unkster

Human Feelings

2008-12-28T03:21:00.002+08:00

After reading JoL's blog entry about Unkster and all the shenanigans and emolutioning that gets displayed out here, I feel a sudden sense of loss and guilt for abandoning what was the repository of my feelings for a good 3 years.

But yet, I don't how to feel anymore when I read some of the posts.

To be happy or sad. To chuckle or chortle. To reminisce or regret.

In a morbid sort of way, I sometimes miss those feelings. And yet, I'd be damned to repeat some of the sillier things I have done with my life.

Perhaps that's what they call an early mid-life crisis. Which is what I think Unkster is about really.

Ha!

Moving House

2008-10-11T11:47:00.002+08:00

Actually I've gotten another one. But I'll still be a tenant here.

And like all new homes, that one is still threadbare and un-painted. With only a lonely picture hanging on the wall.

Slowly but surely yah.

UNKSTER WAS RAPED!

2008-10-06T14:12:00.001+08:00

for some reason, something, or someone screwed up our front page... please bear with us while we figure it out... and in the meantime, sorry for the boring, generic housefront. we will renovate and be even better!!!

eventually...

ABBAholic

2008-10-06T02:26:00.002+08:00

Just when I thought I had finally weaned myself off ABBA songs after watching MamaMia! three weeks ago, I had to do it all over again this evening.

And now, once again, I have to wipe that silly grin off my face as I hum Dancing Queen while wrapped in my towel galeking to the shower, I Have A Dream, stirring my sleepy morning kopi and Super Trouper, windows down speeding to work.

Goddamit!

We paid 75 bucks a piece to catch ABBAmania, arguably the best current Tribute Band to the Swedish Fab Four and it was worth every penny. Tonight's performance, like their recent 18-week run at London's West End, was a complete re-creation of ABBA's last live concert in 1979 right here in the Esplanade Theatre. Shortly after, much to Music-World's lost, Benny Andersson, Björn Ulvaeus, Anni-Frid Lyngstad, and Agnetha Fältskog called it quits. I hear they have never said so officially but, hell, we're not going to see them together as a group on stage anytime soon.

Anyway, it was a memorable evening. One of the few occasions where patrons of the Esplanade Theatre could get up and boogie to the music. I have been to The Durian many times for Musicals and Opera and it felt kinda' fun but weird to be dancing in the otherwise stoic-ly scarlet confines of the theatre hall.

Musically, ABBAmania were, in my book, very very ABBAish. I mean I haven't watched the real group live so I shall refrain from saying just how much the Tribute Band resembled the real McCoy in terms of percentages. But their vocals were amazing. If you closed your eyes, and took a rewind to 1979, lets just say it was believable that ABBA was right there on stage.

And when ABBAmania ended the evening with Waterloo at a quarter past ten, just like how they had started the night's repertoire at 8pm, it was perhaps fitting when 'Bjorn' proclaimed that it was really ABBA we should be saying this to ; Thank You For The Music.

I agree.

Joyeux Anniversaire

2008-10-05T16:12:00.003+08:00

Happy Anniversary RCC!

What would life be without the great camaraderie and friendships online.

On The Side Of Me

2008-10-02T18:46:00.001+08:00

Jo & KT. 1 Oct 08. Chek Jawa @ Ubin.

I'm not the easiest person to love
I'm often the one who lets things go unresolved

Yet you choose to be
on the side of me
on the side of me
Yet you choose to be
on the side of me
on the side of me

I'm not too proud of some things
I've done in my life
The skeletons in my closet
Are too big for me to hide

Yet you choose to be
on the side of me
on the side of me
Blessed Charity
You're on the side of me
on the side of me

'Cause everyone needs a friend to hold
when it's cold outside
and there's no place to go
Everyone needs a friend to hold
all alone I cried
there was no place to go
I remember when nobody cared
but you

I'm not the easiest person to love
But you, you've opened your heart to show me what I'm worth

'Cause you choose to be
on the side of me
on the side of me
What a mystery
You're on the side of me
on the side of me

'Cause everyone needs a friend to hold
when it's cold outside
and there's no place to go
Everyone needs a friend to hold
all alone I cried
there was no place to go

I remember when nobody cared
I remember when nobody cared
Nobody cared
But you

Yeah you choose to be
on the side of me
on the side of me

Bee-N-Ali

2008-09-30T01:17:00.002+08:00

Italian for Biennial, the Singapore Biennale 2008 is the premier Visual Arts fest here.

On our sunny little island which is evidently coming out from the doldrums of post-industrialized banality and taking not-so baby steps into the Arty-farty world of novel and contemporary interpretation.

This year's theme is Wonder and the exhibition sites are bookended by two fabulous locations, City Hall and the South Beach Development. The latter is a clutch of colonial buildings along Beach Road that once housed an Army Camp.

We spent a lovely 2 hours at City Hall on Saturday, weaving through the old Courtrooms and Judges' Chambers in the midst of roaring F1 cars along St Andrew's Road.

Surreal to say the least.

Can't wait to get to South Beach. And partake of the fledging Arts scene here in our own little way.

Inspiration

2008-09-29T02:12:00.004+08:00

Sometimes, we yearn to be inspired.

When what we crawl back to at the end of the day is a sense of comfort and familiarity.

Just like a sudden stroke of genius that lifts you, inspiration often comes with its own dollop of the Unknown. And you ask yourself whether it can be sustained for the long-term. The source of inspiration that is.

To inspire and be inspired.

That perhaps is the secret to Relationship longevity.

MaMa Mia!

2008-09-14T02:56:00.004+08:00

Today, I had reason to go MamaMia!, twice.

In quick succession.

Firstly, over dinner with my Mother at my Granny's where my Aunties whipped up a somewhat belated Birthday dinner for me, I found out that The Woman (not Amah or any of my Aged Aunts obviously) has been dating! Mummy didn't tell me herself though. It was only after she hurriedly excused herself from dessert and scooted off, uncharacteristically early, that my 'Spies' (Amah and my Aged Aunts obviously) informed me. I nearly choked on my Orr Nee.

And as I write this, on the bed of a sleeping friend with whom I am bunking in over for the night, the thought of Mummy having someone else Special in her life ironically scandalizes the flyingmuffyn out of me. I think I need the next week or so to gather my thoughts and let it all sink in. MamaMia!, it will be a cold day in Hell before I call someone else Dad!

On a another Motherly note, we went to catch MamaMia! The Movie after makan. And boy was it a welcomed distraction from the stunning revelation that was dinner. The show is a silver-screen adaption of the hit 2001 Broadway Musical of the same name that has a storyline wrapped around ABBA songs. And this time, Director Phyllida Lloyd has lined up a star-studded cast headed by veterans Meryl Streep, Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and immensely watchable newbies Amanda Seyfried and Dominic Cooper.

I'll leave you guys to go google the plot (nothing high-brow and super sweet) but I must say that apart from the subtitled lyrics coming on whenever the songs started to be sung, like Karaoke, and having Mr Pierce 'Remington Steele' Brosnan croak like a toad going through tonsil therapy whilst singing in his real voice, MamaMia! turned on the Camp-factor so high it was so fun.

So I end this, a tale of 2 MamaMia's.

One of Swedish Nostalgia. The other of near Hysteria.

Putting The Happy In Birthday

2008-09-11T00:54:00.002+08:00

Its hard to not want to remember that its your birthday when the Many Happy Returns on SMS start coming in at half past eleven.

Reminds me of Christmas Eve, when everyone wants to beat the midnight Network crush. Only this time, I don't know what the big deal is about. OK so I sound a little ungrateful. At least people remember right? So thanks guys. Yes I am 35. Not exactly jubilant about it but not about to sulk either.

Why should I?

I think on this day of my birth more than a third of a century ago, I have many things to be grateful for. And in the hurly burly of everyday living, its as good an opportunity as any other, to stop and smell the roses.

Today, I am loved. And although they say its better to have loved and lost than never to have loved before, I have had the good fortune of having loved and lost, and yet loved in return even more. For this I am grateful. To be the world's biggest bastard sometimes, and yet experience so much heartfelt sacrifice. Truly blessed. But for reasons I cannot fathom.

Career-wise, I have made the most of a second chance to redeem myself. And from the way things look on the work front, I think I have made significant progress. Its not been easy to brush away the stigma of what has happened almost 2 years ago. But from the increasing responsibilities being heaped upon me, I know the Powers-that-be want to believe that I am capable of so much more.

These days, I am also at peace doing the things I enjoy. Alone or with company, it doesn't matter. I treasure my Me-Time as much as the periods of togetherness I spend with the people I care about. Books, photography, travel, film and theatre. These are the things I retreat to at the end of the day. Providing the perfect counterbalance to a career fashioned out of Law Enforcement and Policy.

So Happy Birthday to Me. Even if it rains in 10 hours, I want to go out and live life.

I think I owe it to myself.

Kids With Cameras

2008-09-06T04:26:00.002+08:00

I am just done with a DVD I picked up this afternoon.

Its called Born Into Brothels. And before you guys think its something seedy, this Academy Award-winning documentary tracks the lives of 8 children whose mothers are all prostitutes at a Red Light District in Calcutta. It tells the story of how New York-based photographer Zana Briski, who first arrives in India to get a snapshot of the lives of its sex-workers, ends up running a Photography class for the children who live right smack in the middle of such debauchery and despair.

The kids are given a film-loaded Point and Shoot each. And told to tell their story through the lens. With amazing results. From weekly photo shoots and sit-down sessions, fine-tuning what they see, how they compose, asking questions on why some shots work and why some do not and guiding them into looking at their own pictures critically, Zana uses the art of photography to rehabilitate and restore. And slowly, the children nurture a sense of self-belief and worth.

Zana has travelled the world, taking the best of what the children have shot, and turning the pictures into a traveling exhibition of sorts. The photographs have also been compiled into a book. Naturally, all profits go back to the children, for their education. Something their mothers can never hope to do or earn in a lifetime.

As I look at many of the photographs the kids have shot on their cheap cameras, I cannot help but feel both admiration and shame. I admire the children because, in spite of such immense deprivation, they have managed to communicate the very essence of their sad existence through their pictures. And I am ashamed because, in spite of me having access to an expensive DSLR, my images don't even come close to connecting on such an emotional level.

I'll let their pictures speak for themselves.

Words In A Bucket

2008-09-01T02:16:00.001+08:00

I've finally watched the Bucket List.

On DVD. After talking about it since it first started its run in the cinemas some months ago. I normally don't care too much for shows about death. Its a little morbid ya. But the draw of Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman in the same movie was enough to make many cinema-goers, and delayed-response viewers on DVD like me, perhaps pay good money to watch two old farts conjure up a list of things to do before kicking the bucket. And executing it.

The theme is not new. Deep down inside, there are a couple (maybe more) of things that we want to do before we go see Big Daddy in the Sky. But somehow, we don't make a conscious effort to write the stuff down or even dwell on it at length. Why? Simply because we all want to believe that we've got some (lots of) time left before we go. And really, how many of us would want to ponder the possibility of dying? Its something distant, something faraway.

Watching Cole (Nicholson) and Carter (Freeman) Lear-jet themselves around the world doing stuff most of us mere mortals can only dream of makes me think about what I would like to have in my own Bucket List if I was told I had but 6 months to live. Would it be an Epicurean Adventure of sorts? Or would I be scared shitless, embroiled in a mad-dash to find my god?

You know, I wish it would be as easy as using my last days to say things to people I really care about. Things that would be liberated once the imminence of Death comes knocking.

But I also wonder why, without the fear of dying, we find it so hard to say things to the people we love sometimes.

Do we need death to close one door and yet open another?

Unkers@TheTheatre - Turandot

2008-08-31T01:42:00.001+08:00

It was perhaps a poignant reminder.

That we live in a world where Skinny rules and Fatties have to suck in the adipose and accept that, however talented they may be, their svelte brethren will always take the louder applause.

I just got back from catching the Singapore Lyric Opera's interpretation of Puccini's Turandot at the Esplanade. It is perhaps their biggest and most opulent production to date, compared to Madama Butterfly (2005), Le Nozze di Figaro (2006), Il Barbiere di Siviglia (2007) and La Traviata (2008).

Of course everyone was there for more or less one Aria, the dramatic tenor of Calaf's Nessun Dorma in Act III, Scene I. And although China-born Tao Weilong's Calaf was certainly not disappointing, the late Luciano P. would be pleased to know that he alone holds the key to what must be the most hummable operatic tune to date.

But back to the Fatty issue.

Two sopranos were slated to take the starring role of Princess Turandot, each alternating for every evenings' performance. I suppose those high notes really take a toil on your vocal chords. We got Kim Young-Ae, a Voice major of the Seoul National University. Young-Ae sings beautifully and she has performed the role of Turandot to critical acclaim extensively. Unfortunately, she came across more like a Queen than a Princess. A Princess whose hand in marriage Princes the world over have come to ask with much trepidation.

Young-Ae, you see, is more Lard than Lithe. My partner remarked that perhaps her size gave her a bigger diaphragm and lungs to hit those high notes (alot of good singers are on the big side, consider most recently Paul Potts, who incidentally has a popular rendition of Nessun Dorma as well). But I was too distracted by the Baby Elephant on stage, and I still wonder why SLO Director Lo King-man chose to have such a fatty play a icy-cold and desirable Princess. It certainly spoilt it for me, Big Time (no pun intended!).

So when the opera came to an end, and the cast took turns, one by one, to stand at the edge of the stage to receive the Clapped Accolades from the audience, the loudest applause and Bravos were reserved for pretty and petite Filipina, Rachelle Gerodias instead. Rachelle having played the role of Liu, the young slave girl secretly in love with Calaf.

I felt bad for Young-Ae afterwards. But someone please tell her to take out the Ex-cess before becoming a Prin-cess.

Otherwise, an excellent evening out at the Theatre.

None Shall Sleep! None Shall Sleep!

2008-08-20T23:13:00.003+08:00

Ahh Turandot.

Puccini's opera of an evil Chinese Princess who beheads her prospective suitors who come from faraway if they cannot answer three of her riddles.

However, Calaf has correctly answered the trio of questions put to all of Turandot's would-be Princes. She, however, recoils at the thought of marriage. Calaf then offers her a challenge to guess his name before dawn. If she does, she can execute him. But if she does not, she must marry him. The icy-cold princess then decrees that none of her subjects are to sleep that night until his name is discovered. If they fail, they will all be killed.

The final act opens and it is night. Calaf is alone in the moonlit palace gardens. In the distance he hears Turandot's servants proclaiming her command. His aria begins with an echo of their cry and a reflection on the Princess...

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa, nella tua fredda stanza, guardi le stelle che tremano d'amore, e di speranza!
(None shall sleep! None shall sleep! Even you, o Princess, in your cold bedroom, watch the stars that tremble with love and with hope)

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me; il nome mio nessun saprà! No, No! Sulla tua bocca lo dirò quando la luce splenderà!
(But my secret is hidden within me; none will know my name! No, no! On your mouth I will say it when the light shines!)

Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio che ti fa mia!
(And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine!)

Il nome suo nessun saprà... E noi dovrem, ahimè, morir, morir!
(No one will know his name... and we will have to, alas, die, die!)

Dilegua, o notte! Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!
(Vanish, o night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At daybreak I shall win! I shall win! I shall win)

What's your dilemma today?

2008-08-19T16:22:00.002+08:00

After several false starts at starting to blog again, I am determined to get on with it!

I wonder if the obstacle is the nature of Unkster, rather than the issue of blogging itself. When I started Discovering Rijac I was searching deeply and trying to discover who I was and what I wanted. I had reached a stage when I thought I'd found myself and felt that DR was no longer the right avenue for me - the theme was discovery, and all had been discovered...

I'm not so sure now. However, there are certain inner thoughts that may be best 'blogged' anonymously and far too many people know the real person behind both unkster and rijac... so what does one do? a third, anonymous blog? yikes!

Dilemma. Thoughts?

Hello, Again

2008-08-18T01:52:00.002+08:00

When J talked about Hello, Electrico's hit from their sophomore album Hip City a moment ago, I realised I didn't mention in here that I attended their gig at the Arts House lawn last month.

Truth be told, I'm not particularly enamoured with the their 3rd release, We Satellites. Gone are the radio-friendly, jingle-jangle of guitars from hit-tracks like Runaway, I Want You and Love In New Wave. Instead, the album is decidedly more broody and less melodious. And with Daniel Sassoon gone to pursue his legal career, lead singer Dave Tan has to 'struggle' with the added responsibility of playing Lead Guitar. Something he is not un-capable of, just that he needs a little more practice. Amanda Ling, that oh so babelicous goth-chick, gets much more air-time as a result. Giving Satellites more of an Electronica edge than ever before.

No matter, we still have reason to be proud of our local lads. Last seen, I hear, at the MTV Asia Music Awards in Genting where they were nominated for Favorite Artiste Singapore. Bassist Desmond Goh is no The Edge or Flea. And drummer William Lim Jr is no Larry Mullen Jnr. But together, Electrico is one of the tightest outfits in our part of the world not known to give due credit to non-angmo rockers.

Good luck guys with your current local tour and Hello!, again.

OBS S.A

2008-08-12T01:08:00.005+08:00

You know what they say about looking forward to something to keep you sane at work.

Well, from 24th November to 19th December, I'm going to spend 3 glorious weeks in South Africa. Yes, Nelson Mandela land. Where the hypnotic Afrikaans murmur of drumbeats juxtapose the sinister backdrop of Blood Diamonds and the last vestiges of Apartheid. The place has been described as offering the whole world in just one country. And really, from the cliched advertisements of tourists on Safari, there is more than meets the eye.

However, lest you think I am actually going to pay for my passage to the Cape of Good Hope, its an all-expenses paid-for 'training vacation', with the good people down at Outward Bound South Africa.

They call it, The 21-day Classic Challenge.

OBS S.A's national base camp is situated at Willow Point, right on the edge of the great Swartvei Lake not far from the little town of Sedgefield. From what my predecessors tell me, you fly into CapeTown, hop onto internal wings for George, and then travel by bus to Sedgefield. The whole region is the centre of the Garden Route, a scenic coastal drive along South Africa's N2 highway, much like the Great Ocean Road downunder.

Sandwiched between the mighty Outeniqua mountain range and the Indian Ocean, I am sure Trekking, Abseiling, Rock-Climbing, Kayaking, Rope Courses and Sailing will be enjoyed in the balmy Mediterranean-like climate. And we're supposed to scale a peak too I hear. Just smashing!

Like all Outward Bound courses here or abroad, the organization's mission is to lead you on a path of self-discovery. And the 21-day Classic Challenge just pushes you over the edge so you know where your limits are, as far as mental and physical endurance go.

I'll check back here for more updates on the Trip Prep. In the meantime, someone tell me how I can get Internet access in the African Bush.

Wham Bam Damn

2008-08-05T01:45:00.004+08:00

Would you?

Tell someone when the loving has stopped. And you know the coordinates are set for an emotional collision in silent space.

Or let nature take its proverbial course?

The Gentle Manly thing to do.

The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
Yeah

But I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find, you and I collide

I'm quiet, you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know
I'm always on your mind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
You somehow find, you and I collide

Don't stop here
I've lost my place
I'm close behind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find, you and I collide

You finally find
You and I collide
You finally find
You and I collide

Angel Or Devil

2008-08-03T03:11:00.002+08:00

If only life was that easy.

We could separate everything into discrete, manageable, little packets. Discard the greys and the off-whites. Partition our emotions into tidy, compartmentalised, sets to suit every need and occasion.

And explain why we always fall in love with the wrong people.

You see the Angel in the Devil the world makes him out to be. When only yesterday, the Devil in the Angel you once thought he was struck so painfully.

Angel or Devil?

It's not clear anymore, is it?

Long Time No See

2008-07-25T01:41:00.003+08:00

I've got a thousand things to say. And yet I find it so hard to put thoughts and feelings into written words these days.

No, I am not being Emo. Maybe that's the problem. A little too ambivalent, I suppose, to be in the mood for my usual opinionated commentaries.

Its also like skipping gym for sometime. After awhile, you lose the momentum of exercise and quickly descent into the abyss of laziness.

Perhaps next week. I'll reclaim my blogging Mojo.

Quizas Quizas Quizas.

UnkReads - 9 Days In The Kingdom

2008-07-02T02:00:00.001+08:00

I wish I could say that the images below were photographed by me.

Unfortunately, you can tell that these were snapped from a great new book I am reading. One entitled, 9 Days In The Kingdom by 55 great Photographers. And naturally, I am not one of the 55. I won't be here, pathetically trying to capture a few of the hundreds of magnificent pictures in this coffee-table book from the humid discomfort of my kitchen, if it was so.

In January 2007, 55 of the greatest names in the world of professional photography congregated in Bangkok. Their job? To capture a slice of the country in 9 days and commemorate King Bhumipol's 60th Anniversary on the throne.

And so off they went, each with an assigned agenda. To the far North and the Deep South, from the Andaman Coast to the great Northeastern plateau. To shoot an aspect of Thai culture that complements their style and particular Eye for photographic detail.

The result, a stunning portrait of the Kingdom told in pictures (and some words). One day, one day, I will be involved in a project like this.

In the meantime, I can only gawk.

Foodie FR - Old Town White Coffee

2008-06-27T12:23:00.012+08:00

As fussy drinker of coffee and tea, P and I were very excited when we found out that Old Town White Coffee (OTWC) is going to have an outlet here. We missed the strong but balanced xi mu nai cha and the fragant white coffee that packed a wallop.

During our previous stays at Melaka, we visited the outlet at Padawan almost everyday for our tea.
The moment has been etched in our brain, the late afternoon teabreak, and tucking in a wonderful cup of beverage (we ordered 3 rounds FYI) in a nicely decorated cafe overlooking the shopping crowd. The cafe was busy, but we feel so isolated. It was really a moment to cherish, I look forward to going back there and I really hope the standards have not dropped yet.

Fast forward to recent times, the OTWC from outside looks like it has bags of potential.
Some thoughts have been given into the decor and settings. or so what we think.

Last Saturday, we visited this outlet for the 3rd time.

And I feel that it is safe to say, the settings, food, beverage and service is way behind their MY counterparts.
The ambiance is still poor due to glass walls and lack of demarkation of the kitchen and dining area.
There is a need for softening features like curtains or soundproofing panels to absorb the general clatter of the place.

The Xi Mu Nai Cha is particularly disappointing (again), for that price, I am better off getting my fix from a kopitiam anywhere. It is weak and lack any character at all! 1/10 rating from me.
The thing is that we complained to the in-charge that the tea is too weak.
He insisted that it is done to "SOP" and implying that we should accept it.
I told him that this is not what I expect of, from this beverage.
His curt reply was that he is a MYsian and he knows the standards.
Well, i cut him off by saying that I want him to strengthen it no matter what.

The Assam laksa was still equally disappointing, with a small piece of sardine topping a bowl of watered down gravy with the noodle way too soft. Not the standard we associated OTWC with.

However, the redeeming factor was the Iced Kopi Gao, strong and fragrant. Maybe abit too dark for P, but was just nice for me. The "thick" toast is so-so only.

In summary, we felt that the food standards are watered down either due to price pressure or to suit "local" taste. Or maybe the staff here are just clueless what a good cup of tea or coffee means to OTWC's customers.
It doesn't means that we will stop patronising them, but after 3 relatively disappointing visits, we will think twice before stepping into the outlet again.

CB..

On The Temasek Trail - The Southern Ridges

2008-06-11T02:03:00.002+08:00

I shall try not to bitch.

And look at things in their proper perspective. We are a small little island. Bereft of natural resources and natural wonders. Hell, we don't even have much scenery to begin with. What little land the East India Company first stumbled upon in 1819 has been apportioned to either Water Catchment, Housing or economy-driving Industry.

So I suppose we have had to make do.

With increasing the quality of life on this Little Red Dot that is. Making it Clean and Green. Nevermind if its a little sterile. At least we're not a big, decrepit metropolis that is Jakarta and Manila. Or an architecturally mundane city like Bangkok. Even Kuala Lumpur, behind that gleaming facade of the Petronas Twin Towers, hides an urban labyrinth in much need of repair and refreshment.

How then, should one balance the need to conserve, and the consequent retention of national 'character', with the realistic lack of physical real-estate and an inclination to erase parts of our history in the spirit of Economic Progress? When faced with the prospect of turning a mere 700 square kilometres of infertile land into an economic pocket-dynamo on the world-stage, integration of resources becomes a trifle tricky.

It was with these thoughts in mind, that I approached the Island Republic's latest attraction of sorts, the Southern Ridges. NParks is justifiably proud of this 9km stretch of walkways and green, open spaces that meander through hills that were always there, but not perceived as an entity on its own in the consciousness of the inhabitants that live below.

However like all things on this fastidiously spotless island, our brief sojourn on the elevated platforms through secondary rain-forest and on the fancy, designer-chic bridges they call Henderson Waves and Alexandra, gave us a sense of morbid artificiality that was hard to suppress. And yet, it seemed all too familiar. The 'No Smoking' signages, the squawking groups of urban-bred children, this obsession with having to know just where you are on the map every 50 paces or so, the ubiquitous chirp of SMSes from bird-of-paradise colored handphones.

It seems that in our effort to create natural spaces through the green lungs of the city, we have merely transferred a good proportion of the populace onto the Man-made trails, not unlike a bad bout of Pneumonia. Therein lies the paradox of accessibility. More people enjoy Mother Nature for who She is while Her virtues of Ecology and Sanctuary take a beating in the process.

Kudos to NParks for trying though.

At least we didn't build hill-top condominiums and then urge people to buy them for the stunning views of the Port.

On The Temasek Trail - Telok Ayer

2008-06-09T04:04:00.005+08:00

Having hung out at Kampong Glam more times in the last 3 months than I have ever had in my entire lifetime. And braving the maddening throngs at Little India over the past 2 Sundays. We thought Chinatown would be the next logical choice in our quest to capture S'pore on camera before everything is just glossed over in the name of conservation.

But alas, its a little too late to save our dear old Chinese enclave. Because unlike its Malay and Indian brethren, Chinatown has, ironically, become the victim of its own heritage and important place in history. As usual, in the push to preserve this special part of Singapore, the powers-that-be have succeeded in over-doing things to the point of turning the once characterful alleys of Temple, Pagoda and Smith Streets into paved walkways bordering on the kitsch.

The real Chinatown, to me however, lies 2 blocks away. At Telok Ayer. Once the landing site and focal point for all Chinese Immigrants who survived the harrowing sea-trip by rickety Junk from the Mainland. The streets of Telok Ayer, Amoy and Ann Siang are lined with places of worship where grateful seafarers and sailors thank their respective Gods for safe passage, with old Clan Associations where the clickety-clack of mahjong tiles still emanate from within and where the facades of the many 19th century buildings still retain their original flavour.

Stepping into Thian Hock Keng, is like going back in time when the pioneer Hokkiens first set foot on our shores and came into this temple to pay their respects to the Goddess of the Sea. Well if you can ignore the occasional bus loads of noisy tourists who make a quick 10 minute stop-over to gawk that is. None of them, however, pop over to the Al-Abrar Mosque just 40 paces away. Which is a good thing I suppose. Because it keeps the surrealistically turquoise Masjid locked back in time and quiet. The way it should be.

Tomorrow, I shall tell you guys about the Southern Ridges hike that we did yesterday. Suffice to say, it was a little painful in more ways than one.

Unkster Unwound - 一场游戏一场梦 (A Game, A Dream)

2008-06-01T02:13:00.005+08:00

Just the other day, at a farewell dinner for a colleague, in a really typical Chinese restaurant that cannot get any cheena-er than this, my new boss expressed his mild shock that I listened to Chinese music.

You see, in the eyes of many people, I am the quintessential Banana. Yellow on the outside but white on the inside. That is, an Oriental brought up in the ways of the West and who has lost, somewhat, a chunk of his roots and Mandarin-speaking ability. And so when the karaoke came on and I sort of warbled my way through Wang Jie's very popular hit from his debut 1987 album, more than one person choked on the sharksfin and spurted their Chinese tea.

Idiots! =))

Anyway, long before Jay Chou, there was Wang Jie, the original Prince of Melancholy. Back in those days, there were none of the Rhythm & Blues/Soul/Rap influences that infuses Mandarin Pop now. Just sad love songs, pure and earnest. Epitomized by the Taiwanese, now turned Canadian, crooner himself.

And just like Jay, I have all his albums. Oh god, I'm old!

不要談什麼分離，我不會因為這樣而哭泣，那只是昨夜的一場夢而已
不要說願不願意我不會因為這樣而在意，那只是昨夜的一場遊戲

那只是一場遊戲一場夢，雖然你影子還出現我眼裡
在我的歌聲中，早已沒有你
那只是一場遊戲一場夢，不要把殘缺的愛留在這裡
在兩個人的世界裡不該有你喔

為什麼道別離，又說什麼在一起
如今雖然沒有你，我還是我自己
說什麼此情永不渝，說什麼我愛你
如今依然沒有你，我還是我自己

那只是一場遊戲一場夢，雖然你影子還出現我眼裡
在我的歌聲中，早已沒有你
那只是一場遊戲一場夢，不要把殘缺的愛留在這裡
在兩個人的世界裡不該有你喔

為什麼道別離，又說什麼在一起
如今雖然沒有你，我還是我自己
說什麼此情永不渝，說什麼我愛你
如今依然沒有你，我還是我自己

為什麼道別離，又說什麼在一起
如今雖然沒有你，我還是我自己
說什麼此情永不渝，說什麼我愛你
如今依然沒有你，我還是我自己

Karma Police

2008-05-29T01:24:00.003+08:00

Karma.

Most of us have a hazy idea of what it is. And when pressed to provide an explanation for the concept, invariably talk of being reborn as a cockroach if you have been a bad person.

