Finally, first post of 2013, and the first post in about three months. It's been a long time, and sometimes, I confess to missing the feeling of blogging, of typing words, as if the real world, Muggle form of Harry Potter's world where people tap the sides of their heads with a wand and draw forth a silvery strand of thought or memory. Technical wizardry will aid me, too. Translating ideas into legible pixels on a screen, for the world to read (not that many people stop by this humble blog, though).
A friend said that it would be useful to Google oneself and find any traces of things that were best erased from the cyber world. I tried; nothing much came out, besides Facebook. I am simply a forgettable person. Whither happens after death? People crying; an obituary in the papers, and that is about it. Perhaps throw in the sudden realisation that humans are just so much meat and bones physically; we are, after all, just animals. Perhaps too wonderment at what cremation does, leaving nothing behind but some discoloured, light bones. That is what our lives culminate in, eventually, for most people. Only some will become the stuff of legend or subjects of biographies and leave behind some semblance of legacy. No wonder people are afraid of dying; afraid of leaving nothing behind when they have had all the time in the world to change that future. But I digress. This friend said that childhood blogs would be best deleted, hidden away from the world. But why, really? Are blogs not snapshots of who we were in a certain period of time? Perhaps when we have mellowed one day in the future and these words are still floating about, waiting to be rediscovered, we would look back and think of who we were. A past self, open for introspection. Perhaps we would marvel at our radical views; no matter, because opinions change. And even if they were to stay a constant, the value of the blog does not change that much. But of course the world would judge. The world would point their collective fingers and condemn the blogger to hell and beyond.
Now this first post would be quite random since I've obviously went through quite a lot in three months. So random it shall be.
I've always wondered why people don't like to think. We have a mind for a reason - use it. We are human; keep the flame of curiosity alive, that which has always been around, which accompanied us when we were but babes. To think is the hardest thing to do, but why follow the wide and well-trodden when we can all go on our own journeys of self-discovery?
Of course, there is a value in doing other things. Take shopping, for example. To me, it isn't exactly the most enjoyable of activities. Why waste time taking transport to a location and spending valuable time and money on items? I wouldn't mind spending some time choosing things, but to be elbow to elbow with others, jostling along Orchard Road or indeed any other shopping district, is something I refuse to do (unless cajoled into it). Wasting a few hours of my life and some travel money to seek out a slightly better bargain is not exactly smart. Time is money, and vice versa; if we worked throughout, we would be better able to afford other things, no? I like to think of this as some kind of "frictional unemployment". Just that now this represents consumers searching for the best bargains. Some search for too short a period of time (me) and get fleeced. Some search for too long, but it's fine as long as they like it. And others are savvy and spend just the right amount of time. In everything, moderation is key - Goldilocks is much preferred everywhere.
I've finally taken the trouble to read my friends' blogs. It is said that birds of a feather flock together. Having been in top schools has given me the privilege of knowing smarter people. Personally, I'm really quite stupid. It may seem like a joke to others, but one knows oneself the best, sometimes. So I've had the privilege of encountering philosophical blogs. Oh, to blog is a joy. To cook is likewise a joy, and I've been cooking quite a lot, I must add. Too many hobbies and interests, too little time. Or perhaps it's just me as usual, squandering my time away. But anyway, what I've read confirms my state of learned-ness. While others embark on journeys of self-discovery, of wonder, of apprehension, of learning about things that deserve to be learned, I've been doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. Sometimes I wonder how I can waste so much time doing nothing. It gets to the point when I loathe myself for being so very slothful - the biggest sin of mine, out of the traditional seven. That, I learnt from my secondary school.
Reflection while blogging - sometimes, it gives one a certain sense of calm while letting the mind wander. Willing sentences to form on the screen; where there was but white, now black is painted over it. Sometimes, a pure white canvas is beautiful and pristine. Other times, words are much preferred. To paraphrase another friend, sometimes when a blank canvas is all that is facing us, we dread doing anything to it. We would rather let the status quo remain than take that first step. Yet putting the brush to the surface is indeed half the battle won. Let your heart take you wherever you want to go; find your place in the world and turn the blank slate into an artwork. Live.
Yet, what have I done?
