Status Quo

The idleness will be the death of me, but to be honest, it will be duly missed once it ceases its reign, and I enslave myself to a life of responsibilities and serving the people, all in the name of answering His Call.

At times I wonder what is it that I've got myself into; Abandoning my interests and what essentially made me, me…will it bode well in the end? Or rather - will I survive the journey itself? Or will I be torn asunder by the gravity of the job, the multiple facades of people, and these turbulent times? Will my sanity maintain its steadiness, or will it finally crack under pressure?

Through all these, I hope God is with me, though undeserving I may be. God Forbid.

I have been writing a lot, although truth be told, most of them still reside in my head rather than in any tangible form. I've been spamming my Tumblr like there's no tomorrow, and similarly, busy deleting spams that somehow made it into my mailbox. Out, damn'd spam[1]!

The truth still stands, strong as ever. Writing is what I do. Thus my thoughts continue to wonder, what am I to do?

The differences between Arts and Science, the two are like estranged brothers, as different as night and day. While Science revels in the unrevealing of mysteries and the unveiling of truths, the Arts seem to reign supreme in the unknown and the irrepressible. How many tragedies written in the past were driven by people unable to contain their rage and rabid desires any longer? How comedies could bring joy to an otherwise murky world?

The two coexist in my head, a jungle of unexplored territories, a garden of juvenile hope, a dungeon of human fallacies, a stretch of plane where imagination takes many forms in turn?

Not to say that I regret my education thus far. But perhaps the Arts has not been given enough recognition it truly deserves, which goes beyond the superficial looks and the temporary glitters and greedy glamour? Even now, as idleness accompany my days, as I seek to amuse myself with whatever shows the television offered me, oftentimes that I found myself frowning in rebuke and scoffing with scorn.

Perhaps the tragedy of the Arts is that it's all, "been there, done that". Every cliche imaginable has been recycled that the effect has been lost, replaced by disappointment. The all reaching media ensures that there is a continuous stock of things that would feed the public's hunger for the hedonistic. And so what was left, except looks?

The problem of paper thin plots and gaping plot-holes are covered up by actors and actresses that are only pretty faces but are unable to act to save their lives. Tone deaf singers without much practice and wide range of abilities only need to ensure on looks to get them by. There are also gimmicks and cheap publicity stunts  that they used to boost up their popularity.

We are easily satisfied with mediocrity, and we become thirsty for more.

It is this quest for beauty that the public unwittingly get trapped in. People are not beautiful enough, not thin enough - but what is there to say about one's attitude?

"You're perfect as you are", or "Never change", or "Just be yourself". Yup, I've seen a lot of them on Tumblr.

While I'm not against positive advices, I do caution their use in situations. Such advices mentioned above are definitely not for those in dire need of a change of attitude.

There is a stench of haughtiness of "I'm good enough", as in the case of "I do as I please". Whatever happened to the quest of becoming a better person each day? Isn't that what growing up is supposed to amount to?

What goes around comes around - some people call it karma, but it's just God's Decree.

I apologize if this post had somehow trod on someone's toes, but it needed to be said. I assure you that all the rumination that I've done over this post hasn't actually relieved my conscience.

Current Music: Sadame - X TV OST

[1] - Parodied from Shakespeare's original work. Here is the real thing - Macbeth Act 5, scene 1:

Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then
'tis time to do't.—Hell is murky.—Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our
pow'r to accompt?—Yet who would have thought the old man to
have had so much blood in him?

Unrest

My head is not a pretty place to live in right now, especially since I barely have time (Final Pro exams next month OMG!!!111) to even entertain the notions that keep on making waves in my thoughts, but then I realise that I've not written for some time and...well, I get cranky once I skip blogging. Yes, so that's why I need to get it all out now to focus on the things that really matter (OMGFinalProOMG!!!111).

A couple of weeks ago my group posted in Internal Medicine had a session with Dr. M. Before starting he asked us to form a circle, and start introducing ourselves on several points: name, where we came from, our secondary school, favourite food and book, and what we aspired to be when we were but kindergarten schoolkids.

For my favourite book, I answered it as Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, a book that basically talked about the role of little things in success. And, surprise, luck plays a pivotal point! Who was it who said that "Luck is when opportunity meets preparation"? That person could not have been more accurate. There was another quote that specifically said the percentage of luck and perspiration, but I can't recall that one right off the bat. Regardless, sufficient to say, the book made me depressed.

Yes, my favourite book happens to compound my depression. Masochistic much? Tsk!

Outliers happened to be the second book by Gladwell that I read. The first was Blink, but perhaps I read it when I was too young that I can't really say the book made much impression on me. But I do remember one point: the role of the subconscious self.

Then I came across a webpage that talked about Gladwell's most recent book, What the Dog Saw. According to him, there are two methods of learning, the implicit and the explicit. The explicit deals with details and is done consciously, while implicit is more subconscious, like figuring out a pattern and - to some extent - skills. Some actions such as playing an instrument or acting are better suited to be done using the implicit learning.

The problem happens when the explicit takes over, which can occur when the brain takes over while we are under stress. There was a study done by Sam Glucksberg in which two groups were given the task to complete in a given time, but only one was given a reward, a financial intensive. As it turned out, this group finished later than the other.

