He begins with the intention of simply discarding all of his old notes, books and items. He is dead certain that the challenge will be the volume of material to go through, rather than the decision on what to keep or throw.
It all starts according to plan. He is flying through items in the first cupboard. He has two piles - one for chucking and one for keeping. Old chemistry notes - throw. Old math notes - throw. These can be looked up on the internet anytime, he reasons. Yearbooks he keeps. Language exercise books he has to pause for a little. He decides to keep them. While flipping through one of them, he reads a paragraph of his own essay. He is shocked and impressed by the number of words whose meaning he knew at age 13, but not now. He pushes aside the newsletters from his secondary school days and finds a box of letters. On top of it is a diary that still smells of bubble-gum when he opens it. It was a gift from his first school-teacher. The diary begins with entries describing his first ever overseas trip, 25 years ago. It continues for a couple of months after that trip ends. The little boy writes about hanging out with his Uncle, who has since passed away. He continues reading for a good 15 minutes. He cannot bear to throw this away. It has no use to his present self but it would be wrong, and far too cold, to say it is useless. He must show it to the Wife.
That was an unexpected delay; hopefully there are no more. As he continues combing through his belongings, he finds a journal that his secondary school teacher had asked him (and the other students, of course) to keep. He is so surprised to see himself in those entries. Sincere ramblings from an introverted kid, slightly lacking in confidence, and slightly too harsh on himself. With a little editing, those entries could be transplanted straight into his blog, he thinks. Well, the child is the Father of the Man.
The most moving find, by far, were a couple of touching letters from Senior to him. He has only a very slight recollection of reading one of them; the other he cannot remember at all. What was the context they were written in? Well well, it looks like the Father is also the Father of the Man.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
I Love You I'm Going To Blow Up Your School
She brings him to her old primary school, which is located past the river. To get there, they cross the main road in town, using an overhead bridge with two very long switchbacks in place of stairs. Punk motorcyclists have taken to using these as a turn-off into the town. Just as he and his Wife are about to descend from the far side of the bridge, one of these punks sets off a string of firecrackers behind them. They turn around startled. The reminder to never cross the main road pops instantly into his head.
Outside her school compound, she points out the main building, the canteen and the playground. She tells of how she once broke up a fight between gangsters outside the girls' toilet. Her eyes are sparkling as she reminisces about her school days. She recounts how she would dash home from school, have lunch, take a nap and then head back for an afternoon session of games. She confesses she had no real answer to her Mother's query, "Didn't you just see them, like, 2 hours ago? Aren't you tired of seeing them?".
She picks up two rubber seeds, one in each hand.
"This is a game we used to play as kids. See, this one is yours", she says, holding up the one in her right hand with just the finger and thumb.
"The other one is mine. I'm going to press them against each other, between my palms. The one that cracks is the loser." What fun.
"I can see how the days used to fly by here", he quips.
He picks up a rubber seed of his own and starts to rub it against the ground. She tosses hers aside and starts running away.
On the way home, they stop and buy a pack of cigarettes. As always they do a currency conversion, and then express their astonishment at how expensive things back home are.
Upon entering the house, he pumps the cigarette pack into her sister's hand, right in front of their Father!
Outside her school compound, she points out the main building, the canteen and the playground. She tells of how she once broke up a fight between gangsters outside the girls' toilet. Her eyes are sparkling as she reminisces about her school days. She recounts how she would dash home from school, have lunch, take a nap and then head back for an afternoon session of games. She confesses she had no real answer to her Mother's query, "Didn't you just see them, like, 2 hours ago? Aren't you tired of seeing them?".
She picks up two rubber seeds, one in each hand.
"This is a game we used to play as kids. See, this one is yours", she says, holding up the one in her right hand with just the finger and thumb.
"The other one is mine. I'm going to press them against each other, between my palms. The one that cracks is the loser." What fun.
"I can see how the days used to fly by here", he quips.
He picks up a rubber seed of his own and starts to rub it against the ground. She tosses hers aside and starts running away.
