It is 10:40pm on a Friday evening and I’m sitting in my office typing an entry on my blog. It doesn’t really bother me that much, although I must admit that it used to. Not doing anything eventful used to feel like being robbed and an embarrassing occurrence that I need to hide from. I guess given the life I’m leading now, weekends is just a schematic conception, as everyday, if I chooses can be a long weekend.
It is the world cup again. The world cup is something quite special for me, as it is three world cups ago that I found my passion for football (that’s FOOTBALL not soccer) and found a very special friend whom I still call buddy till today. It was really strange, this bloke in class whom I didn’t think much of save his smelly T-shirt, became my best of friends just because I was so desperate to find someone to bet with. A phone call to a stranger whom I never once said hi to despite spending two years in the same class, and suddenly he became my witness in my journey through life. Since I’m talking about him, I should just drop him a line…… …..
…… …. poor fella, I woke him up in the middle of his slumber. He is prepping himself to watch the first game. Years have past us by and I do feel sorry that he is now a working man and needs to catch up with sleep after spending hours earning his money (a concept still rather foreign to me). I do wish that the clock will turn back to the days where we didn’t need to think beyond what happens after the school bell rings, yet I take a lot of pride and comfort that friendships like this just don’t change. Little thoughts like these make feel like a blessed man.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Monday, June 05, 2006
I'm Blogging Again!
I’m blogging again! What are the odds? I’m sure my disappearance has been as noticed and I have been missed like how Eskimos miss the cold. I really wasn’t in the mood to blog over the last couple of weeks. For one thing, my workload had me spending too many hours before the computer, and the last thing I wanted to do was to unwind my day by romancing with the keyboard before I go to bed. Not to mention that by this coming Thursday, I will celebrate my 7-week anniversary over my dry cough. It is getting better now although I gotta stick close to my inhaler like an asthmatic. I love that inhaler, coz whenever you flaunt it before you shove it in your mouth and breathe deeply like a hybertensionaric (don’t even know if that word exists), people look away! You get the feeling that they get uncomfortable being put in a position to whether to offer a word of concern and risk a moment of awkwardness, or offer a sympathetic eye. In the midst of all the clumsy options, it will appear best to look away. I love it!
I’m really pissing my friends off lately. Coz all I can talk about is my infatuation with snow. I hope this infatuation thing won’t get out of hand but itz really exhilarating while it lasts. There appears to be a new story to tell, a new adventure waiting to unravel (walking to the supermarket to buy peanuts can turn out to be an adventure when you are infatuated) each day. I’m even finding the motivation to get into the office early (that’s 11am) just to start the day off sooner in hope for some stirring moment to take place. It really has been a while since I was infatuated (the last time was probably Vietnam, but I was pretty confused between being intoxicated – literally and infatuation). I really find myself in a strange dilemma between dropping the whole leaky heart ordeal and focus on my work, or continue to grin like an imbecile every time snow drops an email. Oh what the heck, I still have March next year before my tenure is over.
Okey I’m just saying this. I’ve been busy taking one step forward and five steps back with my research. Effectively, more than four months of work have gone down the drain. Tomorrow marks a new day where I will try to get my work back on track, now that the semester is almost over. I think I will dearly miss teaching when my short academic career is done. I received a lovely email today from a student, who had the kindest word to say. It is messages like this that make me want to teach, even if it is for free – not marking though, I’ll charge an arm and a leg for marking.
I’m really rambling on this entry. Can’t focus (wonder why). Hopefully this’ll mark a start to my blogging habits once again. It is nice to take a month break from blogs and focus on other things (snow). But watch this space, it wouldn’t be long before I rediscover my routine.
Over and out.
I’m really pissing my friends off lately. Coz all I can talk about is my infatuation with snow. I hope this infatuation thing won’t get out of hand but itz really exhilarating while it lasts. There appears to be a new story to tell, a new adventure waiting to unravel (walking to the supermarket to buy peanuts can turn out to be an adventure when you are infatuated) each day. I’m even finding the motivation to get into the office early (that’s 11am) just to start the day off sooner in hope for some stirring moment to take place. It really has been a while since I was infatuated (the last time was probably Vietnam, but I was pretty confused between being intoxicated – literally and infatuation). I really find myself in a strange dilemma between dropping the whole leaky heart ordeal and focus on my work, or continue to grin like an imbecile every time snow drops an email. Oh what the heck, I still have March next year before my tenure is over.