I suppose that's why I tend to zone out at times, paying no heed to other stimuli around and within me while I perform certain things, like during the exams or even when people cross-question me when it comes to academics. Some may even accuse me of recklessness. I don't know if it's a good thing, but it has got me this far and...I'd like to think that it's just how my brain works. Maybe it became this way after all the depressing things that I run into, or how the education system has moulded my thinking methods, or even my years of gaming (which probably is done more intuitive than anything else I do).

Perhaps it will be better with time and experience. Yet I pray that I can count on it to get me out of a fix.

God Help me. God Help us all.

Current Music: Time's Scar - Chrono Cross OST

Detachment

To separate the brain from the heart

thinking from feeling

deduction from guesswork

logic from emotions

aims from hopes

facts from fiction

ideas from hunches

insights from instincts

wisdom from idiocy

need from lust

perspective from wishful thinking

will it disinter the strong

and entomb the weak,

living in us?

deny humanity,

repudiate our assets?

misuse our ability?

condescend our rank

to that of mere machines?

For in the end,

where will imagination be

wither will belief stand

will sympathy be ensconced

will there be a breath of inspiration

a flow of creativity

a second of euphoria

can we withstand

living in a milieu of destitude

living without a life?

For in the end,

to separate the brain from the heart

a move no different from

the physical divorcing the spiritual

the body isolating the soul.

-----

(c) ad. Lucidus, 2004.

Yes, you read that right. 2004. I dug this up from my old collection and decided that it deserves a better home.


Current Music: White Eyes - Gackt Camui

What's the Deal, y'all?

Warning: If you're looking for happy, then I'd advise refraining from reading this entry.

I was once scoffed at for keeping a blog.

Blogs are not, as I was told, the Islamic way of coping with things. There are other more acceptable ways of doing it, and while those were valid points, I was still stubborn with my stand but, being the pacifist that I am, I held my tongue instead of going into full scale debater mode.

Not out of fear of defeat, mind you, but more of tiredness. There are some things that, no matter how true they are to you, or how strong your conviction is, are not worth fighting and ruining relationships for. Thus, the peaceful middle way of agreeing to disagree.

I see blogging as a highly beneficial activity - otherwise I'd have terminated this blog and you, dear reader, would not have regularly updated sites to feed you with depressive thoughts as to how deplorable things are. It is a form of sublimation - which is a mature defense mechanism, whereby one responds to a negative feeling by channeling the negative energies to more productive ends, such as dabbling in writing or other aesthetics. Which would explain why most poets and writers of ye old days were conjuring up depressing poems and stuff that highlighted the forlornness of this transient life, the frailty of the human psyche.

There is some beauty in the broken, but to the one holding the burden...could the same be said?

Besides, blogging saves me the trouble of looking for people to confide in. Because, hey, everyone has his or her own problems, so it's not like they can actually take an extra load of problems, especially those that don't pertain to their daily lives or interests. See it as myself doing others a favour, will you!?

Occasionally I've toyed with the idea of dabbling into literature as a career, but seeing how difficult it is to cater to the public's whim - especially when it's not in tandem with one's own internal whims - I had to decide against it. (Naturally, my parents would never entertain such ambition!) Writing gives me the opportunity to dive deeper and learn more about myself - most of my entries were written freely, with not much planning or editing prior to the publishing. It's surprising how things actually unfold - oftentimes although I begin my entries with despair, the light of hope somehow slips through. The reverse also holds true though...

Compare this to while one is studying the cold hard facts. For example, the lists of clinical features of bronchial asthma. While you may relate the presentation with the pathology behind it, how far do you feel like you're learning more about yourself? Or, even worse - the mechanism of action of a, say, diuretic that acts to promote micturition...does that make you feel closer to your own kidney? Maybe not to yourself per se, but it sure gives some appreciation as to what the drug is doing to your patient, and you then share the joy when said patient's problems are ameliorated. But that's what a healthy human being should be doing, yes? To strive for the betterment of other people? Does this mean sacrificing one's own identity and positive perspective towards life as a whole?

Perhaps my problem is of different nature - the more I dive into the unknown territories within me, the more I seem to lose touch with the outside world, and hence a reduced threshold to accept the absurdities that the world throws at me.

It's derealisation, whereby I feel that I'm separated from the world around me. Like I'm outside looking in, forever not understanding the workings of the human mind other than my own.

So maybe...I am in the wrong course after all. Because my understanding of human beings has started to become so...ugly, that it's significantly different than that of mine ten years ago.

Or maybe the world is just going to the dogs. I mean, it's one of the signs of the end of the world after all...

Perhaps my personality type is at fault. While I started with idealism, it is easily crumbled, shaping into unspoken pessimism. Faith is so precariously fragile, that I become scared. My pacifist nature, people misuse and start to take advantage, almost like bullying me to do things that I'd rather not. It's everyone's responsibility, dangit, so why can't some people just behave accordingly instead of letting your fears take over you and get everyone else in trouble whereas we were initially ready to support you in your undertakings!? Are we not already adults!? How long do you expect to run?

And I know I've mentioned this before, but let me say it again: The maxim about fighting fire with water as the best option? I say this: bollocks.

Apparently it's impossible to knock some sense into some people using common courtesy and positive reinforcement. Childish much? Darn right.

And I'm so utterly, _utterly_ sick and tired of all this inane things that people - myself included - do without fail.

...

Judging by the state of things, I can't say that my future looks well. If things go on like this and I still can't handle things properly, I see only three possibilities:
i) I end up having mood disorders - be it major depressive disorder or bipolar disorder (God Forbid!)
ii) I end up writing poetry that have perpetually sad, depressive tones
iii) both of the above.

