Life, Laughter and Everything Else

Every kilogram of mass equates to about 10N in gravitational pull.  That would equate to about 650N, or perhaps 600N assuming my weight has been going the other way. It always feels like a ton though, almost like Gandalf escaped the realm of magic and, of all places on Earth, chose to come to the shabby room of an impoverished Indian guy. There he placed his hand above me and exerted unimaginable force downwards and roared, “You shall not rise!” I tried my utmost best, but the old, wily magician would have none of it. I could barely lift myself an inch above it. The attraction was magnetic. As I lifted one part of my body, the other side would be inevitably pulled downwards. However, in any battle, true victory lies not in the physical but the mental vanquishing of the enemy and there he deployed his strongest weapon of all. He engulfed me in a soft, warm blanket whose whiteness reassured me of the comfort and security I was enjoying at the moment. Would I rather remain snuggl

I have always been a proponent of spending time alone, far from the security and comfort provided by one’s close family and friends. This time alone was a statement of independence, that of self-sufficiency, a statement that screamed I am strong enough to survive on my own. In addition, time alone meant one was not subject to the whim of one’s companions. I did what I wanted, how I wanted and when I wanted. That was freedom. And so I often traveled alone, planning the itinerary according to my taste and changing it according to my whims. I neither had to wait for the friend who wanted to snap pictures of every other thing neither did I have to inconvenience my budget to his taste. It was great, at least at first. Then it got to the point when the loneliness caught up with me, when as I stared at the majestic monument or scenery in awe, I looked to my right and left and realized there was none to share it with. When I had to use the loo, there was no one to watch over my bag, nei

"I am sorry, but are you good at IT?", she inquired with the most apologetic of expression. I gave her an incredulous look. Seriously? This was the second time I was being asked that question in one month and I took offense. It was almost as if the world judged that the only reason my race would be allowed to venture overseas was to fix other people's computers. "No. I am a production engineer", I replied, half wondering if I should clarify it had nothing to do with human production, which my people are also well known for. "Oh. That is a pity. Our printer broke down and we were wondering how to fix it", she said pointing to a piece of contraption that lay on the table nearby. Men being men, I offered to help. On walking over and looking into the inside of the contraption, I saw what most millennials see if they were to ever see the inside of the multiple devices they are perpetually holding onto; abyss. I doubted she would give me a discount f

At the heyday of xenophobia in Singapore, foreigners who neither spoke English or spoke it not very fluently were often the target of snide remarks and jokes among the local population. As the service industry occupations started being filled more and more by foreigners, one could frequently hear complaints about the difficulty in communication with the foreigners. One common scenario was for example me buying some mixed rice at the food court and the China born sever would state the cost in Chinese. It would irk me. "Do I look Chinese to you". Or if he caught me on a bad day, "Don't know English, why come here?" Of course I would not say it out, but that would be the chain of thoughts in my head, something I would follow up with my friends when I joined them later at the canteen. Now that I am in Germany, the role has been reversed. My German is elementary at best and my efforts at speaking it out has been hindered by almost total incomprehension of w

Change is hard, all the more when one is very comfortable with the present. Family, friends, job, security and the time to pursue my hobbies, I had everything here with me. But I felt discomfort in the comfort, for comfort rarely taught a man anything. Going through 2 years in the army, spending extended time away from loved ones in Houston, the phases of my life I experienced the most pain, those were the experiences that shaped me and made me better. So I decided to uproot myself, thousands of miles away for a couple of years, where I would be by myself and less protected, for the sake of putting myself through that discomfort. Something about it did not make much sense, Why volunteer to go through pain when you have happiness at your doorstep? Besides, what about the opportunity costs? 2 years of lost incomes, savings withdrawn to the point of exhaustion, a Masters that might not amount to anything. And so on and so forth. Though it somehow occurred to me that my concerns w

