#2JT in Seoul - A Travelogue

It's been a while since I came here, a repository for my inner feelings and emotional conduit. Ever since I've found happier times, I didn't come here anymore, preferring to let The Silent Cartographer to be its namesake: a silent log of my previous transgressions.

However, I made too many happy memories (and took too many photos) to not share my recent trip to Seoul, chock full of walking, eating and generally just enjoying the company of the one person who I will willingly travel with (I'm not a great big fan of travelling).

So stay tuned to our #2JT travelogue!

Days of Present Past

It has been:

• 18 days since we clarified each other's doubts
• 17 days since I first held your hand in mine
• 16 days since we had our first long walk
• 15 days since I gazed longingly at you from afar
• 14 days since we wished together for time to pass faster
• 13 days since I kept you occupied even while I was not in your immediate vicinity
• 14 days since we had our first Official Date 
• 13 days since we had our second long walk
• 12 days since we watched a movie with your hand in mine
• 11 days since I began to worry for your illness
• 10 days since I begun to miss you every minute of the day
• 9 days since our first early morning weekend breakfast
• 8 days since my heavy sweetness assaults
• 7 days since we had our first spontaneous meet up
• 6 days since we had a rare private meal
• 5 days since we edged each other on
• 4 days since our third long walk
• 3 days since our first group movie together
• 2 days since our second early morning weekend breakfast
• 1 day since our first ad-hoc weekday date

It seems like I've known you for an eternity and even that is not enough.

May we have more of such days as time presses inexorably forward.

For this is the way it should have been.

Always.

Promise

The mysterious hand of Fate has opened to me a new chapter in life.

A chapter that has begun with an impeccably smooth prologue, flawlessly segueing into the first Act, with the opening paragraph a testament to the natural beauty that transcends the physical universe, a photorealistic painting of a dreamscape that can only be penned in the handwriting of God.

And it has only just begun.

For so long I have searched, it has finally ended.

For so long I have sought, I have to seek no more.

For so long I have hoped, my faith has been rewarded.

The machinations of fate have wrought a convoluted path, twisting paths paired with perilous turns, forcing me through cycle after cycle of the same emotional tribulation. My heart broke once, twice, until it cannot be broken any further.

Or so I thought.

Seeing you trapped in your own quagmire of despair, observing you struggling from the pits of damnation you yourself have condemned yourself to, my heart broke for the third and last time.

And it was not even whole to start with.

I thought my heart was shattered, pulverized, galvanized against further heartbreak.

I was wrong.

I thought I had completely lost faith in the institution I once held most dear.

I was wrong.

I thought that I had once again misunderstood the rudimentary feelings that stemmed from such an intimate but platonic association.

Turns out we both were wrong.

Finding someone who shares many interests with you is uphill enough, let alone finding another human being that is a near exact copy. The coincidences are uncanny, the similarities are astounding. I once thought we could find similarities in our differences, but now I realized that it is much easier to find differences in similarities. 

After all, birds of a feather flock together.

This is how it should have been since the beginning. This is how a union should have been since its establishment. This is how two people sharing an innate and instrumental mental connection should function.

The output must be squared, not paired.

For so long, I have made the decision to be beneath the person I cared for, to be secondary to all her interests, to essentially be a slave to her every whim. I assumed that my actions will be reciprocated, my feelings will be returned and my efforts will pay off.

Never have I been so wrong.

Now, things are different. We walk the same path together, in the same position, in step. We are no longer in different places at the same time, neither are we veering off from the same path as we advance forward. At last, for the first time in my existence, I have found the bolt who would accept this nut.

The harbor to my battleship.

The hangar to my plane.

The yin to my yang.

The Player 2 to my Player 1.

I rescued you from the depths of your emotions, sheltered you from the attacking hordes as we fled to safety, and finally told you as we emerged out into the open, out in the free:

 “Hey, the world is not so scary after all, right?”

My shattered heart would remain shattered, but you will be the adhesive to piece back the remnants together.

Better still, why don’t you be my new heart?

I have come too far now to turn back, to step back. I will never ever let you go.

Because you have become the most precious thing in my life now.

My bao bei.

And no matter what happens, I will never forsake you.

That is a promise I made to myself.

A promise that I will keep.

Always.

Fate works in mysterious but meaningful ways

A saying goes that you find treasure in the least likely of places, locations that didn't cross your mind, venues that didn't show the slightest hint of their hidden content. The same goes for people, the companions you hold most dear. They may come from myriad backgrounds, possess different qualifications and are composed of a kaleidoscope of personalities and characters, but at the end of the day, all of you are united by a single thinking - a hive mind, of sorts.

Finding someone who can tolerate your plethora of idiosyncratic nuances and habits is difficult enough, and seeking one that is similar to you in more than one way is almost tantamount to an act of God and the temptation of fate. I always had this thinking, that one fine day in my sorrowful future, someone whom I can click with - or in Pacific Rim parlance, drift with - will appear in the motion capture rig to my left, calibrating the left hemisphere before confirming the neural handshake in a samurai salute.

