Desmond and the Wardrobe Cleaning

I clean out my room pretty regularly for an adult. I've lived a number of years now, so I've amassed quite a fortune of useless junk over time. What I haven't amassed in equal measure is the wealth with which I need to buy more land and space to contain said junk.

But one man's junk can sometimes also be the same man's treasure. I am intensely aware of the things that survive my regular purges -- shirts that I save more for sentiment than for use; paper bags I keep in memory of the precious gifts they carried; nonsensical trinkets that would compel Princess Ariel and I to become best buddies who trade by moonlight under the sea.

As we grow older, we pick up things and lose others. I struggle with losing things that have survived early instances of de-cluttering, because: they survived before for a reason! But I'm learning even now at 27 that a human heart can only carry so much before it's weighed down by moulding attachments that don't work any more. I can only let it go before it becomes infectious, turning my heart into a cold bitterness toward life.

And is it really that bad? There have been new things to hold dear to my heart, and there are still things that have been there from the start, and that still make so much sense even now. He is still so precious to me, His presence, and kindness, and goodness-- they are still so relevant and needed. Many things have passed, but You? Never. So I pray that even when my faith is wearied, and my heart, heavy and sluggish, I pray that You'll never stop making sense to me, and that I'll never walk away from the biggest Love Story of my life.

The weekend's here and the bathrooms in my home are currently being renovated. This means plastic sheets pasted on the door to keep the dust out, and the doors shut tight to keep the person in. In addition, my headphones are on, and the music is blasting (finally, again), and I'm onion-layered in for the best two days of the week.

I would also like to point out how ironic that I'm listening to a song titled, 'Lost Weekend'. I feel no loss at all, weekends like these are rather awesome (sans renovation). I wouldn't ming lost weekdays if they are all like such.

:) Have a great and lost weekend, reader. 

Desmond and the New Year, 2015 ed.

It's been a long time in a short while.

And since the New Year bandwagon came along, I thought it'd be good to jump on.

I didn't blog at all in 2014, which I'll chalk down to a busy working-adult life. In the midst of job stresses, I hadn't had much chance to slow down; and even when I did, I didn't have energy to spare.

Yet, through the busy year, I've had the chance to travel twice: to New Zealand in February and March, and Hong Kong in September. I guess it's true -- Work hard, and bloody well play hard. Because work will be hard on you whether you want it or not.

I'll also chalk it down to a busy personal life. 2014 was rather without any personal pubescent drama. No over-thinking personal issues (only work issues) and no sad mopping in late nights over sad music. I think, personal life-wise, I've been happy. Happy enough to not write! Hee.

As I take stock, I also see the graciousness of God throughout my year. Whether or not I saw it, in many difficult periods, God carried me through. And in some way, I think I'm better off than when I started 2014. I pray that 2015 will be the same, and I'll purposefully see Him more.

So, here's to a great 2015. To the people I've loved, and who loved me in 2014, here's to more in the new year. To myself, play harder, and worry less about work -- you've worried so much that it's taken up most of your  mind in 2014. Now that you've past the pubescent stage (delayed), learn to understand that work will never trump the people or things that matter. That's true growing up: when you understand the shortness of life, and the purpose of living. And write more! You need the practice; this entry's terrible!

HAPPY NEW YEAR. :)

Desmond & the Lamb Chops Who Played Along.

Hello World, I'm 26.

When I think about how I've survived 26 years on earth, I have to say, I'm thankful that God has brought me this far. I have not gone through that much to be able to boast in being a survivor. I haven't survived much. A car crash, a couple of heartaches, many disappointments, and much struggles with self-identity, but nothing life-shattering. So to say I've survived 26 years, is more an indication of God's mercy and kindness than anything I've done; He chooses to let me live 26 years (and, Him-willingly, counting).

The usual birthday every year consists of mundane things. I normally try to avoid the birthday fuss, because I don't see the point of celebrating your birth. I'm not a great humanitarian, I've done little for Africa, and I didn't push my way out of the womb (that was the effort of my mom, whom we should be thanking, if we want to celebrate my birthday). I come with little life-experience that common-place men would deem worthy of attention. I don't sing well in spite of being impoverished, I haven't given millions in spite of being a begger, and I don't teach blind dogs how to be seeing-eye dogs, in spite of being blind myself. There is nothing extra-ordinary about me. But I am alive in spite of being just a wisp of smoke that could vanish at any moment. And that is the grace of God, whom I will thank, even if I won't celebrate my birthday.