The first one was titled "The Common man". It was a short story set in India that narrated the story of an not so well to do man who goes for a haircut at an upscale hairstylist. There he witnesses some incredulous sights and ends up paying probably his month's salary only to have his hair washed and snipped. I sped through it, clicking at sections further down the video bar, for the video was slow and I knew how it was going to end. I scrolled down. "Watch what happens when a lion startles a Hippo". The caption gave it away and I clicked the link with the expectation of a Hippo breaking a lion into two. Unfortunately, the website was only willing to revel its full contents in return for me disabling my ad blocker. Fat chance so I closed that tab and scrolled down again. "Giant Ramen. Only in Japan", caught my attention. This one was quite cool. The ramen was huge and they showed a foodie digging into it bit by bit.  That is how most of our days are

You wake up with a sense of disillusionment. Ok perhaps there is no disillusionment (yet) but you just find it difficult to wake up. There is nothing to look forward at work. It is like there is no reason to get up. It is like there is no reason to write. Nothing interests you anymore, not even the idea of seeing her. You simply cannot get yourself out of bed. “For what?”, you ask yourself. It’s the same shit, different day. Same mistakes, different day. Same people, different day. In other words, it is a bad spell, which could be unconsciously caused by things that are weighing in on my mind, or sometimes there is no reason to. It just happens. All I can say is when you feel like that, take a moment. Take a moment to appreciate, firstly, that you have the time to feel and then write about this emotion. That this freedom is perhaps not even afforded to millions of people across the world. Secondly, appreciate the fact that you are alive, for tiredness can be the result of a la

You see him at a distance waiting at the bus stop. He appears not to have noticed you, which is quite a relief. It would have been impolite to not approach him had he seen you. However, if you did approach him, you would have had to make conversation, not just for the duration at the bus stop, but also in the bus, on the walk to the MRT and then on the MRT for a few stops until he alighted. The mind seemed to cringe at the idea. Yes he was a nice person but making small talk seemed such a hassle when you could be on your phone or book immersed in a world more pleasurable and friendly to you. But why? To be honest I do not know him that well. He has family, kids, opinions and life stories, all if explored could be more interesting than the cute cat video on Youtube. Why do we shy away from conversation with most people while we have a lot to say to others? Is it a lack of trust? Is it a lack of curiosity in someone else's life? Is he just a boring person? Or are we just conforming

A few years back I came across the Facebook profile of a long lost primary school friend and added him. He accepted my request and I messaged him straight after. "Hi buddy! Remember me?" "Yea. You are the skinny Indian guy from primary school". He could have said intelligent. He could have said fun, but of all the innumerable adjectives the English language afforded him, he chose skinny. Though, there is a touch of truth to his unforgivable recollection. Ok not a touch of truth. It was true. I was skinny. Like so skinny my parents considered donating me to the local hospital as they could not afford a skeleton.  Though it never really bothered me. I was happy to flash my rib cages, proudly calling them, my steel body. Besides puberty was yet to struck its regrettable blow and girls were creatures you stayed away from. And when puberty did strike, it started to matter. My first investment was in a pair of 5 kilogram dumbells that my mum said looked hea

"Why do your read?" It was a perfectly innocent question and it took me aback for a while. If she had asked "Why read?", I could have given a plethora of answers, from the many 'xx Reasons why you should read articles there was never any shortage of online. It improves your concentration. Your vocabulary gets better. It makes you more empathetic. But were they the reasons I read? Not really. Yes I believed that reading probably had those benefits and I also believed I had gained superior intelligence and skills of language, refinement and empathy that was unmatched by the vast majority of the people around me whose skills were degraded by the countless hours spent watching videos on their smartphones ( I did never admit to reading making me more humble). O, that might be a bit far fetched but there was certainly a pleasurable sense of 'I am different from the technology controlled masses' that I derived from reading books. But was that it?

There is mysterious comfort in the written word. They emerge slowly and meticulously and like a painting, they visualize and they clarify, giving shape to the thoughts one usually repeats endlessly in the mind at lightning speed. Where the enemy can be seen, he can be fought. The words themselves are the weapons. However, they do not hurt the enemy, instead they allow you to stab deep into the recesses of your mind and your heart. There they find the torrent of emotion and thoughts within; the fear, the pain, the sadness. The words question the enemy and with each question comes an answer and with each answer comes another question. The words dig deeper and deeper and so reveals he truth. And the truth, if true, comforts.

