diary

on a more positive note...

Currently reading: 'Meditations' by Marcus Aurelius
Currently thinking: If I have a dream, what colour would it be?
Currently dreaming: my art dream...
Currently...: singing
Currently listening: Penny Dai

posted by sin @ 10:00 PM 0 comments

more ramblings...

... ... ... ...

and, as time passes...we give ourselves over to work. We give ourselves over to ambitions, pride, the necessity of money, our ever-demanding parents, society, bosses, our dreams, our endless shopping lists and wish-lists...we lose sight of ourselves, and we gradually lose ourselves.

God, I miss so many old songs. And former experiences too. Especially when I passed by the Singapore Art Museum yesterday evening. I miss chilling out in the evenings. And sadly, the old Victoria Food Court is gone. I cried there before; yes, I remember all these so very clearly.

And my piles and stacks of sketchbooks, written from the depths of my soul in pain...it all began around 1995 to 1997, and they were all thrown away and burnt some time around 2001...I have very few to show and tell now.

What will make me happy now, really? You will not believe it, but if I should just have a few of my favourite songs to listen to, and the quiet night all to myself, with pen and paper to doodle, and a hot beverage with light supper, I shall be glad to even pass away at midnight, with fond rememberance of friends and people who have touched my life in different ways at different times. Who understands joy, love, and suffering better than I do?

*** ***

and, as time passes...we give ourselves over to work. We give ourselves over to ambitions, pride, the necessity of money, our ever-demanding parents, society, bosses, our dreams, our endless shopping lists and wish-lists...we lose sight of ourselves, and we gradually lose ourselves.

I forgot why I wanted friends or needed them, because I had been living on my own for so long, until it dawned upon me that people are the most important things in the world. Would you save a Delacroix painting from a fire or would you save a human being? Of course a human being! No religion or art is greater than the love of human beings, as Van Gogh rightly observed.

But we behaved in childish ways, unreasonable ways, even cruel ways...cruel to ourselves and to others. It is such cruelty that drives people to madness, depression, alienation, despair, and eventually suicide.

*** ***

I forgot why I rambled all these to begin with, only to return to the point that I want a simple life. A simple, happy life. A life of freedom, of love, of forgiveness, of longsuffering, and of beauty. Beauty of one's life, beauty of the soul.

posted by sin @ 9:26 PM 0 comments

down memory lane

Back in 1993, I knew Ernest. We spent our recess breaks together. I loved Wang Jie, he loved Andy Lau. We drank tea-o, talked about girls and sex, and kicked catek together. We gossiped about teachers, shared homework, did art...we even sat together before. In 1995, he dropped AEP (Art Elective Program), went to a different class, and we stopped talking to each other. We lost contacts. I got in touch with him again in 1997, when I decided to become a Christian. He gave me a very wonderful Bible which I carried with me for at least two years. That Bible must have cost at least $35. Then we lost touch again. Lately, while on course at the Police Academy, I saw him. He had just signed on the Singapore Police Force. I got his number. I told him we'll meet for tea again after 12th December. I'm seriously broke. I think he'll be disappointed to know that I'm not a Christian anymore, but anyhow, those were the days when we braved many things together.

I wonder what I have to tell him...after so many years. My home is still as screwed-up. I've got a degree and am currently teaching. My brother has two different children by two different women and is in Thailand. I'm still doing art. My glorious days of 1995 to 2003 are over. Glorious because I did everything I ever wanted to in those years. Drinking. Staying out late. Photography. Falling in love. Installation art. Writing. Survived the army and ran a half-marathon. Looking glamorous. Singing KTV. Those were the days when one does not need to think about responsibility.

In those days, I did watercolours while staring out of the window. I listened to Mavis Hee and Wang Jie. I loved Turner and Van Gogh.

... ... ... ...

I have become mellow. I have turned to looking at Chinese painting. I have grown to love old songs and hate the new. I revisit places, re-read books, rewrite stories of my past, and re-listened to old music. I recall every yesterday as if it were really yesterday, saddened by how some things have changed and how some things have not changed.

... ... ... ...

posted by sin @ 8:47 PM 0 comments

new stuff here...

http://community.webshots.com/user/loksin

Discovered a new hangout, which is the Lee Kong Chian Reference Library located at the 7th floor of the Central Library...I browsed through the first volume of Dogen's Shobogenzo today.

