The Immortal Vampire Chronicles

Boston Homecoming

2011-08-22T15:51:00.000+08:00

18th July - 5th August 2011 | Boston, Massachusetts, USA

The setting sun fell gently on the water's surface, as sail-boats glided serenely across the Charles River, with the familiar skyline forming the iconic Boston backdrop that I had grown so used to on my weekly weekend-walks. A cool evening breeze caressing my face gently grounded the reality of the situation - that I was back in Boston once again, and memories of all that I loved were a reality once again. Still one of my favourite cities in the world, and while some might argue that the city is not much for sight-seeing, no other place outside of Singapore feels as much like home - despite being away from her for a good three years.

In The Eagles words from their ballad "The Sad Cafe": Things in this life change very slowly, if they ever changed at all. And indeed, Boston was exactly the way I remembered it to be, where muscle memory instantly sank in within the first couple of days, and I was able to find my way around by foot to all the familiar haunts almost entirely based on some sort of intuition or a sense of subconsciousness. Regardless, there is / was still very much to love about the place...

The cool-summer climate set the tone and the backdrop for much that I loved to do in Boston - weekend walks across the river to the downtown area. Following the Freedom Trail from Downtown to Quincy market, to arrive at the all too familiar square and see identical performances by the same performers from 3 years ago. Hunting for the sweetest deals on pre-owned games, where often times the journey to the nearest Gamestop was as rewarding as the destination - as perhaps all I wanted was some sort of self-justification to validate a weekend walk when I could have been sleeping or gaming it away.

Ice-cream - lots of ice-cream - accentuated by a new Pinkberry yogurt fad in town provided the perfect partner for a mid-summer's night stroll back home; too cheesy cheesecake from Cheesecake Factory that has a level of sinfulness only found in American dining; and of course the seafood: where Clam Chowder and Lobster is the order of the day, and the freshness of the Lobsters and the creaminess of the Clam Chowder found in Boston still ranks at the top of my list for these choices, and warranted returning visits to the local seafood chains.

But more than the physical or the gastronomical, Boston does something for me on an almost spiritual level as well. Thriving with creativity, Boston left me creatively inspired the last time after the 9-week duration, and this time around, it was hardly any different, but perhaps even more so invigorated. Perhaps the turbulent events after the last trip left me desolate and depressed enough that I hadn't been able to fully piece the pieces of that inspired-soul back together over the years; even though it has definitely been mended - but perhaps it was never complete (which might be a good or bad thing, since an incomplete soul probably has a better tendency towards introspection and reflection). Being back in Boston probably helped to put the finishing touches to that mending process, and the added insight and experience that I had gained over the years in between the visits probably allowed me to gain a bit of an even more deeply rooted wave of inspiration that fuels my soul and my mind with possibilties.

As nothing but the sound of my rhythmic footsteps rang through the evening air as I walked across the bridge, one step at a time, breathing in sync to the walking and eyes fixed towards the tall tower in a distance, I felt that I was taking one step onto familiarity, and another into the future, all at the same time.

Photo Album:

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The Road to Rome : The Joy of Nothingness

2011-07-05T23:58:00.000+08:00

31st May 2011 | Piazza Navona, Rome, Italy

Waters of the fountain behind trickled slowly, from the sprout into the pool; as the sound of water on water provided the perfect background piece for the sunset-sky. A truly wondrous place, these plazas; with road-side artists peddling their wares and their works, alfresco cafes fringing the borders of the plazas, and an occasional horse-carriage going by - to give the plaza an icing-on-the-old-world-cake finish.

And yet, none of this mattered as much as the main ingredient: people - lots of people. While Europeans in general are probably quite fond of people-watching, Italians are noted to be at the top of the list, and judging from the number of people gathered around a 4pm weekday afternoon, I guess I had no choice but to agree.

Couples sharing intimate words staring deep into one another's eyes, as aged-pairs catch a breath and appreciate the years between them in the silent pants, as office-workers unwind over a cuppa at the bordering cafes after a days' worth of work, while wide-eyed tourists (like ourselves) try their best to fit in and pretend that we understood what the fuss was all about.

As I stared deep into space, my mind wandering, while the corner of my eye caught her in her bright yellow-dress wandering off towards the horse-carrige, I started to understand the lure of it all. More so than really watching people for comparison and inspiration, I think the whole thing fed a slightly more innate need for community, one that allows you to sit amongst the crowd, and yet not necessarily having to say a single word to anyone; an ironic sense of community-meeting-privacy - to just be amongst people for the very sake of it, and yet keeping your own little private space in your own little world at wherever you chose to settle yourself into.

But more so than the sense of community, I was pleasantly surprised and probably enlightened on their perception of time. While sitting around watching people and watching the sunset on a normal weekday would probably be considered a waste of time in ever-so-efficient and fast-paced Singapore, where there is so much more to do, places to go, and appointments to keep; where the days are packed with moving from activity to activity - I think we have probably lost sight of what it feels like to just sit and let time roll by, the feeling of owning time, rather than letting time own you - and perhaps, to enjoy the simpler things in life, the joy of nothingness and freedom, the little pockets of respite, the rest-stops along the day's journey.

I looked at my watch and signalled to her that we were moving on - to the Pantheon, to the Spanish Steps, to the Vatican, to the Coliseum, to the rest of Rome - and we were on a schedule. But I knew that as important as it was for us to make the time for these sights, it was equally important for a vacation to allow us to bake the time to savour the restful-perfection in between.

The Boston Chapters: Sunrise

2011-05-20T01:59:00.000+08:00

The smell of the night still lingered in the air, slowly thinning as we made our way down the unusually deserted roads, as I was blindly following the crowd of three a little bit of a distance ahead of the rest of us. We didn't talk much, never did; and being travelling companions with a common goal did nothing much to bridge that disconnect, save for a silent acknowledge of one another's presence.

Fatigue probably played a large factor to the unwillingness to converse as well, as the mind-set of maximizing the time left on foreign shores - which had me making the decision to take the last bus out, only to arrive at 4 in the morning with nowhere to go but a nearby MacDonald's to wait the time out - probably left my body more dry than high; partially from the lack of sleep, but perhaps more so from the boredom of waiting.

And yet, there I was, searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; hoping to find a rare glimpse of beauty in the ordinary, to find the worth in the while for all the physical fatigue...

The first step onto the bridge proper had me lifting up my head, seeing it stretch far into the distance, across the strait, with its suspension cords stretching towards the heavens, into the darkness above. Step by step, we walked down the bridge, going further and further into the thinning darkness.

A pinkish glow started to crawl along the sky - slowly but surely engulfing the darkness. The rattling of wheels and the distinct sound of bicycle bells rang behind us, as the bridge started to awaken with activity. Voices and shouts heard in the distance ahead, as step by step, we had come to the quarter-mark of the bridge.

The ground beneath our feet shook more than slightly - a consequence of the high speed vehicles zooming by under our feet, with the sound of the roaring engines to accompany the sensation. More and more violently the earth beneath us shook, and the frequency of passing engine roars increased exponentially.

Just as we reached the halfway mark, I heard exclamations coming from the group ahead of us, as they started pointing towards the direction in which the water below us ran towards - eastwards. A thin ray of light shot vertically upwards from behind one of the buildings; and in almost an instant, spread out into a fan-like shape that stretched out in multiple directions. I stared intently, waiting for the visual climax.

A round golden silhouette peaked its head above a building, as I instinctively brought my hands to shield my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of the light. The great ball of light climbed confidently up the morning sky, assured of its dominance over the city, as its golden glory carassed the faces of buildings near and far, having them respond with a golden glow off their reflective surfaces. The city had awoken to yet another sunrise.

I had found my pot of gold, in all its blinding glory - the glimpse of the sunrise in the Big Apple, probably a sight that millions wake up to every morning and see nothing out of the ordinary in - but yet, for one on foreign lands, it probably bore the significance of the start of the last chapter of the journey, as we headed towards our final weeks on this land.

The sunlight fell on my face, as I took in the air to smell the morning...

Facilitator 2.0

2011-04-25T23:49:00.003+08:00

Deep breath, door slowly grasping the handle, a firm downward push, and a forward thrust.

A room full of eyes turned towards me, as I walked in confidently, making my way across the room, ignoring all of which, and brushing it aside with a casual "Good Morning".

A sureness in my stride, and a sense of command clenched within my fist along with the handles of my laptop bag, as I took my time to take my place, and proceeded to set up for class in my own time, as a presumably uneasy silence rang through the air; yet hardly rattling my disposition.

They say that life comes full circle, and I was sorely reminded of this fact when two familiar faces stepped into the door with a sheepish grin, and a hardly-embarrassed and joyous "Hello." The irony of life – of having two students that I taught in my very first class in my very first semester stepping into my very first class for the new academic year.

It was great to have an anchor or two of familiar faces to latch on to in a totally alien class; but more than that, they served as two totems and one solid juxtaposition against my past - from a time that I had trouble digging up and virtually re-living - until the familiarity of sitting down in the same room with them jolted something probably now deeply swept into my subconscious.

I used to consider my words very carefully, and my actions even more so. The slightest hint of a tangential point that quickly and unexpectedly went south would cause an obvious flush, and have the class gushing at my shyness; my physical being unable to mask my mental thoughts - that was a different time. A time of self-consciousness and self-awareness; rooted by a deep sense of uncertainty - the uncertainty of the lack of the ability to anticipate, driven by a greater general lack of experience and knowledge of the approach towards the juggle between being an authority and being a friend. Awkward, perhaps; but cautious, even more so.

That was of a different time - one where interaction was a lot more of an effort, always conscious of what to say, how much I was saying, how much I was revealing; and yet always cautious of how much I shouldn't be saying, how far I was going, and what impression I was leaving...

"You've changed Jeremy", said one of the familiar faces, "I still remember the time when you..."

I looked him in my eye and retorted calmly, "Two years is a long time."

And indeed it has been, with the clocking of one-year in full time, on top of the first year in part time, I believe that I have a much firmer grasp of the ropes in a classroom environment now - being able to see without looking, hearing words without focusing, and reading thoughts without asking; there is probably still much to learn, but at the same time, I have probably learnt much. Confident and in control, experience has taught me the basics of rapport, connection and communication.

And yet, some things don't change at all. The persistent mantra of: "9 to 4.30, I'm your Facilitator, after 4.30, we're friends," holds true to today even, and perhaps even more so, with the increased time spent with the students, and the greater involvement in their academic life. Talk becomes more casual, laughter flies all around, jokes dart in all directions, and the (ahem) occasional swear word comes to light, bringing to mind the second mantra of: "I'm simply here to impart my knowledge to you, not here to be your damn Role Model."

Re-visiting a question I had no simple answer for during my interview, I sordidly recall my stern interviewer's countenance when she asked, ""You look really young. Is respect important to you? How would you get your students to respect you?"

To be honest, I still haven't found the exact answer to this question, and I never might; but I probably never have to, as over the years, I think I've learnt to shift between the planes of a facilitator and a friend with ease, being able to transcend the planes in a split-second; and sometimes blending the two. Somehow, somewhat; I've learnt that respect doesn't necessarily come from knowledge or achievement, but sometimes, it is simply established with a tinge of connection.

A recent inside joke had me challenging my minions: "Wouldn't it be ironically funny if despite all the abuse and sarcasm I put you guys through, somehow I could still get an award this?"

Well... guess what happened?

- Welcome to Facilitator 2.0 -

The Malleability of Time

2011-03-22T14:47:00.002+08:00

The Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dali

Shuffling noises could still be heard through my semi-conscious state - some of feet, and perhaps running water. The light streaming in had me move a little right-ward, hoping to avoid the sun for just that little longer, knowing that my time was almost up; the final moments I had to catch a few more winks before the dreadful vibration would be felt in my pocket, telling me that: "It's time."

That was then, and that was when I was subjected to the hours of an OPC (off-peak car), which translates to having your car stationary from 7am to 7pm on weekdays. Being the semi-snob that I am and refusing to take the hour-long bus-ride and potentially letting my would-be students make inane jokes about my drooling state, I opted to go through a routine that required me to wake up at 5.30am everyday so that I can get to the carpark before 7am, with enough time to catch a few winks before my class at 9. Conversely, I had to tarry on after class till at least 7pm before I could start on my way home.

Case in point: The malleability of Time. In Salvador Dali's The Persistence of Time, Dali paints a surrealistic painting of melting clocks. While common interpretations have come to describe the meaning of the painting on the meaninglessness and relativity of Time, my first impression when I saw the painting was how "soft" and "flexible" time is to a person.

In the case of waking up early to make it to school before 7am is simply a matter of adjusting my body clock (and maybe a bit of the lifestyle) in exchange for saving a couple of hundred bucks a month, which on a more abstract level, comes down to re-shuffling the time schedules, allocating time meant for sleep to travelling instead, and then time meant for travelling to sleep.

A minute and common point in basic altering of one's lifestyle or rescheduling one's time perhaps, but the bigger point is how malleable can be. Ironically, time is so fixed - to the number of hours we each get a day - and yet so malleable, in which we can entirely decide how we want to spend it - use it to put in the hours in an office for a paycheck, dedicate it to honing a skill in music or sports (or games), letting it tick by in the comfort of a loved one, or simply just kill it by staring into space and letting it disappear in the void.

It is quite ironic really, when I see the youth of my students who are so desparate to find ways to kill their time, lamenting about their life and just finding ways to fast-forward it to grow up faster; and yet, as I grow older, I've grown a lot more cautious about how my time is spent, becoming increasingly particular about efficiency, and wishing I had more time in my hands, especially from that which I wasted in my youth.

In the end, Time is perhaps the only resource a person can be said to possess entirely, and one has the total freedom of how he or she would want to spend it - but the bigger dilemma is making the time count. Often, people forget just how malleable time is, allocating a "proper time" to certain things, like when it is to sleep, or to eat, or work, and are too willing to let their time and their life run on rails.

Especially true in the natural order when running too long in the rat race, where most are content to sink into a Work-Eat-Relax-Sleep routine for 5 out of 7 days of their lives, and often put everything else that can be done to a simple rhetorical question of "where to find the time?" And in the blink of an eye, days, months or even years pass by, with you wondering where all the time went and how your life passed by without you really knowing - probably lost in the the sea of consumerism and meaningless indulgence.