Okey I’m just saying this. I’ve been busy taking one step forward and five steps back with my research. Effectively, more than four months of work have gone down the drain. Tomorrow marks a new day where I will try to get my work back on track, now that the semester is almost over. I think I will dearly miss teaching when my short academic career is done. I received a lovely email today from a student, who had the kindest word to say. It is messages like this that make me want to teach, even if it is for free – not marking though, I’ll charge an arm and a leg for marking.
I’m really rambling on this entry. Can’t focus (wonder why). Hopefully this’ll mark a start to my blogging habits once again. It is nice to take a month break from blogs and focus on other things (snow). But watch this space, it wouldn’t be long before I rediscover my routine.
Over and out.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Water Parade
I feel like doing absolutely nothing, apart from maybe staring at the dust on my monitor screen in anticipation to clap my hands if the speck of dust moves. I have 8 hours of sleep behind me yet I still feel like I need more. My identity card says I’m 28 yrs old yet I feel like 60. I’m coughing as well, which adds further evidence that my preliminary observation may not be too far from the truth. Tuesday was meant to be my research day, yet I’m halfway into declaring it to be a ‘no-work’ day, and instead spend time to complete my sandcastle construction project.
Maybe I’m burned out, as the last few weeks have been really hectic. I actually worked to 2am in the office for three days straight. It was a great experience actually when I finally got my work done. The sense of achievement was almost as good as getting a full-house in poker. I needed to write a paper from scratch and I actually did it in five days. I was rather proud of myself with the thought that I could finally call myself an academic. My self-praise and celebration were short-lived when arnette announced that she had a deadline to complete five papers in a week. I suddenly felt like a tadpole in a well. The anticlimax was like a dying cartoon jingle played through a broken speaker.
I really wish that this cough will go away. It is something that I can never get used to, despite suffering from viral coughs twice in a year. You tell yourself, maybe it’ll go away the next day, but you still find yourself croaking your lungs out in the morning. Traditionally, this kind of cough would only leave me alone after four weeks, but I’m still naive enough to hope. Drink lots of water they say, so I end up visiting the toilet as often as I need to procrastinate when I work. I think I’ve tried everything in the cabinet, cough syrup (with and without codeine), chinese herbs, vitamin C, zinc and garlic extracts, cough drops and here is a new one, Manuka honey. Maybe I’m getting desperate. I have three more days before CG is coming over for dinner and I’m pretty keen to make an impression. I guess coughing away while you make the red-wine sauce ain’t really the kind of impression I want to make. I’m running out of ideas continue to drink lots of water I guess and perhaps make the washing-closet my second home.
Maybe I’m burned out, as the last few weeks have been really hectic. I actually worked to 2am in the office for three days straight. It was a great experience actually when I finally got my work done. The sense of achievement was almost as good as getting a full-house in poker. I needed to write a paper from scratch and I actually did it in five days. I was rather proud of myself with the thought that I could finally call myself an academic. My self-praise and celebration were short-lived when arnette announced that she had a deadline to complete five papers in a week. I suddenly felt like a tadpole in a well. The anticlimax was like a dying cartoon jingle played through a broken speaker.
I really wish that this cough will go away. It is something that I can never get used to, despite suffering from viral coughs twice in a year. You tell yourself, maybe it’ll go away the next day, but you still find yourself croaking your lungs out in the morning. Traditionally, this kind of cough would only leave me alone after four weeks, but I’m still naive enough to hope. Drink lots of water they say, so I end up visiting the toilet as often as I need to procrastinate when I work. I think I’ve tried everything in the cabinet, cough syrup (with and without codeine), chinese herbs, vitamin C, zinc and garlic extracts, cough drops and here is a new one, Manuka honey. Maybe I’m getting desperate. I have three more days before CG is coming over for dinner and I’m pretty keen to make an impression. I guess coughing away while you make the red-wine sauce ain’t really the kind of impression I want to make. I’m running out of ideas continue to drink lots of water I guess and perhaps make the washing-closet my second home.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Wonder who might be reading this?
