Horological Craze.

Ever since I stumbled upon Citizen's Calibre 8700 Model 8000-54L while surfing the net last Saturday, I've been more than a little obsessed with watches and finding out what makes em tick. Which is quite inexplicable because for the longest time ever, my attitude towards timepieces has always been if it keeps decent time and looks good, I couldn't care less what went on behind the dial of a watch let alone the subtle differences between the various movements for automatic watches.

Citizen Bl8000-54l Eco-drive.

And in the span of a week, I probably know more about watches than I ever did these past 27 years, thanks to the hours spent trawling the net and googling for specifications & terminologies. Not that I'm an expert at any rate mind you but at least now I can tell the difference from an automatic and a kinetic and the higher the bps (beats per second) of a movement, the more accurately the watch keeps time.

Perhaps the thing that really kept me going was the realization that apart from keeping time (which boring digital watches can do), carefully crafted time pieces could be works of art too. That and a new found appreciation for analogue watches with various functions like perpetual calendars & minute repeaters as well as the unsurpassed beauty of mechanical watches. The wonder one obtains from peering into a mechanical watch and seeing the little gears tick.

While it did seem ironic (initially at least) to be whiling away the hours reading up about watches that keep impeccable time, I wouldn't say it was a waste of time. Got the aforesaid Citizen watch from Amazon (should have checked ebay first pity..), finally got round to setting up my ebay account, ebayed dad's present and sussed out some great deals for the next couple of watches I intend to get. As to which I intend to get first, it's a toss up between the Seiko Premier Automatic SPB001 and the Seiko Premier Kinetic Direct Drive SRH009P1. It'll probably be the former. Even though the most accurate and high end automatic movement will never be as accurate as a quartz, there is a beauty in a carefully crafted automatic that no quartz, exquisite or otherwise can ever replicate.

Now just take a look at that baby. That'd be worth all the lunches sacrificed for it haha.


Front of Seiko Premier Automatic SBP001


Sapphire Crystal back with engraved rotor & gold balance wheel.

Life's a funny thing.

It probably runs in the family. This unpleasant peculiarity of getting together with a loved one, getting so passionately involved in the relationship, making plans, then breaking up at different stages of the relationship. My cousin was the latest victim to follow in the Sister's and my footsteps though it is hardly something to be proud of.

Truth be told, we'd always figured that he'd be the first to get married in the family and beget precocious offspring for my granny who's certainly not getting any younger. For frankly speaking, he was the most 'marriageable' one amongst the lot of us.

The eldest cousin, an affable man who vaguely reminds me of Jabba the Hutt with his ample girth, the faint odour of stale cigarette smoke wreathed about him and his slow...pause..impregnated speech doesn't look like he'll be getting attached soon. The Sister is well The Sister, short of an immaculate conception or a missionary arriving to sweep her off her feet (and not into a certain position mind you), I don't see any progress on that end. There's yours truly and hell would sooner freeze over before I'll have sex with a woman, let alone end up married to one. Then there's the youngest, still in poly, presumably single and ironically the Cousin who'd now probably marry first but whom for now marriage remains a distant prospect.

But I digress. We were pleasantly surprised (my granny especially so) when we found out that this cousin had a girlfriend. There are guys who wear their hearts on their sleeves, guys who would not hesitate to express their feelings and there are others who keep it under lock and key, guarding their hearts with the zeal of a carmelite nun. The cousin was the latter. An extremely private person by nature (like some friends I know haha), the cousin loathed disclosing more than was absolutely necessary about his private life. In fact, his mother only knew he was attached (and had been for a year) when he brought the girl back to the house and asked if she could stay over for a couple of days. Though then again, I can fully comprehend why, the less a mother knows, the better.

She became a regular fixture at family gatherings and soon it transpired that they were engaged (again information was not exactly forthcoming - the facebook stalker of an auntie reported the change in status), he got her a blinding rock that evoked the de rigeur ooohs & ahhhs from her friends and they did all the couple-ly stuff. Like getting a HDB flat, not coupling. I'm pretty sure they didn't wait to get engaged to engage in the latter.

