bomber' (Gerd Muller) and 'keepers Black Spider (Lev Yashin). But defenders, poor fellows, are left with unsavoury titles like the Butcher of Bilbao (Andoni Goikoetxea).

From childhood we are conditioned to dislike defenders because instinctively we enjoy the adrenalin of attack. The first lines to most sporting hymns as boys were Pele, Maradona, Platini Cruyff, and every one of them functioned best on the creative side of the half-line. It's easy to name an A-Z (Adriano to Zico) of Brazilian strikers and midfielders, but hard to recall even a handful of their defenders.

Strikers have the flair of artists, defenders own the subtlety of an army sergeant major. They looked like Nobby Stiles, all missing teeth and demonic grin, and had the manners of Claudio Gentile, who conducted a footballing assassination on Maradona in 1982.

Forwards create ideas, defenders create havoc. Ever seen what happens during a corner? Elbow in ribs, hand in back, knee on thigh. It's what a collective mugging might look like.

But, like classical music, defenders grow on you. In time, their beauty is revealed. Franco Baresi defended the penalty area like Horatius did his bridge, and Paolo Maldini gave us elegant tutorials in being in the right place when it mattered.

The best player at the 2006 World Cup was a player who somehow got a shoulder, a leg, a head in the way of an attacker's progress. Of course, he was Italian, too. One might say Fabio Cannavaro could read what attackers would do even before they decided what to do.

Cannavaro's breed hands out suffering happily because they suffer stoically themselves. Certainly they deserve a few more awards than they have historically been given. Defenders have won the Fifa World Player of the year award only once in 18 years, and the World Soccer magazine World Player of the Year twice in 27 years.

Still, they don't whine as much as attackers because they're too busy running backwards and sideways yet staying balanced and suggesting they own better eyes than a fly. If there is something happening behind them, they better know it. It is a fine skill under great pressure for if the attacker misses, he can try again, when a defender errs, it's often a goal.

These back-end boys are like tennis' grinders, whose value is evident in their consistency and wear abuse even when good. Chelsea's defennce against Barcelona brought to mind dykes and dams, yet earned them not enough credit.

Teams win obviously because of goals put in, but also because of goals not let in. Vidic has fallen off a little lately and injury has haunted Ferdinand, but Manchester United couldn't think of quintuple, quadruples or three-peats without this twosome. At their best, they and John Terry and Carles Puyol, stand like lean, muscular, unsmiling pillars, who provide not so much thrills as reassurance.

So here's a thought. This week during the Champions League semi-finals, keep an eye on the tall boys at the back. Sure, some days like Liverpool against Arsenal, defenders look clumsy and awful, but let's not be blind to the small, subtle skills they bring every day to the game.

So, watch the cleanliness of interceptions, the exquisite timing of tackles on sprinting wingers, the positioning for headers, the composure under pressure, and raise your hat. And give silent thanks that it's not your delicate ankles that Ferdinand is clattering into.

The Greatest Love Of All.

2009-05-08T12:25:00.018+08:00

I can't even begin to count the number of things my mother's done for me over the past twenty-one years. It is an infinite list, I think to myself, one that is filled with so many positive intangibles: love, affection, time, energy, nurturing, patience, care, concern, and advice, all of which can never be bought by money.

So, you want to know just how great a mother's love can be? A simple examination of the day's events will tell us all we need to know about how wonderful my very own mother can be, and the many sacrifices she has made for me, not simply on this day but everyday that I've lived.

My mum had surprisingly awakened before I left the house for work. She saw me dressed in my white polo shirt, looked at me lovingly, and said: "You look very good in that white polo, you should wear them with those new white shoes of yours! Are they comfortable? I'm glad I took the time and effort to handwash your favourite shirts instead of throwing them into the washing machine, because I can see it's paying off!" She took a step back and smiled, admiring her handiwork.

She's been washing my clothes for twenty-one years, and counting. That amounts to approximately 7,700 days. If she washes the clothes, say, once every five days (and I think this is a conservative figure), that still amounts to 1,540 washes. Can you imagining washing clothes 1,500 times for someone else? You'd probably be so annoyed at washing another person's smelly undergarments that you'd throw them back where they came from. And that's still not factoring in the tedious hand-washings, hanging up the clothes to dry, keeping the clothes, or folding and sorting them them neatly. Oh, and I conveniently left out everyone's favourite chore: ironing. Now now, hands up to all those who dare claim that they do not dislike ironing in the slightest.

Oh, and she just texted me to inform me that she's repaired the strap for my favourite LeSportsac messenger bag, all in the space of a single morning. She's declaring it to be 'as good as new', and, based on her marvellous skill with a needle and thread, I certainly wouldn't bet on the strap snapping again over the next couple of years, at the very least.

HAPPY MOTHER'S WEEK, MUM. You deserve something from me this year, and every year from now onwards.

When A Vacation Is More Than Just A Holiday

2009-05-05T12:38:00.018+08:00

It is amazing how what was supposed to be a two-and-a-half week vacation in Australia turned out to be so much more than a simple holiday. The substantial length of time spent away from the comforts of my home allowed me to immerse myself in the Adelaide way of life. I spent four additional days in Melbourne, which provided me with some semblance of comparison between the two drastically different cities. That, however, is a topic of discussion to be discussed at another time. The issue at hand lies in addressing the key differences between the way of life in Adelaide and Singapore. Adelaidians adopt a slower and more relaxed approach towards life, as opposed to the frenetic, breakneck pace with which Singaporeans go about their daily routines. This simple yet fundamental difference is responsible for the contrasts in our lifestyles.