...Dear God, no.

Current Music: Kimi no Negai wo - Miyavi

Demarcation

To me, any revelation is always greeted by at least three different sentiments: some joy, some indifference, and mostly fear. Because knowledge is power, and sometimes power can be abused, other times to be feared.

I've figured out at least some part of the answer to my "meaning of life". Hold your horses before you yell out "God and religion, obviously! Wake up, woman!" to me, because I assure you, while you are not wrong (very not wrong, in fact!), I must remind you that I have an inherent ability to complicate things beyond your imagination.

And allow me to present to you my findings, as I see fit:

Blurry is the line

as I see those things

as I think of others

The world you see

A splash of colours, celebrating life

And yet to me

I see a range of gray

More dark than white

With occasional blind spots

They say "Never lose hope"

But I miff, bittered

By the past, by these wounds

Another say, "No expectations,

no disappointment"

Here I tremor,

Not in seeing the error

Of my ways or thinking,

But in anger.

"What, pray tell!"

I yearn to counter

"Tell me how the two differ?

You put your thinking in the future,

I put anticipication in mine"

And so they, enraged, rebuke,

"Nay, you put pessimism!"

"Again, my good people,

where do they differ?

where do you draw the line?

"To anticipate what could go wrong,

surely you need some dark clouds.

Yet you accuse me of pessimism,

loathing it as if it were poison.

And I, if I could,

would say that your optimism,

is just your delusions, your blindness

blanking out those you wish not to see,

your denial."

But no, I have not the will

And so I smile weakly,

praying that the weakness is not my will,

"Here, alas, we part ways,

we agree to disagree.

For our past differ so greatly,

we may never see eye to eye,

but I implore you, as I pray I shan't,

to never lose Respect."

----
(c) ad. Lucidus, 2011

Current Music: Sweet Serendipity - Lee DeWyze

Ideation

"It's an uncharted territory," she whispered.

The remark took me by surprise. We have been shrouded in silence since we came here, and I was truthfully relieved that she just opened a topic. The quietness was starting to bore and bug me. Keen to figure out her thread of thoughts this time, I probed on. "What is?"

She shot me an exasperated look. Her hand hovered just next to her head, finally tapping her temple with a finger.

As usual, I was eager to argue. "Well, not exactly. Anatomically speaking, that is. There're enough things in the brain that neither you nor I can possibly cover everything before the Final Pro."

She sighed heavily. Maybe I've struck the wrong note this time. Or maybe my statement hit a little too close to home.

"The brain is merely the hard-drive, the external machinery. No, I'm referring to the thinking process, the operating system," she said, her tone strained.

Of course you are, I felt like retorting bitterly. It was her fault for being so vague in the first place.

"Just like dreams, yes? In a way, it's a relief." She paused as she rearranged her words in the recesses of her own mind. "It's like the brain is telling you that it's still working even though your body starts to demand its time-out once your bedtime arrives."

"Err, yes." Truthfully I wanted to tell her that I rarely remember my dreams at all, so it didn't make much of a difference to me. I probably don't dream at all, so--

"I suppose once we cease to dream, we cease to live as well."

She did it again. With that simple aphorism she almost made me feel like sinking into the ground. Was she accusing me of being lifeless? Like a zombie, maybe!?

Even if she did notice my cringing at my internal monologue, she had nothing to say about it. Good for you! Go on, think some more while I try get rid of this growing uneasiness so that I'll be just in time to resume our little chit-chat.

She broke the silence with a grunt. "Just because you can't remember your dreams, it doesn't mean that you don't dream at all."

Did she just read my mind? Did I just experience the phenomenon of 'thought broadcast' that we learnt in Psychiatry?

Maybe it was time for me to say something - before she gives a reply without my actually saying it and then totally freaking me out. "...Usually my brain is too tired for little details like dreams. It's already cluttered as it is. Besides, I wouldn't want to remember any nightmares. It might turn me into a paranoid person."

"Right."

Wait, why aren't you contradicting me? Are you even listening to what I was saying, or are you still deep in your thoughts that I'm now reduced to an insignificant bystander? Will this short story continue with only my monologues, my complaints about the intricacies of the human mind and human interaction while you sit there and become washed away by your own brainwaves?

"Maybe they're not significant enough for you to remember afterward."

What on earth are you saying now, woman? Did I miss anything you said while I was busy thinking to myself? Make yourself clear, or I'm seriously going to ignore you for the rest of this scene! Still unable to grasp her logic, I could only response in the most intelligent manner possible at the time, "Huh?"

"Something is stopping you. I don't know what it is, though." She looked at me for a moment, taking in my confusion. For a moment there I felt that I was being analysed.

I swear, she must be enjoying this, to see me squirm helplessly while she talked about things that I'd rather not think about too much. Some things are just beyond us! Speaking of which, are we still on the subject of dreams that we experience in sleep, or has she progressed to the dreams one has for one's future?

I seriously couldn't tell where she was going. What have I done to deserve this situation?

"So...?" I prompted carefully. I wondered if her analysis on me came up with anything, and if she would mind sharing. More properly this time. It was only fair!

"Well," she shrugged and stood up from the bench. She turned her head sideways to glance at me, "you mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling." With that, she beamed mischievously and skipped off, leaving me staring at her disappearing form.

I hate it whenever she does that. It was bad enough that her ramblings were difficult to follow, now she has even abandoned me in the flesh!

