Hush, Isolation

"Ticket for one, please." I said to the cashier.

I made my way into the cinema, with my hands full with a box of popcorn, a large coke and a promotional packet of Twisties tucked under my armpit. I located my (usually-preferred) aisle-seat and snuggled up in the chair to obtain a position comfortable enough to last me through the next 2 hours or so.

I am no stranger to this form of solitude and isolation, especially not in film-watching. I remember that some of the best films that I've watched were under these solitary conditions... as my memory takes me back through the scenes of The Departed, The Prestige and now this.

The movie opened to a deliberately slow start, setting the mood and ambience for the context of 1960s Shanghai, as the main characters are introduced one at a time, without much explanation. The classical plot layout of starting in the middle of the plot's timeframe and filling in the pieces before and after.

The rational behind catching films alone is a rather simple one, which is simply taking the perspective of putting the appreciation of the film over the company that comes with it. While I do believe that movies are a great way to spend time with some form of company, circumstances occasionally hinder the availability of company within the confines of a movie's scheduled run-time. So between the lack of company and the slipping of the cinematic-experience of an under my radar, the movie-buff in me would choose to go with the former.

Newcomer Tang Wei's presence in the movie grew on me over the course of the film. While initially spending more time analyzing her physical attributes, including the colour and shape of her nipples; as the plot continued to play out, I found her easier to connect to. Wang Lee Hom on the other hand, delivered a rather safe and one-dimensional performance. As for Tony Leung, his performance was spectacular as usual, only further cementing his position as the best actor this side of Asia; handling his role of charismatic cruelty with great conviction.

Even though company in film-watching can play a part as important as the supporting cast in a movie, like having others spread the infectiousness of laughter when watching a comedy, or having sharing the "Hoos" and "Has" in a mind-blowing action film, thought-provoking deep films are actually perfectly suited to be watched in solitude, leaving you to swim in your own thoughts as the plot unfolds, and to harvest the the nested subtleties sown by the director.

The fabled sex-scenes in the movie were rather artistically done, unsurprising considering having Lee Ang at the helm of the film. While serving as an erotic display on the visceral level (there were times that I was really asking myself if they were REALLY having sex); on a functional level, the sex scenes depict the connection and vulnerability of the characters. Going a step further into the symbolic layer, the placement, progress and portrayals of the sex scenes lie in parallel to how the characters' relationships develop; representing the shift in power and emotional leverage of the characters.

On a socially symbolic level, the act of catching a movie alone is often unspokenly frowned upon and somewhat a social taboo in our mostly Asian society. Somehow, seeing someone watching a film alone almost immediately causes the relation to terms such as "loner," "loser" or "weirdo" (I'm sure I could easily be branded that if I wasn't as well-groomed as I am), rather than more positive terms such as "movie-buff" or "film-critic."

For some reason, in our society, seeing someone do certain activities alone, such as dining or watching a movie, will lead to the assumption of the person being social inept more so than to the conclusion that the person is confident and perfectly comfortable with himself / herself to relish these experiences entirely based on their own merits. It is also interesting to note that these assumptions are more easily branded upon fellow Asians than it is with Caucasians; for some odd reason, its perfectly fine for Caucasians to walk into a cinema alone without garnering raised eyebrows, but not so much for Asians on Asians. Perhaps, it boils down to te socially innate assumption that Caucasians are more confident in general, or at least enough to remain unphazed by the raised eyebrows.

Speaking of which, my eyebrows were raised in doubt and question by the time the camera panned on Tony Leung's tearful eyes as the credits rolled. While the backbone concept driving the entire plot was not exceptionally original or intriguing, and the pacing of the plot development was a little uneven; the overall execution of the story devices and the character development was immaculately done and enough to be entirely believable and relatable to. As mentioned in media, Lee Ang's masterpiece is a work of art that will leave the viewer with a deep impression and still pondering about the choices made by the characters long after the credits have rolled.

And to this, I am glad that I chose to catch the movie in solitude. On a personal note, I feel that there is something rather soothing about watching a movie alone; without the need to take occasional glimpses of your company to check if he/she/they are falling asleep, without the need of having to consider passing the popcorn out of courtesy, without the distraction of wise-cracks from the company. Leaving one in the Hush of the Isolation, battling with one's own thoughts in sync with the screen events, to be able to fully digest all the little nuances, and to be able to entirely immerse oneself into the director's vision and direction.

Oosh: Jinxes & Diamonds

29th October 2007

The deafening sound of the crushing metal rang through the air as we both sat upright in our seats. "Did I just hit the curb? Oh shit! Tell me that I didn't just hit the curb," she said, as I remained silent, partially in shock, partially in tactful denial.