Adelaide and Singapore are both modernized and developed cities which feature excellent public transport networks, medical infrastructure, education, and housing for their citizens. Streets are well-maintained, roads are planned in an orderly fashion, shops range from the classiest boutiques to the humblest convenience stores, and the list goes on. However, what makes a good society great is not in the aforementioned governmental provisions, but the attitude with which its people perform their daily tasks, and the general level of happiness and contentment of its people. Adelaidians know how to enjoy life in ways that Singaporeans can never even dream of, and this is what we lack. Although some will say otherwise, we will never know how to live life to the fullest for as long as we are confined within the boundaries of the state. After all, how can man-made attractions like the Singapore Flyer, the Esplanade and Sentosa ever measure up to the breathtaking nature of the Adelaide Hills, the Outbacks, or the Great Barrier Reef? Blame it on geography, for no matter what we do, we can never fight against the geographical implications of this little red rot, which will always pay the price for its lack of physical space. We are a crowded society with one of the highest population densities in the world, with this figure continuing to rise by the day. Our geographical limitations only serve to create an overwhelming need for personal space. Because space is so incredibly precious, it is a great source of irritance to us when what we consider to be our private space is invaded by others. In the race for space, some of us are guilty of inconsiderate and ungracious moments: we snarl and stare aggressively at others who encroach, and jostle in crowded locations so as to retrieve that last table or seat for ourselves. This situation cannot have been any more different in Adelaide, where space isn't usually a problem, and even when it is (in crowded buses or trams), people tend to act with greater patience and graciousness.

Having returned to work after my vacation, I have since become slightly disillusioned with the number of jaded and disgruntled countenances I encounter to and from work everyday. I can certainly envision myself becoming a template of the typical desk-bound professional in the not-too-distant future. I don't envy the prospect of working eighty-hour weeks. I don't want to face the world behind a mask of cynicism, emptiness and hollow smiles. I wish to carry a spring in every step and greet clients and colleagues with a twinkle in my eye. And I definitely abhor the idea of cramming into packed trains and buses on the way to work. There's no space to breathe, no time to think. As we grow older, we carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. The draining routine of the daily grind quenches our thirst for life in its purest sense, and we grow to become physically and mentally weary, so much so that we have neither the time nor energy to think and reflect about our priorities in life. From young, we have been built to believe in maximizing our potential, in order to realise a dream that we think is ours but is actually someone else's. Alternatively, it could be a dream thought of by our parents, or perhaps, the government has actually hoodwinked them into believing that what's good for the nation is also good for their children. How many of us can safely say that we know what we want in life? Let's face it - life in Singapore is extraordinarily linear and routine, with the margins for error razor thin. What we know of life in Singapore is that it is a tedious and draining ordeal endured by generations past, so why should us, the new generation, be any different? We are generally single-minded in our approach to generate a healthy wage packet for ourselves, that, at times, we lose sight of who we really are, how we treat others, and what's truly important to us in life. Put bluntly (and I am more than guilty of these traits which characterize Singaporeans), we crave independence, money and material wealth, and we are determined to achieve them at all costs. We have been been programmed to believe that academic excellence is the only route to a top career, so we can accumulate wealth for ourselves and feed our materialistic desires, so that, presumably, we can become multi-millionaires by the age of forty and retire comfortably in our old age.

I don't know why I've ranted and digressed from the original topic of interest. What I do know is that I enjoyed every single day I spent in Australia, and, one day, I will probably be migrating from what I deem to be a sorry state of affairs in Singapore. I do not hide that I am a product of the system and that I am grateful towards it for moulding me into the person I am today. At the same time, I recognize what I lack, and I hope that the passing of time will allow me to address my deficiencies and discover who I really am inside, and what I want out of life. In Adelaide, I was lucky enough to have the company of a very special someone, which made the time spent there all the more memorable. But the city itself definitely played a major role in ensuring a wonderful vacation. The Adelaide society, from what I can decipher over a period of two-and-a-half-weeks, is a more inclusive and outgoing society. Adelaidians, in my opinion, are a generally happier bunch of people than Singaporeans ever will be. It just seems to me that we are never content with what we have because of the pressured life we lead. Adelaidians definitely extend a greater sense of graciousness, courtesy and respect to others around them. I've witnessed animal and insect exhibitions hosted in the heart of a major shopping district, and students from various schools going on field trips to markets to learn about cheese and yoghurt. These kids certainly do not pursue thermal physics or electrolysis as their core subjects. And while they are unlikely to match the mathematical and scientific abilities of Singapore childen, they are more in touch with their interests and are given greater scope to discover the tangible things in their world. Some learn about the different animals which exist in the many wildlife sanctuaries scattered throughout South Australia, about astronomy and the constellation of stars, about the Australian deserts and the environment, about Australian Football and its history, about conflicts in the world, about moral issues and current affairs. Some learn to bake the most remarkable pies and cakes and muffins and sell them for a living. Most importantly, they are given sufficient space to seek answers and think deeply about the issues which interest them, instead of being shepharded into a strict Ministry of Education regime which inhibits their ability to think for themselves. On the other hand, the brightest Singaporean kids are also, unfortunately, the most linear examples of how education can backfire. Ask them about current affairs, about monetary and financial issues; ask them to think out of the box, to invent and innovate; throw them into the deep end without a set syllabus, and the result is always the same - even the brightest students will inevitably panic and struggle.