And, seriously - did she just take a line straight out of the movie Inception? So much for originality.

---

Work of fiction (c) ad. Lucidus, 2011.

Current Music: Shining Star (TV Ver.) - 9nine 

P/s: "In this game, you always have to have hope. You always have to dream" ~ Robert Low

I'd like to think that this post has something to do with a seminar I have to present later, Sleep and Sleep Disorders.

...Alternatively, maybe it sprung from my alternating unexplained hypersomnia and untimely insomnia.

Giving the Lie

A poem by Sir Walter Raleigh. Oh, he's just the fellow who introduced tobacco to the world England, and while I am unhappy with him for that, it is still tragic how he fell victim to the circumstances and how he met his end.

Perhaps this life, to some extent, is still full of lies.

"The Lie" - Sir Walter Raleigh

Go, soul, the body's guest,
….Upon a thankless arrant;
Fear not to touch the best;
….The truth shall be thy warrant:
….….Go, since I needs must die,
….….And give the world the lie.

Say to the court it glows
….And shines like rotten wood,
Say to the church it shows
….What's good, and doth no good:
….….If church and court reply,
….….Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live
….Acting, by others' action;
Not lov'd unless they give;
….Not strong, but by affection.
….….If potentates reply,
….….Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,
….That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition;
….Their practice only hate.
….….And if they once reply,
….….Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,
….They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost
….Like nothing but commending.
….….And if they make reply,
….….Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion;
….Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it meets but motion;
….Tell flesh it is but dust:
….….And wish them not reply,
….….For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;
….Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
….Tell favour how it falters:
….….And as they shall reply,
….….Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
….In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
….Herself in over-wiseness:
….….And when they do reply,
….….Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;
….Tell skill it is prevention;
Tell charity of coldness;
….Tell law it is contention:
….….And as they do reply,
….….So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness;
….Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
….Tell justice of delay:
….….And if they will reply,
….….Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,
….But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
….And stand too much on seeming.
….….If arts and schools reply,
….….Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it's fled the city;
….Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood, shakes off pity;
….Tell virtue, least preferreth.
….….And if they do reply,
….….Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I
….Commanded thee, done blabbing;
Because to give the lie
….Deserves no less than stabbing:
….….Stab at thee, he that will,
….….No stab thy soul can kill!


Current Music: How to Save A Life - The Fray

Baggage

She stares ahead of her, eyes bobbing from left to right then to left again, at the crowd milling about before her. Her bag lies nearby, but she makes no move to assert her claim over it.

"You should keep an eye on that, you know," I murmur. Hopefully it does not come out as too bossy for her tastes.

She is momentarily taken by surprise. She pulls it closer to her side; whether out of following my advice or out of suspicion as to what I could possibly be up to, it is difficult to tell.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" I ask.

"You think so?" she says, hesitant.

"Isn't it?" I repeat myself. "Here we are, in possibly one of the best sites to observe the general public as they are. Everyone has his or her luggage - some have more than the other - and they have a place to go. Except, perhaps..." I nod in one direction, where a young child stands, lost, glancing around her, looking as if she's going to burst into tears any moment now, "...those who are still uncertain of their path in life, still dependent on other people."

My companion looks relieved when the little girl rejoins her parents, and the trio disappear from view, joining the crowd.

"Where are you heading?" I ask conversationally.

She glances at her ticket. "I don't know for sure."

"No?"

She holds the item up for my benefit. Aside from certain details as the time and place to board, it is as good as empty.

"That doesn't look right," I remark, raising an eyebrow.

"It doesn't," she agrees monotonously.

After the pause, I hazard a question, "But you know where you want to go to, don't you?"

She scrunches her face, her forehead now wrinkling in cogitation. "Yes." She meets my eyes, her grip on the ticket tightening. "Very much so."

"Great. You know what to do, then."

She nods.

"And what it takes to get there."

"Quite so."

"There will be necessary sacrifices along the way. Naturally."

"Naturally," she echoes. She however uncaps her pen and begins jotting something down on her ticket. With that done, she pockets it away. She then unzips her bag, and begins taking out several things, one by one. Noticing my enquiring gaze, she explains simply, "There are things that we should just leave behind us, aren't there?"

"Yes. But they might come back to you, somehow. Some do that, you know. Kind of like...nightmares."

"They might, but for now, they're not needed." She pauses. "Or, rather, I don't need them. I know it for a fact. If they ever come back, I'll just rinse and repeat." When I get to my feet, she makes it her point to ask, "You're leaving already?"

"Yes."

"But you--" From the way she eyes my empty hands, it is enough a hint as to what she is getting at. "You already have everything you need?" she asks tentatively. And - if I may say so myself - doubtfully.

I manage a small smile. "Yes." Taking the first few steps away from her, I motion a wave. "I'll see you when you get there."

It takes her a couple of moments to reply, and I am already some distance from her. But from the determination in her voice as she yells out "It's a promise!", I probably have nothing much to worry about.

---

Work of fiction (c) ad. Lucidus, 2010.

Current Music: Everything is Alright - Motion City Soundtrack

(No) Boundaries

"Responsibility is the price of greatness" ~ Winston Churchill

Perhaps you'd agree with me if I say that childhood ends when life ceases to appear as straightforward. Teenage years commence when one tends to exaggerate the level of such entanglements - "Nobody understands me! Screw you, world!" or "Look at me, the rebel without a cause!" - oftentimes due to seeing oneself as more adult than one truly is; some sort of an identity crisis, being caught between two phases.

