Joke Joke!

My first real laugh at home for a long time. Non-singlish speakers, sorry lah.

"See how lah."

"See how? What you mean see how?"

"See how lah! You don't know what's the meaning of 'see how' meh."

"No I don't know what's 'see how' but i know what's 'see cow'. 'Seecow' is manatee lah. I saw documentary on it last night."

Methinks dad has a small spark of funny in him sometimes.

----

Should've read this a long time ago, but well, better late than never. I will buy this if ST pays me for today's photos. Dammit. I need money.




Oh, and count: Day 2 of no beer!

Someone in South Asia found work as a photog for Unicef. Hooray!

Someone else in Europe won a prestigious national photography competition. Hooray!

And someone else else may potentially see her photos in ST very soon. HOORAY!



A nice end to an otherwise melancholic Sunday night.


My bid to remain beer-free begins today and ends, well, pretty soon i think. But till then, cue Bridget Jones, count: 1 day of no beer. Exercise: Zero.

And oh, a little bit of fame for good ol' Singapore on this week's issue of Postsecret:



Aiyoh. No wonder low birthrate lah, the men are either not doing or or not doing it right.


UPDATE: Well. Photos are in, but with the usual cropping and attribution woes (photos AND text AND text AND text).

You know you've to stop drinking beer, or at least cut down, when you end up using your beer belly as a fifth limb while trying to haul cartons around even though a knee or lap would have done just as well. It is hard to explain how I did it, suffice to say that it was acting more like a resting pivotal point when I needed my two hands free to wrap tape around the carton. Packing the calories, dammit.

---------------------

I changed my sentence thingy above because I read this line today at the library and it really stuck.

There was a discussion about getting to know subjects first before photographing them - which is not a topic I frequently talk about here because not many people seem to have that luxury of time in their line of work. But I used to wonder, if my penchant for doing so was actually some sort of unconscious laziness in me that wanted to postpone having to actually do work.

But after reading what these women photographers said, I think I can go a little easier on myself lah.

What goes up must come down

Its been nice so far, nice to know that its not the end yet though!
Thanks to the unsuspecting people who kenna dragged down to help me take down the stuff.

Iridescence

I saw this in Tampines the other day and was quite upset I didn't have any camera with me. Some guy over in Changi took a video though (same date), its strange what you can find online.

"Pileus or "mushroom cap" clouds are formed above cumulus. During the day warm moist air in cumulus rises and the clouds tower upwards. Sometimes their vertical growth pushes up a layer of moist air above them. The air layer expands as it is forced up into lower pressure surroundings and adiabatically cools. The water vapour in it suddenly condenses forming a misty veil-like layer of droplets above the cumulus - pileus cloud. Any cloud formed suddenly has all its droplets of similar size - ideal for iridescence or a coron."

I miss Geog class.

Mmmmmmmmmmm

Absolutely scrumptious eye-candy. Changed photo cos last one was being weird. But I don't care!! Mmmmmmmmm.

My first exhibit.

Ok, so.

The past week has been an awful amateur's nightmare of sorts, what with getting my prints done (the selection process was entirely unsatisfactory) and setting up (blue panels had to be covered with black cloth, because.. i'm just that fussy)... but what's done is done, and I am pleased.

It wasn't so at first though. When I was done with everything, I sat at a corner of the library feeling entirely exhausted and wanting to just fall asleep right there and then. I felt like a 9-5 job person who went clubbing every single day of the week. I looked at my photos cramped together on these tiny panels and I felt utterly unsatisfied. Both with the presentation and my work. Definitely not my best, I'll be the first to admit that.

But then the people trickled in. A lot strolled on by, rushing to the second floor to borrow books. But there were those who came forward and looked. I'd never studied people's faces so intensely before, but now I did. Are they reading the captions? What sequence are they looking at? Why is he squinting!?

And I was surprised and touched to see that all those who slowed down to look at the pictures came forward and took the time to read what I had written.

At one point, the library cleaner came and took a slow tour around the photos. She didn't seem to read the captions, but she excitedly pointed out Masiah to her colleague. "Ah you see you see! This one at Kembangan MRT!"

She seemed to feel an affinity with Masiah because they were both Malay, like she was proud her long lost sister was being featured.

And in a encouraging boost, Xiaoling dropped by to lend her support and smsed me later that she had overheard a man looking at the photos and remarking in Mandarin "ta men ye shi ren" ("They're people too").

And when a young boy I'd been observing actually stopped to read out loud quietly every single caption and text, I just teared lah.