The A levels have ended; I've went to Cambodia and back, Australia and back; took the SAT, finally got an internship (starts soon). What have I really learnt? That I am adept at wasting time? That I am, as I've feared, pretty much useless? What else am I to learn when Chinese come up to you and ask you for recommendations of places to tour at night and you cannot reply them in what is supposedly your mother tongue? When you want to teach but end up being taught and passed over in favour of other teachers? When you see the night sky, the real one that is not obscured by the artificial lights that beam out, and see the sea magnificently crashing against the rocks? When you know that you are at the mercy of adults who dispassionately look through your wannabe CV, with no leadership accomplishments whatsoever to speak of? A tiny, tiny drop in a vast ocean. The thought is scary, yet oddly comforting at the same time. And it spurs me on. Onwards, forever onwards. Marching to my own rhythm. Trying to garner accolades to make myself feel better. Trying to amass knowledge. Trying to live every second well spent. Trying to become someone, something more significant than a little grain of sand on a beach, or a drop of water in an ocean. Give me willpower; give me strength.
And at the same time, I am simply humbled by my lack of mastery of English. Granted, I know a little more vocab than the average guy, but that is all. My grammar is horrendous. The SAT proved that time and again as I suffered defeat after crushing defeat. Defeat at my own hands, determined to learn grammar well enough to get a higher score. Yet always, the practices revealed to me my utter lack of learning. Again, and again. I thought my ego was impossibly small; then it got buffeted, pounded, crushed mercilessly. Yet I still blog, I must blog. I want to blog. I need to blog. Such is the relief from being reflective once more, though this mirror of mine tells me nothing more than my lack of depth. Some tell me that yes, I am deep. Yet I don't find myself so. And indeed, one finds it hard to match up to others when our lives have all taken such divergent roads, always getting further and further away from each other. Wherein the similarity?
What else is there to life other than thinking? Thinking, creating things we have built up, "standing on the shoulders of giants". Leaving a legacy behind to get others to do the same. Isn't that what we have been doing all along, for each field of study, each aspect of life? Even movies get us to think (hopefully). I watched Les Miserables and Cloud Atlas, and I must say that Cloud Atlas has got to be the best or at least one of the best movies I've ever watched. A fluke brought me to the theatres. Rarely have I ever been so glad for a fluke. May do a movie review the next time.
And, I thank my friends for their blogs and for them being who they are. Will continue fighting the entropy that dictates that relationships will slowly expire and get forgotten once people seperate and continue along their respective paths.
A friend said that it would be useful to Google oneself and find any traces of things that were best erased from the cyber world. I tried; nothing much came out, besides Facebook. I am simply a forgettable person. Whither happens after death? People crying; an obituary in the papers, and that is about it. Perhaps throw in the sudden realisation that humans are just so much meat and bones physically; we are, after all, just animals. Perhaps too wonderment at what cremation does, leaving nothing behind but some discoloured, light bones. That is what our lives culminate in, eventually, for most people. Only some will become the stuff of legend or subjects of biographies and leave behind some semblance of legacy. No wonder people are afraid of dying; afraid of leaving nothing behind when they have had all the time in the world to change that future. But I digress. This friend said that childhood blogs would be best deleted, hidden away from the world. But why, really? Are blogs not snapshots of who we were in a certain period of time? Perhaps when we have mellowed one day in the future and these words are still floating about, waiting to be rediscovered, we would look back and think of who we were. A past self, open for introspection. Perhaps we would marvel at our radical views; no matter, because opinions change. And even if they were to stay a constant, the value of the blog does not change that much. But of course the world would judge. The world would point their collective fingers and condemn the blogger to hell and beyond.
Now this first post would be quite random since I've obviously went through quite a lot in three months. So random it shall be.
I've always wondered why people don't like to think. We have a mind for a reason - use it. We are human; keep the flame of curiosity alive, that which has always been around, which accompanied us when we were but babes. To think is the hardest thing to do, but why follow the wide and well-trodden when we can all go on our own journeys of self-discovery?
Of course, there is a value in doing other things. Take shopping, for example. To me, it isn't exactly the most enjoyable of activities. Why waste time taking transport to a location and spending valuable time and money on items? I wouldn't mind spending some time choosing things, but to be elbow to elbow with others, jostling along Orchard Road or indeed any other shopping district, is something I refuse to do (unless cajoled into it). Wasting a few hours of my life and some travel money to seek out a slightly better bargain is not exactly smart. Time is money, and vice versa; if we worked throughout, we would be better able to afford other things, no? I like to think of this as some kind of "frictional unemployment". Just that now this represents consumers searching for the best bargains. Some search for too short a period of time (me) and get fleeced. Some search for too long, but it's fine as long as they like it. And others are savvy and spend just the right amount of time. In everything, moderation is key - Goldilocks is much preferred everywhere.