This year, I did less mundane things. Yesterday I spent a large portion of time in the public transport system. I carried a camera around my neck, and barely utilised it. I ate, and laughed, and hung out. And when the night came to a close, I found myself smiling, and being happy that this was part of my birthday. I found myself happy at the prospect of having a birthday-something. And I found out that allowing myself to feel special is a wonderful feeling.

And just a few hours ago, my Dad treated me to one of the longest lunches I've had in awhile. It's lamb chop at a coffee-shop near my house, and as mundane as that sounds... the meal was one of the best I've ever had in a long, long, time. I found myself smiling again, because that meal made me feel special, with it's well-grilled meat, and it's long-lasting effects.

I'm writing now because I want to remember what this feels like. I haven't had much birthdays like that, and maybe you can say it's because I don't allow myself the luxury of indulging my self-esteem, but this year, the luxury seeked me out and made me feel luxurious--it's worth remembering. World, I'm 26, and it's worth remembering that as unspecial as I am, God made me completely unique. Born on this day, many years ago, born to wonderful parents, and into a good home, completely insignificant, but still meaning much to the people who care. Thank you God, for making a wisp feel so special, and for valuing me enough to give me special people to share my wispi-ness with.

IloveYouGod.

Desmond and that Familiar Comfort.

I understand how familiarity is comfort. I understand why we may choose to put ourselves in familiar situations, among familiar people, because we expect that any new change will be disruptive to our routine.

But sometimes, if by some flash of revelation, you happen to realise just how uncomfortable your familiarity has become... I hope you find the strength to step away from what you've long considered to be 'familiar'. Chances are, without you knowing, that familiarity has already morphed, slowly, into something different. And if it has changed to become something unfamiliar, and needlessly uncomfortable, then you shouldn't stay.

After all, the reason you sought out familiarity was because you wanted to be comfortable, and you were afraid of something disruptive.

I don't know how much about making choices. I know less about making hard decisions. But today, and recently, I've been wondering if I should turn away from my familiar people and places. Because I don't want to become my surroundings. I don't want to blend in, if what I'm blending into is something I don't endorse.

Familiarity is comfort. But a clear conscience, a strong conviction, and a good heart, can also make you very comfortable.

Desmond the First Real One in Years.

It's Christmas time again, catching me by incomprehensible surprise. How did this year past by so quickly? I don't know why, but as I age, each year seems to pass by with increasing speed.

A lot has happened this year. I've finally graduated--first from college, and then next, from my short-lived bumming stint (although I'm sure my parents disagree with me on the latter). Following that, I started work in a bookstore. And following that, Christmas time comes and catches me by surprise.

This year I also moved into my official room. We all know this, but sometimes we take our privacy for granted; Privacy a very special privilege. In a world where all our lives are sometimes carelessly laid bare on the internet, privacy should be better treasured--physical or otherwise.

Which might be also why this year I've also left huge gaps in-between entries. Since 2003, I've blogged pretty consistently, aiming for at least once a month. But this year has also been the first year in many, where my entries are a bit more personal, and less about the frivolous trivialities of my life.

With the advent of tumblr, and these other-like-minded hipster-ish platforms that everyone is migrating to, blogspot seems once again safe. Safe from the prying eyes of the half-acquainted people in my life, who somehow have access to my blog, through the links of a friend, of a friend, of a friend. Who knew being forgotten is strange comfort?

I love my God. Because even when I try to hide into nothingness, He never fails to notice me. :) Happy Holidays, my quiet and un-visiting world.

Desmond and the Time-and-Task-Sensitive Music.

Today I played Mat Kearney's Young Love album in the background as I did some work. And I liked it. It was light, and easy to listen to, and bright and chirpy--a turn away from the direction that I normally poise my melancholy-loving ears towards. And you know what's happiness? I believe happiness is in the little things.

Happiness is when you have some work to do so that you're not too bored, and not too overwhelmed. Happiness is when your tea is just nice; not too cold or too sweet and not too hot or too bland. Happiness is in the little things, and not the exaggerated.

Happiness is about trivial things. 