But the denial could only last so long, as the nearby valet came over and knocked on the window, telling us, "Erm Ma'am, I think you didn't see the curb on your left, you have to reverse your car out of there first."

She did as she was told, reversing her car to the piercing sound of the metal being scratched as the car moved into a safe spot. We both alighted with bated breaths, mentally preparing ourselves to see the disaster, but our hearts only sank deeper (her's much more than mine) when we gazed upon the huge deformation on the back door and the deep scratches that spanned across two panels of the door. It was definitely more than enough damage to remove the brand new polish of her 2-day old Red Suzuki Swift.

"I'll kill you if they tell me that their fully booked, after all that has happened. It's all thanks to you and your stupid choice of wanting to come here," she said, as we were waiting to be seated. I remained silent. Fortunately, my life was to be spared a little longer, as the captain showed us the way to our seats, a little table under a tentage set up in the midst of the garden.

Lit by warm candlelight against the greenery of the garden, the ambience proved to be soothing and luxurious. Scanning around the vicinity, I caught love-birds and expats sitting out in the middle of the garden, portraying an image of a mid-summer's night dinner in the garden, one that we of the tropics do not fully relish.

"You know, I am surprised that you are more concerned with wondering how to hide this from your mum than the actual heartache of wrecking your 2-day old car," I said, in my typical brutal honesty.

"Well, I've been in worse accidents before, like some really bad ones. Wait, let me show you," she said, as she browsed through the photos in her phone to show me an even more worthy debacle.

Convinced, I said, "Well, then I am surprised that you are taking it somewhat optimistically. If I were you, I would be damn pissed and jittery, by now."

"Hey, says who, I damn feel like crying now, but I just don't want to spoil the rest of the night," she said, as her words rang with truth from the watery look in her eyes. She's always been a strong one, or perhaps just blindly optimistic. Whatever it is, for as long as I've known her, she's been a self-proclaimed escapist and has been more than able to dodge the pessimism in her path time after time.

The Seafood Sampler Appetizer arrived just in time to ease the weight of the moment. While measly in terms of portion, what was there was mouth-watering enough to warrant the monicker of "appetizer." The prawns were fresh and succulent, the salmon was suitably smoked and the tuna with avocado was surprisingly tantalizing to the tastebuds despite its overly-greenish appearance (by my standards).

Her phone rang again during the course of the appetizer, as I reached into my pocket to attempt to dig mine out for a routine check. But my pocket was unexpectedly empty as I started to look under my chair and table for my phone.

Seeing my frantic actions, she asked me what I was looking for. I told her that I probably had dropped my phone, and it could be in the car, or maybe not. She beckoned me to go back to the car to look for it, but I was reluctant; partially due to the distance from the carpark, and perhaps partially because there might be some form of silent comfort in company if she knew that she was not the only one who had something bad happening to her, despite the insurmountable difference. But being the selfless angel that she was, she convinced me to take a walk back to the car to at least find some peace of mind over dinner.

I returned relieved and to the scent of my main course aptly placed in front of my seat. Wasting no time, I sliced into the Beef Tenderlion to sample the wellness of the meat. Perfectly medium with a juicy finish. The brown sauce proved to be ample and provided much-needed flavour to the staple taste of mashed potatoes. Her Lamb Shank was well-prepared as well, with the meat tenderly roasted with a pink centre. But beef beats lamb any day for the Vampiric tongue though.

"It's just me, right?" she asked over dinner "I mean, its just my bad driving thing, right? And not like I'm cursed or something, right?"

"Uh, would you actually prefer it to be that way?" I questioned her question.

"Yeah, I would rather it be something that I can control, than something I can't," she said.

"Yeah, don't worry, it's just you." I assured her.

"Then again, it may be this whole thing about us knowing each other for 7 years now, and it might just be some 7-year curse thing that is causing us to jinx each other," I said cheekily, as she looked on unamused.

Jinxes

After dining, we took a stroll around the place to check out the decor of the surroundings. Oosh essentially consist of a luxurious open-mansion portion, complete with an overhanging balcony and a little pool / fountain, and also a lavish garden with a rather elaborate pond to top it off. While most of the areas were mostly are for drinks, they were somewhat segmented into different classes based on the crowd. While the mansion looked to hold expats and executives with long glasses socializing, the balcony and garden areas served more intimate purposes, with friends sitting in sofa clusters or under little wooden pavilions in the midst of the garden. With such an ambience, it is little wonder why Oosh is the one of the forerunners of the revival of the Dempsey Road district.

