Random Ramblings 10: Unexpected Encounter

Bumped into an ex-BMT mate this morning at the taxi stand while headed home after the impromptu clubbing session. Well, maybe bumping is the wrong word, he never recognized me and I nearly didn't place his face till I'd gotten a full view of his face. By that time, he was getting into the cab and it was too late.

I've forgotten his name, it could be Julian, Jack, Jason or Timothy, I'll need to try dig up my old BMT photo. I'd remember a face anytime though. Especially the face of a person I've been intimate with (unless the said person is sooo forgettable), an unexpected corollary of a very visual person, the quirky workings of the human mind.

He was assisting an APNN, arms around the APNN's waist, smiling and offering words of encouragement as he guided him into the cab, before heading into the next himself. He looked the same, short punky hair with a couple of spiky ear studs and casual gothic like dressing. Call him! B. exclaimed when I uttered a cry of recognition. I did, waving at him while his name and consequently, words, escaped me. But it was too late, he was already in the cab by then, oblivious to the motions of a stranger at the edge of his peripheral vision.

It was really that look on his face, that strange, bemused, caring and almost tender look that made me take a second look at what appeared to be a quirky stranger assisting an unlikely APNN companion and place the face. The same quirky look he gave when describing how he was constantly picked up by men at bars and clubs even though he was attached, the same look when musing how he was probably bi, the same look he gave when our lips touched...and more.

He always had that cool, laid-back fucker air about him though he was anything but. It's hardly appropriate or fruitful to search for that ghastly BMT picture at this (relatively) unearthly hour on a Wednesday morning and I doubt I'd find it anyway. Perhaps the refrain from James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful' expresses it best :

"You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place...
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you."

Got into the cab and heard J. Jackson crooning "Like a moth to the flame, burned by the fire. My love is blind, can't you see my desire." Which brought back a flood of none too pleasant memories. God, I hate that song. Now, just 4 hours to crash and I'll get round to identifying Mr 'laid-back' fucker. Eventually.

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

Boy Bands & Boyfriends.

Funny how common the two were in the past, the proliferation of boy bands and boyfriends ( though flings would be a more apt description), now nothing more than quirky memories which leave behind a bittersweet taste in the mouth. And no, I'm not referring to any bodily fluids if that's what you're wondering.

Like a strange dream you can't quite recall, the retrieved fragments of time a jumbled mosaic of competing sensations and emotions. Cemented by specific memories and that indescribable feeling of unassailable emotions entrenched with every single fragment. For Boybands, that sense of exasperation when trying to rip off the plastic wrapped discs, a kitschy mix of mushy sentimentalism and corny affirmation, angsty love. For boyfriends...well let's just say it depended on the individual in question and leave it at that.

Both now a thing of the past... for the foreseeable future. Though the latter resurfaced from the deep recesses of the mind when the Ex suddenly re-established contact on Sat to wish me a happy birthday. Strange but true. Though it's not something I'll be losing any sleep over.

Listening to Take That's Back For Good, I still remember when I thought Gary Barlow was hot. Those were the days, gone forever.

Take That- Back For Good

The Birthday Bash

Although the shewolf didn't turn up (phew) due to a sudden and virulent bout of flu and sore throat, the night still turned out to be damn havoc, certainly one of the wilder ones I've had in a while.

To begin with, the Underworld theme which required us to come dressed (somewhat) as either vampires or werewolves set the tone for the rest of the night. Shopping with A. the night before for accessories and what not helped to put me in the mood. Nothing like some proper accessories and a sense of satisfaction with one's outfit to get one prepped and happy.

I went with the slightly campy, vamp in paris look though for some reason the Gang seemed to be fixated on the metallic gothic sword pendant which they claimed was a crucifix and highly inappropriate for a vampire. Which is pure bosh because it's a sword, looks like one and the only similarity between it and a crucifix is its proportions. But we all had fun, even A. as Fluffy, the failed vampire slayer. A role specially invented for her cause she looked like neither a vampire nor a werewolf.