The eyes are almost always lifeless. They stare blankly at the little screens in the hands while greedily digesting novelty after novelty. A pair catches my stare, perhaps wondering if I was going to get up and leave. I sit still and divert my eyes. My mind is still numb and my body inert. I rub at corner of my eyes, trying to pick at the morning particles that sit tightly. It feels like sand against the soft skin and my fingers slowly roll it away from my eye before discreetly flicking it onto the floor. I close my eyes and lean my head back. Sleep, it was never enough when the time ahead was unpleasant. Every other time, it was an opportunity to make way for something else. 

There is something about the way hate consumes you. It locks you in a state of mind that cuts out everything else around you. Your whole mind is focused on that object of hate, how it wronged you, trampled on you while sadistically benefiting from your pitiful state. As you recall event after event, suddenly very word and action it spouted had an intent to hurt you and bring you down. These events are interpreted to justify opinions you have about it. More events, more feelings of despair and humiliation and rage. Your body is very tense. The breath is shallow and quick. Retribution! You mind scrambles for ideas to get back or ways in which you could have got back. You go back to the events and hypothesize alternate scenarios, scenarios that would have turned the tide and made him the victim. You imagine your victim cringing in pain, hiding his face in embarrassment and most importantly regretting having ever hurt you. You feel the triumph of having restored justice. But wait, not ye

The weather forecast did not get it wrong this time. It was in blissful ignorance and unfounded hope that I had made my way there for a jog. As I stood in the shelter, I could see the dark clouds hovering above the skyscrapers of Johor across the Johor Straits, clouds that produced the intermittent lightning to warn the human inhabitants of the impending torrent. The winds swayed the tress in front of me. Then I noticed that for the Malaysians, threat had turned to attack. It was no longer a question of if, but a question of when. It started suddenly, as if the clouds on a whim had decided to let go of their contents. Malaysia disappeared from view as the rain hid it away like a curtain.I was stuck in the concrete shelter with a bunch of teenagers, one who had a loudspeaker which blared Malay rock to my annoyance. They were lost in their phones, some smoking away right in front of the 'No Smoking' signs. I waited for my friends to arrive and rescue me, diving my attention

"She's been on the phone a lot lately, don't you think? Probably way more than usual", I asked out of genuine concern. It was almost as if she was addicted. "Well we use it a lot too, so we are not in a position to judge", my sister pointed out. Sadly true, but still, when you see someone scrolling through the unending stream of messages received and forwarded by people bored like her, it created some concern. Most of the videos were rubbish (and I was being nice in using that word). The interesting videos dulled our capacity to be surprised by present life, the messages of the good ones were drowned out by the messages of other good ones and the bad ones enraged and shocked us unnecessarily. She had to be rescued from this venom but all the statements pointing out her obsession did nothing more than produce a retort. "Ma, why don't you come and join us for breakfast instead of sitting there by yourself", persuaded my sister. She p

“Aunty, Kopi Siew Mai”. She stared back at me half bewildered, half stoic. I knew I had uttered something wrong, thought precisely where I got it wrong, I could not pinpoint. I should have just stuck to my usual Kopi and not let my sister’s impassioned speech about a Kopi something that contained no condensed milk disrupt my habit. But I had and now I was facing the consequences in the form of a postmenopausal woman staring at the Indian boy dressed smart and talking stupid, wondering if this was his idea of a joke. “You mean Koi C? Siew Mai is the yellow meat thing you have for breakfast” , my attractive friend tried to help, unable to resist giggling at the humour of the situation. “hmmm.. Not Kopi C. Its Kopi siew something. But nevermind, KopiC also can” , I replied wanting to save face and half not knowing what Kopi C. As long as it saved me from this, anything went. Even tap water. “Oh. Kopi Siew Tai arh?” “Oh yea. That one. Aunty, Kopi Siew Tai!” But the

Why should I get into a relationship? The answer was presented concisely in terms of a diagram and resembled the above graph. A single life was a stable and an emotionally dispassionate life that always hovered around the equilibrium, a life slightly elevated by the occasional triumph and slightly troubled by the occasional disappointment (usually due to not being in a relationship). In contrast, the life in a relationship was passionate and full of emotional highs and lows. It was perhaps not for the faint-hearted. The experience evaded me for years since I was humored by this response that I came across in Quora. Such highs and lows? Will never be the case with me! My girlfriend will be mature and I will be mature and we will live a life of everlasting maturity that will never be troubled by the passion of love. Or so I thought. Life has a way of humbling even the proudest human beings, especially the ones so self confident of their abilities. For life has the lux

