October 2002 Archives

Four Let'r Word

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Vanderbilt University’s football (American Football, that is) team is prohibited from uttering any “inappropriate language”. The coach decided to enforce this rule by making violators roll the length of the field on their backs.

ESPN did a short take on this. Many of the players have since substituted in more colourful words. So now, they utter words like “Golly!” and “Horsefeathers!”.

In my mind I just imagine steely eyes and perspiration-drenched brow in the deathly silence of the football helmet. He lowers his head. There’s a flicker of panic. He mutters,

would you like some CRUMPETS!

and runs straight into 300 pounds of linebacker.

Masquerade

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As Kristen shares her Halloween experiences of old, it has been a rather interesting day Halloween-wise.

Though having been in the United States for close to three years now, most Halloweens have been spent in the quiet of my room. Halloween falls in the time of the semester when the workload grows exponentially, and walking around got no work done.

I did, however, manage to catch a few glimpses of Halloween festivities at school. Some of the cafeteria staff dressed up as mermaids, wrestlers and I could have sworn one older lady was doing a Britney. Students wore tophats and hairbands with bunny ears. There were bake sales on the grass and people just came up greeting each other “Happy Halloween”, before smothering the greetee with an assortment of candy.

It’s almost 9:30pm, and no kids knocked on my door yet. I guess I’ll just have to finish the Kit-Kat bars up myself.

Till Death

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One of the lines made popular by soppy romantic comedies goes, “I want to spend my whole life with you”. It is usually uttered by some dashing young male specimen to Meg Ryan. Ok, so you think Tom Hanks doesn’t quite cut it.

In my short course of life I’ve found a number of such people. There have times I’ve looked upon a person and felt an urge to spend every evening watching every sunset with them. From my own analysis, I gather that this emotion is evoked due to my natural response to an eponine-situation (in this case Eponine is used as an adjective, pronounced epo-nine, like serpentine). Due to the vulnerabilities involved, the object of my gaze is often a female, though I have felt such feelings for the ocassional (but infrequent) male.

I feel strongly, very strongly, toward people who suffer loss. There is almost an inherent need to protect and to love them. To just hold them close and tell them that everything is ok. Maybe it’s some form of infatuation, maybe I’ve too much estrogen in my system. I don’t know.

Silence

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Currently reading X-Men: Dr. Doom. Yes, I often do read such inane books.

In the short chapter I read last night, Betty Braddock (Psylocke, for those of you less Marvel-enthused) had a resurgence in her psychic powers. I won’t go into the details of all the alternate dimension and multiverse theories Sci-Fi writers love to indulge in. During that time, Betty begins to hear the thoughts of every human being around her. Unable to control her powers, she is deafened by the sheer multitude of voices and faints over and over from the strain of it all.

That is how I feel. Though I was far removed enough to avoid the trauma, the shooting that occurred at the school I attend feels like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Everywhere I turn - death. Talk on the TV - death. Newspapers - death. Reading the Bible in the mornings makes me long for His second coming. Yet how can I face the One for whom I have toiled so little? The Keith Green song goes,

it’s so hard to see when my eyes are on me

I need to breathe, to live, to see. Hosanna! (Save us)

Self

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A shooting occurred at the University of Arizona this morning. Two instructors at the College of Nursing were shot before the shooter shot himself.

I was near the College of Nursing this morning, about an hour before the shooting. They were supposed to start selling basketball tickets at the Stadium box office at 7am. Many had camped overnight and by the time I arrived at 6:10am, a huge crowd had gathered.

They mobbed the office, tearing the aluminium window shutters open to get their tickets. Let me correct that, those weren’t even tickets. They were little coupons that allowed you to come back later to obtain the real tickets. People were getting shoved, some coming out of the mob with black eyes and an assortment of injuried. People were body-surfing - from what was gathered some of them were body-surfed out because they had blacked-out.

