The learning curve

The law of attraction. As life's events unfold, I find myself increasingly convinced of this secular theory. Getting two Ps in a row has done nothing but shaken my confidence more than a little; in fact, I'm not sure anymore. But it's strange that I almost knew it would happen, or perhaps this is what the lay person assumes as the so overused self-fulling prophecy.

The funny thing is, if everything has its place, I'm then beginning to wonder if it were all but a mirage, that is until now. Of course, I can simply dismiss it as the by now non-existent confidence speaking, but I can't seem to convince myself, not yet anyway. It sure is not the end of the world to get a bad grade, or two, but the pressing question is, why can't the good days be more permanent?

A more objective reasoning my friend gave - "Well, it's a learning curve..." - made absolute sense because afterall, I can't deny that I'm still learning the mastery.

At the end of the day, I have to admit that although the first P did bring on shock and a tear or two, it did cushion me from the impact of the second one. And while I fight against falling into believing a resigned fate of bad grades, I can't help but wonder why my tangible reminder of strength has chosen this crucial time to break.

It's a WONDER-ful world

Of course, it isn't the first time I've been told, but I couldn't help but wonder: Is the world much more complicated than I thought it to be? I'm not naive; I don't harbour unrealistic thoughts about the world and the people who live in it, but I do think that everything could be less convoluted, less warped. But evidently, being simple is a more arduous feat.

It all began with the dilemma (not mine, obviously) of not wanting to go for lunch with a certain character from the workplace, and almost impossible to skip it graciously without a valid explanation. And an explanation would suffice to be, well, apparently un-PC, no matter how validated the reason may seem; being sheepish or evasive wouldn't work the trick either. Baffled over the non-issue, I thought aloud, why don't you tell the host you don't feel comfortable with the company and ask to be excused?

"Because the world is not as simple as you think," came the almost immediate response.

But I was wondering (still am...), if being truthful is a fault and telling the truth is not accepted as a valid reason for wanting or not wanting (to do) something, then what is? Lies? Or at a lesser intensity, half-truths?

Hmmm...

"What is the greatest challenge in your life?"

"Me."

I first heard this three days ago. And it was almost like the snap of the fingers that brought me out of my trance, momentarily. That's so me, I thought. And if it's hard for me to understand myself sometimes, I can only imagine how hard it must be for my friends. But it's not like I'm not aware of it. I am aware; it's just that the more I have to explain myself, the more I'll keep mum.

Many a times, I wonder if people are really interested in my life, in what I'm doing, or simply because phatic questions are a social expectation. Sometimes, I feel bad not reciprocating the same inquisitiveness after I've been bombarded with questions. Other times, I feel compelled to say something back. But it doesn't happen to everybody all the time; just sometimes. Which leaves me to wonder: Is it me?

Of course, I always know the answer...

What I am made of

Sugar and spice and everything nice? Nah, who am I trying to kid?

*lol*

I've come to realise that I should stop deluding myself, that I'm a nice person. No, although I don't consider myself to be on the malicious end of the spectrum, I don't quite exactly fall into the angelic category either. Short of being a sweetie pie, which I should actually try to be one, I always knew that I have a sharp tongue and sometimes, can say the most sarcastic of things at the wrong time. On good days, I am all smiles, and well, let's just put it as you would never want to get me on a bad day. I consider myself an intellect, in terms of deciphering underlying messages from what people say. Of course, "track record" has it that I'm more often wrong than not.

I can be a gan-cheong spider at times, which is an ironic juxtapose considering the ah-pek at the train station actually walks faster than me. I can't stand Singlish, yet I'm writing it now. I like people but I dislike the noise that comes with it. I miss my family and my friends; I can't wait to go home though I always choose to leave home for prolong periods of time.

So while I continue fathoming about what I am made of, maybe you should too. *wink*

Had I?

I want to teach my students more

than lessons in a book;

I want to teach them deeper things

that people overlook -

The value of a rose in bloom,

its use and beauty, too,

A sense of curiosity to discover what is true;

How to think and how to choose

the right above the wrong,

How to live and learn each day

and grow up to be strong;

To teach them always how to gain

in wisdom and in grace,

So they will someday make the world

a brighter, better place.

Lord, let me be a friend and guide

to give these minds a start

Upon their way down life's long road,

then I'll have done my part.