For me personally, I need the occasional all-nighter or meaningful vacation to remind myself just exactly how long a night is, or just how much can be done in the span of a day - to realign my perspective of Time. But more than that, I think it is important to find Meaning - first in Life, and then naturally in Time.

I always tell people that I will probably only live till 40 due to my vampiric lifestyle and bad habits. Part of it is in jest perhaps, and maybe part of it has a ring of truth; but the larger part of it is often to remind myself to make my days and years count. Perhaps with the constant scarcity looming overhead, I will be more cautious of how I want to spend my time, how to get the most out of it, drive me towards thinking a bit harder about realising what I want in life, and I want to achieve by the end of it - especially if it could be just 10 years or so away.

So, if you could only live till 40, how would you spend your Time?

.

The Myth of Sisyphus

2011-03-02T18:26:00.002+08:00

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a king punished for cheating the gods and escaping death. When he was eventually caught, he was being compelled to roll an immense boulder up a hill, bearing its full weight; and when it got to the top of the hill, the Sisyphus had to watch the rock roll back down the hill, and start the process all over - and this was to go on for all eternity.

The maddening nature of the punishment was reserved for Sisyphus due to his belief that his cleverness surpassed that of Zeus. As a result when Sisyphus was condemned to his punishment, Zeus displayed his own cleverness by binding Sisyphus to an eternity of frustration with the boulder rolling away from Sisyphus when he neared the top of the hill.

Metaphorically, the Myth of Sisyphus has been used to talk about many things - the ceaseless and endless toil of the Sisyphus as a parallel to the things that we do or work on on a daily basis - nothing more than rather meaningless and menial tasks that amount to nothing much at the end of our lives, leading to the greater points of the absurdity of life in general - the full knowledge of this meaninglessness, and yet the continual push to pursue it.

More than this though, the main question that occured to me in this tale are the thoughts and motivations that run through Sisyphus' mind each time he sees the boulder roll down the slope, as he pursues it, only to start the process again, knowing the full extent of where it is heading and how it is going to turn out...

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As the news came to me that I would be required to fill the nominal role and go outfield for this round's annual reservist, after a (too) good 10-year span, my mind ran amok as something in me just snapped, or perhaps, kick-started; a feeling of helpless and hopeless desperation, as my mind ran wild with every possible possibility I could conjure to escape this fate; constantly generating, analysing and dissecting each idea that popped into my head - a feeling that I hadn't felt for the longest time, perhaps as long as when I finally left the gloom of the army behind, and went on to lead a much happier life.

At the same time though, it seemed to have revive a certain kind of drive in me, one fuelled by aggression and determination, that runs on the mantra of "no matter the cost", in getting things done or getting my way in things. A sharp contrast to 10-years of relative comfort, and perhaps in retrospect, complacency - one that only comes from safety and comfort from a good life, one you don't fully realise how good it is until it is starkly juxtaposed against having to endure the grime, the dirt, the discomfort, the sweat, the heat, the hunger, the fatigue, or perhaps above all - as with Sisyphus, the meaninglessness of the entire task.

10 years is a long time, but not long enough to even come close to remotely forgetting how dreadful an outfield experience is, and how disruptive it is to life as I've come to know it. 10 years is a long time when it comes to trying to muster the mental and physical fortitude that one was able to conjure at will when one was required to flex it and just bite the bullet - perhaps too many teeth have dropped over the decade to make for a pretty weak bite these days. And yet, 10 years is a long time for someone to grow mentally and emotionally.

What was knee-jerk reaction to think like the Escapist that I was from many years back, slowly faded into a more calm spirit of Acceptance; one that only comes with a certain degree of maturity, I believe. It is not one that is made out of back-pressed-against-the-wall circumstances - as there were still some desperate measures that lingered at the back of my mind throughout the whole mental thought process that I contemplated till days before - but rather, one that was consciously made from weighing all the options and considering all the circumstances carefully; one that I can proudly say was not a selfish one, as perhaps, unlike those that were made when I was much younger; when the repercussions didn't matter, and the ends self-convincingly justified the means.

Someone once said that "God does not give you a burden more than you are able to bear", and in that light, I think that I've been shown mercy in this respect. The entire experience was eased in quite progressively, as the time spent outfield was approximately 24-hours on the first week, and doubling to 48-hours on the final mission - with an additional blessing of the exemption from some of the worst that I have mentally psyched myself up for, through some sort of mysterious benevolence and unique circumstances.

Upon reflection, though I still hate the outfield experience with every fibre in my being, I think suddenly being displaced and disrupted from life as one knows it does something to one's way of seeing things. An attained and validated sense of maturity comes to mind, but perhaps more importantly, is the revival of a certain drive and aggression that has been lost from me for the longest time, one perhaps I have a better channel for at this stage of life than I did in my youth. However, the underlying lesson from all of this is one of mind rather than matter.

As the French philosopher, Albert Camus argues, in the case of Sisyphus, acknowledging the truth will conquer it; Sisyphus, just like the absurd man, keeps pushing. Camus claims that when Sisyphus acknowledges the futility of his task and the certainty of his fate, he is freed to realize the absurdity of his situation and to reach a state of contented acceptance. Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well.

The bottomline: It is all a matter of Perspective. The very (absurd) act of contemplating and thereby fully acknowledging the meaningless or dreadful tasks presented to one, is probably the first step one must take towards eventually overcoming it, if not physically or circumstantially, then at least, mentally. With that, a state of Acceptance should naturally follow, and eventually, "all will be well".

Note:

Some parts of this post were taken from Wikipedia.org and http://www.nyu.edu/classes/keefer/hell/camus.html

Lights Brought the Future - Pieces of Japan Finale

2011-01-07T02:48:00.001+08:00

1st January 2010
Disneysea, Tokyo, Japan

Staring across the mass of water that lay before, into the array of lights at the other end, imagining the footsteps of the shuffling exiting crowd, my breathing slowed; a stark contrast to the extended exhilaration of the day.

From the thrills of freefall in the Tower of Terror, to the constant ringing of "Compass of my Heart", to the screaming descent of Journey to the Centre of the Earth, to the tinge of Curry Popcorn still ringing atop my tongue - we had probably covered the quintessential rides in Disneysea with maximum efficiency and had gotten the most bang for our Starlight-pass-buck, putting us in a more than apt position to cap off the amazing journey.

Disney is probably as close as to perfection that artificial beauty gets - the golden lights in the distance sparking amidst the dark winter sky, highlighting more than the silhouette of its Venice-inspired architecture; the Magical Kingdom's reach is far, sometimes even reaching into the inner chambers of one's soul, invoking a sense of almost subconscious reflection with its beauty.

I stood in place, in time, staring at the lights, thinking about the events of the day, and much beyond.

Atop the fort stood a man, peering out into the same direction, dressed in a surprisingly thin jacket for the cold winter night, the man stood still, admiring the sight that lay before him; even though it was mostly man-made lights, but queerly, amidst all that, the ill-equipped man failed to do the touristic act of whipping out a camera to capture the sight before him in eternity, while almost ironically, the shutter next to me was sounding non-stop. He stood there motionless, as if waiting for something, for someone - someone to meet up or catch up with him, just admiring the beauty.

Piqued with curiosity by his motionless gaze, I slowly crept up behind and beside him, hoping to gain his vantage point of the sights before. As I stood beside him, I subconsciously noticed that we were of rather similar height. After standing there for a few seconds, with nothing but silence between us, I couldn't help but do the instinctive but taboo act of turning to look at him.

In almost the same time, he turned and stared straight back at me, as our gazes met - when I noticed that his eyes looked exactly like mine, as my focus drew away from his eyes, I noticed that he looked just like me.

Shocked into silence, I stood there speechless and not knowing how to react.

"I know, I know," he said, with a voice that sounded exactly like mine, "I knew you would react this way. Your next question would be, 'who am I?' and knowing you, or me, the 'why' would naturally follow."

"In short," he continued, "my answer for you is.... Second Chances. And what better time for Second Chances than the turn of the New Year right?"

"Don't ask, just use your eyes to follow the lights of the buildings at the opposite end, c'mon!".

Still in semi-shock, my eyes followed the lights along the ups and downs of the rows of buildings, tracing their angular shapes further and further into the illuminated-horizon, as lights my eyes started to lose focus, blanking out into a blinding screen of white for a moment, before the warm-yellow tinge started to restore itself in my vision, as I tried hard to centre my vision of the row of lights that stood before me.

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Second Chance

Oddly, the lights yellow lights within my vision had mysteriously realigned themselves, and didn't take those angular shapes any longer, instead being neatly arranged into two neat rows.

I turned and looked around, and to my shock, I saw myself standing in the middle of an isolated street, dead quiet in the night save for the sound of some vehicles from a distance, surrounded by rustic traditional Japanese houses, as the gentle sound of flowing water trickled from a canal by my side.

Guessing from the architecture around me, I garnered that I was somehow still in Japan, but as my mind was about to make a logical guess on the exact location, I found that my index finger was used as a make-shift bookmark among the pages of a "Lonely Planet Japan" in my hand. Opening the book, I read the words:

Shirakawa Dori. Some claim it to be the most beautiful street in Asia, particularly during the Sakura Season. Looking around, I was entirely absorbed by the peace and tranquillity that surrounded me. My body hardly fatigued from the long hours of travelling via flight and bullet train, and all my initial apprehension of the initial thought of pack-and-jet subsided as I stood under the barren branches of approaching Spring.

It was February, and I was back in Japan again, except this time alone. And yet, while slightly disappointed by the lack of the company I had grown so fond and accustomed to, there was a different kind of emotion to the loneliness - one that left a lot of room for reflection, and soul-searching, especially amidst some of the most beautiful sights that the island had to offer.

Feet firmly planted on the ground, and giving it a good shuffle against the concrete pavement, the reality of the situation sank in, as the association with a Lone Wolf came into my mind - seeking, reflective and majestic.

Book in hand; I walked down the beautiful street, as the blinds got more blindingly bright the further I walked down, till I could no longer see what was in front of me...

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"Amazing, right?" a familiar voice rang through my head. "I know, this island does mysterious things to you, haha. Awe-inspiring sights, a little bit of pilgrimage, and a little bit of history; are just the perfect ingredients for a second chance, don't you think?"

"You feeling warm?" he asked me.

Still unable to answer, I shook my head at the obvious answer, my hand naturally clasping my jacket tighter to my body as I sensed the approach of a chilly wind. Puzzled at his question, I looked at him with bewilderment.

"Then why are you perspiring?" he asked me.

A sudden realisation of droplets rolling down my forehead dawned upon me, as I raised my hand to try to dab the beads of sweat off, but somehow, despite the cold winter's night, I just would not stop perspiring.

A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and into my blind, causing a temporary irritation, as I tried my best to blink it off, only to have the situation aggravated by the dry, cold wind that was blowing across my face.

Unable to stand it any longer, I moved my hands to my eyes and tried to rub them through my gloves. A sense of relief came over me as the edges of my knuckles met the corner of my eye, but that's when I realised that my gloves were off...

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Space

In fact, so was all my winter wear, and my entire top.

I was now in an all-too-familiar space, surrounded by the four walls that have literally held me in since childhood, but yet, something was amiss, the usual furniture was missing, and all that was left was my bed and my wardrobe, both covered with a glossy, wet, black sheen of paint, with me looking down at them.

I found myself atop a ladder, with a paintbrush in hand, with its tip dipped in a dark-grey shade of paint. I tried to raise my arms to move the paintbrush, but the soreness and aches of the muscles gave a biting realization of reality.

Not having slept for almost a continuous period of 18 hours, the clock struck 7.30am as my arms continued to move up and down along the wall, while my mind yearned for something a lot less torturous and monotonous.

"Almost there, almost there. I just got to finish this for once and for all," the voices in my head willing my body to go on. Putting the final touches to the wall, I laid the instruments down and headed for a much-needed shower, one that signified the end of 3 weeks of hard, manual labour; I task I had yearned to do for over 10 years, and hope not to do for another 20 if possible.

But as I re-entered the refreshingly monochrome space after my much needed bathe, I stood at the doorstep, looking in and nodding to myself, seeing that it was good,; and more importantly, a space I was proud to call my own.

I laid down on my bed, with my hair still wet, my body automatically shutting down as I fell into a deep sleep, feeling my senses shutting down one at a time, when the last thing that I felt was a drop of water, slowly rolling down my forehead and onto my eyelids, my hand subconsciously raised to wipe it away...

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When my eyes open, blinding golden light was shining through all again. I was starting to get the idea of what this was all about, as I couldn't help by give a sly smile, upon knowing.

He knew that I had reached my realisation, and gave me a cheekier smile back - one that reminded me of when times and life was a tad simpler.

From the Fort, I looked down, and saw her, probably still oblivious to the fact that I was missing, finger still trigger-happy on the shutter, as the little Minnie Mouse ears atop her head dangled with each clumsy movement she made to get a better angle.

I looked at him, and slowly broke out into my sly smile...

"Oh, you want to know about that..." he said, hesitating briefly. "Yeah sure, why not?" he said, after 2 seconds of thought. "I can tell you though, the word is: Patience."

"Popcorn?" he said, stretching out a long box of popcorn at me.

With the tempting taste of Curry-flavoured Popcorn still etched in my mind, I reached into the box, but couldn't feel anything. Puzzled, I dug my hand a bit deeper in but still to no avail, when I lowered my head to peer into the darkness of the box, seeing something at the corner of the box, as I reached my fingers in to grab it....

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Patience

Feeling something solid between my fingertips, I inched it out of the box, only to find that a familiar golden brown French fry was in my grasp instead.

Chatter from all angles filled my auditory senses, as I picked up the familiar words of "Module, grades, and lectures". I looked around, to see myself surrounded by young faces, none of which looked familiar, while some of them stared back at me with a slight sense of wonder, as I stood out like a sore thumb amongst them in my chic office attire.

I was back at my Alma Mater, with my laptop on in front of me - fries in one hand and my other on the mouse in front of me, as trees on screen moved towards me against a black background. Dragging and Dropping, bugging and debugging, while my other hand continued to circulate the fries to my mouth.

My phone rang as I answered it, hearing her familiar voice on the other end. "I'm done, Vampy!" she said semi-excited.

