a thoughtful soliloquy to the Cloud Atlas

On the way back from a particularly tiresome tennis session, I scrolled through the best and most informative news on the internet - Yahoo! News, and my thumb, inexplicably landed on an article.

At first glance, it seemed to be nothing but a mindless review that news sites often put up to stir a few extra views - it was labelled "25 best movies of 2012". I obliged and earned the writer a few more cents by tapping the link.

I scrolled through the listings. And i was astonished  The Dark Knight Rises was no where on the list. But remember a title on it. A title that I had heard reviews of months earlier - mostly negative and uninteresting.

The movie was called "Cloud Atlas".

And for some reason, that stayed with me.

Even now, as I have finished my lunch, slumped into my chair for a brief relaxation internet session, that title has stayed with me. I inexplicably listened to the soundtrack, the trailer and even now, I'm typing this and narrating this in my head with Tom Hanks' voice.

I am finding myself... drawn... to this movie, the novel and it's concept - the idea of an evolution of a soul. That perhaps the random decisions made in my life have come from a previous life and previous *me*, and that all those versions, all those past *me*s - the entirety of their existence, their experiences, their heartbreaks, triumphs, tears and joys, may have contributed to my taking a left instead of a right at a particular bend in the road.

The idea, also, of inevitability is particularly heartwarming - that no matter how or what happens, no matter the barriers, the distances and the obstacles - if we are meant to be, then it will be. It may take us a few mistakes, a few *lifetimes* worth of mistakes, but in the end, we will be. Either in this life or the next, or the next, and the next.

"Yesterday, I believe I would never have done what I did today. I feel like something important has happened to me."

I'll watch this movie - and we shall see if it deserves that spot on that list.

a life in music... (extracts)

EXTRACT 1:

One of the earliest memories I've had of music was lazy-ing into the seat of an old Superman bus, as it grinds down the road home after the morning session was over. Bus is nearly empty and I'm leaning back on my bag and I look backwards out the window as trees zoom past.

The song on the radio at that time was "Love is all around" sung by Wet Wet Wet...

That was back in 1994. I was 9 and mid-way through Primary 3...

EXTRACT 2:

A few years later, I remember looking out the window as the car speeds down the North South highway, on the way back from a long holiday. School is opening SOON. And not the same school that I was going to for the last 6 years.

Soon, I'd be stepping into St Joseph's Institution. And while there were familiar faces, the rest would be brand new. And that was scary.

In fact the whole year had been scary. It'd been the year of the bloody spice girls and their extremely creepy "2 become 1" video... UGH...

Anyway, I remember looking out the window, totally quiet on the outside, but I was SCARED SHITLESS on the inside by the future and the prospect that lay before me.

The song on the radio seemed to answer for me. It was Semi-charmed Life by 3rd Eye Blind...

And that was 1997. Primary 6 and moving to Sec 1 next year... I was 12.

EXTRACT 3:

I remember the principal saying that we were "pioneers" or something along that line. Thinking back, speeches like that seemed to paint us as some kind of super soldier army that was about to be unleashed onto society.

And considering SJI at that time - it certainly felt like it. Yeap, we were the invincible bunch.

Beating the hell outta each other and having so much fun that we'd all collapse into our seats as the bus took the longest time to get home...

Music had been particularly... stimulating that year... I seem to remember a certain Faith Hill video that triggered certain hormonal reactions... heh... It pretty much established the favorites in my album - Matchbox 20's "Bent", BSB's "Shape of my Heart", and a few others...

But if there was a song that pretty much summed it up. It'd be the one song that all the SJI boys would be whispering to themselves as we lay slumped in our seats, pretending that we werent singing along...

Jon Bon Jovi. The message? Simple. It's my life.

It was the year 2000. Sec 3 and we were at the invincible 15 years old.