I guess I'll have to save my ramblings for another day. And perhaps the old adage holds true, that the grass is always greener on the other side. Then again, the magnificent foliage present in the Hills is undoubtedly a fresher and more vibrant shade of green when compared to the greenery we have in Singapore. The Hills was an amazing experience thanks to its breathtaking scenery and fresh air, while Melbourne was mostly hustle and bustle with fantastic food and fun shopping adventures. Oh, and Australia has the most diverse selection of wine ever. Well, I'll find another time to post again then! It has certainly been a fantastic holiday, and definitely one of the best ever.

Two Weeks.

2009-03-26T09:59:00.002+08:00

The clock is ticking even as I am typing this.

My hair's so darned short, but I don't care.

Only two weeks more and I'm off to paradise.

Officially The Owner Of The Best Birthday Present In the World

2009-03-17T09:56:00.003+08:00

As of the 16th of March 2009, I am officially the owner of the Best Birthday Present (BBP) in the world! :) I can't hide how thrilled I am by it. It means so much to me and I'm going to keep it with me for the rest of my life. Really, anyone who sees it will agree its the nicest thing ever. I am the LUCKIEST GUY in the world.

Patience.

2009-03-12T15:49:00.003+08:00

Patience is a virtue.

Sometimes, the best things in life come to those who wait for it.

I am waiting, patiently, expectantly.

28 days and counting.

Singapore: The Tenth Most Expensive City To Live In

2009-03-11T16:51:00.007+08:00

Singapore is now ranked 10th most expensive city in the world, but economists here note that this reflects sharp exchange rate movements rather than changes in living costs.

Dramatic shifts in currency values have propelled Singapore towards the top of a survey of the world's most expensive cities. The Republic leapt five places to 10th costliest city in the world in just six months, as European cities like Brussels and Dublin have become relatively cheaper places following the euro's plunge in value, according to the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU) survey of 140 cities. London fell from 8th to to an incredible 27th on the list - reflecting the near 30 per cent depreciation of the British pound against the dollar over a half-year period.

Report editor Jon Copestak said: "Two factors drive the relative cost of living - local prices and exchange rates. Normally, the ranking of cities by cost of living is relatively stable, but in the current global climate, changes in exchange rates have significantly altered our assessment of the most and least expensive cities."

Analogies and Quotations

2009-03-11T12:29:00.004+08:00

Dr Linda Lim

On Her Choice Analogy Of Singapore

"Singapore is like a tropical fish tank - beautiful, luxurious but expensive to maintain, and very vulnerable to balance in the water and loss of other external inputs. And even if everything works well, all the time, it is still just a fish tank, not the ocean itself, with its greater dangers, challenges, opportunities and treasures."

On Her Greatest Worry For Singaporeans

"That by clinging to the past and being wedded to old models and old ideas in a world rapidly changing beyond our control, in refusing to change, in being risk-adverse and conservative, the country and the people will end up being marginalised in the new global market economy, unable to compete with other more energetic, self-reliant, entrepreneurial and innovative populations, and being overtaken by them."

On Thinking And Saying

"I say what I think. A lot of people here think the same way but not say it. There's a "Don't quote me culture here, such that bad ideas don't get shot down and good ideas don't get volunteered."

On The Best Way Forward For Singapore

The way forward for Singapore, she says, is to allow the market to diversify on its own, with resource allocation done by market forces and entrepreneurs, instead of the state and bureaucrats.

"Do we devote our carefully husbanded national savings, accumulated over generations, to letting the state make big bets on a few major, capital-intensive, risky and expensive projects?

"Or do we privatise the economy, releasing capital and talent to local entrepreneurs to create value in smaller but nimbler enterprises? At least, if they fail, it will take only small parts, rather than big chunks, of the economy down with them.

"It's much better to send out 100 motorboats, rather than one huge aircraft carrier, into the unknown. I would bet on at least some of the motorboats making it, instead of the aircraft carrier, a sitting duck, which could get blown up."

Barack Obama, on the importance of education:

"In a 21-st century world where jobs can be shipped wherever there's an Internet connection; where a child born in Dallas is competing with children in Delhi; where your best job qualification is not what you do, but what you know - education is no longer just a pathway to opportunity and success, it is a prerequisite. So let there be no doubt: the future belongs to the nation that best educates its citizens."

Ninety Cents A Day

2009-03-11T11:26:00.004+08:00

I promise to invest ninety cents every weekday, or four dollars fifty cents every week, or eighteen dollars every month, on a copy of The Straits Times. I haven't been reading the newspaper for a long while and its high time I buckle down and get to doing it. I've been procrastinating for too long and I've been wasting too much time. Reading is a good habit and it doesn't matter if I don't read the newspaper from cover to cover; at least I'm making a concerted effort to keep abreast with daily news from around the globe. I think eighteen dollars a month is a small price to pay for the many benefits I will invariably gain from reading the papers regularly.

I wonder why my office doesn't offer free copies of the newspaper though...

His Name Is Jack

2009-03-10T11:06:00.005+08:00

Jack of some trades, Master of none. Why, oh why.

