Today has been a little messy. My mind was a badly run metro station with trains of thoughts colliding into one another – the Isetan project, ACIM Day 1, creativity and match.com. I was literally switching between tabs on a browser every other minute. Nothing significant came through.

Ordo ab chaos.

That’s latin for ‘order from chaos’.

I wonder what should the end be. Greek philosophers would say Order, but seriously, what’s wrong with pure chaos? Isn’t there beauty in chaos too? Chaos, like what went on in my mind today.

OK, order sounds good. But if everything eventually ends up in order, what would the world be like? Would we all wake up at the same time, eat the same breakfast, do the same thing, hold the same conversations and die the same way? If you take order to its ultimate end game, it doesn’t sound so pretty either.

I think the saying is misleading. An improvement would read  ‘ordo ab chaos ab ordo ad infinitum”. This, at least, reflects our human condition more truthfully.

What if both ‘order’ and ‘chaos’ are just illusions. A pseudo-understanding of the world taught to us to keep us running in circles. A veil of sorts. The blue pill.

What if everything is just the way it is now, in this very moment; and whatever combination of ‘order’ and ‘chaos’ you might misunderstanding there to be, that it is really all the beauty that the world has to offer to you, right here, right now?

In Woody Allen’s latest movie ‘Whatever Works’, the ingenious, morbid, insensitive and suicidal Boris Yellnikoff (played by who else but Larry David) is not anything else but himself. Obtuse – yes, but that’s him. And being true to his essence, life, unfolding to him within Woody’s script, would reward him with finding his true love. And under the most unexpected and unusual circumstance.

There is light beyond this infinite cycle of life.

With this, I close the day with a can of Sapporo’s best and a new lesson learnt.

I would, for instance, put my time into playing mahjong. With mahjong, one is entertained, fires up a couple of million brain synapses in a game of guessing which of the 144 tiles will be drawn next, and potentially even get paid for it in the end!

It started yesterday when a dear old friend called to organize one such ‘productive’ session. I hadn’t done it for a while and obliged. It was a good group of four and I was looking forward to an evening of good laughs and strategic tinkering of the bakelite tiles.

Two rounds into the game, I realize this was going to be one of those special nights which I enjoyed the most. It doesn’t matter what random set of 13 tiles I would start with, as the game progresses, I would draw perfectly complementary tiles before laying the final winning call to the rest. This is what mahjong players would call “wind”. At the end of my “wind”, I was called many names, and had raked in over $400 worth of winnings. A rare occurrence given the low bet value of our game.

I knew something was up.

The following day, I bought my colleagues lunch – it is my custom to ‘share’ winnings with friends in this manner. We decided to go to Samy’s, an Indian bryani restaurant just minutes from the office. After a hearty serving of yellow-spiced rice, papadum, mutton curry and an after-meal Dunhill frost-stick, I settled down with a cup of teh-tarik and listened to the conversation.

As usual, it revolved around Samson’s bunked weight-loss attempts, HK’s upcoming wedding and Jogger Tan’s still-born blog. It was pretty much what we talked about every lunch, and I had to steer it away. So, I blurted out how Bowser (my 6-month-old golden retriever) started dashing during his walks and I could perhaps start running along. I am sure I was just trying to change the topic – and asked Jogger about the Nike-ipod (you see, we’re a bunch of techies so gadget-chat always works). Handsome (but quiet) Jay leaped in and showed us RunKeeper, a free iPhone app that essentially does what the $100+ branded alternative does. That piqued my interest, as anything that’s free and runs on the iPhone always do.

What made this register was that Handsome Jay was due to go on leave the very next day. And I just happen to have a couple of extra $50-notes in my pocket. I said to myself “why not” and continued to Queensway Shopping Center after dropping them off. Now, this is the place to get all your sports supplies in Singapore, and it’s also minutes from the office. I parked, browsed and got everything I need under 20 minutes: a pair of New Balance running shoes, a quick-dry micro-fiber top and an iLuv iPhone arm band.

