Sudoku by Esther

I can't remember how far back this was, neither what the occasion was. I don't remember what day it was, what the weather was like, and I don't even remember why I'm writing this.

What I do remember is that I was sitting in Esther's room in Price George Park, with a sudoku book in front of me.

She was distracting me with one of the puzzles while she was changing. I don't remember where we were supposed to go, only that we weren't in a hurry.

When she finally leaned over my shoulder and peeked at my progress, she gave a little giggle.

She points to the row of numbers next to each blank box on the puzzle, and asks, "What's all this?"

I reply confidently with mild annoyance, "These are the possible numbers that could be in each box. I'm gg to narrow down each box down to a few possibilities, and use probability for each box to see which number has the highest probability of being in the box."

She gives me blank stare. And this is uni student who specializes in mathematics.

"You crazy la," she snaps at me, "That will take forever."

"But every time I try to solve the puzzle," I protest, "I hit a point where I have to guess a number."

She shakes her head and wags her finger at me like a every tuition teacher I've ever known.

"Then you are doing it wrong," she laments in chinese, as she takes the pencil from my hand.

"There is no guessing in sudoku. Everything is certain. It is all there, you just don't see it."

"See what?" I snap.

"This." she proclaims, as she marks a '7' in one of the boxes.

"And because that's a '7', that means this is '5'. And this row is done, which leads to a '4'... and then..."

A few minutes later, she has completed my puzzle. And without making a single guess.

"Impossible," I mutter.

She flashes me a victorious grin and hands me back the pencil.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," I pull her back, "Do another one, and walk me through it this time."

"Hmm ok, let's start with an EASY one," and she flips to the front of the book. I see bear cartoons and flowers printed - and I feel like a moron.

"Ok, I know that this is a '4'."

"Correct," she says.

"And that means.... this is a '3'."

"Yes."

"And and that over there is definitely a '1', because that's the last one in the box right?"

"Go on."

"And then... and then..."

Yeap, I was STUCK already. She senses it, once again, like a model school teacher. She gently lifts the pencil out of my fingers. From the side, I can see her eyes narrowing through her glasses. She lifts the end of the pencil to her mouth and taps it on her lips, which she always does when she is concentrating.

I can't resist, and I lift my head a little and give her a kiss on the cheek.

As expected she's surprised. But still half-concentrating on the puzzle, she hurriedly scribbles down a '4' in the top right hand corner box and raps me on the head with the pencil.

"LEARN hor," she states flatly with mild embarrassment showing on her face.

"I am, I am..."

She scribbles down a '2', then a '1', and the another '2'. Pause. Then a '5', then a '7', then an '8' and a '4'...

And then she stops.

"What? What's wrong?"

She doesnt say anything, until I examine the puzzle. And there is no denying it, she made a mistake and is now lost. She drops the pencil with fluster and looks for an eraser.

"Where'd we go wrong?"

"Wait wait, I'll check."

We erase number after number, backtracking the wrong steps, until finally, we arrive at the culprit - it's the '4' at the top right hand corner.

She drops her head and sighs in defeat, her hair falling onto my shoulder. I choke back a giggle, and she raps me on the head with the pencil again.

"You wanna try again?"

"No," she replies, irritated, "Too distracted already."

"Then let's go then."

She picks up her keys and heads for the door with me right behind her.

I flash a glance back at the open sudoku book on her desk, with the pencil still rolling slowly over the top page.

* * * * *

Fast forward to today.

As I finish the last number on my latest sudoku puzzle, the vehicle comes to a screeching stop. As usual, the driver almost missed my stop.

I close the puzzle on my phone and slide it smoothly into my pocket, and as I do so, I'm reminded again...

"Everything is certain. It is all there, you just don't see it."

Yeah right, and I'm still looking.

this week's receipe...

For those who are interested.

This is THIS week's workout plan.

MONDAY:

Cable Crossovers 10kg per side - 8 sets of 8

Bench Press to Neck 25kg - 8 sets of 8

Incline Dumbbell Press 12kg per side - 8 sets of 8

Wide V-grip Dips - 8 sets of 8

Sternum Chinup - 8 sets of 8(or failure)

Heavy T-Bar Row 25kg - 8 sets of 8

Low Cable Row 20kg - 8 sets of 8

Med. Grip Lat Pull to Chest 25kg - 8 sets of 8

Roman Chair Crunches - 100 reps total

High Rope Crunch 35kg - 8sets of 8

Weighted Back Ext. 5kg - 8 sets of 8

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TUESDAY:

10min 6degree incline threadmill

Drag Curl 15kg - 8 sets of 8

Preacher Curl 8kg - 8 sets of 8

45degree Incline Dumbbell Curl - 8 sets of 8

4 sets of HIIT sprinting/cycling

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WEDNESDAY:

Dumbbell Lateral Raise 8 kg - 8 sets of 8

Wide Grip Upright Row 20kg - 8 sets of 8

Front to back barbell press 15kg - 8sets of 8

Dumbbell Rear Delt Lateral 7kg - 8 sets of 8

Kneeling Rope Extension 15kg - 8 sets of 8

Skullcrusher Barbell Extension 10kg - 8 sets of 8

Dumbbell Tricep Kickback 6kg - 8 sets of 8

Double Crunch on bench - 8 sets of 8

Weight Crunch 6kg - 8 sets of 8

Lying Bent Knee Raise - 8 sets of 8

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THURSDAY:

Chest Plyo - Side to side hopping pushup - 8 sets of 8

Chest Plyo - Wide to narrow hopping pushup - 8 sets of 8

Chest Plyo - Low to high hoppinh pushup - 8 sets of 8

Back Plyo - Side to side Lat Pulldown - 8 sets of 8

Back Plyo - Alternating Bent over Row - 8 sets of 8

Back Plyo - Alternating Canoe Row - 8 sets of 8

16 sets of HIIT Sprinting/cycling

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FRIDAY:

Fullbody circuit - do entire circuit 3 times, no rest between sets, 1 min rest after 1 circuit

Burpee Pushup into Pullup - 10x

Alternating Lunges - 20x

Vertical Jumps - 10x

Bench Dips - 10x

Side-to-side jump over bench - 10x

Diamond Pushups - 10x

Hanging Leg Raise - 10x

Alternating Knee Crunch - 10x

Crossover Running Plank - 10x

Hanging Side Leg Raise - 10x

5 min rest

Ab Circuit - do entire circuit 3 times, no rest between sets, 1 min rest between circuits

Arm-Leg Raise with exercise ball - 10x

Alternating Leg-Arm Raise - 20x

Running Plank - 10x

Weighted Sitting Torso Twist - 20x

Leg Kick to Palms - 20x

Lying down Alternating Toe Toucher - 20x

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SATURDAY & SUNDAY:

TENNIS.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Repeat next week.

a lesson of pain

Saturday's tennis wasnt my best. Slightly lethargic, shoulder aching and my mind still echoing from that morning's briefing in the office, I wasnt playing well in the least bit.

Yj and I called it day at around 6pm, i think. Even he was worried about my shoulder.

I decided a doctor's concern should be heeded after all, even as the numerous nerve endings sparking off in my rotator cuff were beginning to mess with my head. I slogged off to the shower and made my way home.

The bus ride was even more silent than usual. Typically, after tennis, it's alive with aunties, school kids and the rasping of someone's iPod turned up to a volume that would shatter the chambers of a nautilus.

I didnt bring my earphones that day, so I just leaned my head against the glass of the 151, letting it bounce lightly off it as it sped down Bukit Timah road, which to me, is probably the worse road to travel down when you're feeling down.

Too many memories. Bittersweet ones, some just plain silly, and some sullen serious.

As the bus makes the turn at Bukit Timah plaza, I catch sight of King Albert Park - the place my family used to go for breakfast back in the early primary school days.

The bus rumbles past Hua Chong, and I distinctly remember someone, one of my old friends, having a room there. Once. A long time back.

Then past coronation and serene centre, the place where I blew countless hours chasing counterterrorists or hunting terrorists on old dusty computer monitors. And one early morning, when, with empty tin cans in our bags, we camped at the old MacDonalds downstairs. And where I won my first Magic the Gathering card game match, against a shortie with a useless Green Deck.

The bus lurches into a long turn, and I remember the bus stop. The one just in between SJI and SCGS. And I watch as 960 bus nostalgically passes.

The glow from SJI's church can still be seen, or at least, maybe I think i can still see it. Maybe it's just a picture in my head, but I can still see it - clear as day. And I cant help but choke back a smirk as I remember the days of white uniforms, green ties and spontaneous cheering.

And as I board my next bus, and I make the trip into the present, I feel like I've left most of my life behind there. There, on that bus ride along Bukit Timah road.

And that my journey forward is empty and hollow.

That I've gone from being a feeling, fruitful and boisterous kid, without a care in the world, to me now, as if I've lost part of my ability to feel. And that my life is numb.

Im still thinking that as I leave the bus and head up the slope towards Ava Towers.

I must've made that same jump a million times.

Today, I missed it.

Taking the usual leap over the concrete slope embankment, I miss a step, my toe gets caught one on edge. My shins are torn open by the concrete edge, and I land on my knees and palms right there, with the full weight of my tennis bag coming to a dull thud on my shoulders.

At first there is no pain, but a fleeting second later, it comes rushing through. The nerve endings spark, and i forgot about my shoulder. I let out a huge cry of "FUCK!" and roll onto my backside, still sitting on the floor. My shins are on fire, and my hands are sore stumps with fingers. Every part of me hurts.

My mind is screaming questions. "Will I be able to walk back to my place? Will I be able to play tennis after this? Should I take an MC for work on Monday? Damn, I can't i have a meeting that I can't miss. Should I skip out on the fang shen tomorrow sunday? Nah, I've put that off once too long. Should I see a doctor?"

And I feel alive again. In the most amusing of ways. In the most amusing of ways, that fall, that scuffle, scrape and bruising, along with that immense jolt of pain, reminded me that I am NOT a doll, that I DO have a life, a FEELING life, and a life ahead.

Stumbling to my feet, as I've done all my life, I soldier on. Forward.

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.