Chee Soon Juan gets sued again. If we get a dollar every time that happens, we might collect enough for one week’s worth of ERP expenses. Poor Chee, you have to feel for him, he is like a political rag doll that is flung around by the big boys, yet he comes back with puppy eyes and asks for more. To most Singaporeans, Chee has the political standing of a crippled insect whose place is to make the lives of the big guns just that bit less perfect. He is an annoyance, and much as I am no fan of his, I feel that he has an important role to play.
In Singapore, placing the word ‘opposition’ in the same sentence with the word ‘PAP’ gives a forlorn sense of futileness. Given the stringent rules in the game, there aren’t many ways one can play the devil’s advocate. You can follow the rules, do everything right and perhaps find inconspicuous longevity in the political game as Chiam has. Or be the quiet citizen who may every now and then blog his political view while harbouring a nervous suspicion over who may actually be reading those words. Or the last and least celebrated approach, the soap-box-squealing ex-psychology lecturer who collects summons for defamation suits instead of Christmas cards.
Chee is no fool. He is pushed against the corner with nothing to lose which ironically releases his damaging worst. He cries foul as often as the government gives away money before election, yet he is not just a balloon of hot air. He is Dan Brown when it comes to fabricating conspiracy theories and he uses the old saying ‘there is no smoke without fire’ to good effect. Yet at the same time, his allegations are not completely baseless. Not backed with facts, because if he was able to, he wouldn’t be bankrupted. He listens to the whispers at coffee shops and amplifies them. He suffers the consequences with the hope of becoming a political martyr despite having only his wife, 3 daughters and a few fellow bankruptees who would care enough to celebrate his endeavors.
In Chee’s most recent and strategic outcry, he draws the parallels between the NKF saga and the national governance of Singapore. Just before General Election some more, perfect. Be it a knee-jerk reaction or a traditional practice of fanning the smoke, the Strait Times announces that Chee’s allegation is dignified by a defamation suit. And as predictably as a B-grade chick’s flick, Chee will lose the suit – how do you prove that the government does not operate in transparency? The logic of proving that an allegation is not not correct is quite hopeless; especially when you are trying to say that to Davinder Singh. Chee will sit in a cell with a daily 45mins break to brush his teeth for 7 weeks, but he will do so with a smile. Suddenly, the word nepotism will ring at the back of people’s head – Chee 1, Lee 0. But it will soon be forgotten when the government announces new shares to give away. Chee continues to sit in his cell, but what the heck, you can’t be bankrupted twice.
In Singapore, placing the word ‘opposition’ in the same sentence with the word ‘PAP’ gives a forlorn sense of futileness. Given the stringent rules in the game, there aren’t many ways one can play the devil’s advocate. You can follow the rules, do everything right and perhaps find inconspicuous longevity in the political game as Chiam has. Or be the quiet citizen who may every now and then blog his political view while harbouring a nervous suspicion over who may actually be reading those words. Or the last and least celebrated approach, the soap-box-squealing ex-psychology lecturer who collects summons for defamation suits instead of Christmas cards.
Chee is no fool. He is pushed against the corner with nothing to lose which ironically releases his damaging worst. He cries foul as often as the government gives away money before election, yet he is not just a balloon of hot air. He is Dan Brown when it comes to fabricating conspiracy theories and he uses the old saying ‘there is no smoke without fire’ to good effect. Yet at the same time, his allegations are not completely baseless. Not backed with facts, because if he was able to, he wouldn’t be bankrupted. He listens to the whispers at coffee shops and amplifies them. He suffers the consequences with the hope of becoming a political martyr despite having only his wife, 3 daughters and a few fellow bankruptees who would care enough to celebrate his endeavors.