Now I’m ready to jog.

But, probably not tonight. It’s beer night with Jogger and HK. We do this once a month – down some beer, chill and talk. Tonight’s topic meandered into Intention and Ego, heavy stuff which I enjoyed. The part about the Ego revolved around how this inner nemesis fights for its ‘life’ by making its host fail in life. I thought about it and saw how my Ego tried to pull a fast one over my eyes. Who said that you cannot run after beer? Jogger then concurs that one can easily overcome the diuretic effects of beer by drinking a couple liters of water.

Now I’m ready to jog, again.

On the walk back home, I came across a woman in jogging attire, this was somewhat out of the ordinary given Holland Village’s night scene. It was a gentle reminder to cheer me on to my earlier conclusion.

When I got back, Bowser went into a frenzy of short sprints, something he hasn’t done before. Looking at him, I concluded this was yet another reminder.

At this point, I knew that my jogging is not going to start any other day, but tonight.

The mahjong session, the lunch, Handsome Jay’s just-in-time RunKeeper recommendation, the beer-chat about Ego, the out-of-place jogger and Bowser, has all been orchestrated into a seamless play-by-play to get me to start running.

So I did it. With Bowser. And it was an evening jog that is nothing short of a miracle.

It’s been awhile since I wrote on this blog. I haven’t stopped writing though, it’s just that I thought the stuff I went through in the past year would not be relevant to you.

So here I am, sitting by the harbor front at a Starbucks (where else, haha), writing this. Oh yes, I have a new companion now – his name is Bowser and he’s a 6-month-old golden retriever. Save for a few tense moments in the car on route to our destination (he gets car sick), Bowser is really the perfect company for me – he keeps to himself, doesn’t bark and is not easily aroused – as I could write on my outings with him.

So I have a pet now, but I only got Bowser towards the end of the hiatus, perhaps as a milestone or a reward of some kind. Much has happened on this journey. I have learned many lessons and I will be sharing some of them here. The end of that ‘journey’ doesn’t mean that the learning stops, in fact, a new chapter of my learning has commenced, and from here, I will have much more to share on this blog.

Today, I shall tell you the story of how Bowser and I met.

I had dogs before but they were never really mine. If you were to ask anybody who knows me, they will tell you how unlikely is it for me to own a pet, much more so, to own a pet when I’m living alone. It’s simply not me to go into a situation like this. I mean, I love animals, but to have to pick up their poo and wipe their ass everyday is something else.

It all started with “Marley and Me”. No, the movie didn’t get to me, but it sure got to Madeleine (my 10-year-old daughter), who then started chatting me on Facebook every other day to ask me to get a dog. She will bombard me with questions like “why don’t you get a dog, it’s the best companion” or “what percentage chance are you at right now on getting a dog”. At the same time, she will send me pictures of puppies, dog keeping articles, books, etc.

I was resilient at first. But when the gentle reminders turns into desperate cries, I had to give her something. I responded with numbers: initially “40%”, then “50%”, and eventually “70%”. I never moved beyond 70% and explained to Madeleine that the remaining 30% is really up to the dog.

Frankly, I am not entirely against the idea of keeping a dog. There are many a times when I’m alone and thought that having someone around is, well, nice.

So, I decided to give it a shot, just one. It’s going to be a one time thing: I would make an inquiry and that’s it. So I picked one of the many forum threads of dog owners selling puppies Madeleine sent me. I made one enquiry. One, that that got me one response to set up one meet.

On the day itself, I cleared my schedules, did nothing that could potentially throw me off. I made that day special – I believe in subtle energies and wanted my ‘waves’ to be as uncluttered and true as possible. You see, I am letting the puppies pick their master. It is really up to them now. Them, or whoever is guiding them.