I don't have to fight my monsters alone anymore.

I will demonstrate my resolve and hope that yours will hold too, as we battle our demons together in the body of our giant machine.   

Feed the fish!

"If you want to beat them, you have to understand them"

After sitting through two awesome screenings of Pacific Rim, I found it easier to explain the circumstances surrounding my recent predicament, to shed some much-needed light on the matter and to finally nullify the Breach one and for all.

All of us have our own kaijus to fight. They can come in any form, any number, but one thing's certain: they are going to be big. 

To fight monsters, you have to create monsters.

Mine came in the form of gigantic mecha, the Jaeger Program.

Jaeger technology was shaky at first, and setback after setback caused me to rethink my strategy, to rethink everything. Then it dawned: I had to shed my current, childish skin and become a more matured individual, geared to the rigours of the real world in order to better fight these giant monsters. The upgrades were made, the unneeded parts were locked away, and the Jaeger was launched into battle.

For a time, we started winning. Battle after battle, kaijus fell to rocket punches, AKM missiles and plasmacasters. It seemed like the new upgrades were working, although the reactor whined as the turbines spun around the improved housing to promote bolstered output and efficiency. Danger turned to propaganda, monsters turned to toys. For a while, everything was good, peachy, under control. 

Then one day, everything changed.

The first Category 6 kaiju made landfall six months into the war and decimated an entire colony in less than an hour. Six hours later, the upgraded Jaeger still could not defeat the gigantic beast, a monster which had intimately learnt of all its combat moves, weapons and techniques. The kaiju was always two steps ahead of the Jaeger, and after 8 intense hours of battle, the Jaeger finally fell.

Desperately, I rebuilt the Jaeger, improved upon it and sent it out against the battered Category 6. It was finally brought down, but the another one came through the Breach only a few days later and decapitated the Jaeger. A replacement was fielded against the invader, and successfully repelled the attack, until a third Category 6 joined forces with the second one and obliterated the new Jaeger. When the fourth one came swimming through the Breach howling in its bloodcurdling treble, I realised this was not going to stop. I was losing Jaegers faster that I could replace them.

I could not win.

At the final Shatterdome in the heart of the capital, I made the decision to do one final push, the decisive, surgical strike to close the Breach once and for all. I looked at my options - there were not many. However, one part of the Shatterdome had remained locked and forgotten, until the key of desperation turned it open.

Outfitted with its original parts, the first Jaegar stomped into battle to face all of my kaijus, armed with seemingly obsolete weapons that would be effective against the giant beasts. However, the reactor hummed and pulsed with vigour and strength, completely at ease in its original housing and not whining to break free. 

The final battle. The last stand.

When the dust finally settled, nothing was left. Breach, kaiju, Jaeger: all were gone. The war was won, but at great cost. All that was left was the question: "Was it worth it?"

Pacific Rim references aside, I became someone I was not, someone I could never become in order to make that relationship work. I became a monster, became a machine modeled after some obscure, socially-accepted subroutine, in order to combat the kaijus that threatened my city for the better part of eight months. Perhaps I was blinded, too desperate for companionship that I dropped almost everything which constituted myself for her sake. Now I ask myself, "Was it worth it?"

To that I answer, "Does it matter anymore?."

The Vanguard

Visual representation courtesy of Frontier Trust.

The Vanguard fired a short pulse from his aft microverniers, causing his battered machine to drift lifelessly towards the planetoid, its robotic limbs reluctantly being pulled along by the forces of inertia. Devoid of motivation and drained of energy, the previous consecutive skirmishes had accumulated into a maelstrom of deadly conflict involving thousands of combatants from all sides. When the dust settled, only one machine remained.

The Vanguard, however, was not free from injury.

The Way the Wheel Turns

As the tagline for the latest Fast & Furious movie goes, "All roads lead to this." 

I should have seen this coming, should have adequately prepared for it, should have taken all possible measures to safeguard myself. Yet, when the first kaiju made landfall, I was wholly devastated by its sheer enormity, its terrible roar, its deadly appendages tearing everything that I knew and held dear totally asunder. 

And it happened again. And again. And again.

When a gigantic Cloverfield-like creature festooned with alien shards  flattened the metropolis, that was when I finally learnt that this was never going to stop. 

I had to find a way to fight back.

They counted on me to hide, to give up; they never imagined that I would rise to the challenge.

To fight monsters, I had to create monsters of my own: mental fortitude, determination and a deliberate hardening of the heart melding together to create a fearsome, intricate machine. I sent it into battle and for a while, the machine and I were winning, it seemed to be working.

But then, everything changed.

The monsters evolved, shed off their battered shells and emerged all dark, ominous and shrouded by an impenetrable black cloud. I could not make out their features from the dense disruption, much less find any weak spots to commence an attack. I got pounded into submission, my machine taking beating after beating, suffering irreparable damage to 80 percent of its heavily-battered frame. 