I don't know how to explain it, but I guess this project must've meant more to me than I thought it did. It really matters.

So yes. I am pleased. It's not the prettiest exhibit, nor the most glamerous, but it did what I set out to do, and I really couldn't ask for more.

The pre-reflective post

Wanted to write about how I felt when my photos went up, but too tired.

So I'll do what my cat does best.

Intruiged by the different kind of disappearing keys. I'm sure some scientist could totally tell the length of our fingers, and thus personality, and our estimated time of death even - based on what keys are left on your laptop.

And yes, it really is that dirty. I blame Banglaland. Nothing stays clean there.

Surviving on a two hours of sleep for the past couple of days, I really wonder what I am operating on.

It takes me almost two hours to do this invite. Rectangle or square? White or black? Dots or no dots? Why is the sans serif fonts so lousy? How many times can I use Futura? How the hell to get the pictures into a circle? How much detail to add in?

I think there must've been 10 previous versions before this one.


Many people to thank so far, but for today, I still cannot believe Terse put in a whole afternoon to walk me through (tediously) step by step the whole printing process.

Aiyoh. Thank you lah. I hope I was amusement enough in my sleep-deprived state.

ADDED NOTE: I want to warn anyone who is intending to show up that mine is not so much an exhibition but a display, and it is small - i ain't trying to be modest, really. Just a heads up so that you won't widen your eyes in horror in front of me.

Sunsets and Starvation

Its amazing the kind of stuff you find in your mail sometimes. This forwarded article blew my mind:

How to Write about Africa:

"Your African characters may include naked warriors, loyal servants, diviners and seers, ancient wise men living in hermitic splendour. Or corrupt politicians, inept polygamous travel-guides, and prostitutes you have slept with. The Loyal Servant always behaves like a seven-year-old and needs a firm hand; he is scared of snakes, good with children, and always involving you in his complex domestic dramas. The Ancient Wise Man always comes from a noble tribe (not the money-grubbing tribes like the Gikuyu, the Igbo or the Shona). He has rheumy eyes and is close to the Earth. The Modern African is a fat man who steals and works in the visa office, refusing to give work permits to qualified Westerners who really care about Africa. He is an enemy of development, always using his government job to make it difficult for pragmatic and good-hearted expats to set up NGOs or Legal Conservation Areas. Or he is an Oxford-educated intellectual turned serial-killing politician in a Savile Row suit. He is a cannibal who likes Cristal champagne, and his mother is a rich witch-doctor who really runs the country."




The rest is just as Brilliant.

Exhausted.

I have a list on my whiteboard at home withthe names of people to thank when all this madness is over. Yes, I am that forgetful.

Psychosis 5:11 (Not)

I write this so that I can laugh at myself tomorrow because it is becoming apparent that I will receive no sleep whatsoever, which may not be a bad thing, since that last dream about Darren and some weird psycho chick (not me) I haven't exactly been looking forward to sleeping but still it is a useful thing especially when you have a meeting with a teacher who is already not too happy with you followed by a interview with a newspaper and you must be coherant enough to respond in Mandarin, oh lordy lord, i think i will allow him full reign at translation just so I can think less, and all this because of bloody FYP-The-Damned which is turning out very nicely perhaps because (as I discovered tonight) some people out there has been doing some very nice things on my behalf without telling me so now my illusion of good luck has been somewhat shattered, and oh yes, i put on 1 kg and my tummy region looks quite strangely distended.

I sincerely had no idea

that Terry Gilliam was the man responsible for Brazil, Jabberwocky, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Twelve Monkeys. Oh, right. And Monty Python.


I am in awe.

And it does feel good when you get a chance to say a "AHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" as all the pieces of the jigsaw come together.


--------

Meet Vince.

Vince is 83-years-old. He parks himself at a corner in Holland Village's Coffee Bean and buys himself a fresh pack of Limos Lights and a cup of cappuccino, reading till it is time to go home.

He has read 14 books since Christmas, and his favourite book (that he was able to recall there and then) is Tuesdays with Morrie. He used to like John Grisham's books, but he finally got bored of them.

Vince heads to Singapore during the winter months, when it gets intolerably cold in Toronto. He stays with his son, who brought him to have dinner with a Prince in Kuala Lumpur a few weeks ago.

He tells me, that his son has a private chauffeur who brought him to all parts of Singapore the first time he came here.

I have travelled the world, Jessica, he said.