In Chee’s most recent and strategic outcry, he draws the parallels between the NKF saga and the national governance of Singapore. Just before General Election some more, perfect. Be it a knee-jerk reaction or a traditional practice of fanning the smoke, the Strait Times announces that Chee’s allegation is dignified by a defamation suit. And as predictably as a B-grade chick’s flick, Chee will lose the suit – how do you prove that the government does not operate in transparency? The logic of proving that an allegation is not not correct is quite hopeless; especially when you are trying to say that to Davinder Singh. Chee will sit in a cell with a daily 45mins break to brush his teeth for 7 weeks, but he will do so with a smile. Suddenly, the word nepotism will ring at the back of people’s head – Chee 1, Lee 0. But it will soon be forgotten when the government announces new shares to give away. Chee continues to sit in his cell, but what the heck, you can’t be bankrupted twice.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Bum On My Lounge Floor
It is the 7th April. I really should be sitting in my new office, peering through my window blinds at the lunch hour traffic as I procrastinate my day away in blissful daydreaming. Yet, I still find myself engaging in an extended liaison between my bum cheeks and my lounge carpet because I have to work from home. It has been more than a month and the new office was meant to be ready before the Germans surrendered. They say I’ll be at my new desk next Tuesday, but I know that with a bit of luck, I should be happy if the office was ready before Christmas.
Working from home is not easy. Apart from having to work on the floor, there are the distractions of mid-day TV programmes like Oprah and Judge Judy and self-inflicted commitments such as keeping my PSP company and regular testing of the springs on my Slumberland mattress. There is also Raft the furry white cat. Raft is my neighbour’s cat and I have taken a keen adoration for it. I’m not really cat lover, but since I spend so much time at home nowadays, Raft is my only window for mammal-mammal interaction. He is a really adorable cat with fur soft as erm…. fur, and a face that looks perpetually squished against a glass door. I think I should stop letting it into my house, as I suspect that the owner smells something fishy, and that is not just the tuna and chicken treat I feed Raft when I’m in the mood for feline affection.
Work is also getting increasingly demanding. Despite spending more than 2 years in my research, it only just occurred to me that PhD is actually a difficult ordeal. Most candidates would have figured that out in the first six months, but I say why waste time worrying when you could take it easy and spend time indulging yourself in squandering scholarship money? Being in my final year, the story is quite different now. It is not really the amount of work I have to do, because after living the life of a maltreated cur in the army, hard work doesn’t bother me. It is the stress and frustration of not knowing what to do that drives me up the wall and sometimes through it. It is the feeling of being lost in a forest somewhere in Poland with aid of a needle-less compass. At the end of the day when the frustration gets the better of you, you would turn to the clock in seek of an escape… … the clock reads 6pm, perhaps it is time to take a break – you deserve it. You would then pack up with weary eyes and look forward to….. …. Alas! You realised that you have been rob from the pleasure of going home after work!
I need my office, they better have it by Tuesday. Otherwise we will have one fat cat in the neighbourhood.
Working from home is not easy. Apart from having to work on the floor, there are the distractions of mid-day TV programmes like Oprah and Judge Judy and self-inflicted commitments such as keeping my PSP company and regular testing of the springs on my Slumberland mattress. There is also Raft the furry white cat. Raft is my neighbour’s cat and I have taken a keen adoration for it. I’m not really cat lover, but since I spend so much time at home nowadays, Raft is my only window for mammal-mammal interaction. He is a really adorable cat with fur soft as erm…. fur, and a face that looks perpetually squished against a glass door. I think I should stop letting it into my house, as I suspect that the owner smells something fishy, and that is not just the tuna and chicken treat I feed Raft when I’m in the mood for feline affection.
Work is also getting increasingly demanding. Despite spending more than 2 years in my research, it only just occurred to me that PhD is actually a difficult ordeal. Most candidates would have figured that out in the first six months, but I say why waste time worrying when you could take it easy and spend time indulging yourself in squandering scholarship money? Being in my final year, the story is quite different now. It is not really the amount of work I have to do, because after living the life of a maltreated cur in the army, hard work doesn’t bother me. It is the stress and frustration of not knowing what to do that drives me up the wall and sometimes through it. It is the feeling of being lost in a forest somewhere in Poland with aid of a needle-less compass. At the end of the day when the frustration gets the better of you, you would turn to the clock in seek of an escape… … the clock reads 6pm, perhaps it is time to take a break – you deserve it. You would then pack up with weary eyes and look forward to….. …. Alas! You realised that you have been rob from the pleasure of going home after work!