EXTRACT 4:

Not too long after that, it was a total 360. From being invincible to being incompetent. Probably the transition from an all-boys school to a WTF GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS school was too much to handle. Lol... Or maybe it was because 2000 rolled along and the world was still around. And that was such a bummer... September 11was still fresh one year on, and had a way of smothering us with protection, and the world seemed SO much bigger, and we were constantly being ignored, for favor of the greater good, national security and wat not...

Being the home tutorial counsellor DIDN'T help. Responsibility really grounds you, makes you realize the vulnerability of the world. Not to mention the late days studying and the long LONG bus ride from CJC to Eunos...

It was the year of Eminem, some stupid girl who kept singing about boys (Avril Lavigne), and not to forget Enrrrrrrrrrrrrrrique's "Hero" - the dream soundtrack of every guy's death at that time... A few standouts were "All you Wanted" and  "Goodbye to You" by Michelle Branch, and Vanessa Carlton's "A Thousand Miles". I always had a hard time telling them apart. LoL...

And while taking the long ride home, I distinctly remembering nodding off on more than one occasion to "Here I Am", sung by the ever intriguing Bryan Adams.

And there I was - year 2002, at the jaded age of 17.

EXTRACT 5:

The uni years were kinder. Loads of responsibility still, but at least, this time you could CHOOSE how you wanted to screw things up.

And at the same time, the stuffy lecture theatres had a way of developing the rebel in me. Many many many times i wanted to scream like a mad creature.

It was the year of R&B... that STUPID "My Humps" song is still one of my all time HATED songs. It was also the year i went ALTERNATIVE... lots of songs-that-you-never-heard-before-and-if-you-didn't-then-that-means-it's-a-good-song.

Bands like Stars and their "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" and "Calendar Girl", Default with their "The Memory will Never Die", and Saliva with their "Always".

Notice a self-destructive pattern in the above examples?? Damn i just noticed it myself...

But the song that I remember from that year was a song that exemplified the wanting to scream, to break out, away, and just do whatever I wanted. "Best of You" by the Foo Fighters.

That was the best of 2005. I had just turned 20.

Home Pasta

Everytime I cook pasta, I'm reminded of home.

Not that we always had pasta at home, not that my receipe is special in some way, but because of the way I was taught to cook it. The method is strictly tied to the workings of home... and I'm forced to re-imagine a lazy Sunday back in JB.

You always put the fire right at the LOWEST setting from the start - because mom has SHARP ears. She can pick up the sound of a sizzling saucepan even when she's out in the garden. And she'd immediately call out to me.

"Turn down the fire or it'll splatter!!"

Yes, mom. So the fire is always at the lowest. Let the diced onions slowly saute in the pan with only a little oil, until they get soft. How'd you know they were good? When you tap a wooden spatula on the pile of cooking onions, and it wouldnt feel hard to the tap. That's what mom said.

Then you add the meat, stirring as you do so, to ensure that there's as LITTLE sizzling as possible. Again, mom'd be able to hear you if you just tossed the meat onto the pan. Add salt and pepper.

Stir until the meat is 90% cooked (only a few chunks of red remain). Then add the sauce. It can be the premade kind from Prego, or if you desire, add 2 cans of puree, then top up using 1 empty can of puree and filling it half way with water. The sizzling should die away.

Now you can raise the temperature, because it's all cold.

While some people love the sourness of the tomato sauce, mom and dad don't really fancy the zestiness of the sauce. So you add a little something sweet. But mom hates sugar. At the time I learned, we were on a brown sugar spree, and adding brown sugar to spaghetti sauce just sounded weird, so I went with the next best thing - a teaspoon of honey.

Slowly stir the honey into the mixture and it'll help to ease the sourness.

By this time, you might be concerned that the sauce is a little too watery (especially if you used the puree method). This is the best time to add cheese. But Oliver and Mom dont really fancy the strong smell of parmesan - while I and jasper have no qualms with coating our pasta with a THICK blanket of grated parmesan cheese.

A simple work around - i take a slice of mozzarella, or whatever kraft singles are in the fridge, tear up the slice into tiny pieces and sprinkle into the sauce. Stir the tiny pieces until they melt and it'll thicken up the sauce uniformly. Use lighter cheeses to reduce the strong smell if you dont like it. Turn the fire off.

