concerned with the survival of their own species, nothing more. No more noble than others!
- THAT is one of my core beliefs. We exhaust our energies grappling with a myraid of lofty ideas. Running around in circles. Chasing our tails. We may find solutions; another planet to inhabit; or another reality; to aid us in our evolutionary journey, but we'll never run away from the reality of being a Human, and our innate biological needs. Every moment, your soul is screaming 'FEED ME', "Is that all you've got?" "Hell yeah." Recognise these primal instincts. I know them like my best pal.
So stop giving yourself excuses that Humans are more noble than all the other creatures. So condemn domestic abuse, animal abuse, and meat factories. The only thing we are blessed with, is a finite wisdom, a surety of knowledge that has prospered over the generations. Hurt begets hurt. So let be, let's lift our heads up high and hunt for the meaning of our lives (abstractly speaking).
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Project Narrative
(Edited 19/2/11)
I miss the narratives we used to write in class in my secondary school days. I had the inkling that the passage of time will rid me of many unpleasant things I want to forget via loss of memory, only to be replaced by the fond memorable ones which will grow more vivid.
I wonder what stifled my creativity these days, in my endless pursuit of doing things right and speeding up the way I work. "Wielder of the needle," I call myself.
"The needle speaks the truth, it is unbiased, except when it trades hands..." That's the mantra which I chant in my head, when the fearful patient looks nervously at me as he/she seats down in the chair of fate.
I have suffered numerous defeats and humiliations when my patient groans in pain as I withdrew a needle in failure. I swear most of whatever happens has to do with my own personal skill.
There are several more things I want to write about but I never had the time to expand on these ideas. Perhaps it was the way I organised things.
Note: The stories below are fictitious, incomplete fragments of thoughts for writing practice only. Any resemblance to real-life persons is purely coincidential.
So, in the style of Murakami...
---
#1. GPMG Grilling
I miss my day of shame, as I sat down behind the GPMG as a trainee. The Sergeant grilled me verbally, relentlessly. Faced with the mounting stress and not knowing what to do, tears rolled down my cheeks out of their own volition. But I did not cry or sniffle. This was entirely a stress response. I had to overcome this in front of a peer setting. No tearing. I swear, no tearing.
Rewind back a few months to BMT, I had my day of pride, as I was the fastest runner during one of the training 2.4 km runs. Even my OC gave me a pat on the back. But what's a good runner to do if he can't keep his cool?
***
Interlude
While my thoughts began to meander endlessly back-and-forth, the cogs and wheels began to turn and churn out my amazing thoughts, like a wondrous factory. These excursions of the mind, as I sit down, desk and chair, my primary vehicle to carry me, cruising excessively, a curious child again, through the recesses of my mind.
***
#2. I miss those polytechnic days, where I was glued to the idea that "the one who works himself hardest, shall reap the greatest returns". I miss studying on the bus, buried in my notes, and bored by all that text. I tried to appear uninterested in the attractive girls that walked by down the aisles, and dismiss you as a 'loser' with a little less than a parting glance.
***
#3. Standing Guard, Night-shift
The night was dry outside, and he stood guard at the guardpost as usual, waiting for things to happen. It was 2.30 AM in the morning. The outgoing shift was a dog-tired face, a glowing shade of pale and much-relieved at the sight of his comrade. He checks the battery-life indicator on his walkie-talkie and hands it to me, along with the communal loaded magazine of 5.56 rounds that we might have to use, in the event of any unlikely threat to the base.
"See ya at 8 AM tomorrow"
Without another word, he turns right and heads for the general direction of the guardhouse, where we bunk-in after duty, to restore our rifles back onto the rifle rack. Turning the lock in, we turn around to find our beds laid out like tongues in the seductive darkness. Meanwhile, mother slumber beckons her will enticely. Where we seek her to grant us a good night's rest, before the earth spins faster and throws our slumber plans into disarray, by the noisy racketing of rifles when the morning comes.