Now, I am on the edge of my hope, at the end of my time.

To fight these renewed creatures, I have to understand them once again, understand the vermin that they were aiming to eradicate by attacking population centers, understand the motivation for such indiscriminate genocide. To do that, I have to withdraw into my Shatterdome, to redraw the plans of battle and create another bigger, deadlier machine to face the monsters that are at my door. 

I hope that I will be able to cancel the apocalypse.

Feed the fishes.

Into Darkness

Before I begin with this post proper, allow me to provide a simple breakdown of my life’s components:

•           Work: 50%
•           Costuming: 5%
•           Gaming 5%
•           Nerf/Tactical Sports: 10%
•           Family: 20%
•           Gundam: 5%
•           Others: 5%

The above is a rough estimate of the activities that take up most of my time, the things that demand for my regular attention. However, the above is before variable A came into the picture.

Variable A replaced everything below Work.

I entered this equation filled with hope but armed with wary, as preliminary studies indicated that variable A was atypical, different from the run-of-the-mill, factory-churned specimens I was used to. The studies were accurate, the past few months had been one emotional roller-coaster ride after another. Yet, I endured, for the results from a successful solution were deeply affective and very fulfilling. Simply put, variable A completed the equation, without which it would remain unbalanced, unsolvable and useless.

Math metaphors aside, I did all I could to make variable A happy, cheerful, content. I tended to her every need, tried to fulfill her every want, stayed by her side longer than anyone else in my life and tried all ways and means to maintain the status quo. Orthodox, unethical, legal, dangerous, mortally-damaging, turnkey solutions – I’ve tried them all. So why am I teary-eyed five days a week? Why do I do to bed with a heavy, damaged heart? Why do I wake up to a miasma of dread and gloom?

I know you can’t help it, you are going through some pretty tough times yourself. But is it too much to ask for you to be a bit happier? You display that same haggard look every day, you give me the cold shoulder on a near-daily basis, you respond coldly to my texts. To put it harshly, you simply don’t give a damn, whether it is about the shit I go through at work or about the other things in my… wait.

There are no other things in my life anymore.

And when you give me the silent treatment, I honestly don't feel like living anymore. It’s akin to a red-hot katana forged from the fires of Mount Doom bladed with a scaled-down version of the Death Star’s laser driven into my helpless heart at transwarp speed.

Fate challenged me to play this game on legendary, but now, I’m seriously wondering if the final cutscene is really worth it. Perhaps, I really wasn't ready.

Everyday, I am so fatigued by any number of things. The mental and psychological stress placed on me by my mounting workload can only be laughed off but never alleviated. I live with a perpetually churned-gut, always thinking of the next project, the next deadline, the next incident which would throw an already disheveled system into total anarchy. It is perplexing, tormenting and downright destructive, yet I cannot transcend this.

I also feel so guilty for disregarding my family ever since she came into my life. My home has become just a place for me to get some sleep, a hot shower and a change of clothes, but also a refugee camp for when the damage is just too dire. I feel so, so bad not talking to my parents more, giving them simple answers whenever they ask me anything at home. I really cannot summon up the motivation and processing power to prolong the conversation, my resources have been spent elsewhere. For that, I am really sorry.

My friends have been with me for the longest time, through the period of my greatest agony, through the good times of my life. I cannot ask for finer friends, for they are the only constant in this churning maelstrom that my life has become. They will always be a harbour for my nonsense, my randomness, my infatuation with SNSD as well as the persona that is Spartan of Spectre. For that, I thank you, all of you, and ask that we continue to exist as a group, divided as we may be.

A random picture on my Facebook news feed bore the following words: "If something is not making you happy anymore, respect yourself enough to walk away". This rings frighteningly true for many, many aspects of my life right now.

Although my rosy picture has begun its descent into darkness, but I will walk it through and finish what I started.

It is only logical.

Feed the fishes.

Fundamental Processes

Perhaps it really has been too long. Perhaps I've been too out of touch with conventional protocol governing this aspect of human behaviour.

Or perhaps it is just my fundamental manner of processing eventualities.

This is harder that I had ever envisioned.

Yes, the rewards are significant, satisfying and substantial, but the emotional turmoil en route to those rewards is a steep price to pay.

Very precarious indeed.

I cannot fathom the actual reason behind certain actions, nor dare I venture a guess lest risking the over active cogs of a dynamic engine powering an active imagination. So many possible scenarios can spawn from a single thought: some positive, some bad, others devastating.

It really might be just over thinking on my part, but it is a curse that I must bear.

For as long as I can.

It is so frightening that mere words - electronic or otherwise - and actions have such a hold over my emotional state, capsizing it from optimistic zealot to gloomy cultist.

Regardless, I chose this path, I must walk it till the end.

Even if it scars me yet again.

I have to summon my most impenetrable shields to create the appropriate facade, even if I am dying inside.

I cannot be selfish, but it is only...