~ Jill Wolf

In retrospect, I'd always been blessed with good teachers in my formative years and if I'd ever done badly in any test or exam, I know that's because I hadn't studied hard enough. Let me cite you an example - with the help of my extremely patient tuition teacher, the Math idiot that I am actually managed a B3 (from a D7, no less) in Additional Mathematics in the O levels!

And so in the week leading to my last lessons at the language school I have been working at this past half a year (and for the nth time, no, it's not tuition), I have this to wonder: Had I been a good teacher throughout my entire teaching career? Had I been there when my students needed me? Had I taught them well academically, morally and ethically? Had I inadvertently crushed a dream because of my thoughtlessness or disbelieve (that they can do it)? And most importantly, had I made a difference?

None but Jesus

Fear is like walking alone in an unlit alley in the middle of the night. And just like walking along a dark alley, fear is not knowing which way to go.

In the same way, fear has somehow struck a chord in me the past couple of months. Yet strangely, I wasn't exactly scared scared. Sure, I'd worn some (or many) frowns on my face, groused about some real issues, and perhaps, even snapped once or twice (no, more), but there seemed to be an assurance that everything will work out just fine (which it did). Perhaps it was the reminder from my HK apartment episode I suspect, but I think it's a lot more than that. Over the years, I've learnt, albeit slowly, to cast all my cares on Him (from 1 Peter 5:7). Sure, my faith falters and sometimes I forget, but He who calms the raging seas will never leave me nor forsake me (from Deuteronomy 31:6).

Coincidentally or otherwise, how apt that I should be penning this thought on Independence Day. And in the same way no hero should go unsung (read the excerpt from Our Daily Bread) in the history of the United States, neither should the Jesus in my life...

Ring a till, not...

Just as wealth has no bearing over humility, there are many things in the world that money cannot buy. For one, money can't acquire the feeling of warm personal attachment to another person. And this feeling of deep affection toward another person does not fall under the subset of blood relations by default.

Last night, as I was happily dishing the tofu onto my plate, one of the see-you-once-a-year elders suddenly sprang this on me, "I've not seen you in years! What were you doing in Hong Kong anyway? Did you think of me?" which was followed quickly with a justification, "Well, I just wanna see if you have heart..." Honestly, I was half glad I hadn't eaten the tofu yet for I would probably have made history by being the first person who'd choked to death by tofu while screaming "WT...?". An honest answer would be "Nope, not at all." but I secretly suspect that wouldn't be the most politically correct answer and I might just get myself into trouble for being rude. So, I ehh... and erm... and managed to wriggle myself out of a dicey situation without having to lie against my conscience or offend the I-cannot-afford-to-piss-off elder with the truth.

In retrospect, I wondered if perhaps throwing the same question back ("So, did you think of me then?") was the lesser of the two evils coz now, not only have I earned myself the reputation of a silly goose who cannot carry out a decent conversation over dinner, I have also earned myself a couple of sleepless nights and perhaps a couple of fine lines fretting over my complete lack of wit and the mental bashing I'm awarding myself now. On the other hand, I couldn't help but wonder if I'm simply reading too much. And perhaps I should seriously consider writing The Complete Idiot's Guide to FAQ During Family Reunions.

Of course, I could also consider writing a 10,000 word essay speculating the intended purpose(s) of that string of questions, given the context, case studies of relevant situations and personality traits, but whatever it is, somehow I'm pretty sure it had, no doubt sadly, a negatory effect on the respect I have for this particular elder in the family. And that too, is something money cannot buy.

Freezing time...

Somehow, I'd really hoped the rumours were true, that the Nikon D90 (the improved version of the D80, left) will be launched in early July, if not late June.

My love for photography stems from the year I turned 17. But somehow, and strangely if I might add, it was like a best-kept secret for many people I'd known were surprised at this skill (I was even asked, "Huh? You mean you're good at this?" when I volunteered to check their camera setting after their photographs turned out disappointing and no, I didn't make this up). Sure, I don't produce images fit for the salon, but to me, they're good enough.