As for adulthood, that's when you surrender to the fact that no, the world wouldn't stop being so difficult just because you told her to...and so you resolve to make the most out of it - press on despite the raging currents, rise above even when everything seems to bring you down.

Because our survival instincts know that we essentially don't have any other choice.

But we sometimes stop and wonder - "What if everything I've done so far was a mistake?"

Am I just complicating things, by questioning the validity of the status quo?

Some things in life need to be changed by one’s own hands. Others need to be accepted and tolerated as they are, and the remaining deserves no attention whatsoever.

Some things need to be done, others are optional, and the rest…they don’t matter, whatever their outcome may be.

Sometimes the demarcation is easy, other times difficult. But perhaps, the only thing more difficult than the latter is the initiative to truly act as what is needed of you. Treating unimportant matters as important, and vice versa, is akin to putting things not in their proper place. Yes, it is injustice.

Easier said than done, I confess.

We will falter at times, when the situation is most dire, or when we are simply exhausted beyond imagination. It is then that we just have to remember – there are always prayers, and there will always be Him, Who would Listen in His Own Way…even when the rest of the world turns a deaf ear and walks out on you.

Source

Current Music: Signal (Acoustic Version) - Kelun

The Simple(r) Life

“Take care to get what you like or you will be forced to like what you get” - George Bernard Shaw

What if everything that you have ever known or thought that you believed in whole-heartedly - was in fact wrong? Would you say that you were tricked by those delusions? Or would you say that they spawned from ignorance, and now you are freed from those lies - only that you're already leaping across a huge chasm; falling into it means being swallowed alive with no hope raising above and seeing the light, while reaching the other side means facing the great unknown, the indomitable evil within and outside, brutes who are only too eager to bring you down?

Maybe my thinking is a bit too radical, too alien for this part of the world, this community I'm living in. How I came to the realisation that I feel more comfortable working alone compared to dealing with people of all sorts was a shock. I've never thought I'd have this kind of predicament before - whatever happened to the me of yore, who was able to freely achieve things that the current me is still finding the courage to?

And yet when my old friends remarked that I "haven't changed a bit", part of me just wanted to laugh bitterly. Oh, if only they knew...

I missed those days that I did not have to worry about trifles, and how Chance never appeared to me like a looming spectre, eager to grasp me in his claws and tear me apart, and how Uncertainty never laughed at my fumbling in a B-grade sitcom.

If I could go back in time to see the younger version of me, I would engage her in a long, long talk. One that probably would convert her to the current me a bit sooner, but probably would save her the trouble in the long run.

But no! There is no way to turn back the clock. Gone are those days when we could laugh easily and look forward to a brighter, more promising day ahead. In retrospect, those problems that we faced as children were tantamount to nothing - entirely insignificant - to those that we face now. Perhaps the same will ring true when our future self puts our current self in juxtaposition.

It's irreversible. Why is it that we can't seem to learn!?

We only have the Past as our teacher, the Present as our arsenals, and the Future as our spoils of war, a trophy that embodied the blood and tears that we had put into. And we put ourselves - perhaps so much more! - at stake in this great battle.

Ah, the power of belief...so influential, yet so incorrigible.

----------------
Now playing: Lifehouse - Halfway Gone
via FoxyTunes

Where Between the Two Extremes?

Alternative title: When advertisements get me thinking - seriously.

I rarely watch television. There's a wider selection of watchable, readable materials available online and searching the WWW beats browsing the television schedule or waiting for your show to air.

Also, advertisements. Pop-ups are more annoying than television ads I suppose, but I pay more attention to the latter - which really isn't saying much though - and few of them are actually capable to force some sort of a thinking hat on my head. Take, for instance, a certain Mountain Dew ad.

Notice that tiny caption at the lower right corner? It took my third scrutiny to figure what it says. First time: I caught sight of the action onscreen and turned away. Second: the stunts sent me thinking, 'Wait, aren't they supposed to warn the public not to reproduce such dangerous acts?' Third: 'Oh, wait, they actually did...'
Fourth, after hearing my companion's remark that the advertisement portrayed the stunt in a light that could mislead the viewer that one could get away with only minor injuries, my thoughts then retorted that some people could be overestimating themselves in terms of their professional abilities. My other companion, on the other hand, said that those stunts were probably fabricated by means of graphic programs and such.

Imagine, for instance, if someone didn't notice the warning. Or, the size of the font was not strong enough to leave an impression that those death-defying acts are more of pure lunacy instead of one heroic display?

To some, the two might be one and the same. Not in this case, it isn't.

Compare the Mountain Dew ad to that of Ridsect. Usually the ad would begin with 'Attention, this is a mosquito insecticide advertisement' done in huge white fonts with a black background, then the scene would shift to someone being harassed by those noisy flying nuisance. Until now I don't see why the warning is necessary - there are mosquitoes, mosquitoes terrorising a household, mosquitoes getting doused by the spray administered by one who doesn't really need to be a sharpshooter, mosquitoes falling down, murdered in the name of protecting one's loved ones. Yup, pretty straightforward piece of message there, folks.

