Motorcycles in a cage

Damn. 4 am here and I'm still wide awake. Ever have one of those nights when your brain is just going into overdrive even as you try to convince yourself to slide into hibernation? I think I think too much. Very troublesome, especially at times like this.

Maybe I'll go out and do touristy things in the morning. Head out to the Champs Elysee and chill, poke about the Eiffel Tower, banal things like that. Bring a book and make it a day.

Hmmm, let me think about what I can type about. Perhaps something along the lines of . . .

Thoughts are slipping from focus. Just whirling about, unable to pause and let me have a good look. Very disturbing. Perhaps it is a sign of progression. I recall when I was younger, I didn't think so much, really. I wasn't an introspective sort, just very chill. When things didn't work out, I just tossed it aside. I depended on others for inspiration. I lived through the works of science fiction and fantasy writers, never bothering to fabricate worlds of my own. As I progressed through high school and the army, my internal monologue suddenly became clearer to me, and it was fascinating. As if I were discovering a new person. The way I thought about things altered radically, and new perspectives came easily. The problem was that I never really knew what was real and what was false. I was not schizophrenic, but I was able to think through and understand so many different points of view that I could hardly discern which was my own true opinion.

That's interesting, isn't it? If I am able to perceive many different viewpoints, then how can any single one of them be uniquely mine? After all, if all of them are within my mind, then my mind has produced all of them, so I cannot help but know them all. As such, to label any single one as my actual unique opinion would be superficial. All of them are my opinions. How is it possible to assess which one is true?

Ooh, a topic at last. So, how can a person assess which of the thoughts in his head he agrees with? In a purely logical way, it is hardly possible. Every method has its own unique logic, which may not always be comprehensible to other points of view, but since I am capable of understanding it, the logic should be apparent to me as well. So which logic is superior? That would require a separate thought process to make such an assessment. This separate thought process must then be considered. Logic can hardly be its base, for it would be impossible to assess something using itself. If we did so, there would always be only one way of thinking about it, and all other forms of logic and their conclusions would be discarded out of hand, impossible to understand at all.

So what then? Morals? Morals are nebulous enough to be accepted as arbiters, I suppose. After all, morals are basically ideas that have been hammered into one's head by rote, more or less. To truly be a moral person in deed and thought, the basis of the morals cannot be questioned. To question one's own morals is to basically lose them. Sounds ridiculous? Look at it this way. Take a person who has to contemplate the appropriate behaviour every time a moral dilemma occurs. If there is a need to deliberate over an action, then there is always a possibility, however remote, that the action contrary to the pre-existing morals will be taken. After all, that is the point of deliberation, is it not?

So morals it is. If it is morals, then the question does arise of how it is that I cannot decide which of the thoughts in my head I really agree with. I think that is part of my problem overall. I do not really believe in very much, or care for anything, because I cannot decide what I think is true. If truth is a concept that has no real weight, then it is impossible to care for anything, for it is not truthful. How can one believe in something that is thought of as a lie?

The thing is, I keep running into situations where my feeble attempts at faith are shattered. True love is beyond my grasp, for I truly have not met anybody who I care about enough to change for. As I put it earlier today, my sense of self is too strong, to the point where I cannot really imagine anyone becoming important enough to make me change. I can see myself wanting to change, but weighing it off against my pride in being myself, it always loses out. On the other hand, true love shouldn't be about being someone else, should it? Ok, so true love is an empirical test, thus far failed.

Friendship. All I can say is, ha! Whenever friendships have been tested, they have frequently been found wanting. The slightest provocations bring a chilling, a breakdown. Most friends will only be your friend if you are constant in being what they first befriended. Reasonable, actually. But people change all the time. So I'm caught here between reason and sentiment. The trouble sometimes is that things change ever so clightly, and the relationship collapses, and my personality exerts itself, ensuring that I cannot be the only one trying to adjust. If the other party cannot accept that I am who I am, which is subject to change sometimes, then I am not about to force myself to shift back. That would be grovelling, which I do not do very well at all.