I reached the breeder’s place early, calm my thoughts and as I walked to the door. It was ajar and I could see the breeder mopping the floor while three golden retrievers were seated obediently on the wooden couch. They were well-trained. But when I came into their sights, one of them started fidgeting and attempted to leap off the couch. The breeder cracked a command but to no avail. Bowser is now on the floor and running towards me. What can I say, he has chosen me and I know he is going to be my dog. The moment is now 100%.

As it turns out, Bowser is the perfect companion for me. On the first day home, he instinctively knew to take his business to the lawn. He would let out a groan in the mornings and whenever he has to go. He understood what “naughty boy” meant the very first time he heard it. He rarely barks and is very friendly with human, especially little children.

You wouldn’t believe how glad I am to have been chosen, Bowser’s nothing like Marley in the movie. Sometimes, it’s good to let go of ego and control and leave some things to Spirit.

Another day, another afternoon at the Dempsey’s Dome. Today, I’m equipped with Nancy Aronie’s Writing From The Heart. I just read an inspiring paragraph. It was from the chapter Schmooze with the Muse.

“Write as an act of giving – giving your authenticity, your integrity, your one-of-a-kind originality. It is your willingness to begin again and again and again that becomes an act of giving. Write as a practice. Write as meditation. Write as a gift to yourself. What muse would refuse?”

I have a pot of earl grey and 3 biscotti slices set out now for the muse. It’s a tribute to the muse. To inspiration.

To write is a gift. I’m educated and had the opportunity to study English literature and linguistics even through a science curriculum. I was surprised that I aced the class. Not by rote regurgitation of Hans Christian Andersen tales, but rather, from a genuine interest in what was going through his head when he created those fairy tales. I had the benefit of a bilingual language processing system and a diversified Asian background. The richness and color of my memories helped me looked at the subject in interesting angles that compelled the midwestern professors to ace my finals.

There is a challenge though. I am very concerned with what is right for the audience. That is, I am, unfortunately, trained in marketing. There is too much of market research and 5 P’s in me to make every new idea die an early death.

Nancy’s quote reminded me of the kind of people muses would want to work with – authentic, grounded and giving. It doesn’t really matter if my ideas are relevant to the ‘readers’, it’s more about putting out those ideas succinctly and engagingly.

As worried as I am about what to write about, I am also very concerned with how well I write. It’s really an issue of confidence. English, after all, is not my mother tongue. For a long time, I also suspected that I think in Chinese. To top that off, I have a vocabulary that barely matches that of a high school student now. For some reason, I know the words but they just don’t come up when I write. I blame this on possibility a limited storage capacity for words and the thousands of chinese words I have permanently etched into my brain.

It’s a discouraging line of thought. Potentially devastating for a budding writer, I think.

Does it really matter that I have to check the dictionary every time I watch a Woody Allen movie? Not to mention having to turn on the subtitles to being with? Agog, hebetudinous, vainglory?

I guess the right thing to do is to leave that alone. And just write. I believe it is impossible to remember a word just by looking it up. One has to wield it.

I need a new system – describe something and find words that match. I wonder if Google does that? If not, it could be an interesting project they pick up. I mean, all they have to do is to get normal people to write out explanations instead of using the muted dictionary styled ones.

There’s one more thing, originality. I am, and I think most of the educated world too, too tainted with American pop culture. I have to be originally Singaporean. Yet, my friends tell me I’m one of the rare ones. I have very little interaction with the locals. It’s me being judgmental again. I feel that the local mentality is too programmed. Most of us talk about the same things – food, chill-out, money. There’s a disconnect between the current generation (25-50 years old) with the earlier ones.

The current generation, my generation, had started out in life on the laurels of the foundation that the previous one has toiled and accomplished. The ‘elder’ in my government emphasizes on this a lot and I believe there is some truth to that.

If I can put it succinctly: whereas the earlier generation can be described as hardworking, family-oriented and tenacious, my lot is, at best, opportunistic, worldly and meek.