The land of individual freedom has become the place where selfishness prevails. The shooter shot the two female instructors because he had failed his class, so the latest reports say. Not too far away an angry mob wanted their tickets - their own tickets - at the expense of everybody else.

Channel-surfing through the news channel has become a flipping-through of a global obituary. We are no longer appalled at murders. In fact, we’ve grown to be actually relieved when we see that there was motive. At least that way, we have the assurance that “it won’t be me”. Nobody cares for the other.

Dreams

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It’s the time of the year to choose classes for next semester again. The question of career chioces and what knowledge to build upon arises. Frankly, though I do indeed love computers, I find myself lacking passion when it comes to implementing solutions that enable us to make more money in the business world.

Having completed all but one class, my schedule for next semester can be filled with virtually anything I want. Though signing up for more MIS (Managment Information Systems) classes would probably boost my value in the job market, I find myself turning once again to my childhood ambition of being a teacher of English literature.

I spent the good part of the morning doing the math. I could squeeze in an English minor on top of my degree if I slogged in superhuman proportions next semester. It has been a while since I’ve felt the dream at within my grasp again, and my breath shortens with anticipation simply at the thought of it. I want so much to spend my life reading and exploring the things that make us human and the fullness that is life.

But I am reminded that “whoever shall seek his life shall lose it; and whoever shall lose his life for my sake shall find it (Matthew 10:39)”. It is a struggle to lay down all that I deem dear to me, and believing that He to whom I have commited my life is faithful to keep it.

Marry Me

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Just caught an old episode of The Practice on telly. It was the episode where Bobby asked Lindsay to marry him, with Helen eavesdropping in the background. Lindsay was in hospital, having just recoved from a stabbing.

There are times it takes the very real prospect of losing something to realise its true value, and a conversation I had with Faith this morning revolved around whether or not getting married was the right thing to do.

I know it sounds silly to many of you. We’ve the date set, we’ve booked the dinner place and we’ve even designed the invitation. I’ve never done this whole wedding thing before, but I think I can safely say that the doubts Faith and I discussed are not unique to the both of us. After all, marriage is a huge change from the status quo, and human beings as a species have never been very good at dealing with change.

My sister asked me a week ago why people bothered to get married. With the divorce rate and the pain that can be found in so many long-term relationships, why would anyone go through all the trouble? Being and older brother, I didn’t want to feed the sceptic in her. But more importantly, being a man on the verge of stepping over the threshold into a new life with Faith, I wanted to know for sure.

And these are the things I know.

I am thankful for every single moment spent with you. Every single moment. The times we laughed, cried, quarelled, prayed, talked, kept silent…the times we just were. I would be lying if I said I’ve never felt the temptation to “do my own thing”, but as I examine my own heart I know that I wouldn’t want to do my own thing without you by my side.

I’m aware of the transience of human life - its fleeting nature, and how soon all this will be over. But I want to capture the spark of the moment, and with you everything seems to move in slow-motion and in double-time…all at once. And in that moment, despite our weaknesses and failings we will find something beautiful that exists solely in the fact that God is who He is.

I want to marvel at the moment with you, holding your hand in mine.

I want you to be my wife…so very, very much.

God loves you. And I can see exactly why.

Timeliness

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My sister and I went to Borders after a nice dinner at T.G.I.F. As usual we came out overstuffed with rich food. A homeless man asked us for change while we were looking at the bargain books outside the entrace of Borders. After a short hestitation, we told him that we were sorry and walked in.

Having felt guilty and a little bad my sister and I then decided to get him something to eat from a nearby Wendy’s after we got the books we came for.

He was no longer there.

Despite all our prejudices we hold against them, there can be no dispute to the fact that we are better off, having homes to return to, couches to lie on, and televisions to watch.

It’s turning cold. Both the weather and my heart.

I need to be more spontaneous.

Hitting the Mattresses

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It has been a very, very tiring few days. I’m currently working on a few web projects outside of school curriculum which took a sudden peak in activity. Seems like everyone wanted to have meetings, or change the scope of projects at the same time. On top of that there were papers to write, readings to plough through and tests to take.