In life sometimes our attention is diverted elsewhere, to things that are more intriguing, fascinating and...profitable. For instance, the prospect of accumulating more money is more appealing to the general public than of donating a substantial amount to charity. Or, in simpler examples, movies that feature out-of-this-world CG animations or beautiful airheads who cannot act to save their lives to cover for shallow stories that have otherwise very little to sell. (I'm thinking of Avatar here...and those numerous shows/events that rely on scantily clad women - even men too, come to think of it - that gladly allow themselves to be degraded to mere objectification of sex...)

That's the sign that the End - be it the world's or our own wellbeing, our morality - is approaching, fast.

Back to the ads. What does it take to hold your attention? Would it be one that is small in comparison to the bigger (and more constant) picture? Or a message that is simple, clear enough but temporary?

I myself couldn't give a definite answer. I do appreciate subtlety and metaphors, but I know that the dangers of being swept away by those aesthetics are very much real in my case. And, as anyone could tell, the nature of my blog itself - imbued with double meanings, imageries and, at other times, overshadowed by obscurities - shows that I view writing as an art in which effort is a rule. For me, finishing much less looking for fictional novels can be a tedious task to bask in!

But those wake-up calls are needed too. It's like an alarm clock that rescues you from those nightmares that tease your imminent rise from bed.

In life's lessons, perhaps simplicity would drive the point home; even so our lack of memory may eventually make a detour to other if not similar mistakes. Art, meanwhile, celebrates the glorious marriage of stark simplicity and knotty intricacies. But in dealing with people - who themselves, for better or for worse, are a motley bunch with individual quirks and touchiness - there're no hard and fast rules.

...Ah, such is the world we live in. Otherwise we'd be long dead bored from uniformity and predictability, and offended by bluntness; or utterly confused by dubiety, put off by complexities, and hypertensive from all the stress of trying to make sense of things that twist our logic.


Current Music: Falling Down - Oasis

P/s: Not affiliated with the brands mentioned above. Merely used them to prove a point...

Now and Then, Here and There

"Si jeunesse savoit; si viellesse pouvoit"
If only youth had the knowledge; if only age had the strength ~ Henri Estienne

Sometimes we hear the laments of the older adults about how the youngsters nowadays have fallen from grace. This standard that the former uses would be "their younger days".

Then the youngsters would argue with "Time changes things! Things ain't what they used to be anymore!"

Rinse and repeat until
A) both parties agree to disagree
B) one side chickens out
C) the debate gets more physical
D) all of the above, in no definite order

There is some merit in both. Things are no longer as good as the olden days - I usually phrase this as "when the sky was still blue and the grass greener" - and the world today is a different place to live in compared to, say, thirty years ago. We can hardly blame the elders for their stand - how many times have you yourself frowned upon the idiocy and mischief those younger than yourself were up to?


Sure, some things come with age - responsibilities, maturity, wisdom, driving license and the realisation that the world is not only a bed of roses but the thorns are very much real. But that's not what this post is about.

It's how the younger generation are getting more and more daring at a younger age. Primary schoolchildren getting acquainted with cigarettes. Teenagers experimenting on sexual behaviours. Illegal racing. Drugs and gambling. Women and men alike having no shame of parading every inch of their body for others to worship with their lustful eyes and erotic touches. Adultery seen as something normal. Single parenthood is as common as the traditional idea of parenthood. It's the collapse of the basic institution in a society - which spells eventual doom of the latter.

The problem with this risk-taking behaviour is that it is practised at the wrong place, wrong time, wrong situation.

Perhaps it has something to do with the wrong escape route.

Consider for a moment: when we pursue material enjoyments, our reasonings more often than not revolve around this elementary excuse of "to de-stress". In the olden days, things were harsher - everywhere people laboured, parents were generally stricter, kids rarely sought for entertainment. When they did, their form of amusements were basic, using everyday items like slippers, rubber-bands joined to form a skipping rope, and coconut leaves. They didn't have much of an escape, so they faced their hardships with valour and they prospered in the end when they conquered their difficulties.

So they may have a right to brag after all. And, while they're at it, dismiss our generation as having been pampered, causing us to become weaklings who only complain when things don't go the way we want them to.

In contrast, our escape routes are plenty. Too many to choose from, that even if we can successfully overcome the temptation of one, there is no guarantee that we can survive the next. Nothing good on TV? Switch on the PlayStation or XboX. Bored of the console? There's the Internet. From there...my God, the destinations are innumerable. Practically everything can be found there, with the help of a good search engine.

These temptations beckon us to choose escape routes over facing and looking at our problems in the eye. It's not like one of those shounen anime subplots that require the hero or his posse to go on a journey in search of his/their potential to become stronger, to defeat the current villain. No, this is running away like a coward because one is too afraid of the prospect of getting hurt, failure, or the notion of leaving everything including comfort behind.

In other words, afraid of hardships.

So we run away, abandoning the chance to develop ourselves. As a result, we are accused of being pampered.

We retaliate, then we are labelled as rebels.

...There's just no end to this, is there?

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Now playing: Gackt - 哀戦士
via FoxyTunes

P/s: Title or post is in no other way related to the Now and Then, Here and There anime.

Compilations #9

1. Oxymoronic

Simply amazing.

How silence can convey more than words could. There's facial expressions, of course, and the glimpse of emotions that is finely entwined in those few yet curt words issued.

Like, one may be able to sense that something is up when one walks into a meeting room overtaken by silence, and the people within are muted for whatever reason. Those wearing their poker faces may prove to be a challenge, but then look at the surroundings - if people wouldn't talk, evidence would, in their own way.

Or when one can figure out something is afoot when two people who are close suddenly wouldn't even trade words.