At a time and space where change is the only constant, I searched the reason for the love that has never waned. I figured it's like this: Photography allows me to capture the moment and freeze it in time, where it will never change. Be it a smile on my best friend's face, a melting ice-cream cone in the summer heat, a flower in bloom, or balloons in the air. Once frozen with a click, they'll always be the way I first saw them. And it's probably the only constant I can grasp in life.

Poet James Metcalfe puts photography in words beautifully:

A photograph is more than just
A gift to bring or send.
And more than just the likeness of
A relative or friend.

It is a kindly greeting and
A memory to hold.
Of happy times and pleasant things.
However new or old.

It is a mirror that reflects
Companionship and cheer.
And now and then the wistfulness
That turns into a tear.

A photograph is something to
Adorn a desk or wall.
Or carry in a pocket and
Display to one and all.

It is a faithful portrait
The smile that friendship shares
To add its sunshine and to show
That someone really cares.

Across the Universe

Some occurrences in our lives aren't necessarily a consequence of our direct actions or choices (it may be someone else's), but we can choose the way we want to react towards them. And sometimes, I figured, what may seem terrible initially may just turn out to be something not that bad or even good, given time. In my limited capacity to grasp a complete understanding of the universe, I believe that everything happens for the greater good, even though I may not understand it or like it at that point of time. After all, everything happens for a reason...

B.E.L.I.E.V.E.

For more than 50 years, Scandinavian home furnishing store IKEA not only offers affordable great-looking furniture pieces, but also adopts an extremely user-friendly and idiot-proof arrangement where shoppers just have to follow the designated path and not miss a single section. And it comes complete with shortcuts where shoppers can choose to skip one section to the next at their fancy.

I love IKEA. I recall my freshman, sophomore and graduating year at uni where sometimes, I'll just hop on bus 33 at the bus stop behind Yusoff Hall to the furniture store along Alexander Road. Maybe it was the meatballs or the free flow of coffee, but I'm beginning to wonder if I was actually drawn to the store because of the effortless way that I could move in that huge space and not get lost.

But yesterday, I actually felt lost, literally. You see, IKEA is currently undergoing a facelift and the store is less than, well, user-friendly. Some sections were missing (I think), some had been moved and the designated path felt different from what I'd remembered it.

Pondering over coffee, I had this to wonder: If life were an IKEA store, where the different sections of our lives are neatly compartmentalised sequentially with a designated path that'll bring us, ultimately, to the exit, albeit a longer time some of us may take or a shorter one if one chooses a short cut, what or how would it be like?

Perhaps Forrest Gump was right. Maybe life is really like a box of chocolates and we'll never know what we're gonna get. In life, we either follow a set plan, or that we float about randomly like a feather in the wind. But I couldn't help wonder: How is it that this profound concept of life could be so clear to somebody with an IQ of 75 while the rest of us spend a large part of our awake hours trying to figure out it out?

Or, maybe Po was right. There is no special ingredient and we just have to believe to become our own hero...

What if the slipper didn't fit?

Despite my love for documentaries on environmental issues and war and conflict, I am inherently a romantic-comedy girl. Think Sleepless in Seattle, Notting Hill, You've Got Mail, Love Actually and the like. I love a good movie that makes me laugh and cry at the same time (and no, I'm no schizo).

Watching Cinderella 3 last Friday (don't ask) - the evil stepmother got hold of Fairy Godmother's magic wand and cast a spell to make the prince fall in love with Cinderella's step-sister Anastasia (yes, the tiny glass slipper fit her giantic foot!) instead, and to cut a long story short, Cinderella had to fight, quite literally, for her prince - reminded me of a random joke my sister's boyfriend made not too long ago.

Evidently, he was seriously considering how perverse the princes in these fairytales were because "which pervert would pass by the woods and dismount to kiss a corpse, albeit a very pretty one, in a glass coffin surrounded by seven strange-looking creatures?!!"

But jokes aside, watching Cinderella made me realise that no girl, whether at 4 or 40, can resist a story like this, and the issue of relevance of such a romance in the 21st century notwithstanding. But I couldn't help wonder if we are seeking solacement in the sur-reel.

This afternoon, I heard a Chinese song that goes something like this, "...我把电视机打开听着别人的对白,也许那些故事可以给我一个交代..." (loosely translated into: perhaps I will find an answer from somebody else's story).

I guess perhaps we all are...

