I see ‘em!

The world is a dark place in Sweeny Todd. Have you watched it? Anyways as I drove back after the midnight movie I again asked myself the question that I ask myself often as I drive back in the dead of night.

"If a dishevelled person appeared in trouble by the side of the road in the dead of night, would I stop?"

Often at different nights, my own answers startle me, and this strange musing tonight made me all chilly.

While the most probable answer would be ‘call the police to help’ let’s take the guvment out of the picture for a moment. This after all is a personal morality test. In quite a few films, I have seen innocent people who get into trouble for trying to be good as a good samaritan and help the person in trouble. At times when I feel inspired/naive and want to champion all the good ethics in the world, I would think that I would stop and help.

However, there are easily many reasons not to stop, some good, some sad, and humans are rarely without a reason for long.

I’ve once read that there are many things that one can use as their underpinning in their life. This is basically a belief in something that you can always rely on. For anything. It will not fail you. Such things, from the frivolous to the sacred, are beliefs like: beauty, money, fortune, family, friends, religion, love and ethics. To the writer, all of the above can let you down eventually, all except ethics. To him, ethics is the one thing that is infallible or least likely for you to regret investing in.

Personally I hold love and ethics in very high regard. However, tonight, as I drove back, I found that a personal ‘motto’ that I have been thinking about in the past year has led me to be disappointed in myself.

My motto when it comes to anything dangerous is not ‘whether it will affect me’ but ‘even if there is a 1% chance that I might be hurt and that my partner might grieve/suffer for me - I would avoid that risk’.

Back to the car. Even the ’solid ground’ of love can lead one to drive past the needy man. There is the risk that he could be a no-gooder and I wouldn’t take that risk - in the name of love.

This answer that sprang from my heart surprised me and made the night darker - love can lead one to be heartless. In Sweeny Todd, a child’s love - such an innocent thing! - can even lead to murder. Within a movie, that is scary. But to really feel it, that my love for someone would make me consider an action as degrading as not helping someone - that is truly what I fear.

So perhaps there falls the belief in love as another great pillar. Love has made many a man do great things as well as stupid stuff. Better be careful with it. As for ethics, I have my own bone to pick with that one. But another day that. It is after all 4.04am now…

So that leaves the long road back home with more of the reassuring road lamps burned out. It is a dark journey riding home in silence. But instead of switching on the radio, perhaps it is good to ponder what lights the way into your heart.

P.S. In case this is a dark post - Make a guess at what one finds at the end of the ‘journey to the end of the night’?

For many years, I have bending my habits and thoughts towards eternity. By this I mean that I try to cultivate myself towards things that I can sustain for life. For example I enjoy reading and writing, and believe it to be a sustainable and wise hobby to bring towards ones older years. As for soccer? I’ve always said that the day I cannot play anymore will be the day I die, but maybe I might go into football management, haha. Now, at 25, it is time to take stock.

Anyways as one matures (me?), I find that it quite a discomfitting thought that my future is done and decided, me now sitting here typing and writing, loving my books - not much different from what I would probably be doing 60 years from now. At once comforting, now the thought of being the same throughout these 60 years already feels stale. Will I really grow old and stay the same?

Here I am thankful for my partner, because simply put, she gets me moving and growing. I know for certain that surely she’ll throw some spanners into the works, twist my life about abit, not let me get me so complacent. And in this way, I am thankful, because with her around, I cannot see my end so clearly, and the only sure thing in life - death - is pushed back, hazier.

Cheers, dear I can’t wait for our crazy Latin Fusion Samba on February 16th! That another thing I never imagined I would sign up for. Thanks for the ‘push’. Maybe we’ll be dancing ’til 60.

Hi! A new season of EPL has begun and guess everone’s bit quiet cos the only ones who wanted to boast (Man Utd fans) haven’t much to say with the recent run of results. The rest are just shocked at the strange results of the past weeks too (England winning?! Owen not injured? Fantasy football?)

Here’s a positively insannnnne picture to make this post more interesting. Appetiser.

Freekick!

Regardless of the silence, here’s a strange little tale I’d like to share with ya. Since if you do play soccer, whether it be with me or otherwise, it will concern you.

If you have been in contact with me, you would know that other than Sunday soccer, I also play at my place Castle Green on Wednesdays and/or Thursdays, in the evening. Since this all began, which was a year plus ago, I have been refering to the wed and thurs crowd to be ‘uncles’ - the name we give to those who basically cannot run and complain alot.

The wednesday bunch I always refer to as ‘the working uncles’, while the thursday bunch are the ‘China uncles’.

The incident that happened this thursday was with the China uncles.

Hitherto, my games with them have been a pleasure because I have a willingness to run (which basically means we will win - whoever has a running player will usually win). Uncle football - static football, haha. Anyways,  it was after a most fruitfull (goal-scoring-wise) match that I sat down with the core bunch of 6-7 of them. I was in my most comfortable ‘home-clothes attire’ which is my Hwa Chong top and was stretching when one of the ‘uncles’ asked me,

<translated from Mandarin>

‘You from Chinese High ah?’

‘Yes’ I looked at my top.