Dinner wasn't bad. I liked my cod though I remember being hampered by the jungle of wine glasses that obstructed easy access to the starters. It was the after dinner party at the Pump Room (Zirca sadly was closed for a private, lesbian party event) though that was damn havoc. Sufficiently sloshed with booze by the time we reached, the ex-PM's Flaming Lambo pushed me to a dangerous high. Another waterfall and I would have undoubtedly crashed, with an almost inevitable trip to the toilet to puke.

As it turns out, I didn't but suffered selective amnesia on the dance floor. Which is probably a good thing on hind sight. Apparently, I danced with half the people on the dance floor, did a lot of acrobatic moves which resulted in a serious wardrobe malfunction, pants that ripped along the ass seams. On the day when I chose to wear my jock straps.

Groped a lot, got groped a lot. Had my most 'private of parts' groped by a particular ahem, vampy, individual in the Gang who apparently leapt on the platform to engage in some serious dirty dancing with your truly. Thankfully, I have no recollection at all of the latter. The Gang got a full view of my naked butt cheeks which incidentally got groped by that same individual.

It is vaguely disturbing to know that she's the only other woman (other than the Mother) to have ever touched my bare ass. Which might explain why I simply cannot recall that part.

But all in all, a pretty damn havoc night. Certainly the first time my pants ever split along the seams from dancing. Which I have to admit was more than vigorous. Thanks for the night though guys, lurve ya!

Let's aim for Zirca for the Saggi - bros' upcoming birthday bash. This time I'll wear jeans.

Tik Tok goes the cock erm clock!



Tik Tok by Ke$ha

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy
(Hey, what up girl?)
Grab my glasses, Im out the door - Im gonna hit this city (Lets go)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
Cause when I leave for the night, I aint coming back
Im talkin' pedicure on our toes, toes
Trying on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowing up our phones, phones
Drop-toping, playing our favorite cd's
Pulling up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tips-eeerw

[CHORUS]
Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh


Aint got a care in world, but got plenty of beer
Aint got no money in my pocket, but Im already here
Now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger
Im talkin' bout - everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys tryna touch my junk, junk
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk
Now, now - we goin til they kick us out, out
Or the police shut us down, down
Police shut us down, down
Po-po shut us - down/deerw

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Ima fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart, it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
You got me now
You got that sound
Yeah, you got me

DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart, it pounds
Yeah, you got me
With my hands up
Put your hands up
Put your hands uh-a-a-a-a-a-a

No, the party dont start till I walk in

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Dont stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, Imma fight
Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock, on the clock
But the party dont stop no
Oah-oh wah oh
Oah-oh wah oh

Suzie's Big 40th Bash.

I don't regret turning up for Suzie's / Ming's splendid bash. True to her roots, the event was well planned and choreographed right till the very last minute, and loads of fun to boot. True enough the initial meeting was a little awkward. Ming was smaller than expected (but larger than life haha) and as the rest of the blogging gang (Wildgoose and SinLady) hadn't shown up yet, Ming introed me to her banking colleagues who had known her for more than 16+ years.

Which was all very nice and swell but we mostly talked shop and when they queried as to the kind of the blog I maintained (cuz Ming mentioned that she knew me via blogging) (was it a cuisine kind of blog?), I just mentioned that it was a personal lifestyle kind of blog and left it at that. They were nice people, married with families. I just didn't think with all the talk about 'are you attached yet? hey you should be what!' that they were quite ready for the 'Actually I'm gay' kind of statement. Which was why I was scanning the crowd for vague signs of Sinlady and Wildgoose as Ming said they would be arriving soon.

The only hint I had was SinLady's hair which I had a vague impression of from the various photos posted on her blog. :) Sure enough, I spotted a refined woman with the same hairdo and a suspected cutesy kind of Wildgoose sometime later, so I made my way and introduced myself while hazarding a guess as to their identities after dinner and a couple of glasses of happy juice.

Which thankfully turned out to be the correct decision. I'm glad I risked the gamble, we had a hearty conversation and a great time thereafter. I wish I could produce/take better pictures, alas photography has never been one of my stronger points. Nevertheless we had a blast of a time, celebrating Ming's birthday and just enjoying each other's company, plus I managed to get Daniel's opinion about pole dancing haha.