Monday. For the first time in two to three weeks, I didn't have work. This includes weekends as well, if you were wondering. And what a world of difference one single day of rest makes! I finally had the chance to stay at home, run some errands, chat with some friends of mine, and lunch with my parents. It felt wonderful. Not to mention that I trounced Seth with Sagat hoho. I think I'm just a touch lucky though.

Tuesday, today. The routine is back. I have such a long day ahead of me - work, followed by tuition at night. I feel like playing squash on wednesday night, shall go ask Pogo and see what he's up to.

A Lesson in Mediocrity

2009-03-05T16:05:00.005+08:00

I was never born to be the dancing, weaving magician on the soccer court. I've always seeked to nullify, to counteract. I battle, I tussle, I hassle.

At my best, I can suffocate the opposition's biggest attacking threat with my speed and determination. I can create goalscoring opportunities with a single pass. I can keep excellent possession of the ball for the team. I can unleash thunderous shots from any position on the court.

At my worst, I am outwitted by quick-thinking, skilful dribblers. I am unable to influence the game, much less decide its outcome single-handedly. I am easily disheartened and discouraged when things go awry. I am too one-dimensional and right-footed in my attacking play. I give the ball away in fatal positions which lead to goals for the opposition.

There's one point important point I haven't mentioned: I hardly approach my best, if at all. So much for being a perfectionist, I guess, when I can't even achieve something remotely close to being above average at the sport I love most.

The Starbucks Experience

2009-03-05T10:45:00.017+08:00

I've been to the glasshouse at Starbucks Novena on occasion and I haven't encountered the warmth or superior service as mentioned in the book. The place scores points for its excellent decor and ambience but doesn't offer anything close to the levels of service as suggested in the book. And I've always preferred the Frappucinos at Coffee Bean anyway. I understand it's personal preference, but the ice-blends at Starbucks taste rather unremarkable to me.

Let me list down some of the details mentioned in the book, on what makes Starbucks such an immersive experience for the average American consumer:

1. At Starbucks, "being welcoming" is an essential way to get the customer's visit off to a positive start. It is also the foundation for producing a predictably warm and comfortable environment. It enables partners to forge a bond with customers so that infrequent visitors become regulars, many of whom end up customers for life. I don't feel that the staff at Starbucks are any more welcoming than the $1 bubble tea shop auntie underneath my block.

2. Starbucks partners are trained not just to listen to their customers, but to take action immediately based on what they hear, and to learn from these experiences for future customer interactions. I feel that a coffee purchase at Starbucks is just another business transaction, not dissimilar to the experience at other coffee retailers.

3. The Starbucks sensation is driven not just by the quality of its products but by the entire atmosphere surrounding the purchase of coffee: the openness of its store space, interesting menu boards, the shape of its counter, and the cleanliness of the floorboards. What Starbucks recognized long before its imitators was that the art of retailing coffee went way beyond product. The details of the total experience mattered. Every particular - from napkins to coffee bags, store-fronts to window seats, annual reports to mail order catalogs, tabletops to thermal carafes - seems to reflect the authentic and organic roots of Starbucks. This statement sounds a tad exaggerated, but I agree for most part of it.

4. The difference between good and great can often be the willingness of leadership to structure surprising moments around calendar opportunities. Starbucks leadership often initiates a surprise event that is not primarily aimed at self-promotion. To celebrate summer and National Ice Cream Month baristas served one million free cups of ice cream at 6,000 starbucks locations for an unadvertised 'ice cream social'. I've witnessed free cone day at Ben and Jerry's, and I've also come across days where Starbucks give away coffee for free. It irks me that Singaporeans will do anything for freebies, even if it means queuing for hours. This spoils the entire experience. If I desire coffee, I'll willingly pay for the Starbucks experience. It simply doesn't make sense to queue for hours on end for coffee just because it is free. I can't even grab a copy of Today on the way to work because the queue for the paper at Bishan MRT is verging on the ridiculous. This behaviour is so typical of Singaporeans that I am, at times, ashamed to acknowledge myself as one. Some people either have too much time on their hands or are struggling to make ends meet amidst this financial crisis. I certainly cannot fault them if that is the case.

5. By providing a high-quality, consistent customer experience, Starbucks offers a place for conversation, connection, and reconnection. Go by Starbucks on any given afternoon, and you will find young people huddled around tables in conversation for hours. Business meetings take place. Friends catch up over a Frappucino blended beverage. I don't agree that the customer experience is high-quality, but it is undoubtedly consistent, albeit unremarkable. Starbucks appeals because it effuses comfort and relaxation without imposing time constraints. I enjoy catching up with friends over a casual cup of coffeee. It must be mentioned, however, that Coffee Bean offers a similar if not better experience than Starbucks, especially since its ice-blends are more delectable. While Starbucks has the edge based on the strength of its brand and its impeccable store location and decor, my friends and I will often opt to visit Coffee Bean ahead of Starbucks.

I've read half the book, and these are my thoughts so far. I hope I can finish reading it before it is due next week!

One Step At A Time

2009-03-05T10:42:00.004+08:00

We live and we learn to take one step at a time, there's no need to rush.

It's like learning to fly, or falling in love.