I was glad that they were actually talking to me because I often was quite quiet during the matches, quite the opposite when I’m with you guys right (play soccer with me and you’ll really know me)? haha right. Anyways, it was nice small talk and I felt like a nice little boy who was appreciated by tender loving elderly uncles. They were a close-knit gang of jokers and I enjoyed seeing them each week.

His reply:

‘Haha, we all also.’

I was astonished.

I looked at them, one was quite balding (like some China wushu exponent that came out of the mountain cave, another looked like the crafty guy from Shaolin Kungfu who hid the spanner and miscellaneous killing equipment in his pants while playing against Stephen Chow’s ‘monk’ team (i.e. he was nerdy, tallish and wore specs - hey sounds like someone I know well. Very well.), and other very china-looking fellows which I’ll not type more to describe in case I become some sort of discriminator-of-stereotype-perpetuator.

‘Oh, then how old are you all?’

‘28-29. Old men.’

I was doubly astonished. In case you don’t know, that’s 3 years older than me. Balding!? Running like Kieran Richardson?! Bellies!

I can’t remember some of the other inconsequential things I said as I was quite astonished.

‘Hey, then It could be that you are my direct seniors, I was in sec 1 while you all were sec 4.’

‘Ya, true! Haha. We used to play at the side field, kicking Chatek etc.’

I was triply astonished! Chatek. Lao Fu (the old and infamous disciplinarian), they began reminescing, laughing at each other about the good ole times. It was nice seeing these people that I thought uncles horsing around, childish (hey just like my sunday soccer bunch haha).

I felt really happy for these fellows, friends of over 15 years, still meeting up, real buddies, having seen each other when they were still boys, witnessing each other become men, get girlfriends, get married, get children, get hair-loss…

It makes me triply appreciate of my old friends. If you have some of these buddies in life, you know you are blessed with some precious treasure, real fragile and precious, precious and fragile like a thinly-worn meniscus. (did I spell it right?)

Here is what left me (pardon the nerd-speak) quadruply surprised.

‘Hahaha, so all of you, what class were you from?’

It had to be.

‘oh, 4M.’

My goodness me. M! M! M!

Heaven can’t script it better.

If you wrote it in a book, no one would believe you. But real life doesn’t have to be believable does it?

So for all of you whom have ‘brothers’, be thankful. For those of you who don’t have (or have sisters) go find out who are these ‘brothers’ in your life. Find them, and get them close (as close as a two-footed sliding tackle). Appreciate them.

Well you 4Mers, will we be uncles some day? Probably (or are we already?) Well hope that we will see each other through all of life’s ‘getting married’, ‘getting a kid’, ‘getting a screw put into the knee operation’. Whether we are uncles, or school boys, we will be that together eh?

Well buddies, I love ya all. May 4M live forever in us.

The Final Examination Question before graduating from the University of Soccer:  Is it more insane to play soccer in graduation gowns or to challenge the insane people who are wearing these gowns?

It has been great meeting up with different groups of my friends recently, especially when our friendships were forged at different periods of my life. Most of us have begun working by now and since studying has made up the bulk of my life, I am lacking in insight in the field of work.

From meeting Michael at Harbourfront, to Derrick the Army regular, my engineering friends, and hall buddies (not to forget my fellow teachers), each of them have given me some inkling of what the larger world outside might be.

At a ‘Basic Counselling Course’ at The Teachers’ Network yesterday, I was lucky to hear a very sincere and sobering line from a fellow colleague - Karen. She is the only one amongst us who has ever been working in the private sector has told me this - which I find especially bolstering, considering that I am feeling the difficulties that naturally accompany a new job. Here is what she told me,

‘Why I find teaching to be the most meaningful is because at the end of the day, when you’re pissed and fed up and disillusioned by everything, your job, your job purpose, your colleagues, your pay, the whole set-up, there should be one thing that will keep you motivated to the your best - the kids.

And that is true, since it coincides with one of my beliefs - the kids deserve the best, even if nothing else in the job deserves it.

I find it lucky that I have this line to keep me up for the next period of time before I get disillusioned (which we are all bound to feel some time or another).

So if you’re a teacher keep your chin up - the kids deserve the best!

They deserve you!

But if you aren’t a teacher, I hope that you are sharing with your colleagues about how they motivate themselves. Work life is basically what we are in for the next 30 - 40 years, so I hope that you find your reason to wake up each morning.

Otherwise you won’t want to wake up - then you’re better off dead.

So find your reason today! If you don’t have it, go do some searching - within or within other hearts.

It’s been quite a bummer of a time these recent months, with the pressures of Practicum and our time at NIE drawing to a close, i.e. assignments to hand in. Also, moving out of Hall X is an especially hectic and saddening time. But last week I was treated to a great surprise and it is one of the highlights of the year and perhaps of my 4 years in Hall. I was nominated for ‘Sports Captain of the Year 2006/2007′ at the Hall Awards Dinner! Yahoo!

It was to my great surprise when I saw my name before entering the Dinner Room at Nanyang Administrative(?) Center. ME! Wow! I almost did not come down as I had already moved out of Hall and was on attachment/practicum.

Anyways this is what it wrote:

Mark Tan (Handsome Picture not included haha)

Captain of the Takraw Team, he commands a fierce horde (Arooga!). Unlike the military, this captain is friendly, nice to talk to, basically a people’s person (what?!). He constantly seeks out new routines for training, gives encouragements to the team, spurring them to greater heights. Despite their unfulfilled campaign, the team has sworn to come back stronger the next year!