Ming's Mum, a former Cantonese opera star performing with great gusto, my horrible photography skills does her no justice :P



Picture of Ming wowing the crowd with her pole-tastic skills. As usual my photography skill sucks but hey you notice that feral gleam in Ming's eyes? haha.



Stephie and Sinlady (J) performing their sexy exotic Egyptian dance on stage :)



From Left to Right: SinLady (J), Mysterious lady ^^, Ming the Birthday Girl, yours truly and Wild Goose (PY).

Cheers to many more happy years of friendship! :)

Unholy Triumvirate

This is an exposition.. of three guys.

Gay and absolutely fabulous... or so they wished, content instead to howl in laughter at the wickedly satirical television series of the same.

They came from disparate backgrounds.

One precocious and unconventional, that wild streak ever present, subduing parents into resigned acceptance. The other mysterious yet bitchy, eloquent yet dirty, hedonism tempered with pragmatic rationalism. The last inquisitive and wild, luxuriating in quiet defiance at a strait jacketed family, carnal but measured.

Perhaps the fact that they were gay, eschewed the conventional with a propensity to bitch were all they had in common. And all that was needed.

They had their usual share of scandals. One caught naked by his mom in a very inconvenient situation, the other with his infamous lube in the tube incident, the last eloped with the rugby captain for a week before returning to the fold.

Years have passed since. Times have changed. One is now single, getting back to the scene. The other newly attached, settled and 'serene', the last zen about it all. All still fiercely independent.

Relationships are quixotic, resilient yet fragile. Who knows what those fickle winds of change will etch in the shifting sands of time?

Yet for now, the triumvirate still stands. Bitchy, irreverent, diabolical. And for that my friends, partners in crime and fellow sisters, I toast you now.

Viva le sisterhood.

Last Dance.

On that humid summer night we danced.

To the muffled squeaks from the whirling antique fan

Beethoven's Moonlight sonata playing in the background.


You held me tight as we twirled

the faint breeze barely dissipating the clammy heat.

But still we danced on, round and round.

In silence for things need not be spoken.


Till the street lights winked out, one by one.

And night drew its last shuddering breath

In the languid light of breaking dawn.

最后一个大侠 1991 (Vintage SBC)

Oh my God!!!! Guess what popped up on youtube. It's that memorable vintage chinese swordfighting series back from 1991, when I was still in Primary 3. Along with the iconic slew of characters like the tranny 紫罗刹, the ice queen, a mask wearing general-turned-sect leader and their daughter with a penchant for shooting out copious amounts of toilet paper cloth yet never seems to run out of iu. And of course that silly but unforgettable theme song.

Ah the memories, of watching in wide eyed wonder, enthralled by the non-computerised special effects, mesmerized by the wickedly clawed Purple Killer fighting with the Ice Queen. Back when Chew Chor Meng was young and Zoe Tay was the only reigning queen. Enjoy.

Dream

The horizon a sooty grey, blinding flashes of lightning ripping the opaque sky, suddenly blossoms shades of violet and scarlet. The roiling clouds seething angrily, colliding blindly into one another in a glorious cacophony, the ensuing thunderstorms a veritable pyrotechnic display. Inanimate objects made animate by the sheer force of energy, that invisible power which pulses through nature.

"We're going through that but you know that already don't you? You feel it?" It was more of a statement than a question. His grip on my hand tightened reassuringly but remained nonrestrictive. A distant roar reached my ears, faint reverberations shaking the gravelly ground. The storms has built up to their zenith, a monstrous entity raging out of control, its core a ferocious maelstrom of immense energy.

"Yes" I whispered. "But do we really have to?" "Why run? It was what you always wanted to see anyway. That insatiable curiosity of yours." The memory of the place aforementioned seems to warp even as I recount it, except that it was the proverbial Hell so often mentioned in ancient religious texts. Sheol. The being beside me none other than the Devil himself.

Not that I had any doubt at that moment. He radiated power, indeed his very presence seemed to be effused with it, the dark seductive charm and strength, an aura about him. I never needed much convincing when he had materialised out of nowhere in that barren gloomy landscape, it was almost as if I had been awaiting his arrival.