"Ok," I responded, as I finished up and packed my stuff, heart full of anticipation as I walked down the stairs, ready to see her countenance again after nearly a week. Dance had come into her life in full swing, adding to an honours year of oddly-timed modules; our weekend schedule had been dramatically affected and compromised over the months.

As I walked towards her at the bus stop, I was all-smiles, having learnt to fully accommodate to the changes and learn to make the best of the time together, as I knew that we had probably entered a different phase of the relationship, one that was less wilful, and more assured; one that could was durable enough and yet malleable enough to withstand changes to lifestyle, and eventually life.

"Where do you want to go darling?" I asked her, as I reached out for her hand.

She responded with an answer and a shrug, reminding me of her rule of not showing ANY affection within campus.

Stupid perhaps, but I took little heart to it, as she walked on in front of me, her image getting blurrier and blurrier and she continued to step forward while I had seemingly become more stationary....

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"Yup, all's gonna go well in that aspect, man. Don't worry about it," he said, as I looked down at her still scurrying about, but suddenly turning around, and looking a bit lost.

"I probably need to go soon," I said to him, "but just one more thing that I really need to know."

"You mean about THAT thought?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

"That's gonna be huge, you know.... but yeah, why not right?" he said, almost nonchalantly.

"Close your eyes, and reach out your hand," he told me.

Not questioning anymore, I did as I was told...

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Change

A cold metal surface touched my palm, as I grasped it within, feeling the familiar shape and texture of a metal door handle, and a white door that stood before me.

Somewhat forcefully, I pressed down on the door handle and stepped through the door, into an empty room and stood in the silence. But gradually, that silence was broken, as I heard a familiar voice uttering the words "Good Morning" and other familiar voices faintly in the background. The voices grew louder and louder, and more audible, but just before they were audible enough to decipher who they belonged to, they disappeared and silence filled the room again, where a mysterious white door just like the one before had appeared at the other end of the room.

Stepping towards it, I did the same thing again, and stepped through the next door, into the next room, and stood in the silence. Again, I heard the same words, and I heard the increase in volume, only this time the increase in volume seemed to be amplified. But still, before I could make out the identity of the people speaking, it stopped, and another door appear.

I did the same, and went to another room, where the same events occurred again. After going through the same thing for about 20 times or so, one room at a time, over and over again; I was finally able to make out the owner of those mysterious voices - they were the voices of some of the students.

The moment I had this figured out, another door appeared, but this time a golden one. As I opened the door that led to another room, a pot of gold and a mirror awaited me at the other end of the room. I first approached the pot of gold, which was hardly full, and went on to pick up a few gold coins from the pot. Realizing the authenticity of the gold, I grew excited and wanted pour all the gold out to count the number of coins.

Pouring them out onto the floor, I started counting them, and when I had tallied the final amount, I reached for the pot of gold to put the coins back in, when I realised that the pot was filled with gold coins again, roughly the same weight as before. I poured out the coins to start counting them again, and I realised that the coins were exactly as before. But while this never-ending pot of gold was strange, the even stranger thing was that I couldn't put any gold coins back.

Believing the mirror to be equally enchanted, I approached it cautiously, my mind wondering about the possible enchantments within. But as I stood in front of it, it seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary mirror. Making gestures in front of it just to make sure, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. But as I stopped to look at it for a while, I realised that the reflection within had taken on its own will, its own soul; doing as it pleases. But when I rose to perform an action again, it followed suit. A strange object indeed.

A little label was attached to the handle of the mirror, in which read the words: "Choose."

I placed the two objects on the floor, knowing fully well what each of them meant to the decision that I had to make soon, and after much contemplation, I reached out my hand to pick up the pot of gold. Stepping through the door that I came in from, and the 20 before that...

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"So, that's going to be your choice?" he said to me as I found myself back at the top of the Fort.

"I think so," I said, "I think it's time for a change; for a little bit more stability in my life you know, after the last couple of years."

Through a smile that hid a tinge of sadness, he said to me, "I guess you're ready for that. It's never going to be like it used to anymore you know? You're going to have to.... grow up... I guess..."

I paused for a moment, before I tapped him on the shoulder and said, "I know", assuringly.

"Then I guess you're all set for the New Year then?" he said, rhetorically.

"Yup, I guess this is where we have to part ways," I told him.

"Yeah, it's been one helluva ride," he said, with a forced chuckle. "One last question though."

"What?" I asked.

"Can I use your camera?" he asked. "You know I've always been dying to grab a photo with THAT camera for the longest time now, right?"

"Haha, I know." I said, as I tossed him the camera.

I slipped back down the Fort and behind her, only to find that she was not playing with her camera anymore, but instead, just staring out into the lights across the mass of water that lay before us. And I could only what the lights led her to see in her year ahead....

Pieces of Japan: Day 11 - No Man is an Island

2010-12-16T01:49:00.004+08:00

29th December 2009

Matsushima Bay, Tohoku, Japan

The famous saying goes that "No man is an Island", supposedly hinting at how desolate a man if left in a state of isolation; and yet, as I peered out into the sea and saw a spread of beautiful little islands that sprinkled the glistering blue waters, I couldn't help but find a little irony in it all.

Hailed as one of the "Three Sights of Japan"(日本三景 Nihon Sankei), as recognized by the poet Hayashi Razen in the 1600s based on his travels throughout Japan, short-listing breath-taking views across the land and arriving at the most awe-inspiring three, Matsushima Bay lives up well to its legacy and reputation, with a breath-taking 260 islands scattered over the span of the bay (also famous for her flavourful oysters).

Mostly comprising of coniferous pines which dressed the little islands in shades of light green that provided a pleasing visual complement to the sparkling blue waters, the sunny setting provided a sharp contrast to the rainy climb up Yamadera and the harsh snows of the Hokkaido region that we had just experienced a mere days before. In fact, the sunny weather reminded us a bit of our tropical home, as Winter seemed like nothing more than a tinge at the back of our minds, as we stood at the rear of the Cruise Boat staring up into the clear blue sky, with the wind in our hair.

Squint Hard and the Monk might Stare back at You

Cruises on different routes are readily available hourly at Matsushima Bay, as we settled for 50-minute one (after some convincing, on my part) that made a short round around the bay, highlighting most of her essential sights. Almost each and every island had a name, mostly historically-named based on their resemblance to certain people or objects. The most famous of which are Niōjima, which was named for resembling the head-shape of an old monk (squint hard at the photo and you'll notice), and Senganjima, Masamune Date's favourite island, which he joked about bringing back to his palace to his men while coasting the bay.

Seagulls followed the wake of the boat tirelessly, as they were probably conditioned to understand that a moving boat equates to a free meal, as the locals and tourists alike bought packets of prawn crackers and threw them skyward, only to be quickly swooped up by the agility of the following gulls. The flock of white slowly turned to brown, as the ratio between hawks and seagulls inversed as we moved further and further out to sea, eventually evolving into a cloud of brown with specks of white, before reverting to its original form as we returned to shallow waters.

And yet, the double irony of it all is thatthe admiration of the beauty and that each of these lonesome little islands provided when standing proudly on their amidst the wavering sea-waves, my inner reflections were more akin towards the beauty of their unity, patterns and spreads, reminding me on a conscious level, of the appreciation I had for the company more than surrounded me moreso than the beauty of isolation.

Creeping up on a Sleeping Duck, exactly what I mean

Through the last 11 days, though we've shared our ups and downs, our blames and shames; braved panic attacks, emotional mood swings, constant weariness and the freezing cold; more than that, we had built many more unforgettable memories together, and while there is a joy to be had in travelling alone (which I was to validate in the months ahead), some things are simply better shared, and some experiences were amplified simply due to the presence of another - regardless of how distracted she could sometimes be, lost in her own world taking her photos, and just wandering off randomly. But more than that, the squeals of delight and the constant sense of wonder and amazement, or sometimes, just simply the knowing of her presence, definitely added much to the experience of travelling.

A long red bridge stood before us, sharply contrasting the clear blue waters that lay underneath. A splash of green lay at the other end, beckoning to us with its oriental bonsai-like shapes and luscious green leaves. Leading to Fukuura Island, one of the few islands in Matsushima that is open to the public, the local myth is that crossing the bridge with a partner in tow will eventually lead to a breakup. Fortunately, we were not local, hardly superstitious (at least not me), but most important, very much igonrant of this fact until very much later.

A fan of bridges, she was more excited about being on and crossing the bridge than anything else. I, on the other hand - while enjoying the salty sea-breeze in my hair, and the change in pace of the foot-bound pilgrimage, as compared to our ship-lead expedition earlier -was my usual forward-looking self and sought the treasures that awaited us on the other end of the bridge.

And true enough, the memorial-treasures that awaited us on the other end were abundant enough for our long journey and much beyond that. Walking quietly around the island, sometimes off the beaten path, bathed in the golden sunlight seeping through the rustling tree leaves, the temperate flora and fauna created an impression of land and water unlike any of the typical coconut-laden beaches we had back home, and the sheer peace of the entire scene gave the impression that the island was made nicely just for two.

Sand and water still comprised the primary elements, but with drops of bright luscious green never too far away, and the unique oriental shapes of the darker green trees that presented themselves into the distance - as the islands got nearer and nearer to the horizon, silhouetted against the sun - they created an impression of a wholly different waterside aesthetic.

I walked to the edge of the viewing platform, tired from mapping and identifying the islands that stood in front of me based on the given map-like images; shelving extraneous knowledge aside simply to admire the Zen-like view of greens and blue, a perfect composition of trees, the sand, the waters and the sky singing in perfect visual harmony before my very eyes. Awe-struck and breath-taken, but hardly exaggerated or expressed; but rather, a simple and quiet type of awe that resonated deep within me as I looked on at nothing, and yet everything, clearing my mind and soothing my soul.

Rays of gold fell onto her soft, round face, as I took a moment off the sunset to look at her, with the usual child-like wonder in her eyes; smiling secretly to myself as I felt a sense of thankfulness amidst the entire setting. Reaching out for her hand, we sat there in silence, watching the golden setting sun slowly creep downwards, behind the silhouette of trees and islands that lay in the horizon, below eventually disappearing below it.

Matsushima Bay is said to have 4 different definite views to view the bay from, each supposedly providing a different perspective and aesthetic on the bay. I saw none of them, and yet, I didn't need either to justify or validate the beauty of the visual and mental photograph that I had just taken; an image that would rather surely be etched deeply in the recesses of my memory for a long, long time to come.

As we walked hand-in-hand, back across the bridge and under the pinkish hue of the dusk sky, I turned to look at her through the silence, and saw a silhouette of her face looking back at me, hardly being able to decipher her features within the silhouette, but enough to see warmness of a gentle heart smile smiling back at me. And through the silence, words rang out to me; words of wisdom, an age-old saying, indeed : "No Man is an Island".

Pieces of Japan: Day 10 - Crying Zen

2010-11-28T23:30:00.001+08:00

28th December 2009

Yamadera, Yamagata, Japan

The thudding sound of the footsteps through the snow-covered concrete came to a stunning halt, as I stopped short in my tracks. Silence filled the air, save for the sound of a singing winter-bird, singing her lonesome song that added much to the ambience.

Breath-taken and in awe, I stared out at the sight that lay before me. An implicit V-shaped formed by the green canopy of the coniferous trees on the left, and the cliff face of the mountain on the right, while a little red hut standing atop the cliff added a sharp colour contrast to the entire scene, as layers and layers of snow-covered mountains stretched out beyond and into the horizon through the visual-valley between.

I have always liked mountain-top views, but this was nothing less than a perfect sight of Zen; a view befitting on of the famous mountain-temples in Japan.

Slice of Zen on the Mountain Top

In fact, the name "Yamadera" itself simply translates directly to "Mountain Temple", probably hinting at its iconic status in the region. An age-old Buddhist temple, Yamadera was built atop and into a mountain, with the temple compound starting at the base of the mountain and stretching all the way to the top - with a view to die for, and a whole lot of Zen to gain - separated by an arduous 1,015 stone steps. It is said that the view that awaits at the end of these 1,015 steps at Godai-dou will make climbers forget about their weary feet, a visual-Nirvana I was determined to verify, as I looked up at the pavilion and knew that I only had a fraction of the ascension left to complete before I attained.

Upper Temple - The Holy Air Up There

There was just one thing left to do before making my final ascent to the peak, and that was to look for my travelling companion, however un-apt the word was for the day thus far. Visually combing the area that lay around me, I finally found her at the opposite end of a winding snow-covered walkway across me, as I saw her walking slowly in my direction.

Winding Pathway of Death

The ascension had been a torturous one, partially physically - as I willed my feet to go on, one step at a time, watching the scenery around change from a quiet little temple at the bottom, to a quiet snow-covered path through the trees sprinkled with sacred temple monuments and statues, before arriving at the upper temple area, with the structures built into and atop the mountain, with views that would bring a Zen-tear to one's eye.

Yet, the physical toll was the least of my worries, as silence fell between us through the climb, oftentimes with her walking a good distance ahead, and me deliberately slowing down and to keep a sizeable distance between us, but still being able to keep an eye on her.

It was one of those tantrum-days, perhaps where traveller's-fatigue had already set in, and she was at best, non-conversational, and at worst, angry. They say that travelling together is potentially hazardous to a relationship, as arguments are bound to surface, and I guess I could see why.

As she made her way across the winding path towards me one step at a time, her body language indicated something was wrong, as I noticed that her steps were getting increasingly careful, and her arms were spreading out more. I stepped out onto the winding path towards her, hoping to meet her halfway, when I sensed that there was very little traction between my shoes and the snowy path, that almost had an icy-finish atop it.

As I approached her and entered within the radius of her reach, she fell into my arms, body shivering as tears rolled down her face; tears of fear and tears of foolishness - tears that were a result of the fear felt from her imagining herself slipping off the icy path and down the mountain side, perhaps tumbling to her doom. She's always had a more than vivid child-like imagination, and while I was holding her tight and comforting her, at the same time, I was secretly glad that that very same imagination broke the icy silence that fell between us for the last 2 hours of so.