I wonder who wrote that! Must be Sylvia or one of the members of her Publications Committee. (Thanks!) Anyways I was delighted and shocked that they finally added a decent picture of me. Haha.

It was a night of great fun (no small part thanks to Freddie’s Ribbling) but I was a little anxious and not very hopeful cos the Basketball Captain was a pretty decent fellow and had brought them to the Semi-Finals this year. Also, of course, the captains of the rest of the games are pretty solid stuff too. Hopeful with fingers crossed. So it was a kind of just-enjoy-the-experience of hearing my name mentioned amongst the nominees night.

It has been a great experience being able to lead our Sepak Takraw team this year. It is a much different experience from leading our Scrabble team becos Scrabble is a much more ‘cultured’ activity (too many ladies haha) and we can’t do any of those chest-thumping, lion-roaring activities that my bunch were so fond of. ‘a fierce horde’ indeed. Of course, having just watched Frank Miller’s 300 in the cinema that day made recalling the experience of being in the team all that greater. It’s just something when lotsa sweat (buff?) guys get together and thrash-talk (this term is coined by Xiao Felix) and do all that guy fighting-bonding stuff. But damn, King Leonida’s Captain I ain’t. He was such a bad-ass in the show man. ‘basically a people’s person’ (sheesh couldn’t they have come up with something more fearsome? Haha. Like a Demons’ Person, or a Devils’ Person, or at least a Ladies’ Man?

Anyways I am quite proud to have been nominated and this is because it was an incredible journey for me - one of self-understanding and a lot of reflection. Why I say so?

Ok here’s the ultimate part: I thought so much about it that I actually wrote a 90% course essay for CED432: Thinking Skills in my final year. I put quite alot of effort into it and thought it was pretty good stuff (Got an A- so my tutor must have liked it too). Hopefully reading it will benefit the team (hope u all are reading, but unlikely considering that they are such ‘a fierce horde’ and barbaric bunch - no thanks to me, haha.) Anyways here’s the essay: (You can skip it if you want but there’s a twist to the end of this story so read it la!)

CED432: Thinking Skills – The Role of Motivation

Having lived for 3 years in NTU Hall of Residence 10, Sepak Takraw is the game I have enjoyed most. Competing in the Inter-Hall Games thrice, I have experienced a myriad of learning and thinking processes with the help of my seniors and ex-captains. However, none were as challenging as what I have experienced in my 4th year, when I was given the captaincy. If motivation ‘is an internal state or condition that serves to activate or energize behavior and give it direction’, (Kleinginna, 1981) then my key difficulty in this learning process would have been trying to mould and understand my own personal motivation so that I could impact these ‘internal state’s of others.

If ‘delegating the captaincy of a team to an individual […] mak[es] him or her more responsive to the group dynamics of the team’ (Cashmore, 2002), then this would be the start of a long transition to shift my focus from myself onto the team. Previously as a player in a team of 3, I was only aware of my personal motivation. I joined the game mainly to get participation points for hall accommodation (Safety), to feel a part of the hall spirit (Love and Belongingness), and to prove my abilities as a player (Self-Esteem). These needs seemed to fit within Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. With these lower needs met, I neglected the need of Self-Actualization, the highest and most elusive of Maslow’s needs (Santrock, 2004).

Hence my initially response to gaining the captaincy was that it was a confirmation of my personal efforts to fulfill these needs and goals throughout these years. As captain, I then wished to inculcate this same sense of self-determination (Ryan & Deci, 2002), the cornerstone of what I believed to be my ‘success’, to drive my players. But knowing what I wanted to impart, I realized the difficulty was in ‘how’ I would go about fostering something as personal and internal as motivation. Was it possible to make someone else relate to my own motivations?

It became apparent that my method of improving motivation among my members was flawed. It was contradictory to what self-determination stood for – ‘the increasing of internal motivation and intrinsic interests by way of giving more choice and opportunities in taking responsibility’ (Ryan & Deci, 2002). A ‘top-down’ approach in imposing my values on something as personal as motivation would surely fail. Also, this restricted my team mates in their opportunity to grow and take responsibility. Within Bernard Weiner’s causal attributions of achievement (Weiner, 1992), there are 3 dimensions - locus, stability, & controllability. If I was to continue imposing and aligning my team to my motivations, they would link their subsequent success or failure to me – an external locus of attribution. This was exactly opposite of me wanting them to be intrinsically motivated by their own reasons. Hence I was sure I had to stop and reexamine my own motivations before I could influence that of others.

Self-reflection and criticism is especially difficult when others appeal to one’s ego and verify one’s need for self-esteem. It is easy to be taken in by praise and become self-satisfied. Indeed, Maslow’s caution that ‘most people stop maturing after they have developed a high level of esteem, and therefore never become self-actualized’, (Santrock, 2004) is apt in describing my conundrum. Firmly entrenched in my own experiences and attitudes of the past 3 years in the game, I found it difficult in trying to change my perspective. Activating a new schema about an old experience was especially difficult when present and apparently ‘successful’ attitudes seemed to exist.