To quote Tori Amos a little, 'What's so amazing about really deep thoughts?' (Silent all these years)...

The most important things are these:

a) it gives one joy
b) it gives one meaning....

I usually speak of the above two, but I shall add one more:

c) it is life-affirming.

posted by sin @ 10:07 PM 0 comments

none

I'm sick; I'm very tired, but life goes on. Petty quarrels, money issues, chores, meaningless work, lies to live and tell...sometimes I really just want to detach myself and live a hermit's life, an artist's life, where I ignore all the wearisome baggage of life.

I'm still searching for 'me', or my 'self'. There are times when I find myself being antisocial, but at the end of the day, I think I love people and they are nice in general. Sometimes, I feel so overwhelmed that I give up the fight even before the challenge even begins.

I need to remind myself that I am still young, that I am still capable of good or even great work.

Everything is passing, as dew, as smoke, as ashes...

posted by sin @ 8:53 PM 0 comments

This is life...

Just when my course is ending...when I'm supposed to take on whatever challenges and duties and responsibilities of teaching, or just when I'm supposed to enjoy my holidays, catching up with old friends and hopefully old teachers...just when I've lofty ambitions and ideas for art, I'm down with flu yet again. Last year, it lasted a good six weeks after seeing at least three or four doctors. This means, my concentration level is very low, and I get restless and tired easily. I have no energy to think about great ideas in all the good books I'm reading (or rather scanning through, though I try to think a bit)...I wouldn't be able to go out into Nature and sit and draw for at least an hour and a half...(to overcome that, I have to adopt a different philosophy/approach to drawing)...

Of late, I managed about twenty sketches (and I REALLY mean SKETCHES)...I'm quite happy with one or two. I'm trying to reformulate my philosophy/approach to drawing (or perhaps even art in general). This may take quite a while...(such things do not take place overnight...usually takes weeks or months or longer...)....I'm rambling -- whatever...I'm trying to experiment with some ideas.

To simplify things, my current idea may be summarised thus: on one hand, one must venture into the dark and unknown...for he who makes little mistakes will not go far. On the other hand, I'm unwilling to let go of discipline, so I may want to do more technical/realistic drawings...hence I'm stretching in both extremes.

Will stop here before I stop making sense.....

posted by sin @ 10:16 PM 0 comments

I'm back!

I survived ATC (Adventure Training Camp) at Ubin. Tried rock climbing, absailing, kayaking, and intermediate and advanced obstacles.

Currently reading three excellent books I got from the library:

a) I and Thou by Martin Buber
b) Self Portraits by Osamu Dazai
c) The Narrow Road to the Deep North by Matsuo Basho

Woohoo! Long live great books, long live great music, long live great art, long live great lives!

By the way...I finally bought 'Eternal Melodies II' by Yoshiki, as a reward for having survived the ATC.

posted by sin @ 9:57 PM 1 comments

Some updates

Schedule updates:

Upcoming Mon and Tues (at Police Academy)
Wed to Sat (at Pulau Ubin, so I wouldn't be able to blog or contact anyone; heard that reception for handphone over there is quite pathetic)

Week after (till Sat): continue course at Police Academy

***

posted by sin @ 8:03 AM 0 comments

Some lyrics

Translated lyrics of 'Forever Love' ripped from the net:

I can't walk any further alone
The winds of time are too strong
Ah There were so many times
I was hurt but now...

Ah Hold me like this
Hold my trembling heart
In this continually changing time
If there's a never-changing love
Will you hold my heart

All my heart
Will you hold my heart
And catch my tears
It seems I've already broken down All my heart

Forever Love Forever Dream
Only the overflowing memories are
Furiously, painfully stopping up time
Oh Tell me why
All I see is blue in my heart

Will you stay with me
All my tears
Will you stay with me
Until the wind has passed by
They're still overflowing All my tears

Forever Love Forever Dream
Stay close like this
In the dawn, embrace my trembling heart
Oh Stay with me

Ah Everything should end
In this endless night
Ah What have I lost
Nothing Only you

Forever Love Forever Dream
Stay close like this
In the dawn, embrace my trembling heart
Ah Will you stay with me

Ah Will you stay with me
Until the wind has passed by
More than anyone else, stay close

Forever Love Forever Dream
I can't walk any further than this
Oh Tell me why Oh Tell me true
Tell me the meaning of life

Forever Love
Forever Love Forever Dream
Until inside of overflowing tears
The shimmering season changes into eternity
Forever Love

*** ***

Fundamental questions of life....
1) Will you stay with me?
2) What do I do next?
3) Where do I go from here?