I need my office, they better have it by Tuesday. Otherwise we will have one fat cat in the neighbourhood.
Monday, April 03, 2006
a chat with Jameson
It has been a very long week and I’m weary. I would love to say there hasn’t been any entry in this blog for more than a fortnight because I have been too busy living a life. Instead, I have been too busy pondering about one. It is the end of the day and I figured that I’ll pen down a few lines before I turn in for the night. I really don’t have anything in mind which I particularly want to share; there are thoughts in my mind, and they waft across like ink in water – formless, silent yet restless.
My lounge is dimly lid by four burning candles, each releasing a subtle scent; a strange mix of blueberry and ocean breeze. Nora is weeping the blues in her sweetly haunting vocals. Jameson swims in my old English rock glass… … good’O Jameson. I take solace in my introspection… ….
Sometimes I wonder where I am heading, which is probably ironic since everything appears to be so well-planned ahead of me. Maybe paradoxically, it is within these plans that I find restlessness. The problem with a plan is that when doubts creep in, like seeping water of a leaky vessel, faith threatens to fall apart. It is a very dangerous thing to lose, faith is. Not in religious means, as I still stand within an under-defined realm when religion is concerned. Faith that I am heading in the right direction and despite the momentary discomfort, everything will be just fine. I wish that I could find it within myself to find these words but more often than not, I choose the easy way out by seeking reassurance from an external source. Otherwise, I would find myself living within my past glory and completely forgetting about the journey ahead.
Where is the line? The line that differentiates dwelling, if not being engulfed in the past from drawing strength from memories of yesteryears? This wisdom escapes me. I draw a smile when I sometimes take a stroll down memory lane and relive some of the warmest memories that I will always bring with me. Yet the same memories will sadden me when I realise that I will not find them again when tomorrow comes. I wish that life can be simpler sometimes, where you could go to bed with certainty that you would wake with optimism, not doubts.
I wish…. …. I close my eyes and I wish….. …
My lounge is dimly lid by four burning candles, each releasing a subtle scent; a strange mix of blueberry and ocean breeze. Nora is weeping the blues in her sweetly haunting vocals. Jameson swims in my old English rock glass… … good’O Jameson. I take solace in my introspection… ….
Sometimes I wonder where I am heading, which is probably ironic since everything appears to be so well-planned ahead of me. Maybe paradoxically, it is within these plans that I find restlessness. The problem with a plan is that when doubts creep in, like seeping water of a leaky vessel, faith threatens to fall apart. It is a very dangerous thing to lose, faith is. Not in religious means, as I still stand within an under-defined realm when religion is concerned. Faith that I am heading in the right direction and despite the momentary discomfort, everything will be just fine. I wish that I could find it within myself to find these words but more often than not, I choose the easy way out by seeking reassurance from an external source. Otherwise, I would find myself living within my past glory and completely forgetting about the journey ahead.
Where is the line? The line that differentiates dwelling, if not being engulfed in the past from drawing strength from memories of yesteryears? This wisdom escapes me. I draw a smile when I sometimes take a stroll down memory lane and relive some of the warmest memories that I will always bring with me. Yet the same memories will sadden me when I realise that I will not find them again when tomorrow comes. I wish that life can be simpler sometimes, where you could go to bed with certainty that you would wake with optimism, not doubts.
I wish…. …. I close my eyes and I wish….. …
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Sun, Sand, Beach, Beer, Babes, Ball and Frisbee
Sand and sun, beach, beer, babes, ball and Frisbee; these are the ingredients that can rejuvenate even the weariest mind. There is something about beach day that makes me fall in love with life all over again. I remember a time when I would spend every weekend at Sunset bay to collect bruises over volleyball, drink beer to further aggravate the dehydration and indulge myself over the romance of having sand in my hair and all over a tired body that begs for a nice cold shower right after.