It is true that intrinsic motivation is a powerful tool vital for sport players. Instead of responding to ‘incentives’ – ‘positive or negative stimuli’ (Santrock, 2004) and external pressures and rewards like prizes, competition stress, and obligation to come for training, I had reached the point where I was willing to train my ball-juggling skills even alone - for the desire of self-improvement. Hence I was perhaps led to believe that I had reached the pinnacle of a self-regulated, intrinsically motivated player - and hence the perfect captain. Was there a need for me to change? The boost to my self-image was satisfying although, as I was to find out, I was self-deluded to think that I could lead a team just by being an exemplary player for others to model their own growth around. Since ‘motivation is largely manifest in people’s understanding of themselves’ (Cantor, 1986), I sensed that I had to understand my own motives before I could move onto that of others.

This thinking about my thinking, or meta-cognition, was the key to my final change in behavior and thinking. As one of Costa’s Habits of Mind, I think this is perhaps the most vital in bringing me about this learning and thinking journey. In conversations with my vice-captain of the team, we realized that were left without any of Vygotsky’s ‘scaffolds’ as all our seniors had graduated and we were supposed to take their place as leaders of the team. However, our discussions and reflection did reap its benefits.

I came to the understanding that I was still satisfied by my personal play and role in my team. Mistakes that lead to our defeats were not my personal errors and I felt relieved of responsibility to myself. However, thinking about how my graduated ex-captain guided us, I realized that his efforts were not to inculcate personal responsibility but personal responsibility to the team. I had been thinking too much in a self-centered manner all this while. If he had the same mentality then as I had now, he would not taken time to coach us as a team; perhaps, like what I was doing, he would only have concentrated on improving himself as a role model. I would then perhaps not have benefited from his guidance and become the player I was. Now, I wanted my impact not only on myself, but on my group of players. My mentality had to change.

A group is ‘two or more persons who are interacting with one another in such a manner that each person influences and is influenced by each other person’ (Shaw, 1976). Previously, I focused only on our personal motivations. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and Cognitive Perspectives of Motivation tend to center on the individual. However, as an individual responsible to a group, I had to break free from such a myopic mindset. I had to consider other factors along the lines of shared purpose, personal interdependence, collective identity – perhaps too many to address here. However, they all have a common link – to move beyond the individual and look at him as a part of a group.

            It was productive to examine my situation from the perspective of Kurt Lewin’s Group Dynamics (Schellenberg, 1979) where ‘groups are approached as entities in their own right rather than compositions of individuals’ (Cashmore, 2002). Appreciating my group members as they were – groups rather than individuals, I realized that Self-Actualization, Maslowe’s highest need, is perhaps a misleading term as it seems to point exclusively towards the individual. Also, the use of the prefix ‘Self-‘ tended to give the impression that this highest level of actualization had to be achieve apart from others – alone. However, a less known facet of Self-Actualization involves ‘solving the problems of others is a key focus in their lives’ and that such people ‘feel a closeness to other people’ (Wikipedia, 2006). As I witnessed the joy and camaraderie among my teams that fought together regardless of victory or loss, I realized that what they would finally achieve was secondary. It might be paradoxical to say so, but they had reached the best that their individual selves could be, and perhaps went even further as a group in ‘developing their full potential as a human being’ (Santrock, 2004).

            Here it became useful to go beyond the ideas of extrinsic and intrinsic motivation that I was familiar with. Both aforementioned forms of motivation were similar in having an internal locus of consequence – the Self. They only differed in terms of whether the locus of causality was internal or external. To realign each individual’s motivation towards a collective identity, contributive and relational motivation (Cardona, 2003) was necessary. Relational motivation stemmed from them being influenced by me (external locus of causality) to achieve something in terms of the team (an external locus of consequence). Eventually, I hoped that they would shift the locus of causality to within themselves – that they would become the originators of the motivation, and achieve contributive motivation – to be motivated within to contribute to something outside of themselves – the team.

            Throughout this learning experience I had undergone many transitions and shifts in my focus on motivation. Having satisfied my many needs in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I had tried to tackle Self-Actualization, only to realize to my surprise that it actually lay outside myself, and within my collective identity of my group. Also, I realized the incompatibility of my efforts in trying to inculcate a sense of personal motivation within others and expecting them to be motivated in the same way I was. Through all this, my empathy towards my fellow team mates has increased, and perhaps even more importantly, my understanding of my motivation and what drives me. This prize of understanding myself and others is better than any medal I can receive.

                                                            - End -

Wow, first time I’m posting an essay - if you’ve survived that congratulations! Well as you can see, this is what NIE people write, haha, boring snoozefest stuff. To those who think I’m sick in the mind for posting an essay, you’re not far from the truth la. But if you’re a part of my Takraw or Scrabble team, hope u learnt something!

Anyways, the ‘twist’ is that I won the award!

‘Best Sports Captain of the Year 2006/2007′!

So happy, one of the best things that happened to me so far this year. Sigh… tough times these…

No chance to make a speech there, anyways who wants to hear another teacher talk right? So here it goes:

Thank you to all my hall friends for fighting beside me. While we did not have a video or any prizes to show for - the best remains here, within our hearts, and the memories - forever in the mind. Thank you to the warriors of the team, the hall and my best bud, Reng. I love you guys.

my Takraw 1st 12 -TopL:Albert,Aaron,Shawn,Jimmy,MingRong,Reng,Kenny BottomL:Felix,Me,Ryan,LiWei,Fred (Absent: GuoChuan)

This motley gang!? A fierce horde?!