Oh, just thought of a brilliant analogy for my state of mind currently. It's like those circus things where some guy stands in the middle of a globular cage, with motorcycles whirling about the inside of the cage. I stand in the middle of my thoughts, unable to focus on any single one of them, afraid to reach out for fear of what I will find if I delve too deeply.

Cynical, some people say I am. I say I am only afraid of myself, my own mind, my own thoughts, my own emotions. Far better to withdraw from them, since I am not caught in them already, as is most of the world about me.

Bored to tears in Paris

Argh, after a long long exhausting journey that has taken me to Paris, I am now bored stiff.

It all started with a pretty horrendous finals week, topped off with a twelve hour marathon packing session. Right after that disgusting experience, I zipped off on a road trip to the east coast. Of course, it had to be dark and rainy and freaky. Still the trip was a'ight, saw people I sort of knew from before, stood on the rocky steps in philadelphia, photo-whored a bit in washington, ate at 2 iron chef restaurants, both excellent. Morimoto was probably the best japanese food I've ever tasted, and Babbo is very possibly the best meal period I've ever had. The cheese course was pretty much an orgasmic experience. I actually called people to taunt them. It helped that I was a little drunk. New York was a sad affair. Rain and snow on the only day I was there. Got to go back in summer, when it definitely won't be snowing. Still, the meal alone was worth it.

So now I'm in Paris, and my laptop can't connect to the wireless network for some reason. Targets of hundreds of bottles of wine to consume have already been abandoned. I think I should find some way to amuse myself while I'm here. Can't even download anime.

Oh, here's my spiel on My HiME. It's an anime series, btw. It sounds like the typical pointless anime, girls in a high school who pilot giant robots. As it progresses, it becomes more complex and interesting. In the beginning, there are random-looking monsters that are easily dispatched by the girls. As it turns out, the monsters are controlled by this girl who's a genetically engineered version of the HiMEs, these being the girls who have the ability to summon the robots. So the girls get together, and the main character blows up the evil girl's robot, and all seems well. It is then revealed that the girls are expected to fight each other. The reason for this is that every 400 years or so, some sort of divine entity will visit earth, bringing disaster with it. The battles between the HiMEs are meant to amuse and placate him, bringing another 400 years of peace. The catch is that when the girls fight, they generally only destroy the robots, not each other. The problem is that when the robots are destroyed, the person whom the controlling girl has the most affection for will die. So there's an added element to the mix, where the girls cannot even take the stance of moral self-sacrifice, fo the matyrdom will be adopted by their dearest person, not themselves. Girls being girls, boyfriends keep dying as things become chaotic. The main character's little brother dies as the object of affection for another HiME, so she becomes confused as to whether she should get too close to this guy she has a crush on. As battles come to be more frequent, some HiME's snap and start attacking randomly, some try to keep the peace. Even the best of friends lose control and attempt murder. There is a disconnection from the the act of murder in most cases, as the destruction at hand is of a robot, and has little visible effect on any human. However, there is a knowledge that a death somewhere will occur. If an action is not murder, but will cause a death, does it constitute murder?

Here we have a fascinating moral dilemma, a complex web of relationships that have far reaching consequences for all characters involved, pretty good action. Hey, what more can a person ask for from a source of entertainment?

Ok, by request, andy just sighed and proclaimed something in chinese, which being on xd's computer, I have no idea how to type out.

Alright, I'm bored stiff. Gonna go find something to do now. Either that, or something to eat. Or take a nap. Maybe I should go do touristy things tomorrow.

A day

People complain that I don't blog about my life. So here you go. This is my day.

Two of the worst finals I have ever experienced.

Waking up at 6 am and realising it's already bright, and that's why I'm sleeping so poorly.

Sitting in hutch unable to think of anything but sleep.

Wandering in the cold after giving up on a final, slowly losing the feeling in my hand, noticing, but not really paying attention.

Pacing my room, sucking down gallons of apple juice while muttering random facts about social security and bribery.

Realising that I'm starving 5 minutes into a 3 hour exam, and the only thing to eat is a box of tic-tacs.

An awful pain in my shoulder, likely because I'm sitting at my computer so much.

Forgetting to add cheese to my scrambled eggs.

Eating an entire box of tic-tacs in half an hour.