No fiery hoof prints or towering bat like wings, no devilish horns or forked tail. "Though if you prefer, I can always manifest as the typical stereotypical preconceptions of the appearance of a devil dictates." He teased. That enigmatic smile. Dressed in a non descript black linen garment, his face remains a hazy blur."Come! It's time. We haven't all day. At least I don't. " He laughed, a rich throaty laugh, the burbling of a brook as it runs over the rocks, only deeper and more sonorous.

Sensing my hesitation, the fear of knowing warring with the gnawing curiosity, he shakes his head slowly in mild consternation yet not without patience. "Humans." A sigh like the whisper of a breeze passing through reeds. Gathering me into his arms, he rises swiftly into the acrid air and with incredible speed we plunged towards the growing nebula of chaos, crackling energies racing across the entire horizon. The sky a sickly purplish-red against a canvas of gloomy grey.

Lightning flashes a hand span away blinding me temporarily and I fancy myself being burnt to a crisp. Ah but we are safe he says and I believe. But why do I? Rebellious and suspicious creature that I am.

But there is no time to think, we are in the maelstrom and its ferocity stuns me. The storm battering at the protective shield surrounding us, attempting to rip it apart and failing. Raging in its frustration and failure, it seems bestial with a predator's hunger. Alive.

And then we are through and the cries and screams of multitudes greet us. "The cries of the damned, the souls consigned to Hell, My Hell." He whispers in response to my look of askance. The sounds of torture coupled with pure unadulterated misery and agony in the shrieks of the tortured swell to an unbearable crescendo.

The smoke clears and the picture of abject suffering and horror I glimpse is beyond any words I can put to paper. It is Dante's Inferno and all the unspeakable horrors conceivable and uncontemplated rolled into one, magnified a thousand times. "NO!" I shrieked as the full significance of the scene sank into me, the cold metallic taste of fear fresh in my mouth.

"Yes. YOUR Hell." And he released me as I plummeted headlong shrieking hysterically, mindless in the consuming terror into the place called Hell, the damned reaching up, their hands clawing up in eager, hungry anticipation.

Then obliterating darkness, inky black and opaque inundating me, a comforting relief. Reddish glow from the electronic bedside clock. 3.33 AM. The dream still fresh in its bizarreness and bloody horror. Memnoch the Devil lying face up on the table, pages rustling under the whirling ceiling fan.

Lost and Found

Today around three, while everyone was gainfully occupied in the office, I was at Orchard Road. Granted, I was just passing by in a cab but still the feeling of being in town on a normal day during working hours was pleasantly surreal. The sight of a largely empty street, your odd foreigner or bunch of still-on-holiday varsity people strolling along, unhurried and carefree, brought back an inexplicable warm fuzzy feeling. Attendant with the short sharp tang of vinegary jealousy.

Those certainly were the days, when gallivanting around town at any hour was a choice we were free to make and did so with great frequency. Or the blissful choice of choosing whether to attend lectures like a good student or sleep in for the day. Which as far as I was concerned, really wasn't much of a choice I needed to make at all. One that alas remains a dream now, well at least for the next 35 years or so.

A fact that I am woefully reminded of from time to time, the most recent occasion, just this morning when the incessant thrilling of the alarm clock got me up at 6.45 am and bleary eyed after a night of grinding quests on the mage; I peeped at the clock, turned it off and went back to bed. Thinking as I did so, I'll just sleep in today, the lecture can be skipped. Before some subliminal subconscious scream rudely jolted me back to the wonderful world of reality where the hours are long and the money never enough that yes lectures can be skipped but there was something else called work. Ah the joys of sleeping in, cherish it while you can, those of you who can still do so.

I digress. If you were wondering what I was doing in a cab zipping through town on a wet, lazy Tuesday afternoon, no, I'm neither rich nor suicidal enough to hop on a cab for a joy ride around town even if I do feel the occasional pang of wistful longing. I was on my way down to the NUS law library to zap some obscure version of the ISA standard form building contract that was needed before proper advice could be dispensed to the clients. Incidentally, I only discovered today pursuant to a conversation over the phone with the librarian, that the library has three levels, not two. To Aileen's strident cries of horror and disgust. Which shows you how avid a user of the library I was.