I am thankful, though that my hand feels a lot better now. I’m not ready to take off the splint anytime soon yet, but I’m starting to write with my right hand again, though slowly.

Thanks to all of you who sent birthday wishes. It has been quiet. I’ve always liked birthdays that way.

Morning Sickness

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When somebody wishes you happy birthday really early in the morning, it is a natural reaction to say “Happy birthday to you too” with even more wild enthusiasm.

Comic Help

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The number one result for “how to win back a lover who dumped you leads right to the Marvel Quiz I made up back in February 2002.

How does one win back a lover who dumped them?

Wheelies

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Sister got her driving license yesterday. Facials, shopping, cafe lattes, here she comes!

I expect to see more wear on my sneakers.

Old Power

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I started a series on the overhead powerlines on my photolog that seem to appear on a lot of my photos.

There will come a day, not too distant, when all this cabling will be done underground, and their presence forever hidden from our eyes.

More Acronyms

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I finally took a little time and got my main template on Tribolum on PHP. What I still don’t know how to do is have MoveableType generate archives with a php extension. Andrea, Kristen, any ideas?

MicroManagement

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I’m sure you guys heard this one.

A blond steps into the hairdresser’s, wearing these humongous headphones. She sits down, instructs the hair-dresser accordingly, then proceeds to read a fashion magazine.

The hairdresser, to make her job easier, attempts to take off the headphones.

“DON’T YOU TOUCH IT!”, screams the blonde. Startled, the hairdresser attempts to work her way around the hairy sitatuation.

Time passes, and the blonde falls asleep. The hairdresser sees the opportunity, and stealthily removes the headphones.

The blonde falls off the chair, DEAD.

The hairdresser panics, running around wondering whether to first call the police or the ambulance. After she calms down and sends for the paramedics, she picks up the headphones, which are still blaring away.

She puts them to her ears.

“Inhale…exhale. Inhale…exhale”.

That’s Singapore for you. We seem to be seen as such incompetent people that we’d all drop dead if a higher authority didn’t tell us exactly what to do.

Work harder. Study science, not literature. Procreate.

Singapore has an official government-funded campaign to get its citizens to “mate and multiply”.

It’s not about mathematics this time.

Left in Stiches

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As the scar on my wrist heals, I notice that two dots where the stiches used to come out from look different from the rest of them. I decided to do a little exploring with my swiss army knife and found that the nurse that had removed my stiches left some behind.

I managed to tug enough of it out so that it is visible, but it seems anchored and refuses to come out all the way. Straddling against the notion of just ripping it out and playing it safe I chose the latter.

The few years of elementary cross-stiching hardly made me an expert.

Taking Sides

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Much as I’d like to keep my blog all happy and cheery, it is hard to ignore the things that go on in our world today. The media coverage here is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Try as you may, there are going to be those days they get to you, and you sit in front of the telly wondering why the world is the way it is.

The Maryland Sniper, the decision to go to war with Iraq…then there’s the ones closer back home in Singapore - the Bali bombing, the recent shooting at Monash University in Melbourne.

I have finally come out of my delusion that we are now better off than the baby-killing Japanese soldiers of the Second World War, or the anti-Semitic Germans for that matter. Our lone national superpower of today frowns with disgust at those acts of war, forgetting that not very long ago they were a nation of slave-owners who stole the lives of so many African families. They were the ones who systematically killed the natives, then sticking their flag in the blood-drenched earth and proclaimed this their land.

Perhaps the best illustration of American short-sightedness came in the form of a question asked by newcasters to their “experts” on television this morning: Is the Maryland Sniper connected with terrorism?

Are the people in D.C. afraid to pump gas at a gas station (British english would have it as pump petrol at a petrol kiosk)? Are they afraid of being outside a Home Depot, or a Ponderosa? Do they now live in terror?

It is an idiotically rhetorical question to ask. The true question behind it had to do with the ethnicity of the sniper. Arab descent, terrorist. That has become the fact of the matter.