Post-dinner, a little drive took us to a cosy Ben & Jerry's further into Dempsey Hill for a much-needed sugar-rush after the entire debacle. Wooden cottage-like decor finished with an almost authentic fireplace, this branch of Ben & Jerry's proved to be the most appealing yet, for just whiling one's time away on ice cream. Perhaps its a treat to compensate for the inaccessibility of its location, or a reward kept to the those privileged enough to be able to find wheels into the depths of Dempsey Hill.

An excellent live-duo sang the songs that both she and I were familiar with, classic rock ballads that we both shared a love for. "You know, as much as I think she is a damn good singer, I think they're a little too young, and somehow lack the soul for these kinda songs."

She was right, they lacked the soul alright, probably lacked the jaded-soul that she and I had to fully appreciate the meaning behind the lyrics. A better half of my bitter soul was cultivated in the last 7 years of my life, in her constant presence. Peiwen and I have somehow managed to share a non-committal yet always dependable "special" friendship that has endured the changes that both of our characters' have undergone over the last 7 years.

If all the people close to One touches one's Soul in one way or another, then Peiwen has been playing the part of my CONSCIENCE, always patient, mostly moralistic,but never judgmental, Peiwen more than makes up for this vacuum in my dark soul.

Genuine Smiles by the End of the Night

On the ride home, I asked, "You know, of the 5 closest friends in my life, 4 of them are female. So that makes 4 Queens and 1 Jack. Now then, if you had a choice, which Queen would you be?"

"Well, I'll go with the Queen of Diamonds," she replied.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Hearts can be broken, but Diamonds are Forever. Haha." She replied wittily.

Forever indeed.

Al Dante Trattoria: Love for the Lighter Taste of Love

12th October 2007

"Hmm, thanks. Give me a moment, while I go pick up my girlfriend," I told the captain, after browsing through the menu at the front of the restaurant. In actual fact, "girlfriend" might not have really been the right word here, since she and I had agreed on more *ahem* flippant terms.

"Hey darling," I greeted her, as I took her hand and naturally guided her to the restaurant I was at just minutes ago. The captain gave me a look of (obvious) recognition, as he directed us up the stairs. The waitress on the second floor seated us at our table, with a clear view of the city skyline in a distance. Romance was in the air indeed, a semi-breezy night of alfresco dining under the stars, and the skyline made the perfect backdrop for picture *err* perfect, *err* pictures *ahem*.

We took a little longer than necessary browsing through the menu trying to decide what to order for the night, as we were probably a little too preoccupied with absorbing the essence of the ambiance. But after a little deliberation, we finally decided on one appetizer and two main courses.

As we were waiting for the food to arrive, we recounted the past month of our "relationship." Again, "relationship" here was an extremely vague term due to a rather complicated ruling . For starters, we were meant to be "flings" more than anything official, not bounded by the exclusivity of dating, and it was meant to be something somewhat light and somewhat casual, but yet, not really at the same time.

And indeed, light was the order of the day as transcended through the taste of the Garlic Bread that was promptly served shortly after our orders were placed. I am a self-confessed Garlic Bread lover, and for the oddest reason, I tend to use something as simple as Garlic Bread as a benchmark to get a rough footing of an Italian Restaurant's culinary standard. Tonight's Garlic Bread was softly-toasted, with the Garlic Essence deeply and subtly set into the bread, picked up only by the more delicate portions of the taste buds and played more to the olfactory senses than those of the tongue. But yes, there was a beauty in such subtlety, and I was definitely a beholder.

But experience has taught me that subtlety can be a deadly thing as well, and perhaps that was the driving force behind me wanting to shy away from the terms of "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" for us, in the first place. All the subtle and unsaid obligations and expectations, the "supposed tos" and "shoulds" ("should pay," "should fetch," "should send," "should serve," "should spoil") are more than enough to send shivers down my commitment-phobic spine at the very thought of them. I believe in Free Will, where everything in a relationship is done out of one's own willingness rather than the need to meet another's expectations, the things that the other person would want out of you; a belief that Age and Experience have played their roles in sculpting over the years.

But Age has not only proven to sculpt my beliefs, apparently it has a part in shaping my taste-buds as well. The Mudcrab Lasagna served was drenched with a thick and brown gravy, with a richess akin to that found in Lobster Bisques. While I had used to appreciate this particular kind of richness in my food, this time around, my taste-buds and I were left a little disorientated. Perhaps Age is shaping my taste buds to bear a stronger resemblance to that of my father's, with preferences for lighter and more subtle flavours.

