why is sunday so important. to me at least.

When I walked out of my room at around 1pm today, Sunday, and saw the rain pouring out of the sky like a monstrous gray veil, I let out a primal roar. Seriously, i did. I walked over to the window, half expecting the rain to retreat the moment it saw me, and punched the wall. Suddenly the shoulder i had dislocated on Friday didnt hurt so much anymore.

Firstly you must understand that most of the guys in our tennis group are working. Zs and I are in Operations/Logistics Management, Huahui is also in Operations, Lk is into some research project that involves frequent trips to a yachet club for testing (i think), and YJ is a doctor, one that gets calls 24/7. Oh wait, so do I. In fact, so do almost ALL OF US. So yes, most of us are working. Working all the time. (I apologize if I get ur jobs wrong, guys, it's an assumption on my part.)

For me, this ties into why I roared and punched the wall today.

I'm sure I can speak for all of us that when the week rolls around, we have 101 things to do, 50 of which are "urgent", 30 of which we plan to do that week, 20 of which we manage to assign or actually get started on, and 10 of which are actually in your own control, and 5 of which we actually get done, bcos we were busy chasing up the rest of the stuff that wasnt in our control.

Each and every day is punctuated by sending out torrents of emails, asking for status updates, reports and documents, of which almost all come in a day later than expected, or even worse, needed. And even then, as the song goes, sometimes even after all that damned waiting, when it finally gets to you, the REPORT IS WRONG. And the process starts over again.

It's a result of this heavily contracted working industry. Some company contracts another company to do something, for which they contract another company to do, for which they contract another company to do... blah blah blah... in the end, some meager salary worker does the work and money rolls from the bottom all the way to the top, marked up at ridiculous amounts.

Knowing how it works is disheartening, even if you've learned all about it in your uni lectures.

And the meetings, dear god, a devilish derby of numbers presentations and colored graphs, mixed in with large amounts of finger-pointing and work "push"-ing from one department to another. Seldom does a meeting accomplish anything, except what the next meeting will be about.

And here we are in the middle of it all. We who are hired to "manage" these things. Half of my Monday emails are "Kindly provide an update." emails. And almost all my Friday emails are "Kindly provide a followup report/status/update latest by Monday" emails. All sent to pple in Ireland, or different unreachable parts of Singapore.

I manage my operations, minimize warranty costs and provide site solutions and maintenance. Zs provides solutions to clients, implements them and maintenance. Huahui has to manage his operations team so as to maximize output and minimize maintenance costs and breakdowns. Lk has to implement his research and get results, GOOD PROFITABLE results from his experiments for his bosses. And YJ has to deal with his staff team, and the hoards of patients, usually unreasonable ones, fighting for priority from those who need attention more than them.

And I will bet that half of the time, the results/circumstances are beyond our control.

I rely on oversees vendors and contract staff. Zs similarly. Huahui relies on his staff team. Lk on his teammates. YJ on what kind and number of patients that come in.

Which brings me back to the roar and the wall.

It's not about tennis, or having my way.

It's just that sometimes at the end of a long week, where you've been chasing and been chased for numbers, where you've been forced to present costs, where you've been hounded by clients for new solutions, FREE solutions, where you've hardly had time to sit down without the company phone ringing it's freaking buttons off.

Sometimes at the end of the damned week, all you want is to look up and see a fucking clear blue sky.

"Your Report is WRONG" (a cover of "Your Love is a Song" by Switchfoot)

Note: Original song is here.

I hear my BB ring

Another day begins

The mail is 3 days late

You made the bosses wait, bosses wait...

I've been keeping my Inbox open

I've been keeping my Inbox open

Oh you always CC to me

F.Y.I. to me, F.Y.N.A. me

Oh you always CC to me

F.Y.I. to me, F.Y.N.A. me

Plus your report is WRONG...

Your font is bloody small

I can't read it at all

You left the data out

I feel like blacking out, blacking out

And I've been leaving my Inbox open

I've been leaving my Inbox open

Oh you always CC to me

F.Y.I. to me, F.Y.N.A. me

Why you always CC to me

F.Y.I. to me, F.Y.N.A. me??

Oh your report is WRONG

Your data is WRONG

Oh your header is WRONG

Your footer is WRONG

With my eyes wide open,

I got to bear this burden

You've made all my hopes broken

Yeah, Yeah

Oh you always CC to me

F.Y.I. to me, F.Y.N.A. me

Why you always CC to me

F.Y.I. to me, F.Y.N.A. me??

i am angry

I am angry. Come to think of it, I've always been angry.