Biological.

A Livid and Lucid Dreamscape

It has been a week since the Box was opened.

For so long I have not felt the presence of another in such close proximity, have not experienced the tactile feedback that emanates from physical contact, have not had another human being so receptive of the attention that I am giving.

This is why people crave companionship, it makes you feel complete, like a manhole in your consciousness being filled in with just the right combination of cement and water.

It had not been easy, trying to shed the thoughts that have undoubtedly clouded my better vision and clearer judgment to wreak havoc with the bridge I had so painstakingly built to ferry the precious cargo across.

Indeed, thoughts are a wonderful thing, but at the opportune moment, thoughts can evolve into pointed missiles with the ability to completely remove resolve, conviction and determination.

Thankfully, this time, they became warm thoughts of tiny kittens frolicking in lush meadows slathered with expanses of green grass set against a picturesque backdrop of a bright and brilliant sun.

It has been a little too long, for I have forgotten the wondrous joys that reciprocity of liking entailed.

As I took your hand, you slowly pulled me closer.

As I stood stoically by your side, you gently placed your head upon my arm.

As I put my arm around your shoulders, you moved that bit closer.

As I placed my hand in yours, you grabbed my arm and held it close.

As we waited for the lights to change, you came close and held that moment until red turned to green.

Your tiny, seemingly-inconsequential actions translate into codexes of ancient knowledge that brought enlightenment and comfort to my battered soul.

Just for that, I am immensely grateful.

Even if this were but a hyper-realistic dream crafted by the most proficient of dreamcasters in the deepest reaches of my rarest REM cycle, I do not want to be awakened.

Ever.

Feed the fishes kids.

A New Chapter, A Fresh Start

In a cruel twist of irony, the latest chapter in a long-archived codex has opened up again in September, just like how it was first exposed to the blinding rays of the natural sun six years ago.

This time, it is different.

After more than four months of futile second-guessing and disparate chasing of phantom geese, Schrodinger's Box has finally been opened. Even if the process took me an excruciating hour, the key to the Box was inserted. Even if the locking cylinders took another three hours to cycle open, the lid eventually sprang up to reveal a tiny kitten covered in flaming red fur that looked at me with anticipatory eyes.

I picked it up, cradled the tiny creature in my arms, and walked towards the horizon.

16 September 2012.

That is the day she answered my question.

Even if our interests are worlds or even galaxies apart, we can agree to disagree, looking for alternatives to mutual sources of entertainment. Even if our characters and personalities are complete polar opposites, we can use that to our advantage to complete one another. Even if I have to compete against an extensive array of past experience, I am certain of my capability to steer us onto the correct path for the future.

I will not question your past, for I will be living in your present and perhaps creating your future.

All I ask for is your patience and acceptance in dealing with this kid who refuses to grow up, this narcissistic introvert who uses overly-flowery language in everyday conversation, this rigid and calculated geek who has a massive collection of toys and this lanky boy with an over-reactor in his cranium.

I don't need you to be a good girlfriend, I just need you to be my girlfriend.

Let us walk this path together, slowly but surely, and see where we end up.

It is only logical.

The Endless Struggle

Much like the history of warfare, the relationships I build with individuals of the opposite gender follow a frightening, cyclical pattern, of course with variations and derivations in between. Despite the structured, familiar course these progressive pathways take, I always end up as the defeated nation at the treaty table, the Nazis at Nuremberg, the Iraqis in the Persian Gulf.

I saw this coming, in fact, I engineered it to be so. Yet now, I find myself unable to cope with the rising consequences of my actions months earlier. If I didn't take the action I took months ago, history would have been written in a different, less eventful but also devoid of the inner torture that laces my daily existence.

As the battleship (the Spartan) that represents my emotional well-being traverses through the Great Battle of Side 2, it is taking sustained damage from both intrinsic and exterior forces. Internal strife threaten to break the will of the valiant crew, temporary held in check by a stoic captain who is uncertain how long his impassiveness will hold in the face of such overwhelming odds. Out in the chaotic expanses of Side 2, enemy warships and mobile units pepper the ship's shields with relentless cannon, machine gun and missile barrages, each successful hit bringing the battleship closer to annihilation. As the Spartan lists stubbornly to port in order to dodge a salvo of heat-seeking missiles, the bridge crew spot something far away that infuses them with the motivation to continue. However, a gigantic space fortress stands between the Spartan and that particular end-game.

Yet, the ship must push through, it has to get to its ultimate goal.

It has to open the one thing that will end this terrible war.

Schrodinger's Box.

Mid-Year Checkpoint

And so it has lapsed.

Half a year.

Six months.

Two quarters.

It is at once bewildering and also heartening to note that so much has happened within this seemingly short time, a kaleidoscopic panaroma of emotions, events and happenstances that add sordid lines to this chapter of my existence.