Of course, we didn’t had the same trials and tribulations to transform us into men of steel. But, the gap is so big one cannot help but suspect that we simply had it too easy.

My struggle with originality, simply put, it that I don’t think there’s anything worth writing about in my own experiences. I can look really hard and dig really deep and on most occasions, all I’ll find would be something superficial. I cannot write about it because I don’t value it. Perhaps I’m too jaded, or haven’t met the right people, or perhaps, the elders are really good storytellers.

But it’s something I cannot change in this life.

Perhaps, I am lost, and so is my generation. We’re lost and we’re still looking. The bigger houses and cars don’t really fill that emptiness from the fruitless search for self. We are a generation looking to be tested but instead, we fed.

Perhaps, I can write about that quest. But first, I got to smoke out the dragons and get them to hold our fair maidens in high towers first.

I have been going to bed at 3 in the morning for weeks now. I don’t think it’s insomnia – I have none of the undesirable side effects. I am, however, suspicious of the purpose of these extended hours.

Last night I did something different from my usual nocturnal ritual of reading, the PS3 and the occasional smoke. I found this song “Miss You” by Miki Imai and thought I could listen it in song-repeat mode. So, headphones on, ipod set, lights out.

The intro mesmerized me and relaxed my mind. Thoughts are muted out soon. It’s a befitting melody to usher in Miki’s double-chocolatey sweetness. Like a gentle cloud, she lifted me into a motherly cradle. The song is like a lullaby, one sang by Mother Earth herself, reassuring her unwavering love for me. Cuddled, I faintly hear her tell me that it is ok to surrender and release. Images followed. Of someone whom I cared for. We lead separate lives now, but I know I’ll always be there for her. Like a guardian angel. Unfortunately, one that’s mortal and on the same dimension. We can be together but it is not time yet. The distance has to be maintained. While the tidbits of conversations are good and enough for now, the sweetness of the night and Mother’s comforting embrace made my heart dared to yearn for more. I don’t think it will be an unrequited quest. I know that all good things, as all good things should be, will come in good time. But for an hour in the darkness of night, my heart broke free and felt the full ache of missing someone, missing you.

I hosted a Japanese oden steamboat dinner tonight. There was music, food, great company and some smack-your-forehead conversations. I live alone now and do everything on my own now. It’s puzzling. I thought I would be very bored. But I found out tonight that there are profound benefits being on your own totally. For one, I learn a lot about myself in one night than possibly a year’s worth of therapy.

I was preparing the oden cutting up the daikon, cabbage and fishcakes and I observed that I did it with meticulous accuracy. It wasn’t done up in a rush and I took the time to do one thing at a time. I was also mindful about how I wanted it to look. It was a particularly soulful time for me – I just cut, pondered and created a beautiful dinner.

When the night ended, I had to, naturally, look at the kitchen sink full of dishes. I wouldn’t let my guests do any washing, it’s not befitting a host. I have a maid coming tomorrow but then I realized I don’t like to leave the kitchen uncouth through the night. A meal is done and the kitchen shouldn’t have to sleep with the debris for the night. I don’t used to like washing, it gives me a backache. But tonight was different. There’s a cool draft blowing though the apartment and I thought, what the heck. So, I played the same Japanese jazz and started washing.

It was different. I used to want to get over with the washing even before I start. But tonight was different. I simply washed. Not because I had to, but that I wanted to. And when I did that, the washing came to an end all too soon. The kitchen was totally clean, no pans uncleaned, trash taken out, table clothes rinsed, leftovers stored. There was no stone unturned. It was good to leave a cleaned kitchen.

As I pondered about the night, I thought about a couple of friends who have been wanting to leave their folks and live on their own. Somehow, they just couldn’t convinced their parents to let go.

I’m thinking, isn’t important for parents to allow that freedom for their children to discover their own life. Even if it’s learning about how they liked their kitchens cleaned, it’s really different when you live with someone else and had to adhere to their house rules. Even if it is the same rules, it’s different if you discover that it is what you like. You have to make your own rules. You owe it to yourself to discover your own true self.