I cannot help but feel incensed at the whole spin on the issue. Whenever I see George Bush Jr on television, I see a man who lies, a man who advocates hate, a man who kills and proclaims himself righteous.

Like Woody, I am sick of the lies.

Nitrous Oxide

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Was talking to Madseason on IRC a few moments ago and he has agreed to be my pointman in helping me compile a list of names and addresses of IRC friends whom may want to come for our (Faith and I, not Madseason and I)wedding next July.

Talking about it makes me think about it. And thinking about it I imagine the scene in my head - my bride walking down the aisle as beloved friends and family watch on. I can’t help but grin from ear to ear in an almost stupid fashion.

As always, the guest list is probably the most intimidating tasks in the whole wedding prep process. I may very well end up putting a printable version of the wedding invitation here on Tribolum as an open invitation to all of you who have been so faithfully following my rather mundane life.

Drop me an email using the form on the right side-bar if you’d like to come. I’d like you to be there.

Tech News

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For the many of you who have come here from google looking for when the Canon Powershot G3 would be released, stores I have called told me next week (21st October). Amazon has the date as 1st November.

Argh…dilemma of dilemmas.

Like a foolish dreamer trying to build a highway to the sky All my hopes would come tumbling down and I never knew just why. Until today, when you pulled away the clouds that hung like curtains on my eyes Well, I’ve been blind, all these wasted years and I thought I was so wise but then you took me by surprise. Like waking up from the longest dream how real it seemed. Until your love broke through. I’ve been lost in a fantasy that blinded me Until your love broke through. All my life I’ve been searching for that crazy missing part then with one touch You just rolled away the stone that held my heart. And now I see that the answer was as easy as just asking you in and I am so sure I could never doubt your gentle touch again. It’s like the power of the wind. - from Until Your Love Broke Through by Keith Green

African Beat

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John Williams and friends were great, but of course. I sit utterly amazed whenever his fingers run up and down the fingerboard playing notes and breakneck speed, exhibiting superhuman dexterity.

It was a nice cosy concert. It did help sitting unobstructed on the first row at the side. A nice jam session ambience. Was a pleasure.

Bovinity Divinity

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Learning about the different methods by which one can measure the distance of faraway stars in Astro class today. It was oddly uplifting when the Professor said “we are assuming that God made the faraway stars the same way He did the ones closer to Earth”.

Maybe the cow will jump over the moon.

New York, New York

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I called a camera store in New York a few moments ago to find out when the Canon G3 would be hitting the market.

As I was put on hold (something we’ve all come to accept as normal procedure), they played lounge jazz over the machine. For a brief moment, it felt like I was calling into a different country. The land of Broadway and the NYSE. I half-expected the salesperson to speak with a thick accent.

I got to go visit there sometime.

Heart on a String

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Catching John Williams and Friends at Centennial Hall tonight. Though I’m not one who goes gaga over staunchly classical music, the sounds of the classical guitar simply ring heaven to my ears.

The arm splint kinda puts a dampener on the event. The act of tinkering around with Gwenivere (my guitar) and producing my own ear-splitting unintentional discordant melodies will just have to wait.

Flesh of Our Flesh

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I took some time off lunch today to view the current exhibition, Lauren Greenfield’s Girl Power at the Center for Creative Photography right here at the University of Arizona.

I’ve been to many, many exhibitions at the CCP (it’s free) and if my memory serves me, this was the first one in colour. It felt weird viewing photos in colour, especially after associating the particular viewing gallery with countless high-contrast black-and-white photos by the likes of Ansel Adams and Eugene Smith.

Colour, somehow takes away the fantasy of a photograph. A well-composed black-and-white photo whisks us away into a world far away, be it a steel factory or Yosemite National Park. Colour photos…they came out so stark, so real. It was hard to escape the stare of the subject - there was no wistful far-off look. Merely truth. Hard, sometimes painful truth.