Or when one whose verbose nature suddenly takes a total change.

You don't have to be a genius to decipher those descriptive, explanatory silence. Just a bit more perception, sensitivity and...humanity, really.

2. Norms and Imprisonment

Some habits are hard to break, regardless of whether or not there's insight on how destructive said habits could be.

For instance, nicotine in cigarette makes the person dependent on its very existence in his/her bodily system. The same goes for drugs. Without it being part of the subject, it doesn't feel right, doesn't feel whole.

Tolerance; The old doses just won't work anymore to achieve the same effect, the same amount of 'high'. Addiction; there will always be the want for more.

The smoker or IV drug user might know he - overgeneralisation of sex here, not because I'm a sexist - is slowly killing himself and, indirectly, those closest to him, but he could not help himself. His self-control is already weak, waning with every passing second and with subsequent dose of his unlawful brand of pleasure.

I'm not condoning this behaviour. It's repulsive, it's degrading. The unspeakable loss of humanity.

What of habits then?

Would you say it's something akin to drugs and nicotine? Does it deserve to have its own designated term, such as habitoholics, such as alcoholics with their alcoholism? Are we conditioned in a way that it is irreversible, or at the very least, any future editing or modification processes will be unduly met with strong resistance?

Why is it so hard to change even when we know it has to be done!?

3. Malpositioned

Is there an honourable place in today's world for a Jack of all trades but master in none?

We can't all be what we yearn to be. Not all dreams become reality. Some live their dreams, some keep on dreaming and just that...no more. It ends once we start our eternal slumber.

Then again, so do most things.

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Now playing: OneRepublic - Made For You
via FoxyTunes

In Retrospect

Once upon a time, we heard a tale, which I shall translate here for your reading pleasure.

A young man uses his motorbike to go to work and to return home. Such is his daily routine...and because material things in this life don't last forever, one unfortunate day, he finds his motorbike in disrepair.

The narrator of this tale later enjoined us listeners to imagine how the young man must have felt at the time. One audience answered "Depressed" - or something to that effect - and the narrator rebutted with "Half-dead" (in verbatim, "Separuh mati!").

At the time, shallow that I was - or maybe just dead bored - I agreed. But after what happened yesterday, when my feathers were ruffled more than twice in rapid succession and my sleep disturbed (crankiness ensued), I had to ponder back...

...because sometimes we minorities don't get enough voice that we deserve.

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Orthopaedics: Final Impressions

Because the mind - mine, at least - is rarely as idle as the physical body, it is only now I can put my thoughts on this virtual paper, mainly on Orthopaedics as a whole. Partly also because a few others have done the same, and there is no harm in jumping on the bandwagon...

So. MCQ was like a migraine attack, One Best Answer some sort of retribution, PMP was a breath of rather suffocating air, clinical exams was...is there a single English word or expression that incorporates the notion of what-have-I-learnt-all-this-while-oh-God-is-there-no-hope-for-me-at-all?

If anything, the finals had made me doubt whatever beads of knowledge that I have gathered during the course of this posting. Practically everything, from the site of pin insertion for skeletal traction, the antibiotic regime, and if I belong where I am.

But! One of the beauties of medicine is that we more often than not learn more than what is enumerated in the syllabus. It's not just about the disease - one must always treat the patient as a whole.

The ward is a good place to observe human behaviour, be it patients, visitors, doctors and fellow peers. When one is ill, that's when one either puts down all his or her defenses and pretences, and resolves to whatever solution - although the aptness of said solution may be subjected to debate *cough* - that guarantees escape from the predicament...which actually includes utter despair and surrender to whatever Fate has in store. Upon the infliction of pain, some would have no qualms to simply throw one's sense of self-reserve; others might even view this an opportunity throw their weight around.

And yet it is this same problem that can bring out the worst in people. I suppose in that aspect one would be forgiven in thinking that being in the wards would be no different from, say, driving on the road.

Yes, the wards, where one can see a spectrum of human behaviour, from the very good to the unbelievably bad.

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Open Season in the Mountains

There will often come a time when we are stripped of our personal protection gear, to be held hostage or as an open target for others - more often than not, those people whom we are inferior to, and almost automatically cower in fear due to this vulnerability felt in their mere presence - to open fire at us, at least in the form of words. I say words, because "verbal abuse" would be too over the top, with no reflection over the true situation and, decidedly, very much unjust especially if said words are most deserving to the recipient. God Forbid notwithstanding!

Clinical exams are one thing, viva is another. Speaking from past experience in third year - not much, but sufficient to quote to prove one's point - as one stood with the examiner, it felt as if the rest of the ward melted away to a state of nothingness; a mere backdrop, and whatever sound, movements and hustling about faded to make room for the one who would decide if the student before him/her was competent and knowledgeable enough to pass and move on to the next stage. Although one may be able to still stand properly and tread away with a normal gait, these are no helpful indicators of the nervousness that permeated throughout one's internal milieu; indeed, tachypnoea, diaphoresis, tremor, pre-hypertensive blood pressure readings, chest pain, headaches, aberrant patterns on ECG, and some other deviation from the accepted standard of normalcy within the medical field may very well manifest themselves.

A form of adrenaline rush that had never failed to knock one over regardless of his or her own preparation prior to the event.

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火焔

They say to never play with fire.