He asks if I know where South America is, and then tells a story about his cousin who was a missionary in Argentina who built houses for the people. His cousin stayed there for many years, and when he returned from a trip back home to Canada, he drowned in a river his first day back. It is very mysterious, said Vince.

Vince reads his book with a scrap piece of paper as a bookmark. He presses the book into the table and opens it as far as the spine can take it. He reads with one finger on the page, murmuring softly under his breath.

Are you religious, Jessica? He once asked me. He wears a gold-coloured pendent with a picture of Jesus.

Vince rarely looks up when he is reading, but will occasionally take time to observe and stare at the scene before him. He walks slowly, and with a slight limp.

The end.

It had been at the tip of my tongue for the past few weeks but I had constantly swallowed the urge to say it for fear of not being able to make her understand exactly what it was I wanted to say.

"You know, we really couldn't be any more different."

"Oh yes, I know."

She and I lived in the same system and walked on the same streets, but we could have passed our lives without the slightest inkling of each other's existence.



My FYP is constantly pushing my own boundaries, and even if it accomplishes nothing else, at least I'll have these experiences to remember.

It is ironic, that it is in my own country that I finally found the one person I am incapable of understanding. In the sense that the difference is so acute that even attempts at self-denial fail miserably, and I am left shooting blanks in the dark trying to figure out who this person really is.

And now for something completely different

Absurdities as a career is something I'd always considered.

After years of trying to explain what Trigger Happy TV is.. well. Please watch this.



And specially for GQ, what we will spend days watching when FYP is over:

Just to share a bit of prose that made me stop breathing.


---

Úrsula wondered if it was not preferable to lie down once and for all in her grave and let them throw the earth over her, and she asked God, without fear, if he really believe that people were made of iron in order to bear so many troubles and mortifications; and asking over and over she was stirring up her own confusion and she felt irrepressible desires to let herself go and scamper about like a foreigner and allow herself at last an instant of rebellion, that instant yearned for so many times and so many times postponed, putting her resignation aside and shitting on everything once and for all and drawing out of her heart the infinite stacks of bad words that she had been forced to swallow over a century of conformity.

"Shit!" she shouted.

Amaranta, who was starting to put the clothes into the trunk, thought she had been bitten by a scorpion.

"Where is it?" she asked in alarm.
"What?"
"The bug!" Amaranta said.

Úrsula put a finger on her heart.

"Here," she said.


- Márquez


---

This is why I want to learn Spanish.

I feel fat.

Oh. My. Lord.



This cat's waist is bigger than mine. 31 inches. Poor kitty. I am terrified my cat will become her because I can't stop feeding her. But judging by the way she still does her crazy midnight sprints around the house, I think I'll get fat before she does.




---


There is really little wonder why I absolutely HATE taking photos in club/bar/pub settings. My god if you want to take pictures go to, like, the singapore river, or something.

I am wondering if the stress of FYP will increase or decrease the number that turn up next Thursday. On one hand being forced to face discussion about "so how's your fyp", and on the other.. well. Beer.

And I sincerely hope none of the Year 3s show up this time, for the very simple reason that the Brewerkz function room is SMALL and tables and chairs are limited.


---

Emelia (yes she's back) and I vegetated in front of the television watching "America's Number ONE pageant.. THE SWAN" while finishing one regular hawaiian pan pizza and one cheesy lava3 pepperoni pizza, pepsi and garlic bread.

Now, I know that I'm not fat, but it is quite something to be so utterly full that you can't suck it in even if you tried.

Pizzas, like nasi briyani, is one of those things that I can eat forever and ever.

There must've been something in the pizzas, because we were bitter, bitter people watching that show.

"I think they spent so much on all their operations and surgeries they had to like buy the evening gowns wholesale from some hooker."

"She looks like page 3 on a catalogue for eastern european brides."

"She's cute, in a barbie doll way."

"I wonder if her Dad praises her new boobs like he does her new-found self confidence."


Oh dear. At one point, the host of the show (who has the most bizzare accent which is actually irish but sounds newzealandish-british-american) said something like:

"The ladies will be judged on beauty, poise and overall transformation. What better way to show that than to put these women into a swimsuit and highheels and have them walk for us!"

Really! I no bluff!

Aiyah, should know better than to watch a bloody pageant.



Last note: Trying to trace my 10-year around-the-world journey is turning out to be damn difficult even though I'm only fantasizing. There's no way to do it without backtracking and thus losing valuable time!