The earliest memory of me being angry was back in the old house in Pelangi, where I would play badminton with my neighbour, Jeffery. Now Jeffery was about 2 years older than me, and when you're that young, 2 years is a lifetime of experience. But for some reason, it never got into my head that this guy was older than me, taller than me, fitter than me, had played this sport before, blah blah blah.

All i can remember was that he beat me every single time. We never even had to keep score. It was that certain. And i remember raging like mad. I swung at the plants, I swung at the insects, I stuck the badminton racquet into the dirt, I tore the feathers out of the shuttles, I raged. Oh yes I did.

But rage is never a good way to make friends, or keep them. It's also never a good thing if your parents can beat the stuffing out of you if you rage too much and break stuff. I was passive throughout primary school. Again, it never got into my head that I wouldn't run as fast as some, wouldn't be able to work the monkey bars like a... monkey, and that I would always get laughed at whenever I read out chinese in class.

And I raged, in silence. Or I used the rage to make warheads out of staples. Or I masked the rage by crying. It was the in-thing.

I decided I would suppress the rage in secondary school. This was a new leaf. A fresh slate. And I would try, to the best of my ability, to be a model of peace.

"Peace? I hate the word." -Tybalt

Of course it didnt last very long. And the secret wrestling matches that took place at Tanglin CC, which left many of us with bruises and bloody lips were an outlet.

By the time I hit JC, i was raging through music - and i have to thank Eminem and Ateet for that. If not for that stuff, I'd probably have killed someone, or numerous little animals in rage.

Then uni, and this time, I'd just plain given up. I let the rage consume me, and I BECAME rage. And the rage, tempered with the civility of "maturity" equaled SARCASM, which is a WONDROUS thing.

And i sarcasm-ed my way through uni, numerous essays and presentations. But even then, tempered sarcasm is still not as liberating as PURE white-hot rage.

Pure rage doesnt mean vengeance, it doesnt require a target, an objective, or a source. It is just an explosion of energy, mental and physical, that is chaotic, natural and spontaneous.

I found it in sport. I found it in the gym. And i thank those who introduced them to me.

Even now, 15min into a tennis warmup, I might send a backhand out of the court and just let out an animalistic scream. Oh, that shit is liberating. And addictive.

It influences the way I work. I work at a rapid pace in the morning. I storm into the office, greet and nod at my colleagues, throw my bag onto my desk and start to furiously dial numbers, hand out assignments and tabulate... stuff. By the time lunch rolls around I am spent, but I'm still ANGRY.

And I stomp into the board room, ready for the next meeting. I make it a habit to be 10min early. So that, even if im just a lowly engineer, when the directors walk in, *I* am the first one to greet them and welcome them. It is similar to how Nadal sprints to the end of the court after the coin toss.

It sends the signal, "You are entering into my domain." You take ownership of the situation.

I write down on a small piece of paper, all the points I want to make, so that I dont get blinded by rage and go on a rant. I am angry when the meeting starts, and I attack all issues aggressively, and I am angry when the meeting ends.

The directors say they like that, and I get angrier.

//End of rant.

magic tricks in the office

The project director has just pulled off the fastest disappearing act of all time. On thursday, he gives me a lift from MBS to our HQ, and while in the car, he mentions something abt "time difference".

Time difference? Your watch screwed up?

"No," he says, "Just that i'll be in USA tonight."

WAHT DA HELL???

And after he drops he off, he is OFF. I mean OFF, as in bloody disappeared, on leave until FREAKING MIDDLE OF APRIL????

And *I* have to take over his work while he's lounging in bacon, burgers and 9/11 conspiracies?? What gives?

I have no time to react. By the time I can curse, he's dropped me off, and disappeared over the horizon (ok, it was more like he got on an expressway and zoomed off).

The department directors gather around me.

There are always two of them, the hunt together, in a pair. They call them, The Ghost and the Darkness.

LOL, anyway, they started to eat me alive. Giving me assignment after assignment, deadline after deadline, until i am literally DEAD. Or wishing i was dead.

After the briefing, they turn to me, "So Chris, can you handle it?"

Sure thing, Mr Yap. Now excuse me, I've got a bottle of Dynamo to drink.