Responsibility Versus Money

2009-03-04T16:20:00.012+08:00

There are a few reasons why I'm so adamant about giving up my Sunday job. Make no mistake about it, the job pays well, especially when you consider my A-level qualifications and the lackadaisical job market. I have learnt how to manage a class of students, and the teaching experience has certainly helped me develop better mentoring techniques. And yes, I am grateful to my boss for entrusting me with the task of educating her students. But perhaps I've been too naive in expecting that the basic function of teachers is to teach, and to teach well. Recent adjustments have seen teachers at the centre take on extra workloads without being reasonably compensated for their time and efforts. Yet the crux of the issue isn't simply to do with dollars and cents, but to do with dollars and sense. What lengths should a teacher go to for his students?

I believe that it is exceedingly difficult to become an excellent teacher. It takes many years of experience and exposure to different students at different levels. It requires that the teacher is unremitting in his efforts to seek the best for his students, at the cost of his personal time. It requires the teacher to be able to develop and display two sides to his personality: the strict, serious and discerning figurehead in class, and the fun-loving, humourous friend outside of it. And I believe the most important ingredient of all lies in the teacher's ability to inspire his students to learn. I am hardly even one-hundredth of a good teacher, let alone a great one.

I say that it is a toss-up between dollars and sense, because although the renumeration is attractive and important, it does not mean that I would continue to stretch myself indefinitely even if I am being paid more. I am a perfectionist. If I find that I fall short of delivering my best to my students, then I have failed my task as a teacher. They do not deserve me; they deserve someone else who can give their best, even if he is not as good a teacher as I am. I don't have the time to devise worksheets or to develop concrete lesson plans and notes. I don't have the energy to create full-length exam papers or to painstakingly mark their work. These are all the little sacrifices which make a great teacher, and I certainly fall way short of the benchmark.

Perhaps, I try to convince myself, that I am better suited to teaching on a one-to-one basis. It is infinitely easier to focus on a single student, rather than having to adjust your teaching style to suit each and every student in a small class. There is no one-size-fits-all approach here. There are the fast students and the slow ones. There are bright students who inexplicably fail to meet reasonable expectations at exams, and there are the not-so-bright ones who surpass all expectations at exams. Then there are students who are more easily distracted than others...the list goes on.

I realize that I am ranting. But the point remains that I am a decidedly poor teacher, especially when it comes to teaching in a group. I simply cannot handle the pressure placed on my shoulders to make every lesson an exceptional learning experience for my students. Perhaps I have unreasonably high expectations of myself. Perhaps not. But I do know that once my replacement at the centre arrives, I will have a happy, carefree Sunday to myself, and I will be able to rediscover the joy of sharing these precious Sundays with my friends and family all over again. And then there is the enticing prospect of grass, boots, shin guards, sweat, and a little thing called a soccer ball.

Stress, I Heart You.

2009-03-04T10:55:00.010+08:00

Over the past three months, I have stared stress in the eye and battled toe-to-toe with it atop the highest of mountains, and in the deepest of abysses. This is due in no small part to the insane seven-day work week I've brought upon myself.

Essential highlights of the week include:

1. An 8.30-6.00 Monday to Friday job at NUS as an administrative assistant; this excludes the one-and-a-half hours of travel I have to endure to and from work;

2. Monotonous, mundane journeys on the packed buses and trains during peak hours; I have my iPod to thank for infusing this routine with song and dance;

3. Occasional private tuition lessons after work on weekdays, from 7.30-9.30pm;

4. Rather frequent meet-ups (and supper!) with my close friends after work and on weekends;

5. On Friday nights, weekly street soccer gatherings which help to energize my life;

6. Saturday morning tuition from 10-12pm at Khatib, followed by a short break, then tuition again from 6-8pm at Paya Lebar;

7. Saturday night EPL over at home, or at a friend's house, or with a beer and snacks at a bar;

8. A full Sunday's worth of tuition commencing at 9am and ending at 5pm with a two-hour lunch break in between;

9. A nice Sunday dinner with friends or family, followed by Sunday night EPL;

10. Refer to step ONE. Repeat process for three consecutive months.

Stress, I heart you. You've mashed me to a pulp and squeezed the last drop of juice from my withering core. All that's left are the inedible seeds of my demise. But the promise of rejuvenation and recovery springs forth from these very seeds you choose not to consume. Come april, these seeds shall have developed into the most beautiful of flowers and the sweetest of fruits. And I will be the happiest apple in the entire universe; an apple with wings, in preparation for the best month of my twenty-one years thus far. Stress, I heart you. But no more.

Sweet Sweet Twenty-One

2009-03-03T11:05:00.031+08:00

Time. Sometimes I admire the beauty of the analog clock with its second-hand ticking away in mechanical, robotic fashion. It reminds me that time waits for no man; it seeps and slips away whether you are youthful or ancient, happy or depressed, energized or tired. Maybe that is why I prefer staring at the digital clock at the bottom of my screen as I am attempting to finish this post within the confines of my workspace, since it lulls me into a false sense of security that perhaps, time does not pass that quickly after all.

I'll be twenty-one come the middle of March. My parents have nurtured my development from toddler to teenager to the young adult I've become. From showering me with attention and affection in my adolescence, to entrusting me with utmost freedom (with snippets of advice and the odd scolding) in my late teens, they have shown me what it means to love their son. They've adapted their depiction of love over the years as I've matured. As much as I wish for the aging process to halt, the fact remains that they are nearly three times my age this year. I pray for time to take kindly to their health and happiness. Their old-fashioned pearls of wisdom can only serve to guide me through the trials and tribulations I will encounter over the next decade and more.