....

The shooting star that glided across the sky
Has disappeared into the darkness of the night...

*** ***

Thinking along the lines of memory, solitude, and love...(or suffering, or compassion)...

posted by sin @ 10:34 PM 0 comments

None

Music is a very powerful thing. When there are poetic lyrics, combined with a sad tune, beautifully arranged, and sung by an emotional voice, the whole composition moves one to tears. It stirs the very depths of one's soul. Those of us who have cried to music can attest that this is neither a joke nor a sentimentalist's imagination. In fact, I shall be very curious to know people who have not been moved by music.

Yesterday, I was very thankful for the 'Ivory II' album (courtesy of Sze Yung aka Cheesecake). I also thought about 'Forever Love' by X-Japan for some reason.

Today, I listened to Pan Yueyun (Chinese music in 80s...I'm reluctant to classify her under 'oldie'). She has a handful of really great hits. I shall be very glad if I can produce a handful of artworks that can move people like her music. I remember that Andrea (aka Pigeon) once commented that anything Pan Yueyun sings will sound good. (I have to disagree with this even though I am her fan, but her rendering of bu4 liao3 qing2 is sublime -- better than or at least equalled the best singers who have sung this song)

I hope to get 'Eternal Melodies II' by Yoshiki and perhaps an old collection of hits by Wang Jie. This is just a thought...for now.

posted by sin @ 10:22 PM 0 comments

I do not know why things like that happen....

...honestly, I was just thinking about him less than a week back. He was not even my friend. He was a friend's brother. I just received news that he had commited suicide.

Life is so fragile.

I wish you all the best.

posted by sin @ 9:50 PM 0 comments

Insecurities?

Fallen..
Slumber...(awaiting moment of awakening)
Lost and searching...

I miss my art books which are with Maxine.

I can be a conceptual artist, you know...even though I spend my days think about trees and dreaming about trees...this morning I thought about returning to grass. And as I was showering, I thought about painting a really beautiful and poetic tree, so beautiful that he who has eyes would be at a loss for words. I found that in Huang Binhong's painting (though of course, I can never paint like Huang Binhong or Corot) .

I have forgotten whom I did art for. I do not know why I still want to do any art. If anything, I am my own audience. If anything, I hope to inspire students (who need more than eyes to see and ears to hear).

***

There is a time for everything...a time for a long period of dry season and sterility, and a time for things to reveal and unfold.

I must, very patiently, await that sublime moment.

posted by sin @ 10:05 PM 0 comments

none

....a bit at a loss of what to say...thinking about how days go by without the luxury of time to do nothing or contemplate...thinking about art, friends, and a spiritual life...

.....


I've fallen in love with the past. Perhaps the present is just too difficult to handle, with greater and more responsibilities...

posted by sin @ 8:21 PM 1 comments

I also recommend...

Capsule: A does of new Singaporean Writing.

This book is quite hard to find, but not bad.

posted by sin @ 10:04 PM 0 comments

I recommend...

'Heartland', a novel by Darren Shiau. It's very well-written.

posted by sin @ 8:21 PM 1 comments

New writing

The Temple Thief


....



The torch beam danced along the temple walls, casting an uncertain yellow penumbra on the irregular surface. The light was growing fainter now; Brendan had been unable to afford another set of batteries, and the light flickered as it traversed another empty niche and came to settle on the last moveable idol, a stony, graven image of Buddha sitting impassively in a corner.

Brendan felt sweat on his palm making his grip on the torch clammy and passed it from one hand to the other. Then he walked forward, towards the statue. Despite himself, Brendan could not totally prevent a small shudder passing through him as he neared the idol. The fact that he was going to pick it up in a moment and deposit it with its fellows in the large sack he had left on the floor behind him did not rob it of its essentially awesome quality.

There was something ominous about the statue's unblinking repose; something fearsomely self-contained, as if the idol was assured of its eventual triumph over all forces of evil, from atheists to temple thieves.

Not that Brendan was, or ever had been an atheist; religion had been in his bloodstream ever since he could remember. But crime was an economic necessity and one could not let one's scruples, religious or otherwise, interfere with one's necessities. If God could not fill his belly with divine action, Brendan was surely justified in using God to fill his purse- and his belly- by actions which if nothing else had a context of divinity.