But when it comes to flavours, still nothing beats the importance of balance in flavours. The Rucola Pizza, described by the menu to be topped with ham and dressed-salad proved to be the biggest surprise of the night. I thought my "girlfriend" madly experimental when she chose to order the seemingly odd pizza (I mean, a dressed salad on top of a pizza?!), but yet, when it was served, the unlikely combination actually turned out surprisingly well. The thin bread-like crust and base of the pizza splendidly complimented the salad made on top of it (as to how bread crumbs compliment a well-dressed salad), and the well-made ham was icing on the cake. The freshness of the greens with its appropriate dressing, complimented by the subtle taste of the dough in the make of the crust, topped with the saltiness of the ham, totaled into a splendid, well-balanced potpourri of flavours -- hands-down the best dish of the night for me. A point reinforced by my repeated picking of triangular-slice after triangular-slice off the platter.

And perhaps triangles are the best way to explain the somewhat complicated "relationship" that she and I share.

The Triangular Theory of Love factorises love into 3 components:

• Intimacy - which encompasses the feelings of closeness, connectedness, and bondedness.

• Passion - which encompasses the drives that lead to romance, physical attraction, and sexual consummation.

• Commitment - which encompasses, in the short term, the decision that one loves another, and in the long term, the commitment to maintain that love.

Which permutate to form 8 different kinds of love.

1. Nonlove, the absence of all three components of love.

2. Liking, in this case characterizes true friendships, in which a person feels a bondedness, a warmth, and a closeness with another but not intense passion or long-term commitment.

3. Infatuated love is often what is felt as "love at first sight". But without the intimacy and the commitment components of love, infatuated love may disappear suddenly.

4. Empty love: Sometimes, a stronger love deteriorates into empty love, in which the commitment remains, but the intimacy and passion have died (e.g. arranged marriages).

5. Romantic love: Romantic lovers are bonded emotionally and physically through passionate arousal.

6. Companionate love is often found in marriages in which the passion has gone out of the relationship, but a deep affection and commitment remain.

7. Fatuous love can be exemplified by a whirlwind courtship and marriage in which a commitment is motivated largely by passion, without the stabilizing influence of intimacy.

8. Consummate love is the complete form of love, representing the ideal relationship toward which many people strive.

Of course, the “Perfect Love” is the perfectly balanced Consummate Love, but then again, I was never really looking for this brand of “perfection”. Over the years, I've learned to believe in the ephemeral and become an Experiential, living-in and fully relishing the flavour of the moment. So while the rest of society reaches out for the perfect complete Love; as I am right now, Commitment is too rich and heavy flavour for me to bear, and indeed, the lighter flavours of Romantic Love and everything else in-between the axes of Passion and Intimacy are more akin to my tastes.

And the best part is... I don't have to dine alone in my beliefs, for she would gladly indulge in the flavours that I so relish.

Holding Happiness

.... to a month of Wining and Dining to the Lighter Flavours of Love

Halloween in the Schizophrenic Mind

???: I know its a little belated, but... Happy Halloween Dr. Jerkyll.

Dr. Jerkyll: A very Happy Halloween to you to Mr. Snyde, But say, I think the belated is a little more that a little, considering Halloween came a little early for us this year.

Mr Snyde: Huh? I'm not THAT late, its only like a week back that I was all dressed-up about town, scary the shit out of innocent kids with nuts for guts.

Dr. Jerkyll: Well, if I remember correctly, Halloween came a little early for us this year, as we were already scaring the, *ahem*, in your words, "shit" out of people in, what was it? August? Remember how the female freshmen this year regarded us as, as much as I hate to say it.... *ahem* "scary".

Mr. Snyde: Oh yeah, I remember that. Being almost unanimously voted the "scariest" in the group by a bunch of straight-out-of-Junior-College 19-year old Chics, That was a blast, I'm sure. Bah! 19-year old chics, what do they know. Besides, it was your fault that we ended up in that debacle.

Dr. Jerkyll: I beg your pardon! My fault?! In what way was it my fault?

Mr. Snyde: Well, it was you, who had to go around spreading your "extreme opinions." So "extreme" that they probably felt mentally imposed upon by your dogmatic beliefs. Couple that with a knack for arguing and debating your way out of things, you probably left them in fear or saying anything that would oppose your opinions.