My last blog post was around two years ago. I certainly enjoy reading the posts as they remind me of how my life used to be, at least partially. Sometimes the most important things at that moment in your life can diminish so greatly in significance that you wonder if it was really ever that important to you at all. Time heals all wounds and solves most problems, but then again, maybe you were the root of the problem. If you don't wake up from dreamland, who will? If you don't grasp the opportunities that present themselves to you everyday, who can force you to? There are so many paths to take and so many choices to make; ultimately, it is these choices which shape our lives and define the deepest of our character traits.

It has been like this for quite sometime now, just that I haven't had the motivation to pen it down. I'd forgotten about this path of escapism. But, all things said, and this won't make much sense to anyone other than myself, I know what it feels like to feel this way again.

2007-06-15T19:03:00.000+08:00

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Luis Zafon

WHAT A READ! And, may I add, what mastery of the english language! I would give anything just to be able to write like that. This book is filled with wondrous phrases, punctuated with imperious images of the city of Barcelona, adorned with mystery, laced with romance, brimming with affection, love, yet poisoned by death and tragedy. I've never been so impressed by a book's qualities, and how I'd regret it if I hadn't chanced upon this delightful gem in one corner of the library!

The author's mastery lies in his expressive language, which is showcased in his descriptions. Yet the novel is not overly cluttered with obtrusive and redundant phrases, but rather, the writer has managed to intertwine many potentially confusing aspects of the story and weave a delicate portrait of the city at the same time. The diction used is not repetitive, but creative and succinct. I can't believe I've fallen for the brilliance of the novel!

A reef of clouds and lightning raced across the skies from the sea. I looked up and saw the storm spilling like rivers of blackened blood from between the clouds, blotting out the moon and covering the roofs and facades of the city in darkness. The night became opaque, impenetrable, as the rain folded the city in its shroud.

That year, autumn blanketed Barcelona with fallen leaves that rippled through the streets like silvery scales.

It was a magnificent day; the skies were electric blue, and a crystal breeze carried the cool scent of autumn and the sea.

A cold, slashing breeze swept the streets, scattering strips of mist in its path. The steely sun snatched copper reflections from the roofs and belfries of the Gothic Quarter.

We walked through the streets of a Barcelona trapped beneath ashen skies as dawn poured over Rambla de Santa Monica in a wreath of liquid copper.

Dusk fell almost surreptitiously, with a cold breeze and a mantle of purple light that slid between the gaps in the streets. The leaves on the orange trees in the cloister shimmered with tears of silver, and the sound of the fountain wove its way through the arches.

A veil of dark red clouds bled across the sky, punctured by splinters of light the colour of fallen leaves.

She was draped in a diaphanous (so thin as to transmit light) turquoise-blue cotton dress.

palatial (bookshop) - suitable for, or like a palace, impressive

ephemeral (the ephemeral joys of childhood) - fugacious, transcient, short-lived

coterie - an exclusive circle of people with a common purpose

decrepitude - a state of deterioration due to old age or long use, dilapidation

verbosity - an expressive style that uses excessive words

inscrutable - of an obscure nature

oratory - speech, address

proffered - offered

boudoir - a lady's bedroom or private sitting room

lugubrious (abode) - sorrowful, mournful

baroque (fantasy) - having elaborate symmetrical ornamentation

salubrious (nature) - healthy

salacious (echo) - lustful, prurient, lewd

serenade - a musical composition in several movements; has no fixed form

flatulence - pompously embellished language

foppish (attire) - affecting extreme elegance in dress and manner

monocle - eyeglass

denouement - resolution, outcome

2007-06-15T18:56:00.000+08:00

Unhurried Thoughts at My Funeral by Catherine Lim

"The unquestioned life is not worth living." - Socrates

Perhaps, Einstein's inspired observation that "God does not play dice with the world" means that God's plan of purpose, order and meaning for the world rules out not only the disorderliness of randomness and chance but also all forms of human frivolity, including the frivolity of laughter.

Death does not discriminate between nations - neither rich nor poor, old nor young, neither liberal nor conservative, Asian nor Western.

2007-06-08T23:47:00.001+08:00

Creme de la creme - a distant memory;
Now very much the meaningless pawn,
Browbeaten by Kings and Queens
Which dominate the checkered chess board.

Erosion of the cognitive mind -
Painstakingly built;
Conscientiously preserved;
Inevitably shattered;
Who bears the guilt?

Indoctrination of an unblemished psyche,
Infiltration of a civilized soul.
Compelled to comply with
This subservience, this obedience -
Reluctantly required for the eventual futility
Of safeguarding a little red dot.

My ship is sinking, regrettably.
I nestle my nose against a porthole.
Imminent darkening of a morose turquoise
Smashing against the scratched glass,
Reminiscent of the bottomless abyss
Buried within this withered soul.

2007-06-03T15:55:00.000+08:00

Dear Son,

I just know that you are the best. What more can a mother expect of a son who has done brilliantly throughout his years of education? It shows. You couldn't have gotten a better score. You have already hit the ceiling and it could never have been better than that. You have shown in your application that you have already given your best and that you wished to embark on a career which appealed strongly to you. Whatever the outcome, son, I will still be proud of you. I am confident that whatever career you finally choose, or whatever comes to you, you will treasure it dearly and do your very best. I know that you will not let us down.