They also say that travelling can help to bring 2 people closer together and strengthen a relationship; and perhaps in this almost-typical scenario of emotional support and dependency, I could see why. I took her hand, as we walked slowly across the icy path to the base of the wooden pavilion; readying ourselves to scale the final flights of wooden steps to the view that awaited us on top.

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Soba in the Little Town Below

Best.Soba.Ever.

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Sendai: Starlight Pageant

Piece of Japan: Day 9 - Time in a Coffee Cup

2010-11-11T00:22:00.002+08:00

27th December 2009

Sapporo, Hokkaido, Japan

I looked down into the darkness within the uniquely-shaped Coffee Cup, swirling it gently while gripping it by its handle, and watching the chocolate drink within ripple with my gentle movements.

I raised the cup to my lips to sip the rich, chocolate drink within; bringing a sense of warmth physically and emotionally, as I imagined the endorphins within my mind to be released as an after-effect of the consumption of all things chocolate.

I placed the cup down slowly on the table - hearing the soft clattering against the saucer resonate through the foreign-chatter that surrounded us, save for a table not too far off with an accent too familiar for comfort.

I remained silent, peering out of the window at a large field of white snow, stretching to a range of snow-capped mountains not too far off into the distance. Snow fell gently down, as with the few days before, but that made the cosiness of the indoor cafe all-the-more inviting.

She was fiddling with her camera as usual at the corner of my eye, as I continued to peer out into the distance, reminiscing before I had even left.

Sapporo had been kind to us, with her navigate-able grid-like layout, comprehensible transport system and a good amount of English-speaking people all round; the population of one-million to her city size was definitely comfortable without being crowded; especially compared to the Tokyo that we had just came from before that.

The day had been left deliberately free-and-easy for us to explore the city at our own leisurely pace, based on some of the sort-listed locations that we had marked out - allowing us to adjust our schedule ad-hoc-ly to our liking; a sheer pleasure that something more restrictive like a tour package would probably not had been able to provide us.

This freedom landed us in a cafe on the higher floors of the rustic Ishiya Chocolate Factory, sitting by the window panes peering out into the winter landscape if for no other reason than it being cosy, and possibly romantic (if only she would have stopped fiddling around with the flash, hah).

With its rich trademark taste deeply-infused in the signature and somewhat pricey Chocolate Drink, its namesake was well lived up to and proved to be the perfect companion for a cold, winter afternoon. One that was sandwiched within a day well-spent hopping about town searching for the famed Ramen Yokocho, a small-street cramped with 16 or so different ramen stores, for the necessary Hokkaido Ramen fix; and one that would take us to much greater heights atop Mount Moiwa for a breath-taking night view of the city and beyond, with lights that would stretch on for miles into the sea, outlining the unique and rather angular shape of beautiful island of Hokkaido.

Of course, she hardly knew what was in store for her later that evening, as she continued to fiddle with her camera frivolously; unaware of the height that had to be scaled via an odd, snow-tracked bus-like vehicle, and the overwhelming fear of heights that would set in as she approached the ledge to peer out into the distance of the night view.

But that was for later... for now 0 a smile lit upon her face as she brought the cup down from her lips, eyes-widening at the rich taste, and perhaps also from the cosiness of the entire experience.

The clock tower outside of window bustled with activity, as toy soldiers, bears and all manner of cuddly-types made their hourly parade, ushering in the new hour... and the sunset at four - an adjustment that I still hadn't been able to really wrap my head around after so many days in the country.

Everything was two hours faster in Japan, ten felt like noon, sunset was at four, and eight in the evening resonated with the deadness of a typical 10pm vibe. But it always revealed that time was often a matter of perception, and existed in the minds of people more than anything else.

As I brought my coffee cup to my lips and took the time to take another sip of that heavenly taste, I was just glad that I had made time - and it was entirely in my hands for that day.

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Ramen Yokocho: 16-in-1

16 shops through that 1 Tiny Street

The Chef...

...And His Work

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Ishiya Chocolate Factory: Like Disneyland, but Edible

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Mt. Moiwa: The Colour and the Shape

Lights shaped the Island

Not picture: Tears in her Eyes

Peering into the Past

The Death of Verse and Prose

2010-10-28T00:43:00.001+08:00

Verse is dead and our grasp of Prose as we know it is probably slipping through our fingers at a rapidly-accelerating rate.

With the introduction of the sms-language, L33T speak, and fuelled by the mother-of-all-literary-evils, Twitter, the place for Verse and Prose grows increasingly sparse in our everyday lives. A hyperbole perhaps, but even in the best case scenario, Verse might not be dead, but probably still dying a a cancerous death, and Prose is undergoing a vile mutation; mutating into something almost undistinguishable from what it used to be prior to the Internet-generation.

My opinion is that the underlying problem very much lies in the general lack of patience in the youths of today. Spoilt by the instant gratification of regular status updates through Facebook or Twitter - in this case, Twitter being the bigger sinner of the two, simply due to the 160 character limit that forces liberties to be taken with the language - the thought of sitting down to read something remotely close to being labelled as "properly written" becomes more and more remote; bringing to light the bigger point of the mind-set that the very act of "reading", as in actually reading as opposed to browsing or skimming through, feels more and more deterring to seeds of the future.

More and more bloggers have abandoned ship over the last few months or years, and jumped on the "Instant Update" bandwagon, especially to those who used to blog as a means to updating their friends and keeping them in the loop. After all, why bother to blog an entire paragraph, one day at a time, reporting on your lunch, dinner and mood of the day, when you can now bombard your friends with the same information as and when it happens, right?

But perhaps the bottom-line is, they might have been missing the point all this while anyway. I mean, yes, the blog is a means to the end of informing your friends about your life, and keeping them in the loop and all, but more so than reporting your daily activities, a blog could (and probably should) be something beyond a blow-by-blow account of your battles with your bowl of Bak Chor Mee. It is a soapbox, an expression if you will, of oneself - involving one's thoughts and opinions.

A place for your friends, people who not only care about what you do, but also about what you think, to hear from and in the process, better understand you. To quote Descartes as and when I have the chance to, simply to make myself look more intellectual, "[we] think therefore [we are]", and a blog can be an avenue for people to know your inner workings, beyond your outer engagements; but in the best case scenario, to show a keen interest in both.

Whatever the case however, whether there will be a sudden realisation of the time and place for Verse and Prose following the maturity of the Internet-generation - the need to keep our literary skills honed and in a larger sense, to continued to be worthy of the term of being classified as "literate", amidst all the abbrevations, emoticons, shorthands and whatnot - still remains very much up in the air (though the cynic in me has a bag-and-a-half full of reservations).

In the meantime, for an old soul like myself, who still believes in the "olden tongue", I can only continue to write my "walls of text" as the rest of the generation passes me by. Oh, and just for the record, I still don't have a Twitter account.

Pieces of Japan: Day 8 - Rush

2010-10-08T01:56:00.001+08:00

26th December 2009
Niseko, Hokkaido, Japan

The additional weight anchored on one of my feet was still something that I had hardly gotten used to. With the increased elevation, the pull of gravity grew more literal as the weight attached to the foot felt heavier and heavier.

Looking down, a scene of snow-covered pines flanked the lift from both ends. Not taking more of nature than necessary, the ski-lift was built through the centre of the pine-filled slope. In a distance, skillful skiers and boarders were sliding and slaloming down the steep slope, performing perfect turns and drawing perfect curves along the snow-filled slopes.

Hardly being able to speaking the same vocabulary as those who made it look so easy and graceful, at the very least, the mastery that I had gained over the course of the day had allowed me to draw a bond with them on the level of the understanding of the rush - the adrenaline that came with the wind blowing at and through you; the fresh, white powder parting under one's feet from the speed and pressure of the board; the level of mental awareness required for that perfect balancing point to stay upright; and the satisfaction of conquering Nature's challenge through coordination and control of the human body - regardless of how relatively shallow the challenge was considering my level of mastery, or lack thereof.

Looking up, it was just starting to snow again, as specks of snow slowly descended upon those who were making their ascent, firmly mounted onto the chairs and biding their time to make it to the top, prepping for the rush. Perhaps adding to the climax of the burst of adrenaline through the pacing of the quiet ride up, the madness that was the ride down was tended to be a moment in itself.

Placing my fingers on my ribs, the painful sting still ran through my body upon the placing of pressure due to the debacle that had ensued earlier in the day...

Trying to board the same 2-seat ski-lift is a bad idea for first-time snowboarders, period. Requiring you to take an awkward sideways position when the lift came up from behind you, we thought that taking the same lift up would be an interesting and potentially romantic experience, in a rather remote sense.

The lift came up from behind us as we tried to find what we thought would be a good position to try to sit down on it. Perhaps it was the anxiety of trying to plant our butts firmly on a moving target - but more likely due to our inherent rawness to the entire scenario - in the chaos of the moment, I remember seeing her tripping over herself and falling to the ground, as I let out a huge gasp and my body locked up, unable to decide on trying to help her up or not.

The ski-lift swept me from behind my knees, toppling my unstable, sidewards-facing body over, as I felt myself trip over myself and moving increasingly fast towards the ground, my descent was rudely interrupted with a huge impact on my rib-area, from what felt like the side rail of the ski-lift chair. I vaguely remember snow bouncing off my face and sensing something passing by overhead.

When I opened my eyes, the ski-lift had stopped as I lay there motionless for a few seconds, as I tried to get back on my feet. Those seconds felt like a few hours' worth of humiliation, from receiving the collective stares of bemusement and shock from the snaking crowd that had formed behind us.

That particular first-ride up felt especially long, as a lingering sense of being pointed at by the people riding behind us marked the silence between us; extremely sensitive to any laughter heard believed to be at our expense - and it sure didn't help that I could hardly understand a single word they were saying.. Physically-wounded definitely; but more so psychologically, through the bruising of the ego.

The lift was approaching the end as I lowered my feet, prepping to slide off the lift as previously instructed. The board met the smooth surface of the little snowy hump, as I tried to find my balancing point. A mere number of meters away from the slope, and I was already on my butt - something I just couldn't get right no matter how many times I tried, the whole getting-off-the-lift thing.

But as I sat there and strapped up, that slowly faded into the recesses of my consciousness, overtaken by the familiar feeling of adrenaline rising from the anticipation of the imminent rush that was about to ensue.

It was the last run, and I was determined to make it a perfect run...

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Niseko By Night: Snowblind

A Quiet Walk by Night

Grand Hirafu by Night

Walking through the Storm

Warm Lights of Home

BLU @ Shangri-La Hotel: 3rd Year Anniversary - The Experience

2010-09-23T01:27:00.002+08:00

14th September 2010

"Any champagne to start the night, sir?" The waitress asked promptly, after we were firmly rested in our comfortable red seats.

"Two glasses, please," I replied, without batting an eyelid; and more detrimentally, without the slightest clue about the price.

Indeed, the mood of the night was set with that exemplary opening gesture - a night or pure indulgence and bliss, on a sensory and, more significantly, emotional level - as I reached out for her hand.

It all felt so natural by now - and it should afterall; considering that it has been exactly three years since I placed her hand firmly in mine, remembering the caption and the phrase of "holding happiness", from our initial and discreet hand-holding moment immortalized on film.

"Are you ready to order, sir?" The waitress asked politely, as I rested the base of the long champagne glass on the white table cloth, the bitter aftertaste that tore through the sweetness still lingering in my mouth - a delightful sensation.

"We'll have 'The Experience Menu", I told the waitress.

"The Experience Menu" - a more than apt word to sum up the dining encounter we had at the Shangri-La as we marked our landmark celebration.

I've always believed dining to be an art in itself, and more importantly and more essentially, an 'experience' (for the lack of a more suitable word). "The Experience Menu" at the Shangri-La not only reinforces, but utterly validates my point.

Led by Chef Kevin Cherkas, with footprints imprinted on some of the globe's Michelin's Restaurant, his creativity and culinary abilities shone through as we were introduced to the concept of "progressive dining"; which was not only a feast for the stomach, but also one for the eyes and the mind, as we left the restaurant in full appreciation of not only his skills, but also his creative talent and hospitality.

"Foie gras is a must, lobster, beef and if possible, oysters." I recited to the waitress, as she noted my preferences down.

"The Experience Menu" at BLU is a special menu where patrons are asked for specific food preferences, allergies and the like; which is then reported to the chef, who will set customise a menu for the patron based on the patron's preferences, and maybe, a little bit based on the chef's mood on that day. Akin to a degustation menu, except that it is a two-way deal between chef and patron rather than a one-sided affair.

For us, even though the menu was recited to us, the names themselves were inventive and at the same time abstract, sometimes being a little bit difficult to visualize, leaving plenty of room for the chef to surprise us, and indeed, he did with one dish after another.

Looking out of the tall glass window over a quiet stretch that would eventually meander to the much busier Orchard Road, she spoke of how it reminded her of Otaru, or in general, Japan... again. Some things in life probably leave a deep imprint on one's soul, and travelling on a magical getaway is probably one that still thugs at her heartstrings ever so often. Nostalgia is sweet in itself, but perhaps more so for me than her, the memory of sharing special travelling moments with a loved one is more than the icing on the cake, it is the very essence of the Experience; one that can only be fostered over a period of a compromise between a passionate love and a comfortable trust built over a course of time.

Mushroom Bubble

A spoon with an odd-looking bubble-shaped object was placed in front of us, as we were instructed on how to consume it. Placing it on my tongue, I applied pressure from the top of my mouth onto the bubble, causing it to burst and releasing a potpourri of flavours, dominated by those of mushroom and an after-tinge of cranberry sauce.

Analogous to drinking of the potion in Alice in Wonderland, this little bubble only served as our entry point to the more fascinating things to come further down the rabbit hole.

Lobster "Thermidor"

Washing up onto the shores of our journey-towards-gourment-excellence next was the Lobster "Thermidor." A rich dish that served the most succulent bits of the Lobster coupled with a rich lobster-based broth that had roe floating on the surface, pieces that I almost missed completely in my blindness and negligence. The combination of the succulent meat with the mixture of the rich and thick lobster broth brought back memories and inevitable comparisons of the lobsters I had in Boston.

Memories of a time of difficulty and a time of need, as I remember the lazy Sunday afternoons that I would be sitting in front of the laptop in my dorm room, literally reaching out to touch the face I saw on the monitor in hope of getting just that little bit closer to her, despite knowing an inch wouldn't make a difference to the miles apart, but still did so regardless.