Sitting in the bus wondering what you forgot today.

Realising at the last minute that you forgot to do half the studying.

Realising that was not what you forgot.

Realising that what you did forget was better left forgotten, less painful and messy that way.

Irritating itch on my forearm.

Reduced to ordering pizza to satisfy my hunger pangs.

Wanting to just go to sleep, but can't, with the spectre of a 20 page paper due tomorrow that I haven't done any reading for looming overhead.

Turning away to watch iron chef now.

Weird

For some reason, I'm in an ever-improving mood today. Practically skipping about in joy. No explanation. Never happened to me before. I'm never in a good mood unless something good has happened. Come to think of it, maybe something has. After tossing aside the burden of guilt, now I've divested myself of any and all sense of obligation. I've done as much as can be expected, and if it isn't enough, well, whatever. I shouldn't have been expected to do anything in the first place. Things aren't supposed to work like that. I don't owe anyone anything.

Ok, gonna keep the memory of a good day clean and nice by going to sleep now.

Lessons from the weekend

Number one, don't overestimate things or people. Some things are just not as significant as you might imagine they are. When you're caught in the fetish, so to speak, you cannot see the larger picture, and that which you focus on seems larger than it actually is. When you finally decide to just give up and step back, it loses so much of its lustre. Especially when you overestimate its importance in relation to other things. When you're caught up in it, you dismiss the exhortations of others that it is "just" whatever. You even ignore yourself. That little voice in your head isn't insanity, it is reason. Reason, unfortunately, gets underestimated more often than it is overestimated. Throwing up your hands and walking away, shaking your head, brings a clarity to the situation. All this is, and must be, beneath you. Things have to be much more than they are to justify so much thought and effort. Upon releasing it, it seems so small and insignificant as it floats away. There isn't even the slightest hint of the need to watch it depart, for there are other more pleasant, or perhaps more important things to consider.

Number two, this space on the world wide web has been taken much too seriously by some parties. This has, and always will be for as long as it exists, a repository for excess thoughts. They may not make sense, they may not reflect my true stance on any matter, or on the other hand, they might. In any case, whatever appears here is merely an image of what is leaking from my mind at any given moment. I think many things, and few of them have the wherewithal to survive the scrutiny of my mind. Also, if you do not wish to see this snapshot of my mind, do not return to this infinitesimally small corner of the Web. There are many other places to go for your pointless, voyeuristic amusement. I suggest blur studios and the international herald tribune.

Number three, Bartlett sushi is severely overpriced. Went out to a decent sushi spot last night, found that the maki rolls were the same price as in Bartlett. I am glad I have not returned to Bartlett this academic year. Seriously, Hyde Park needs better food. I am severely jealous of Northwestern University people who not only have a nicer view, they have better restaurants. I went to Trio recently, and it was seriously pretty fantastic.

Number four, my apathy and lack of enthusiasm for anything have reached new depths. I broke a date this weekend simply because I couldn't find the energy to go out and do my thing. Perhaps I am out of practice, and the sudden exercise of the old techniques has wearied me mentally. In any case, I simply could not muster the strength to change, go out, converse intelligently and engagingly for a few hours, take a carefully thought out walk, and so on and so forth. I cannot even bring myself to exert the usual control over my language. Maybe this same exhaustion has cost me something. Then, I simply could not handle another evening of cautious probing and pretending to be friendly. I just wanted to see someone who would actually be glad to see me. I really don't see why that's at all difficult to understand. Not much of a choice, really. I couldn't handle more of the ridiculous situation, and went with another situation where I was comfortable, and I was welcome. I do not have unlimited patience, and can only bear with so much before turning away. I'm tired of it, and so is everyone else, I imagine. I just don't really give a damn anymore. I can't even leave things on a cordial note. It's just so ridiculous. Nobody understands anybody. I don't claim to understand it. It's just a mess that I don't want to add to anymore, and nobody will let be cleaned up. Ah, whatever, I don't care anymore. I just don't, and I feel so much better for it. It's none of my business, and while my mind reflexively runs over the trained responses, none of them really resonate anymore. I was going to insert a 'Bloody hell.' here, but I wouldn't mean it. No venom can be drawn to spit out.

