slow down the world, I need to get off this train...

Have we all looked but not seen? Heard but not listened? Have we touched but not felt? Thought but not known?

Sometimes I feel this world is moving so fast I can hardly breathe. So can everyone please slow down- even if its for just a bit- Rie needs to get off the big busy yellow train. Not for long, but at least for a while; there are roses she needs to smell.

Paradox of Our Times: Dr. Bob Moorehead
We have taller buildings, but shorter tempers;
Wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.
We spend more time, but have less;
We buy more, but enjoy it less.
We have bigger houses and smaller families;
More conveniences but less time;

We have more degrees but less sense;
more knowledge, but less judgment;
more experts, but more problems;
more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly;
laugh too little, drive too fast;get mad too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values;
We talk too much, love too seldom and lie too often.
We’ve learned how to make a living but not a life.
We’ve added years to life, not life to years.
We’ve been all the way to the moon and back,
but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.
We’ve conquered outer space but not inner space.
We’ve done larger things but not better things,
We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul.
We’ve split the atom but kept our prejudices whole.
We write more, but learn less.
We plan more but accomplish less.
We learned to rush, but not to wait.
We have higher incomes but lower morals.
We have more food, but less taste,
We build more computers to hold more information,
to produce more copies than ever; but we have less communication.
We have become long on quantity, but short on equality.

These are times of fast foods and slow digestion;
tall men and short character; steep profits and shallow relationships.
These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare;
more leisure and less fun; more kinds of food but less nutrition.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.
These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality,
one night stands; overweight bodies and pills
that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.

These are days in which we can choose to stand up and make a difference
or pretend that we never heard these cries at all.

you fell in love...

"I fell in love with a brokened heart-
I realised that this day.
For hours past, though seasons change-
The splints have yet to heal.

I fell in love with a brokened heart-
Yet I dare not turn back Time.
No warm July to heal the wounds-
Must be beyond repair.

I fell in love with a brokened heart-
Blinded to all the cracks.
Yet I'll never have to see them-
Cos my love will fill the gaps.

I fell in love with a brokened heart-
Never even knew.
For for always, and forever
I'll never see the scars."

To all of you that drew the short end of the stick to my luckier, longer one-
You know who you are.
A million thanks will never suffice. Love you all.

life's fine print

I have an issue with fine prints. I think if there's anything important that needs to be said it should be written in BIG BOLD LETTERS, maybe even with glittering or flashing lights. Or both. But no. All the useless stuff takes centrestage and all the stuff that could get you in trouble- or sometimes out of trouble- are all written in teeny weeny, itsy bitsy type set. Worse, they write alot alot alot of stuff in these fine prints. Like paragraphs upon paragraphs of verbal chatter, much of it in some form of legalese or other, in print which we are expected to read. I mean, look, we have a serious myopia problem as it is.

And we evolve. Sometimes these fine prints aren't even real fonts, written in the special "I told you so last week/month/year" ink; typeset in the "Now you see it now you don't" template. Fine prints that sometimes sneak up on you cloaked in terms like "obligation"; in "promises"; "duty." Talk about wolves in sheep clothing.

Click to read this

Sometimes we mask our real agenda in these fine prints, thinking that probably no one but the detail-insane would discover. And so you think you're safe. You've got one up on the guy you planned on suckering. Then someone does the unthinkable. They read the fine print, they plough and belabour these strange and new language. They make sense of the warped syntax, conjucations and terms and you're busted.

So I learn. I learn to read these fine prints that sometimes say: "Say good by to your social life"; "hello torture"; "I got ya good"; "I own you"; "Slog for peanuts"; "Put me on a pedestal"...

And when I stumble- though now I'm more aware of these quickbites- upon these fine prints, I simple take it and throw it in the bin. Why waste time on the innae and the superfluous? I have better things to do than entertain your little mind game, too many things to do really: saving the world, eradicating poverty, educating the heart...

midnight in the garden

I have a theory about people. Some people believe that we change with time and we get stronger, we get weaker. We get better and we get worse. Some even believe that we can reform, or conversely, backslide into the dark abyss.