Anyway now, you know why legal fees aren't cheap, disbursements for taxi fares, meetings, phone conversations, meals for all the meetings, overtime spent on the case, etc add up to a tidy sum. Which naturally is still nothing compared to the professional fees and court fees. But what the Client wants ( to be done, not the result), the Client usually gets (within reason and with our considered opinion). Hence your request for our advice on a certain matter would necessarily indemnify us for all reasonable and incidental costs incurred in and attendant to preparing the aforementioned advice as per your instructions.

And if you can write something like the previous sentence for 75% of the letter, it's apparently considered professional, sufficiently legal and usually enough to keep the clients happy. Though why people would want to read letters with more 'ins' in a paragraph than an entire newspaper article confounds me sometimes. Sean says "Well, people still want it to sound a little legalistic, they pay for it. And if they get a letter that sounds like something your average junior college kid would write, why the hell would they pay you?" Um for our expertise? Ah never mind, for now I am slowly mastering the art of archaic legalistic gobbledygook.

The client got a discount anyway, I lost the receipt for the taxi fare trip to the library. It's probably still lodged somewhere in the Institute of Singapore Architect's Conditions and Terms for Contract between the Main Contractor and Developer book that I planted between the pages as a bookmark prior to photocopying and merrily forgot about.

On the WoW front, I should hit 70 by the end of the month with a little luck and some focused questing. Today looks like it's going to be a wasted evening and just a couple of days ago, someone was telling me weekly maintenance down times are a thing of the past. Really ah Kate? Then why are the servers down for maintenance now? Which explains why I'm blogging. ^^

We did Naxxramas the other day just for kicks, Errath the level 64 mage tagging along with a bunch of 70s. It's sad to see how fast a level 60 elite 40 man instance gets cleared by about 25 or so 70s. Still I had fun tagging along in my tier 2 mage. I even got a Malice Stone Pendant drop. Cheap thrill but it was nice to see an instance that remained largely elusive when we were still peonic 60s. For now, the grind goes on. Both in game and out.


I'll stab you with my stick! Heeyaaahh!

Recap

The past one and a half weeks have been the most eventful and certainly the most tiring yet enjoyable since I started work at the Firm 5 weeks ago. Staying back till eleven at night, marathon 9 hour session meetings, having the entire weekend burnt, the numerous research tasks, more admin and procedural matters to settle, assisting in the preparation of a defence to the opposing counsel's last minute application to strike out; the list goes on.

Needless to say, the erstwhile sacrosanct rule 1 of Surviving Pupillage 101 went out of the window some time ago. Staying back late though, wasn't all too bad. Here's why:

1. You get to know how the system works and milk it for all its worth. Hence, the five dollars dinner allowance and the ability to claim for taxi fare after 8 PM were fully utilised; the dinner allowance was seldom claimed though as dinner was bought back by the secretary and charged to the clients throughout the entire course of the After the day's Trial-Client's meeting sessions. My cab fare came up to about $130.


2. Getting all pally with the secretaries which is good because you hear all sorts of juicy details, know the ground better and best of all, they actually help you of their own accord and willingly at that. This duty is of course reciprocal: you help where you can and with regards to the same case.


3. I found out the pattern of things in liti department: nice & relaxed working hours on normal days, hectic & heavy during the pre-trial and actual trial period. Something I think I'll be able to adapt to.


4. You learn a lot more when you're on a big case. Naturally, you work a lot more too.


5. I saved a lot of money on food. Everything gets charged to the client. Lunch & Dinner during meetings: Client. Pizza hut & Macs over the weekend: Client. Lunch at the Supreme Court Bistro during the trial: Client.


6. I found out a lot of miscellaneous bits of information. Like how the conference room air con remote also works for the unit just above my workstation and how the office or more accurately the people left in the office really evolve after 8 : more chatty, we laugh more and I turn up the volume on my radio (kindly lent by the clerk) by 2 notches.