Sure, extreme happiness is still happiness, but there's probably a more apt word for it flying so far out of my reach that I cannot possibly know or use it.

But perhaps the more persistant happiness, that leaves you feeling good a longer time than great for a moment, is the happiness of the little things.

Just as I saved my work and handed it in, the last song on Kearney's album ended. And then I smiled, because these things make me smile. I like it when my music ends accidentally in sync with the end my task. I love it that as I open my front door after a long journey back home, the seconds on my itouch wind down coincidentally to zero.

And if you can learn to be content with trivial things at the zeros, then one day, you'll truly learn the words to describe contentment and happiness at extreme levels.

Incidentally, I've written once about Happy and Happenstance, which both originally pointed to some form of accident or luck. Which is to say, Happiness happens to us, from external sources acting on or toward us. 

Desmond and the Lane.

I graduated last week, World (of zero readership). I graduated, and I'm a graduate, and I have graduate qualifications, and basically that's how much I feel my graduation has changed me--merely given me the right to add the word 'graduate' in its various forms to any descriptions I make of myself.

But I shan't go into detail about that day, because I have little photos from my convocation, and I would really like to take some of my gown before I blog officially about it. Instead, I'll photo-journal the day I went to HJ Lane. This was actually taken a day before my graduation, come to think of it.

It's a whole mess of pictures, and I couldn't control the textures as much as I liked to, which really just shows that in Photography, I'm far from graduated. But practice makes perfect right?

Desmond & the Lemon-substitutes.

In baking and cooking, there's what is known as a cooking substitute, which stands in place for something else you're missing. For example, some people say sour cream can be almost successfully substituted for full cream, as is the same with lemon and lime. Of course, they always swear that the finish product is good enough (or better).

I think it's the same in life. You know how life gives you lemons? I believe sometimes it gives you oranges, and you're supposed to do the same thing--make lemonade juice. Of course it'll taste nothing like the sour-ey pick-me-wake-me-up that we're used to, but it'll make a sweet greet-you-in-the-morning drink. Same principals. The finished product is good enough for fruit juice (or better, for the non-sour-toothed).

But at the end of the pulpy road... lemon isn't orange, and neither is sour cream, full cream. They were different for obvious reasons, and the finished product is never the same, even if sometimes better.

I watched my mom make a whole canteen of food today. First frying noodles, and then making mango-flavored jelly, before finally slicing up two oranges. And...? I had no big revelation. I'm just waiting for the jelly to set, before I nonchalantly ask my mom if I'm allowed to taste one. But if life does give me oranges one day, I'll just make the same puns as everyone else does, with the lemons: sell it, throw it back in Life's face, make juice, make pie, clean up the tough stains... Oranges and lemons are both citrus fruits, they should be good enough, right?I cannot help much what is given to me, or what someone else does. I can only cope, and hope that things will be better. And make the adjustments, hoping the finished product is good enough, or if I'm fortunate, better.

Desmond and the Long Break.

Blogger has dropped out of the popularity race, and now all the cool kids are endorsing the indie-ish tumblr and the incessant twitter. I have to say--and be slightly embarrassed while I do--that I have a tumblr. Several, in fact, and I actually have followers. Hee! Of course, most of the times, the people who think they are cool, really aren't, and so I really am not either. Also? I'm a sell-out for not updating my blogspot for three months now. Yes, that day finally came, and multiplied itself a hundred times over. I stopped blogging.

This blog has held a lot of history for me. I've seen myself grow, and I've seen my childishness, and dare I say it, my brief flashes of maturity. I've been overtly and unwisely honest at times, and mind-scrambling-ly guarded on other occasions, and in all of it, I've used writing this blog as a means to mark my time and remember my moments.

2012 so far has been a year of moments. Of course, every year has moments, but as we all know, certain moments in our lives are milestones. Towards the end of April, I finally got my own room. Yes, it's been a loooong and whine-ful wait, but I now have a room to clean and take care of, to slather with photos and other half-baked crafts that I know are terrible, but choose to think are stamps of my creative individuality. I finally have a room to call my own.