Visual Hope

When I awoke and tottered around the house in a sleepy stupor, where reality was still another dreamland I had not quite settled into - I saw the cover of today's Home section which said "Going smiling into the night" and I saw LKY's big smiling face plastered across I actually thought for a few seconds that it was he who died and not S Rajaratnam.

Why on earth did they pick that photo!?

Bizarre.

FYP be Damned

"To be concealed, protected, guarded, that is all I have ever truly wanted, to burrow down into a place of womby warmth and cower there, hidden from the sky's indifferent gaze and the harsh air's damagings. That is why the past is just such a retreat for me, I go there eagerly, rubbing my hands and shaking off the cold present and the colder future. And yet, what existence, really, does it have, the past? After all, it is only what the present was, once, the present that is gone, no more than that. And yet." - The Sea.

When I am stressed, I either fantasize about the future or think about the past. Anything to enter the Land of Escapism, of which I am its Queen.

And I guess because I've done the former, that I find my brain moving back to, where else, Banglaland.

Oh to drink tea on a street corner again.

------------------------------------

I had not been in a socially awkward situation for a long time, until this afternoon. Something about being surrounded by strangers in a place that I had no business to be in.

I suppose it was rather odd for me, one of them remarked my face was white, which it was, but not because I was scared, but perhaps just completely nervous by virtue of being the odd one out. I recognised more than half of them either from the work they had done or simply because they're a friend of a friend. So it was a strange situation of knowing, yet not knowing.

But I am utterly grateful that everyone has been remarkably patient with my endless questions on printingpaperhangingmountinglaminationprintersexhibitingblahblahblah. Had to put on thicker skin, but I seem to be growing into it quite nicely.

One fine day, when I am finally in a better place (professionally) I will invite all the people who have patiently helped me to a nice nice buffet. A certain Uncle KC will obviously be at the head of the table. Even if it takes me 10 years to have enough finances to finance such a big meal, I will!

I hope they show up, though.

MoSi

He came over to Singapore from Morocco in 1999.

Are you a Singaporean? He enquired in that earnest manner, trying hard not to seem rude for asking a customer a personal question. His demeanor made me smile.

I affirmed it was true, and he looked slightly surprised.

His little cafe is by far the most modest out of the lot scattered about Arab St. Some of the others have ethnic decorations spilling out all over the place, candles and cushions, little trinkets and precious-looking ashtrays. They play their music too loud, and through the windows of one I saw an iPod connected to speakers sitting on a bar counter.

In MoSi, the CD frequently skips. "Morocco and Singapore, so MoSi," he once explained. Aside from the various hookahs placed out front, the only thing that looks vaguely Moroccan are three photographs cut out from magazines which have been framed and hung on the far wall inside the cafe.

I asked if it was he who took the photographs.

"Oh no." A pause.

"Look, this is a man making bread, in the mountains you know?" He uttered a foreign phrase which I could not catch.

"And here, a little girl looking at something. Are you leaving already? I just started heating up more charcoal for you."

It was his footsteps that intruiged me the most at first. More honest than meek, he had the stride of someone who did not want to walk too fast or go too far in case he was stopped for doing so.


----------------------


First set of photos from the last Meulaboh trip. All taken at the mass graves on 26th December, 2005 after the mass prayers. It was 11am-1pm, harshest lighting conditions, and I could not possibly use flash in the face of these people. Well, I guess I could, but I didn't want to.

Under a Streetlamp.

"Rough? You mean like.. not smooth?"

- GQ enters the zone of irrelevance amidst shisha smoke.

You'd think that a Reuters-employed chick would know better. Even in our various vegetative state we were all appalled.

There is something about the light from streetlamps that makes everything unreal. And I can think about whatever I want, and imagine myself doing whatever I want to do without a tinge of impossibility or cynicism.

Right now, I am looking at a world map, and a 10-year journey around the world is starting to take root in my brain and I think I will not be forgetting this fantasy for a long time.

EMJEM

I am pleased.

Eat Me. Just Eat Me.

Its a nice day, my friends (or at least it will be when he straightens out his links).

It sure is nice to know that I'm not one of the "50,000 non-Malays" who watch Dia on Suria.

And that Mediacorp will allow me to join new reality show on Suria as long as I can speak Malay, even if I am a "non-Malay".

Dudes. Seriously. Talk about drawing a line.


------------------------

The totally unoriginal and shamelessly pirated Obiang Party looks set to go. If It really does happen, I will credit the amazing people who did it first, and then show them how it's REALLY done.