I've finally taken the trouble to read my friends' blogs. It is said that birds of a feather flock together. Having been in top schools has given me the privilege of knowing smarter people. Personally, I'm really quite stupid. It may seem like a joke to others, but one knows oneself the best, sometimes. So I've had the privilege of encountering philosophical blogs. Oh, to blog is a joy. To cook is likewise a joy, and I've been cooking quite a lot, I must add. Too many hobbies and interests, too little time. Or perhaps it's just me as usual, squandering my time away. But anyway, what I've read confirms my state of learned-ness. While others embark on journeys of self-discovery, of wonder, of apprehension, of learning about things that deserve to be learned, I've been doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. Sometimes I wonder how I can waste so much time doing nothing. It gets to the point when I loathe myself for being so very slothful - the biggest sin of mine, out of the traditional seven. That, I learnt from my secondary school.
Reflection while blogging - sometimes, it gives one a certain sense of calm while letting the mind wander. Willing sentences to form on the screen; where there was but white, now black is painted over it. Sometimes, a pure white canvas is beautiful and pristine. Other times, words are much preferred. To paraphrase another friend, sometimes when a blank canvas is all that is facing us, we dread doing anything to it. We would rather let the status quo remain than take that first step. Yet putting the brush to the surface is indeed half the battle won. Let your heart take you wherever you want to go; find your place in the world and turn the blank slate into an artwork. Live.
Yet, what have I done?
The A levels have ended; I've went to Cambodia and back, Australia and back; took the SAT, finally got an internship (starts soon). What have I really learnt? That I am adept at wasting time? That I am, as I've feared, pretty much useless? What else am I to learn when Chinese come up to you and ask you for recommendations of places to tour at night and you cannot reply them in what is supposedly your mother tongue? When you want to teach but end up being taught and passed over in favour of other teachers? When you see the night sky, the real one that is not obscured by the artificial lights that beam out, and see the sea magnificently crashing against the rocks? When you know that you are at the mercy of adults who dispassionately look through your wannabe CV, with no leadership accomplishments whatsoever to speak of? A tiny, tiny drop in a vast ocean. The thought is scary, yet oddly comforting at the same time. And it spurs me on. Onwards, forever onwards. Marching to my own rhythm. Trying to garner accolades to make myself feel better. Trying to amass knowledge. Trying to live every second well spent. Trying to become someone, something more significant than a little grain of sand on a beach, or a drop of water in an ocean. Give me willpower; give me strength.
And at the same time, I am simply humbled by my lack of mastery of English. Granted, I know a little more vocab than the average guy, but that is all. My grammar is horrendous. The SAT proved that time and again as I suffered defeat after crushing defeat. Defeat at my own hands, determined to learn grammar well enough to get a higher score. Yet always, the practices revealed to me my utter lack of learning. Again, and again. I thought my ego was impossibly small; then it got buffeted, pounded, crushed mercilessly. Yet I still blog, I must blog. I want to blog. I need to blog. Such is the relief from being reflective once more, though this mirror of mine tells me nothing more than my lack of depth. Some tell me that yes, I am deep. Yet I don't find myself so. And indeed, one finds it hard to match up to others when our lives have all taken such divergent roads, always getting further and further away from each other. Wherein the similarity?
What else is there to life other than thinking? Thinking, creating things we have built up, "standing on the shoulders of giants". Leaving a legacy behind to get others to do the same. Isn't that what we have been doing all along, for each field of study, each aspect of life? Even movies get us to think (hopefully). I watched Les Miserables and Cloud Atlas, and I must say that Cloud Atlas has got to be the best or at least one of the best movies I've ever watched. A fluke brought me to the theatres. Rarely have I ever been so glad for a fluke. May do a movie review the next time.
And, I thank my friends for their blogs and for them being who they are. Will continue fighting the entropy that dictates that relationships will slowly expire and get forgotten once people seperate and continue along their respective paths.
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