Well, I suppose Karma is a state of Being which is defined by our deeds and actions. Build up sufficiently good Karma and be released from the cycle of Re-birth (Samsara to the more religiously-inclined). Do evil and the bad Karma will see you entrenched in the pain of being born and eventually dying over and over again.

I suppose if the Karma Police ever existed, they would enforce the rules that would determine our next step based on our Karma quotient at the point of death. If you've been a Karma Chameleon ( ok a big dig at Boy George and Culture Club), switching in between deeds of good and evil depending on life's circumstances, has done you no favors. The Karma Police would have a say in whether you have sufficient Merit to be reborn as a someone and not a something.

In this sense, the Karma Police could also be the Bodhisattvas or Monks, sent to patrol our world. Nudging its denizens into a path of righteousness in thought, word and deed. In which case I think a Squad car needs to respond pronto to my cries for help.

Before I really become a Cockcroach.

I Dare Not Say

2008-05-28T01:58:00.005+08:00

She was an old friend.

And after a good 11 years, it was heartwarming to be able to touch base again. To pick up where we left off. So naturally.

So we talked about just how crazy we got after exams. Our days working at the pub on Boat Quay during the Hols. How Daphne hilariously gave Derrick lovebites on his face in a drunken stupor on the dancefloor at Chaplin's. How Val got pregnant during our last year in the Hall (she was married!) and still came to class in a micro-mini. Talking through the night and continuing the discourse at lectures the next morning like we never stopped. Telling my mum, when she picked up the phone, that her name was Zoe because otherwise, the malay would scare the living daylights out of the pious Christian woman. How we cycled from Toa Payoh to Adam Road Hawker Centre in the middle of the night.

Ahh memories.

She's done alot for herself these past 11 years. And I feel a tinge of regret that my life was never so fulfilling. A Master's Degree in European Journalism completed in Cardiff, Oslo and Amsterdam. 3 years working in Berlin. Travelling all over India. A handsome pilot for a brother. And now she's married to a lovely Aussie bloke with a cool couple's pad down on the East Coast.

Carpe diem at its most tangible.

And what exciting account do I have to give of myself all this time we were not in touch?

Oh dear. I dare not say.

On The Temasek Trail - The Little Indian Enigma

2008-05-26T03:00:00.006+08:00

I've been thinking alot about India and Indians lately.

Don't ask me why. Maybe its because I've been reading books by several Indian authors these past 2 months. The most recent being Amitav Ghosh's The Glass Palace (which I think is absolutely fabulous and will review it someday). So perhaps their thoughts have permeated my own subconscious, causing me to dwell on the subject of India in several aspects.

I find myself pondering about colonial British India, in particular the role of Sepoys and Indian Army Officers in the ruthless expansion of the Queen's Empire. I ask myself why a country so rich in history, culture and religion, remains largely agricultural and for most parts, intellectually impoverish. At least China can blame Communism. I wonder why many South East Asians, even in such close proximity, scoff at the idea of exploring both the overt and inner beauty of this much misunderstood Sub-continent.

Because I had some time on my hands yesterday evening, I braved the usual, massive Sunday throng at Little India, hoping to use the time to reflect on these questions in the midst of the country's countrymen. Trying, foolishly, to capture some of the spirit and splendour of Jaipur or Agra, or the sights and smells of markets in Kochi and Mumbai, with my camera.

And so it was only natural, whilst sipping some sweetened milk-tea at a crummy but colorful old tea-shop, watching the animated community go by, I pretended I was in the middle of a busy alpine bazaar in Darjeeling. Waiting for the train that would take me on a trip upon the Himalayan Railway.

To unravel this enigma that is India.

Without a source of inspiration, writers are just miserable typists

2008-05-23T15:05:00.005+08:00

They say writers are only as good as the inspiration that drives them to write. I have been wondering if that is true. I have had countless false starts over the last few months trying to get back into a writing routine. My head, computer and notebook are peppered with various jottings and ideas about stories or issues or thoughts I want to write about, but I just can't sit down quietly for the required period of time to write something decent. I always manage to find something unimportant to distract myself with.

I think the main underlying issue is the loss (temporary, I hope) of a key source of inspiration. I realize now how much reliance I have had on that inspirational fountain, from which I have drawn my strength from for the last few years. I feel lost without that someone to turn to with my fears and ideas and thoughts and uncertainties. On paper, life is good right now. A new job, a new home. Change is always a good thing, they say. But one missing element can wipe out all the joy and happiness of all the other elements - what does that imply about my future?

She once told me that God, if he exists, gives each one of us different people for different things. She was my gift - her purpose was to inspire and motivate my soul.

Without her, I am miserable inside.

False Tooth

2008-05-21T03:42:00.002+08:00

When Mum used to tell me to take care of my teeth, I would scoff and tell her not to treat me like one of her pupils in school at a Dental Hygiene lesson.

And so as I lay on my dentist's chair just 3 hours ago, with a severely fractured Molar requiring surgical extraction and immediate implant placement, I was thankful Mum wasn't here to see my petrified face.

It helped that it was an old classmate who was doing my teeth. So I could be totally candid with him. Like telling the good doctor that if he touched a raw nerve I would punch him! In jest of course. I have never had more needles poked into my gums, more evil looking blades, forceps and mean drills wandering the inner recesses of my mouth and more suction tubes trailing from under my tongue, in any trip to a Dentist ever. Not that I visit one very often. Which probably explains why I was in Dr Sng's office, scared shitless, in the first place.

Anyway the deed is done. Stage 1 actually. And I'm really happy to have survived the experience without so much as a yelp. Lets see what the internet can throw up with regards to Dental Implants, which cost an arm and a leg by the way.

Stage 1
A small portion of the gum around the area of operation is raised from the underlying bone. The implants are then screwed into the holes which are gradually enlarged by a series of drills. Once the implants are in place, the gums are stitched back over the implanted fixtures. With the implants safely buried under the gums, a temporary denture can be worn over the area.

Stage 2
About 3 months later, the titanium in the implants would have integrated with the surrounding bone, This is when the buried implant is exposed. The dentist does this by cutting into the gum and removing the portion covering the implant. Once the implant is exposed, the dentist can attach a healing cap to it. This will prevent the gums from growing back to cover up the implant.

Crowning
A few weeks later, when the gums surrounding the healing cap has healed, the dentist will take an impression of the area to be restored. A few more weeks later, the crowns will be ready. The dentist will first tighten an abutment into the screw well of the implant. The crown is then cemented over the abutment. The restoration is complete.

After today's episode, I feel I can take on Everest. Evil Chuckle. Who am I kidding? Its just one step closer to being an Unker with false teeth!

Thoughts On Vesak

2008-05-19T23:57:00.005+08:00

After lunch today, we spent some time at the Sri Lankaramaya temple off St Michael's Road, the pride and joy of Theravada Buddhism on our little island.

Just soaking in the festivities and getting into the spirit of things. Boy, what a crowd!

And then when I finally got home just now and read today's papers, there was an article in it that described the increasing attraction of Buddhism to young, white-collared professionals. But I was not interested in the statistics or demographics. What struck me was a quote from a certain Mr Hsieh Foo Hua which I thought sort of represents the type of mental models we should inculcate in our young.

By making itself accessible and inclusive, the religion has reached out even to those of other religions. Singapore Exchange chief Hsieh Foo Hua, 57, for example, is a staunch Christian who attends Buddhist talks, especially those by high monks. He said: 'Buddhism is a very embracing and non- exclusive religion...I am fundamentally rooted as a Christian but I am impressed and influenced by Buddhist thinking, which has helped me in the uplifting of the mind and spirit.'

It is my hope, this Vesak Day, that we open our hearts and minds to more learning.

Unkers@TheTheatre - How The Other Half Loves

2008-05-17T16:38:00.002+08:00

We found ourselves in the middle of Hwa Chong Institution's Bukit Timah campus last night, inside a Drama Centre filled with the cream of Singapore's adolescent intelligentsia, watching a play put up by the school's drama group, that would perhaps make our country's doyen of theatre, Ivan Heng, proud.

I must admit that I didn't know what to expect when Alex called to ask if I was interested to support her sister who was involved in the production. My childish notion of teenage theatre harks back to the old days when the idea of a staged presentation was a couple of awkward, arty outcasts doing an equally amateurish interpretation of anything cliched-Shakespearean.

But I confess now, that I was suitably impressed with last night's show by the kids. Even if I have never heard of How The Other Half Loves, much less the Playwright, Sir Alan Ayckbourne. Here's a brief sypnopsis I lifted off from somewhere in Cyberspace.

How The Other Half Loves concerns three couples: Frank and Fiona Foster; Bob and Teresa Phillips; William and Mary Featherstone. Frank employs both Bob and William and is considering promoting the latter. Bob is having an affair with Frank’s wife Fiona and is in constant conflict with his own wife, Teresa. She feels Bob is neglecting her while she raises their baby and is suspicious of his actions and phantom phone-calls made to the house. When he returns late, she confronts him about his actions and he lies that he has been comforting work associate William, who believes his wife Mary is having an affair.
Frank and Fiona’s relationship is in stark contrast to the torrid emotions of Bob and Teresa’s. They share a polite, distant and evasive relationship and when Frank asks Fiona where she has also been, she says she has been comforting Mary - who she barely knows - who apparently believes William is having an affair. Of course, William and Mary are innocent parties and neither of the adulterers realise they have both implicated the Featherstones in their alibis. Both parties swear their partners to secrecy - particularly as both couples are entertaining the Featherstones on successive nights.

It was not an easy plot to juggle. Adult themes with lots of sexual innuendo and a single set representing overlapping living rooms, with parallel action in the different households acted simultaneously. But the teenage cast handled it with much aplomb. My only grouse was that not everyone could carry off the heavy British accent properly. Kudos for the effort though. Because having the play in Singlish would have been even more disturbing.

And of course we felt like a couple of old farts inside the drama centre. I had a Nanyang girl, who could not have been older than 15, next to me, giggling throughout at any hint of naughty banter.

We came out of the play thinking to ourselves, indeed, intellectually, we've been surpassed by the younger generation because, like hell we could have come up with something like that back in the good old days! LOL.

The Ring that was not there..

2008-05-16T15:01:00.002+08:00

I woke up in the middle of the night and felt the ring's hefty presence on left ring finger.
It sits there, reminding me of who I engaged to. All time after wearing it for 8 years plus.

Only that it is not there anymore, I have lost it 2 months ago while cleaning my car.
I was pretty sad. I love the assuring feeling it gave me.
This pure silver ring was the first gift P bought for me, and naively engraved " P**** loves Dave 1999". We were barely into our first month! IIRC..
I should have been more careful with it. Alas! What is lost, I just hope no one will ever find it too.

But looking from another point of view, I am glad that this ring has gone.
It is a throwback from a time where we don't really know what we are doing and just living our lives and relationship from day to day, year to year.

I feel that now we are very ready to move on to another stage of our relationship.
Perils and misunderstanding still lurks in every corner, but I am sure our love will see us through any adversity.
I believe a new ring should be forthcoming to represent the new phase.
I am looking forward to it. Embrace the trepidation of marriage and life after it.

As time rolls on, I still get to see P as much as I want and need.
I still fill my life with idle pursue in the name of sports and socialising.
In the end, what matters to me the most is being with P, pursuing our idle pursues together.
Well, almost. We need our own time and space too.

In the end, always looks forward, if not, we might just trip on the rocks in front of us.

Unkers@TheMovies - Ironman

2008-05-11T02:34:00.000+08:00

Move over Clarke Kent and Peter Parker.

Badboy Tony is in town. And he's here to kick some ass.

Ironman worked for me. Equal parts gizmo SFX, brains, action and a tinge of romance. In other words, something to please everybody, even if you've never touched the Marvel Comic and thought the show was about an Urban Blacksmith.

Robert Downey Junior's Ironman is heartfelt and beneath the hot-rod red and yellow alloy armour, believable as a multi-billionaire on course for Nirvana after a stint in an Afghan cave-prison.

Easily one of 2008's best films. And coolest too.

8.5/10

After Bali

2008-05-10T12:17:00.002+08:00

You can't help but feel that you're surrounded by the Unseen in Bali.

To say that the Balinese are spiritual is an understatement. Because religion is so deeply entrenched in their psyche and way of life that it is almost a physical extension of the island itself. Gods reside in the mountains, demons in the sea. A curious Shiva-Buddha-Animist type Hinduism pervades every nook and cranny of Bali's fertile earth and continues towards the powdery sands of its surf-lashed beaches.

Womenfolk spend their waking hours weaving small leaf baskets on which colorful offerings of flowers are placed to appease both Good and Evil. Every village, with uncanny likeness, has 3 separate temples dedicated to Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer. Big ceremonies held at the main coastal temples of Tanah Lot and Uluwatu typically attract the majority of the populace, serious devotees and camera-toting tourists alike.

Perhaps best of all, foreigners are not allowed access into the inner sanctum of these hallowed grounds. On one hand, we lose the experience of taking in the island's unique brand of Hinduism at its most intimate. But more importantly, the respect and privacy the Balinese accord to their gods adds to the almost romantic mysticism surrounding the religiosity of their lives. It is as if you are invited to partake of the meal, but Holy Communion is only reserved for the Believers.

After the Kuta and Jimbaran bombings of 2002 and 2005, its not hard to see that the Balinese are still fearfully tentative inside. The question of when the next explosion will occur is an unspoken yet very palpable, sinister proposition. The island now views transient local migrants from other parts of the archipelago as more of a security risk than the quintessential Aussie beachbum who's here to ride-out a couple of Rip Tides. Waging an inner war, as it were.

The Balinese are engaged in either of two broad professions, Tourism or Farming. And in both, the island is blessed with world-class surf beaches and fertile volcanic land. Cultural inheritance from the old Majapahit empire also adds to the allure, with the relatively recent emergence of an artistic Ubud-style capturing the imagination of arty-farty types the world over.

Golden sand, verdant rice terraces, cultural preservation and a unique Belief with colorful attendant ceremonies. Coupled with a People, who, behind a facade of genuine friendliness, are fiercely mindful of their identity.

Few other islands have got the mix right.

A Post Card From Bali 2

2008-05-06T02:36:00.002+08:00

We got ourselves on an Eco Bike Tour yesterday.

Figured this was the best way to see the real Bali as well as get some exercise. And I must say the 5 hour ride through Padi fields, quaint villages with lots of 'Eco Stops' along the way, was a great experience.

The tour starts with breakfast at Penelokan, overlooking Gunung Batur, an active volcano in the Northwest of the island which last erupted about 18 years ago. A short Bemo ride down brings us to the start-point where we mounted our bikes, at the caldera of Batur which is actually a sort of crater formed when a land mass collapses after an eruption.

And then it was 30km worth of downhill pedaling through at least 10 villages, where cheery children lined the dusty roads to say Hello! or give you a high-five as you ride by. We made numerous stops. Among them a coffee plantation where I indulged in some really excellent java beans, a bamboo processing Kampung, a Woodcarver's shed and Padi fields where we had a crash course on rice cultivation.