I believe that a person never changes. The core of a person remains though the manifestation of that core may differ. Whether we're innately good or evil- or both in some sort of strange concoction- its all there. Its a constant. We may find ways to hide, or to modify the expression of who we are; we learn to behave better, to mask the lies better, to play the game better, to master and execute the shennigans of the todays and tomorrows. We simply learn to paint a better mask to hide the truth beneath.

Some people view life as a do-or-die competition, a zero-sum game. And they will always see life that way. They will make up stories, assumptions and theories about this and that to fit into that paradigm. But over time, as complacency sets in or maybe when things come to a crunch the inner core will surface and be manifested. They pull stunts to take the credit where its not due, bully the weak because they think they can win, sabotage the very hands that plough the fields that feed them.

But everything in life comes a full circle. Everything in in its place, in its time. How you think reveals and perceive tells about the you inside. The core that never changes. How you behave is a reflection of who that person inside truly stands for. Doing "good" means nothing if the intention's wry. Saving the world for your own skin is theatrical heroics with a bad review.

In the garden of good and evil, the scales for each of us have already been weighed out. How do you measure up? Are the scales tipped to one side? Or dead-weight centered? I sleep well at night. Do you?

jbleumd up wrdos

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

It Is Fnuny. But, if we raed lkie tish all the tmie, we wuold go mad.
Tehn aaign, msot of us are paorblby hlaf mad msot of the tmie, aywany.


Btw, on a more psychological note. If you want to read more about it see: http://www.dianahsieh.com/blog/2003/10/more-word-jumbles.html

picture postcards

Its always nice when someone makes a promise. Especially a nice promise- one that makes you happy, one that makes you think that maybe tomorrow will be better, one that makes you believe that perhaps this promise is for real. We've all know promises like that.

Sometimes these promises are kept- all well and good- good on ya buddy! Then there are times when these promises are not kept, but flouted and broken on purpose, like clockwork. Almost like someone put a schedule to the un-breaking, non-keeping of these promises. But these are clear cut types.

What happens when the promises are kept- but only sort of. Promise. Promiss. Small difference, big difference. Broken rather, by default rather than design. Because something always comes up, something always needs immediate attention, something dire, crucial, oh-so-important that needs to be taken care of first. Excuses wearing the operatic mask of truth and the unchangable must-dos. So the promise is not really broken, but only just. Like a criminal getting off on some chain-of-command technicality. After all, he was willing to plead, just not serve the time. Smart thing to do really.

So I've learnt a new kind of promise, a kind of promise we, perhaps, all should learn to make, because we never really have to keep it. So come onboard the bandwagon those of us who wish to make the vows that make us look good, help us seal the deal, to score the hit. After all, it is a promise. Well, not really, but only just.

"Cos something always comes up, somethings always makes her stay. Still no picture postcard from LA." We learn something new everyday.

staring into the abyss

Ram and I began a conversation years ago debating the waiting for a Godot that never came. Over the last nine years we have debated countless other events, some spectacular, others not so. We have seen many strange things, weird happpenings and queer characters- really, more than perhaps any normal quarter decade old ought to. Last night, no less while crossing the insignificant, unspectacular, normal, plebian overhead from this side of the road to the other, we debated the Abyss.

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche, "Beyond Good and Evil"

But I say, my good Sir, it is still but early to speak of the Abyss. For first, we must speak of Truth.