Full Marathon!

I would like to share an anecdote that I’ve been telling Reng, that the first person to ever run a marathon fell dead when he completed it, so if we avoid that fate we can kinda give ourselves a pat on the back. But I guess the poor dude had to run at zero moments notice and was probably having a nice morning coffee when he was told to run to Athens from the small town of Marathon to tell the news that the Persians had been miraculously defeated in the Battle of Marathon. Unfortunate fellow. Couldn’t they have just sent an sms?

Anyways, this monster-marathon, which I think I can regard as one of those to-do-before-I-die things, is still no joke, and this account will be a km by km detail of what happened. (perhaps abit of glorified fictionalizing, like the Marathon legend itself, though for the record,  the guy did actually die)

So it was Yi Zhou, Mak Yong Xi, Hong Keng, Jimmy, Reng and I who found ourselves there at race day, sheepishly applying Vaseline as the marathon instructions said ‘in your inner thighs, under-arms, and even the nipples.’ oh wellz, I’m not one to argue with authority.

Having applied enough to attain a shimmering glow, I was pumped up and ready, having done some rudimentary stretching, copying the rather pro-looking , also shimmering fellows around me. We bustled to the starting line. 9 thousand people running the full marathon! It was no surprise that we didn’t get a glimpse of the starters. It was probably a good 5 minutes before we were shuffling to the start line ourselves.

0km - Started somewhere near the padang, too crowded to see beyond the armpits, spiked hair and stilt-walkers (kidding) to notice where I was. I just want to get to the startline. I was thinking, imagine if we were to shuffle all the way to the finishing line. It was rather weird, seeing all these people invade Shenton Way, swarming through the road, the city totally car-less, without traffic. We were like a buzzing zombie horde.

100m - realizing this was my chance to be actually ahead of those competing to be eventual winners, I sprinted the first 100m to get ahead of them to take this shot. Haha, no la, this is last year’s pic. Just to spice things up.

1km - still pretty much shuffling, trying not to trip up over people. Trying to get used to the idea of being on the road and the traffic light turning red. A road full of traffic lights yet without cars, bizarre sight, even weirder when you’re the one on the road. Wanted to yell ‘STOP!’ at each red light but wisely decided not to.

2km - the novelty of the situation soon began to wear away with the shuffling gone. We actually began to start running with space opening up. Though bending down to tie one’s laces would still easily take out 20 odd runners in a front-to-end collision. Marina Bay MRT station passes us.

3km - Building up a sweat, while the scenery changes from office high-rise to the trees of marina south. Not much consolation since this is the first time we see the km sign. 3km! Only!? Working up a sweat adn trying to go faster. Reng quotes eloquently from the booklet ’start conservatively’.

4km - a vague hint of brightness in the horizon gently hints that we should go faster. The fact that the Kenyans leading the race pass us in the opposite direction having reached the end of Marina South and are heading towards East Coast is a not-so-gentle hint that they are kicking our ass. You Reng and I celebrate our 3rd cup of 100+ by going to the loo. The queue is ridiculously long, so we run into the jungle foliage sheepishly, only to find other guys concentrating into the wee distance.

5km - Starting to reach some truly bizarre never seen before part of Marina Bay. Ran a bit far ahead of Reng, he shouts ‘Mark’, I apologize with ‘Sorry’. Yea, we will get through this together.

6km - Reaching this place called Marina Marina (it’s like calling the new terminal ‘Budget Terminal’) anyway realized that the place does defy description, it becoming more beautiful (and secluded) (on normal days) as the sun began to rise.

7km - When are we gonna reach the U-tun point to head back towards the City? We seem to be running for ages. I suggest to Reng that we stop to admire the sunrise, as he is often found doing in Hall. No response. Another casual remark that maybe we can catch the sunrise at East Coast is replied by some breathless mumble. Guess it wasn’t too funny. Doubt that the Kenyans are even at East Coast yet. Estimated time now, 6.45am. Darn!

8km - Reached the first U-turn, which means we are to run back to the City, then to East Coast, before running back to the City again. Optimistically, I say ‘One more U-turn to go!’. We make sure our efforts at reaching this point are not in vain by hitting the red carpet, tapping our ChampionChips as we go. Did it drop our of my shoe? No? Good.

9km - See 2 Kenyans as we U-turn. Slower than us? Their hands are bound together by some cloth-cord. I was thinking that it was such a nice gesture of friendship or solidarity or something. (Turns out, upon reading Life! that one of them is blind… I was flabbergasted…)

10km - Phew it’s even tiring typing this. Yes 1/4 done! Didn’t want to tell Reng. He said not to count the distance. He looks wistfully at the horizon. Yes we are damn shag.

11km - Pretty sucky covering distance that we’ve covered before. A sulky look hangs over our face. It is helped by seeing those that haven’t reached the U-turn yet. Haha, slowpokes! Ops, bad karma.