Raging Tempest

I've been feeling mad for many, many days. No, no, not crazy mad, angry mad. And it's maddening 'coz this animosity towards anything that crosses my path is unwarranted.

I'm mad at the bus for being sardines-packed during peak hour mornings this week. I'm mad that some passengers refused to move in to the rear of the bus when there's still a loadful others trying to get to work on time. I was mad that the man knocked into my shoulder and stepped on my foot trying to cut my path while dashing for the train which was threatening to close its doors. I'm mad that everybody crowded at the train doors waiting to rush in before I could even get out. I was mad that the insurance agent haggled on when I'd ignored him by remaining plugged in to my iPod. I'm mad that I was rude to probably everyone, anyone.

But I don't want to be mad, I really don't. It just happened! And all this time I kept asking myself, what the hell is wrong with me???

Apparently, according to the Cognitive Behavior Theory, anger is a consequence of many causes such as cognitive, social or behavioral models, the lack of social skills and problem-solving strategies, and several biological factors. The main cause of anger is represented by our irrational perceptions and evaluations of situations when our rights and goals are apparently broken. Put in simpler terms, thoughts are the underlying factor of anger. Events and circumstances alone do not trigger anger; the feeling is a direct consequence of how people perceive reality and experts have identified four types of thinking that typically lead to dysfunctional anger:

1. Inferential distortions such as mind-reading, and emotional reasoning lead people into misinterpreting the facts and thereby classifying normal events as goal-threatening. People affected by such distortions are more prone to interpret events or other people's actions as threats to their goal achievement or as attacks to their dignity, rules or property. Such distortions result in increased levels of irritation and/or frustration and ultimately lead to dysfunctional anger.

2. Awfulising and discomfort-intolerance (often called can't-stand-it-itis). Anger frequently results from anxiety and violence often represents an attempt to ward off perceived threats. REBT¹ suggests that such threats may be of two types: (a) perceived threats to well-being (discomfort anxiety) or, (b) perceived threats to self-image (ego anxiety).

3. Expectations held as demands. Demands typically lead to low-frustration tolerance - a key cause of dysfunctional anger. This kind of behavior can manifest itself in different ways, such as: (a) a tendency to moralize people on how they should or should not behave or, (b) the presence of a deeply rooted belief that the world or one’s circumstances have to or need to be exactly as expected.

4. Global rating of other people. Labeling a person as a bitch, bastard, or applying her/him some other all-encompassing makes it easier to be angry with that person.

Sure, I blame the weather. But at the end of the day, I secretly suspect I just needed to throw a tantrum, for whatever reason.

Footnotes:

¹ Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT), introduced in 1955 by Albert Ellis.

Of old emails and memories

There comes a point where we have to unclutter or reorganise the things we have accumulated in our lives. Sometimes, we do it voluntarily; other times, we (have to) do it because our circumstances force us to.

Last night, as I started deleting old emails, some dating back to 2005, from my E-mail inbox, I found myself deliberating over the ones that hold much value to me. Eventually, I kept them in my inbox. Superfluous as it may seem for the content of these emails are either outdated or are already etched in my memory, I just needed to hold on to them.

And I figured it's probably the same for the things in our lives. Sometimes, we clear away physical stuff like an old pair of shoes or an old dress, a broken hair dryer or a torn table cloth. Other times, we clear away the immaterials like bad reminders of a nasty ex-colleague or an embarrassing blunder. However, sometimes we are reminded of that pair of shoes we have long worn out, or that dress we used to love before it got all shabby when we see someone else wear it, or if they're still selling in the shops.

That was then I thought it's probably the same for the intangibles. It's like this: Even though I may have tried hard to clear away an incident or a person I'd rather not be reminded of, somehow, the incident or person has mysteriously found itself a parking lot in an obscure corner in my mind and in the weirdest of times when I least expect it, will emerge.

Of course, no matter when I had cleared away an item or memory and no matter how much joy or sadness has been attached to it, somehow, it feels oddly comforting to remember that at least it had happened.

The Adhesive Issue

Retelling mumsy my encounter with Mrs F suddenly brought me to a realisation that I was, am still mad at her apparently . And no amount of denial or reiteration of "Nah, I'm okay with it." can change the truth. The truth was, I couldn't let go...not yet, anyway. But it felt strange telling my story for mumsy wasn't exactly very keen. Evidently, we have drifted.