And being a temple thief was so much better, and safer, than being a pick-pocket or a rapist. In many ways a respectable line -- stealing from the exponents of religion to sell to connoisseurs of art. Once more, Brendan studied the statue, trying to ignore the clutch of fear that stabbed his heart as he contemplated its fate.

For an irrational moment he wondered whether he needed to take it all. The temple had been stripped bare already; his sack was almost full. Would one statue make that much of a difference? But as he asked himself the question he knew what his own answer would be. In his profession he could not afford to be finicky.

He laid his hands on the Buddha.

The strange unmoving countenance stared back at him, he felt mockingly. Do you really think you are going to get away with this? It seemed to ask. Do you believe that you, a mere mortal, and a common thief at that, can capture me? The knot of fear in his chest tightened suddenly and the torch went out. Cursing, he banged it against his palm, and the light shone straight into Buddha's face. Startled, Brendan almost dropped the torch.

posted by sin @ 8:56 PM 1 comments

Recalling an old college song...

This is the anthem for SRJC (Serangoon Junior College)...I was there for the first three months, and the first few lines go:

Lead us all to glory,
A glory to be told,
Every step we take
Challenges ahead,
We turn them all to gold...

** **

Would I be able to turn all my challenges to gold?...

posted by sin @ 12:54 PM 1 comments

short note

My writing on Grandma's Funeral will have to stop, because all my necessary notes are in school and I'm getting quite saturated with it anyway...I hope to start new reading, writing, or art soon.

sin, Nov 2005

posted by sin @ 9:09 PM 0 comments

Thoughts at my keyboard...

From next Monday, I will be at Police Academy for a three-week course to be trained as an NPCC officer. What luck. That means no more reading, no more writing, no more art, no more social life, but also no more crap (meetings, admin work, etc.) from school (though I was tasked to design four images to go along with our school values).

Thanks to my student, now I'm sort of even more addicted to reading and writing than I already was, which is fatal because it means less time for art (and perhaps social life as well)...and God knows when was the last time I did any decent exercise or sports. I miss some friends very badly; you are in my thoughts.

At the bookshop just now, I almost bought the 'Complete short stories' by Franz Kafka. As I was telling my student days ago and my friend just now, our Singapore novel and short story seems to be stuck in the Maupassant/Maugham era. This is very scary considering that Joyce and Woolf came and went long ago, and Calvino came and went too. Garcia Marquez is dying. Nabokov -- I'm not sure. So many great writers of the world had done so much (and don't get me started on the Japanese writers), but I'm not sure what we have so far.

Writing is a sin...(?)... one has to go back and relive the past. An utter waste of time -- all for the purpose of story-telling?

Anyhow, my three-week course will effectively kill off my November holidays, while I hope to catch up with some friends in December (though there are stuff to do like lesson planning and other miscellaneous stuff)...

I want to sing KTV. I love Wang Jie. I re-listened to his hits from the mid-80s to 90s... nothing is comparable thus far.

Why? Why? Why do I feel so old now? Why do I feel so sad now?

I once wrote, 'No more cares, no more love for this world...'

Loneliness is a double-edged sword. So beautiful, yet so saddening...

posted by sin @ 7:50 PM 0 comments

Grandma's funeral; another installment (trial)...

It was cold and damp outside, for there had been an evening drizzle. My parents and I left the hall. In a tentage, the temple priests and nuns were conducting a prayer ceremony. ‘Na….mo…..’ the chief priest began to chant in Chinese syllables, as I knelt and leafed through the pages of an unknown sutra. It depicted fantastical things of the Afterlife, speaking of parrots in a myriad of colours, and peacocks that had a thousand eyes on their feathers. It spoke of flowers that were more fragrant than all the perfumes of the world, and lights that shone more brightly than all the stars in the heavens and cosmos. I did not know why, but an image of a bridge suddenly came to me. For a while, I thought I saw Grandma. She was holding a cane in one hand, and taking small deliberate steps from one end of the bridge to the other. At midway, she turned and smiled, and waved a goodbye before she continued her way. It was a calm and peaceful smile -- full of assurance and wisdom -- and I thought that was the most beautiful smile I had seen of Grandma. ‘I saw Grandma,’ Cousin Yun whispered to me secretly after the prayer ceremony. I smiled at her, but said nothing. The hall was still noisy with the gamblers and the television. I stole a glance at Cousin Hong before I climbed upstairs, my feet made a thumping sound as I went up the wooden steps. That night, I could not sleep well. I fell off my bed once. I also dreamt about black cats.