Stealing more than a Glance

That familiar smell, that beckoning texture; stood right before our eyes, as I uncontrollably used the knife to spread over the top of the slab, just to attest its texture and its firmness. Expectations rose by the millisecond as I dug my knife gently into it, watching it crumble softly, as I raised it to my mouth and pressed my lips tightly closed after putting it in my mouth.

Typical of those of the higher grades, the piece melted slowly in my mouth, emitting an assortment of flavours within my mouth; a tinge of saltiness, the familiar taste and an additional spruce of nuttiness thrown in for good measure, Foiegras@fruits.com (yes, the official name of the dish) quickly rocketed to the top of both our Foie Gras favourites list, sitting very closely to that of Le Saint Julien's, and playing hosts to a whole deluge of memories.

Foiegras@fruits.com (no, you can't click that)

Memories of the different times we shared Foie Gras. Perhaps a mark of luxury and celebration on our part, most major celebrations in our history is somehow always graced with a platter of Foie Gras at the table; and through these different occasions, I think it is safe to say that we have jointly established it as our favourite couple-dish. Mainly because of the taste, but partially for the memories, the numerous candlelights and romantic-slow-burn dinners we've had over the major occasions in the last 3 years closely associated to the taste of the dish.... the smiles, the tears; the birthdays and the kisses.

The Egg Came First, or so states Chef Kevin's witty answer to the age-old question. My retort: it doesn't matter which came first when the egg tastes THIS good. Cutting down the middle to allow for the yolk to soak in and through the thick onion broth, the combination of the inherent sweetness and saltiness from the egg combined with the sting of the onion in its broth was only made more heavenly with the sprinkle of bread crumbs that littered the top of the dish.

The Egg Came First

A refreshing refresher of grape yogurt and soda-infused grape later, our main courses were served. A fresh snapper with vanilla-scented paella for the Lady, simply entitled "Catch", and the manly Wagyu Beef Mustard for the Gentleman.

"Catch"

Well-coloured and even more well garnished, with the brown sauce taking the shape of a perfect diamond, the Wagyu Beef Mustard melted slowly in my mouth, rivalling the texture of the Kobe Beef that I had savoured in Japan a good while back, before the sting of the mustard kicked in to give the meat a sensational after-taste. Passing her a piece, I saw a similar reaction in her eyes as she savoured the meat through the consumption process.

Wagyu Beef Mustard - A Perfect Diamond

My personal belief is that a good relationship changes a person, ideally for the better; as we work towards the notion of becoming more "complete" through our partners. It wasn't too long ago at Morton's that I instigated and tempted her to break her abstinence from beef, never to look back. And while this is highly debateable on whether it is a change for the better or not (in my books, more than definitely), over the months and the years, I can safely say that we've both changed one another.

No more is she the wide-eyed gal with an infinite sense of wonderment, but blossoming into a butterfly of confidence and an opinion to back it up; and no more am I the impatient, self-centred jerk that I used to be, but blossoming into an impatient, and slightly less self-centred jerk now upgraded with enough room for two in my mind, trying my best to consider her thoughts and her feelings along the way alot more (ok, maybe I didn't change THAT much).

"It was still swimming yesterday, so that's super, super, super, SUPER fresh," he said, pointing to the fish. "Not that it makes it any more appetizing, but it makes it a lot healthier."

A rarity to see the chef outside the kitchen, but yet Chef Kevin made it a point to make personal trips out of the kitchen over the course of the night to play host and explain his creations to the patrons in the small, cosy 40-to-50-seater lined with a traditional, but nonetheless, elegant decor of velvety reds and soft-wooden browns.

The candlelight continued flickering as her unsteady hand tried to capture a shot of our dessert. The Egg proved to be a highly innovative dessert, shaped convincingly like an egg, but tasting nothing like one - but instead, with a mango centre, and coconut white and finished with passion fruit sorbet at the bottom, the combination of flavours was fruity and refreshing, and served as an excellent finish (almost) to our "experience".

Candlelight is perhaps another one of the totems of our relationships, simply because the abundance of candles in the places we've graced, and when you have a predominant-couple-activity of (fine) dining, it is not hard to find the association.

More symbolically, and perhaps more exaggeratingly though, is that this love has indeed proven to be my Light-in-the-dark cliche. But as much as I hate to conform to such, the truth is that, no matter how frivolous and non-committal we wanted to establish it to be at the start, at many a time of darkness and gloom cast upon my career over the last three years, the romantic candle has often remained my source of strength, simply by the virtue of it's presence beside me, and perhaps to much (of her) chagrin, the listening ear to my neverending moping and the little haven for my perpetual brooding.

Customarily, I wrapped up the bill and passed it to her after paying for the dinner, as she picked up the hand-written menu based on our "Experience".

And as we walked out of the doors of the restaurant with happy bellies, I knew deep in my heart, that there was more to the night than that. More so than a Celebration of a Milestone, a Celebration of a Record, a Celebration of History, a Celebration of the Future, a Celebration of Memories, or a Celebration of Love - it was a Celebration of an Experience.

ex·pe·ri·ence (k-spîr-ns)

c. the totality of a person's perceptions, feelings, and memories

Dark Metamorphosis: Stage I - The Over-Achiever

2010-09-06T23:30:00.000+08:00

met·a·mor·pho·sis /ˌmɛtəˈmɔrfəsɪs/

1. Biology . a profound change in form from one stage to the next in the life history of an organism, as from the caterpillar to the pupa and from the pupa to the adult butterfly. Compare complete metamorphosis.

2. a complete change of form, structure, or substance, as transformation by magic or witchcraft.

3. any complete change in appearance, character, circumstances, etc.

Metamorphosis. Caterpillars to butterflies.

"Profound" is definitely the ideal word here to describe the process of change from a wormy green caterpillar to a dazzlingly beautiful butterfly. 4 different stages to become a butterfly, and as a striking parallel, so too can my life be divided into 4 different stages before the Immortal Vampire of today took his Flight of Darkness.

As with all things, it all starts with an egg; and in me, deeply implanted was an egg of ambition...

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The class gathered round and waited with bated breath as she held the stack in her hands. The warm afternoon sun peered in through the open windows, as sweat from most of our bodies had visibly penetrated and soaked through some portions of our uniforms - uniforms that we would wear for the very last time, but at that moment, none of us really made a conscious effort to realise or remember, as all our gazes were fixated on the stack.

She reached down into the stack, and drew the first sheet out, announcing the top score, and a name - my name.

Shock, awe, joy, fulfilment; all came rushing in at the same time. Applause from all around, as the friends around me patted me on the shoulder and the back. My (then) best friend and closest rival held my neck, wanting to drive my head into the table; partially in jest, but perhaps partially as an outlet to vent his frustrations on the eventual outcome.

I had left as I had came, marking the first and the last years being at the top of the class - the cohort in fact; and at the moment, all the years in between where I had "fallen" started to fade away from my mind - all the tears I shed, the disappointment I endured, and the envy in my eye as I saw my peers race ahead in front of me; all just dissipated with that One Moment of Glory.

That was my world; that was when it mattered - when it mattered more than anything else. Means never mattered, only the Ends did; Results over Process. That was me, implanted deeply with the eggs of ambition, wanting to be the best at everything I did, of worse, at everything period.

The role-model student on the stage reciting the pledge - that was me. The group leader and overall in-charge of the boy scouts - that was me. The class monitor who gained the trust of the teachers - that was me. The swimmer who raced towards the finish line during the weekly swimming lessons - that was me. The one who stood out as the natural leader among my peers - that was me.

I had my hands in many different cookie jars simultaneously, and in each cookie jar, I wanted nothing but the best cookies. It was often about the competition, but it was always about the victory. Rivalries abound in everything that we did, finding any form or basis for comparison. Victories were always sweet, but defeats were all the more bitter, often too bitter to stomach.

I remember the first time that I had fallen from grace, and fell to a rank of sixth from first, tears ran down my face with no restraint, as the reality sank in and my peers watched on as I took it in, as I took it all in. My (then) best friend still tells me this day that he never forgot that sight, and even felt bad for actually doing better than me, when in retrospect, it was my fault firstly, and secondly, and more importantly, it doesn't matter anymore when you look back at it now.

But yet, that was me; and that was my world then. I thought the world to be my oyster, and myopically, I believed that I had the world in my hands to shape; a world full of ambition, a world full of ideals, a world full of hope, a world full of confidence, and a world that was about to be shaken drastically in the years to come...

I sprinted across the familiar fields in exhilaration and joy, wanting to rush home the soonest possible to share the good news with those I loved. The uniformed onlookers muttered words like "crazy" under their breath through the weird stares they gave as I whizzed by. But it didn't seem to matter, I was the King of the World at that moment, and more importantly, I was definitely going at a pace too fast for any of them.

Perhaps I ran a little too fast that day, too fast for myself even, as in my mad dash ahead, I seemed to have left something behind on the green grassy fields that very day; I left a part of me behind that was never to be found again...

Delusions of Greatness-to-Come

Many Different Seeds

Legacy of Wisdom

2010-08-31T14:54:00.001+08:00

For those who might be interested, I've just finished my latest game prototype, Legacy of Wisdom, and entered it into the Experimental Gameplay Project, with the theme for this month being a "Zero-Button" game.

The link of the game can be found here: http://dark-manifesto.blogspot.com/2010/08/legacy-of-wisdom.html

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Game Synopsis

“I do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday.” - Abraham Lincoln -

Designed based on the Experimental Gameplay Project theme of a "Zero Button Game" (August 2010) , Legacy of Wisdom's main gameplay uses nothing but mouse movement.

Centering around the metaphorical themes of "Legacy" and "Man's journey in attaining Wisdom", Legacy of Wisdom adopts an oriental aesthetic style based on Oriental Calligraphy / Paintings to help create a "Zen" aesthetic to complement the game's metaphorical themes.

Legacy of Wisdom also features an additional gameplay twist - an experimental take on the concept of "Player Death" in games, toying with the idea that death in games can be a reward as much as a penalty; where each time a player dies, the player is given a reward for his / her next playthrough.

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More importantly though, on a personal note, this is the first month that I've managed to squeeze out a little bit more time to actual get involved in small, indie project like this; something that I had set out to do the moment I decided to stop pursuing a commercial path in Game Design, and went into Academia, where I was hoping to be able to do a bit more experimental stuff without having to worry about the commercial sensabilities, and just design for the concept; not the commerce.

Of course, things never turn out like they should, and it was one crazily hectic semester in school, and I'm just glad that with the end of the semester, a bit more normalcy has returned to life, and I am able to have one foot back in the waters of my First Love; or at least find enough pockets of time in the after-hours to commit to a week-long project for the Experimental Gameplay Project, something that I've been keeping a close eye on for a few months now.

With crossed fingers and a silent prayer, I can only hope and pray that I can sustain this in the upcoming months as well, as if there is one thing I have discovered after not doing Game Design for a while, even if it is small indie projects like this; I am reminded of the invigorating feeling of going from concept to completion of an idea, seeing the pieces fall into place slowly and watching the gradual realisation of the idea into something a lot more material and tangible; almost like watching the slow but sure metamorphosis of a sluggish caterpillar into a fluttering butterfly.

For sure, this is one cookie jar I would gladly keep at least one hand in...

Pieces of Japan: Day 7 - White Christmas

2010-08-12T02:48:00.000+08:00

25th December 2009
Niseko, Hokkaido, Japan

Muscles flexed at the thighs in an attempt to curb the wobbling of everything below the knees. Looking down, I saw the skis underfoot gyrating according to the little bumps along the somewhat steep slope.

"V, V, V," my mind shouted to my body, attempting to instil the advice the coach had just given me minutes ago. "Pressure on the knees, pressure on the knees," rang through my head, with a distinctively English accent.

An awkward contortion had me bringing my knees into the desired position, but wonder still ran through my head as I felt the pressure on my toes more than anywhere else.

Looking at my tremendous effort in forcing a V-shaped snow-plough with my legs, I smiled to myself, believing that I had finally gotten it right.

Wind rushing across my cheeks, as flakes of snow fiercely rose from the ground up till my lips, giving me a little taste of the powdery texture of the snow that lay underfoot.

I looked up, and there before me, in all her glorious beauty was Mt. Yotei - Ezo-Fuji, as the locals call it, due to some similarities to Japan's most famous peak. The golden sunlight shining off her snow-capped slopes, in turn dispersing and reflecting the rays of sunlight, giving the mountain an almost otherworldly glow.

She was beautiful.

As I stood with my mouth open; amazed at the visual splendour that laid before me and fuelled by the adrenaline of the pure velocity that my body was subjected to going downhill. An exhilarating orgy for the senses.

A splendour short-lived though, as the magic of the moment was almost too quickly disrupted by the familiar wobbling in the knees all over again.

"V, V, V!" I told myself again, as I willed my muscles into position, trying to draw in my now-parallel skis back into the supposed posture.

Thuds and bumps and thuds again, made it extraordinarily difficult to restore my position. Panic rose and anxiety raced through my mind as I started to feel myself going faster and faster down the slope, as my skis refused to un-parallel themselves.

A sudden high from the spike in adrenaline, as my mind tried to get a grasp over the body that I was losing control of by the second. A desperate attempt had my bending and swinging my knees inward, throwing my body into a side-ward position momentarily as I managed to put the brakes on my ever-increasing momentum mid-slope.

But before I could actually let out an actual sigh of relief, Gravity was already beckoning me once again with her inevitable pull; but this time, continuing my clockwise torque along with a general downward force, and below I knew it, I was in the V-shaped posture alright, except that I was facing backwards and saw the worrying sight of a mountain full of little skiers and snowboarders slaloming down the slopes from a distance above.

A sway left, and a swing right, as I attempted to keep my balance AND reverse my orientation. A sudden jerk at the heel, as I felt the ski dig into the snow for a split-second.

Breaking point.

That was the last thing I processed in my conscious memory, and I suspect for the next few seconds, I was a flailing mess spinning through the air in reckless abandon, bouncing and rolling down the slope. Severe bumps on my shoulder, a loud thud from my butt - the world spun much faster than it ought to.