In fact, we - the people at work I used to hang out with - all have. But we try to keep us together and even though none of us works in the same place anymore, we meet at least once a term. Well, we try to. And after the usual pleasantries and important updates on each other's lives, somehow our conversation never fails to fall into talking about our former workplace, former co-workers and the latest happenings of a certain group of people who will always be our dessert for that day. It's like this: We inform (read: bitch), query (read: doubt), analyse (read: judge) and finally laugh about it.

It had dawned on me recently that our conversational topics have remained pretty much around the same subject(s) throughout these couple of years. Sure, we do stop talking about the same things once in a while but we soon run out of things to say to each other, and then inevitably, silence sets in. And that silence, even for a split second, was unbearably deafening. Eventually, we'll go back to talking about the bittersweet past and everybody would be morbidly happy.

And when all has been said and done, 2 questions remain in my mind. Is that the glue that's still holding us together? Or, is it simply the case of "We hadn't let go yet"?

Family Ties

Seeing my cousin Shan tuck one-month-old Giselle so carefully into bed last night, I wondered if maternal instinct is innate in all women, and age - no matter how old one is - isn't the determining factor. After all, Shan is just one month older than I am. And though Giselle's sudden cries does make Shan panic, she's doing great with her baby daughter.

And bumping into Em - JC classmate and mother of two children at four and one - at Daiso on Thursday afternoon left me in awe of admiration and wondering how she ever did it. Sure, she'd groused about how envious she is of the free-spirited singletons, but I know she absolutely enjoys her job as a domestic engineer.

With the occasional question: "So when do you intend to settle down?" from people I know whom really care about me, I couldn't help but wonder, is the pasture really greener on the other side?

For better or for worse

Late-night conversations over the telephone are little indulgences I recently found myself engaging in. Hardly a phone person, these days though, I could talk on the phone for hours about everything under the sun, erm...moon. And my longest yak ever? 3 hours, but who's counting? Of course, these little indulgences are infrequent too, for if done too regularly, becomes a routine and consequently, a repetitive bore.

And it's astounding how much I get to know myself - "Oh, hello me! Nice to meet me." - when my friend tells me things about me. Many a times, we say tactless or mean things which is second nature to us and we may not even realise it: "You mean I said that? That's so terrible." But I always always do it (or so I've been told, erm...off) and feigning ignorance has not gotten me off the hook yet. *LOL*

But because there's a reason for everything, my shortcomings of being highly antagonistic, argumentative, critical, unforgiving and naggy made me really thankful for the wonderful people in my life because anyone with such a deadly character listing would have been axed from any list a long time ago.

Of course, I also get to know more about my friend (whoever it may be) and be reminded why the both of us became friends in the first place, and consequently, all the more I am thankful for this person - a God-sent, literally, in my life.

And at the end of the day, whether it is forgoing watching the EPL (but comments non-stop about it) or staying up till 1am (but sends hate-sms the next morning from work), the thought of last night's or last month's phone conversation never fails to send a chuckle to my heart.

Babelicious me?

As we sat down by the fountain to rest our tired feet last evening, we started counting the number of babes that walked by. And it was then I found myself wondering what it takes to be a babe (read: gorgeous-looking girl). The issue of how I looked is secondary in my life for I'd always thought it's the brains and the inside (no, not innards and organs, inner beauty duh) that matter. But I realised, with the coming of age, it's actually the outside that matters. Even Wilma Flintstone wore pearls!

Much as I can deny now, I remember giving cute guys a second, or a tenth, look when they walked by, even when I was only 16. Yea, I couldn't help my eye-feast; good-looking guys are simply just eye-candy. And did I ever give clever geeks a glance? Erm, I think I didn't, but you can't really blame me for in the first place, they did not have "I'm smart!" tattooed across their foreheads, so how was Shallow-Jo supposed to know?

And so, that was when I seriously wondered if I'll ever make it to the babe chart in my lifetime. And for a very good cause, I might add - NOT in a sarcastic way. Imagine this chain effect: the level of esteem that would be added to my confidence level, given my being a successful human being with my ability to make heads turn and consequently, the way I look at life, my life, and perhaps too, how the world might become a better place because there's one more happy person on earth.