12km - Leaving Marina Bay. Great cause of joy, downing our upteenth cup of 100plus. People are beginning to get delirious, some thinking its water and pouring it over their heads. Yes, true.

13km - Running through Shenton Way again, feeling quite high, felt like exclaiming ‘Yerfwhoo!’ in the midst of the ghostly empty place, other than the ants around us. But wisely I didn’t do it.

14km - Reng tiring, we walk run quite a bit. I need the breather too. We use lamposts to stretch. Many people join us in stopping the lamposts from falling. Tiring stuff. First twinge of cramps on left calve. Minor cramp comes just at the moment when I shouted ‘We’re Crazy!’ when I saw a middle aged man’s t-shirt with the words ‘Must be crazy!’ Hope the cramp doesn’t come back…

15km - Ran across the bridge of Marina Bay, feeling woozy delirious. Some hot (or was I hallucinating) cheerleader shouted at me, ‘well done (Mark)! (could have sworn there was a ‘Mark!’ back there). Felt really pumped up and sprinted all the way for the next 20 meters…

16km - we are in a pathetic state feeling quite tired. The hallucinations continue as I see a Japanese ’samurai’ in straw-woven hat and farmer costume over-taking me. I was to realize later in reading the next day’s papers that he was no illusion as that 75! year old man kicked our ass. The shame… where’s the katana for harikiri?

17km - Running along the Kalang basin, crazy stuff. Luckily the weather’s mighty fine. First sign that there might be a God taking pity on us. A legion of deluded idiots running around for nothing.

18km - Running on Nicoll Highway. Collapse? Better not? I’ve run too far!

People running the half-marathon turning around and U-turn at this point. These fellows with the yellow tags sure spoil it for us. Make us feel like turning around to. Was thinking of doing the joke of shouting to the road marshaller ‘har?! we are in FULL marathon!? I though we signed up for Half-marathon!?’ and looking at our number tag at this U-turn point. But too shag to laugh. Joke abandoned.

19km - Not much recollection here - we’re both silent, none of our usual talks about mathematical paradoxes and metaphysical mumbo-jumbo. Reng looks tired and he says go ahead if I have to. I try to mutter some heroic stuff ’starship-troopers-leave no-man-behind-speech’ amidst my breathlessness. Almost concussed at the effort.

20km - We’re not looking too good here. Reng asks me if I feel cold, is he joking/hallucinating? Thinking it might be serious, we decide to take it easy, go slower, stopping for drinks. It’s no joke, not even a cold one.

21km - Reng and I come to a complete stop outside East Coast under the great roar of the ECP highway. He looks faint and complains about being cold. Shoots, sounds serious. Oh no, cannot give up now. Alarmed when I realize he has goosebumps all over his hands. Oh no, to fail halfway! no… think he almosts faints when he bends forward to stretch, his eyes closing. We wait. He says that he almost fell asleep there. I take it that ‘asleep’ = faint/collapse. Better rest more. We bump into Timothy (he’s running too!). His great efforts to cheer us on get Reng back on his feet obligingly. I cheers! Tim a cup of 100 plus before asking him to go ahead. Reng doesn’t look too good.

22km - With a bit more weekend cheer from the camping crowds at East Coast, Reng seems to get better, chomping on a banana helps; we take no chances eating and drinking at each stop. The glutton that he is, he seems to become better.

23km - We’re halfway through and this is the furthest we both have ever run. Incredible!

(picture of me dying, just to break the monotony of this long long story)

24km - My left calve begins to act up big time, giving me a power cramp. I cannot go on and must stop to stretch. Serious thoughts of giving up cross my mind. The pain is crazy. Each step feels like a loose pendulum of hot iron swinging at the back of my calve.

25km - My compensating extra step in using my right leg to run proves disastrous as my right leg begins to cramp. Hideously tiring running while trying to keep muscle taut. The pain in my soles disappear as they are nothing compared to the agony in my calves. Serious thoughts of giving up. Feel like crying. Don’t want to complete the race walking also. I don’t want to be like the other people walking and laughing… no… this is not the way to race.

26km - Reng gets abusive towards some road-marshaller who tells us ‘the turn is just around the bend’. No bend in sight! The bend proves to be another 2km ahead. Seriously dying, Reng stops to help me stretch my calve on countless occasions. I tell him to go ahead but expect him to refuse. Sheesh…

27km - We finally reach East Coast Lagoon, the turning point must be here! Reng is an angel to accomodate my impusive runs and walks. It is entirely by my pace now. When I can run I do just that bit trying to stave off the cramps. Each step is agony. Then the U-turn is in sight! I mutter some desperate remark that no more repeated routes from now on. It was a single stretch to the end now! Inner left thigh feeling twitches of cramp as I transfered the burden of cramped calves to it. Strangely enough you can run and put different emphasis of stress on different muscles. Was thinking if thigh cramped I was finished, because I don’t think I could recover from that. I barely even know how to stretch it. It would be ambulance stuff I imagine.

28km - The medics start to run out of Deep Heat lotion. I become (irrationally) pissed as it could seriously help. It is a professional race; how can such vital supplies run out? Luckily some good hearted people (beach-going supporters) actually brought some of their own, giving a drop to the many beggar-runners that sought aid. Thank you!