On the way home, they stop and buy a pack of cigarettes. As always they do a currency conversion, and then express their astonishment at how expensive things back home are.
Upon entering the house, he pumps the cigarette pack into her sister's hand, right in front of their Father!
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Fortunate Son
At the hawker centre, he orders his fried rice and takes a seat next to the stall while it is prepared. The old man with the long combover (on one side of his head) walks past, in his usual brown pants and striped shirt, plastic bag in hand, smacking his head and muttering to himself as always.
He's hungry and cannot wait to go home and dig in; the food in his hand smells divine. He sees the lift door closing so he dashes to catch it. A wave of his hands between the closing doors does the trick. The two in the car - a Chinese lady in high heels and thick make-up and an Indian lady in crutches, make room for him. He walks in and pushes 12. 3 and 9 are also lit. At 3, he steps out to give the lady in heels more room to exit. Before he re-enters the car, his attention is caught by a single bed in the lift lobby. It has pink sheets, a brown blanket and blue pillow-cases. The lady in crutches looks at him impatiently so he shuffles back in apologetically.
At 9 he holds the door open for her to exit comfortably. At 12 he exits, goes into his apartment and waits for his wife to return. Once she is back, they eat hurriedly, grumble about work and turn in at 11.
He's hungry and cannot wait to go home and dig in; the food in his hand smells divine. He sees the lift door closing so he dashes to catch it. A wave of his hands between the closing doors does the trick. The two in the car - a Chinese lady in high heels and thick make-up and an Indian lady in crutches, make room for him. He walks in and pushes 12. 3 and 9 are also lit. At 3, he steps out to give the lady in heels more room to exit. Before he re-enters the car, his attention is caught by a single bed in the lift lobby. It has pink sheets, a brown blanket and blue pillow-cases. The lady in crutches looks at him impatiently so he shuffles back in apologetically.
At 9 he holds the door open for her to exit comfortably. At 12 he exits, goes into his apartment and waits for his wife to return. Once she is back, they eat hurriedly, grumble about work and turn in at 11.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Communication Breakdown
He: Is there any meat in the curry puff?
She: Why?
He: I'm vegetarian today.
She: Why?
He: Just for kicks.
She: Don't bluff.
He: Wife said so.
She: Only curry.
He: But any meat?
She: No, no.. only potato and chicken.
She: Why?
He: I'm vegetarian today.
She: Why?
He: Just for kicks.
She: Don't bluff.
He: Wife said so.
She: Only curry.
He: But any meat?
She: No, no.. only potato and chicken.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Christmas Song
It is hot when he arrives. Senior has gone out, she tells him. They sit and talk. She sounds alright now, but she has been unwell too. She waves at the different medicines on the table. She is wearing green, like the codeine.
Senior is back now. They sit and keep talking. They eat grapes and longans, but Senior is still hungry, so he makes himself a bowl of curry noodles. He is not wearing a shirt. Junior leans out of the window. It is so quiet and peaceful on a Sunday afternoon. What could be more satisfying than being here?
It is cooler now, because the clouds have rolled in. He brings the clothes in and shuts the window. The conversation turns to her upcoming trip. It might be cold in February, so he asks if she has the right shoes, jackets, and so on. They turn the TV on. The newsreader reports on a murder in a food factory.
"Do you remember the Briyani murders", asks Senior.
"Yes, right behind the church at Dhoby Ghaut?"
They switch to a Japanese show, for children, dubbed into English. Men in robot costumes are fighting men in rubber alien suits.
It is raining now. He borrows an orange umbrella and leaves.
Senior is back now. They sit and keep talking. They eat grapes and longans, but Senior is still hungry, so he makes himself a bowl of curry noodles. He is not wearing a shirt. Junior leans out of the window. It is so quiet and peaceful on a Sunday afternoon. What could be more satisfying than being here?
It is cooler now, because the clouds have rolled in. He brings the clothes in and shuts the window. The conversation turns to her upcoming trip. It might be cold in February, so he asks if she has the right shoes, jackets, and so on. They turn the TV on. The newsreader reports on a murder in a food factory.
