Keep the car running

Conversations with (Everybody loves) Raymond

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S: hey, so you all can make it?
R: Aiya, it's you leh. Even if we can't also must right?

(Awwwww....)

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R: So what's your allowance now?
S: Err... I don't get allowance.
R: Wow, so self sufficient.
S: Yea, I'm a subsistence farmer now.

Screaming Infidelities

I wish I knew I was safely at home.
You can't save me this time.

Stationary

To my great buddy, who's leaving for exchange and won't be back till Jan 6th (super sigh) (reminder for me haha),
bon voyage, stay safe, facebook me please, and till Jan 09!

Violet Hill

My Anchor.

Soul Meets Body

I learnt a new word yesterday. It's called 'Reflexive'. Basically, it means that the action/impact achieved is done by the person who does it, eg. I enjoyed myself.
Today, I feel like I am Iago.

Viva La Vida (Death and all his friends)

The owl was calling my name in the distance, and as my feet tore through the dirt in the ground, my eyes lay transfixed on hers; hollow and white and lifeless. In them, death seemed to be my friend, and this graveyard, my home. The dull greenish nature of gangrene mist was my envelop of comfort, and I lay low, because I no longer had the feet to rise. She dwarfed my existence, and I faded back into the familiar terrain of obscurity.

All around, strongholds of pearly bones disintegrated into powdery dust with the chilly wind, and bastions of evil and intimidation fell to the earth. A shadow of the mad scientist with frizzled hair casted itself, as the woman in black stood solemnly in the distance. They were both influential people in my life, but unlike Dante, they would not live, or die, to see paradise.

Limbo.

There was a threshold, and a bridge made of cobbled stone, and a bell that no longer rang, and rusted under the acidity of the air. Soiled strings of linen patterned the undercover, a reminisce of a time that used to be and now only existed in the memory of a dying man. And memory is not matter, is not history, is not in existence, and therefore, cannot attain immortality.

A wolf howls, and the hounds are at my feet. They come not to take me, but to lament and anguish their plight. In the full moon, they are at their nexus of supernaturalness, and yet paradoxically, a calm state of naturalness accompanies the predominance of the night.

At my time of dying, there is nobody to watch me die. And perhaps, that is the greatest love of all.

The Swiss Army Romance

Fluff.
Some of it has fallen off, to reveal again, why an idealist cannot survive in this world, and why the human spirit keeps failing him. Every person is different. Every person is the same.

Get out your fake eyelashes and fake IDs.
This glass house is breaking down.

Crooked Teeth

Thankfully, there are jocks and cheerleaders to put us all back into our place. Because hope is a dangerous thing, and hope should be grounded and leashed and chained and locked. Hope does not float, but hope is present, and hope is an assurance that sticks with us, not be choice, but by the sheer will of self implicated bondage. I hope you realise by now that I am tired and have no idea what I am rambling about after the first sentence.

Map of the problematique

As I look through the pictures for O Week, I realised that I had a lot more fun than Pre-Camp (not to say that pre-camp wasn't fun, in fact it was a total blast) because I was now taking pictures of friends. Some of the shots turned out great, some quite unglam, but as I like to say, there is beauty in the unglam shots, and these are the shots that you'd remember for years to come. It's something like an organised chaos, where, from the ground, everything's a mess, but from a divine perspective, everything's in order.

Better Days

There are a few things in life I don't really like to talk about, not because those experiences are particularly bad or hurtful, but because it was so golden, that I cannot fully find it in my capacity to describe that feeling of euphoria. Most of them are journeys, rather that something that had happened on the spur of the moment. In them, I fell to the darkest of depths, and found my brightest of triumphs. I can tell you how they went, how sweat, blood and tears fused into a single entity, but it would not be enough. It would not even come close to the real thing.

Therefore, I am not going to tell you how overwhelming the sensation was as I marched into the National Stadium on National Day in 2006, with 70,000 screaming individuals, in a sea of red and white, in an organised chaos, in one unison voice. I am also not going to delineate the sheer exhaustion of my OCT OBS sea expedition from Ubin to Hantu and back. I will not tell you that the waves were 3 storeys high, rampaging around in the sea, with the downpour reducing visibility down to a few centimetres. I will not warn you, that in the sea, the calmest of spots are usually the most venomous of serpents. Finally, I will not relate to you every step of my 24km route march, how I rose above myself and did things I never thought I was capable of. How I ran, and ran back, and how my soles were worn out.

So how did NUS Arts O Week go? I will not tell you, because if I did, I would put it to shame. As the photographer, each picture means something more to me, which is why I did what I did during the finale. See, to a third party, a certain picture, say of Secret, would just be of numerous faces cam-whoring in the background. To me, as well as to them, it is a story. It is a journey that, for some, has lasted back one month ago to O Week Pre Camp. I remember each picture not as it is, but what happened when I was taking the picture. Seeing my pictures displayed on the final video, as well as in the S House montage, I couldn't help but feel that I had played a part in this fairytale event, and I felt that I really didn't deserve the enormous blessing that I had received, which was why I cried so badly.

Each of us, the O comm, the House ICs, the Councillors, the OGLs and the campers, has left an impression in our respective lives. We fell asleep all over the school, in the level 4 rooms, outside LT8, on the rooftop, in the forum, in the club room, outside the club room, along the corridor linking to the deck and outside the library, with our friends beside us. We felt safe, we felt comforted, we belonged, and in the unity, we grew an identity.

So how did NUS Arts O week go?
Like this.



It is beyond words. A synthesis of soul and spirit that synergises into a single entity that floats... and it floats and hovers and remains, for much, much longer than a moment.

One great rock show can change the world.
This was it.

All Star

In the past few days, I find myself seeing people from a different perspective. I witnessed strongholds of stereotypes crumbling down into ash and dust, and there is a serene movement of song that brings together the harmony and melody into one crescendo of a chorus. Outwardly, there is a roar of noise and a cascading waterfall of expression and emotion. The earth moves and trembles at the ferocity of the quake. The sound of drums and bells echo in the distant, with a vanguard of pipers leading the march. Inwardly, however, there is silence. And in that absence, there is a presence. This presence shouts louder than any man can, it shines brighter than the sun that scorches, and it heals more powerful than the moon can conjure. It is a pride; a simple, quiet, passionate pride.

I see this pride all around. It glows around the people that inhibits it. Through the lens of the camera, I see things that would not normally be seen, and I try to capture them, because the world needs to know, the world desperately needs to know, that idealism and passion can survive. In the O Comm, House ICs and OGLs, I see a dedication and energy that far transcends any earthly matter. It is a commitment to see something started completed, while having a blast at the same time. There is a care and hospitality that is so uncommon, so unlike the usual tip toeing of our time. I admire the House ICs, in particular, because they have done something which I would never be able to do; to unite the people into one voice. Seeing the daily workings of the O Comm, I am reminded of my JC Council days, and during moments of rest, I can sit down and indulge in sweet nostalgia.

Above all, from both committee and campers alike, I see passion. You can't capture it on film no matter how great the shot is. All that's left to do then, is to immerse yourself during moments like this, and try to keep the feeling in your heart.

I am blessed with everyone that has seen me through the last few days. I believe that at the end, I will remember all the small things. Sleeping all around NUS, Ben's and Alvin's snoring, Bras Basah complex, 7am briefings, bathing at SRC at 12am, bidding, 3 hours sitting at business canteen, and that quiet, quiet pride.

All that glitters is not gold.