So even though it was tiring; hauling myself out of bed on some days was a Herculean task, going to work and staying late wasn't a drag. Shag yes, Pain no. Breakfast and Coffee certainly helped to jump start the day. Plus working on this mammoth case did have other benefits, I got to work with a Senior Counsel and an MP, see the way the case was handled and issues addressed, discuss the case, attend 4 days of the trial and see the Judge roll his eyes and diss the opposing counsels.

Some of the more memorable soundbites:

Mr A (Opposing counsel for 1st Defendant who got a real dressing down from the Judge on the first day of the trial and who got scolded daily thereafter): Your Honour, you are being fair to the Plaintiffs but you are not being fair to us, the particulars do not contain....

Judge: Mr A, can you please sit down so that we can continue with the trial? It is already 4.30 PM and you have wasted 30 mins of this Court's time on an issue I have said over and over again is a non issue.

Mr B (Opposing counsel for 2nd Defendant- after the Judge had dissed him on a number of his cross-examination points as being irrelevant): I'm sorry, Your Honour. Now, to return to my last meaningful question.

Judge: Which was yesterday.

Exchanges like these which were sprinkled liberally throughout the different days I attended were reward enough for all the late hours. Three days left for the trial, I've decided to pop in as and when I'm free after the PLC lectures to see the SC in action, this time in jeans and t-shirt while seated in the public gallery.

PLC is in itself a welcome break, 5 months of relative slackness, the ability once again to skip lectures and just laze about at home ^^. The Last Day wasn't bad, I got paid (finally ^^), got a couple of elusive chicks' numbers (even though they're old and wanted to trade numbers - secretaries remain infinitely useful) and went out with a bunch of the guy LA(junior lawyers)s for supper and Wine in what promises to be a monthly affair.

5 more months and I'll be back. And it's a thought which doesn't send chills down my spine or evoke any gloomy dismal feeling. The environment's nice as are the people (at my side at least ^^), the next 5 years will certainly be manageable. :)

Affirmation

It was on that stormy Saturday. Overcast sky, lightning forking through the blackening sky, people scuttling around like an army of ants.

I enjoyed the harsh rasp of wind on my face and the hint of rain in the air when you tugged insistently at my hand. "Time to go," you said. Reluctantly I turned and followed.

The rain came fast and hard and we ran laughing, yelling, cursing to your car. The rain, a celebration of life, left me weak yet inundated with a sense of reckless joy to be blessed thus by nature's gift of life.

You look at me as we get into the car, clothes soaked and shoes squeaking. "Happy huh? You look just like the young boy I remember." Too happy and wet to register it fully I give a non-committal grunt.

Pulling out to the expressway amidst the torrential rain you shoot me a sidelong glance and grab my hand. "Do you still love me?" you query, a tinge of insistency, in your voice. I spin around startled and halting any further talk, your need to explain yourself (the urge so plain on your face), I plant my finger on those lips and seal them with a kiss.

We ride back in silence both captive of the surreality of the scene just unfolded as the rain continued its endless patterns on the windows, the sound a mesmerising and hypnotic angry patter.

To that unanswered question you asked so long ago,
Yes I still do.

06 June 2003

Note: Written almost 4 years ago, the memory even older still, yet its funny how that moment stands still in time, as fresh and real as if it were only yesterday. And after all these years I can say with greater conviction. Yes, I still do.

Déjà vu

Dé·jà vu.
An impression of having seen or experienced something before.

We've all experienced it before, one time or the other. That strange uncanny feeling of sudden clearness, of having been there or done something before. The sudden revelation bringing with it a myriad range of feelings and sensations, first and foremost amongst which is (for me at least) that extreme light-headedness, when the perception of the senses is heightened, when everything seems so clear.

And so it was when I decided to walk past that playground that lay yonder past where I used to stay, the sense of dé·jà vu that seized me was so overwhelming, my head spun and legs went weak. The chirping of crickets unnaturally sharp in the quiet night, punctuated only by the occasional happy shrieks of kids emanating from a nearby house.