Overall, something different from the usual arty-farty pursuits people usually immerse themselves in in Ubud. Because even that can get a tad commercialised sometimes.

A Post Card From Bali

2008-05-03T23:21:00.005+08:00

Hello!

Just a splash and dash in here to say what a whale of a time I'm having. The weather's been fantastic, the hospitality great and most of all, we're really having a relaxing time with the Spas, picturesque coastal Temples and all.

Spent a splendid evening at Pura Luhur Uluwatu (temple) along the South-Western Balinese coast yesterday. Stupendous views, really naughty monkeys!

And after Tanah Lot today, we made the 2 hour drive to Tanggayuda, just outside Ubud. Its unbelievably luxurious here in the middle of the Ubud forest at the Komenaka Tanggayuda Boutique Resort. The pool is just next to the jungle. Pictures later yah.

But for now, its bedtime. Cos we're going trekking through the Padi fields tommorrow.

Love y'all!

Cow-ture

2008-04-27T03:15:00.003+08:00

It was pretty much an eye-opening weekend at the Theatre and Movies for me. A touch of Cow-ture, like what some friends of mine say in jest.

On Friday, I went to catch Ng Khee Jin's Feet Unbound at the Picturehouse. He's a Singaporean Chinese director based in Perth.

Shot documentary-style, Feet Unbound re-visits the much mythologised Long March by the Red Army in China between 1934 and 1937. In particular, Khee Jin focusses on the survivors from the Lady's Regiment within the Red Army through the eyes of a real-life Beijing journalist called Elly. Very few survivors have lived to tell the tale as it was one of the longest and largest mobilizations in human history. Barely 30,000 of the 200,000 soldiers who joined the Long March survived to the end.

Surrounded by Kuomintang troops of Generalissimo Chiang Kai Shek, the Red Army abandoned base camps in central China and split into two to retreat to Shaanxi in the north and Xinjang in the west. During the arduous and hasty retreat, the Western Front army was almost completely annihilated by a Muslim warlord, General Mu of Qinghai, an ally of the Kuomintang. But a handful survived, among them women.

Khee Jin managed to track down six of these survivors, visibly very tough old ladies, some of them in their eighties and nineties, to listen to their version of events. His documentary traces the tragic fate of these old women in a military fiasco rarely recounted in Chinese history.

I loved it. Not only for the stunning vistas of the Tibetan Plateau and rugged beauty of Sichuan province where most of the movie was shot. But also because the film made me delve deeper into Communism in China and appreciate why China would never give up its claim on Kuomintang- ruled Taiwan. More so when you consider what early Communist Party pioneers like Mao Zedong had to go through to secure Socialist glory for the 'Capitalist-infested' Motherland.

And then it was off to the theatre yesterday. To catch TNT Theatre Britain's interpretation of Hamlet.

TNT's version is perhaps a little unique because it takes inspiration from the 1st Quato, an early edition of the Master's works, and so is significantly much shorter (about 2.5 hours). The folio edition of Hamlet can run on stage for 4-5 hours!

Some scholastic quarters believe that the 1st Quato was what Shakespeare had in mind for the stage. And perhaps the only version he ever saw physically being acted out.

Overall a very, very sterling performance from the cast and crew of the TNT. Hamlet was not over-interpreted to the point of it becoming ridiculous. In fact, for Shakespeare, I think the Brit actors still do it best. Its like, well, in their gene pool to be able to rattle off in the typical Shakespearean way.

The Bali Prep

2008-04-24T00:45:00.003+08:00

1-6 May.

On Valuair. Into Denpasar. Over 5 days at Ubud and Jimbaran Bay.

Its so easy to get carried away with accommodation arrangements. To part with your hard-earned money when you're faced with prospects as idyllic as these.

Como Shambhala Estate at Bengawan Giri, Ubud. SGD$315 TWIN.

Komaneka Tanggayuda Resort, Ubud. SGD$247 TWIN.

The Jimbaran Bali, Jimbaran Bay. SGD$178 TWIN.

Island Immortal

2008-04-21T01:54:00.011+08:00

To my surprise, a couple of friends told me yesterday that they have never set foot on Ubin.

A fact, I thought, supremely strange since this little island is a mere 10 minutes away by bumboat. And I always believed space and rural charm starved Singaporeans would jump at the opportunity to get away from the hustle and bustle of the urbanized labyrinths our Housing Estates have become.

Well I guess not.

But in a way, I am happy if Ubin remains yet undiscovered for a few. Because I live in constant fear (ok I exaggerate about the constant fear) that its unique unkempt roughness would be lost once the Powers-that-be decide to turn it into another Agro-tainment facility. For those in the know, many of our farms on the mainland need to go commercial in order to remain viable. And by this I mean opening swish bistros and even having mini live-in resorts on site.

So every time I set foot on Ubin, I say a little prayer in thanks that the old ramshackle jetty shops are still there, the Wayang stage is left standing, there are pebble-strewn roads bordered by overgrown lallang, the disused Prawn farms look like scenes right out from napalmed Apocalypse Now and Auntie still sells coconuts from under a coconut tree at Noordin Beach.

It doesn't matter that they now have an artificially raised Boardwalk at Chek Jawa. Its for the good of the lovely Jade-green Seagrass and other colorful denizens of this previously neglected Inter-tidal treasure trove.

Every month or so, I find that there is a need to re-connect with Ubin. It keeps me at peace for some reason. 3-4 hours just biking around and taking pictures is cathartic for a soul that, perhaps, spends too much time zipping around a landscape of concrete and conceit.

I hope Ubin always remains stuck this way in time.

An Island Immortal.

Angels Or Devils

2008-04-19T02:34:00.001+08:00

As we sat there, listening to Dishwalla's angsty tune being sung in the bar.

I stole a glance at you. You didn't know.

The thoughts raced through my mind.

Fighting all the demons will take time. And I'm always gonna worry about the things that could make us cold.

Indeed.

This is the last time
That I'm ever gonna come here tonight
This is the last time I will fall
Into a place that fails us all inside

And I can see the pain in you
And I can see the love in you
But fighting all the demons will take time
It will take time

The angels they burn inside for us
Are we ever
Are we ever gonna learn to fly
The devils they burn inside of us
Are we ever gonna come back down
Come around
I'm always gonna worry about the things that could make us cold

This is the last time
That I'm ever gonna give in tonight
Are there angels or devils crawling here?
I just want to know what blurs and what is clear to see

Well I can see the pain in you
And I can see the love in you
And fighting all the demons will take time
It will take time

The angels they burn inside for us
And are we ever
Are we ever gonna learn to fly
The devils they burn inside of us
Are we ever gonna come back down
Come around
I'm always gonna worry about the things that could break us

If I was to give in, give it up
And then
Take a breath
Make it deep
Cause it might be the last one you get
Be the last one
That could make us cold
You know that they could make us cold
I'm always gonna worry about the things that could make us cold

Better Man

2008-04-12T16:15:00.002+08:00

I am not worth it really.

Think about it. You can't trust me. Not now, not after what I've done. Not after what I've put you through.

I'm not sure myself. Really. If I can re-discover the old me. Or how long this 'changed man' will last. And I can never bring myself to hurt you this badly a second time.

If there is a Better Man out there. Which I am sure there is.

Take him.

Ommmmmm

2008-04-11T02:46:00.000+08:00

Someone told me over lunch today that I seem to have become a little meek and subdued these days.

And I would have to agree that nowadays, unless its something supremely major, I hardly work up a sweat agitating over the unsolvable ugliness of everyday living. There seems to be an eerie calm about me. An acceptance, as it were, of taking each waking hour as it comes. Slowly.

It has nothing to do with the fact that my current fascination is with the The Middle Way. At least I think so.

I don't need The Lord Budhha to teach me that Change is inevitable, to never say Never again and that really, this world could do with alittle more Honesty.

Hope it lasts though. This good behaviour that is...

An "On n Off"event

2008-04-04T21:18:00.005+08:00

It is not so simple after all.
I always think that once you found someone you really love,
you can go and tell her and we will be happy living together.

It has been some time, it is quite surprising that HDB has been so accomodating.
Though I did detect a slight (very) tinge of rebuke on the voice of Sales officer in charge of our case.

I keep thinking, should we keep the flat or dump it.
Are we ready to commit and plan for life together properly.
I keep coming back with the answer "Yes".

In all the episode, she did not say even a word of "Yes"
But I understand what she is thinking and how she felt.
I respect her. It is her future too.

When the sun has set, and the moon risen. The trees shed their old leaves for new ones.
They will still be there, we will not.

Everyday that passes by, diminish the promise that holds for us.
The time we could have "lived".
Be it sooner or later.
I wait.

Do This, In Remembrance Of Me

2008-04-01T01:49:00.009+08:00

I was brought up to believe in an All-Knowing God.

So if He knew what a shitty world this was going to be, why then did he create Adam & Eve, knowing that they would have partaken of the Forbidden Fruit, and then screw up everything else thereafter with Original Sin?

Plus His poor Son had to come down and get crucified and go through all that humiliating hullabaloo so that we can be saved. Something He must have foreseen.

Doesn't it bother you why?

Not even abit?

Sometimes?

I know Love is blind. And so is Faith I think. Such a fundamental question and somehow it eludes me.

Going to Hell for this I swear.

Little Nymph

2008-03-31T02:25:00.002+08:00

Your new toy, a Leica no less.

Squinting at the controls under the 4 o'clock sun.

At the Botanic Gardens. Where most novices start out anyway.

And I'm glad I was there.

When you took your baby-steps into the world of Talking Pictures.

Unkers@TheTheatre - The PillowMan

2008-03-30T01:29:00.009+08:00

Friends said it was fantastic.

It ended its run to rave reviews in New York and London. And this was its encore performance because it was also very well received in Singapore last December.

But I didn't count on the Singapore Repertory Theatre's, The Pillowman, being a butt-crunching 3.5 hours long. I mean someone warned me it would be lengthy but not THIS lengthy! And since I'm still quite numbed (backside and all) by the experience, I shall let SISTIC give you a synopsis of this play by Irish playwright Martin McDonagh.

With the twists of a thriller, and the twisted logic of a horror film, The Pillowman is darkly funny and surprisingly poignant. Katurian, a writer of terrifying short stories, has been newly imprisoned and is questioned by the police, who scale new heights of brutality - and black humour - with their version of the good cop/bad cop mind game. Along the way, the reasons for the storyteller's capture are revealed in a viciously entertaining cat-and-mouse game that has you on the edge of your seat.

Which isn't saying very much and still doesn't do justice to the dark humor and psychological thriller-esque mood of the entire production.

But its a seriously intelligent play. Frequent shocking morbidity and sometimes tiring soliloquies aside. Strongly fronted by an able cast of Adrian Pang (Tupolski), Michael Corbidge (Michal), Daniel Jenkins (Katurian) and Shane Mardjuki (Ariel) who would, collectively, perhaps do Singapore Theatre proud even on Broadway.

We enjoyed abit of mental stimulation on a Saturday evening.

A trifle disturbing really, but good creepy fun nonetheless, especially when they played RadioHead during the intermission.

Chiang Mai Chatter 3

2008-03-28T05:15:00.006+08:00

Sometimes you wonder whether the Thais really revere Elephants the way they claim they do.

I suppose if they can exploit women and girls to bring in the tourism dollar, its not hard to imagine the big beasts being next on the ingenious agenda to ring in the 'Eco-tourists' dying for a chance to get up close and personal with the Tusky Ones.

OK so I was a sucker as well. Jumping at the opportunity to get out of the hustle and bustle that was Chiang Mai, to make the 1.5 hour drive to the Mae Taeng Valley. Where the prospect of an old-school Ox and Cart ride, Elephant Trekking through hilly forests and a leisurely drift on a bamboo raft down the shallow Mae Taeng River seemed too interesting to pass up.

Alex and Chris preferred a walkabout in the Old City. But Cheryl braved her fear of wobbly heights by agreeing to join me on top of a grey mammoth the size of a small lorry.

To the animals' benefit, the Mae Taeng Elephant camp was a nice enough place to be in. Nestled in the middle of a picturesque valley, in a landscape so quintessentially hilly North Thailand, we spent a beautiful morning taking in all the countryside vistas on various modes of archaic transport.

We got back to Chiang Mai in time for a late lunch. But not before popping in to see Wat Phra Sing, the largest temple in an ancient quarter chock full with beautiful testimonials to Lanna culture and creativity. The Wihan Lai Kham (gilded hall) of the sprawling Wat was particularly pretty. In the middle sat the much worshipped golden Phra Buddha Sing which, according to historians, originates from Sri Lanka.

Outside, the tourist buses were slowly beginning to disgorge their Chinese, Japanese and Korean contents. And that meant our time for some peaceful snooping around the temple grounds, came to a pre-mature end.

The 4 of us then re-grouped, and told Aik to take us to the Hong Dong district where the Ban Thawai Village was situated, for a spot of some Thai antique furniture shopping. Ban Thawai is the place to be if you had always craved that wooden chofa from the roof of some abandoned temple but didn't want to pay the GDP of a small African nation for it. Woodcarvings, Lacquerware, Hill Tribe pottery, you name it and Ban Thawai has got it. With shipping companies dotted all over the village that will teleport your newly acquired possessions anywhere from Tangier to Timbucktoo.

Then it was off for some retail therapy at a real Arcade, back to the hotel for a quick shower, dinner and then Part deux of some more pseudo sado-machoism at the massage spa.

48 hours in Chiang Mai.

Wished we had more.

Chiang Mai Chatter 2

2008-03-26T02:18:00.010+08:00

Aik, our driver, had this habit of half-giggling like Scooby Doo whenever he got excited.

And that got the girls a little irritated. Especially when the both of us launched into saucy banter and the poor man got a trifle horny. Well someone had to humor the fella right? But he played the role of Host par Excellence and tried his level best to ensure our 48 hours were not wasted.

Before I could tell him I wanted to make the 20km trip out to the Doi Suthep mountains to see Wat Phra That, Aik already suggested we take the drive up. So after some lunch of fantastic slither-down-your-throat Kway Teow in fishball soup, we piled into his Vios for an hour's snooze, enroute to the much visited temple above the thick forested foliage that is Doi Suthep National Park.

The sinewy ride up the mountain was worth it because Wat Phra That is really a magnificent piece of Lanna Art. Two Nagas flank a sweeping staircase of 304 steps that lead up to an elevated courtyard where the Wat's central golden chedi stands glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. On top, hundreds of pilgrims were making their slow circuits around the shiny behemoth, fresh lotus flowers in hand, knuckles clasped in prayerful supplication.

And then it was time to give our bodies a little punishment with a traditional Thai massage. I must state, for the record, that I am not a fan of muscular ladies kneading your tired muscles with the only instruments of torture being their hands and feet. Or should I say elbows and knees.