In its petite form, we admire the beauty it glowers with, the warmth it radiates. It's what keeps us warm and fuzzy on cold nights, the light that illuminates us in the dark, the symbol of celebration as fireworks light up the dark sky in dazzling colours.

Fire can turn into foe in but a split second, reducing to ashes everything that dares to stand in its way, evolving into wildfire as it devours its unsuspecting prey.


It rises to the sky, majestic yet menacing, and we are reminded that there are some things that we cannot fight empty-handedly.

It's painful when the flame licks your outreached finger. With no luck, a scar marks the place as an unwanted memento of the experience.

The burning doesn't last indefinitely. When air is exhausted, the chemistry runs out, and the now timid flame breathes no more.

It leaves despair even after it is gone, the memories vivid, the aftermath real. The lingering smoke, thick and gloomy, can still suffocate.

Do we pick up the pieces on the charred ground and start anew? Or do we leave everything behind, running towards another light? Will that light promise a better outcome?

If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen.

...Looks like distancing is the solution. I wonder how long it'll be until I become famished and malnourished though...

Current Music: Sweet Dreams - Beyonce

In Juxtaposition

Perhaps, one of the keys to happiness in this life - one of which is utter devotion to God - is the ability to live in harmony.

By harmony, I'm not merely referring to our external milieu, i.e. Being kind to our parents, friends and neighbours, or being one with nature, or making sure that each of your piece of clothing blends well with each other and agrees with you as a person.

Yes, the harmony within. No state of unrest that is completely full-blown, mind-boggling, emotionally unsound, physically crippling, which promises nothing but misery and turmoil.

And yet we know that things are created in pairs, and thus they - and whatever springs from them - also exists in pairs. He and she, black against white, good versus evil, yin and yang, right and wrong, up and down, Newton’s Third Law of Motion, sympathetic and parasympathetic, matter and antimatter...

...Order and Chaos.

It's like a game of tug of war, with you smacked dab right in the middle, entwined in an intricate web of circumstances, rendering you helpless and scarred.

No matter how you yearn for peace and order, it will be torn by havoc. It is the law of entropy.

It consumes energy and takes time to restore order.

It doesn't take long and much to blow everything into oblivion. Especially when the end is near, with you no longer have anything to fight with, or to press forward.

At that time, defeat is imminent.

It's the same with people. The good reputation one has laboured day and night to achieve and maintain can be history after one minor but disastrous slip up.

...frankly, I've grown tired of this, but the rational part of me insists that I should discard the irrational thoughts and tendencies. It doesn't accept "the soul is willing, but the flesh is weak" excuse anymore.

Meanwhile, the never ending conflict builds up...and I've a feeling the climax will go off with a bang.

Family Medicine: Not-So Final Impressions...and Then Some

Undoubtedly, nobody would argue if I were to say that Family Medicine is an eye-opener.

People coming from different walks of life, each with his or her own story to tell. Some live dreadfully tragic lives that we never could have imagined plausible on this Earth. A handful may even have stories that could give Hollywood directors a run for their money.

But being posted in a government hospital and government clinic, more often than not we students encounter those ranging from the middle class and below.

Occasionally what we have the chance of witnessing is not a pretty sight.

More beyond this field of vision »

The Blame Game

Sometimes it is only too easy to raise that accusing finger and point the blame at someone. So easy, that most of us resort to this way without skipping a beat. Like it's purely reflex, ingrained deep within us, essentially an inherent read-only programme which not many can rewrite without much toiling.

Blaming takes guts. It might involve getting in others' bad books, but it may or may not taint the blamer's own conscience. It may be an ego defense mechanism - albeit an immature or neurotic one - but it's not one that anybody can be proud of.

It goes without saying that it takes more guts to just admit one's own mistakes, and try to rectify the situation rather than busying oneself with finding a scapegoat.

Blindly, or even half-blindly, blaming others may stem from one's ignorance, one's lack of understanding of the matter. In cases of accusing people for what they did in relation to their personality or intelligence, could we safely say that, had we been in the person's shoes, we would never have committed the same mistake?

We are shaped by our pasts and our tendencies, our habits. We are who we are not only because of our external appearances, but also how we would react, verbally or in our actions, to a given situation. As such, it may involve conditioning - in which, when confronted with something that resembles something from our past, we tend to respond more or less the same way or, had we learnt a lesson, in a different manner. Because life is a series of lessons and quizzes, rather than just one major exam after certain intervals.

Our past is like a collection of baggage that we continue to drag as we tread this winding road we call Life. Some may fall out of our carriage whether deliberately or not, some are tightly locked, bound to our being - akin to scars that can't be erased, or those that become hideous keloids, perpetually haunting and traumatising us. It depends on what we'd do to these - whether we walk on strong-willed, holding our head high, or we choose to huddle, to shrink in one corner to sob like everything is futile, like we've reached the screen that reads 'Game Over' with no option for 'New Game' or 'Resume Last Saved'.

Depending on one's own coping mechanism, one may rise with glory or one may fall into wretchedness. There may be an inherent machinery within that gives a rough idea on how to respond, to survive. Is there any wonder that two biological siblings living under the same roof may grow up to become different, despite some similarities? Is there any wonder that children do not take after their parents totally? Is there any wonder that even the closest friends who claim to share the same interests can still bicker like selfish prats?

That said, I'd say it's only fair for one to blame another only if the former is well-acquainted with the latter's unjustified destructive nature. Even so, there is a limit as to how mad one should be, I guess.

Which brings us to another question - how much should we know?

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