When it all stopped and I opened my eyes, nothing lay before me but a face-full of white, powdery snow, as I emerged from the pile spitting and swiping my face. I was mere inches away from a steel pole for the ski-lifts, as the passengers looked down at me, legs swinging freely in mockery.

I looked at my feet, and realised that I had one ski lying a few centimetres away from my feet, and another halfway up the slope, allowing me to get a semblance of my trajectory taken down into despair, shame and ruin.

A helpful skier picked my long-lost ski up and brought it down-slope to me, asking: "Are you alright?"

At that very moment, I was dumbfounded and caught in the void between the "yes" and the "no"; but more certainly, I found an answer to something else, I found out what it tastes like to really suck, and the answer is that it tastes a little bit salty and a whole lot of powdery.

Looking the Part, That's all

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The Red Ski House: White Christmas

The irony of hardly a Silent Night on Christmas Night, as 3 different languages flew across the table at any one time - in fact, it was hardly a moment of silence at all.

The Meaning of Christmas was hardly lost between the space of race and language, as people originally from France, Australia, UK, Native Japanese, and of course, us island-dwellers sat around the same table, just sharing idle conversation wherever language permitted, or glorious food wherever it didn't. It didn't really seem to matter if we all had different meanings to Christmas, more importantly, we all spoke the universal languages of joy, laughter and merry-making of the celebrations.

More impressive though, was the Spirit of Christmas reflected through our hosts, Andrew and Kaori, for not only opening their home to us - to provide a more than ideal place to just relax the muscles and joints after a long day in the cold and bitter snow; but also extending their heart to us, all of us present, by hosting a generous Christmas Dinner that fittingly-symbolised the occassion.

One of the few Christmases away from the traditional familial celebrations, but hardly any of the Spirit was lost over all those miles of ocean from home.

A White Christmas may be magical in it's own right, but it sure helps having a (red) roof over your head be fully enjoy the warmth of the festival.

Room with a Mountain of a View

The Hosts

Birthday by the Beach : Sands of Time

2010-07-29T03:01:00.000+08:00

10 -11 July 2010
Bintan Lagoon Resort, Indonesia

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Sky...

The sand slipped through my spread fingers, as the incoming tide crashed wave upon wave onto my body. Legs stretched out and submerged till my shoulders, the irregularity of the waves caused my seated body to bob about in the water; moving to the make-shift rhythm that the sea hummed to the shore.

I wanted more, and yet less. I wanted to be surrounded by nothing-ness. Wading about on all fours in the water; further and further from the shore, as the crawling transformed into a gradual breaststroke - a graceful rhythm that would guide me to nowhere.

Sufficiently distant from everything else, I turned over and floated on my back, eyes closed and ears only being able to hear the sound of my own breathing - the translation of sound in a different medium distorts it in peculiar ways.

Like a plank adrift at sea, my shipwrecked body was taking it all in - simply enjoying the nothing-ness, the void; a brief pocket of space and time in which I could think about nothing, nothing but keeping afloat in the open sea.

A tradition perhaps, to have too and desire to completely free my mind of all of its shackles come this time of the year.

Distorted sounds of laughter rang through the waves. That was Us just minutes ago...

...Racing along the choppy waves on the back of a jetski. Finger firmly on the throttle, legs flexed and arms fixed in a death-lock on the handle-bar. Shrills of excitement and uncontrollable laughter set the soundtrack to the thuds and thwomps, as drops of salted water brushed off our faces in raging splatters and playful splashes.

Looking up, we saw Infinity. We saw the horizon at which the sky meets the sea; with nothing in the way between us and the end of the world.

Looking up, we saw the Light. Streaks of setting sunlight penetrating through the clouds - a sense of reverence and a sense of holiness encapsulating the sight and the scene...

Subjecting your body to Nature's rhythm has a soothing effect on the soul. Perhaps it is true that Cancerians have a stronger affinity towards water, as it felt almost second-nature to just lie motionless in the sea.

I opened up eyes and stared at the sky, watching the clouds sweep gently by. No images, no relations, no imagination, no depictions. Up and down and up and down - suddenly the sky didn't seem so far away...

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Bintan Lagoon Resort : Within and Without

The Room

Overview

Full Frontal

Lunch

Poolside

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Stars...

The sound of the waves in the distance; hearing without seeing, as the darkness engulfed the sea, and only left her gentle melody to us as an ambient piece.

Activity continued to bustle through the transparent glass walls of the 3 Degrees Signature Restaurant, as the sight of other diners reminded me of how full I was from the grilled meat platter.

The clanking of glasses added a harmony to the ambient melody, as I raised my glass, bringing the straw to my lips, and inhaling a good portion of tropical goodness.

Through the mist of greens and blues, was a taste that was a mix of fruity sweet and tropical sour, with a tinge of bitterness from the alcohol that was in-between.

Habitually, I stretched my arms across the rattan sofa and let out a huge post-alcoholic-relaxant sigh. Looking up into the darkness above, I squinted hard looking for the stars, the stars that were so visible moments ago...

There we stood, in the junction of shadows of the open field, ensuring darkness from almost all angles; a hidden haven from the light. Looking up, we saw the stars - countless speckles in the sky and in their perfect form and alignment. Constellations eluded us as they were all so cluttered, and yet so clear.

The sparkle in her eyes - more than a reflection of the lights from above. Wonderment and amazement radiated from her soul, as she exclaimed at the beauty of Nature's diamonds...

Another clank as the glass hit the table, as I leaned forward, peering into the darkness ahead; finding nothing but the Sound of the Sea...

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Sands...

Nothing but the sound of my very own breathing, body floating according to the fancy of the waves. Sunlight warmed my face and seared through the darkness of my eyelids. A subtly burning sensation; she was much harsher than the day before.

I took an upright position, and looked around. Nothing-ness surrounded me, and nothing-ness paved the path between the shore and I.

A sense of freedom invoked through the sheer openness, similar to the one experienced minutes ago...

The murkiness cleared as the sunlight streamed in, slowly revealing parts of a picture that lay beneath.

A school of fish quickly darted past before I had time react, much less point it out to her.

Her legs still kicking awkwardly, but at least she was moving. I had learned to grow accustomed to breathing through the pipe, already forgetting the saltiness I tasted upon the first bite.

Pulsating corals of different shapes, forms and sizes lay beneath us, as fish darted over, under and between them. Marine life as never experienced before; a whole new world beneath us - in every sense of the word -riddled with her delightful secrets and her picturesque scenes.

Rising up to take a break, I took a look around, looking into the distance. Through the expanse at which my eyes could run towards the horizon, I realised the freedom that we were swimming in...

A familiar silhouette strolled along the shoreline was my cue to start my swim back to reality.

As the water got shallower and my limps made contact with the ground beneath, I turned around, faced the horizon, legs outstretched and submerged my body till my shoulders. Closing my eyes, I let my body be subjected to the rhythm of the waves once again, swaying and moving according to her tantrums.

I reached into the ground with my right hand, clenching a fist-full of sand firmly within my fingers. Waves came and waves went, as I held the sand within my hands.

Eventually, I finally loosened my grip, as the sand quickly rushed out and slipped through my fingers with the passing of the waves.

Another year is lost, another year is gained.... Happy Birthday.

Pieces of Japan: Day 6 - Silent Night

2010-07-07T23:50:00.001+08:00

24th December 2010
Otaru, Hokkaido, Japan

Otaru Canal by Day: Snowfall

The pencil slid gracefully across the canvas, producing glimpses of the future with each successive stroke. His hand wrinkled by the twisting of time, yet they remained unwavering. So too was his gaze, despite the seagull at his side attempting to draw him away from his masterpiece.

Snow fell gently onto my unkempt hair as I gazed out at the rustic sight before me. The Otaru Canal, much known to be the backdrop for romance stretched and winded towards the mountains in the distance.

Touristic laughter and exclamations were heard all-round, but never serving to remove the serenity that the combination of snow and scenery amounted to. I looked on from above, as I saw her going about her usual business some distance away by the canal.

Taking it all in, I made my way towards her, her actions becoming clearer as I drew closer to her.

Her arm outstretched to catch the snow that was falling gently from the blue-grey skies. She was enjoying the snowfall, above all else... hardly a foreshadow of what was to come...

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Otaru Music Box Museum (Otaru Orgel): Snowblind

An instrumental version of the The Beatles' "Penny Lane" boomed through the speakers as the tourist crowd dispersed into individual buses.

Sounds of shutters laid the musical accompaniment as the locals hurriedly closed up shop. It was only 5.30.p.m., but in winter in a small town like Otaru, this was probably the equivalent to an 8 or 10 p.m. in larger cities.

Yet, the nag in the gut told me that it was probably more than the time that was the reason for their hurried-ness, but more probably due to the snow.

The snow that playfully teased us earlier in the day had matured into something a lot more threatening. Raining down hard on us with the wind in a harmoniously destructive tandem, bits and blocks of snow slid off our faces, as we gritted our teeth to press on towards our destination. What was previously a wonder had become a woe.

Holding my coat close to my chest, preventing the snow from seeping through the gaps between the layers of clothing, I beckoned her towards the lights in a distance barely visible through the ever-moving blanket of snow.

Snowblind

With less than half-an-hour to spare, stepping into the Otaru Music Box Museum couldn't have come sooner. Sheltered from the cold and the wet, the joyous choir of music boxes heard through the door beckoned us. As I reached out for the door handle, I was opening a door to a different world - a world of warmth, magic and music...

Peace was short-lived however, as the Music Box Museum only served as half an hour's respite before it shut its doors and we were back in the cold.

As we pushed through snowstorm that was growing ever-harsher by the minute, we heard claps and bangs coming from a distance. Like animals with nothing to follow but their instincts, we crossed roads and half-knee-length high snow towards the direction in which the sound was coming from.

Finding a really unexpected location that served as a make-shift carpark for heavy vehicles, we were temporarily sheltered from the harsh winds and heavy snow by the wall structures around, as the razzle and dazzle played out in the sky. It was the Christmas Eve Fireworks show, and the best part was... it was only 6.30.p.m.

Fireworks at 6:30

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Mt. Tengu: Nature's Trickery

Nature was a fickle one when it came to Mt. Tengu. Subduing herself enough to tempt us into pursuing one of Hokkaido's top 3 night views, she left us more than hanging when she decided to throw her tantrum again after the long bus ride and the cable car ride to the top.

In the end, all we had left to entertain us was a room full of masks - Tengu masks naturally, giving good reason to the name of the mountain, but still...

Not exactly 1 of the 3 top Night Views in Hokkaido

Mt. Tengu lives up to its Namesake, in a way

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Otaru Canal By Night: Silent Night

Emptiness

Silence filled the air save for the sound of our footsteps in the snow. The road before us laid deserted, as the disappointing trek up Mt. Tengu had us on the last bus, and taking a slow walk back to our hotel through the snow-covered roads fresh from Nature's earlier showing.

A flick of the wrist read 10.p.m. on the watch, as we bashed straight down the given path towards the direction of Otaru Canal, hoping to take the night sight of the canal as our final memory of Otaru.

Arriving at the canal, the expected hustling and bustling crowd was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the whole area was empty save for us and a paid photographer who was probably hoping to get a few final customers before calling it a night for Christmas Eve.

Silence rang through the air as I stood at the bridge marvelling at the splendour of the canal before me. Traditional oil-lit street lamps led the eyes down the winding canal, the bricked warehouses along the canal adding much to the rustic flavour of the scene, as the waters of the canal bore a perfect reflection of all that was around and above it.

All was like it was before. I stood there, gazing out into the distance, as she hurried down the steps, running off into the distance to go about her own business. A speck of white landed on my coat, as I looked up to see little gentle drops of the same kind dancing towards me. It had begun snowing again, just like it had before.

Silence rang through the air; and perhaps that was the perfect accompaniment to the sight that stood serenely before me, in all its tranquility and splendour. A literal "Silent Night", the perfect tune perhaps, to mark the passing of a White Christmas Eve.

- Her Words: ddoodles -

- Photo Album@ 24 Dec 09 -

- Facebook Album I -

- Facebook Album II -

Pieces of Japan: Day 5 - Smoke on Water

2010-06-24T01:28:00.000+08:00

23rd December 2009

Noboribetsu, Hokkaido, Japan

Hell Valley: Silent Hill

Standing at the edge, I gazed out to the sight that laid before me, and taking in all that was around me in silent appreciation.

Smoke, clouds of smoke, rose skyward from the land below, dissipating into a thin veil of steam as they drifted towards the heavens. The lingering smell of sulphur too distinct and pungent to ignore. Faint hints of speech and laughter drifted in and out of my hearing, bringing about an almost-silence only broken by the occasional chirp of the bird in the tree.

Warm rays of sunlight slipped through the barren branches, as the sun made her last stand against the darkness, slow but surely slipping behind the mountains, making way for the night that was to come.

Last Stand

Looking behind out of curiosity, I saw her, back towards me, clumsily wading through the snow; one step at a time, each leaving a footprint that was at least ankle-high. Second day in and she didn't look any more orientated to it. The sight made me smile silently to myself, but that smile slowly became a smirk as I bent over...

Digging my hands deep into the snow, I grabbed a pile of it and started to clam them together in my hands, followed by the execution of a repetitive circular motion. Once I felt it was enough, I called out to her.

"Darling!" I shouted.

As she turned around, the snowball hit her squarely on the shoulder, shattering into smaller flakes and falling back to the ground.

She bent over and dug into the ground in front of her, getting ready for her counter-attack.

A sense of playfulness filled the air, as we had our snowball fights, tree-targeting games, and just rolling around in the snow.

Our constant laughter rang through the previously silent hills as the sun continued her march into the darkness.

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Dai-ichi Takimotokan: Fit for a King

Room with a View

A silence filled the lift as we waited for it to arrive at our designated floor, whilst the Kimono-clad lady held firmly onto the handle of our suitcases. Exiting the lift and gliding down the corridor, we came face-to-face with the door; the one obstacle that remained between us and a Life of Luxury - even if it were only for a day...

With spacious traditional Ryokan-style rooms, impeccable service and an in-room traditional Japanese dining-feast fit for a king, Dai-ichi Takimotokan definitely impressed us on multiple counts. Lying on the fringe of Hell Valley, the view from the room sure didn't hurt either.