I was contorted in every which way. Bent, pulled, pressed ,twisted and stepped upon in every evil position imaginable. And still managed to giggle like a pre-pubescent schoolgirl when the masseuse used her sharp elbow and planted it on my inner thigh. It didn't help that Alex, who was on the neighboring mattress, was trying her darnest to stifle her own laughter. With little success, I must report.

We swore to only stick with the aromatic oil massages after that. Well at least with the oils, sufficient smooth lubrication would ensure a somehow lessened vice-like grip on the bodily parts that matter.

Then it was back to the hotel for a shower, and then a seafood dinner at this excellent restaurant whose name I can now not remember.

You know Chiang Mai's Anusan Night Market rates as the best in the whole of Thailand. The level of refinement in goods sold at this after-dinner-stroll bazaar certainly gives Chatuchak a big run for its money. And there is a very decent variety of stuff on sale to boot.

The day's exertions then began to take its toil. Because by the time we reached our dinghy Downtown Inn, just 100 elephants away from where the action is, we were too pooped to even take a shower.

Yes, dirty people.

Chiang Mai Chatter 1

2008-03-25T02:53:00.009+08:00

I realised, sometime during my 3 hour budget flight to Chiang Mai, that this was my 3rd trip to Thailand in the space of 12 months.

The new Siam isn't really the Land of Smiles in my book. Its not that the people are unfriendly or anything (on the contrary!). Rather, I think 'Smiles' should be replaced by 'Ironies' instead. Because just below the overtly Buddhist veneer, lies an economy well oiled by the skin-trade, dodgy massage parlours and girlie bars. The current Junta-installed government would surely be up in arms over this, but lets face it, sex sells. And its doing a roaring business in Thailand, when coupled with the other Tourist activities, this country blessed with beautiful islands, rugged mountains and ancient temples has to offer.

For a couple of years, when the Tourism Board used the tagline 'Amazing Thailand' in its promotional material, it was sort of ironic for me as well. By day, the Wats come alive with the saffron splendor of the Dharma. But at night, the A go-go Bars take-over with equally gaudy aplomp. Such seamless symbiosis must surely make a case for curious amazement.

And so I thought to myself, as TR 122 came in for a touchdown, maybe there is this latent, warped, appreciation for all things ironic that keeps me coming back. Seeing this country first putting one holy bare foot forward, and then a sexy stilettoed ankle the next. Perhaps the Land of Ironies' allure lies precisely in its two faces.

But after collecting our backpacks from the turnstiles, there wasn't much time for such useless pondering. Because we had barely a 48 hour sojourn in this 2nd most important city after Bangkok. Where the Northerners are still justifiably proud of its somewhat more cultured disposition.

And penchant for the finer things in life.

Moving Out

2008-03-19T00:12:00.002+08:00

I have actually been mulling over this the past few weeks.

Whether I should be starting a Blog of my own.

But I am undecided.

On one hand, Unkster has become the repository of my hopes and dreams, trials and tribulations, happy and sad times, over the past 2.5 years. And I suppose, in my own little way, I've given an insight into the life of a sometimes screwed-up 30-something. Whether that insight translates into any useable information for the reader apart from being, what I call, nothing-else-better-to-do reading, remains to be seen. Call it stupid sentimentality if you like.

When we first started out in October 2005, I had not even kept a diary before. Unkster was supposed to provide a tongue-in-cheek glimpse into the lives of a trio (and later quartet) of thirty year olds. A place to chit-chat about growing up in an age where you're too old to be gushing about having a crush on a colleague, but too young to be discussing taking out your CPF savings.

Some call it the Quarter-Life Crisis. And its not unlike the Quarter-pounders they used to sell at Macdonalds. You're like a big burger, sandwiched in between the call for increasing responsibility and the allure of re-discovering your recently spent youth. You've reached a plateau of stability. And yet ironically, the road ahead still looks a little fuzzy. Maybe its just me.

On the other hand, I wish the rest would write a little more. Afterall, this is not MY Blog alone. Its name should really read Unksters and not Unkster. And perhaps therein lies the problem. Unkster has become my personal journal. And this has somehow taken away the raison d'etre for its existence. So maybe if I have to be the only one talking (on most occasions anyway), I might as well take my inane ramblings somewhere else. Alone.

A diary need not always be about self-discovery. Or contain melancholic entries about the pitfalls of living and loving in the 21st Century. It should be about anything you want to say or do. Most importantly, it should be true and reflect how you really feel. You owe that much to yourself. But the trouble with online diaries is that you then open up huge portions of your life to public scrutiny. This has the dual effect of making you feel liberated one moment, then exposed and vulnerable the next.

Maybe all this is a reflection of how I am getting more and more afraid of sharing my life with anyone else, whether in the real physical world or bunking-in together in Cyberspace.

I am getting abit solitary.

And that scares me.

For The Broken Hearted

2008-03-18T01:40:00.004+08:00

To all my friends, facing one kind of heart trouble or another.

Nelly Furtado. And her thoughts about leaving it to the Divine One.

I looked at your face
I saw that all
The love had died
I saw that we had forgotten to take the time
I, I saw that you couldn't care less about what you do
Couldn't care less about the lies
You couldn't find the time to cry

We forgot about love
We forgot about faith
We forgot about trust
We forgot about us

Now our love's floating out the window
Our love's floating out the back door
Our love's floating up in the sky in heaven
Where it began back in God's hands

You said that you had said all that you had to say
You said baby it's the end of the day
And we gave a lot but it wasn't enough
We got so tired that we just gave up

Now our love's floating out the window
Our love's floating out the back door
Our love's floating up in the sky in heaven
Where it began back in God's hands

We didn't respect it
We went and neglected it
We didn't deserve it
But I never expected this

Our love floated out the window
Our love floated out the back door
Our love floated up in the sky to heaven
It's part of a plan
It's back in God's hands
Back in God's hands

It didn't last
It's a thing of the past
Oh we didn't understand
Just what we had
Oh I want it back
Just what we had
Oh I want it back
Oh just what we had

The next step...

2008-03-17T13:10:00.004+08:00

Looks like this time, there will be no doubts.
Just like what the Tarots cards says, it is so obvious now.
The plain truth spread before us. Things that we know and too shy to bring up and speak out.
They spoke on our behalf and accurately too. (It still gives me shivers thinking of them)
The problems seems to be lot more less complicated than others.
Even as I contemplate the wait for the matrimony home, I will want to use this full 2 years to do things that I will want to do before being engulfed by marriage and whatnots..

I don't expect that there will be much changes when I get married, it seems that I have been waiting for it for so long, I am quite numbed to it.
But of course, the prospects of seeing someone I love everyday and night do excite me.
Still, I expect that both of us have our "own" life. Our pursues and passions.

Among the UnksterS, I am the only who has not "experienced" marriage, I will look forward to all your advices and your compassionate ears for me.
It will be still some time from now, we will not know what will transpire.
Meanwhile, let's celebrate our life every moment and how blessed we are now.

Unkster Uncovered 16 - Pengerang, Johor

2008-03-16T23:42:00.007+08:00

I'll say it upfront.

If cycling is not your thing, don't bother with Pengerang.

What started off as a daytrip to recce an off-the-beaten track option for our informal Bike Club, turned out to be a day spent waiting for Bumboats to take us to and from this little sleepy district at the southern tip of Johor. You see, unlike Ubin, which has the boatmen uncles doing a roaring trade ferrying wide-eyed urbanites to and from our only rural paradise, not many people visit Pengerang. At least that was what we thought when we waited an hour for the requisite number of 12 passengers to gather before our boat could make its way out of Changi Point ferry terminal.

But when we finally got to ulu Tanjong Pengelih jetty at noon, after a bumpy 50min ride on an intoxicating, diesel-smelling boat, our cab driver advised us to be back at the pier to catch our watery ride back to the Mainland at 2.30pm.

Yes. But why?

Because, as it turned out, a whole clan of Singaporeans and Malaysians had descended on Pengerang over the weekend to attend some big wedding. And at three, they were expected to leave via Bumboat en masse. So looking at the pathetic frequency in which the boats called at Tanjong Pengelih jetty, and if the both of us wanted to arrive back on the Mainland in time for work on Monday, we had better get our butts back here on time.

OK. Duly noted. And so we were whisked to a seafood lunch at Sungei Rengit, 18km away, in this really retro-looking, bone-shaker of a taxi. I figured cyclists would usually do this distance to the kampong town of Sungei Rengit if they bothered to lug their bikes with them. But since we didn't have our own set of wheels this time, we had to contend with the air-conditioned ride through thankfully flat terrain, snaking along the coast, past non-descript kampungs and mosques, to our lunchdate with crabs at Good Luck Seafood restaurant. There was also no bike-rental shop in sight. Certainly not within the environs of the jetty which would have made it convenient.

Good Luck Seafood restaurant. A place where our driver said Fiona Xie came to visit and eat last year. Fiona Xie, that pretty little tanned vixen, in Sungei Rengit sweating over chilli crab? We looked at each other incredulously. But the food was great. Simple, cheap and maybe because we were hungry, tasted better than the usual suspects you order from the lousy restaurants back home.

Sungei Rengit is so small, you could cover the whole mega-Kampong in 45mins, flat. And because we didn't really have the time to explore every nook and cranny on foot, it looked superficially uninteresting. I would have loved to have a murky cup of Malaysian kopi-o in a runned-down shophouse or something but that was not to be. Because we made the ultimate mistake of getting the cabbie to take us to the Desaru Fruit farm 28km away.

I had wanted to see if the route was do-able on bike. And I am happy to report that it is not. Not only is the road to Desaru a typical bumpy B-road with undulating hillocks and what-nots, the farm was a place of bad-tasting durians and lonely bananas. We paid 20 Ringgit for a small child's head of a Mao Shan Wang (Cat Hill King variety) fruit, assured that it was of the finest quality by the crooked vendor, only to discover that the texture of the seemingly golden-yellow seeds were akin to unripe Jackfruit left to dessicate in the fridge. Hard and tasteless. Ptui! In the interest of personal safety in a foreign land, I did not throw the empty shells at the head of that stupid con-man.

But as time was ticking away, we had to make our way back to the jetty. And when we got there at alittle past 3pm, there was already an army of chatty S'poreans, old folk, young folk, kids in tow, plastic bags aplenty, waiting for the bumboats to take them home. We were late. Damn!

Anyway, we spent the next 2.5 hours, camped on the uncomfortable seats of the new (but dilapidated) Tg Pergelih Jetty complex, looking forlornly out to sea. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the next, nearly extinct, bumboat to take us away. The last boat leaves Changi with its full complement of passengers at 4pm. And so by 3pm, I don' t think many people from the Mainland would be visiting Pengerang in the late afternoon. That, of course, translated to an increasingly impatient group of wedding merry-makers waiting at the jetty because the bumboat arrivals were so few and far between. Whenever a boat appeared, I swear the crowd cheered.

So, was it a bad trip? A waste of time and money? I think not. If you look on the bright side that is. The company was great. I had the chance to see what a potentially nice ride a trip on mountain bike to Sungei Rengit could be. And lunch was yummy. Pengerang has to be enjoyed from a pedaling perspective. Not from the air-conditioned comfort of a taxi (which by the way was damn expensive!)

But I wouldn't be on a Bumboat in a hurry.

Not for the next month or so anyway before Ubin beckons again.

Better In Time

2008-03-12T00:25:00.002+08:00

You know the Buddhists believe in the cycle of life.

Do good, accumulate positive Karma, and you'll be reborn into a better life than the one you're living now. Do bad, accumulate bad Karma, and you'll end up in the ghetto, or worst still, as a cockcroach. Of course if you've been a really good boy or girl, concentrated on your meditation, yoga, Bodhi Tree trances and all that, you'll get Enlightened, become a Buddha, and free yourself from this painful rollercoaster of Rebirth.

And so I beg your indulgence for alittle creative and spiritual license in this very flippant interpretation of the Dharma.

But someone please tell me. If and when, one does become a dirty, disgusting, 6-legged insect that inhabits garbage, how would you get yourself back on the path to Nirvana? You start by not flying into someone's hair? And making her (or him in this day and age of girly metrosexuals) scream for the Dalai Lama to come swat you with a Lotus leaf?

The concept of Karma, its principles of Cause and Effect, coexist with our understanding of Time. Time gives Karma its good or bad face. But the ironic thing is, given more of it (time), there's an equal chance of accumulating either good or bad Karma. Which then decides whether you really become a Bodhisattva or ancient Arthropod.

So what you really need is someone. Someone on the path to Enlightenment who will give you that little nudge in the right direction. Someone who would help you ensure your next life will be better than your last. And that you don't scurry in dark and dank corners using feelers twice the length of your body.

At some point or another, in this life or the next, we're all looking for that Someone. Because deep down, we all want to believe that things will get better in time.

Closet Optimists perhaps.

Although we don't say it.

Dave and Me

2008-03-11T08:50:00.001+08:00

i hit my new (used) irons very well..i am pleased.. Dave is pleased.

puntoboy flew like the wind...I am pleased.. Dave is pleased.

We sold..I am pleased...Dave is pleased.

when the realization, that matters are out of yr hand, I have to choose nothing but happiness. Why choose to be sad, when happiness is just a thought away?

Things are better, they can be worse. And when things are worse, they can be better.

I have no hope, I have no fears, I have no expectations.
The more you have those, the more you stand to lose.
The more you lose, the less you are.

Be free, free from it all.

Only then you can find the answer.

2am Thoughts

2008-03-06T02:03:00.003+08:00

Its better to have loved than never to be loved before.

But sometimes, its better to be loved than having loved and lost.

Its easier that way.

And that's just the myopic, selfish Narcissist in me talking.

Ignore.

The Mental Picture

2008-02-28T02:12:00.006+08:00

The fact that I entered a photo today for a little online contest set me thinking about where I am on the Good Exposure Scale.

I realise too that I've been shooting alot lately. Maybe because I've never been good at Art or painting. So besides writing, which incidentally I also enjoy, photography gives me just that little outlet for creative expression. Something I believe is important because we are constantly absorbing so much bad karma around us, sublimally or otherwise. And its a little cathartic to express one's thoughts, perceptions and appreciation for the less obvious, in pictures. Mental snapshots if you like.

I've never been one for stunning vistas. Or characterful Portraits. Eschewing these for a more different take on the mundane. Because, perhaps, I like finding gorgeousity in the grotesque. There is Inner Beauty, but there is also beauty in the way things are perceived. And when a photograph fleshes out the hidden potential of an object or activity, as a representation of what the photographer sees, the image records this unique perception for eternity. An archive of thoughts as it were.

I want to be technically more proficient yes. And I am certainly not adverse to shooting landscapes or people in the standard kind of way. But more than having pictures be a mere collection of pixels for the record, I think I want photographs to represent what I am thinking of.

At that particular fleeting moment in time and space.

Unkster Uncovered 15 - Kusu and St John's Islands

2008-02-27T01:51:00.002+08:00

Two Islands.

Such feelings of contrast.

One, a place of hope, where people flock for fortune and fertility. At its famous Temple and Kramat on the hill. The other, a picture of despair, a former Penal Colony. Cold, fenced, mysterious, like an old woman with a past.