I’m really shocked – I thought people only download music, movies and tv shows. Not books!

Friends who know me cannot figure out why I always buy original. A friend gasped at my collection when he visited for a X’mas party, “Shoop, I’m amazed at your collection, how much did you spent?” Come to think of it, was he amazed why I spent so much on a collection that would have easily cost anyone else a-tenth to nothing?

Amongst my circle of acquaintainces, piracy is already socially accepted. Tips on how to different the better copies are freely exchanged. When you visited, bring along an external hard-disk in case you see sometime you want.

Now, I understand where everyone is coming from – copies are a lot cheaper (or free), they’re digitally identical, eveyone’s doing it and times are bad so I have to save. Those are very valid reasons.

I think the problem is that we, as consumers, no longer create anything anymore. If there’s two bakers, would one take another’s recipe and starts selling the same cakes? No he won’t. Because he knows the value of creating the recipe as a baker himself. There is the matter of pride involved, too.

But as consumers, everything to us is valued at its price. It’s the only sensible way to live a good life, stretch the dollar, so to speak. The offer with the best price always wins.

So, the ball is out of bounds now. Creators cannot create for nothing. And consumers cannot become creators. The way I see it, less of us will want to be creators. Hence, more bad movies, crap tv shows and shallow books. It’s inevitable.

Photo by Martin Kingsley

Something happened in Singapore a couple of weeks back and it affected me greatly.

What I knew I read vaguely almost a week later from the evening papers and a discussion on a local forum:

A 15 year old boy was begging in a neighbourhood food centre when a patron called the police on him. Allegedly, he was asking for $2 to buy lunch for his ill mother. The police came and probably took him back to the police post and filed the incident. After that, they escorted him back to the void deck of his HDB (public housing in Singapore). From there, he went up another building and jumped. The boy died.

The story stuck with me for days, and nights. It wasn’t publicized much in the local papers and most of my friends hadn’t even heard about it.

I had been wondering why the story of the ‘begger boy’ (coined by the local paper) had affected me so much.

I came up with many responses to it: I talked to my friends about it, complained about the state of charity organizations in Singapore, and even thought about a startup for it.

In final analysis, I believe the story of the ‘boy’ is really trying to teach me something, something personal, something about how to give.

I am categorically a ‘jaded giver’. Over the years, my personal contribution to charitable causes have declined.

I’ve convinced myself, in the light of the recent mega scams in Singapore’s charitable front, that you’re not giving when you give via these multi-million dollar charity setups. Unfortunately, these organizations have monopolized the attention of the general public through star-studded fundraisers and professionally orchestrated PR.

So, when the biggest of them fell, there was a domino effect on the trust I had on the rest of them. Soon enough, the next in size fell too.

For some time, I gloated. Because I saw it coming and stopped giving when the first fell. Now, I know I shouldn’t gloat.

Rather, I should be thinking about whether my actions (or lack of) had indirectly caused the incident with the boy. You see, I could easily have been at the food centre and refused to give to the boy when he came by my table to ask for that fated $2. It would’ve been so automatic – that looking away and waving of an uncaring hand.

I’m wondering what it would have meant to the boy if there was someone there who willingly gave him $2.

You see, that’s the whole point about the story. Two dollars would’ve solved his problem for the day. A more generous four dollars might have ease a relief from him. A red ten could have make him see that there’s still hope in his lot.

Damn.

So, how should I give?

I tell you, I still wouldn’t trust big charities. Big money corrupts. And frankly, having the who’s-who on the board or stricter regulations doesn’t really convince me at all. It’s simple – big money corrupts. That said, there’s one thing that’ll change my mind – when big charities publish their detailed financials transparently for all to see.

In the meantime, I know I have to continue to give.

My idea is to give directly to the needy.

It’s my money and hence my benchmark. If I see someone whom I think needs a couple of bucks (or ten, or fifty), I’d give it to him/her there and then.