Number five, if you ever go to the White Castle near Chinatown, do not get out of your car. Not only are there no seats in the place, the area is really pretty damn ghetto. I cannot believe I walked past it on my own at 2 am, and didn't get mugged. Thank heaven for small, or possibly large, miracles. Besides, I suspect the hygiene levels of the restaurant aren't all that high. Don't ask about the evidence.

Number six, My HiME rocks. One of the best I've watched in a while. Almost as good as Naruto, definitely better than Full Metal Panic. Not even licensed yet. Go download and watch it.

Garbage

Gosh, an essay question about what's important to me. Let's try writing something about the army. I'll whack something out. What do you think?

The seminal experience of my life thus far has been the time I spent as a soldier in the Singapore Armed Forces, from December 2000 to June 2003. I came out of that time a completely different person than the one I was when I went in. While I do not claim that serving in a peacetime army compares to fighting in a war, it is those things I underwent outside of the usual concept of the army that changed me. Anyone can put on a uniform, slap on some camouflage paint and charge up a hill with a rifle. That is nothing more than physical exertion. It was a combination of many other things I experienced that forced me to change.

I enrolled in the Singapore Armed Forces two weeks after high school graduation. This was mandatory national military service for all male citizens over the age of eighteen. I was quite naturally rather disgruntled at the prospect of being forced to spend two and a half years of my life as a soldier in a country that had never gone to war as an independent nation-state. It seemed like a complete waste of time, and a perfect way to lose what seemed then to be the best years of my life. I would start college late; I have classmates who will graduate younger than when I matriculated at the University of Chicago. What made the entire prospect worse was the enthusiasm my parents and my older brother, who had already gone through the bulk of his service, expressed. I could hardly believe that anyone, save the foolish, would embrace a life of mosquito-infested jungles, soot-clogged rifles and water-logged socks.

By the way, I still hold that view. I believe that very few actually enjoy life as a soldier, and those who profess to love soldiering probably refer to an enthusiasm for protecting their country as part of the military. This is not a discussion of patriotism and its manifestations, however, so I will not digress.

Suffice it to say that I entered military service with a marked lack of enthusiasm. My first days seemed to prove me right. While the accommodations were adequate, I found it difficult to come to terms with the complete loss of privacy and a sense of self. The activity in every moment was dictated by the instructors for my basic military training, there were communal showers and toilets, and we spent a great deal of time trying to clean our surroundings to standards quite impossible in a jungle environment. I have always considered myself a reasonable sort, and was shocked by the complete lack of respect for reason I found in the workings of my training. We lived in sheer terror of our instructors, for there seemed no way to tell what would set them off. The collective was held accountable for the actions of selfish individuals, the erratic whims of non-commissioned officers, and the vagaries of nature. Even when we thought we had done the right thing, we found ourselves punished as often as not.

As time wore on, my resentment grew. I hated this life, and did not see how my fellows could enjoy themselves. This particular point has never really changed. I do not, and likely will never enjoy dragging myself by my elbows up a thirty degree incline through thorn-infested bushes with a rifle in my hands and fifty pounds of gear on my back. The change I referred to above was in other arenas.

In this environment, where it seemed that nothing was ever good enough to please the instructors, some people react by becoming the classic officer type. They try to go above and beyond, demonstrating what some consider leadership qualities by loud verbal exhortations of their peers to do better, or showing any and all that will see that they are capable of achieving the impossible goals set by the instructors. These are the classic alpha types, who garner a great deal of attention because they go to a lot of effort to do so. Instructors like them, they like themselves, and they thrive on any little scraps of praise they can garner.

I reacted in a different way. When I realized that it was fairly pointless to try to please my instructors, since they were not supposed to show that they were pleased in any case, I turned inwards for approbation. Without a source of external approval, I focused on doing everything I did as well as I could for no other reason than that I could. In other words, I started to try to succeed for my own sake. I had near perfect scores on the shooting range, but did not bother to publicize it, as did some others who were jockeying for attention. It was enough that I knew that I was good with a rifle, and I maintained my weapon perfectly. My instructors mostly nodded and let me go without fuss, while others who did not do as well would fish for compliments. In a workplace, this would disadvantage me, but I began to feel that it did not matter in the environment I found myself in. I was not going to sign on as a full-time regular after my mandatory service was complete, so any successes I had were only important insofar as I personally drew satisfaction from them.