For the first time in my 24 years, I finally understood the pain my parents went through to put us through school. The psychological anguish, the mental stress, the emotional whiplash: all these constitute the modern condition of the workforce. My lifelong adage has served me well, and it has to continue withstanding the relentless perils that surface within the working environment.

Adapt or die.

As for the other part of my life that constantly plagues me, this year has been no better. Previous posts have covered what might have been, what could have been, but they sure did not cover why did you do it again.

I charted this path, I laid out this roadmap. Now I have to bear the consequences of my actions (or inaction) and carry this through. However, for once in a very long while, it seems remotely promising this time.

Even if that desire is encased in liquid nitrogen surrounded by an enclosure of orbiting fluoride-lasers.

We will see.

Lamentation

Of all the emotions across the entire spectrum, sorrow makes its presence readily felt. Sorrow tints even the most euphoric of situations, completely envelops scenarios depicting utter despair and apocalyptic mayhem. It is sorrow that is most tangible, most plausible and nearly impossible to dismiss regardless of an individual's level of emotional mastery.

As the days oozed into weeks, the initial inspiration, motivation and encouragement morbidly morphed into frustration, altercation, consternation. On hindsight, such an outcome would not have transgressed had the first step not be made, had the initial foray into the dangerous yet tantalising unknown be embarked on. 

Alas, all had transpired, and even if it was encapsulated in uncertainty, shrouded in hopelessness and punctuated with monumental dread, it was undoubtedly worthwhile.

Now, the banquet must end, and all that remains is the need to mitigate the damage, to cut the losses.

To end it all.

As the conjoining pillars fall and waste away, one can only hope that sanity will not follow suit, plunging into abysmal despair and into a downward spiral of destruction. The moves have been made, the subtlety has been conveyed and whatever resources have been expended to exhaustion. The status quo however, is still unfathomable, indiscernible, undifferentiated: like a sealed Schrodinger’s box, as it had been from the very beginning. 

Perhaps it is time to hark back to simpler periods, when such matters took a backseat from the other facets of life. 

Perhaps it is time to transcend this futility and move into an adjacent, more soothing realm of existence.

Perhaps Occam's Razor should be applied, and followed all the way through.

Even if it goes against every thought, feeling, emotion.

That inevitable eventuality has surfaced, and now it is instrumental to fade back into the background, to disintegrate back into the shadows of oblivion. 

Just as it was from the very beginning.

