Sunday, December 25, 2005

Things to raise a glass of Champagne to

Trashy dance songs that inspire a wave of short-sighted nostalgia.

That same nostalgia raising a frission of fear that I may have screwed up something that might have actually been important.

The dozens of brilliant short stories I've read this year.

Another year, another edition of FM.

Family dinners and remarkably well-priced bottles of Veuve and St. Julien.

Shirts with interesting stitched details.

Losing teeth with every trip home.

That pounding, piercing headache that greets me every morning.

A bouquet of roses, working out nicely.

A panicked thought of carved wood.

Final Fantasy 12, a single player game.

PS3 finally having a release date.

A quiet holiday back home, achieved by avoiding publicity.



Rain heavy enough that I could barely see the roads in the middle of the day.

Doctors and staff at NUH and St. Luke's.

Sneaky nurses.

Evil people.

Picking a topic.

Anti-social people.

Forced, uncomfortable, fearful, panicked, unclear, inaccurate clarifications.

And most of all, roti prata.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Too bad

Sometimes I wonder if I set an impossible standard for others. Perhaps I simply expect too much from people, and when I'm disappointed, I have simply set myself up for it. I have wondered before if I am becoming an idealist, and I think the answer to that is becoming increasingly clear. I have idealised the behaviour of those I know to the extent that I am surprised by what I already know about them.

On many an occasion, I am tempted to snap at some people, to remind them to be polite, to do the right thing, to show some consideration. Then I stop myself, swallow my words, tell myself that I have no right to tell people how to behave or what to say. Even when I might be considered to have that right, by some vagary of social norms, I personally find it profoundly irritating when others try to tell me what to do with regards to an arbitrary standard of behaviour, so I endeavour to avoid doing just that to others. A case of doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, I suppose. It seems to me to be an extremely reasonable way of going about your life.

I do not necessarily mean in the exact sense of the phrase, where you really act towards others in a way that you would want them to act towards you, but rather I mean that the same standards should be applied. For example, I am certainly not as pleasant to a waiter as I would expect him to be to me, but I treat him in a way that I feel is reasonable considering that I am a paying customer, and he is compensated to serve me. I respect him as a human being, but recognise that in that particular setting, he is an underling. Similarly, if I were a waiter, I would expect such an attitude from the customers. I see no reason for service staff to complain about being bossed around by fussy customers. That's their job. I would understand complaints about unreasonable abuse or physical demonstrations of displeasure. That is beyond the bounds of what is covered by professionalism.

I can barely stand it when I have to swallow hard and look away, but I do that because it is the way I believe I should lead my life. Then when I think about it, I realise that there is no reason that I should be upset, since I mostly already know what that person was going to say or do. I can sometimes read people pretty well, and most behaviour is well within the bounds of expectation. I can fairly effectively anticipate how people will react to many given situations. Most reactions are far from pleasant. Yet, I somehow assume that these same people will adhere to some ridiculous code of conduct that I make up for myself, even when this code clearly contradicts what I know will be done. Always, when I find myself surprised and repulsed by the actions of others, upon the slightest reflection, I can see no reason to be surprised. The repulsion remains.

Most people would say to this that this is the way the world works, that's life, too bad, get on with it, accept it and adapt.

I say that this is the way the world works, and it's a pity.