Life, Laughter and Everything Else

He was the typical American. He was the atypical American. Beyond sports, the weather and his dog, he was able to narrate the story of how he journeyed out of the greatest country on Earth into a small town in Germany to learn German. Confident and cocksure, he was a refreshing change from the earlier conversation I had struggled to maintain with the nerdy German lady. Despite our common interests, a chemistry was missing, something despite both our best intentions, punctuated the conversation with awkward silences. While she excused herself to escape the tedium that was me, he came over and sat at her chair. I mentioned to him that the book that I had bought to the book swap event was a prized catch. ‘The Subtle Art of Not giving a F***’, the black bold and capitalised characters screamed against the bright orange background. The colour accentuated the vulgarity of the title, which was now covered with the yellow sticky notes with the names of the four or five people who wan

It was my third nap of the day. As I wearily got out of bed, it came to me like a euphemism, that maybe, I just had to accept it like it was. That there was nothing much really going on and it was best to not force myself into any kind of productiveness. Once I used to fiddle with the idea of monasticism. Then, there was nothing more alluring than leaving all the hubris of the world to retire into a world of self-examination. In the exploration of this idea, I had thrown myself into a 10 day meditation retreat and came out wondering how was it that these monks could pass whole days and lifetimes doing literally nothing. The alternative was to be busy, to immerse oneself in the myriad of everyday distractions, until one approaches death, and then look back and wonder what had happened. Unfortunately, the little island where I came from, this was often taken to the extreme. One was always busy, for one’s friends and one’s family, and I realised I had to get out before it was to

It usually starts off well. What is your name? Where are you from What are you doing here? How long have you been here? Why did you choose to come here? And then it hits a brick wall. The awkward silence. Everyone reaches for their drink and takes a long gulp of beer, hoping alcohol will provide some inspiration for the next question. OR they take out their handphone and check their messages, because you know, they are people of significance and nothing justifies physical absence better than busyness. These silences seem to become more apparent and increase in frequency as I grow older. I cannot seem to put a finger to why this happens. One thing that I have noticed though is a complete lack of curiosity in people, an unwillingness or even a shyness to pose questions.  For example, there was once a female friend whom I used to converse via email when she was overseas, conversation where we allowed us to openly speak our minds about everything in life. By the time she got back