Yet Another Year

I probably should have posted this a week or two back, but didn't get around to do it. Regardless, here it is, a faithful port from my Facebook note. :D

~~~

When the end of a year rolls around, it's pretty amazing and scary at the same time. An assortment of thoughts will no doubt flood through the tiny little human head, thinking of what had been done the past year, what was missed and of course what could have been. Then the new year resolutions will start to formulate themselves, and the requisite plegdes to honor those resolutions will also begin their shaky, twisting journey through the year.

This note will be one such resolution: to pen down what I have accomplished at the end of each year.

Thinking back, 2011 was really a roller coaster ride of varied emotions. Life itself wasn't particularly tough nor harrowing, in fact, it was pretty gracious in that it opened and reopened several new outlets to my sphere of existence (more on that in a bit). It was the mental exercise that has always plagued my logic circuitry, the tendency to overthink a matter to the point of self-absorption relative to its impact on my immediate or even delayed environment. Then again, it is this thinking process that governs my being, and has long been a crucial and even vital element that defines my person, however flawed it may be.

2011 was the year that I completed all course requirements for my degree programme, which means that I have sort of graduated from the tertiary journey I began almost 1.5 years ago. The fact that I managed to maintain decent grades while juggling both a full-time job and evening classes gave me a little boost in the confidence department, which has been losing staff in recent times.

This particular job I took during my entire degree stint also broke a personal record: the longest period of being a full-time staff at a single company. Throughout the 13 months at NYP, I learned a great deal about it's sector of business, the way our education system operates and of course the perks and hazards of the working world. While not exactly a permanent staff of the institution, I was still exposed to a lion's share of office politics and shenanigans, which forced me to learn on the job and take the necessary action. In short, working made me "deal with it", my most-used and most-parodied mantra yet.

NYP also expanded my social sphere, blessing me with a bunch of younger kids who are a blast to be with. Working with them made the dreadful time pass faster, and although we had our differences in opinion and character, we managed to sort things out and come out of our disagreements maintaining the status quo, or even with an improvement to the current relations. I wish for all of them to be happy and cheerful, and please remember this uncle with whom you worked with for the better part of 2011.

Even if I like writing, it didn't occur to me that the things I say would be important or even noticeable enough to be put on the national press. Let's face it, Singapore is too small a country to differentiate our media by regions or towns: every form of traditional media here in our tiny island is national press. I wrote in to Today four times in 2011, and each letter was published in either the online format or print format. The very first article I wrote in made the "headline letter" section in the edition of Today it was published in, and it sure made me feel glad. Apart from Today, one of my letters was also sent to The Straits Times, who phoned me and said that my letter was being considered for publication. Even if it did not make it into the eventual edition of the newspaper, being considered was good enough - it is like being nominated for an Oscar award, your merit has been recognised by some higher deciding power.

2011 also showed me the reality of the world: the SCAPE fiasco brought some cold hard truths to bear. There really exists people in the world who would just leave a commitment behind and expect it to be better three months later. Even if no tangible reward is available to those directly involved in the project, at least afford us some god-damned gratitude: we don't slog our lives away after our daytime commitments to be given reprimand - if I'd wanted that kind of treatment I would have signed on with the army. The only silver lining in this dark cloud were the true friends who rose through the darkness and pulled through together, while disregarding several undeserving imbeciles unworthy of my attention and respect. In all, 2011 both forged and destroyed friendships, for all reasons on the spectrum.

If there is to be a defining event in 2011 that overshadows all others, it will be my month-long trip to the United States of America. By itself, the event shattered a number of records: destroying my slight fear of flying, demolishing my fear of traveling, eradicating my fear of living together with people apart from my family and close friends, obliterating my fear of life in the USA and of course removing my fear of not adapting to a different environment. The trip also marked my first forary out of our sandy shores in probably a decade, and is also the longest period of time I have stayed alone overseas.

The trip proved to be a fruitful one, exposing my senses to a non-Singaporean environment and really being an absolute eye-opener. Halfway throughout the trip I felt like the proverbial frog in the well, narrowed educated but slowly creeping out of my comfort zone to learn more. Living alone abroad posed a significant number of challenges, but I made it through without dire eventualities or causes of concern, so that is an absolute plus.

Snapping photographs during my journey in the USA also opened my doors to the beautiful world of digital photography. A camera's ability to capture a that specific sequence, to crystalise that Moment, is really a remarkable invention. To me, photographs serve as, well, photographic evidence and hence memories of whoever and wherever I had the chance to snap pictures of, and memories are things I truly treasure.

On the social front, I seem to still have slight problems conversing with members of the opposite gender. Perhaps the stigma from the previous downfall is still making its latent presence felt, perhaps some innate barrier or protective device is in place to safeguard me from another devastating Fall. Or maybe I am just not ready, despite my insistent statements otherwise. Regardless, better my own heart shattered than anyone else's, they don't have to pay for my own emotional transgressions.

There, I think that should just about cover it. I haven't accomplished much in terms of hard skills, but my softer skills have seen a drastic tempering from work, school and everything else in between.Yes, I still have some ways to go in almost every asepct, but there's no rushing it, these things take time to cement.

In the meantime, I'll deal with it. :)

Happy 2012 everyone, may your paths through this year be paved with polished ivory and bright lit with efficient lamps. :D

Check

Like the passing of a comet through our tiny solar system, my blog posts come and well, don't come, as they please, largely dependent on whether the intellect behind them is in the mood to pen down a post, the state of his emotional well-being or whether he has ranked and prioritzed blogging as imperative over all other things currently within his wide-reaching purview.

Fortunately, this is one such time.