I am not HIP. I steal and don't Honour Intellectual Property.

But the hunt is on for a suitably Obiang venue. My house would totally qualify, except that I consulted Cat and Cat said No, I'm sure You can find Someone's Else's House to ruin.

Oh my gawd people, this is, like, so totally JC man.

You should start thinking of what to wear. Its not quite as easy as you'd think. For inspiration, look towards your parent's old photo albums. Go back... WAY back till you reach the point where the laughter becomes shock. Then you'd know you got the right era.

If you don't have any photos, however, please feel free to look to real life examples at this website:

Singapore Members of Parliament

For starters: This guy, this guy and this guy. And of course, The King.

In fact, if anyone asks where I got this idea I'll just say I was inspired by the optical-wear of our Members of Parliament.

I am evidently grouchy today.

Anyone who still thinks that PMS is a figment of our fickle female imagination - you come see me. Now.

You won't actually get to speak to me (not that you'd want to, trust me), but you will receive a list of numbers to call to speak to people who will provide convincing accounts of real life experiences.

And real life accounts, my friends, is king as far as this shitty society is concerned. Dogbert said so.


Dogbert: "Oh I've something much better than proof. Anecdotal evidence."
Dilbert: "Who would be dumb enough to believe anecdotal evidence?"
Dogbert: "Oh I've narrowed my target market to... people?"
Dilbert: "I've got news for you, we people are smarter than we look."
Dogbert: "So how hard would that be, really."

-Season 4, The Fact

The HSBC ad on the front page of Home section today. For the benefit of working journalists, or one of other types of people who don't read the newspaper, it featured two photographs of a man having dinner with two different women.

Buy one dinner, get the next free. Something like that.

There is something to be said about this, but it just occured to me that if the tables were turned (one woman - two men) I would be laughing.

Today's papers also had a picture of a anti-government protest in Bangladesh. I would like to say that hartel days were the best days because I could go to work late. Also, I could take a rickshaw right from my doorstep and not have to walk to the opposite street because no one drove on hartel days and the rickshaw restrictions on the roads were lifted. Oh, and that hartels were always announced the day before in the major newspapers.




Back in the old days, she loved walking all over the iBook and sitting in front of the screen while I devoured entire seasons of sitcoms.


















Some people think that cats are evil.


















Nothing cute about this picture, that's all I can say.

Karma

After reading my previous entries : I'm so sorry Tym, my grammar is horrible. But alas! Have decided to rely on sub editors forever instead of doing it right.


--------------


Karma's a bitch, and she bites on V-day.

Somehow, the fact that I have no feelings whatsoever for Mr Engineer increases the "mocking" factor of the situation - because it makes the lying seem even more senseless.

Seated outdoors in HV with my legs curled up underneath and my iBook, a book, blueberry muffin, iced latte and smokes laid out neatly in front, looking out for the biggest bouquet... it really was such a nicely normal afternoon.

Till I see Mr Engineer and his date stroll by.

Walking along HV has got to be the most ingenious way to take a scuba lesson ever!

We didn't even have any kind of commitment to speak of - why on earth concoct such an elaborate excuse peppered with heartfelt-sounding apologies? Scuba lessons?? You are ridiculous.

I apologise in advance for the unnecessarily sarcastic sms you will inevitably receive sooner or later.


Well! That's that.


-----------------

Not enough bitterness? Need to get depressed? PostSecret has a V-Day special.

Oh dear. You've been warned.

The Sea is haunting me. It is haunting me everywhere I go. Touching the book makes me uncomfortable.

I had intially typed a long and deliberately bitter entry about the various idiotic love dedications I've heard on the radio since 9 am in the morning, then I realised it was my own fault for not switching it off, and bitterness never did agree with me unless its displayed by George from Seinfeld.

So, if cannot fight then join lor. In the name of mush and unrealistic expectations from fellow human beings: I wish that I can meet someone who will be able to have a conversation with me and never let me win an argument by his sheer intelligence and unbeatable logic. A lot of people just give up trying to argue because they can see that I won't agree without a fight.

I met someone like that once, just one person so far, and that was years ago in JC. So I do know they exist.

I wasted a wish the other day. I had an eyelash, and I had heard that there was a time limit "HURRY HURRY WISH AND BLOW" and I really have quite a long list which I cannot recall at will or under pressure so I ended up making some kinda generic world-peace wish. I should have a ready list of specific wishes next time.

And I don't have birthday cakes anymore, and shooting stars are not visible from here... so. Eyelashes are all I got.