Lauren’s photos gave us all a journey into the life and mind of a girl. The need to look “acceptable”, the struggles to overcome bias in a male-dominated world, the safeguarding of dignity in a world where the men constantly degrade women. There were times it seemed almost too painful to look.

I wish I could apologise on behalf of all the men for creating a world where the defiling of women has become an accepted activity. But I can’t, for the same blood flows through my veins. Help us.

Sanctuary

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The shower has become a place of great solace for me. It is the one place I am allowed to remove the plastic splint that has become my right arm night and day. I have grown more accustomed to the scar on my wrist, and though the sensation of touch still feels foreign, I hold it with an almost reckless abandon, reminding (or deluding) myself that the superficial wound is totally healed.

I went to my old sanctuary today - the basketball courts. I checked out a basketball and started dribbling with my remaining left hand. The sound of the ball hitting the parquet grow more and more furious as I willed my left not only to be as dextrous as my right, but make up for my not having them both.

It is a weird feeling seeing other people shoot the ball and knowing that you can do no such thing. A movement that has always been so much a part of my life deprived from me. No swish of the net.

I pound the ball harder and faster. I am thankful for this journey into dependence and reflection. Of course, deep inside I await the day I remove the splint and hit the courts hard.

Grief

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Why do people kill people?

A terrorist bomb went off at a nightclub in Bali, a tourist haven not far from Singapore. Not far at all.

Just as terrorism seemed to take a step back, violent events close to home and heart tear the very fabric of humanity once again. Where there was once some semblance of honour even in the midst of war, we now find none.

None at all. No humane thought. No correlation to any agenda. What pisses me off the most is that there is no courage whatsoever.

Miles and miles away, I sit here shocked. Andrea lost a friend. It is not the sense of safety that I fear we lost. It is the humanity.

We have arrived at the lowest pits of morality.

Flying South

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Caught Sweet Home Alabama starring Reese Witherspoon.

There’s something to be said about Southern hospitality, or at least from what was portrayed in the movie. I guess it was just nice to step outside the city-life mentality a bit, and possibly believe that there are places out there that value communal life over individualistic endeavours.

I find myself wanting to go to those “redneck” counties just to see if this life actually existed. I’m sure there are places here small enough where everyone knows each others’ names, and where people stay close.

But I know that these communities are built over a lifetime - stories of childhood adventures and the path to adulthood. I know that my time has past and there are times I forget for a brief moment my roots in Singapore.

My roots there seem so cluttered, so ephemeral. Maybe I’ve been away for too long, but working towards making more money all the time just doesn’t cut it for me. It often seems we are all batteries to fuel the “economy”. There’s always talk about how we need to suck it up, or bear with it for the sake of the “economy”.

Making it big on the world stage. Being the best. We toil on and on, almost endlessly. Do I, and can I find life in all this?

Midnight Madness

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Warning: Hoop Talk.

Friday marked the start of the basketball season with Midnight Madness once again. The festivities before midnight were negligible - $10,000 half court shot etc. Everybody wanted to see the preseason number one basketball team in the country take the court.

The slam dunk competition last year was disappointing to say the least. The new freshmen we brought in this year were phenomenal. Hassan Adams threw himself a bounce pass that everyone felt was way too far away from the rim. He took two steps, got airbourne and dunked it. He must have taken off just inside of the elbow of the key.

Those hops were reminiscent of midnight madness 2000, when Richard Jefferson (now with the New Jersey Nets) dunked the basketball jumping over two cheerleaders standing shoulder to shoulder.

Road to the final four begins.

Veging Out

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Min and I caught Veggietales the Movie over the weekend. Though a closet fan of the half-hour long Veggietales, a full-length movie was a little too strenuous. The Veggies did quite a good and detailed study of the biblical Jonah though.

Specifically, it addressed the one question that lay on the minds of most who were familiar with the account of Jonah. Why did the book of Jonah end so abruptly?