On top of this, I’m going to encourage others to do the same. The more people ‘give direct’, the more beneficiaries will be. It’s a new meme. A new attitude.

I’m thinking hard about how to propagating the meme beyond my network of friends now.

I’ll come up with something and post an update here when it’s ready.

In the meantime, if you agree with me, please go all out and give your monies to those you deem in need. You’ll never know if another ‘boy’ might walk up to you for $2.

Postscript

A reader commented and doubted the story. While I didn’t witness it with my eyes, I did catch the news first off the local Shinmin evening newspapers (I believe its 31 Jul 2008).

I also happen to know that he jumped from Blk 646, Ang Mo Kio Street 61 (but also that he doesn’t live there) and his funeral was held at Singapore Thong Teck Sian Tong Lian Sin Sia at 91 Geylang East Ave 2.

Think I’ll go to the latter to see if I can verify this further.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMXRDEpjbug

Most of us in relationships play all sorts of mind games. No matter how great the beginnings of the relationship might be, most of us end up in a power struggle with the one we claim to love.

Many of us fall into this trap – and events in the past couple of weeks has led me to believe that I have too.

But unlike most modern (‘cool’) metropolitan types, I did not choose the path to exit the relationship gracefully.

It is apparent to me that something critical is missing from the relationship. And today, I happen to chance on Tom Kenyon’s article “Alchemy of Relationships” that has provided me a hint to the missing puzzle piece.

Before I get into the answer, let’s talk about how we forge our individual personalities.

Your Hardened Personalities

If you think about everything new that you do – say a new roller-coaster ride or the first time you visit Tokyo – the entire experience seem to be covered in a new light. Your senses are heightened and we become ultra receptive to the new environment.

This then forms the basis of our experience. Thereafter, the same encounter will simply add slight modifications to the original. That’s why people stress on the importance of ‘first impressions’.

Now, imagine your childhood – where most encounters are the first. How did we learn how to react to all kinds of situations? Remember the first time you got back a test paper and you didn’t like the score? The first time someone challenge you to a basketball game? The first time an older boy bullied you?

Tom Kenyon used the analogy of the heat and pressure of a furnace used to forge steel to describe the same intensity of our childhood experiences that forged our personalities.

The other interesting quality of steel is its tendency to retain its form, unless you subject it to another furnace.

Back to the relationships

While most or all relationships start out with a bang, the months and years that follow on will push us against our hardened personalities.

I’m a neat freak and my partner the opposite – I’ve observed the over the years, the mean time before my going crazy with messiness starts to get shorter and shorter.

And if you’ve been in a relationship long enough, I bet you can easily come up with 10 things where both of you exist on different ends of the stick.

Numbing Yourself Doesn’t Work

I’ve often heard this phrase “you take the entire package” from well-meaning friends who advises me I should accept my partner for the entirety of who she is.

Buried in this message is “why don’t you just ignore everything that you don’t want.” I think to achieve this, I will have to numb my perception to these things.

The problem with numbing is that you cannot compartmentalize it – other ‘good’ things will have to go.

Take the above example of a messy apartment, while I can train myself to ignore the eyesore, I can never hope to meditate properly in the room again.

Reforge Your Relationship

This is why you want to reforge a relationship – a red-hot binding experience to reset your stubborn selves to better complement each other.

That’s it – partners should grow to complement each other, not cringe to each other’s idiosyncrasies.

Tom frames this as an alchemical process:

1. Knowing that the form in the relationship that needs to be changed is the form of habitual interactions between two partners;
2. Provide a container of absolute safety, honesty and appreciation for the transformation;
3. Energy to drive the change.

I believe I am only scratching the surface of Tom Kenyon’s wisdom here. Paulo Coelho mentioned that Wisdom = Knowledge + Transformation. The obvious next steps for me is to take action and change. Only then, I guess, will I be able to share this better with you.