How else does one describe the sight of gigantic artificial Christmas trees gyrating slowly at the four corners of a traffic light junction? I found them mildly disturbing. I don't know if they're supposed to simulate trees swaying in the wind, but if they're moving because somebody thought that would add vibrancy to the Orchard Road Christmas scene, then that probably encapsulates the problem with this country.
We try so hard to keep up appearances. From a distance one may think the Huge green cones with the strips of baubles are tree-like, but on closer inspection there isn't even the semblance of branches or leaves. They're just very big inverted cones of green fabric with tacked-on coloured balls. And they're swaying ever so gently (not gracefully) in total asynchronicity (asynchronisation?) with the traffic that stops and starts past them, it's surreal.
I suppose natural trees won't dance. And I bet next year somebody will suggest that the artificial trees be made to sing too. In terms of tackiness, that ranks somewhere around those coin-operated plastic horses that I used to ride as a little boy.
If we really wanted to make it Christmassy, we'd get real trees. And we'd have bins around the trees for people to donate gifts to orphans. Because Christmas is about people and the sharing of life. It is not about trying to simulate life, no matter how clever our inventions and how real our simulations.
I like my machines to stay machines, like my trusty Palm Zire, my ageing Notebook, and La Voiture. You won't catch any of them being dressed up as anything natural. Ever.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Saturday, November 20, 2004
In The Wrong Lane
I have begun to keep track of the cars that cut in front of me without signalling. Over the past two days I have encountered one beemers and three merces. Unfortunately the only number I remember is 9748 because that's the beemer I flashed for cutting in. I shall do better next time and remember the whole license number.
What I would like to know is whether failure to signal is an act of negligence on the road. If I hit a car that cut suddenly into my lane without signalling, how much liability is on me and how much on the other driver? Maybe the road courtesy campaign might work better if some real punitive measures were put in place. It would also teach people to live with the consequences of their own actions, like if you miss a turn you go to the next U-turn and turn back instead of trying to cut across two lanes (and cut off the people in those lanes as a result).
I know it's hard to legislate courtesy. However, it seems odd that the people who drive luxury cars seem to have less of it on the roads. Perhaps rich people have no time to be courteous, or perhaps they get rich because they don't bother about being courteous, especially if it's to people who they don't see as being capable of conferring material or social advantage. This is probably unfair to a majority of rich people out there (seeing as I know a few decent ones myself) but it doesn't mean I can ignore the bad apples just because the rest of the barrel is good.
I guess that's the real failure of our education system:
"We readily inquire, 'Does he know Greek or Latin?' 'Can he write poetry and prose?' But what matters most is what we put last: 'Has he become better and wiser?'
"We ought to find out not who understands most but who understands best. We work merely to fill the memory, leaving the understanding and the sense of right and wrong empty."
- Michel de Montaigne,
Essays, Book I,
On Schoolmasters' learning
What I would like to know is whether failure to signal is an act of negligence on the road. If I hit a car that cut suddenly into my lane without signalling, how much liability is on me and how much on the other driver? Maybe the road courtesy campaign might work better if some real punitive measures were put in place. It would also teach people to live with the consequences of their own actions, like if you miss a turn you go to the next U-turn and turn back instead of trying to cut across two lanes (and cut off the people in those lanes as a result).
I know it's hard to legislate courtesy. However, it seems odd that the people who drive luxury cars seem to have less of it on the roads. Perhaps rich people have no time to be courteous, or perhaps they get rich because they don't bother about being courteous, especially if it's to people who they don't see as being capable of conferring material or social advantage. This is probably unfair to a majority of rich people out there (seeing as I know a few decent ones myself) but it doesn't mean I can ignore the bad apples just because the rest of the barrel is good.
I guess that's the real failure of our education system:
"We readily inquire, 'Does he know Greek or Latin?' 'Can he write poetry and prose?' But what matters most is what we put last: 'Has he become better and wiser?'
"We ought to find out not who understands most but who understands best. We work merely to fill the memory, leaving the understanding and the sense of right and wrong empty."
- Michel de Montaigne,
Essays, Book I,
On Schoolmasters' learning
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Letters and Flames
Letters
Dinner at G's new place on Thursday threw up a few ideas.
First was the concept of doing a "number one" or a "number two". I usually just call it "small business" and "big business", but I realised that people all over the world probably have their own euphemisms for the respective calls of nature, and that got me thinking further. I wonder what else we would call it. Perhaps a Brave New World fan would call the "little convenience" Chinese "doing a Delta". A slightly more direct way might simply be to "do a pi" or "do a sigma".