Love, Mum

I have to admit that this note touched my heart deeply and nearly led to an avalanche of tears when I read it for the first time. It was then that I decided to keep this note in a computerised form, where, unlike the physical form, is usually stored permanently and securely. This is the best form of encouragement any mother could give her son, because it has instilled in me a renewed vigour and belief to carry on fighting for my dreams; to give my best in everything I do.

I feel so fortunate to have the greatest parents in the world. They are simply amazing! :)

2007-05-31T13:21:00.000+08:00

I received the news at around lunchtime, my ever caring father calling up my unit's guardhouse only to find out that I was on an outfield exercise. The call was transferred over to one of my officers, who duly summoned me over, signalling that I had received a call from my dad, a call which would decide my fate. My initial reaction was that of shock and bewilderment as I struggled to come to terms with the news that NUS had rejected me for admission to both medicine and law. I simply could not come to terms with it at the time. Yet, the tears which should have fallen freely into the desert sand did not materialize. Instead, my mind was filled with innumerable questions which only served to intensify my bewilderment and surprise. Questions. So many of them that I seeked answers to; but they were only speculative solutions and not affirmative answers.

Resting under the tonner, sleep eluded me for many hours as thoughts stirred my consciousness and heightened my depression. I truly believed that I had done enough to merit a coveted place in the prestigious school of medicine at NUS, only to discover that my efforts were not even sufficient to warrant me a place at the faculty of law. I consoled myself in the belief that law had rejected me only because I viewed them as a second choice to medicine and they were steadfast in their belief that the faculty of law, prestigious in itself, was not going to tolerate playing second fiddle to medicine. They decided to admit students who viewed law as their first choice, so I shall not digress further on the issue, especially since my year is an extremely competitive one and I have supposedly been usurped by 250 students who are more capable than me.

That aside, I simply cannot understand what went wrong with my application to the school of medicine. It was not as if I did not prepare for the interview; in fact, I spent countless hours researching precious medical information and practising answers to standard questions. I believe I performed adequately in that aspect, but perhaps I did not give the interviewers what they were looking for. my personal statement was written with painstaking effort and unremitting dedication, having spent weeks drafting and editing it. I didn't exactly perform to my usual standards during the essay test given the difficulty of the question, so I suppose that was one of the reasons for my rejection. Another aspect which could have possibly cost me is the fact that I have no prior medical-related work experience or research attachments. I can use my early enlistment into army as an excuse, but the truth was that I opted to take a holiday after my a-level examinations because I was feeling burnt out and tired. I simply didn't have the energy to go for a month-long attachment programme or spend my precious holidays working at polyclinics and hospitals.

It was only when I booked out last night in my dad's car that the tears finally started to fall, and make no mistake about it - these tears have somewhat eased the pain of rejection. As my parents were speaking to me in the car, I realised that all I truly wanted was for my parents to be proud of my achievements, simply because they have always supported me through thick and thin. They have given me the best support any parents could possibly give their children, and, just like how they shared my elation when I received my o-level and a-level results in the past, they were here, by my side, to share this dreadful disappointment together with me. They were disappointed and upset with the system, not with me, and we all agreed that it was terribly unfair for me to receive notification of the rejection on the very last day.

Somehow, in my heart, I have always believed that I would one day meet with a setback in my academic career, having achieved what I've always wanted over the past six years. I suppose this is it. This is the setback which will test my strength of character; which will test my resilence and resolve; and I am determined to use this setback as a source of strength from which I will draw inspiration and motivation whenever I meet with difficulties in the future. I will use this setback as a lesson that life is never a smooth sailing journey, but one that is filled with obstacles and trying periods. In the words of my father, "I have confidence that this experience will only serve to make you hungrier. It will serve to galvanise you and motivate you to achieve greater success in life." I could sense the defiant pride in his voice as he mentioned those words of comfort and consolation, and I will remember that moment for the rest of my life.

I'd never though I would say this, but I'm proud to be one of only 90 students to have garnered a place at SMU's new law school! To me, that is an achievement in itself, and I should be happy and satisfied with what I have accomplished. This offer has been on the table for a long time, and it is clear that SMU values my talents and accomplishments. If medicine isn't for me, then I will ensure that I will perform to my best of my abilities at the school of law. I've never been so determined to win a scholarship so that I can ease the burden on my parents and be financially independent throughout my varsity days.

This entry has served its purpose; which is basically to galvanise my thoughts and rid me of my depression. I have to say it has worked, as talking to my parents and friends has enabled me to rediscover my self-worth and eradicate this inferior complex I've been experiencing over the past three weeks. Kudos to my parents for their unwavering support, and L awrence, D onavan, and M ark for always believing in me...you people are the best! :)

2007-05-27T14:07:00.000+08:00

There's still no news whatsoever. I don't know if I can take this for much longer. This horrible feeling of being kept in the dark, of not being given a response when I clearly deserve one, especially when so many more places are available this year and so many people I know have gotten favourable replies. Life is unfair at times, it really is. When the long-awaited news finally emerges next week, I have less than three measly days to conjure a response and to start planning my next move, especially after another draining week where there is another depressing outfield exercise and everybody will probably get screwed by the commanders and senior operators yet again.