Hope and Despair, barely 10 minutes apart by ferry.

Isn't Life like that sometimes?

I Try To Say I Love You

2008-02-22T01:46:00.000+08:00

We talk alot more these days.
Doing the things we never got down to doing back then.
But even after all the pain I have given.
You still stand there.
Wondering why I forgot that Goodnight Kiss.
And I oblige.

I try to say I Love You.
But the words get in the way.

Of Greeks and Geeks

2008-02-19T00:50:00.003+08:00

As a child, I remember tagging along whenever Mummy brought her students to the National Museum on a History excursion.

And I used to listen in rapt attention as she explained the dioramas and exhibits to her class of about 60, handed out her worksheets, and generally played Historian for the day. Happy and contented that I was the only kid not to be in a grubby school uniform.

I recall her telling a boy much older than me, that we cannot move into the future without first knowing about our past and doing something useful in the present. So although I have been to the The Met, plus a host of other famous places of restored antiquity, I feel abit guilty that through the years, I have neglected our very own Le Grande Dame in exchange for her more exotic international sisters.

But all that was put to rest on Sunday when we realised just how at home we were to step into the airconditioned passages of the Museum's recent reinvention.

It didn't matter that it took a travelling Hellenistic exhibition from the Louvre to bring us here.

The irony was lost on us.

Unkster Uncovered 14 - The Ubin Urbanites

2008-02-17T02:36:00.003+08:00

When I stepped off the Bumboat, walked the jetty and arrived on Ubin proper, I was greeted by an Auntie in a sun-hat whom I found largely familiar.

Only after exchanging smiley hellos did I remember she ran a bicycle rental shop down the road. And I thought to myself, wow this really feels like coming home. A villager from this tiny island-community recognises me. Delusions of turning Ubinite from Urbanite I reckon.

We pedalled the length and breadth of the island today. All 4 hours of dusty asphault, Level 2 slopes, photo-stops and lots of coconuts in between. And my favorite Thai temple in the middle of nowhere, Wat Siam, is no more. Its been flattened to make way for the new Ketam mountain-biking trail. I haven't found out where they moved the deities to though. I'm sure the new place is still somewhere on the island.

Well this gives me reason to find it on my next trip. Soon.

Boo! Its Valentine's

2008-02-14T02:29:00.004+08:00

Happy V-Day!!!

And for a change, since I have been streaming Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman's oh-so-soppy Come What May for the past 2 Valentines, thought some Chris Brown should get the Love Quotient up and groovin' for you guys.

So for all you Lovebirds, whether your Boo is here or faraway, still loving you or want to murder you, is already someone else's Boo or simply a big Boo Boo...

Enjoy!

I need you Boo
I gotta see you Boo
And there's hearts all over the world tonight
Said there's hearts all over the world tonight
I need you Boo
I gotta see you Boo

The 48-Hour Sawadee

2008-02-13T01:32:00.000+08:00

Alex, Cheryl, Chris and me will be spending the Good Friday Holidays next month in Chiang Mai.

Its a little ironic that we will be in such a Buddhist place on a holy Christian Weekend. Well I suppose its just like us being the odd ones out in Society then. The marital outkasts that we are. Hur hur.

We'll be arriving in Chiang Mai at 0830hrs on that pious Friday. And leaving at 0900hrs on Easter Morning. That'll give us approximately 48hrs to take in everything this cool, former Lanna Kingdom's capital has to offer. Well at least I will be on a photo-spree. The rest, I suspect, will be having Singhas and Changs at some Thai coffee-shop.

Its nice sometimes to be able to take off somewhere on short notice and without a care in the world. Even though this 48-hour sojourn will probably cost us a princely 600 bucks each.

But you can't put a price on good fellowship, can you?

When

2008-02-12T02:11:00.000+08:00

When you remarked how poised but stupid Tang Wei was in Lust, Caution and said, yet you would do exactly the same thing for Love.

When I learnt that you were as silly as me, listening to Jay's 安靜 over and over again just for those last lines 我會學著放棄你, 是因為我太愛你.

When the pain in your eyes at being lied to looked so real and palpable.

I felt we were Soulmates.

On The Temasek Trail - Kampong Glam and Its Environs

2008-02-10T05:45:00.001+08:00

The irony about Singapore's conservation efforts is this.

Don't do anything about it and the quaint little pre-war shophouses, dirty characterful alleys and any collection of bricks with some historical significance will be bulldozed to make way for a spanking new shopping complex or office block. Do something about it and often, retaining the fine balance of genuine flavors of years gone by with a touch of practical modernism is rarely achieved with the inevitable arrival of cheesy commercialism, riding on the haunches of heritage renewal.

Its abit like that with old Kampong Glam. At once the epicentre of the Malay Community in Singapore, and a district worth its weight in the Temenggong's gold. But also touted as the next place to see and be seen, a sort of nouveau Mohamad Sultan Road, with swish Shisha bars and Mint Tea Kebabs straight from Marrakesh.

I had the opportunity to walk about the area before dinner yesterday evening. A quick look around to see if the spirit of those bygone kampung days still pervaded the air. Not that I have experienced this first-hand myself. And I suppose, there is abit of it still lingering. In the songkok-ed Muslim men performing their abulutions before prayer at Sultan's Mosque, at the old-fashioned Apocatharies where bespoked perfumes can be mixed and put in pretty bottles straight out of a Genie movie and with the smells of Middle-Eastern tobacco above the smoky notes of Satay that assail your nostrils.

And if you take leisure with an iced Turkish Coffee at one of the many alfresco cafes, its not hard to make-believe that time passes a little slower here, to the hypnotic ponderous rhythm of the Gemilang playing in the distance.

Unkers@TheTheatre - Shanghai Blues

2008-02-09T01:14:00.000+08:00

We thought that the pomp and pageantry of post-war Shanghai would do our usually boring CNY a little good.

Considering that it was also an excellent excuse to absent ourselves from any more family dinners and mahjongs and what nots. And this being a Cheena musical would, I suppose, be a little fitting for the festivities. Incidentally, this year's River HongBao Extravaganza (read gaudy funfair) was just across the road from where the Esplanade was, at the Memorial Park.

Shanghai, circa 1940s. Wen Cong (William So) is a young man who joins the Chinese Army in its war with Japan and returns to his home city as a musician seeking his fortune eight years after he saved the life of a stranger, Tu Yun (Mindee Ong). Amidst the conflict, Dan Lei (Emma Yong) comes to Shanghai to earn a living but ends up bunking in with Tu Yun. Like a chinois Menage a Trois, both women subsequently fall for him, plunging all three of them into a complicated relationship.

I have but one word for Shanghai Blues, Emma Yong. Ok that's technically 2 words. The lass can really sing, and in Mandarin to boot. This same girl who does Shakespeare, the Dim Sum Dollies, Mainstream as well as Experimental Theatre, with equal aplomp. Is there any stage role she cannot do? My impression of this very talented lady has just gone up a notch. And to think that William So (he of the slicked-back hair and glasses fame) is no shabby singer himself. But the man is a professional Warbler lah. Although his debut transition from Concerts/MTVs to the theatre stage was pretty slick if you ask me. Like his hair.

Mindee Ong (oh my Mindee, my waifish, elfin-like little Mindee) was a dissappointment though, on 2 counts. Firstly, try as she might, there was simply no stage gravitas. No presence. She's fine as an Ah Lian in 881 but as a Cabaret Songbird in sequinned cheongsams, sorry, no-go. Secondly, and perhaps more tragically, she sang off-key on several occasions. Poor girl. You could hear the earnestness in her voice but sadly, it was just no match for some of the beautifully soaring vocals needed for many of the melodies.

Written by acclaimed Hong Kong playwright Raymond To and directed by Toy Factory's Chief Artistic Director Goh Boon Teck, Shanghai Blues was still, overall, immensely watchable.

Although sometimes I think the romantism of the Shanghai genre has been milked for all its worth.

Unkers@TheMovies - The Kite-Runner, 27 Dresses, KungFu Dunk, Sweeney Todd

2008-02-08T03:18:00.000+08:00

A week at the movies for me. I don't think I've ever done 4 shows in 6 days before. Like some film critic like that.

Anyway I shan't give a lengthy discourse on the merits and demerits of each film. Just a few words to justify my own rating.

The first, was also the best of the lot for me. Although I didn't finish the book, I think the Big-Screen version managed to pull off the magic and emotion Khaled Hosseini intended for his audience. Afghans should be proud. 8.5/10.

Katherine Hiegl has a double chin but she oozes poise and class in some of the Little Black Dresses she parades in this movie, ironically, about Bridesmaid dresses and finding your own happiness. Entertaining, but largely cliched and forgettable. 7/10.

I am a Jay Chou fan and so it pains me to say that this show sucked. Even stepping in before with full expectations that it was going to be a CGI-ed flick of slapstick proportions. But you have to hand it to Prince Mumbly, at least he acts with sincerity and an unaffected coolness a few can replicate. And oh yes, veteran Eric Tsang sort of saves the show with his impeccable comic timing and high-pitched Eunuch voice. 6/10.

The Demon Barber of Fleet Street put me to sleep halfway through the movie with his incessant singing. Yes so Johnny Depp can warble, surprise surprise, but not at every turn and at every opportunity to emote, surely! The dark and macabre of Depp-Burton collaborations take on very bloody proportions this time but even then, the slitting of throats and gushing of haemoglobin got a little tired after awhile. Think Edward Scissorhands with sharp, jugular-slicing, razors. 7/10.

So there! Later today, it will be off to the Esplanade for a change. Shanghai Blues, a musical put up as part of the Huayi Chinese Festival of Arts here in Singapore.

A nice way to end my week at the Performing Arts.

Tank You Mum

2008-02-07T17:45:00.000+08:00

When Mum said she found something personal that belonged to me whilst spring-cleaning my old room for the CNY yesterday during Reunion Dinner, I was so afraid it would be a long forgotten packet of ciggarettes I had stashed in my cupboard or an old edition of PlayBoy I had forgotten to return to a friend.

So I muttered a little thank-you prayer when it turned out to be an old Primary School jotter book of mine which I had used to sketch what used to be my military obsessions.

I doodled these when I was in Primary One, 28 years ago, and at the height of the Cold War between the USA and USSR.

Mum asked me, Did you steal my red pen for the wheels? Retired teachers are such a pain I tell you! =))

Unkster Uncovered 13 - Sri Lankaramaya

2008-02-07T02:40:00.000+08:00

We spent a quiet Chinese New Year Eve evening at Sri Lankaramaya, the oldest Sri Lankan Theravada Buddhist Temple in Singapore.

Instead of jostling with the crowds at Chinatown, this little enlightening excursion brought peace and reflection to an otherwise noisy night of fireworks and cheesy merriment.

Built in 1952, the sprawling temple grounds are spread right smack in the middle of the many condominiums at St Michael's. And with a Stupa, a Bodhi Tree, beautiful Buddha images and a Sima Hall, Sri Lankaramaya is considered a complete monastary under the Theravada tradition. Not unlike its Big Cousin, the famous Wat Phra Keow in Bangkok. Sri Lankaramaya also has its own Reclining Buddha, a 45ft behemoth that I suppose gives it a Wat Pho feel as well.

And as I stood there, gazing at the relaxing giant figurine, in the warm incandescent glow of the chandeliers and under the beautiful patchwork of ceiling motifs, I realized that perhaps a little Dharma for myself is in order so that the photos become meaningful.

Amitabha

Unkster Uncovered 12 : Kent Ridge Park

2008-02-04T02:02:00.000+08:00

Triapsed Kent Ridge Park today.

Part of the Southern Ridges that includes Mount Faber and Telok Blangah Park. And also 1-stop on the WWII trail in the Western portion of our island that the Tourist Board is trying to make Singaporeans more aware of. Very tranquil and undisturbed. A little surreal really when you consider a whole regiment died here trying in vain to stop the juggernaut that was the Imperial Japanese Army.

I've set my mind on doing one of these lesser-visited places in Singapore every alternate weekend when I am not off biking somewhere.

We need to appreciate what little nature and history that exists on our Little Red Dot.

Right?

Kopi-o

2008-02-02T03:25:00.000+08:00

You appreciate sometimes, the spontaneity and simplicity of it all.

Last minute plans. That hot cup of kopi-o. The idle chatter of buddies.

That's what life should be like.

Kundun

2008-02-01T03:38:00.000+08:00

What was supposed to be a quiet evening, after dinner, relaxing with Martin Scorsese's 1997 epic, triggered a 3 hour Internet research exercise on the history of Tibet and the man they call Kundun in the Lhasa Dialect, His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.

Invaded and occupied by Motherland China who claimed Tibet as her own in 1951, Kundun fled to Dharamsala, India in 1959, where he heads the Tibetan Government In Exile and the thousands that make up the Tibetan Diaspora, till today.

The film is beautifully shot, with scenery and colors so breathtaking you forget that most of the stuff was done in the mountains of Morocco. China would never have allowed Scorsese do shoot something like this in Tibet and I think the auteur is still banned from the Motherland for daring to glorify the Dalai Lama on the big screen. Kundun never made it big at the box-office. But most critics agree it is one of Scorsese's greatest works. Visually stunning, emotionally moving.

Watching it made me feel alittle ashamed about being Chinese though. And I can only imagine how the Dalai Lama must be feeling, seeing his country's rich Buddhist traditions and culture, diluted with each passing day by atheist Communist ideology and indoctrination. Watching his very magnificent Potala Palace turned into a Tourist Museum. And his people displaced by the ever increasing Han Chinese who have all but taken up Permanent Residency in the capital Lhasa.

The 14th Reincarnation of the Compassionate Buddha and Nobel Peace Prize-winning Laureate is facing a mighty juggernaut unprecedented in the whole of Tibetan history. And the juggernaut is here to stay. Sometimes I feel that the world has forgotten its roof. The impending US recession, the Middle-East conflict, natural disasters, and the fact that we are in the process of selecting a new Global Big Brother (Obama being my choice but who cares?), means that the call for the return of full Tibetan independence has been placed on the back-burner again. And with China flexing its economic and military muscles on the world stage, I'm not even sure Kundun will see true freedom in his lifetime.

But I don't think His Holiness is particularly bothered by it. Because according to the concept of Re-birth, the 15th Reincarnation would simply carry on his good work. There is a peace and genteel humility about the man. As epitomised by the final lines in the film when Kundun is asked by an Indian Border Guard, May I ask, are you the Lord Buddha?

To which he replies, I think that I am a reflection, like the moon on water. When you see me, and I try to be a good man, you see yourself .

Lovely.

God Can Explain

2008-01-31T02:08:00.000+08:00

I was a Roman Catholic and then a Protestant for 22 years before I stopped going to church.

Why? Because I couldn't explain the concept of Blind Faith and I disliked the way Christians always looked to God for answers when sometimes, they really should be using their God-given brains to think. Before seeking divine intervention that is. Ironic isn't it? Its like using the Father as some sort of spiritual, emotional and intellectual crutch to circumvent the mediocrity of their own lives.