Of course, 2012 also marks the end of my undergraduate studies. I'm still waiting to have my convocation which happens in approximately 2 weeks, but that's a milestone too. I am a graduate! I get to wear a gown and a clunky hat, and worry about falling on the stage, and getting no cheers. I get to leave my schooling, laid-out, timetable days, behind, and enter the pre-working limbo of hours and hours of drama shows and spontaneous and continuous eating. Basically where nothing is dictated by any sort of time-based system. I've been living that for about 2 months now, and believe me, it's a heck of a slow-acting freak house. When the freak reaches it's maximum (which for me is kinda now), it hits you hard and shows no mercy. The only way to counter it is to rally up an inexperienced army of past working experience (none), and other past vaguely-relevant achievements that really aren't much to boast about anyways.

That's the next milestone--looking for a job. Which is really where I'm at now. I'm in-between states, and I'm in-between a rock and an incredibly soft and comfortable place which I now have to leave because of eviction on the grounds of graduation. It's unsettling and scary, and I just want to huddle up in my blanket and cry on my bed. The bad news is, I can't do that forever. The good news is... I now have a room where I can do that in private confidence.

Thank God for 2012's milestones. Some, and counting.

(I applied for some places, and we'll see who gets back. Also, I went to the gardensbythebay the other day. )

Desmond and the Rice-bowl.

I don't know when it was exactly that I started eating rice out of bowls. I didn't before. It's a deeply Chinese thing, eating rice out of a bowl, so much so that in Chinese, the terms are used together. Fan Wan. The thing is, my family isn't deeply Chinese. Mandarin isn't even my primary language. And I don't have the fair-coloured skin that my country-men have come to associate with the Chinese (even though we all know how inaccurate that can be). And rice-bowl-Chinese-ness is often left, in my sub-conscious mind, to my grandfather's generation.

When I was younger, I ate my rice out of a plate. I remember still that there were cartoons on that plate: right on the centre, and along the brims. Eating was much like a prize; you ate to finish, because finishing meant you could see the picture hidden underneath the rice. And if you couldn't finish, you were reminded of the staving children in Africa. I'm sure at some point in time, I wondered why we had to finish the food we couldn't, if there were people elsewhere going hungry. Wouldn't the decent thing be to eat only what you needed, leaving the excess for the hungry people? But I guessed I got the sentiment: we eat because we are thankful that we are fortunate enough.

I don't fancy rice. When I was in Ireland, someone heard that and exclaimed that they had found the one Asian in the world who didn't like rice. I found it slightly amusing, that he made the assumption, because... do all Asians like rice? Should all Asians like rice? Isn't that a little presumptuous and small-minded? But its an idea that I take for granted myself too. I hadn't quite realised it until he said it, but the instant he did, I questioned it myself too. I took for granted that all Asians (or at least all Chinese) loved rice, much like at one point in my boyhood, I took for granted that I had rice that the Africans did not have.

Sometimes we take for granted how we are wired, on account of our culture, our families, and our environments. We take for granted the effect Change has on us. I took for granted all that, and even the fact that as un-Chinese as I consider myself to be, I've recently swapped my rice-plate for a rice-bowl. Yes, maybe it's because I hate rice, or that I just want a smaller portion and a bowl is more practical, but I've started eating rice out of a bowl. Maybe I'm growing up--heading towards the grandfather generation. Unlikely, but I'm not going to be presumptuous. After all, I'm the unlikely Asian who hates rice.


(It's 3am and I'm wide awake, and of course, musing and wondering. I've been working on my FYP, which might explain--I'm trying to figure out why I'm thinking like that too--why I'm suddenly thinking about my Chinese-ness. It's something I hardly think about, but it's something that I feel is unique to citizens of my Sunny Island. We are a mix, and a testament to that is my mini-insomnia: it's the Indian teh tarik I drank for supper just now. I just want to sleep. :( )

Desmond and the Alternate HTTS on a Pedestal.

It's been awhile since I've blogged, and somehow I've even missed a month without realising it. Time seems to pass more quickly the older you get, for reasons unknown. I wonder how it'll be like when I'm 50! But no worries, I'm not going to blog about how old I am, and how time passes quickly, and how I haven't blogged in awhile, because time is precious. Your time and mine.

What I will say is, I really missed taking photos, and editing photos. I haven't been able to do that for a while now, and that's largely because of the partial-demise of my old Macbook. Yes, Macbooks do die too, and no, they don't go to heaven. Instead, they go right back into the pretty white boxes they came in, and they sit there on the top of your cupboards, constantly reminding you of your folly like some holier-than-thou-saint on a pedestal. Every time you lift your head in exasperation, you see a white box near the ceiling, and you cry, "WHY GOD, WHY!? I've already lost a Macbook and now I (insert difficult situation) also?!"