"Do you remember the Briyani murders", asks Senior.
"Yes, right behind the church at Dhoby Ghaut?"
They switch to a Japanese show, for children, dubbed into English. Men in robot costumes are fighting men in rubber alien suits.
It is raining now. He borrows an orange umbrella and leaves.
Friday, October 7, 2011
The Drumming Song
He is awake at the crack of dawn. She is getting ready for her race. Nervous but excited, and very glad that it is not raining.
He waves good bye and good luck and turns to home. He sits down and replies to an email from a dear friend, a little guilty for not initiating the thread himself. When done, he turns to the problem that has taken much more time than he estimated. Which task has ever taken less time than he anticipated? Is it a sign of overconfidence? Or just hope?
He's followed all the instructions, tried all the suggestions on all the forums but cannot get the simplest program to run on his notebook; to make processes pass messages to each other. He goes back to the drawing board. Perhaps the test program itself is not right. He starts from the low-level "Hello World", adds a broadcast. Ok. He adds a non-blocking send. Ok. He adds a non-blocking receive. Ok. Deep breath, and a blocking send + receive. It works! Looking closely at the other examples, he finds the possibility of a dead-lock. Alright then, but why does the package not work?
Now the drilling begins. An incessant grinding against cement to complement it. Glorious. Construction has accompanied several phases of his life. At college, the bulldozers ran riot under his window. Now the lift upgrading program here. And his own apartment only to be ready in 2015!
As a last attempt (for today), he re-compiles the library, adds fluff to Makevars and installs the package once more. No luck with the interactive mode again, although that was expected. His last hope is that the batch mode version will run. And it does! Possibly the interactive session causes a deadlock because of the infinite try-catch loop that it induces.
Time to celebrate, he thinks. Such perseverance deserves a treat, no? No, another problem to solve. Amazon rejects his download, stating that only members who are resident in the States can download their songs. He changes his default address back to the old one and tries again. Done!
He waves good bye and good luck and turns to home. He sits down and replies to an email from a dear friend, a little guilty for not initiating the thread himself. When done, he turns to the problem that has taken much more time than he estimated. Which task has ever taken less time than he anticipated? Is it a sign of overconfidence? Or just hope?
He's followed all the instructions, tried all the suggestions on all the forums but cannot get the simplest program to run on his notebook; to make processes pass messages to each other. He goes back to the drawing board. Perhaps the test program itself is not right. He starts from the low-level "Hello World", adds a broadcast. Ok. He adds a non-blocking send. Ok. He adds a non-blocking receive. Ok. Deep breath, and a blocking send + receive. It works! Looking closely at the other examples, he finds the possibility of a dead-lock. Alright then, but why does the package not work?
Now the drilling begins. An incessant grinding against cement to complement it. Glorious. Construction has accompanied several phases of his life. At college, the bulldozers ran riot under his window. Now the lift upgrading program here. And his own apartment only to be ready in 2015!
As a last attempt (for today), he re-compiles the library, adds fluff to Makevars and installs the package once more. No luck with the interactive mode again, although that was expected. His last hope is that the batch mode version will run. And it does! Possibly the interactive session causes a deadlock because of the infinite try-catch loop that it induces.
Time to celebrate, he thinks. Such perseverance deserves a treat, no? No, another problem to solve. Amazon rejects his download, stating that only members who are resident in the States can download their songs. He changes his default address back to the old one and tries again. Done!
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Future
He feels like he is looking into a mirror; one that shows a superior version of himself. The version he aspires to be. A skilled expert, capable of conveying the most intimate feelings with the simplest, shortest sentences. The style could so easily lead to rambling but the author's control is perfect. The undercurrent from unspoken desires is readily apparent.
He is encouraged that his goal is not unattainable, and is something that would make him proud. So maybe it is not quite a reflection he sees. His future self, he hopes.
He is encouraged that his goal is not unattainable, and is something that would make him proud. So maybe it is not quite a reflection he sees. His future self, he hopes.
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