The bright albeit slightly chipped and faded colours remained. The bright red swing, the mustard yellow slide and the navy blue see-saws faded to a pale sky-blue. All looking none the worse for wear, despite having suffered countless years of abuse by boisterous kids and unforgiving weather. They still stood, a little tired and forlorn perhaps, but waiting patiently for the next day to dawn when kids would come running along as they had always done.

And the memories, most immersed in some deep forgotten recess of the mind, came rushing back like a flood. Sand in hair, blood and salty tears, happy screams. And those challenges... to see who could swing the highest, invent the most unique method of sliding down and of course riding the wicked see-saws.

Unlike the modern, safer (being constrained by chunky springs) and thus decidedly more boring see-saws around in parks today, these see-saws are unfettered with the result that they slam down with a satisfying, bone-jarring 'Thunk!'. And being rambunctious kids, as most young ones are, we sought to maximise both the sound and impact. A ride on the see-saw usually meant a sore crotch and a faint ringing in the ears.

As you have undoubtedly guessed, such game play was not without its mishaps. Blood and tears were a norm. Like the time Leon slid head first down the slide at an awkward angle into the waiting embrace of the nearby concrete pavement. The sand bled that day. Or when Mei ling fell off the swing while it was nearly perpendicular to the ground; the screams and shrieks which reverberated throughout the neighbourhood have never been paralleled since.

Not all our adventures in that playground revolved around those venerable instruments of pain. A number of them involved a slightly deranged, cross-eyed old woman who with her shock of frizzy sooty white hair, looked like some demon of biblical proportions, her hair an aura of palpable insanity. All in all doubly terrifying to us kids who imagined her to be Medusa reincarnated; that if we stared at her long enough we too would be petrified into stone.

She stayed in one of the nearby town houses and would often rush out with alarming alacrity, stabbing her finger accusingly and shrieking, "You Brats are making so much noise and disturbing me! SHUT UP or I'll let the dog (a ferocious, beastly rottweiler) bite you!!"

We'd ignore her till she rushed out of the house again, her eyes ablaze with fury and charge at us, hands windmilling aggressively. Whereupon we'd scream and run hither thither in separate directions, each terrified that the crone would catch us and feed us to that monstrosity and the other abominations she kept in that dungeon of hers.

So it became a weekly ritual, one which we expected from the 'Hag', the foulest epithet we could come up with, in which we were ever the persecuted martyrs, driven from our 'castle' by this unholy demon. That was until the day Leon. felt particularly emboldened and when the Hag appeared, pompously announced, "We want to play here, go away!" and contemptuously flung a handful of 'magic' sand in her direction. (Which never hit her of course given that she was about 100 m away from us.)

Something just snapped in the Hag. She went a livid red and screeched almost incoherently, "You BAD BRATS! You ASKED for this!! Wicked children!!". Her frame visibly trembling with rage, she rushed back into the house and just as we were congratulating Leon. for chasing her off, she appeared with that growling, terrifying abomination and set it loose.

We ran, screaming our heads off in mortal terror. When you are five, huge snarling dogs with a lot of sharp pointy teeth look like something straight out of hell. Elaine. was however so petrified, she remained rooted to the spot, screaming and crying so loudly that the Hag's maid and a few neighbours rushed out and managed to drag both Hag and Beast back into the house. (The Beast we were later told was actually confounded by all the commotion, it just stood there and barked.)

So we went back and complained to our parents who in turned complained to the residential committee (At least I'm sure the others did. I was scolded for being rude) and soon we heard/saw no more of the old Hag. Kids can certainly be resourceful when they want to be.

But that was so long ago and all those memories revisited with just a single glance at this shabby playground with its tired-looking swings and pock-marked sand pit. The screams fading as they are submerged, reclaimed by the same elusive nook and cranny which had briefly yielded them.

And as I walk home, keys jangling in pocket, I wonder, not nostalgically but off handedly, where all those years had gone, whether someday, years from now I would walk along this same road and recall this very instant. The spherical moon, luminous and low, the wind rising in the trees, leaves falling to the ground in a gentle shower.

A sense of Déjà vu. Probably so.