"But Truths are but Illusions we forget are illusions....and Faith is the not wanting to knon that that is Truth."
"Life is the illusion. Death is but the Truth." - Friedrich Nietzsche

(For those insane enough to read/study/contemplate/discuss Nietzsche, you may head over to www.nietzsche.com to take a closer look. But remember, be careful where you stare, lest it stares back at you.)

sharpen those silver arrows

As usual, the race could have been better, they could have scored their first 1-2 victory in a long time, they could have stayed out of trouble, they could have not had their race strategy disrupted by the safety car, they could have read the weather better; Juan could have not been involved in that accident; they could have... but well, Kimi bags another victory, holds off Alonso's championship bid at least one race more. Am totally pleased Celine Dion (otherwise known as Mike Schumy to the rest of the world) is no longer able to win the championship. He said before that the heralding of a new era of younger, better drivers would be his indication to step down, well Celine, they have arrived. To a another race, another battle... there is still much to look ahead.

quidam

"Quidam: a nameless passer-by, a solitary figure lingering on a street corner, a person rushing past. It could be anyone, anybody. Someone coming, going, living in our anonymous society. A member of the crowd, one of the silent majority. The one who cries out, sings and dreams within us all. This is the 'quidam' that Cirque du Soleil is celebrating."

I am one lucky girl, scored free preview tickets to catch this visual extravaganza.

It was totally stunning visually, musically and theatrically. It was bittersweet and poetic; kinda of vaudeville meets the turkish gypsy kings meets one's childhood merry-go-round. I've had the luxury to watch all the three performances that have come to town- this one absolutely took my breath away. Not so much that it was more complicated or the stunts were better; but simply cos there is a subtle underlying sense of bewilderment tainted by a melancholic rim of sighs that hangs over you as you watch, leave and ponder on what it was, and what it could be...

a thousand words

Sometimes a picture does paint a thousand words.

Photographer friend of mine has a 2 sets of gorgeous prints for sale for charity. Below's just a sample.
He's at www.kennethkohphoto.co.uk. (Link from his "blog")




Neth: Just go be a photographer, forget the medicine medicine thing- with shots this gorgeous... really...

brainwave

I have brains evidently.

Your Brain's Pattern

Your mind is a creative hotbed of artistic talent. You're always making pictures in your mind, especially when you're bored. You are easily inspired to think colorful, interesting thoughts. And although it may be hard to express these thoughts, it won't always be.

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

Plus, its supposedly in pretty good shape....

Your IQ Is 120

Your Logical Intelligence is Above Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Exceptional

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

library across town

Kim wrote the sweetest thing for me the other day:

"There are people you forget and smiles that fade away.
There are moments you regret and people who dont stay.
But sometimes you meet someone and that someone sticks around,
Filling the world around you with her laughters infectious sound.
She reads like an open book, with words crossed out and missing pages,
In a library across town. A book that requires patience, reading it in stages.
Pretty words are all it takes to make a pretty poem,
But it takes a pretty heart to make a pretty woman."

Cheers babe. Miss ya!

bye bye reds, hello silver arrows

Cherie is a happy girl.
Michael Schmacher (henceforth known as Celine Dion cos he looks like her) is out of the chase for the championship; mathematically he's unable to catch Alonso. I say: BRING OUT THE CLAPPERS!! I'll be fair, he's a pretty good driver who has had a good run for three main reasons: the car was good and relaible; he had Barichello helping him out; he had no real other competitor.



Cherie is a happy girl.
The Maclarens are faster than they have ever been. They have a kick ass driver line-up. They have a gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous car. They are back on track. Plus, we won last night at Monza.

mango

I have the cutest puppy in the world.
At least this one has more brains than the other cutest puppy- now not so puppy anymore.



Everyone, meet Mango.
My dad named her- don't ask. It was better than the other choices: Bacon, Ham, Durian...
He's into food.

paintings

I was never really blessed with artistic abilities- I can, at best, dabble here and there with craft stuff but nothing artsy. My mom's got all the talent. We (my sisters and I) got her a oil painting set; dad pitched in with the professional lessons... this is the gorgeous gorgeous result.



The plan is to hold an auction for charity when she has about 16 paintings. Probably in 2006- start saving up people.