Which leads me to wonder about fraternity (and sorority) names, and why they use Greek letters. Is Singapore in reality run by the Pi Alpha Pi fraternity? Are they being opposed by the Sigma Delta Pi (led by Juan Cheeson?)
I shall try not to think about it too much the next time I drive down the Pi Iota Eta (or is it Epsilon?)
Flames
I saw the fires of Mordor on leaving G's place. I am fairly certain Tolkien saw something similar in his day. I still haven't figured out whether it's a refinery or an incinerator, but either way the flame at the top of a tower is a stark reminder of global warming and how much energy our modern lifestyle consumes.
Which should actually be an incentive to cut this post short and move on quickly, but some things are worth destroying the planet for.
Dinner at G's new place on Thursday threw up a few ideas.
First was the concept of doing a "number one" or a "number two". I usually just call it "small business" and "big business", but I realised that people all over the world probably have their own euphemisms for the respective calls of nature, and that got me thinking further. I wonder what else we would call it. Perhaps a Brave New World fan would call the "little convenience" Chinese "doing a Delta". A slightly more direct way might simply be to "do a pi" or "do a sigma".
Which leads me to wonder about fraternity (and sorority) names, and why they use Greek letters. Is Singapore in reality run by the Pi Alpha Pi fraternity? Are they being opposed by the Sigma Delta Pi (led by Juan Cheeson?)
I shall try not to think about it too much the next time I drive down the Pi Iota Eta (or is it Epsilon?)
Flames
I saw the fires of Mordor on leaving G's place. I am fairly certain Tolkien saw something similar in his day. I still haven't figured out whether it's a refinery or an incinerator, but either way the flame at the top of a tower is a stark reminder of global warming and how much energy our modern lifestyle consumes.
Which should actually be an incentive to cut this post short and move on quickly, but some things are worth destroying the planet for.
Monday, October 18, 2004
A rant
Following up on a nice tea on Saturday with TYM, in which the following topic was mentioned (albeit in a different form), I just had to get this off my chest.
It’s about work, and how busyness is often mistaken for the sign of a good worker.
To me, a good worker is one who gets the job done, whichever (ethical) way he does it. I don’t care if he spends 16 hours a day 7 days a week doing it or just finishes the job in one highly efficient spurt of 4 hours. (No, actually, I do. I think the one who spent the huge amount of time is inefficient and should be the first to go in the next reorganisation because that fellow is obviously in the wrong job. As far as possible people ought to be in jobs they can do well). So busyness is not necessarily a good thing. And people who put in 110% but get the same work done as those who only put in 80% are not necessarily better workers. Equal pay for equal work done, I say.
This brings me to the next point, which is about rewards. I would like my rewards for my work to be substantial. That could mean keeping my job when everyone else around me is losing theirs. Or it could mean getting a steady salary. Or it might even mean perks at the local Community Club. Priests and missionaries get their rewards in Heaven. I want mine here and now.
This doesn’t mean I won’t work for rewards in Heaven - I will if the Big Boss chucks me into the belly of a Big Fish. But while I’m here working for Men I expect to be compensated accordingly. And that means if I’m expected to put in extra effort I expect to see extra pay. Or other compensation.
Which brings me to my final point. Compensation comes in many forms. Material wealth and social recognition are both good categories of compensation. Personal satisfaction is also good (and probably the ideal we should strive to, but it doesn’t pay the bills). And the key to getting the best out of your workers? Give them what they want, and they’ll give you what you want.
Otherwise, back off and stop polluting my air.
It’s about work, and how busyness is often mistaken for the sign of a good worker.
To me, a good worker is one who gets the job done, whichever (ethical) way he does it. I don’t care if he spends 16 hours a day 7 days a week doing it or just finishes the job in one highly efficient spurt of 4 hours. (No, actually, I do. I think the one who spent the huge amount of time is inefficient and should be the first to go in the next reorganisation because that fellow is obviously in the wrong job. As far as possible people ought to be in jobs they can do well). So busyness is not necessarily a good thing. And people who put in 110% but get the same work done as those who only put in 80% are not necessarily better workers. Equal pay for equal work done, I say.
This brings me to the next point, which is about rewards. I would like my rewards for my work to be substantial. That could mean keeping my job when everyone else around me is losing theirs. Or it could mean getting a steady salary. Or it might even mean perks at the local Community Club. Priests and missionaries get their rewards in Heaven. I want mine here and now.