29km - We have come to 3 complete stops, Reng helping me with some stretches. The pain is crazy. Great it starts to rain. My mind is a mess. We take our second PowerBar. Again I have no energy to even open it. Reng by some crazy mad-ass attempt opens it with his teeth. This makes for high drama. The thing tastes hideous, like melted Mars bars melted and stuffed full of salt. However, it takes it placebo effect. If it’s there it must have its use. Throat feels like a vise after eating/slurping it. Water!

30km - We begin to drift in and out of people who are either walking or shuffling at some ghoulish pace. Determined to run, I made some crazy effort to ovetake 20 people before cramping and walking it off. They then overtake us again before we repeat the whole thing. Reng is very accomodating to go by my pace. Thanks brother.

31km - We chat about our strategy for the next 10km. I say that after 32km there’s no turning back. First time the doubts of giving up since the cramping began begin to go away. We can do it!

32km - damn, still not out of East Coast. Still raining lightly. More nubile cheerleaders in the rain. Joy. We didn’t sprint for joy, but walked slowly this time, haha.

33km - Still not out of East Coast, the agony! The horror! Rain continues, we see the woman who tied the tire to her waist to promote eco-awareness. She looked quite tired and someone else also partially helped encouraged her. But still R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

A few residents drinking champagne and having a picnic by the roadside while laughing/cheering at us. I couldn’t muster the strength to spit at their general direction. Ha! Breathe my carbon dioxide picnickers!

34km - Out of East Coast! The final stretch. Cue Rocky Soundtrack.

35km - Getting quite tired of seeing the usual bunch overtake us. Reng mentions that we actually look quite absurd, me rushing past them for like 200 meters before lying on the pavement for him to stretch my calves. The same crowd crawl past us. Amongst them - the nonchalent girl in blue listening to her Gwen Stefani while walking along (we later pushed to permanently beat her cos the rabid Reng said he can’t stand her), miscellaneous punks wearing army marathon singlets, some middle-aged trudgers, and 3 of my friends from NIE PE that were happily walking! and chatting (had to die die beat them la).

36km - not much recollection here. reached a new level of pain/consciousness.

37km - woke from trance. discovered race hasn’t ended. pushed the 200 meter run - 100 meter walk off cramp pattern to hit the ‘usual crowd’ with combos of 300 meter run and 50 meter walks. Began to ovetake people, seeing new ’sceneries’ of joggers. Finally, we are overtaking ah-peks (haikz what pitiful standards I’ve reached)

38km - Ran through this strange apparatus that sprayed me with mist. Felt charged up… for the next 4 steps. Then back to calf cramps. For some strange reason Reng bypassed it. Beginning to see the Kallang Basin again (quite beautiful with the midday sunshine beginning to sparkle off it) some lone fishermen looked at us pathetically (us being pathetic). The sad 100 meter bursts continued.

39km - Some crazy batter about sprinting the remaining distance begins. 3 kilometers! Our brains have turned into mush. I can barely run 200 meters. I’m still trying to run all I can despite looking like a miserable idiot. If I overtake 10 people with my run, and only 9 overtake me while I stretch at the lamppost, each cycle we’ll overtake 1 person! As usual, Reng is very encouraging and seems pumped up for it. He must be delirious too…

40km - trying to summon up some crazed effort to continue, know that we will finish any how but dun want to let Reng lau kui (malu) by having to be seen walking with me. Walking is for wimps! Crowds are appearing. Maybe we can reach our target. I wanted to finish by noon, which is exactly at 12pm!

41km - can we do it? Took off my specs, given up trying to dry it, totally spotched by rain, sweat, dirt, Powerbar residue and swipes of DeepHeat. Mr Photographer must be able to get a good picture with my eyes. Turns out taking out my specs and having it on present me the same dazed vision. Body sensors switching off one by one.

42km - Reached the 42km mark, 200 meters of agony awaits. I cannot fail Reng, this last 200 meters is chocked full of people cheering us on. NOBODY walks here.

42.05km - we begin running, it is a straight path to the finish. Cheers are deafening. Everything suddenly becomes bright. Some DJ’s voice is booming over the mike. Lots of inflated Standard Chartered balloons begin to bump at us from the cheering supporters by the sidelines. Stop hitting us! It is really all a haze.

42.1km - Excruciating pain, hyperventilating, trying not to look at the waves of people cheering us on and the ballons. Focus on the finishing ‘gate’. The sky… freedom! Reng is shouting ‘you better not walk now!’ Never heard him so pumped up before.

42.15km - My calves are going hysterical, nerves feel like detaching themselves to save my body from more trauma. I can only hear my breathing.

42.195km - Staring at the sky, I see the race timer - 6 hrs 7 mins. Minus the few (7mins?) minutes we took to get to the start line. And the red carpet to clock in the chip is still 4 steps away…

42.2km - WE DID IT!

(here’s a pic of a grimacing me in not too good shape at the end. calve cramps! If you’re wondering why my fingers are like that, I would say that the pain was so excruciating that these finger gestures were really involuntary)

Thank you dear reader for following us this far. Goodness, writing this is a marathon in itself! You have read about 4000 words (3000 + 1 picture [a picture tells a thousand words]) in this entry. So imagine that each word you read = 10 meters. Yea, do give it a go! If you like pain. Thanky ou to all the people who have encouraged us. My family and understanding girlfriend, Adeline! haha!