The second day, two quarrels broke out.

It was morning, and I was having a quiet breakfast in the hall when I heard voices shouting from the kitchen. I quickly went over to take a look. Dad was quarreling with Cousin Chin.

‘Son of a gun!’ Dad spat and shouted. ‘If you’re unhappy, we can have a one-on-one behind the house!’

Dad’s face was flushed in anger. He was waving his arms about in violent wild gestures while Auntie tried to push him aside to pacify him. Cousin Chin ignored Dad and walked away. I later found out what had happened. Cousin Chin had urinated in the bathroom, and he called Dad ‘a silly useless old man’ when Dad chided him for not using the toilet instead. After the incident, Cousin Chin had a quiet smoke beside the old well, while I returned to the hall quietly and read, having lost my mood for breakfast. I thought it was unfortunate to start the morning like this, but this was not the end of it.

Just before lunch, a loud wail sounded from the kitchen. I rushed over and saw Auntie bursting into tears and sobs. She was beating her chest furiously with her right fist. At that sight, I thought that the sadness in the house was becoming insufferable, and I was overcome with a strong desire to get out of that miserable place. At first, I thought Aunite was overwhelmed with grief by Grandma’s death. I later realised that Aunite had quarreled with Uncle. Uncle was angry that Auntie did not bring him the dustbin when he had asked her to do so, and he threatened to beat her. ‘My dad had tried to hit my mum with a belt when I was only five years old,’ Cousin Ghim told me. The incident was clearly a misunderstanding. Auntie was too far in the kitchen, so she could not hear Uncle. Besides, the dustbin was only a few steps away from Uncle. The very fact that quarrels, or even violence, could occur over such trivial issues made life seem more depressing than Grandma’s death itself. The women of the house decided to confront Uncle in the hall.

‘What a lazy man you are! Can’t you even move from your seat and take the dustbin yourself? Is it not depressing enough that Mum had died?’ Aunt Bee assailed Uncle with an avalanche of useless questions.

‘Your wife had been taking care of Mother when she was ill. What had she done to deserve this ill-treatment from you?’ Aunt Hun added.

Uncle suddenly stood up and spoke with authority. ‘For the last twenty or thirty years, I have slogged and slaved for this family. Is this how I should be spoken to?’ He was now the patriarch of the house, being the eldest son.

Father cut into the conversation quickly. ‘This is your family matter. Remember that Mother had said that half of the old house belongs to me.’ Father was referring to the old house some two kilometres down the road that Grandma had left behind. What had begun as a silly fuss over a dustbin escalated quickly into a discussion on dividing the family property.

“Let us talk about this outside. It’s not nice to be like this in Mother’s presence.’ Auntie Hun reminded everyone.

At that utterance, everyone suddenly quietened down. The cousins started to whisper in hushed voices. The adults looked nervous and uneasy, trying to wipe guilty looks off their faces. I cast a glance at the wooden coffin, imagining how Grandma could rest peacefully like this. Cousin Yun’s eyes were welled with tears again.

*** ***

posted by sin @ 11:31 AM 0 comments

Twenty-five,

going twenty-six, is it too late to start a writing career, especially when you try to teach, and read, and draw at the same time?

I have not read Shakespeare or Dante (except for Hamlet). I have not read the two 'Bibles' -- Don Quixote and Ulysess. It has taken me more than ten years to learn art. How much longer would it take for me to learn how to write?

I had delved into the deepest recesses of my memory and imagination, and exhausted my reservoir of vocabulary and sentence structures. I don't think I can successfully portray what I wanted to express -- a certain effect, or a certain feeling...After all, a narrative is not just a story.

A good writing must stir the very depths of your heart and shake the very core of your whole being.

... ...

One must painstakingly paint a picture as would Tanizaki or Dickens, yet the writing must read smoothly and naturally without sounding too belaboured or contrived.

Garcia Marquez wrote in tears when he killed off the Colonel in 'One Hundred Years of Solitude.' In fact he cried for an hour or two after that. If I cannot even move myself with my writing, how can I move others with my writing?

posted by sin @ 9:23 AM 3 comments