But such is life. Honestly. And after many weeks, my new Macbook has arrived. God is good. :) This is why, children, saving money and CNY visiting is good.

Desmond and the Bouncing Up.

"Aww man, I'm home." Those were the words I said under my breath when I got off the cab and lugged my huge duffel bag back home.

I spent a good part of my December being a soldier, and got off just a few days before Christmas. Now, under normal circumstances, I would complain, but really, Decembers are not meant for negativity. Besides, in retrospect, things are usually less intense than we felt in that moment.

2011 is coming to an end, and in retrospect, it wasn't that bad a year.The start of the year had me coming back from Ireland, a little sad, and a little defeated. And then in the middle of the year, I hit a low, before bouncing up again. It sounds simple doesn't it?-- hitting a low and bouncing up. But that's a few weeks out of my 52 in 2011! And it seemed eternal then!!

But true to the nature of time, it all passed by, and now here I am. The closing days of 2011. And I've got to say, 2011 has been good. Trying, at moments but ultimately, (and in retrospect) good. I thank God for new additions in my life, and renewed ambitions. Small ambitions, but renewed, nonetheless.

If Home is where the Heart is, then this year, I have new homes to miss when I'm away, to tidy when it gets messy, and to stay safe in when I'm a little sad, and a little defeated. And I thank God for that. I thank God for new homes. And I pray that He will be a part of my every home, wherever my heart is.

Happy Holidays world. :)

Desmond and the Workaholic Trap.

With all the madness--school or otherwise--that has been going on recently, I've hardly had the time or motivation to blog. Do I still wish to keep up with blogging on a regular basis? Yes. Do I wish to define 'regular' as once a week? Um, no, thank you...

So when this morning turned out to be an early one for me, with some time in between breakfast and lunch, I decided to seize the day and quickly drop a short entry while I still can. That's a good concept to live by, actually. You don't hear it much now, but Carpe Diem used to be widely touted in the late 1990s, and early 2000s. Personally, I think it should really be made relevant again. We work too hard in this day and age. We work overtime for zero benefit, and spend our holidays in schools or writing reports that end up badly anyways because somewhere, somehow, someone dropped the ball... it's a workaholic's life! And the funny thing is, that Someone, from Somewhere and Somehow, manages to escape the very workaholic trap we're stuck in.

Are we living ahead of our time, or way before it? Is it yesterday or tomorrow that we live in? Sometimes I feel like I'm always cleaning up yesterday's (and Someone else's) mess, or preparing for tomorrow's madness. But to be very realistic, that's unavoidable. It's how the world works. But that shouldn't mean we dismiss that Latin phrase altogether. We can, and should still, "Sieze the Day". For blogging short blogs, for naps, and for the little pleasures in life. Or simply for loved ones, and even ourselves.

"Carpe Diem."

Desmond and the Wandering Button.

Yesterday, I had some yam ice-cream, and lost my volume button on my phone. And then at night, I had ice-cream again and realised the next day that I had lost the ear-bud on my earphones. I'm often told that whenever you lose something, it's good to think back to the time you saw it last, and so I did just that. And after my trip down memory lane, I found the common denominator: Le Ice-cream.

It could be a conspiracy. Eat something cold and creamy with a holding device made of crispy biscuit, and somehow, the ice-cream demands something audio-related from you. Consider this my warning to you then: eat ice-cream warily, especially if you are the type who deals with negative emotions by stuffing ice-cream down your throat whilst watching a movie with your headphones on; the Ice-and-Cream never comes without a price. It could be your ear-phones, or your speakers, or even your ear, but remember: the Ice-and-Cream never comes without a price.

Of course, if it was really the biscuit that set off my audio-related loss... eat crackers warily. Or pick the cup or waffle option instead. You might find those much safer.

And me? Well, I might find my volume button and/or earbud. I'm not picky, either one will make me very happy. So very happy that I might even consider having a celebratory ice-cream.

"Button you must wander, wander, wander..."

Desmond & Rain.