I remembered this morning. Or should I say this afternoon, I was swimming in the pool of the sports complex. And so was my head now, swimming. It was a good choice in retrospect. But I'm feeling groggy now. Due to waking up at this kind of unholy hour. I don't feel at all like talking. What should I do? Close my eyes. I rest my hands on my rifle. Sure there's a bud, a partner that can talk to, on this damn shift. Damn. But I'm too tired to express grumpiness.
Yin Zong. This fella was always having the girlfriend issues. He was talking on the phone. Said goodbye, and now sms-ing. What a lousy phone, I thought. It was so old and outdated. Yet it didn't have a camera, like mine did. I let out a faint chuckle within a little corner of my mind. And I thought, hell I must be crazy.
"Hey Jeremy, do you think you're weird?"
"Everyone thinks everyone is weird because they haven't been through what they have been.." I said
"Jeremy, just answer this question - yes or no - do you think you're weird?"
With an infinite patience that seems to grow every minute, I cocked my head sideways to face him.
"No. Why the heck would I think I am weird?"
A long silence ensues. So I look away, and glanced at my rifle. I glanced up and adjusted my jockey cap. What the hell, you're no better yourself... I thought. Yin Zong resumed the reassuring tapping away at his phone, an important message to his girlfriend, or maybe someone else he can find at this hour, I thought. At least he's predictable, unlike the restless wandering in my cranium.
I felt the dampness of the land breeze pass through my nostrils. I listened to my heartbeat thumping steadily in my chest, as I sat hunched on the cold, cheap stool. I switched on the radio on my handphone to help me stay awake and interested in the scenery before me. A long straight road for 200m, then my eyes met a small yellow light that blinked at short intervals. The first line of defense for the base, which reported anything suspicious coming by our way. The light blinked like a floating star above the ground. And So did the light on the walkie talkie.
"Yin Zong.."
"What..."
"Nothing..."
So we entertained ourselves as time passed. I kept a conscious watch for as long as I could, until my eyelids closed upon themselves. The chilly night stole away my consciousness. Time passed. When I returned back to reality, my eyes were open again. So I thought, Holy shit. I just had a waking dream.
***
As the waves tossed below the tower, I lay awake, wondering of the girl that I went out with at the movie. Sure, she's three years older than me, but at least she's takes a genuine interest in my personal well-being (a little later, she got uninterested upon discovering my limits and divergent interests).
***
I've always had the same dream of the scene where Bilbo Baggins chances upon Gollum's precious ring. The two of us buddies out on foot patrol, that one day we might stumble on something seriously bad. But Frodo and Sam always looked out for each other. This characterised my feelings during those NS days.
I miss the narratives we used to write in class in my secondary school days. I had the inkling that the passage of time will rid me of many unpleasant things I want to forget via loss of memory, only to be replaced by the fond memorable ones which will grow more vivid.
I wonder what stifled my creativity these days, in my endless pursuit of doing things right and speeding up the way I work. "Wielder of the needle," I call myself.
"The needle speaks the truth, it is unbiased, except when it trades hands..." That's the mantra which I chant in my head, when the fearful patient looks nervously at me as he/she seats down in the chair of fate.
I have suffered numerous defeats and humiliations when my patient groans in pain as I withdrew a needle in failure. I swear most of whatever happens has to do with my own personal skill.
There are several more things I want to write about but I never had the time to expand on these ideas. Perhaps it was the way I organised things.
Note: The stories below are fictitious, incomplete fragments of thoughts for writing practice only. Any resemblance to real-life persons is purely coincidential.
So, in the style of Murakami...
---
#1. GPMG Grilling
I miss my day of shame, as I sat down behind the GPMG as a trainee. The Sergeant grilled me verbally, relentlessly. Faced with the mounting stress and not knowing what to do, tears rolled down my cheeks out of their own volition. But I did not cry or sniffle. This was entirely a stress response. I had to overcome this in front of a peer setting. No tearing. I swear, no tearing.
Rewind back a few months to BMT, I had my day of pride, as I was the fastest runner during one of the training 2.4 km runs. Even my OC gave me a pat on the back. But what's a good runner to do if he can't keep his cool?