Frankenstein

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I had the stiches on my wrist removed today. It was weird looking at a part of me that lay hidden under layers of bandages and a cast for the past ten days. it almost seemed no longer a part of me. It lay there detached, devoid of any knowledge of its existence. Poking at it with my other arm, it awakens but for a moment before disappearing back into oblivion.

The scar that runs down the wrist has not healed completely yet. With holes running down its side from which the stiches held the two previously seperate pieces together, it looked every bit the part of a low-budget horror film.

According to the doctor, everything’s looking great. I now wear a black splint which I remove when I shower. Apart from those precious twenty minutes or so, I comes across visually as a die-hard Michael Jackson fan.

I’m just thankful that recovery is going as planned.

Baby Loobylu!

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Claire’s baby is absolutely gorgeous!

Congrats Claire! It is an amazing experience just to see Amelia Joan’s picture. All the best, girl.

Education

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Though a university degree and the relevant qualifications used to be the hallmark of an educated person, I feel that in today’s context it has little worth. Today the masses hurl their gold coins at the once lofty giant that the education institution once was. He bends down to pick up the fruits of commerce and now his corpse lays bear for the consumption of all.

The true spirit of education is not so much the acquisition of knowledge, but a quickening from apathy.

Copy - Right

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As Eldred vs Ashcroft gets into court today, Matt Haughey writes an excellent article on copyright, and gives us the vision of what Creative Commons sets out to achieve.

As Einstein once said, “There is no such thing as creativity. It’s only how well you hide your sources” (paraphrased). This day of digital manipulation the fear on the side of the artist is the public’s new-found ability to produce perfect copies, and in a display of altruism share it with the world, depriving them of the millions and millions of dollars they had gotten used to getting.

Creative Commons seeks to establish copyright protection for a reasonable time, and then enrich the public domain by making these works available to everyone.

As children, even as adults, we all learn by example. How do we move on as a species if all these examples come with a price tag on them?

Write is Right

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After the longest time of not taking photos, stubborness triumphs over a lack of dexterity as I walked to school in the cool of the morning. The weather has finally decided to give us all a break from the oven-like temperatures of summer. I raise my index finger slowly, and depress a button on my camera. It feels so good to be capturing pixels again.

Writing, on the other hand, is still a challenge due to the splint I have to wear. It restricts the movement of my right thumb, thereby ending any attempts to hold a pen or pencil in proper writing form. I have been practicing with my left, and though legible, the speed at which my left hand writes is a liability should professors be less than kind to offer me tests on a keyboard.

This exercise in ambidexterity is not merely a physical one. I concentrate hard to notice the nuances that occur within my brain. After a while of writing left-handed I lose my ability to spell the simplest of words, and it is more often the fear of writing something wrongly than a physical disability that renders my hand illegible.

Birthday Wishes

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Happy 1st Birthday, MoveableType. Like the old Garth Brooks’ song goes,

It’s a long way to heaven, and one hell of a ride.

These few years of switching between Blogger and MoveableType (and intermitten attempts at GreyMatter), I hope MT will stay as my content management system of choice for years and years to come.

Thanks Ben and Mena, for the tool that has helped facilitate the exchange of so many thoughts, ideas and dreams. May all of yours come true.

Pinky and the Brain

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I believe, and I’ve been believing for some time, that Mary-Kate and Ashley are out to take over the world. There is absolutely no getting past the fact. It is blatantly rubbed in our faces as the Olsen Twins conquer every single aspect of human life.

There is Mary-Kate and Ashley cosmetics, a fashion line, their own magazine and a sitcom, just to cite a few examples. I was at Wal-Mart just this morning and saw a Mary-Kate and Ashley CD-Player. I had half a mind to run amok the store and start tearing at my clothes.

Here at home (in Tucson), they are affectionately known as the eyebag sisters. Anyone who had the misfortune of catching an episode of Full-House would have noticed this small kid (played by the Olsen Twins of course) with the humongous eyebags. Frankly, they were so large I was afraid they’d trip over them at some point in the show.