I have been waking up the past few mornings to the sound of dripping rain and muffled sunlight, which could only mean one thing: the rainy season is back in town! That is always good because I love Rain!

It makes me happy, and it calms me, and it helps me sleep better. When rain drips off the side of the buildings in a repetitive drippety-drop, it creates some sort of chorus as if it were a concert choir, by the street. And I say by the street, because Rain is not pretentious or ostentatious. It's so real, and so natural. No airs about it.

It doesn't profess to be anything other than itself. Rain is grounded, and solid--two words that seem like oxy morons, because how could rain possibly be grounded or solid? But what I really mean when I say that is: In spite of how incredibly happy, and safe, and warm, the rain makes me feel, I don't feel like I'm in a fantasy that i have to wake up from. Because of how grounded it is, I feel that I'm in a fantasy that I have woken up to. Rain isn't just in my dreams, or in the air, making me happy from afar. Rain is there when I wake up, and falling outside my window. It's like happiness that is real, as opposed to fantasies that are... well, fantasies. Fantasies that exist only for someone else, somewhere else, sometime else.

Some of the greatest things are great because of how grounded they are. How, at any given time, they make you feel like you're on top of the world, but still deeply anchored to the ground. I don't know how to fully explain what I feel. Words are so limited, and the human ability to use words is even more so. But what I'm saying is: I love you, Rain.

(This Individual apologizes for his somewhat confusing entry. Like stated, the human ability to apply words is very limited. He wishes he could better explain it, but some things can never be explained. Or at least, not well. We'll just have to take the sentiments. :) )

Desmond & the Six Words (with the unexpected exhortation).

The months have quickly zipped by, and it's been nearly a year since I left for Ireland. One year! It honestly feels like a while ago that I was fretting over flights, and making friends, and the coats and clothes I would bring overseas. And now all that has come and gone. Wow.

It's still too early to make that end-of-year-I've-accomplished-so-much/little speech, but whenever you do look back and consider your life, you should make mental (or literal) note of your conclusions. Because I'm pretty certain that when December--the real time for the end-of-year-accomplishment speech--comes, other things would have taken place. And those other things will stand out more in my memory than the first half of the year, simply because they would have just happened.

Going with this theory of recentness and memory, I suppose I would also like to take the opportunity to remind my present, August 11', self that whatever has happened thus far, will soon pass. The joys and the pains, and the intense feelings that have risen out of recent events: they will slowly fade and give way to new joys, and new pains, and new intense feelings.

So to my present self (and any precious readers), take heart. Take heart. Because four months from now, you will find yourself saying, "the months have quickly zipped by...". And there will be all measure of truth in those six words. I can't tell you for certain that your situation will have changed for the better, or for the worse. But I can assure you that the change will come, and the hope of change should spur you to that: hope.

And even if four months from now, it seems worse... remember that months from then, from Decemeber 11', the same six words will still apply. And there will be fresh hope again then. The months will quickly zip by.
For me, I hope in God. I don't know what I hope, but I hope in God.

Desmond and the Slight Insomia Problem.

I woke up early today on account of my slight insomia problem, and although it has yet to be clinically proven, here I am, 640am, wide awake after coming back from a run.

When I left at 530am, I thought I would have the world to myself, but I was mistaken; 530am belongs to the older generation. It is surprising to see so many (elderly) people up, running, and socialising this early in the day, because there aren't as many youth up at midnight as we're often led to think. You would think if the morning belonged to the adults, the night would belong, in equal measure, to the young. But I suppose that's not the case.

Anyways, waking up early is really refreshing. I suspect it's even better when you choose to wake up early, instead of when you have trouble sleeping. And the best thing is, you can run as fast or as slow as you like, and you can wear the ugliest of clothes, and have horrible bed-hair, and no one will judge you. Because the 530am crowd have the life experience to know better than to judge by appearances.

Or at least I would like to think they do.

I think they do.

Desmond and The Unsharing Adults.

Desmond and Never Gonna Leave This Bed.

YIPPEE! Exams are out! I'm not even going to talk about how I've felt about this semester, because censorship is important on the internet, but let's just say, I'm ready for the fun to begin.



And while I understand the message of this song isn't really about sleeping in and being a bummer, I willingly choose to deceive myself and pretend it is: I don't want to leave my bed for at least a few days! Desmond, out!