They were by and far as things went, a handsome, loving and compatible couple. Him thoughtful and caring, her radiant and attentive. But who can tell what goes on behind closed doors in a couple's private life, the smiles that belie the insurmountable obstacles faced? None but the parties themselves. For it is in your darkest hour that you are most desolate, is it not? And it was in this same vein that we realised (via the same FB stalking auntie) that things had changed: the change of status, the removal of a friend, the seeming gaiety of a man out to live freely and immerse himself totally in his work.

The lawyer in me can't help but wonder idly about the reasons for the breakup of a relationship so close to that frightful institution of marriage as it were. The reasons for that irretrievable breakdown in the relationship. But I check myself. The reasons so persuasive and compelling for the breakup, at the breakup, are often immaterial when all's said and done. For just like a starving man does not need to be told the reason why he starves, so too it is of little use to revisit the reasons, mentally rehash them one by one after the relationship's gone.

You learn to pick up the pieces and move on. For that's what life is about isn't it? Making what you will of it and moving on. Because if you stay still and stagnate, time passes you by, people pass you by and before you know it, you're stranded, embittered and cantankerous with nothing to show for your pathetic life.

So you move on, even if it hurts because to hurt is to know that you live. Even if it doesn't make the pain any more bearable. I suspect my cousin's faring quite well.. on the face of things at least.

As a friend said while we mused over certain recent events, Life's a funny thing. Indeed. I'm still trying to laugh.

The power of words.

There is a subtle yet pervasive power in words. Words written, crafted just so and evoked in a particular manner can transform an insipid observation into vivid imagery that commands yet persuades. Words which leave an indelible impression on your mind.

I've always felt that the difference between a mediocre book and an outstanding one, apart from its contents, is the author's ability to convey the entirety of a particular situation: the characters' feelings, settings and thoughts, realistically to the reader. The words do not have to be bombastic or the prose flowery. Simple words and short sentences can be powerful tools in a master's hands.
Take the following excerpt from Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore :

"I'm stark naked, sprawled on the chair on the porch, dozing off in the sun and don't hear him approach till he lightly brushes my head. Startled, I leap to my feet and scramble around for a towel. There isn't one around. Naked in front of him, I feel defenseless and vulnerable, my pubic hair, penis, balls, all exposed. I have no idea what to do. It's a little late to cover up."

And in those few sentences, the author manages to convey that sense of awkwardness and vulnerability the character experiences as surely as if you were the person who was caught naked. The direct, choppy sentences also contribute to the awkwardness of the situation. The effect would have been reduced somewhat if the author had said something along the lines of 'In my nudity, I felt vulnerable and defenseless.'

Then there are books, with sentences so effortlessly crafted and prose so fluid, you devour every page, hungry for more. Even if you may have to re-read the first few pages or chapters just to digest the information within. For just like a teething babe learning to chew, so do such books or authors whet our literary appetite for something far more substantial than your average easy reading. Take this one sentence from Umberto Eco's excellent Foucault's Pendulum:

"The time it took the sphere to swing from end to end was determined by an arcane conspiracy between the most timeless of measures: the singularity of the point of suspension, the duality of the plane's dimensions, the triadic beginning of pi, the secret quadratic nature of the root and the unnumbered perfection of the circle itself."

A beautifully crafted sentence, perfectly structured. A sentence that enthralls yet does not disclose its true meaning on a cursory reading. The said meaning simply being that the movement of the pendulum is governed by a series of factors ranging from the single point of suspension to the infinite completeness of the very sphere. An explanation which does no justice to the linguistic grace of the original. If you would only decipher it. Mind you and this coming from someone who hates numbers in general unless they're numbers in my bank account in which case, the more the merrier.

Spoken words are no less powerful and still possess the ability to wound or heal as the wielder deems fit. Their reach, arguably more pervasive for illiteracy is no barrier to agitation by speech (as opposed to written words) though a limited vocabulary may be an impediment of sorts. However speech and the effect of spoken words is affected by a plethora of other factors ranging from the charisma of the person to the strength of the conviction of the person saying the words in question.

Still, it is my personal belief that when it comes to wounding and tearing down, written words have the potential to be so much more devastating than their spoken counterpart. Cold, harsh and impersonal, written words are devoid of the nuances and actions (the trembling hand, the conflicted face) that may mitigate and alleviate the harshness of a verbal onslaught.