How many years have it been since I have taken those days for granted? It really is difficult nowadays to spend a day at the beach, and I can only imagine that it will get increasingly harder. While the sand and the sun are still there, the demands of a maturing lifestyle create distance between a weary mind and the simplest pleasures of life. From where I stand at this moment, I really can’t complain. I am still indulging the transient luxuries of student life yet tasting the responsibilities, and not to mention, financial supplements of having a job. It probably won’t be long before I venture into a nine-to-five program of drudgery so I constantly remind myself to live life to the fullest while I still can.
The problem however, is that my friends around me have moved on into the next progressive chapter, where commitment and responsibilities spell a daily schedule, leaving little time for rest, moreover the beach. Investment bankers, engineers, stock brokers, academics, architects; arranging a day at the beach with them would probably require a two-week notice pending an almost hopeless vacancy on their weekend schedule.
I was at Brighton beach yesterday. It was rather drafty so I was baking under the sun and bathing in the salty sea breeze in my tank top. There were almost fifty people there, over an annual occasion which a University club organised. I felt alive, just being on the sand and amongst students oozing with energy yet I couldn’t divorce myself from the fact that I was the oldest amongst them. That was made apparent when a chap walked up to me and identified me as his tutor this semester. I had fun nonetheless; you couldn’t have it any other way if you were playing volleyball for hours.
I did, however, wished that the boys were with me, just so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to let the inner child out to play. I miss the old days and I miss the boys from home. I wish the investment bankers, the engineers, airforce pilots and captains would take their time off every now and then, if just to humour me when I return home and live life the way we did when we just turned twenty.
It was a rejuvenating day at Brighton yesterday. My body feels tired from all the excessive jumping and my mind is fresh enough to last for another week. I did learn two things at the beach though; first, that every moment I get to live as a student needs to be cherished; and second, never wear a tank top on a day at the beach, unless red arms and a fair chest is the trend of the season.
How many years have it been since I have taken those days for granted? It really is difficult nowadays to spend a day at the beach, and I can only imagine that it will get increasingly harder. While the sand and the sun are still there, the demands of a maturing lifestyle create distance between a weary mind and the simplest pleasures of life. From where I stand at this moment, I really can’t complain. I am still indulging the transient luxuries of student life yet tasting the responsibilities, and not to mention, financial supplements of having a job. It probably won’t be long before I venture into a nine-to-five program of drudgery so I constantly remind myself to live life to the fullest while I still can.
The problem however, is that my friends around me have moved on into the next progressive chapter, where commitment and responsibilities spell a daily schedule, leaving little time for rest, moreover the beach. Investment bankers, engineers, stock brokers, academics, architects; arranging a day at the beach with them would probably require a two-week notice pending an almost hopeless vacancy on their weekend schedule.
I was at Brighton beach yesterday. It was rather drafty so I was baking under the sun and bathing in the salty sea breeze in my tank top. There were almost fifty people there, over an annual occasion which a University club organised. I felt alive, just being on the sand and amongst students oozing with energy yet I couldn’t divorce myself from the fact that I was the oldest amongst them. That was made apparent when a chap walked up to me and identified me as his tutor this semester. I had fun nonetheless; you couldn’t have it any other way if you were playing volleyball for hours.
I did, however, wished that the boys were with me, just so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to let the inner child out to play. I miss the old days and I miss the boys from home. I wish the investment bankers, the engineers, airforce pilots and captains would take their time off every now and then, if just to humour me when I return home and live life the way we did when we just turned twenty.
It was a rejuvenating day at Brighton yesterday. My body feels tired from all the excessive jumping and my mind is fresh enough to last for another week. I did learn two things at the beach though; first, that every moment I get to live as a student needs to be cherished; and second, never wear a tank top on a day at the beach, unless red arms and a fair chest is the trend of the season.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Spider on Hair
I am stressed
what a mess
a spider got caught in my hair
I lack sleep
my mind will flip
if I do not stop to stare
at my laptop for hours straight
to take a break
get away
from this desk
and remember to get some rest
A spider came
looks just the same
as the one I earlier squished
It spoke to me
told me to make a wish
and I’m pretty sure that I have gone mad
but what the heck
who gives a rat
the spider may help release me from this plight
So I said to the spider thank you sir
‘Squished!’
and then the spider died.