It's been almost three months since the kids left, leaving the office many degrees more silent, and very much colder. Without their energy and personalities to punctuate the drudgery of everyday work, the office is merely an empty construct, devoid of feeling, thought or emotion. It feels as if time had been reversed back to a year ago, when I first set foot on the gray carpeted floor and weaved through the labyrinth of faux wood furniture. I was alone then, and it feels like I'm alone now as well, especially if my only other colleague is manning the front desk.

Sometimes I wonder, how did I survive so long in this place, performing a whole assortment of tasks for a meager paycheck and to put myself through seemingly unnecessary turmoil and torture? I could have easily gone for a full-time degree programme, eradicating the need or feasibility of having a job. But who is going to pay for the car's petrol, ERP, road tax and other associated fees? Who is going to pay for the DSLR? Who is going to pay for my hobby expenditure?

No one, but myself.

I know myself well enough to understand that in order for me to not atrophy into dust by having too much free time on my hands, I have to be put through my paces and challenged, for activity and having stuff to do is the primary source of my being, my fuel if you will. Granted, at times I wish for nothing on my plate, but those periods are rare and fleeting.

Therefore, this work-school arrangement is most optimal for my current and future development, and is a model I will probably adopt to other scenarios if applicable.

On a side note, I thought of this new theory to characterize the process which always finds its way into my blog posts. I call it: the Germ Theory of Affection.

As with all diseases, it starts with a single germ, and this particular germ represents the YY-chromosomed individual who ventured into my system. The germ will be classified as the X-Strain, where X is the name of the individual. As the virus matures and multiplies, my systems start to falter, and eventually I succumb to the full might of the germ, laying my heart bare and ripe for the taking.

If the Strain is strong enough, it would succeed, otherwise, it would withdraw and go into remission. In the event that a particular Strain actually gains control of my heart, a team of specialists and experts will have to pull me from the brink of disaster, and I would have to fight tooth and nail to repress the condition myself. Generally, I would make it and see the next sunrise, but like all superviruses, each Strain will never be wholly obliterated from my systems, they will merely be in remission, awaiting the opportune moment to strike again.

Waiting for the moment to spring a devastating and unexpected relapse.

Even if the Strain isn't particularly damaging or developed, any form of assault on my systems is still considerable, and repeated action would quickly wear down any defenses raised and penetrate my shields. As for the more hi-level Strains, well, let's just say that all it takes is a single touch to take my life.

The Strain which had been in remission and suppression for the past year has awoken yesterday, but it is still weak, still reeling from the pressure put on it the last time it wreaked havoc. Nonetheless, it is now active, but I am biding my time, looking to see how this particular Strain will develop.

We shall see.

Feed the fish kids.

The Degeneration

It is at once scary and also saddening to note that as human beings age, their bodily systems slow to a perceptible crawl, their reflexes slowly but surely grind to a lower new constant and their mental faculties start to falter. Out of the three however, the slowing of the mind and its associated capabilities brings about the most difficulty and anguish, to the person experiencing it as well as to the people unfortunate enough to be around him/her when the brain cells start to die for good.

My grandmother is undergoing that stage right now, having lived vicariously through the deity of gambling for the past eight decades, and then some. Still, she is going strong, and according to one over-enthusiastic and retrospectively irresponsible doctor, healthier than a person ten years younger. If you ask me, she's a bit too strong, to the point that she is exhibiting signs of emotional displacement and displaying severe violent tendencies to her immediate family members.

Three times within a week, she wound up in three different police stations, after running away from home (yes at her goddamned age) due to trivial and wholly unnecessary squabbles with my family members - primarily my Dad - over the maid who had been employed for the sole reason to care for her. What is wrong with just sitting there on the sofa, watching TV and having someone to take care of your every need? Sounds like an awesome time, but then again I'm not grandma.

Everyday she tries to find fault with the maid, picks fights with her which almost always degenerates to forceful stoppage and loud shouting from both sides of the conflict. The innocent citizen - the maid - bears the brunt of the damage, and is powerless to do anything about it, although she knows that everyone in the family except grandma is protecting her. Yet, we cannot be in the house all day, all the time, and truth be told, I am beginning to DREAD coming back to the house, for fear of history, especially last Friday's event, repeating itself.

There I was, in the cinema at Iluma watching Transformers 3 for the second time with my OCU classmates when a flurry of messages from my sister came in, saying that grandma went crazy again and Dad is on his way to the hospital because of a deep cut caused by a fall with grandma when the two of them were struggling. Again, it was because of the maid, or rather, grandma tried to attack the maid when she was just minding her own business, and Dad (and his confrontational character) tried to stop her and shake some sense into grandma. I believe one or the other lost balance and both of them fell to the floor, and Dad cut his forehead on one of the sofa's sharp corners. According to eyewitnesses, a lot of blood was seen on the ground after the incident, and Mom had to accompany Dad to the TTSH A&E for treatment. The messages came halfway through the movie, and had it been my first time watching the show, I would be even more pissed than I was last Friday, like Megatron-pissed.

Having lost focus on the movie, I spent the last 1.5 hours merely admiring the finer details of the SFX, noted the details on The Wreckers' vehicle modes and scrutinized Shockwave's cannon and Optimus Prime's solo rampage through a gauntlet of Decepticons. Straight after the movie, I had to bid the group adieu to rush to the hospital, where my parents were waiting for their turn in the Emergency, and it was only after two hours that we were finally on the way home, with Dad having four new stitches in his forehead.

One of these days, someone is gonna get hurt real bad, and the worst part is, grandma will conveniently forget everything the next day due to her rapidly deteriorating memory.

All these when I'm just about to start class again next week.

Excellent.

Feed the fish kids.

End of the Line

I must have did something wrong in my past life, to go through this tumultuous mess right now, probably allowed a basket of kittens to be run over by a ten-wheeler or something. It could also be merely circumstantial - things are happening the way they are due to the accumulation of a myriad of different factors encompassing a whole spectrum of situational conditions and environmental concerns. Regardless, the matter is evident at this point in time, and like a pus-filled tumor, might just explode at the slightest prod, saturating the area with its toxic fallout.