Words are tools and the best tools are only as good as the craftsman who wields them. What we choose to do with our tools is our business but when you tear down another's home, expect yours to be torn down too. The last couple of weeks has been tumultuous though there appears to be a consensus of sorts on the ground.

Though now frankly, I am beyond caring. For as Electra in Sophocle's Electra says, "How could any woman of generous spirit behave otherwise, given the torments I face?"

Random Ramblings 7: Resolutions, friends & all things Japanese.

True enough, a glimpse of the previous post is sufficient to cause me cringe. Not that I regret posting it. It served its purpose, which was to exorcise the inner turmoil within. Although it would have undoubtedly taken a longer time if not for friends. If there's something I can be thankful for, it's for the friends I have. Friends who I can trust and rely on, well at least those that are still friends. For those of you who have listened, commiserated, cajoled, consoled and/or kept me company, thanks.

Life's a funny thing. Like I remarked to one of the said friends, how ironic that he was trying to cheer me up with the exact same words that I said to him just a few days earlier to cheer him up. To which he replied ," Yeah. Life's a funny thing." Indeed.

Hard to believe Chinese New Year is a little under a month away. As usual, the festive mood is non-existent though I suspect I'll probably feel more festive in a couple more weeks when the perfunctory CNY shopping and rounds of lunches & dinners commence. The 'ang moh' New Year has passed though and with it came the de rigeur resolutions. Achievable resolutions which I intend to keep. Hopefully. One of last year's resolutions: Being a gym bunny lasted till say October last year? That's a good 8 months for someone who hates weights (and still does).

All three are ongoing right now, learning Japanese, managing my spending and finances and staying fit while keeping to a cool 60kg. ^^ If there's one resolution I fear I won't keep, it's probably the managing the finances part, which really isn't an option if i intend to move out and get my own place. There seems to be an inside joke amongst some friends who are betting I'll either 1. Drop out of jap classes after 1 month or 2. Fail the requisite exam at the end of the elementary course in June. The more generous ones say I'll fail. I'm absolutely heartened by their faith in me. lol.

Perhaps on hindsight, I was a little ambitious when I opted for the 5.5 months intensive elementary course which translates into semiweekly weekday evening classes that span 2 hours per class. I was aiming to finish both the elementary and intermediate classes in 1 year instead of the usual 2 (the advanced classes though are only available on a weekly basis). Well I still am. We'll see how things go. In the meantime, it's been a long while since I've been so studious haha. Though I finally managed to memorise the 50 hiragana characters and the 25 variants for this week's test. Sensei will be so proud. haha.

I realise I haven't talked bout the Japan trip yet. I'll probably do so in a later post or something. Suffice to say, Japan was sooo good. Worth saving up a year just to return the following year. Which is what I'll probably do. After all while the G-rated trip was great (in spite of 2 weeks with the family which can be tiring), I think an X rated trip with booze to boot would be much better. Lol.

And for the naysayers who think the jap learning craze is just a fad inspired by a japophile tendency after returning from Japan. It isn't. It's a life skill. I mean how can understanding anime, manga and jap porn be a fad? haha

Even the class clown cries.

Ironic how the first entry of the new year is some pathetic, morose entry about the past and an issue I thought I'd never raise again. The more pan-tang (superstitious) peeps would probably say it does not bode well to start the new year on a negative note. But strictly speaking I never started the year morose though it was a little disheartening on a totally separate issue which shall not be addressed. More importantly, I've never given a damn about stupid superstitions and I'll be damned if my blogging is determined by anything other than the urge to write, let alone some lame ass superstitious crap.

Writing, when the urge to do so arises, has always been kinda therapeutic to me. The act of putting my thoughts (be they rantings, musings or random stuff) to paper (figuratively speaking of course) and crafting sense from inchoate thoughts, a satisfaction of sorts. Writing also exorcises the demons within, burning thoughts and emotions that seethe and roil within until expunged by writing about the same. And there they remain a snap shot in time, the intensity of thoughts and emotions alike as palpable as the day I first wrote it. For better or worse.

I write not to entertain. I write not to titillate. It matters not to me whether you read what I write or hate what I write. I write because I need to.