Feast for a King

Yet, all these took a backseat when stacked against the main attraction of the hotel...

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Smoke on Water

I stood petrified.

My hand firmly grasping onto the door handle, as beads of water dripped off of my naked body. Steam was still being emitted from my body, with the faint smell of sulphur lingering in the air. My vision was blurred from all the steam and vapour.

I had already made up my mind much earlier, and knew it was inevitable and eventual; but yet when it came to it, my legs would not move; my body tensed up, as I needed that moment to brace myself mentally.

Taking a deep breath, I forcefully pressed my wrist downwards and swung the door open, taking quick and long strides out of the door.

The chilly winter night-wind greeted my face with a harsh kiss on the cheeks, before caressing the rest of my body, including areas too sensitive for comfort. Even though my goal was only a few steps away, each step I took felt so slow and so painful, and every second exposed to the cold winter wind blowing the drops off of water of my naked body felt too much like an eternity.

My feet sank into the pool first, sending an immediate numbing sensation upward to the rest of my body. My body followed shortly after, and I was quickly shoulder-deep into the Cypress-styled bath. The water was presumedly boiling - the second warmest of all the baths - and yet, for a few seconds too long, by body was still shivering - numb at best, before finally being able to regain a sense of normalcy and being able to feel the heat.

Ahhh, a sigh of relief; as I felt my muscles starting to relax in the soothing hot water.

With almost 30 baths, featuring 7 different types of onsens that were purported to have differing remedial effects on the body, the main attraction of Dai-ich Takimotokan was the gigantic common bath. I personally likened the place to an "Onsen Amusement Park" - with a variety of conventional indoor and outdoor baths, as well as some novelty baths that had you lying flat, hot and cold foot baths, and one of my personal favourites, the waterfall bath that helped to message the aching shoulders, neck and back; it was hardly any surprise that more than an hour was spent with each visit - with full relaxation and rejuvenation achieved at the end of every visit.

I waddled my way to the corner of the bath, being particularly careful not to expose an inch of my body below my neck to the biting winds. I huddled myself into the corner and closed my eyes, taking in the full experience of my first outdoor bath, as I felt the scalding water soaking through my skin and soothing my aching body.

Opening my eyes, I saw a little puff of smoke emitting from the water's surface on my left, as the vertical stream of vapour rise upwards.

Shortly after that, another one on my right.

And then another in front of me, and then another on the right, and another, and another...

I tilted my head to a 45 degree angle, looking out towards Hell Valley below. The night was pitch black, a kind of darkness that could only be had with a natural landscape with no man-made lights, and with nary a star in light and no moonlight to guide the wandering eyes.

But the light behind me was sufficient for me to spot little white specks falling graciously towards the water's surface, swaying and dancing to the effects of gravity -and their inevitable end; but yet in a manner that almost depicted them enjoying every last minute of the journey.

A little white speck fell onto my right shoulder, and sent a slightly chilly sensation around that area.

I tilted my head fully upwards, and saw the little specks of snow coming towards my face in an almost stereoscophic three-dimensional fashion. Each little speck touching my cheeks caressing them briefly.

I've heard many things about the wonders of the combination of Onsen and snow, and as my mind reached that realisation, it drifted off to an entire different place far away into the pitch-black sky.

- Her words: ddoodles -

- Photo Album @ 23rd Dec 09 -

- Facebook Album I -

- Facebook Album II -

- Facebook Album III -

Seven Virtues

2010-06-05T09:50:00.002+08:00

Who is... Courage? She who Fights for Freedom; or He who Lets Go?

Who is... Faith? She who believes in Fate; or He who believes in Will?

Who is... Temperance? She who holds her Heart, or He who holds his Tears?

Who is... Justice? She who Executes her Rights; or He who Denounces his Privileges?

Who is... Prudence? She who Peers into the Future; or He who Reflects on the Past?

Who is... Hope? She who Finds in Today; or He who Seeks for Tomorrow?

Who is... Love? None.

Pieces of Japan: Day 4 - A (mis)Step Away from Christmas

2010-06-01T00:26:00.194+08:00

22nd December 2009
Sapporo | Hokkaido | Japan

Standing still, I looked down at the process I subjected myself to. The soft, fresh and fluffly whites crumbled under my feet and weight, as my feet sank slowly into the ankle-high snow. The reality sank in almost as slowly and gradually as well, as my mind drifted off to the morning's panic.

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Daylight Savings

Exiting from the shower as casually as the morning before, I proceeded to put on my wristwatch only to turn pale in the face of the face staring back at me.

"6.15" read the time, as I let out an uncontainable, "Fuck!"

In 3 seconds, I explained to her that we had made a major mistake and forgot to adjust our morning alarms with the 1-hour time difference taken into account. In short, we were an hour late and had less than another to get on our plane to Hokkaido.

Within 5 minutes, I had put on my clothes, sat on my overflowing luggage to lock it, and was already dragging it out of the door in a hurry.

Stepping out into the morning winter breeze with only my long-sleeve-tee was the least of my worries, as sweat continued to drip from my brow despite the freezing cold, as I shivered with fear from the panic and anxiety that I was experiencing more so than the bitter wind.

Shuffling up and down the deserted morning street like madmen with suitcases full of vengence, we circled our vicinity frantically for a saviour.

"I think maybe we can still try to catch the train," she said.

I looked my watch and looked back at her and shook my head disapprovingly.

Finding two cabs by the junction, we locked and loaded.

"Which terminal of Haneda Airport?" the cab driver asked in his native tongue.

Moving my index finger frantically up and down the sheet with the flight details, I realised that it was not printed. Communcation breakdown ensued as I tried to explain that we were taking the Japan Airlines flight, but apparently, they literally read "JAL" as it "Je-ru" over there, little to our knowledge.

The clock continued ticking down as the fare meter ticked up at an insane rate.

Numbers and more numbers clouded my mind as I calculated the potential loss should we miss the flight, the cost of additional tickets versus the cost of forgoing our accomodation in Hokkaido.

The normal heart would cringe at the 4,000 yen cab-fare upon arrival at the airport, but with 20-minutes to spare, we had little room for such aching and only room for the anxiety that threatened to engulf us.

Sparks flying from the wheels of our suitcases and the frantic shuffling of feet got us into the flight with less than 10-minutes to spare.

Sunlight streamed into the window as the plane turned and took its bearing on the runway.

The warm morning sunlight hit my face and evaporated the sweat on my brow as I continued to stare out of the window, body still highly-tensed and staring out in a state of shock and disbelief - the disbelief of coming so close to missing out wonders of the island of Hokkaido.

Daylight

Sapporo's Grid Layout from the Air

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Odori Park : Snow,White.

Chuckles of laughter drew me out of my dream-like state and back to reality, as the feet and stopped sinking and firmly made contact with the ground below.

It's been a long time since I've felt the fluffiness of snow under my feet, and succumbing to temptation, I bent over and picked some up with my hand, rolling it into a small snow ball below crushing and letting the white powder filter through the gaps between my fingers and back to the ground. Like a child to a toy, I bent over and repeated the process again.

In a distance, she was amusing herself as she treaded through the snow looking at her footprints and making circles as she went along. It was her first encounter, and without the need for explicity, I'm pretty sure she was mesmerized to say the least.

Snow, White. Nothing but and stretching on as far as the eye could see.

Odori Park was completely engulfed in a white blanket of snow; Winter was definitely already in her full bloom in Hokkaido, and the scene had been set for a White Christmas with the accompanying illumination that would further bring out this point at night.

But for now, we had the entire Odori Park to ourselves, marvelling at the little things like footprints in the snow, snowball fights and pigeons; as the rest of Sapporo marched on by the park in indifference.

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Nijo Fish Market: The Legend of the Invincible Snow Crab of Freshness

The mandatory meal of Legendary Hokkaido seafood and Snow Crab at Nijo Fish Market proved the legends to be true and made for the best meal over the entire trip. The combination of the sweet Salmon roe, fresh Salmon Sashimi-don, coupled with the even fresher and sweeter Snow Crab left us with many mouth-watering memories long after the meal.

Mother and Child = Awesome

Otoro and Maguro Don

Hokkaido Snow Crab

The Store-owner totally blind-sided us when he offered the Crab for posing

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Sapporo Tower: Night and Day

By Day

By Night

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Sapporo Clock Tower: Nihon-no-Gekkai

Voted one of the 3 most disappointing sights in Japan, the Sapporo Clock Tower hardly proved to be that bad.

What was questionable however? The choice of the eerie green lighting.

Icicles that Kill

Ghouls of Winter

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Sapporo Beer Garden: Genghis Khan

5-by-2 squares on the grid-map from the nearest station, the night winter-walk proved to be enjoyable and all the more fulfilling when the meal that awaited was sizzling-hot Genghis Khan, a Hokkaido-trademark dish of Barbeque Lamb coupled with the beer that made Sapporo famous.

Sapporo means "Beer" for Good Reason

Genghis Khan - Lamb Chop Fry Along

Hobo at the Garden

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Odori Park: Sapporo White Illumination

Flash after flash fired off, as we moved from one illumination to the next, making the best of our time and trying to capture all the beautiful sights that lined the way back to the hotel.

It was a different Odori Park, one still white-washed with snow, but now the white serving as a beautiful backdrop for the bright lights that blinded us.

A green praying mantis stood alongside a green dragon, both towering majestically over us.

Christmas had come early for sure, as the joy and atmosphere filled the air pockets between the different illuminated structures. At least until the lights went off, and the peace of Silent Night fell upon us for the rest of the walk back.

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- Her Words: ddoodles -

- Photo Album @ 22 Dec 09 -

- Facebook Album I -

- Facebook Album II -

- Facebook Album III -

Avalon Legend Official Website

2010-05-27T00:09:00.002+08:00

In hope of promoting the game further, I just finished up an official website for Avalon Legend with a clearly emphasis on the game and greater explanation of the metaphorical meaning.

Feel free to take a look at it.

http://avalonlegend.blogspot.com/

Caught in the Middle; Not Ready to Move

2010-05-17T01:44:00.001+08:00

In almost exactly 2 months, I will be turning 28. But more so than an early reminder on getting me a present, and more importantly so, I can only sit and ponder the implications that come with the coming of age.

Simple math dictates that 28 is simply 30 minus 2, which means, in 2 years' time, I will be turning 30, that of a new era, or what most would believe.

Over the last year or so, and more so now that I've entered the world of Full-time Employment , I am starting to better comprehend what does this all mean - what does turning 28 mean. It simply means that... I am 10 years or so away from most of my students; and incidentally, 10 years or so away from the average age of my colleagues (at least those not in the same "creativity-driven" department as I am).

It is quite a weird spot to be in, in actual fact, as on one side, the populace is of a general immaturity, and dealing with things I have long put behind - self-confidence, insecurities, group politics and of course, raging hormones; and on the other end, there are those that have solidified a self-impression that leaves them rather oblivious to everything around them, with issues of self-righteousness, self-justification, self-indulgence, and not forgetting politics (which seems to be one thing that doesn't change regardless of which stage of life you're in).

But at the same time, it's quite a good spot to be in. Those below look up to you somewhat, knowing that you are senior, but still relevant, since it was not too long ago that you were dealing with the issues they struggle with on a daily basis; and those on top, look down on your in a nurturing manner, perhaps seeing a tinge of themselves in you as they try to give you a little boost every now and then.

In a sense, I am literally Caught in the Middle, but ironically, for once, feel like the bridge between the generations - a transitional generation, if you must - as I creep up on the big 3-0. Of course, being at this stage means I am subject to the things only described in Human Geography Textbooks, pressure to support the elder generation, and nurture the younger generation and all that bull.

Never one to consider things on such a macro-level, on a more personal note, I feel that with my recent full-time employment, I can't help but feel "older". No more are the days of just living to get by, going where the wind blows, and doing the things that call out to me; instead replaced by words such as "duties", "responsibilities", "goals", "targets", "plans", etc.

A stable income for an 8-5 routine - the most conventional trade of the working society. Perhaps I have been playing Peter Pan, and running away from all of it for too long (or at least what most conventional minds would think). But still, play Peter Pan for long enough, and you will eventually learn how to fly, above conventions at least. So yes, while I am now bounded by the chains of the grind, there are some things that you just can't outgrow - they just grow with you.

Game design is still my first love. And no, I would not be teaching regardless of the price tag if it were anything but game design. And yes, I am still every bit the dreamer and idealist that I was, only thing is that I have learnt to take a more practical approach to it (but more on this in a future post).

Of course with "now" established, the question is then of "next". Where do you go from here?

A recent conversation at a wedding brought up the age old question, "When is it your turn?"

In almost a tone of mockery, my proud reply was, "Anywhere between Not-so-soon to Never."

This drew chuckles from the table, married or not married-alike, and those who know me a bit better wouldn't find the reply all that surprising coming from me.

But to go a bit deeper into this, the rationale is not one that is very complex. At an age where the norm is that to settle down with a partner, or even (*gasp*) start a family, my reason for not succumbing to the pressures adhering to this norm - as the wedding invitations fly into my mailbox and faces of friends on my Facebook mysteriously get replaced by literal Baby-Face - is simply: "I'm not ready."

I'm not ready to move. Not ready to move out of the shell of myself to be anything more than myself. Not ready to be someone's "husband", someone's "lifetime", or worst still, someone's "father"; not ready to have any other words tagged to me other than that of which the world already knows me by; not ready to be anything other than "Jeremy Kang".

Selfish? Maybe. I've never been anywhere near the opposite of that, perhaps. Or maybe, just a bit socially retarded, as my so-called "career" continues to move at low-gear in contrast to my peers. But then again, I've always been comfortable marching to the beat of my own drum, and unless I receive a sudden (or you could say, further) epiphany, things probably won't be changing quite for a while.

Then again, maybe life IS just getting started at 28, as a conversation with the girlfriend over dinner might imply...

Me: "You know how I believe those "great" people seem to be good at almost everything that they do?"

She: "Yeah, I know that. Why?"

Me: "I think I am just starting to reach that stage in life". *Cheeky Grin*.

She: *Rolls Eyes*.