When I completed my training and became a combat medical orderly, this became even more important. My duties included many administrative matters, particularly the maintenance of drug and medical stores that were used in combat training missions, the on-base medical center, and various external events. As anyone who has been in charge of a store can tell you, no one notices if a store is in good order, only if it is not. When supplies are ample, it is assumed to be the natural state of affairs. When things are in short supply, questions start to be asked about why that is so. In particular, since I was only in charge of the stores for the medical sub-unit, it was assumed that it was less difficult to maintain. I can assure you that this is not the case. The varieties of drugs and medical equipment, coupled with the remarkable amount of restrictions on many types of these made it a fairly complicated affair to keep everything in order. Prior to my posting to the unit, the senior medic of the unit had assigned four men to maintain the store. When I took over, things were in a complete mess, and the records were chaotic. I took stock of everything again, then insisted that my medical officer sit down with me and inspect all the items he was supposed to, a process that required four hours a day for two weeks, and had not been performed for years for that reason.

Few understood why I had bothered to go through this process, least of all my extremely exasperated medical officer. Most assumed that I would simply allow things to continue in the disarray they were already in. My decision to organize and straighten out the store was purely for my own satisfaction. Having been assigned this duty, I would perform it to the best of my ability, and ensure that I did a good job, even if nobody else knew about it. The only indication that I was doing my job well was the reduction of the number of men assigned to maintain the medical stores from four to one, me. To my knowledge, after I left the unit, the number of people assigned to maintain the stores has grown gradually to four again.

There were some instances where I was called on to assist in logistical support for medical services for large scale events. One particular event that stood out in my mind was the National Day Parade in Singapore. The parade itself had 15,000 participants and 55,000 audience members, many of them children. The organizers assigned 20 medics and 4 medical officers to provide medical assistance to about half of those. During one dress rehearsal, the audience was composed of 30,000 third-graders. As can be imagined, the number of those seeking medical assistance for problems ranging from asthma attacks to scraped knees to broken elbows was quite high. At one point, close to a hundred children were lined up outside our treatment area, many of them screaming their lungs out. Most people in my position would have called their superior officer and allowed them to panic over the situation. I called my superior officer, let her panic over the situation, and then set about trying to ameliorate it. I asked about half a dozen medics who were supposed to be on standby to assist me in checking and helping as many of the children as we could. While medics cannot diagnose and treat illness, we can treat surface wounds. In those cases where we could not effectively help the patients, we tried to organize the order in which the medical officers would see them, so that the more serious cases would be seen first. I doubt the medical officers ever even noticed that anything was being done, and nobody mentioned it, but I found satisfaction in knowing that I had done the best I could under the circumstances, and that was enough.

In cases where as a medic I encountered more serious injuries, the standard procedure is for four medics to assist the medical officer. Each of the four medics has a list of things he is supposed to do. In practice, many of these duties are swapped, as any particular medic may forget some things, or find that it is beyond him to do it. This is usually not a problem, as the medical officer is supposed to monitor and control the situation. I always took pride in knowing exactly what I was supposed to do, and doing it perfectly. I never required assistance, and in fact was usually the one who took over some of the tasks assigned to others. Such things are rarely noticed, but again, the knowledge that I am doing my job well was enough motivation.

I learnt self-motivation in military service, something that many people lose instead. In an organization of hundreds of thousands of people, most of them just trying to wait out their time, it is easy to simply lose interest. Many spend their days finding chances to take naps or circumvent their work. I never did so. I do not claim that my work was particularly difficult or challenging. It was not. The importance of what I learnt from this experience is not what I did, but how I came to see that no matter what the task, the most crucial motivation must come from within.

By the way, I know it's phoney. Anyway, please don't actually send me comments. I removed the comments for a reason. And I don't really give a damn who reads this stuff and what they think of it. So please stop sending me stupid emails.