***
Interlude
While my thoughts began to meander endlessly back-and-forth, the cogs and wheels began to turn and churn out my amazing thoughts, like a wondrous factory. These excursions of the mind, as I sit down, desk and chair, my primary vehicle to carry me, cruising excessively, a curious child again, through the recesses of my mind.
***
#2. I miss those polytechnic days, where I was glued to the idea that "the one who works himself hardest, shall reap the greatest returns". I miss studying on the bus, buried in my notes, and bored by all that text. I tried to appear uninterested in the attractive girls that walked by down the aisles, and dismiss you as a 'loser' with a little less than a parting glance.
***
#3. Standing Guard, Night-shift
The night was dry outside, and he stood guard at the guardpost as usual, waiting for things to happen. It was 2.30 AM in the morning. The outgoing shift was a dog-tired face, a glowing shade of pale and much-relieved at the sight of his comrade. He checks the battery-life indicator on his walkie-talkie and hands it to me, along with the communal loaded magazine of 5.56 rounds that we might have to use, in the event of any unlikely threat to the base.
"See ya at 8 AM tomorrow"
Without another word, he turns right and heads for the general direction of the guardhouse, where we bunk-in after duty, to restore our rifles back onto the rifle rack. Turning the lock in, we turn around to find our beds laid out like tongues in the seductive darkness. Meanwhile, mother slumber beckons her will enticely. Where we seek her to grant us a good night's rest, before the earth spins faster and throws our slumber plans into disarray, by the noisy racketing of rifles when the morning comes.
I remembered this morning. Or should I say this afternoon, I was swimming in the pool of the sports complex. And so was my head now, swimming. It was a good choice in retrospect. But I'm feeling groggy now. Due to waking up at this kind of unholy hour. I don't feel at all like talking. What should I do? Close my eyes. I rest my hands on my rifle. Sure there's a bud, a partner that can talk to, on this damn shift. Damn. But I'm too tired to express grumpiness.
Yin Zong. This fella was always having the girlfriend issues. He was talking on the phone. Said goodbye, and now sms-ing. What a lousy phone, I thought. It was so old and outdated. Yet it didn't have a camera, like mine did. I let out a faint chuckle within a little corner of my mind. And I thought, hell I must be crazy.
"Hey Jeremy, do you think you're weird?"
"Everyone thinks everyone is weird because they haven't been through what they have been.." I said
"Jeremy, just answer this question - yes or no - do you think you're weird?"
With an infinite patience that seems to grow every minute, I cocked my head sideways to face him.
"No. Why the heck would I think I am weird?"
A long silence ensues. So I look away, and glanced at my rifle. I glanced up and adjusted my jockey cap. What the hell, you're no better yourself... I thought. Yin Zong resumed the reassuring tapping away at his phone, an important message to his girlfriend, or maybe someone else he can find at this hour, I thought. At least he's predictable, unlike the restless wandering in my cranium.
I felt the dampness of the land breeze pass through my nostrils. I listened to my heartbeat thumping steadily in my chest, as I sat hunched on the cold, cheap stool. I switched on the radio on my handphone to help me stay awake and interested in the scenery before me. A long straight road for 200m, then my eyes met a small yellow light that blinked at short intervals. The first line of defense for the base, which reported anything suspicious coming by our way. The light blinked like a floating star above the ground. And So did the light on the walkie talkie.
"Yin Zong.."
"What..."
"Nothing..."
So we entertained ourselves as time passed. I kept a conscious watch for as long as I could, until my eyelids closed upon themselves. The chilly night stole away my consciousness. Time passed. When I returned back to reality, my eyes were open again. So I thought, Holy shit. I just had a waking dream.
***
As the waves tossed below the tower, I lay awake, wondering of the girl that I went out with at the movie. Sure, she's three years older than me, but at least she's takes a genuine interest in my personal well-being (a little later, she got uninterested upon discovering my limits and divergent interests).
***
I've always had the same dream of the scene where Bilbo Baggins chances upon Gollum's precious ring. The two of us buddies out on foot patrol, that one day we might stumble on something seriously bad. But Frodo and Sam always looked out for each other. This characterised my feelings during those NS days.
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