Saddam, Osama, Bill Gates…they are all a ruse. A decoy. A diversion from the world being swallowed whole by the eyebag sisters.

Jigsaw Fracture

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There are some blessings that you’d never have known you received had someone not pointed it out to you.

Though initially incensed at the doctor I visited in Singapore for not detecting the wrist fracture I suffered, Auntie Elizabeth (a wonderful elderly sister in Church back in Singapore) had some wiser persepctives on the issue.

She too, was enraged and pained at my plight upon hearing it, and it was after much prayer that she realised the good that came out of the errant diagnosis. If I had found it out in Singapore, it would have been hard to carry out follow-up treatment as I would have had to fly back here to Tucson.

I had wanted to share this sooner, but until now I have been unable to type with both hands. It feels so good to be able to produce text at a reasonable speed again.

On the day of my surgery I had brought in a book by Keith Green, “A Cry in the Wilderness” to read while waiting on the doctor. When I asked Doctor Thomson if he would put the book away with my other things before I went into surgery, he picked it up and read the short synopsis at the back before asking me how far into the book I was. I had finished reading the book once before and thanks to a website design flaw at Amazon.com, I had two copies of the same book. I declned his offer to pay me for it, and I gave the copy I had in hand to him.

It was one of those moments when you saw how everything fell into place, and it was a most marvelous experience.

Two One thumbs up.

Forgot other thumb was kinda tied down.

Stick 'Em Up

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Taking a shower has become quite the challenge. Keeping the cast on my wrist dry takes up an additional five to eight minutes spent rigging up an awkward contraption made up of rubber bands and a garbage bag. The end result is hilarious: Not only do I look like a garbage man dancing in the rain, the fact that I do this with one arm raised means that I look like a garbage man dancing in the rain standing atop a roofless subway train. When I bend my head sideways to avoid a direct hosing on my arm, I even imagine the sound of loud screeching brakes.

I am thankful for one thing though. Had I broke a foot rather than my wrist, every shower would be an amateur rendition of Michelle Kwan.

Perfect

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It has been a time of physical disabling, but alsof spritual awakening. In the light of so many praying and hoping around me, I am touched that I do not suffer my pain alone.

Thanks to you all who have encouraged me, strengthened me, or just watched over me. I continue to struggle, a one-armed man, an oddity in a world of able-bodies. I now notice the disabled more, and smile as we share a moment of recognition, and battle on.

Small gestures make life more than merely bearable. The sandwich-lady who cut my sandwich in small quarters, the casier who felt outraged enough to tell me to sue my doctor, my sister who washes the dishes and brings me my pills…and so many others, make life absolutely glorious.

Indeed, His strength is made perfect in my weakness. And my weaknesses are many.

Junkie

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The nerve block they gave me on my right arm is wearing off and a dull ache has become a constant companion. I’ve often wondered how people dealt with pain on a daily basis, and now I find the answer firsthand.

Those that choose to dwell on it feel it up close, much like sticking one’s head right smack in a loudspeaker at a rock concert, but if there are enough things to distract you, it becomes a kind of background noise, always present but forgettable.

I’ve chosen to go easy on the pills so as to maintain my consciousness, and my balance. I do not like the feeling of being in a state of dependence. A full dose eases the pain, but makes standing and walking hard. It becomes hard to concentrate on things, and now I understand why some choose to walk this path when reality becomes too difficult to face.

I read what I have typed and I see that my voice has changed. My one working hand is unable to express my thought at the speed which I’ve become used to, and the result souds both juvenile and confused as visual images of letters fly fast and furiously, my one hand trying to hit them all.

I move and move, and yet I speak so slow.

Wait for me.

Wrist Update

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The operation proved more complex than the doctors thought it would be. Apparently the constant moving due to sessions of physiotherapy and my playing basketball made the bone fragments shift further than they ought to have been.

I’m utterly dizzy now, and looking at a computer screen isn’t helping. I guess I’ll just stop here.

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