As a general rule, we are all victims of circumstance. Who can proudly say that he/she is who he/she is because he/she wanted it? None, because everyone is moulded by their own individualistic experiences, the building blocks of your character, your personality - what makes you who you are. Like people, happenings in life go through this process, nothing is smooth sailing, rarely will things follow a straight line.

I was naive to think that it will.

As the negatives continue to pile up with no slight, even remote, positive in sight, my thread is wearing thin. Our publics - both internal and external - are getting angsty and upset, and for good reason. Honestly speaking, we expanded too much too fast, didn't calculate the logistical concerns for such a massive undertaking. We also overlooked an important factor: the functional publics.

Even if we're doing this activity out of our passion for the sport, that passion will burn out, even if you are a ultra-enthusiastic, all hyped-up practitioner. Running chaotic civil wars week after week tend to grind away at your passion, patience, and then your temper, and doing so WITHOUT any form of visible return just accelerates the inevitable process. Underlying issues now find themselves floating to the top of the agenda, and eventualities predicted have begun to manifest themselves. On top of all those, the parent organisation just switched hands, effectively ending the relatively hassle-free venue system we previously enjoyed.

It is not that I don't want to do anything, it is just that there is simply nothing that can be done at this point in time. The primary, crucial concerns have been highlighted to the higher-ups many, many times, but there is little they too can do. If the main organisation's goal is profit-oriented, logically speaking, the activities going down the flowchart would be revenue-based as well, which is the case right now. All of the ideas being thrown around right now to resolve this issue sound good, practical, but is the result worth it?

Sadly, it probably is. We are still too young to be less selfish.

I will hang back and let you guys settle this mess the way you want to, observing the process, anticipating the outcome. If you guys manage to calm the storm, good for you, all of us can continue with the new status quo. If nothing is changed even by your hands, I will do something, provided my motivation is still intact.

My thread is at its end, and there is no spool to reel it in.

I am really spent.

Maybe its time to head back into my own little bubble, where everything is perfect.

What a wish.

Rebuilding

Feelings come and go, just like friends who appear and fade away like so many grains of sand plastered over the beach, few substantial, some significant, but mostly fleeting. It is rather troubling to note that I go through this same thought process many times a year, and though some last for mere days, most drag on for months on end, sowing emo-seeds of self-contemplation into the arable neural farmland of my cranium.

Without much tender care or high-tech agricultural machinery, these seemingly-insignificant seeds will waste no time into blossoming to towering canopies of sunlight-blockading evergreen structures of despair. They constantly grow, evolving into newer, more dangerous strains as time goes by, furthering barricading the once-healthy farmland from the rest of the world, sapping the nutrients from the once-fertile soil while leaving nothing behind.

Alas, all it takes is for the farmer himself to raise his double-barrel, point it towards the heavens, and pull the trigger. As the buckshot soars towards the suffocating cover of darkness with relentless determination, the farmer knows that he can begin cultivating his more profitable cash crops soon, once the darkening canopy is destroyed.

In an instant, the rounds breach the desecrating trees, eradicating one structure, with the others falling away soon after, leaving but a single pod behind, ready to burst open at a moment's notice should the opportunity arise. This particular pod remains hidden from view, concealed from prying eyes, immune to even the most advanced scrying techniques, awaiting the best moment to shroud the entire world in darkness once again.

For now, all is sunny, all is well.

At long last, everyone can now breathe a collective sigh of relief.

It took a while, and the battle was tough, but the armistice has been signed once again.

The Rebuilding is complete.

Power Overwhelming

I now have an idea of how it feels like to be overwhelmed, to be overworked, to be overclocked beyond your advertised specifications. So many things are on my mind right now: work, the PR assignment, the PR exam, the first contract for our cosplaying services (if it goes through), tomorrow's Tactical Mob lesson (with its own mind-map of considerations), Saturday's birthday hosting (again, with its own web of intricacies), the massive BBQ gathering occurring on the same day, as well as the exact tactics which I would use in line with an always-altering strategy to achieve one long-overdue objective. Even typing those out took some time. Sheesh.

Anyway, SOF: Blasters is well on its way to establishing it own identity and image, with a website, ratecard and/or brochure in the works. Although still in its infancy, it is nonetheless priceless motivation for the people working for it, shedding sweat and blood, toiling through soil and mud. Just yesterday, I was about spent with everything related to this alleged-hogging of my spare time, but Edward's little proposal got my business gears running and restored a significant percentage of my motivation, even if it is for the time being. We'll see how long this will last.

In other news, it's been some time, but her visage still fleets through my mind everyday, although in decreasing frequency and intensity. Nonetheless, the phantom still exists, and remains a poignant force in my locus of control. I felt my lip muscles arch into a slight smile when I received her acknowledgement to a global message I sent, felt my pulse race a little, felt my heartrate increase. The canvas is still blank though, nothing has been written or doodled on it since the day I decided to leave it empty, since everything reverted to square one.

Awash with purity and laminated in innocence, the canvas remains oblivious to the movement around it, most of them without a shred of relation to the object, but some of them wrought with clandestine intentions. Nevertheless, the canvas still portrays its whitest side to anyone who would see, keeping the less-appealing wooden frame hidden from the rest of the world. However, all it takes is just one stroke of the paintbrush, and everything will change forever.

Should I lift up my slender brush, dip the head into my palette of unusual colors, and skillfully paint a maverick picture of chaos, anarchy and seclusion; or should I fold my arms, tip my feathered hat down ever so slightly and stare at the still-blank canvas with longing, hazy eyes?

Decisions, decisions.

In any case, she has to know through one way or another, that she appears in the mind of another living, breathing, thinking human being every single day.

18.