This doesn’t mean I won’t work for rewards in Heaven - I will if the Big Boss chucks me into the belly of a Big Fish. But while I’m here working for Men I expect to be compensated accordingly. And that means if I’m expected to put in extra effort I expect to see extra pay. Or other compensation.
Which brings me to my final point. Compensation comes in many forms. Material wealth and social recognition are both good categories of compensation. Personal satisfaction is also good (and probably the ideal we should strive to, but it doesn’t pay the bills). And the key to getting the best out of your workers? Give them what they want, and they’ll give you what you want.
Otherwise, back off and stop polluting my air.
Friday, October 15, 2004
the first of many "Which ... Are You?" posts
Hey, the bandwagon's big enough for all of us.
Powerful. Intimidating. Trivia Nazi. President Bartlet is all of these and more. A super-nerd who's into chess, National Parks, and rambling off things in Latin, POTUS is the 'real thing.' Not being completely upfront with the American people may cause him re-election headaches, though...
:: Which West Wing character are you? ::
Powerful. Intimidating. Trivia Nazi. President Bartlet is all of these and more. A super-nerd who's into chess, National Parks, and rambling off things in Latin, POTUS is the 'real thing.' Not being completely upfront with the American people may cause him re-election headaches, though...
:: Which West Wing character are you? ::
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Cars And Kings Are Not Personal Things
I have been wondering if I should name my impending set of wheels, and if so, what.
Rosinante came to mind, as did Rohir, and Boxer (the old workhorse from Animal Farm). Each had its own merits, but I didn't think they were quite fitting. I then considered Dolly, because I saw an ad for Toyota, which featured a sheep outrunning horses at the racetrack.
But then I realised that to name something before it shows its true character can turn out horribly wrong - much like naming children. In an ideal world one would have two names - one given at birth to signify your parents' hopes for you, and another later in life to show the person you really are.
The difference between children and cars (or at least one of the differences), however, is that children are people, and cars, after all, are things. No matter how much fun you have with or in the car, it's still just a piece of machinery. And this is a big deal coming from a usually sentimental guy. (Check with me again after I've had it for a year)
So I have decided to classify it in the same order as Kings, Queens, and other Things of Importance For Their Role Rather Than Their Selves. It shall be known as La Voiture (The Car), and, some years later, I will with the appropriate gravitas say, "La Voiture est morte; vive la Voiture."
That is, until it develops a personality.
Rosinante came to mind, as did Rohir, and Boxer (the old workhorse from Animal Farm). Each had its own merits, but I didn't think they were quite fitting. I then considered Dolly, because I saw an ad for Toyota, which featured a sheep outrunning horses at the racetrack.
But then I realised that to name something before it shows its true character can turn out horribly wrong - much like naming children. In an ideal world one would have two names - one given at birth to signify your parents' hopes for you, and another later in life to show the person you really are.
The difference between children and cars (or at least one of the differences), however, is that children are people, and cars, after all, are things. No matter how much fun you have with or in the car, it's still just a piece of machinery. And this is a big deal coming from a usually sentimental guy. (Check with me again after I've had it for a year)
So I have decided to classify it in the same order as Kings, Queens, and other Things of Importance For Their Role Rather Than Their Selves. It shall be known as La Voiture (The Car), and, some years later, I will with the appropriate gravitas say, "La Voiture est morte; vive la Voiture."
That is, until it develops a personality.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
The Murder of Palms
They committed a heinous crime this week at the workplace. I was shocked at the sight, and stood unblinking, mouth agape, as they chopped at the victims.
The roots were the first to go, methodically hacked by coldly calculated swings in a savage rhythm. As each bunch of roots was severed from the trunk, the palm shivered and was only prevented from falling by the rough hands of a callous collaborator.
After the roots were cleared, the tops were lopped off and the carnage left on the ground for sun and wind to devour. The perpetrators unabashedly left open graves.
Later in the week, the holes were filled, and in place of the old comforting palms stood thin bamboo stalks, so fragile they were held together with pieces of string. Even they will not last long, as I hear they will be replaced by something else for political reasons.
I wonder where the secret shrine to Shiva is. I can't think of any other explanation.
The roots were the first to go, methodically hacked by coldly calculated swings in a savage rhythm. As each bunch of roots was severed from the trunk, the palm shivered and was only prevented from falling by the rough hands of a callous collaborator.
After the roots were cleared, the tops were lopped off and the carnage left on the ground for sun and wind to devour. The perpetrators unabashedly left open graves.