- While some Marching Band keeps its own Beat in my head while we're Talking -

.Space

2010-04-22T23:33:00.005+08:00

A film of sweat covered my naked torso, as I stood in the middle, hands on waist, looking... just looking around me at the work that I had accomplished over the last 20-hours. Nodding to myself in self-satisfaction, I saw that it was good, and I was pleased.

The familiar morning call of a bird rang through the glass window, as I lowered myself to sit down on the floor, knowing that I was one step closer to the picture in my mind.

Space. We all need some to call our own.

After years of gestation and procrastination, I finally set out on a 3-week long mission to redo and revamp my room - my little space. A Space of relief after a long day, a Space to while away a lazy weekend, a Space that I would proud to call my own.

From the cleaning of the poster-filled, light-green walls, to the destruction of two bulky study tables, to the painting of the wardrobe and the bed frame, to the 20-hour wall-painting marathon, to the numerous visits to the neighbourhood Ikea, to the self-assembly (and accidental destruction) of the newly arrived furniture - the journey was definitely one that was more than trying, one that was lonely, and one that required a little bit of faith - faith to look beyond an empty room into a fully-realised Space.

While my peers are probably moving on to bigger things - bigger Spaces - like newly-wed apartments, condominiums and whatnot; for me, for now - I will happily live in my quality over quantity, in the cosiness of my constraints, between the 3 shades of my 4 monochrome walls - falling asleep in front of my TV, on my white little sofa, with a smile on my face and a PS3 controller in hand.

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Starting Point: The Room Before

Game Posters abound, cluttered furniture and green without envy.

Checkpoint: The Minimalist

Living on 5 pieces of furniture, a (newly painted) bed(frame) and wardrobe, a TV, a chair and a collapsing shelf.

Mid-Point: The Painter

Dual-layered, 3 toned walls finally achieved after 20-hours straight of day-to-dusk-to-dawn of painting and patching.

And after 3 days of self-assembling, packing and decorating, my Space is finally realised...

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Overview

Sofa Area

TV Area and "The Library"

Black Bed under the Branch

Work Area

.my.space

Milestone

2010-04-06T03:04:00.000+08:00

On the 29th March 2010, I finally reached a new milestone.

After an arduous 2 year journey, with far too many twists and turns to recount (a story for a later time, perhaps), I finally shipped my first game.

Though it may be small fish in a small pond, the feeling of finally reaching my first shipped title, (and of knowing that I've managed to do it with a hell lot of figuring it out on my own), is simply priceless.

Too many times did I doubt, question, pray and beg for things to just fall into place, and though it took A LOT longer than expected, I'm reliefed to finally see the coming of this day.

So please, spread the word, show some love, leave a rating, and if you can, buy the game (it's only $3 USD).

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:

Avalon Legend

Links:

Avalon Legend Website

Avalon Legend - Xbox Live Marketplace

Pieces of Japan: Day 3 - The Last Ride

2010-03-26T06:11:00.001+08:00

21 December 2009
Tokyo Disneyland, Japan

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Enter the Magic

Entrance to the Magic Kingdom

Christmas All-Round at Disney

Walter and Mickey.

Picture Perfect with the Epitome of Disney

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Worlds Within: Rides of Disney

It's a Small World - Subconscious Hypnosis

Pinnochio's Daring Journey - Best.Ride.Ever.

Grand Circuit Raceway - Guess who gave a bumpy ride?

Space Mountain - Best.Ride.Ever.Really.

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Dark Disney: Disney by Night

21st Wishes at Snow White's Wishing Well

Hobo Looking for a Penny in the Well

Never Looked Better

Sleeping Beauty's Castle by Night

Dinner at Alice in Wonderland Cafe

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The Last Ride

"Beep, beep, blop blop." With those sounds and a score of over 30,000 points (as compared to her 6,000 points), we exited the Buzz Lightyear's Astro Blasters ride.

An announcement repeated over the speakers rang through the dark night sky, as we saw security personnel moving barricades in front of the ride that we had just exited from.

Over 30,000!!!

"We hope you have enjoyed your time in Tokyo Disneyland. Please visit us again."

And indeed, we had. From the first verse of "It's a Small World", to the wonders of flight in "Peter Pan", to the pleasant surprises of Pooh's Hunny Hunt, through the winding darkness that was Space Mountain, to the (unintentional) bumps of Grand Circuit Raceway; it had indeed been a day filled with magic that could only be crafted by the hands of Disney.

"You're never too old for Disney" was my personal mantra for the day; and seeing the wondrous smile she wore on her face and her Minnie Beanie bouncing up and down from the skip in her step as we exited each ride (save Pinnochio, perhaps), reaffirmed my decision to bring her to Disney on the transitional day where she officially steps out of childhood into adulthood. I've been blessed enough to have my childhood littered with the sprinkles of magic that is Disney, and I guess I only wanted the same for her, before her childhood officially expired.

As we made our way down the pathway, a cold wind blew through us, perhaps accentuated by the absence of a crowd; and serving as a harsh reminder to the bitter cold that we had been battling with all day - from buying hot Teriyaki Chicken Legs to even hiding in the Tiki Room and putting up with a Japanese-speaking Stitch that we hadn't had the faintest idea of what he was singing about, all in the name of getting some warmth.

As we emerged from Tomorrowland back to the circle in front of the castle that served as a central hub, it was astounding to see a sight of such contrast to what we had been used to for the entire day. Absent were the crowds of families, with strollers, toddlers and hand-holding children; all passing through the central ring to get to their next destination.

But instead, a pleasant nothingness stood between us and the enchanted castle, allowing us a full view of her beauty in the darkness, and bringing about a sense of serenity not found over the entire day. Magic was definitely present over the course of the day - an innocent one that even children could relate to, but what came over us was one that was a little different.

Nothingness

The magic that lingered in the air held a certain tinge of romance, the warm yellow street lights, as a stunning silence provided the perfect accompaniment to the warm visuals. We took our time, we ran around, posing for photos and just enjoying our surroundings, as if having the entire park to ourselves - a feeling that laid in stark contrast to the mood in the day, where we had to jostle with the crowds and join the end of the queue for our little piece of magic; and yet, here it was, presented to us in its full, naked glory as the park crept towards her closing moments.

As we took a slow walk towards Main Street USA, we heard the announcements coming over the speakers again, and we felt obliged to leave our little piece of heaven to rejoin the crowd that had formed around the brightly red-lit Christmas Tree in the centre of Main Street.

Red Christmas on Main Street

After grabbing some obligatory photos with the huge, red Christmas Tree, we walked hand in hand towards the direction of the exit, ready to say our goodbyes to the magic. Something probably caught her eye suddenly, as she let go of my hand and ran off towards one of the shop windows.

I watched her from behind, taking short and somewhat clumsy steps in her boots, body wrapped with layers upon layers of winter wear, the Minnie-ears and the dangling ends on her newly-acquired beanie bouncing in tandem as she hurried towards her target.

Something suddenly came over me and tugged at my heart-strings, as I stopped in my tracks, looking at her getting further and further away from me. I realised that that would probably be the last image that I would have of her as a kid, before she stepped out of the gates into adulthood.

After a brief pause, I took a breath and a step forward towards her. Step by step, as I slowly made my way towards her, I smiled secretly to myself, as something within consciousness made me realise that: that was hardly a bad last image to have of her official childhood.

- Photo Album @ 21 Dec 09 -

Pieces of Japan: Day 2 - Frozen

2010-03-07T04:46:00.003+08:00

20th December 2009
Tokyo, Japan

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Shibuya: Down Love Hotel Hill

Living out of Suitcases

Down Love Hotel Hill

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Odaiba (Day): Remnants of the Fall

Washington Ariake Hotel - Of Service and Value

Room with a View

Brown, nothing but a sea of brown of varying shades and textures; lighter and darker shades, smoother and rougher textures beckoned us from across the street.

Often read about and seen in pictures, but never experienced first-hand, we just couldn't resist wanting to explore the little patch of brown that we had seen as we were on the monorail.

Nothing but trees and leaves, and the casual Sunday-dog-walkers were probably giving us weird glares as they saw our amazement and constant photo-snapping, at what was, perhaps to them, nothing more than just trees and leaves, an everyday sight.

But if they knew our story and if they knew our origin, then perhaps they would be able to relate to our wonderment to something so simple - the very sight of seeing brown leaves, and the thought of considering ourselves lucky to fall between the cracks of the seasons and to be able to catch the remnants of fall on our supposed Winter Escape.

The Fallen

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Ginza: Paupers on Privilege Street

Human Traffic: the only Traffic on Sunday

Heat flowed through my mouth as I took a big and deep bite into it, part of me wanting to savour the refreshing bout of warmth, but part of me also reminding myself to hurry to the next bite, as it would only get colder with each bite I took, and fast - much faster than I wanted.

This, or rather these, was lunch. Doing our rounds at the food level of the major departmental stores we saw along the way, picking up whatever we fancied, and then heading out to the seats along the street to enjoy, or perhaps consume them - considering the highly ephemeral nature of said enjoyment, amounting from the chill of the winds and how fast it turned the food cold.

It was a Sunday on Ginza, and routinely, the major road had been blocked off for the afternoon to allow locals and tourists alike to parade down the street lined with names such as Burberry and Shiseido (which in this instance, was a confectionary) and whatnot.

Chairs lined the middle of the road, and we found comfort in these for the times that we could not find anywhere suitable for us to take a breather and just fill our stomachs with the food in hand. Ever so often, we were the focus of the local glances and the occasional stare, harbouring a tinge of negativity as I continued to nimble on my croquettes, and cakes and the like.

Little did I know (and only to find out later) that it was actually disapproving to be seen eating out in the public in general in the eyes of the Japanese.

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Odaiba (Night): Frozen

It was warm inside, and my body was still adjusting to the much-needed warmth. It had been a long night - perhaps not so much in measured in terms of time, but definitely when measured in terms of experiences, or rather, hardship.

Every second out in the cold was a battle in itself. Each time the chilly wind blew, sending a running chill through my joints, (particularly my knees, as they were the least shielded), it took an increasingly great effort to grit my teeth and hold my ground, trying all sorts of methods - the rubbing of hands, the shuddering of shoulders, or a little hop-about-on-the-spot dance to try to garner warmth, all in the name of trying to take in the bay-side sights for that little while longer.

Odaiba's bay-side night scene was as beautiful as I remembered it to be, with the multi-coloured Rainbow Bridge setting the main piece of the backdrop, but this time coupled with a specially Diamond-lit Tokyo Tower adding to the colours and the flavour. The ripples on the bay resonating according to the strength of the wind, as the colourfully-lit boats in a distance sailed along the bay regardless.

Not Pictured: Crazy Shivering

Yet, the luxury of simply standing there to garner the sights was not one that we could afford, as one thing that we learnt on our journey was that: where there's water, there's bound to be wind; and that simply means making it unbearingly cold.

But we were in a safe refuge now, as we probably felt that we had bore enough of the cold and garnered enough of the sights for the night, and all we wanted to do know was to hunt for a place to eat, but for some reason were side-tracked along the way by the distracting lights and sounds of the nearby arcade.

Japanese was boomed continuously from the speakers, and naturally we didn't understand a single word that was said, but it didn't matter, as we were already familiar with the process - only that it had been probably too long since I stepped into one of these, and definitely a first with her.

A timer suddenly showed up on screen without warning and I hurried pulled her to my side just a second before a camera snapshot was heard from the speakers. We were frozen in time as we were, and then the timer started again, as we adjusted ourselves for the next.

It's rather ironic that for something so common, we had to come all the way to Japan to do it together after a good 2 years. And yet, something made this experience feel so familiar and yet so different at the same time.

On one hand, it was reliving a part of me that used to be an everyday thing, and yet, on another, it felt so fresh and so different being in the same booth with her, in a foreign country. Perhaps in that little booth, it shouldn't have mattered where we were, and yet, somehow, it did.

As the sticker-photos dropped from the slot after they were fully printed, I looked at her as she picked them up and held it in her hands, looking hard at it and shifting her gaze slowly across each and every individual shot lovingly.

I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the head, as she looked up at me with a sparkle in her eyes.

Ironic, how the simplest thing that we had done all day was perhaps the most emotionally profound.

Venus Fort

- Photo Album @ 20th Dec 09 -

Spur

2010-02-22T03:23:00.001+08:00

The "3" was obviously missing and that made a whole lot of difference.

Suddenly, all that I propragated evaporated before my very eyes when I realised that I had been imagining the "3" all this while.

Paradigm shift.

The difference between "31" and "1" made an extremely big difference. Checking and double-checking made me realise that it was now or never.

Hesitantly, I made the booking, knowing that I only had 4 days to plan my itinery. Day after day since then, I woke up with second thoughts, wondering if I made the right choice, wondering if I should go ahead with it, wondering if I should be putting the money to refurnishing my room, or finally landing the PS3 (especially when it is just inches within my reach financially, after 2.5 years).

Is it worth it to exit my comfort zone, to be thrown into the midst of adventure once again, navigating a foreign land and hardly speaking the foreign language? Perhaps it is a little too soon, perhaps I don't need it; but yet, to pass on the chance to return to the beautiful Land of the Rising Sun to garner new sights and accumulate new experiences on a free ticket provides an all-too-tempting counter-argument.

And so, here I am, 4 hours away from my second trip to Japan in 2 months, with fragments of the previous holiday still deeply etched into my memory, and yet, going for another vacation that, some would argue, I don't actually need.

Anxiety almost suffocating me as I attempt to grasp the uncertainty and unfamiliarity that I am about to put myself in again.

Was it too rushed? Where will I stay? Will I manage alone? What will go wrong this time?

Thoughts upon thoughts flood my head as I sit here thinking, playing out the worrying scenarios in my head, and yet, ambivalently, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation to the adventure that awaits.

"Free-spirited" is a word that I like to be associated with. Images of me picturing myself travelling on my own with a backpack to unknown and unfamiliar destinations in my own time have been haunting my dreams and thoughts since I was 10 years younger.

"One day, one day," were the words I told myself then, but with time, that "one day" only grew further and further away, growing fainter and fainter, as school, work and the busy schedules slowly engulfed it.

And now, by a stroke a (mis)fortune and circumstance, here I am at the brink of rekindling a forgotten thought, to live a forgotten dream - if only for a week.

Deep Breath.

- Leap of Faith -