(for Arnette)
what a mess
a spider got caught in my hair
I lack sleep
my mind will flip
if I do not stop to stare
at my laptop for hours straight
to take a break
get away
from this desk
and remember to get some rest
A spider came
looks just the same
as the one I earlier squished
It spoke to me
told me to make a wish
and I’m pretty sure that I have gone mad
but what the heck
who gives a rat
the spider may help release me from this plight
So I said to the spider thank you sir
‘Squished!’
and then the spider died.
(for Arnette)
Friday, March 10, 2006
At the end of May
A comely smile, from the other end
a memory which seems so long ago
a certain warmth which heals a broken man
and unwittingly the fondness grow
to usher in an unfamiliar dream
one of hope,
and many promises;
- perhaps a new chapter may unfold
and through many winters the flicker may fade
like the murky glow, over a silver lake.
Hope is strength, and failure all weld into one
like in stories told where tears are made
when the final pages suggest that it seems
that the wayfarer had been trekking through a futile dream
like withered petals after mizzled rain
a closing chapter,
without an author’s name.
a memory which seems so long ago
a certain warmth which heals a broken man
and unwittingly the fondness grow
to usher in an unfamiliar dream
one of hope,
and many promises;
- perhaps a new chapter may unfold
and through many winters the flicker may fade
like the murky glow, over a silver lake.
Hope is strength, and failure all weld into one
like in stories told where tears are made
when the final pages suggest that it seems
that the wayfarer had been trekking through a futile dream
like withered petals after mizzled rain
a closing chapter,
without an author’s name.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Just a little complaint
I had to work from home for the entire week. There is a major reshuffling going on and my new office is still not ready. I was supposed to move into the new floor last week, but I was also naïve to think that things would go according to plan and bureaucracy was really a figment of my imagination.
Working from home is like fishing in a pond with a salad fork. The concept of home and work is an oxymoron – home work, which when put together means ‘having nothing done’ in Latin. They just don’t go together, which was why wise men from centuries ago created offices, the very arena which I do not have at he moment. Home is a place where you drink whiskey and listen to jazz; it is not a place for the laptop and a place to have anything productive done. There are enough distractions at home to take your attention away from Karen Knightly in a wet T-shirt…………. erm… … maybe not. But there are distractions around, like the fridge, the couch, the TV, the bed, and the worst of them all, my new PSP which sits there like a puppy dog with huge sparkly eyes begging for attention.
This can’t go on; I need my new office quick. I need my power points to charge my PDA, mobile phone, digital camera and Bluetooth headset. I need my air-conditioning when the going gets tough. I need a desk and a proper chair so my bum doesn’t get sore from its extended liaison with the carpet. Oh and I need my free Internet too. If administrators can be a little more considerate for their staff’s welfare, we’ll all live in a happier world.
Working from home is like fishing in a pond with a salad fork. The concept of home and work is an oxymoron – home work, which when put together means ‘having nothing done’ in Latin. They just don’t go together, which was why wise men from centuries ago created offices, the very arena which I do not have at he moment. Home is a place where you drink whiskey and listen to jazz; it is not a place for the laptop and a place to have anything productive done. There are enough distractions at home to take your attention away from Karen Knightly in a wet T-shirt…………. erm… … maybe not. But there are distractions around, like the fridge, the couch, the TV, the bed, and the worst of them all, my new PSP which sits there like a puppy dog with huge sparkly eyes begging for attention.
This can’t go on; I need my new office quick. I need my power points to charge my PDA, mobile phone, digital camera and Bluetooth headset. I need my air-conditioning when the going gets tough. I need a desk and a proper chair so my bum doesn’t get sore from its extended liaison with the carpet. Oh and I need my free Internet too. If administrators can be a little more considerate for their staff’s welfare, we’ll all live in a happier world.
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