Later in the week, the holes were filled, and in place of the old comforting palms stood thin bamboo stalks, so fragile they were held together with pieces of string. Even they will not last long, as I hear they will be replaced by something else for political reasons.
I wonder where the secret shrine to Shiva is. I can't think of any other explanation.
Caught in the Timestream
Over the past few weeks I have encountered several of my neighbours at slightly different times of the morning as I leave for work.
On the days I am early, I meet one set. On the days I am late, I meet another.
I have since been using them as reference points for how early/late I am. If I see neighbour family with primary-school-age daughter, I'm early. If I see ACS tennis brothers, I'm very early. If cute neighbour takes the same lift, I'm late. I've never been very late. (And I always get to work on time). At other times the irregulars will turn up at the lift - the neighbour who lives in Little Amazonia, the retiree out for a walk, the maid with the big dog (who is very considerate and takes the next lift since I'm not good around animals, and certainly don't want to be shedded on before work).
I wonder if they also use me as a reference point. Do they also think to themselves "Shite it's that guy from the other end of the corridor - I'm late," or do they check their watches thinking "Maybe I could have slept five more minutes?"
Someday everybody will be earlier or later than usual at the same time and everything will go wrong.
On the days I am early, I meet one set. On the days I am late, I meet another.
I have since been using them as reference points for how early/late I am. If I see neighbour family with primary-school-age daughter, I'm early. If I see ACS tennis brothers, I'm very early. If cute neighbour takes the same lift, I'm late. I've never been very late. (And I always get to work on time). At other times the irregulars will turn up at the lift - the neighbour who lives in Little Amazonia, the retiree out for a walk, the maid with the big dog (who is very considerate and takes the next lift since I'm not good around animals, and certainly don't want to be shedded on before work).
I wonder if they also use me as a reference point. Do they also think to themselves "Shite it's that guy from the other end of the corridor - I'm late," or do they check their watches thinking "Maybe I could have slept five more minutes?"
Someday everybody will be earlier or later than usual at the same time and everything will go wrong.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Improving the gene pool
Hooray for SMRT! They've decided not to put up barriers at the boarding platforms.
People need to learn to be responsible for themselves. That means if you see train tracks, you should know that a train is likely to run on them. Especially if you're going to board that train when it arrives. That also means you should stay away from them until the train arrives. If your children are high-energy and adventurous, it's up to you to make sure they live to have adventures that will take them places (like Mount Everest). Natural selection will take care of those people who can't figure that out.
I normally wouldn't hurt a fly (Terz and G will attest to that) but stupidity has to have consequences. If we protect stupid people from themselves all the time they'll never learn. And if there are enough of them around they might actually outvote the smart ones on things that really matter, like who's going to be the next POTUS.
Sometimes I think Education ought to be more about learning to make intelligent decisions and learning common sense than anything else. Of course it's good to know how the world works, but theory is still theory after all, and like Adam Smith's invisible hand, you never know when something that you've always taken for granted could just be a case of misplaced faith.
The rest of the time I think Education is about Moulding the Future of Our Nation.
Which includes nurturing and developing Innovans. Or are they Innovates? Do they speak Innovish? Will Innovese culture be significantly different from ours? Is Innovology going to be offered as a contrasting subject? Is Innova something that's in the midst of blowing up (kind of like a reverse Atlantis)? Or is it a reference to a reproductive cell in a place of lodging?
I'll find out from my soon-to-be-ex-colleagues soon enough.
On a side note, the Sony Ericsson website has the abbreviation "spg" for its Singapore link. Looks like they've had close encounters of the Boat Quay kind before.
People need to learn to be responsible for themselves. That means if you see train tracks, you should know that a train is likely to run on them. Especially if you're going to board that train when it arrives. That also means you should stay away from them until the train arrives. If your children are high-energy and adventurous, it's up to you to make sure they live to have adventures that will take them places (like Mount Everest). Natural selection will take care of those people who can't figure that out.
I normally wouldn't hurt a fly (Terz and G will attest to that) but stupidity has to have consequences. If we protect stupid people from themselves all the time they'll never learn. And if there are enough of them around they might actually outvote the smart ones on things that really matter, like who's going to be the next POTUS.
Sometimes I think Education ought to be more about learning to make intelligent decisions and learning common sense than anything else. Of course it's good to know how the world works, but theory is still theory after all, and like Adam Smith's invisible hand, you never know when something that you've always taken for granted could just be a case of misplaced faith.
The rest of the time I think Education is about Moulding the Future of Our Nation.