Dr. Jerkyll: Well, excuse me, Mr. Snyde, I personally don't think there is anything wrong with holding an opinion. I admit that at times, I might be a little opinionated, perhaps to the point that it is a little imposing for the weaker minds of these "sheep." But it is not my fault that they are "sheep" to begin with. If they had any form of an opinion, as in a strong one, they should either be able to silently hold on to it without faltering under the influence of others, or to be able to communicate it, and match it up against mine.

[Mr. Snyde subconsciously nods along]

Dr. Jerkyll: I think the problem lies more with you actually.

Mr. Snyde: Me? How can it be me? Please. I'm the charismatic Mr. Snyde, well-loved by all, especially the ladies. There is nothing scary about me.

Dr. Jerkyll: What about the fabled "shallowness" that you are so notoriously renowned for? The open proclamation of judging the value of girls based on their physical attributes, specifically their countenance and their mammaries? And what about the constant impression that you portray of being out "fishing" for your next potential romantic interest, and seemingly doing everything with an ulterior motive, down to choosing who you talk to? How do you explain that?

Mr. Snyde: Please, I'm a boobs-man, EVERYBODY knows that. You know that I've always been rather open about the things that I like or dislike, and I am not afraid to verbalise or express my said interests.

Dr. Jerkyll: Yes, I know exactly how you feel about the expressing part.

Mr. Snyde: And about the "fishing" part, well, its no secret that I like skirt-chasing, which normal hot-blooded male doesn't? And is it really wrong to wear such intentions on your sleeve? You know that I've always been a player of the open game, and would rather do things in the brash open than covertly in the shadows. It's just my style.

Dr. Jerkyll: And have you not considered the trauma caused by the culture shock of meeting someone like you, of said style, on these innocent young pups the moment that they enter into University, causing them to *ahem* bowl over in fear?

Mr. Snyde: Yeah, maybe, but fuck it, man. Call it whatever you want, this is the real world, and they can't expect to always be meeting people who are so nice, decent and honest, just for the sake of it, or cos "it's the right thing to do." It all comes down to honesty, man.

Dr. Jerkyll: Honesty? How so?

Mr. Snyde: Well, we've been said to be "Brutally Honest" if you recall. And this is on 2 fronts I think, internally and externally. I'm "Brutally Honest" internally, I not only express, but LIVE my inner thoughts and emotions out. I don't really hide the thoughts and feelings that should be hidden by conventional standards, such as my said taste for bigger cup-sizes. And perhaps this form of honesty scares the shit out of people tied down by the web of societal conventions, or those who are just simply not used to it.

Dr. Jerkyll: Then I guess I have to be the external aspect of "Brutal Honesty," outwardly and outspokenly expressing my opinions and thoughts to others in its most raw state, with no regard for the societal tact that normally wraps the communication of such opinions. Perhaps even to the point that these "sheep" so used to the societal standards of tact find it jarring and disorientating when I can project my unadulterated opinions so openly.

Mr. Snyde: Yup, now we're on the same page Dr. J.

Dr. Jerkyll: So, now that we know that our individual defiance of societal norms and standards scares people, it comes down to one final important question then... Would you or would you not, change anything about you at all so that you are less "scary"?

Mr. Snyde: Nope. If being less scary means losing a little of my individuality and my freedom of expression, just so that I can fit in to their standards and expectations, then hell no.

Dr. Jerkyll: Neither will I, Mr. Snyde, neither will I.

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Mr. Snyde: Happy Halloween, Dr. Jerkyll.

Dr. Jerkyll: Happy Halloween, Mr. Snyde.

Eski Bar: Frozen Assets

31st August 2007

"So, who's the boss here?" asked the waitress dressed in a thick winter coat.

"He is..." Fabian said, pointing to me, "it's his pay-day."

Indeed it was pay-day, and my very first one at that, at least since I had ascended into the working class. And in classical fashion, there was probably no better way to seal the significance of the moment in time with a couple of drinks alongside some great company. The Clubbing 8 (with 1 substitute) were out on a full-force encore as we buried our heads into the menus, deciding on the choices before us.

I looked up to absorb the surrounding ambiance, scanning the interior of the pub, with my eyes already accustomed to the overall blueish hue accentuated only with warm yellow candle light. The overall ambiance accurately conveyed the literal, tongue-in-cheek "Chill Out" theme of the bar. A few years late from the initial hoo-ha perhaps, but after countless impressions formed from local dramas and pictures, I finally found a reason to check out the flagship branch of the rather renowned Eski Bar.

The interior of the bar was a little smaller than I expected it to be, and the infamous "Cold Room" was disappointingly only a very minute portion of the bar - housing only a couple of 2-seater tables - while the rest of the bar was "conventionally" air-conditioned, greatly rendering my Rock Star jacket rather unnecessary.