But at the end of the day, I figured that it's too much work, too costly and not me. So, that was then that the babe plan was shelved for the moment until perhaps the next babe walks by...

Drama queens

I believe to a certain extent that we're all drama queens in our own right. I'm not sure about you but I have been one once or twice (okay, more). So running (very) late this morning, I came up with this - "I think my fingers are going to be fractured from the crossing coz I'm so not going to make it on time...the vehicles on this road are C-R-A-W-L-I-N-G!" And I wasn't exactly lying because traffic was quite heavy and the vehicles were moving at snail speed, but I wasn't crossing my fingers, no, I was admiring how blue the sky was.

I've figured that somehow, the use of hyperbole does help abate the wrath of the other person(s) in question. It doesn't make any logical sense, but we usually get less angry when one inflates the severity of the situation a little. No? Well, then perhaps I'm just plain lucky that my friends love me so much to overlook my little white lies.

The D word

It's strange how even at 30, my mama's grumblings about my papa get to me; I get all flustered just 30 seconds into her rants. And it's not at all surprising afterwards when I thought about it later. It's like this: If I were to get all edgy and bothered simply by these harmless naggings, just how bad does it get for the kid who's undergoing his parents' divorce? Of course, the D-word wasn't unheard of in my household while I was growing up, but it never materialized (thank God!). And perhaps, I suspect, the time spent on the chaise lounge at the shrink's later in life may not even justify the trauma of a family break-up.

The world is sick too, literally. In just 11 days, we celebrate Earth Day (or do we really?). With talks like global warming, rising sea levels, greenhouse effects, El Nino, freak weathers and the like going on for decades, one can't help fear armageddon. And we do not need Hollywood to remind us about D-day. Watching The Core on telly last night gave me an awakening, that it takes only 6 heroes - 4 dead, 2 alive - to save the earth. Yeah, right! But what is it that's in us that's believing this, that if we don't do something, our planet is going to get so sick that it'll take a few heroes, usually from America, to save the world, and us? Why aren't we doing our part? For decades, scientists have debated on the issue of non-biodegradable plastic bags and many parts of Europe and Australasia have either adopted a no-bags policy or biodegradable plastic bags and here we are still complaining about our leachy authorities on their charging 10 cents for one plastic bag on the once-a-month no-plastic-bag day at the major supermarkets.

Did you know that a world population of 6 billion people is too much for the earth to handle? I didn't know that until I chanced upon Planet Earth: The Future on telly (yes, the telly again) that the optimum population size is between 500 million to 1 billion.

"Nature is infinite, but man has caused it to become finite."

And it should come as an insult to every (educated, especially) earthling with this once-a-year celebration. Do we really think that being environmentally-conscious for 1 day out of 365 days is enough to save our beloved earth?

So the question here is: Are we doing anything to save our families and our earth?

Of euphemism and terms of endearment

Feel Good: you better stop 'whatever-ing' and be nicer towards me.

joY: erm...is that a threat? okay, okay...sorry lah...you know I don't mean it...it's just a phrase of endearment...

a few seconds later...

joY: there is a difference...I didn't roll my eyes when i said it, so "whatever" is my version of "k, I get it".

And that, in a nutshell, was TBF's ultimatum, sort of, at 7am this morning over MSN. And it got me pondering on this: is there a cut-off point where even the most patient person will get infuriated over the use of a word, any word, on him or her? Honestly, I'm scared if TBF seriously meant severing our friendship if I ever use the dirty W-word on him again.

But that was supposed to have worked well as a term of endearment too, liken the case as in idiot or even basket(ball). If sugarpie or cupcake is used too often, doesn't the cliché cancel out every sweetness totally?

The same goes for euphemism. It's unforgivable for a refined lady (or gentleman) to commit a social faux pas as to swear in public blatantly; she'll just have to express her displeasure behind a smokescreen - and the euphemism makes a grand entrance. So much so that silly goose doesn't sound as bad as stupid goon, sugars not exactly as distasteful as sh*t and fish definitely more appealing than the king on the universal vulgar scale - the F-word.

So when do euphemism and terms of endearment become unacceptable in our everyday lives? Where do we draw the line? Or is there even one?

But know that when I do say whatever (followed by a chuckle), I'm not really feeling indifferent to whatever you've just articulated....