Which includes nurturing and developing Innovans. Or are they Innovates? Do they speak Innovish? Will Innovese culture be significantly different from ours? Is Innovology going to be offered as a contrasting subject? Is Innova something that's in the midst of blowing up (kind of like a reverse Atlantis)? Or is it a reference to a reproductive cell in a place of lodging?
I'll find out from my soon-to-be-ex-colleagues soon enough.
On a side note, the Sony Ericsson website has the abbreviation "spg" for its Singapore link. Looks like they've had close encounters of the Boat Quay kind before.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing*
I have just come back from a choir rehearsal and my throat's feeling a bit strained, which is to be expected since I don't have formal training and the only singing I do is in church once a week.
It's all my pastor's fault, really. Last Sunday his sermon was on BeholdMePeople (yes he insisted it was one word) and he challenged each parishioner to be a BeholdMePerson. A BeholdMePerson is one who answers God's call for people to do His work. It's kind of like those people who jump up and down and wave their hands and shout "Me! Me!" when someone asks for volunteers (my interpretation). Of course I didn't stand up and jump up and down and shout "Me! Me! I wanna be a BeholdMePerson!". But I did remember an urgent appeal by The Celebration Chorus for male voices sent to me just a couple of days before. So I went back and looked at it, and it seemed that the yoke was easy and the burden was light, and I saw that it was good.
So I will be lending my unpolished and comparatively mediocre voice (the tenor next to me tonight was far better) to the effort for the next 6 weeks, and by God's grace it will turn out well. The only disappointment tonight was discovering that we were going to sing the English translation of F. B. Mendelssohn's Hymn of Praise. I was so looking forward to the German. :P
*Wesley wrote this hymn to commemorate the first anniversary of his conversion to Christ. This origin is reflected in the lyrics, “On this glad day the glorious Sun of Righteousness arose.” The stanza that begins “O for a thousand tongues to sing” is verse seven of Wesley’s original poem. This work first appeared in Hymns and Sacred Poems in 1740.
It's all my pastor's fault, really. Last Sunday his sermon was on BeholdMePeople (yes he insisted it was one word) and he challenged each parishioner to be a BeholdMePerson. A BeholdMePerson is one who answers God's call for people to do His work. It's kind of like those people who jump up and down and wave their hands and shout "Me! Me!" when someone asks for volunteers (my interpretation). Of course I didn't stand up and jump up and down and shout "Me! Me! I wanna be a BeholdMePerson!". But I did remember an urgent appeal by The Celebration Chorus for male voices sent to me just a couple of days before. So I went back and looked at it, and it seemed that the yoke was easy and the burden was light, and I saw that it was good.
So I will be lending my unpolished and comparatively mediocre voice (the tenor next to me tonight was far better) to the effort for the next 6 weeks, and by God's grace it will turn out well. The only disappointment tonight was discovering that we were going to sing the English translation of F. B. Mendelssohn's Hymn of Praise. I was so looking forward to the German. :P
*Wesley wrote this hymn to commemorate the first anniversary of his conversion to Christ. This origin is reflected in the lyrics, “On this glad day the glorious Sun of Righteousness arose.” The stanza that begins “O for a thousand tongues to sing” is verse seven of Wesley’s original poem. This work first appeared in Hymns and Sacred Poems in 1740.
Monday, September 13, 2004
The Raveler
It used to unnerve me that the Universe is made up of mostly nothing.
I remember a feeling of incredulity when I first realised the implications of what my physics teacher taught me - that everything is made up of atoms, and that there's a lot of empty space between atoms. If you haven't figured out what that means, basically, we're all made up of little bits of matter with lots of empty space in between. What we think of as solid is really as fluffy as the cotton wool we use to simulate gunsmoke in battlefield dioramas.
What brought this on? I was feeling bored invigilating as usual, so I turned to the familiarly reassuring act of taking apart cotton thread - the kind used to tie answer scripts together.
If you haven't taken thread apart before, then you should know that that kind of thread is made up of 3 interwoven thinner threads. In turn, each thinner string can be separated (with great care) into 2 more even thinner threads. After that, any attempt to take it apart yields the most beautiful wisps of fibre which, if properly spread, can form an enchanting veil over one spectacle lens (though I am sure a skilled craftsman could make it cover two lenses).
So I spent my time ravelling, which means
To separate the fibers or threads of (cloth, for example)
according to Webster (the dictionary, though I'm sure it's someone's online nick, amongst other things).