While waiting for the drinks to arrive, we dabbled in a little time waster. 8 middle / index-fingers firmly pressed on a coaster in the center of the table, as each of the fingers exerted all the force it could muster to attempt to pull the coaster towards their respective directions. A scene out of the rather pointless party game Demolition, but as with all party games, the laughter it brought about was more important than the game itself. After minutes of not being able to move the coaster anywhere due to the table surface, we gave up weary with laughter.

Group Photo

Our selection of mostly signature drinks arrived promptly, as we savoured the unique concoctions of the bar. Mine was an Eski Blue, a fitting signature drink that was more for the ladies perhaps (but then again, I'm quite the ladies' drink fan). Rather fruity, and sour, with a tinge of sweetness brought about by the Lychee Liquer. The drink further reinforced my mantra that anything with Lychee Liquer can never go wrong, and left me high and dry for another drink as I went with the more experimental Arctic White for my second round.

Blue never looked so Appetizing

Milky white with soft, jelly-like pearls littered on the surface of the drink, the Arctic White was as *ahem* milky as I had anticipated, with a slight burning tinge of alcohol to top it off. The table was filled with other rather interesting drinks as well, as the rest of the 8 were decidedly experimental in their choices, ordering drinks such as a Chocolate Martini (which wasn't half-bad) and a weird alcoholic Margarita chocolate-float of some-kind that was actually quite good.

Milk and Honey

With our glasses half-full, the entourage turned to me to come up with one of my trademark games to keep them (and myself) entertained. Looking around, I only saw straws and drinks and with a flash of sudden inspiration, I laid down the rules.

"We play guess the number. Everyone puts 1 hand out and can only do 5 or 0, so you can guess anything between 0 to 40. And if you guess correctly, you get to choose to sabotage the person on your left OR right. And the chosen person has to bite a straw, and pass it using mouth only to the next chosen person. Of course, with each pass, you have to bite deeper into the straw, and it ends when the last 2 people kiss... Simple, right?" I said with a cheeky smirk.

"Man, only Jeremy will think of these kinda games," Jeffery lamented, as I saw a sense of agreement light up in the rest of their stunned faces. Yet, somewhat mysteriously and perhaps almost subconsciously, they all stretched out their hands in anticipation of starting the game.

Yep, I was the boss, alright.

.... The Flow of Assets is Ephemeral, But Memories stay Frozen in Time

Talk is Sexy...

When the Talking Stops, the Kissing Starts...

Starting from light playful pecks, the romantic momentum normally builds up gradually when two dormant romantic juggernauts are left uninterrupted. As the kisses get heavier (and wetter), so does the intensity in the air as the silence that becomes more deafening by the minute.

Yet, this silence between kisses is necessary, acting as peaceful staccatos between the sounds of suction made by the lips tightly pressed against each other; giving the couple a moment of rest to look into each others' eyes while relishing it.... the silence of the moment. Yes, this silence is the driving force behind the intensity essential for deep romance.... or so I thought, back then.

This was the mantra that I held back in my earlier days of dating. Viewing the romanticized picture of kisses captured through the frames of movies, novels and drama. The all-too-familiar scene of the two protagonists coming to an abrupt silence in their conversation, only to have their eyes meet, and naturally leaning forward for a kiss.... as the scene gets cut away, only leaving you with your imagination to fill in the romantic details that follow after. And if imagination was anything to go by, mine (naturally?) led to picturing them kissing intensely as the next step of logical progression, before leading to more drastic stages.

Yet, over the years, I've learned that this silence is hardly as rosy on this side of the silver screen. The "silent intensity" that expresses the romance between kisses, is mostly a romanticized myth. Yes, it might engage the soul for a while, but like all things, its only ephemeral. It normally isn't before long that it gets somewhat tiring, tiring in the sense that 2 people who are supposed to be so close are bogged down by the total lack of verbal communication. Yet, neither is brave enough to really say anything in fear of "spoiling the moment" by saying something that the other might find irrelevant, a turn-off or perhaps even offensive, at worst.

But I beg to differ from the depiction of this dramatized silence. Over the course of time, there is one thing that I have concluded during the process of prolonged kissing - or making out in general - and that is that Talk does not necessarily spoil the mood. In fact, Talk can actually be downright Sexy.

A well-timed line of wit to break the moments of silence between the kisses can help lighten the mood, providing a much-needed moment of relief from the continual intensity accumulated from the prolonged kissing. If done right, Talk can be amusing, and we all know that Laughter is sexy in its own right; a fine cocktail of pleasure derived from passion AND amusement.