It starts in the morning. "Hasn't she woke up. Its already 7? She s going to be late again. Why can't she be more responsible?" "Hurry up. You dad is waiting. Drink the juice first".  "But it tastes like crap". "Whats for breakfast?". "Cereal". "Again? Its the weekend!" "Then you come to the kitchen and cook". Complaints. Arguments. Mockery. It was part and puzzle of the package. Put any two people under the same roof and they will find a reason to argue about something. As such, imagine putting five. The modern, globalist single would brand it an outdated institution, one that would limit his freedom and career and replace it with responsibilities and chores. Why bind oneself to one partner? Why have children? Why not just cohabit-ate? Why not just get a pet? Why go through all that trouble? Yes it is chaotic. Yes, it does not always work out the way one wants. Yes I wished he would stop tell

It had been just four days since the self enforced no-music rule. As intended, the lyrics blaring out from the loudspeakers made me stop in my tracks and soak in the melody that I had been deprived off, that I had taken for granted. It sounded like the most beautiful thing I had heard in a while. Played with the magnificent Singapore landscape in the backdrop and the winds from the Indian Ocean blowing briskly but gently, I was comforted.  Nobody said it was easy It's such a shame for us to part Nobody said it was easy No one ever said it would be so hard Oh take me back to the start. So apt, so poignant, almost as if they could read my mind and put into words what I was struggling to piece together.

Put two guys together and at some point, the topic will be about women. This time, the conversation took a more mature and philosophical turn while discussing failed relationships, in particular how in a budding romance, the questions that lingered about who was giving and investing more in the relationship, the expectations that arose out of it and how the failure to meet those expectations would see the castles built in the air crumble and fall. Then he pointed out something about his mother, how she probably influenced his idea of a relationship. To quote his precise words, "I don't understand mothers. How they will complain and complain about giving, and yet they will give and give. And you do something small for them, just something really small, and that makes them so happy". Why?

"You know he feels somewhat not so appreciated. That he is doing so much at work, sacrificing so much for his family, but nobody seems to acknowledge that. Maybe that is why I feel he is withdrawing into himself more and more". It was possible, but it never occurred to me that this thought would predominate his day to day life. When you care about or love someone, sometimes it might seem like that would suffice, though truth be told, it might not. I once remember hearing  story, when a frustrated husband, late into his marriage, complained to his wife that she never told him that she loved him. "I have washed you clothes, cooked your food and reared your children. Is that not enough?' A man asking for more would make the perfect fodder for today's feminists. However, we humans are fickle, irrational and ever so emotional. We want our efforts to be acknowledged by our bosses, our status to be seen by the society, our love to be validated by our partners and

'Why Readers, Scientifically, Are the Best People to Fall in Love with"   Ah! I knew it. My potential love worthiness finally recognised by Science itself. I sped through the article. Readers, with their superhuman ability of infinite patience, could sit through the arduous journey that was a novel, and in the process relate to the characters and their stories, seeing the world through their eyes, thereby understanding the deep flaws in human character and gaining insight into the indisputable wisdom presented, only to eventually come out of the journey wiser, smarter and more compassionate. Damn! That's me! Copy link. Open Whatsapp. Open conversations. Paste Link. Send! Message added, "Wouldn't any girl be lucky to date me?" 10 mins late reply. ".............Don't think so. Readers think too much"

While driving on the roads surrounded by the vast ranches of Texas, I would be awed by the brilliant hues of the sky. Vast and staring down on the man curated landscapes, these skies would take on shades of different colour depending on the time of day, weather or seasons. I remember the brilliant blues of the winter evenings and the bright oranges of the summer morning. When people asked me what I liked about Houston, I would tell them, "The sky. There's something about the sky here that is different from that the one home". A year back home, I realised the sky here was no different. Just that it was often hidden and lost behind the high rise buildings and skyscrapers that dotted the Singapore landscape.  Pity indeed, to have but the occasional opportunity to stare up and get lost in the awesomeness of the universe.