I first came across that wonderful word in The Scottish Play by Shakespeare, when M talks about "Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care," and since then have seldom come across it in similar contexts (the sleeve of a CD doesn't count, and I'm not that much into Ravel's music anyway). It originates from an Old Dutch word meaning "loose thread".
So here I am in the Age of Computers and Gadgets Too Advanced To Be Named, ravelling thread, and through the ravelling of thread rediscovering an old truth - that we are actually made up of very little physical matter, but ah! the wonders we have done with so little!
And still there is so much left to do. And so much more thread to ravel.
I remember a feeling of incredulity when I first realised the implications of what my physics teacher taught me - that everything is made up of atoms, and that there's a lot of empty space between atoms. If you haven't figured out what that means, basically, we're all made up of little bits of matter with lots of empty space in between. What we think of as solid is really as fluffy as the cotton wool we use to simulate gunsmoke in battlefield dioramas.
What brought this on? I was feeling bored invigilating as usual, so I turned to the familiarly reassuring act of taking apart cotton thread - the kind used to tie answer scripts together.
If you haven't taken thread apart before, then you should know that that kind of thread is made up of 3 interwoven thinner threads. In turn, each thinner string can be separated (with great care) into 2 more even thinner threads. After that, any attempt to take it apart yields the most beautiful wisps of fibre which, if properly spread, can form an enchanting veil over one spectacle lens (though I am sure a skilled craftsman could make it cover two lenses).
So I spent my time ravelling, which means
To separate the fibers or threads of (cloth, for example)
according to Webster (the dictionary, though I'm sure it's someone's online nick, amongst other things).
I first came across that wonderful word in The Scottish Play by Shakespeare, when M talks about "Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care," and since then have seldom come across it in similar contexts (the sleeve of a CD doesn't count, and I'm not that much into Ravel's music anyway). It originates from an Old Dutch word meaning "loose thread".
So here I am in the Age of Computers and Gadgets Too Advanced To Be Named, ravelling thread, and through the ravelling of thread rediscovering an old truth - that we are actually made up of very little physical matter, but ah! the wonders we have done with so little!
And still there is so much left to do. And so much more thread to ravel.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Back from the Land South of the Clouds
I just came back from Yunnan, China, on Wednesday night, and can only say one thing:
I love mountains.
There's something about being 3000 ft. above sea level that really clears the sinuses and the brains (which lends credence to the old superstition of sneezing your brains out and letting the Devil in, hence the custom of saying "bless you", but I digress) (second digression: be prepared for more digressions)(note to self: cut down on digressions).
But really, it was most refreshing to see vast tracts of land, and vast opportunities to do just about anything with your life. I sometimes forget what a big and wonderful world it is, especially when caught in the daily shuttle between work and home.
I'm such a visual person, just seeing things does wonders for me. To see buildings within 100 metres everywhere I turn cuts off the supply of something indescribable that is essential to my soul. To see a city stretching out before me, with its mix of old and new, its history unfolding and evolving in its architectural landscape, lifts me halfway to rapture. It is at those times when I feel in communion with a greater cosmos.
I could sit all day and night and watch a city wake, live, and sleep.
Looks like I need to find a really tall building to live in.
I love mountains.
There's something about being 3000 ft. above sea level that really clears the sinuses and the brains (which lends credence to the old superstition of sneezing your brains out and letting the Devil in, hence the custom of saying "bless you", but I digress) (second digression: be prepared for more digressions)(note to self: cut down on digressions).
But really, it was most refreshing to see vast tracts of land, and vast opportunities to do just about anything with your life. I sometimes forget what a big and wonderful world it is, especially when caught in the daily shuttle between work and home.
I'm such a visual person, just seeing things does wonders for me. To see buildings within 100 metres everywhere I turn cuts off the supply of something indescribable that is essential to my soul. To see a city stretching out before me, with its mix of old and new, its history unfolding and evolving in its architectural landscape, lifts me halfway to rapture. It is at those times when I feel in communion with a greater cosmos.
I could sit all day and night and watch a city wake, live, and sleep.
Looks like I need to find a really tall building to live in.
First post
What can I say? I've succumbed to peer pressure and started a blog.
Like TYM I've got, well, too many thoughts to say out loud (and I really don't like talking too much) so this is my dumping ground, or will be. Sort of like a thought clearinghouse.
Ok that's enough for a first post.
Like TYM I've got, well, too many thoughts to say out loud (and I really don't like talking too much) so this is my dumping ground, or will be. Sort of like a thought clearinghouse.
Ok that's enough for a first post.
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