I'd always figured I'd moved on from Sean. I still do in a way. The memory of his face has grown fuzzy with time, the many pleasant memories of times we spent together a distant warm yet faded glow somewhere in the inner recesses of my mind. Thoughts of him would no longer come unbidden to my mind. On the contrary, apart from the occasional moments where I'd consciously wonder what he's doing now, Sean was never on my mind. It'd progressed to the extent that I was even comfortable with chatting amicably with him on msn, something which would have been unthinkable a year ago.

It's not like we became best friends (Ex-es to me, no matter how hard I try [and I must confess I've never tried very hard] always remain exes ). I can count the number of times we chatted on MSN n exchanged a couple of smses on one hand. So it was inexplicably frustrating and upsetting when I felt like utter crap after he told me he was attached. I can honestly say I was happy (of sorts) for him, there was no rancour, ill will or bitterness. I was genuinely happy that he had found someone else. But that didn't explain why I felt (and still do to a lesser extent) like shit. I mean I have no reason to feel this way.

I've never really wanted to conduct a post-mortem dissection of the relationship or how to move on from there. As far as I was concerned, moving on was all that mattered and all I really wanted. Some bones, if any, are best left buried. Though perhaps in hindsight I'd never dug further for fear of finding what I'd find.

It's been almost 2 years and I'm pretty sure I've moved on. I just don't quite like the place I've moved into. Not that moving back is/was ever an option of course. That bridge was burnt long ago. I know all the benefits of singlehood, I repeat them like a mantra everytime just to convince myself when I feel the dissatisfaction creeping in. Freedom, more time to hang with friends, the lack of responsibilities and obligations, you name it, I've probably thought about it. But knowing something and feeling it is entirely different.

And right now I'm feeling it ain't so fun to be single. I guess I've always been the kind of person who prefers to have a partner, someone to share your life with, to love, laugh with and hold. Looking back, with the exception of the initial hormonal exploratory years, I've never been single for more than 6 months at a stretch. 2 years is an eternity. Not that I'll be hooking up for the sake of hooking up. If that was the case, I'd have done so at least a year ago after emerging from the self-imposed hiatus. Hooking up for the sake of being with someone whom you're not even attracted to is a recipe for disaster and simply retarded.

Seeking solace in the arms of a stranger is all very nice and dandy if you're looking for ONS but not for a relationship. A terrible relationship is worse than being single for sure. Still, it's scant comfort at this moment. It's not everyday that you get to see a nice gay guy who attracts you (settle that part and you can at least work on the latter), in fact, it's damn rare. And the sad truth is that I'm not even remotely attracted to any of the guys I've met thus far. It's even sadder that some were attracted but the attraction could never be requited.

Things would be a lot easier if I were one of those peeps content and happy to remain in perpetual singlehood. I'm not. I hate it. But I'm not going to hook up with any guy for the sake of hooking up simply because the guy wants to be in a relationship & I want a partner. Relationships founded on convenience or pity can never last. Logically speaking, a person in my situation would be better off and should be happier staying single. But knowing something and feeling it are very different. And since when were matters of the heart logical?

I've always found this song from the lyrics to the tune hauntingly melancholic. Not really appropriate now but does it matter?

One of Us - ABBA




They passed me by
All of those great romances
You were, I felt
Robbing me
Of my rightful chances
My picture clear
Everything seemed so easy
And so I dealt you the blow
One of us had to go
Now it's different
I want you to know

One of us is crying
One of us is lying
In her lonely bed
Staring at the ceiling
Wishing she was somewhere else instead (no one else is achin' with a heart that's breakin')
One of us is lonely
One of us is only
Waiting for a call
Sorry for herself
Feeling stupid
Feeling small
Wishing she had never left at all

I saw myself
As a concealed attraction
I felt you kept me away
From the heat and the action
Just like a child
Stubborn and misconceiving
That's how I started the show
One of us had to go
Now I've changed
And I want you to know

One of us is crying
One of us is lying
In her lonely bed
Staring at the ceiling
Wishing she was somewhere else instead (no one else is achin' with a heart that's breakin')
One of us is lonely
One of us is only
Waiting for a call
Sorry for herself
Feeling stupid
Feeling small
Wishing she had never left at all
Never left at all

Staring at the ceiling
Wishing she was somewhere else instead (no one else is achin' with a heart that's breakin')
One of us is lonely
One of us is only
Waiting for a call
Sorry for herself
Feeling stupid
Feeling small
Wishing