These light-hearted moments of relief serve as a good point of relativity to the intensity of the silence during the kissing. Philosophically, there can only be a true understanding of one state when there is an existence of the anti-state. In English, it translates to: the contrast of the light-hearted moments of laughter serve as a contrast that can actually heighten the intensity of the kisses... all a matter of relativity and balance.

The drama-mamas will probably call my belief a heresy on "the essence of real romance," but then again, romance is partially about intimacy as well, connecting in the soul. And with a soul-baring connection, comfort plays the vital role of a pillar to the establishment of this intimacy. Thus, being able to laugh in between kisses confident of it not spoiling the mood thereafter is a rather ready display of the level of comfort between two souls, don't you think?

To paraphrase my (assclown) brother: Just because you are kissing someone doesn't make her any more (in terms of objectification of the person as an object of reverence) or less than the person that you've been with all this while. Essentially, she's still the same person, and there is no need for the imposing of an artificial level of sanctity and silence between the 2 of you, all in the name of "dramatic romance."

Of course, how Sexy the Talk ends up being is highly dependent on the key factors of line-delivery, relevance, wit (all of which I personally do not have a problem with), and chemistry between the 2 parties involved; but if done right, Talk can pave the sexiest way in which 2 pairs of lips could possibly interact.

... but when the Kissing starts, the Talking doesn't have to Stop.

The Prize of Passion

1st October 2007

"You wanna try?" asked 1 of the formally-dressed 6,000-point players with an outstretched arm and the end of the controller facing me.

“Try? TRY? Hah. I'll show you 'try.' When I play, it's not about 'trying,' it's about showmanship, it's about competition, it's about going for the kill,” my inner voice rang in my head. But before my competitive arrogance had time to fully settle in, I felt a cold shiver running through my spine... a shiver of Performance Anxiety. The change in the play environment, the difference in the feel of the all-too-familiar controller were all potentially valid factors, but none of them stacked up against the fear of underperforming, especially not when it was in a semi-public environment, and people (albeit not much) were going to watch. And of course, being touted as the office Golden Boy didn't make matters any easier either.

It was going to be beyond a matter of pure skill, it was going to be more than just a game; it was going to be an act of showmanship, a performance. Me against the music, if the "music" came in a literal form of one quirky German boss, and a small room of onlookers. With butterflies in my stomach, I took a deep breath and firmly grasped the controller. “Sure,” I said.

Time to Play the Game

I started out slow, hiding in my usual bottom-right corner, taking out the familiar Blue Diamonds and Green Squares with great ease. Yep, if every performer has his/her signature entrance, then mine would surely be this display of (false) confidence. The score raked up.... 20,000.... 40,000..... 60,000.... that's it! The screen was starting to flood with all manner of shapes and colours, and touching any one of them would entail a bright burst of on-screen fireworks and the loss of a precious life. “Every 75,000 for a life, every 100,000 for a bomb”, I kept repeating in my head, as I was forced to start moving.

"When did you start playing this game?" the question from a conversation with a colleague a few days back rang through my head.

"Actually, I only started playing when I came into this company," I recalled my answer.

"Wow, and you can score so high in such a short time, you must be talented in this," he replied.

I smirked.

Talented? Perhaps, you could say that I am, but I believe that the essence of my talent is not so much of being exceptionally good at a single game, but rather it is in the art of Adaptability, being able to adapt quickly to a new game mechanic and quickly picking up the nuances of a new system; an Art that naturally came with the amount of dedication that put into my passion, and this adaptability probably shines through in my everyday life as well. A random Green Square did a quick turn and rammed into my ship, causing it to burst into light. I lost my first life... as I peered up to the top of the screen to see 6 remaining lives.... 6. The score... 343,000.

I smirked as my ship respawned, knowing that I had already overcame the initial Performance Anxiety. My score for 1 single life was already more than what most in the house could do in 1 entire sitting, now I had to watch out for my other nemesis, Carelessness. The chase was on again.

Yes, dedication was the order of the day. The dedication to pump in a few hours everyday in the post-office hours to leisurely train with my 2 partners in psuedo-competition rules, and and additional amount of dedication on top of that by playing some more after getting home. Discipline has never been one of my stronger suits in most aspects of my life, but I guess if there is anywhere that I applied it, it had to be here. Yes, it is this dedication to achieve and outdo that divides the Greater from the Lesser, the Hardcore from the Casual; and of course, I am hardcore.