Before you finish up, sprinkle some thyme over the top of the sauce and cover to let it stand. Sauce is done.

Hopefully, you've put the stock pot on to boil before you started the sauce. Or else everyone's gonna smell the sauce (because of the thyme) and come asking about lunch. It should be half full of water, with a generous sprinkling of salt, and a tiny bit of olive oil on top.

By this time, the water should be boiling.

Drop however much pasta into the water and stir, so that sticks slowly bend around the inside of the pot and are quickly submerged. If you wait for the pasta to soften and sink in on it's own - the tips may burn from the heat over the edge of the pot - and dad (the engineer) will immediately take note and complain.

Mom always said to cook the pasta until it looks white in the water and when you lift it up against the side of the pot, it sticks and doesnt slide down. Another way, if you're not good with heat is to use long wooden chopsticks and just stir the mixture with them. If you can FEEL the pasta hitting against your chopsticks, then they're not done.

If you can retrieve a single strand of spaghetti from the boiling pot, give it a wiggle and pull at it from both ends until it breaks. If it breaks without a sound - then it's good. Any tiny *peck* sound that you hear is a clear indication that the inside is still too firm.

Once the pasta is JUST nice, but still FIRM, you can turn the fire off and serve.

Most pasta fans will dictate the good ol' dunk-the-lot-in-cold-water thing, but I dont. See, it takes my family some time to assemble. And this is the image that I always keep in my head when making my pasta. I just leave the pot on the stove and imagine.

I imagine dad taking his time to put this tools away downstairs.

I imagine oliver slowly crawling out of bed.

I imagine jasper trying to finish the last fifa game and pausing.

I imagine mom watching the last scene of AFC before coming over.

I'd just leave the pasta on the plate on the dining table. By the time the family assembles, the pasta has pretty much cooked itself to the perfect degree of softness. And this is the timing that I always keep in my head.

Once they've all sat down in my imagination at the dining table, then only do I remove the pasta from the pot and serve. And it's always been perfect.

I don't know how make pasta any other way. And I dont want to.

conspiracy

I am suddenly convinced that there is conspiracy against the previous students of sixeff. Problems with work suddenly seem to plague us at the same time (as indicated by facebook postings), ill luck, bad situations and even worse, bad health.

They all seemed to have called on us at the same bloody time.

It's not been the best August for me. Workload has tripled since I shifted back to the office, the days have started earlier and ended MUCH later. And the words - well, they've gotten harsher, sharper. The deadlines are neverending, and never satisfied.

The air has gotten a lot heavier. The heart has quickened it's pace. And the freedom has all but vanished.

But despite, all this, I am convinced that I am well off.

I cannot say why, but I know through comparison.

I know there are a few of you who have changed jobs, I know some who have stayed. I know some who are suffering, and I know some who have paid.

The shoes have gotten heavier - especially this Monday. Today, they felt like lead bricks. But as I think back to last thursday, I am even more determined to carry them. I have to. I need to.

I am going to make it through this shit.

an egg-ception

Today, after I paid for my groceries and left, I accidentally dropped a packet of eggs.

This is just outside Carrefour. Please don't imagine the worse. It didnt spill out of my bag, and plunge to the floor over a metre in height and splatter all over. No. This was just a simple tumble - it rolled over about 5cm and that was it. Nevertheless, i checked, and while my mom assumed only 1 egg to be broken, I knew what I saw. 3 eggs had been cracked and this is just mere MINUTES after paying for them.

And it just occurs to me - This is the first time I've ever broken an egg accidentally immediately after buying them.

I mean, seriously. And while I knew this was just eggs, for some reason it struck a chord.

I remember going to the market with my mom when I was 7-8 years old. And my mom would hand me a huge square carton of eggs and say "Don't break them, okay?" Which in child's language, translates to "If you break these, I will break YOU."