Cannot finish studying for that important exam? Pray for wisdom. Cannot find a life-partner? Pray and tell God you know He has a plan for your impending blissful marriage. Work getting you down? Pray for patience and resilience.

When things go terribly wrong and one is befuddled for a solution? Sweep it under the carpet and say that God has a plan and that everything will be alright. When a solution is finally found (most of the time by unconsciously using your own cerebral hemispheres to ponder), praise God for his work in mysterious ways. When a solution is not found, believe that God has alternative plans in store.

Everything is attributed to one Unseen Being. Good or Bad, in sickness or in health, by chance or destiny, God will explain. Sooner or later.

Well I suppose we are only human. When we don't have answers, we want to believe in the existence of celestial logic that trancends our own mediocre mental state. Its very convenient you see.

And still sometimes, I admit, when I cannot fathom the stupid things that I do, I am secretly hoping God can explain.

A Bagel In Bagan

2008-01-29T23:08:00.000+08:00

When I was younger, I found myself looking towards Europe and America as dream destinations. Like most Asians, I was lured by the West, its riches, interesting alienity and First-World modernity, enshrined in movies and storybooks. And if the call of the White-man got too strong, but we had little money, then Australia and New Zealand would, and did, make good alternatives.

Having seen a large part of the West now, I find myself looking at places closer to home.

It doesn't fail to amaze me sometimes how tiny and sterile Singapore is. I am not ungrateful for the peace and prosperity we have got going here but really, how much do we, as S'poreans, academically far superior and with a heady Internet penetration rate that belies our minisculity, know about Asia? I think the answer is obvious. Precious little.

Angkor? Sukhothai? Borobudur? My Mum would chastise me now for paying good money to see stone. Buddhist stones at that. She's a devout Christian you see. But if all you care about is to get a good photograph of that monolithic stupa, rising above the dusty plain, bathed in the crimson glow of sunset, then I suppose you're better off in Disneyland. Wars were fought, Kingdoms were forged, whole Cultures were born, right at our doorstep. And yet sometimes, we bother ourselves with the Eiffel Tower that stands now in the over-rated romantism of Paris.

In March or April, I plan to visit Bagan. On the banks of the Irrawady River, 145km from Mandalay, Myanmar. Its an archeological site about 42 square kilometres big, and where, at its height in the Middle Ages, served as capital of the Burmese empire and also its religious heart. At one point, almost 13,000 temples were strewn over its vast plain. But now only about 2000 remain. In the earthquake of 1975, many of these magnificent stupas and chedis were destroyed. And UNESCO is still hesitant to award Bagan, World Heritage Site status, because the ruling military junta has not always restored some of the temples in a fashion that pays due homage to their ancient heritage.

In some ways, Bagan is even more magnificent than Angkor. In its variety of architectural styles, the variation of materials used to built the structures and the glistening gold of its gargantuan gilded stupas. There is color in this old-world charm of monochromed sandstone. And I can only imagine, gliding over the vast beauty of it all, in a hot-air balloon, the exhilaration that must come from gazing upon history.

Let some of the pictures, which I grabbed from fellow photographers' flickR accounts, bear testament to this.

Lunar Gone Lunar

2008-01-28T02:03:00.000+08:00

Its that time of the year again when you wonder where the spirit has gone.

Yes, the Lunar New Year hard-sell festivities have begun, cheena ditties of prosperity and luck fill the air and some sweaty guy in a God Of Fortune costume is making his rounds again at the kopitiams with a gold-coin container filled with 4-D numbers.

Sigh.

Someone inject some joie de vivre into me please! Because it seems that for every Lunar New Year that comes with increasingly scary ease, the mood to enjoy the occasion (remember when we were children?), dissipates with equally alarming fizz.

Just the other day, the maid asked me if she could toss last year's New Year goodies into the bin. I think she had to try pretty hard to hide her disgust at a person who keeps Pineapple Tarts for a year, even if they are in air-tight containers. Well nobody ever visits me. And to be eating these things alone while watching TV is pretty sad doncha think?

Anyway, we try to get the spirits up by visiting Chinatown every year. Yes, the annual pilgrimage to the Mecca of Cheesy Chinoiserie. It sort of works for a couple of days, I think, and then the memory of sweaty bodies pressing against you puts you off all over again. A very vicious cycle. Laughable sometimes.

This evening's visit wasn't that bad though. Perhaps the Lunar New Year is still about 10 days away so the crowds were less maddening. We finally got the chance to visit the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple which was erected from public donations not too long ago. I cannot find myself stepping into a place like this on any other occasion and it was more a 'by the way, on the way' thing. Well I thought it was a pretty cool place although I didn't see a single molar =)) Amitabha, just joking!

Chinatown itself was more subdued this time. But the usual suspects were all there. The Savouries, the Gaudies, the Sweets and the Crunchies. And for the first time in many years, I didn't shove anyone.

Well hope the pictures bring some Lunar Goodness back into anyone who's feeling just like me. That the Lunar New Year is going to the moon and never coming back.

ODAC 4 - To The Village of Changi and Back

2008-01-27T03:02:00.000+08:00

Some of us flew off our bikes. Half had aching backsides. All were burnt under the hot fiery fireball.

But I think we all enjoyed the 38km pedal from the East Coast Park to Changi Village (and back) this afternoon

It was a beautiful sunny day. And a chance to renew our Internet connections in person.

I think that's more important than the ride itself.

Its Better To Have Loved

2008-01-26T01:44:00.000+08:00

As I sit here, reviewing the 40 or so text-message exchanges on my handphone today, I am wondering why people still come to me for advice on relationships.

Am I not cynical enough? Have I not screwed up my own marriage? Do I not give out enough committment-phobic vibes?

And so I try my level best to be objective, but even then, the stark reality that you can never be right or wrong in this game seems to be the ambiguous takeaway. I've given up saying, oh I think he's the wrong guy for you, there's no future in this fella, girl, move on or hey you're making a big mistake, look at me!

I've learnt that you've just got to let yourself fall into the deep pit of infatuation and heady romance, come out the better or worse for it, and then see what happens. Sometimes, you need to follow your heart before you know when it'll call your bluff. Love or Lust? Time will tell. Even if you have a good Poker Face. Its irresponsible yes, when there are spouses, significant others or families involved. But hell, we're blessed (or cursed, depending on how you look at it) with such a powerful and undefinable emotion called L-O-V-E which sometimes fudges the lines of logic and common sense. The right thing to do would be to control it, keep it in when its supposed to be kept hidden, show it off when its time for its magic to work on someone. But unfortunately, we mere mortals are often at its tender but unrelentless mercy. It chooses to be manifested when you least expect it to. This apparent reticence for predictability is to be expected from an emotion some say originates from Divinity or Destiny.

The beautiful thing about love is that it is all around. What would the world be without it? The sad thing is that we always seem to give our love to the 'wrong' people.

This, ironically, is what makes it so special.

Oh Yeah!

2008-01-24T01:33:00.000+08:00

Adam Levine et al, 25 Mar 08, The Singapore Indoor Stadium.

Mark your calenders people!

Daydream Believer

2008-01-22T02:34:00.000+08:00

I've been revisiting old memories lately.

Digging up old photos, remembering the times when I wanted to be a writer, getting yesterday's feelings. I think its got something to do with what is happening in real life.

Emotionally and at work.

Or maybe its just the occasional Emptiness playing tricks on me. The 5-minute void that makes you believe you were once destined for greater things. Happier times. Contentment even.

Daydream Believer.

That's a song isn't it?

I know, but I don't dare to say it

2008-01-20T18:50:00.000+08:00

It is between us only. I know it will come to this, when your legs gets wobbly. Your mind and your heart switch places. I know you too well.
The letter sits on my desk. Setting a time and place for our destiny to be unraveled in front of us. So helplessly shoved and dragged into a decision, so premature, so binding.
In my mind, I replay the scenarios that might transpire, the sad ending, the bitter ending, the happy endings.
And only in the "happy endings" there are several. To me, "happy endings" are aplenty. The roads we chose and the plans we laid, are still unformed and in infancy. It may still be a "happy ending", you will never know.

As I look it, I am desperately happy. Well, it is the kind of happiness that you find when you are beyond sadness.
I don't really want to impose myself too much, seeking the path of least resistance. I am so encased in my "happiness", I don't know where to start laughing. Driving fast seems to help, but I can stay in my car forever.

Now, you seems to be unhappy with "us". The simple life that I sought for "us".
I have made my decisions and they might not be as difficult as yours. But loving you helps a lot.
You have to have guts, take it now or never ever to speak of it again, and spread your wings and fly.
Far away, and leave me to whisper into a hollow, all the regrets, sorrows, fears and apprehensions, and stuff it with mud and straw.

Time is the essence and the essence is now.
All we need is one step, your worries might not go away, but you will have me for life.
For good or bad, in health or in sickness.

Unkers@TheTheatre - Beauty World

2008-01-20T02:01:00.000+08:00

Cha Cha Cha!

That song from the musical is so god-damn addictive, it rings in your head hours after the final curtain has come down.

This is Wild Rice's remake of the Michael Chiang cult classic of 1988. And on this, its 20th Anniversary, Director Ivan Heng has added a few new scenes to spice things up abit. Plus our very own baba Andrew Lloyd Webber, Dick Lee, has composed 6 new songs to add to the already very catchy repertoire.

Well I must say I didn't catch this 20 years ago. Not when it had its 2nd run in 1992, or toured Japan in 1994, or had itself turned into a TV show for the President's Star Charity in 1998. But better late than never I suppose because really, we have something to be proud of in this very local-flavoured production.

Beauty World is a story about Ivy Tan Poh Choo (newcomer Elena Wang), an orphan from Batu Pahat, who discovers that a Jade pendant given to her as a child may hold the secret to the whereabouts of her Father in Singapore. So she uproots herself and makes her way to the eponymous Beauty World cabaret, where she endears herself to the resident Mummy (Neo Swee Lin), steps on the toes of the Chief Pussy (Denise Tan), gets an extreme makeover (quite pretty this Elena) and falls in love with Ah Hock, the bouncer (Daren Tan). Ivy's nerdy boyfriend Frankie Wong (Dwayne Tan) comes looking for her from Batu Pahat and has to grapple with the shocking revelation that his girlfriend has turned into a Cha Cha Cha girl.

Its all rather campy really. But in good fun. The sets were gorgeous, the singing certainly above par and most of all, it was something home-grown which made it all that much sweeter.

I'll much rather spend some good money on local theatre than watch a masked caped-crusader terrorise an opera singer in some angmo production.

Bravo guys, well done!

Until You Walk in My Shoes...

2008-01-20T01:15:00.000+08:00

When I was in University, my father wasn't doing too well financially. I remember every year when it was time to pay fees, I would be extremely worried about having to drop out of University if he couldn't cough up the money. For the first two years, he always somehow found a way to pay the bill. I know now that on some occasions, it involved borrowing from loansharks or rolling credit on his 17 visas and mastercards...

In the third year, he sold his car - one of my favourites, I must add - a 1970 Ford Escort 1.6 Ghia. He said he was going to use the money to pay my fees. But he took the cash and went to the casino up in Genting Highlands. The plan was to double the money so he could pay my fees and have some cash leftover. As all stories of this nature go, he lost every last cent. I hated him for it. I despised him. I ended up applying for (groveling) at the registrars offices for a student loan to cover the final two years. I had to find a faculty member (a lecturer!) to be a joint guarantor with someone else. I eventually found two people kind enough to help.

If I knew then, what I know now, about what it takes to raise a family, I might not have been so quick to despise him. I might not have been so quick to hate him. I might have swallowed my pride a little easier when I had to go and find the money myself. I wish I could thank him now, for all the pain and humiliation he might have had to suffer when he made the decisions he made.

I understand now.

Prince Mumbles

2008-01-19T02:27:00.000+08:00

OK incase you're wondering, this is not a review of Jay Chou's latest movie Kung Fu Dunk, out 7 Feb, in time for the Lunar New Year sick-of-visiting-relatives crowd.

I left the camera in the car, so I don't have pictures of his concert which I just attended. And what a ride it was!

Strangely, as the mumbly Prince belted out ballad after ballad, rap after rap, R&B-tinged cheena song after R&B-tinged cheena song, I sat there and mumbled to myself that boy, I am so glad the fella's Chinese. Proud lah you see. Which angmo in Hollywood or MTV today can claim to be such a talented singer, composer, musician, film director and dancer? You either have a combination of some of these talents in an individual. But to have all 5 resident in one slitty-eyed, brooding Chink is cause for unique celebration in the Chinese diaspora.

I shall not carry on gushing uncontrollably but yes, you get the idea. I am impressed with the bloke. Along with millions of other doe-eyed schoolgirls who really, I think, like him because he's cool, rather than for the kind of slick, fusion Western-Oriental pop he has made his own.

Jay, in my opinion, has 3 broad sub-genres in his repertoire of music. Rap-infused R&B tunes where his trademark mumbling has polarized a sizeable Chinese-pop generation, angsty melancholic ballads that would shoot star-crossed lovers to another galaxy and lately, an experimental infusion of styles in his songs which form a sort of great-tasting rojak. Case in point of the latter is the Texan hillbilly swing he incorporates into certain tracks on his latest album, On The Run.

He gave us equal doses of each talented portion tonight. Squeezing in a good 20 numbers into the 2.5hr gig and serving up plenty of chatty repartee with the mostly under-30 crowd. Pity that on certain songs, the acoustics of the Indoor Stadium did not perform up to scratch. Too much echo. Making portions of lines where Jay raps (i.e mumbles) quite inaudible.

Nevertheless, a great gig by the Prince himself. Even more so when you consider he spent his Birthday playing to the gallery.

StyleFiles@Unkster - PropArt The Cuban Way

2008-01-14T02:10:00.000+08:00

A little-known fascination of mine, is a curiosity and appreciation of Propaganda Art.

In the Socialist states of the former Soviet Union, China and Cuba, Propaganda Art, especially in the form of posters, flourished because the combined artistic talent of the countries' artists were reaped to publicise all that was good about the Marxist way.

China had Mao plastered all over the country. The USSR, the moustachio-ed Lenin and Stalin. And Cuba, well, a trip to Bangkok's Chatuchak Market would attest to the almost Canonization of Che Guevera, CIA-executed and trusted lieutenant of Fidel Castro. I think Mr Guevera is the Bob Marley of Socialism due to his iconic popularity.

My interest in Prop-Art is not so much in the ideology it hopes to transmit. But in its use of designs, colors and imagination to convey ideas. The Cubans, to me, best embody this concept. So today when I discovered a shop that sourced for and imports original Cuban poster-prints, I was estatic.

Until I saw that they were going for SGD$120 a prop..err..I mean a pop. Without framing!

Sigh.