The Training Buddy, Paul

A flood of small fly-like enemies I nicknamed 'Beezebulb' started to flood the screen from all 4 directions. I hopped a little on my toes, in an attempt to get some blood rushing to the rest of my cold limb body. I skillfully shot and manoeuvred through the blinding mass of enemies. "Whoa," could be heard coming from the background as I made my way through them. I had caught the attention of the crowd as I felt all eyes on me; but I had no time to think, I had to keep my thoughts in place if I wanted to take home the prize. The biblical mantra of “The Spirit is willing, but Flesh is Weak” proved true as Greed drove my temptation to steal a glance at the coveted prize from the corner of my eye, causing me a life as a collective "aww" echoed in the background.

DJ EEBlank promised that it was not going to be easy, and he kept true to his word, pumping up the sounds and mixing up the beats as he score escalated. Surprisingly complimentary to the intensity of the game, his beats; only a little less surprising that realizing that your boss has a talent in DJ-ing perhaps.

DJ EEBlank aka The Boss

But he was up against more than a mere mortal; he was up against the Immortal himself, a Gaming Colossus conditioned to pounding sounds and resonant to the groove of club beats. The beats raised my adrenaline, as the screen filled with enemies and the intensity of the game multiplied. I drew circles around them, I had hit my Limit Break, I had reached my State of Zen, as my mind stopped thinking and pure reflex took over. 800,000... 900,000... 1,000,000, the escalating score was beautifully accompanied by the increasing volume of the "oohs" and "ahs" that followed each beautiful evasion I made.

Yes, this was Geometry Wars, an accurate representation of an era of gaming that has passed us. A era where games were visceral, gameplay concepts were easily grasped by any onlooker, no multipart goals, no endings, no fanciful story lines; just pure skill, reflex and motivation to beat the high score; and the experience came from the core gameplay alone. Not everyone in the room played the game, but everyone sure as hell could appreciate skill when they saw some it being displayed.

I was down to my last life, as the people around me watched with baited breath. There was a general air of tension in the room underneath all the hardcore beats. No one was trying to disrupt my focus anymore, all eyes were on the screen. I pulled my last bomb, clearing the overcrowded screen. I snaked around the screen, a Purple Square flew towards me as I blasted it and turned around quickly to avoid its flying remnants, but right into the path of a red magnet ship. My ship burst into light, the punishing "Game over" screen flashed for all to see, but yet, despite the display words of defeat, it was ultimately a victory. I looked down at the center of the screen to see my final score... 1,683,595.

Applause started ringing behind me, as the audience showed their appreciation for the exciting display of skill and showmanship that I had brought to them. I had done it, I had overcome distraction of bystanders, I had survived the intense sounds of DJ EEBlank, and most importantly, I had conquered Performance Anxiety, and completely put my fear of under-performing to rest. The show was over indeed, I turned around, waved and took a short but fitting bow.

The rest of the night was indulged in a premature celebration. Sure, there could have been any member of the public coming in to attempt to challenge my high score, and wrest the prize from my hands, but I couldn't care less, as I felt that I had already performed to the mark of my expectations, and probably a little blindly confident that 1.6 million was suffice to claim the prize. A galore of White Wine and Whisky Green Tea defined the celebratory mood in me.

Red Marks the Colour of Victory

Later in the night, DJ EEBlank came out of his DJ stand for a drink. Standing next to me at the bar counter, he said "Congratulations, I'm very proud of you," as he raised his wine glass to offer his cheers.

"I'm very proud of myself too," I said haughtily, as the rim of my wine glass clashed with his.

The cab ride home was one suspended in a semi-drunken stupor and a state of semi-disbelief, as I held had my arm around the Prize, joy running through my bones as I laughed to silently laughed to myself for pulling it off. Sure, it was great to win a Nintendo Wii out of nowhere, considering that it was an eventual purchase for me either way, and to have it drop like Manna from Heaven straight into my lap was pure bliss.

You would look this Maniacal too if you were Me.... just maybe not half as Drunk

But the real Prize in the night was the symbolic meaning behind the material prize.

"I like how you did it with so much class . Going in on your 1st try and immediately scoring 1.6 million, while you celebrated the rest of the night away waiting to take the prize home," I recalled Paul's congratulatory words.

Indeed, the Pride that came from the recognition of my excellence in my Passion, the Pride of knowing that I had managed to EARN the biggest material desire on my wish list purely realized by the results of my Passion, was the REAL prize behind it all.

The Pride behind the Prize of Passion... simply Priceless