This isn't helping my mood. It isn't as if I wasn't already a moody prince to begin with, but recently the inevitable tension and worry has been accumulating to a point where I'm becoming sulky and temperamental. :(

2007-05-20T20:21:00.000+08:00

Booking in about an hour's time and I still haven't packed my bag yet. How how how? I'll probably take a nice shower before heading off to camp. I really hate the start of new work weeks. Why can't I just go back to studying? Studying seems like absolute bliss to me right now. I'd give anything just so I could go back to learning and be doing something useful instead of being stuck inside a military organization where efficiency is low and rank is the word of law.

It seems that all humans are equal, but some humans are more equal than others, which is why there is a rank structure within the camp, solely dependent on experience and years of service to our beloved airforce. And yes, I am one of those lowly privates with nothing to my name; no power to do what I wish and no control over anything which happens to me. I'm not power hungry, but I simply dislike being commanded by higher ranking officials and running around doing silly things which will never be of use to me in the future once I complete the compulsory two years of service! ARGH.

I've got to go. D onavan's the I/C for next week; it'll presumably be a hilarious experience!

2007-05-20T16:44:00.000+08:00

My red devils lost. hrmmph!

I advise anyone who chances upon this blog of mine to try the steak at uno beef steakhouse, which is concealed within a quiet toa payoh neighbourhood corner. The tenderloin steak is delectable; the black pepper chicken chop scrumptious! Oh yes, and try not to miss out on a piping hot bowl of homemade cream of chicken soup. It makes for an unforgettable dining experience! I shan't miss out on the tenderloin steak next time :)

I went to play soccer with some of my seniors and fellow teammates in the morning! We went all the way to yishun, and to be honest, the field condition was utterly disastrous. There were potholes in the ground and humps had developed all over the grass. we won the match 4-2 though, so I'm reasonably happy. I played at centre-back the first half and switched to right-back in the second period. One bad thing though; it's nearly impossible to play in the sweltering morning heat!

Booking in is the worst way to complete anyone's weekend. Another week of hell ensues, only this time, it gets much worse with manpacking and outfield exercise yet to come. Not to mention that there's a supposed ippt session on friday after a draining manpacking mission.

Please bring me some good news as soon as possible! :)

2007-05-19T20:52:00.000+08:00

I'm extremely thankful to have such wonderfully supportive parents! Perhaps my time in army has shaken me from my adolescent slumber when I was a busy and angsty teenager who didn't have time for anything except sports, friends and studies. Now that I'm in the army, I really cherish the time I spend with my parents on weekends, and it is evident that they feel the same way. My dad claims that he can afford to order a wider variety of dishes when I'm around to 'clean up' the unfinished food! :)

The last five months in army has been a trying period for me, one filled with uncertainty, difficulty and time constraints. My parents have accommodated to my needs as best as they could by picking me up from the pasir ris bus interchange (during my time in tekong) and fetching me to the camp at chongpang currently! I'm truly appreciative of their support because private transport saves a lot of time and energy which can be invested into doing other meaningful things, and, not to mention, it means there's one less thing to worry about every weekend!

I went shopping with my mum today and bought a new light blue bossini teeshirt! if only I had a nice camera phone or something then I could take a picture and upload it. Sadly, camera phones are banned in every military organization so I'm currently using a basic nokia phone without a camera function. When I get out of army, no one can stop me from getting a high end camera phone so that I can take some pictures and post it!

I hope a definitive answer will come by next week. I haven't been accepted or rejected out right, but this feeling of uncertainty is making me fairly uncomfortable. I'm certain something concrete will be done by the administration soon, so wish me luck and lots of love!

GOGOGO you RED DEVILS! :)

2007-05-13T19:04:00.000+08:00

Spiderman 3 was fantastic in terms of visual effects and presentation, however it seemed a little lacking in terms of the strong storyline which had made spiderman 1 and 2 such memorable blockbusters. I have my adwo buddy L awrence to thank for accompanying me to the movie!

That happened on an otherwise dour and uneventful friday night. The truth be known, the adwo course is finally starting to take its toll on us. The tension and worry in our midst is clearly building, and people are beginning to lose their minds because of their apprehension at being physically tortured from next week onwards.

Met up with my fellow bmt buddies G uowei and H umphrey today! They seem to be in the pink of health, and yes, both of them are in command school, which I originally aspired to but gave up after realising that I couldn't do pullups at all. I was planning on purchasing this new white globe belt but decided to go on a second round of belt-hunting next week, if I do get to book out that is. I feel like buying more clothes despite having already bought two new shirts this week! I want a pair of new bermudas which will most definitely cost me a bomb. Buying new clothes makes me happy and lightens this misery I've been experiencing for the past week or so.

Next week will probably be the biggest week of my life. In the words of my parents, it will come to you if it should, and do not have any regrets if you fail, because you have tried your best.

Cheerios!

2007-05-12T22:49:00.000+08:00

The first post of any diary is always immensely difficult. It's just like a blank sheet of canvas, waiting to be painted with the most artistic and intrinsic of pictures. Like the beginning of all things new, the revival of a blog is often linked with the attempted revival and rejuvenation of an individual; to help him rediscover his confidence in life after being beset with numerous difficulties. Possibly, a blog also gives him an opportunity to regain his touch with the complexities of the english language. National service has invariably led to the deterioration of his written and spoken english, and this writer feels a strong desire to halt this depressing decline.

Hopefully, with this introductory post to my blog concluded, it can now take flight!