With Cuba - Raul Martínez, 1966

Mobile Cinema - Eduardo Muñoz Bachs, 1969

All To The Square - A. Prieto, 1970

A Forest Is Growing - Antonio Reboiro, 1967

Position 1- Eduardo Muñoz Bachs, 1967

Better Not To Be, Than Not To Be A Revolutionary - René Mederos, 1968

A Week Of Solidarity With The Peoples Of Asia - Jesus Forjans, 1967

Lightning Will Strike You Down One Day

2008-01-14T00:09:00.000+08:00

As I sat on the aging plastic deck chair staring out at the sky, watching the lightning in the sky and listening to the deafening roar of the accompanying thunderclaps, I reflected a little on life.

I have changed a lot the past few years. 3 years ago I was searching for identity and trying to find out who I really am. But now I have a better understanding of what I want out of life. And I find myself somewhat trapped in a situation which may not be the most conducive to achieve everything I want out of life.

Have you ever felt that way? You know what you want, and you know what you need to do to get it, but the situation you are in at that given point of time makes it impossible, impractical or too risky to go out and get what you want.

What does a man do in such a situation?

I am trying to take control of my happiness and take what I can whenever the right opportunities become available. Life happens only once and if you don't live it to the fullest you will never have another chance. And, you never know when you will be struck down by lightning!

The problem with this approach, is that we can't all have our cakes and eat them at the same time. Its a zero-sum game. For me to be completely happy, I fear it would mean certain unhappiness for one or two or three other people.

Ah Ma

2008-01-13T03:14:00.000+08:00

Ah Ma looks alittle spaced out hor?, she turned and whispered to me while sucking the pincer of her big Sri Lankan.

Yah, I replied, cracking the carapace of my own crustacean between the teeth as I glanced over at the white-haired Bibik from across the table, She does.

Then it dawned upon me how Grandma behaves like our pooch Ginger these days. The bitch is 9, and in doggy years, that's 63. Not exactly a Le Grande Dame but old enough, I suppose, to be spending the greater part of her waking hours seated, Sphinx-like, on the sofa and staring blankly into space.

I communicated this sudden revelation to her in hushed tones and was promptly reprimanded for being rude. Comparing Ah Ma to a half-blind canine on her birthday? Tsk! How inappropriate!

Don't get me wrong, I love Ah Ma. She's not the type of Granny who would hug and kiss her grandchildren but I know she loves me too. You know what they say about grandparents and their First-born male grandchildren. Well if you don't then lets just say we have the privilege of being called Ah Boy. Its a tradition I am told. Why I have yet to fathom.

Ah Ma's a fantastic Peranakan cook. And when you read childhood stories about how some people helped their Grandmothers cook, I am proud to say that I have assisted the fastidious Bibik in the kitchen on many occasions, pounding belachan, making rumpah for all her wonderful curries and yes, even cracking open Buah Keluak. Its a pity I never learnt how to actually cook. But with Peranakan dishes, if you can whip up a decent 6-course meal, you could probably send a rocket to the moon. Its that complicated.

Anyway when Mum said for the coming Reunion Dinner, Ah Ma would probably not be cooking, I felt that the Lunar New Year would lose much of its meaning for me this time. And yet I understood that it would be inevitable. Looking at how bent she was becoming and frail. Ah Ma could possibly still manage with my aunts around as her hands and she, the cooking-brain. But I think its about time we let the old lady sit back. Although really, they don't built them old folk like they used to. Ah Ma, touch wood, hasn't made a single trip to the hospital or has anything seriously wrong with her. She's just aging, and I must say, until the time we noticed she was staring into space, quite gracefully.

Its not easy, for a woman to watch her husband die when her eldest boy was 10. And then to bring him up only to see her son give his life up to cancer before her. When Daddy died, I think a big part of Ah Ma died as well. The fiesty lady who used to knuckle me on the head for being a petulant child became so withdrawn. And on her mein, the lines of Why Not Me, seemed etched gently on the contours of her face.

I read in the papers today about how our dear Minister Mentor stressed the importance of constantly keeping physically active and the need for mental stimuli in the golden years in order to carry on living meaningfully. Slowing down, he says, would be a sure recipe for dying.

Maybe we should let Ah Ma cook afterall.

If she has communicated her love for us through her food all these years, then perhaps this would keep my favorite old person going for many more.

Happy Birthday Ah Ma.

Inconvenient Truths

2008-01-10T02:05:00.000+08:00

Today at work, I had the same remark thrown at me for the upteenth time, albeit by someone close I haven't seen in a couple of years and half in jest.

Are you Gay?

I responded to the query in a way I usually respond to such questions nowadays, by leaving it pretty much open-ended and grinning like a Cheshire cat. I'll rather leave people second guessing because, hell, do I really owe you an answer, much less an explanation?

And its the same thing when asked if I am going through a mid-life crisis, prematurely of course. A smile and a stupid pout. So what if I am?

You see, this behaviour is not borne out of a devious need to be reticent or dumb. Its a response borne out of sheer irritation at asinine assumption.

I mean the 'signs' are all there no? Recently divorced, flashy car, gym workouts 4 times a week, a good friend and confidant to girls but somewhat commitment-phobic, articulate and opinionated with a penchant for muscle Ts and singlets. They either think you're trying your darnest to be a 25 year old or you're, that's right, homosexual. At 35, you're not expected to behave this way. You're supposed to be happily married with offspring in Kindergarten, drive a MPV, do grocery shopping and take the kids to Piano class on weekends and be adorned with solid-colored Polo Ts 2 sizes too big to hide your prosperity 'belt'.

Bollocks!

That's a mental mould created by a society that's been brought up to believe that if you're not happily settled into the routine of fatherhood and 'husbandry' by your mid-30s, something is seriously wrong. You're different. And although not neccessarily verbalised by the trigger-happy thinkers, a freak case.

Even my former boss said he heard I was playful. And when queried about what he really meant by being ' playful', he asked me what I was doing with a Yellow sportscar and matching gaudy sneakers? Shallow little fella this one. I would say an Emotional Quotient of a Petri-dish.

I have pondered, trust me, on whether denying all charges and readily admitting to being lonely, depressed and thus retail/gym/boy therapy-dependent, would somehow throw alittle popular logic on the situation, change perception and bring balance to the force.

That would be a convenient lie though, much to my personal chagrin.

Because I like inconvenient truths. The world is not always black and white is it?

Rediscovering Unkster

2008-01-09T00:49:00.000+08:00

I've switched to illy. I rave about Mazdas now. And Soulmates...hmmm....what Soulmates?

But I think Curly is right. This Blog needs a shot in the arm again.

The Unkers will be Back..at least we think we will....

Unkers@TheMovies - Eastern Promises

2008-01-06T04:45:00.000+08:00

We stumbled on this inadvertantly.

I mean with a movie title like Eastern Promises, who's to know it isn't some arty-farty Zhang Yimou flick of undying love. The plan was to catch the latest Adrien Brody vehicle and Venice Film Festival darling, Darjeeling Limited, about 3 brothers' train-trip through India where they have to deal with their emotional baggage as well as metaphorical physical baggage whilst culture-shocking themselves. But since tickets were all but sold out on a Saturday evening, it was a welcomed surprise to turn to a gun-metal slick Russian Mob-fest instead.

Confession. I have never been a fan of Mob movies. Hell I can't remember anything from The Godfather. And when the American Gangster trailer played out in all its full Denzel Washington/Russel Crowe glory just now, I stifled a yawn. But faced with the prospect of Alvin & The Chipmunks, we thought Viggo Mortenson and Naomi Watts, together with Stylish-Violence Specialist, Director David Cronenberg, would make a better bet. And we were right.

Mortenson was a revelation! If you remember, he's Aragorn from LOTR. And in Promises, he has found a new Arwen in the very very delectable and classy Naomi Watts. Well, I had a crush on Watts when she had a crush on that big ape Kong not too long ago.

The now short, slicked-haired Viggo plays Nikolai, Russian driver and 'undertaker' to a Russian Mob boss' homosexual son Kirill (french actor VIncent Casell). Kirill's papa, Semyon (Armin Mueller Stahl) is chief mob-ster of the powerful Vory and runs the Trans-Siberia Restaurant as a front for under-age prostitution, contraband smuggling and cut-throat assasinations. When a teenage Russian hooker dies at childbirth in Trafalgar Hospital where Anna (Naomi Watts) works, she uncovers the girl's diary which leads up the dark and dangerous path to Semyon's Vory and an inevitable romantic entanglement with Nikolai.

Believe me, you will want to watch this more than once just for Mortenson. He really makes Promises his own. Cronenberg is known for his complex exploration of the human psyche and in Nikolai, this is as 3-dimensional as it gets. Expect plenty of blood and gore though. And of course, the much talked about Russian Baths scene where Nikolai fights off 2 killers from the Chechen Vory, completely naked. Yes girls, Aragorn in the buff!

The show is 140mins long. The pace is super-tight. And there is hardly a wrong turn or dull moment in its own unassuming yet 'tastefully' hellacious way. You get realistic insights into the Russian Mafia too. Like how 2 eight-pointed stars tattooed on your chest, above the heart, means you've earned the right to join the happy 'family'.

Watch out American Gangsters, the Russkies are in town.

8/10

UnkReads - Hyper Rev

2007-12-27T02:22:00.000+08:00

The latest edition of the RX8 after-market 'Bible' is in...

Let the Mods begin!!!

Unkster Uncovered 11 : The Coastal PCN

2007-12-23T02:47:00.000+08:00

The final piece in the jigsaw is done.

That piece being the Coastal Park Connector that finally links up the entire Eastern Network that runs from the East Coast Park, to Bedok Reservoir, the Tampines Heartland, Pasir Ris Park, Loyang, Changi Village and then looping back again to join the ECP.

We did the route in reverse on Friday. From the ECP to Changi Village, via the new stretch of asphault and tar along Changi Coastal Road. But once we got to the sleepy Village, we decided to make an about-turn and go back the way we came. Figured it was too beautiful a day not to be riding along the coast.

The entire return trip of about 40km was done at a very relaxed pace. No speeding, although on some parts of the very straight and even Coastal Connector, I did manage speeds of about 45km/h.

Finished the day with an overcast sunset on Bedok Jetty before getting properly soaked by rain. Sometimes in the darkest of times, there can be beauty ya? When the company is just right...

Season's Greetings!

2007-12-21T11:13:00.000+08:00

Unkster Uncovered 10 : The Bukit Timah Mountain-Biking Trail

2007-12-17T01:23:00.000+08:00

We did this on early Saturday morning.

And boy was it one helluva tiring experience. The Bukit Timah trail makes cycling on Ubin look like an evening stroll through the Botanic Gardens. Narrow and bordered by lallang at times, more steep inclines and downslopes than hilly San Francisco, slippery and worst (or best for some hard-core addicts) of all, strewn with rocks and granite stones the size of small human heads.

Here we were, furiously pedaling away, trying not to fall down and disfigure ourselves on the rough terrain, when we were overtaken by all these mountain-biking fanatics who were obviously experts at their sport. I swear some of these people have hidden motors and anti-slip devices attached to their expensive bikes. How else would one attack a 35 degree slope with such nonchalant ease and plummet down a horribly uneven 40m hill-face at about 30km/h? By my 3rd incline, I was already getting off my bike to push midway. Hell on several occasions, I was actually going backwards! =))

I am reasonably fit, but oh boy, I have a long way to go before I develop the skills (and guts) to take a real swipe at this game.

But we enjoyed ourselves. Huffing and Puffing aside of course. The trek through the entire trail again on foot after we put the bikes in the SUV was also a good time for bonding with nature.

And keeping an eye out for the natural things in life we Urbanites always take for-granted.

We're doing it again next week. Suckers for pain we are...

Pen-ny For My Thoughts

2007-12-12T02:00:00.000+08:00

Earlier this evening, my guys and gals bought me my farewell dinner at the clubhouse restaurant.

For 3 years, I was the chief simian leading a team of nearly 200 monkeys. And now, it seems like only yesterday when I entered the jungle. Hoping to leave some sort of legacy and change for the better.

I can't say I've done a fantastic job. In fact, I don't think I even lived up to the potential I know I am capable of. Along the way, I got distracted. Very distracted. And as a result, impatiently fouled tempered.

But as I sit here, reading the writings from the boys and girls in the big Goodbye Card that came with the pressie, I can see that at least I've done some things right.

Thanks for the nice pen people. It even has my name engraved on the cap.

You know what, everytime I use it to sign off that report or ink that memo, I'll remember that everyone has touched my life in a certain way as much as I've touched yours.

However small.

Kikou Prints

2007-12-09T23:56:00.000+08:00

After a week in my new office, the place still looks cold and sterile.

My window sill is devoid of plants, there are no pictures on my wall and my desk is pretty spartan, apart from a nice 20inch flat-screen monitor and a keyboard that is. You could have 2 teams of cockroaches play a game of football on the table-top.

And so, instead of going out and buying myself a couple of nice prints and portraits, I decided to put up one of my own.

Photographs of my car : S$2 per 5R print.
Picture Frame from IKEA : S$25
Visual Impact on Wall for S$35 : Will tell you guys tommorrow when I put it up in office.

=))

here's one for the muff.....JC loves your baby...

2007-12-07T13:54:00.000+08:00

....hmmm, did that sound right?

Indifferently Different

2007-12-03T02:02:00.000+08:00

In a little less than 6 hours, I report for duty at a whole new department.

Different faces, different job responsibilities and most importantly, armed with a different attitude towards how I should lead and manage.

And yet, as far as first-day jitters are concerned, I am slightly indifferent. So much has happened at my old workplace that I no longer fear the stopping and the staring. The little whispers and exchanges through the grapevine.

Get on with it people! We have a job to do.

Schmap!

2007-12-02T06:16:00.000+08:00

Received this in my flickR inbox today.

Hi flyingmuffyn,

Re : Schmap Christchurch Fourth Edition - Photo Inclusion

I am delighted to let you know that your submitted photo has been selected for inclusion in the newly released fourth edition of our Schmap Christchurch Guide:

Botanic Gardens

If you like the guide and have a website, blog or personal page, then please also check out our schmapplets - customizable widgetized versions of our Schmap Christchurch Guide, complete with your published photo:

Thanks so much for letting us include your photo - please enjoy the guide!

Best regards,

Emma Williams,
Managing Editor, Schmap Guide

One of my photos of the Avon River that borders the beautiful Botanic Gardens is somewhere in there. You'll have to click on the little tree icon that denotes the Gardens on the map. Then scroll through the 8 or so photos included from amateur shutterbugs all over the world.

I'm not particularly proud of this shot. Its kind of a Anyone-can-take-it shot. Taken back in the days when I was still using a 3.1mp, Made-in-Indonesia, Nikon digicam 4 years ago.

And oh, I didn't actually submit the photo out of the blue. They asked if I wanted it included, if it was selected, and I just replied yah why not.

Sugar Rush

2007-11-29T03:27:00.000+08:00

You know you are an unker when you walk into an old-school biscuit shoppe and get all excited with these sugar tops you ate during recess in Kindergarten 30 goddamn years ago!

Some things never change.

And sometimes, you wish the sweet innocence of a 5 year old never did go away...