And I remember walking at a snails pace with the carton of eggs right in front of me, not taking my eyes off of them as mom would weave around the veggie stalls.

Even on the ride home, as I sat in the front, I'd throw a glance behind each time the car came to a stop a traffic light and I heard the carton move as the car lurched. It was nerve-wracking.

And when we got home, I'd set the eggs on the kitchen counter and disappear to a corner of the house furthest from the carton. I mean, in case anything happened, I wanted to make sure I was as far away from suspicion as possible.

Fast forward 20 years to today, and when I think about it, im STILL paranoid when I buy eggs. I stack them up right in the corner of the shopping cart, build a wall of soft items (bread, fruits) around it. And it's also the last thing I unload when paying.

If I buy eggs that day at the supermarket, I take a taxi home. I'd never risk a bus ride, especially during the rush hour, even if I have to pay the peak period surcharge. To me, it'd be worth it.

I have no idea why. I must be crazy.

Pls tell me I'm not alone.

a random spin

It used to be that I always enjoyed the ride home. I'd squeeze into a cold seat far int the back of bus and smuggle up with my cd player, turn the volume up and get lost in a tantalizing piano melody.

I wonder when I started to stop enjoying those long bus rides home.

Was it bcos I started to get impatient with my life? Maybe it was the device. Having a spinning cd in the player, with no more than 13 songs that u really loved, meant that u wanted to listen to all of them as you sped down the street.

It was almost romantic in a way.

But it didn't mean you had to be moving. Stuck in those jams on the causeway were probably one of the most calming things in my life, as long as there was still power in the CD player. Going back to Eunos, back in JC, I distinctly remember taking the longer route, so long as it involved one long bus ride, no alighting.

Maybe its bcos its like being your own music video, those sentimental ones where the artist is just sitting there, reminiscing abt a past love, a lost childhood, or promises made, kept or lost. The moving trees, the appearance of a landmark, or the brief glimpse of someone familiar - they all seemed to synchronize with the music.

Perhaps it was the people... when I used to go home, the bus would always be empty, being the last one to leave the classroom does that to you. Boarding the bus, there'd be only several faces, compared to the morning rush of monotony, and endless pushing, and the occasional psycho who yells at ppl to move in.

I miss those empty buses. I miss the days of CD player, where I didnt have to choose from 400 songs in an iPod - bcos a song that is chosen to be played has no fatality. 13 different songs, all TRUE favorites, spinning and selected at random - that probably had more meaning to it than anything of those days past.

half empty, half full

Now every Sunday, after work, I pack my bags and scoot on over to the company gym, hang around there until my legs start to buckle and then I head back home, to a sumptuous dinner (prepared by me, so of course it's sumptuous). Basically, I like to earn my calories.

Now tonight, it was a little different - maybe a little too much Red Bull.

And despite the aches and light-headed ringing in my skull, I donned my running shoes and took to the road - something I havent done for quite a while.

I make a left at the main street, stick tight to the pavement, and instead of heading towards the Thomson Medical, where I was born, I make cryptic left turn.

I say cryptic, because it takes me up a gentle slope, one that keeps winding upwards steeply, towards the place known as Tan Tock Seng Hospital. And I while fighting for breath and energy, and desperately trying to put one foot in front of the other, it suddenly hits me WHY this is cryptic in the first place - I was born in Thomson Medical, and it is likely *this* is where I will die - in a hospital.

I mean, this is where people die, seriously. Not that death isnt always serious, but it just seemed utterly surreal. And it seemed pathetic that just a few moments ago, I was fighting for breath, struggling to make it up this slope, and i thought to myself, "Man, this is KILLING me. I am DYING here."

It made me feel small. Really small. And insignificant.

But like all slopes, that road behind Tan Tock Seng comes to a peak and the slope moves away from me now, leading towards a junction in Moulmein.

And as I hit that downward slope, I pick up speed with the night breeze in my hair and the cold air in my shirt - and then I think perhaps I'm looking at it wrong.

This isn't where people go to die. This is where people go to live.