Last person I’d like to thank is Reng. Brothers and close pals throughout for these 12 years, I think this marathon says it all. Thanks bro.

Reng (left, 6838)

& me (right, 6601)

Though studying much of late, my 2 exams are to do with literature; hence providing a capaciousness of schedule. I was able to squeeze a day today to be at Bras Basah Complex.

Whenever I have a day to donate to my poor self, this is where I go. It is basically my favorite place in all of Singapore (alot of qualifiers should be here). But there! I’ve said it and defined myself as the nerd I that I am. Haha. Why Bras Basah Complex? It is a haven of second hand books, many going for a dollar, if one has the mind, eye and time to dig them up.

I was discomfitted entering my favourite store today, there being quite a few people,some foreigners as well. Would they take all my favourite books? I overheard then, ‘teacher say [sic] try not get more than 200 page book’. I guessed we weren’t exactly going after the same titles…

Here’s a list of what I found. In fact, as I was reaching amongst the shelves in this visit, I closed my eyes and wished I would get 2 books today, The Magus and Naked Lunch of which I believe cannot be found in Singapore and surprise!

Here’s the list:

John Fowles’ The Magus ———$1

I couldn’t believe my eyes! In case you don’t know, the books here are completely randomly shelved and it is impossible to ‘look’ for a book. Also, who knows what babies are abandoned at Bras Basah? It’s all about timing and ‘fate’. Hence this makes my week in a way.

And here is another find that I’ve been crossing my thumbs to pick out someday.

Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughter-House-Five ——— $2

I knew I’d find SH5 sooner or later cos it is used as a textbook by some psycho teachers. In fact, my literature teacher intended to use it this semester but had to drop it due to time-constrainst (despite my pleading). One can usually expect to find those books that are used as textbooks and grossly under-appreciated by the student. Eventually all these books find their way to Bras Basah. You could say all the books here have an inferiority complex.

A perfect example of such a book:

Jean Rhys’ Wide Saragasso Sea ————————— $1.70

To think that just 2 days ago, I saw about 10 copies of WSS at the NIE booksshop going for a very saddening and cutprice $5. Some (very much accursed by the bookshop aunt) lecturer must have ordered them and none of his/her students bought from the shop. Maybe it was Dr. Lindley! Kidding…

2 great detective classics to go with my Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep (which is rivetting by the way)

Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon —————– $1

John Le Carre’s The Perfect Spy ————————- $1

I don’t really read detective fiction, but wish to know some bit about the genre. These seminal classics might also come in handy if I have a son who likes to read.

Another 2 amazing finds fo which I paid more than the usual I am willing to part with. I usually am willing to spend a bit more on others. (Stop laughing) I promptly gave these 2 to my cousins at dinner. However, Samantha has The Kite Runner while Sarah has read Holes! (the coincidence) Maybe I can tap into the teenage consciousness after all…

Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner —————————- $1.70

Louis Sachar’s Holes ——————————– $1.70

Hosseini’s book you can find in the bestseller list of most book stores. I went to Popular (also in Bras Basah) to take a peek — Hehe! 17 bucks!

Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eyes ——————– $3 (blue marbles cover)

$3 am I mad? Well I was real happy to hear that Nisha really enjoyed Beloved (also by Morrison) from Dr. Wong’s class, thus I got this for her. Rare that people connect with literature you know. Also it has a real delicate cover, probably the same edition as her Beloved’s. The cover of which I like, a sunflower…

Other gems:

Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose  —————– $1

Yet to finish this one, though I watched the film when my JC tutor screened it. Sean Connery! He’s on this version’s cover.

Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo ————————– $1 (real Exotic Vintage Cover)

2 other books I can’t remember off-hand. $1 ones. My poor adopted babies, I’ve forgotten your names as quickly as Madonna or Brad Pitt would…

I was real saddened to miss out on an Autobiography of Albert Camus —-$6.90. It was far too expensive to even try bargaining. Anyway these types of books puzzle me. They are not bought out of compulsion because it takes a dedicated and slightly skewed mind to want to possess these esoteric books. Hence if you love it so much, why is it surrendered to such shelves? It puzzles, it does. I mean, the 100,000 copies of Jane Eyre I understand…

Anyway, there is also a seasonal bookfair at the ground floor. Not much good stuff to me, a mix of cut-price new books and second hand ones. many mandarin books. Still a heat-wave of people there though.

So that’s 12 books for $17 dollars, incredibly satisfying. Ah…

To complete my day, I ate a student meal at BK $3.90 and Cheers convenience store saved my life (Cheers!) as my slipper broke and I got a pair there ($3). Oh, part of what I enjoy about Bras Basah is that I get to dress in tawdry clothes and slippers (this time it was my Vietnam-embroidered sunflower shirt, torn Guess jeans and slippers) Hey if you are shopping at Bras Basah and bargaining over a $3 book, you’ve got to look the part. The Indian uncle will only believe you if your slipper is broken (like mine) haha. Oh I enjoy it so, dressing sloppily and shopping like a king (beggar?) for $20 bucks. No irritatingly attentive shopping assistants - just bored, who-cares-if-you-steal-my-stuff owners.

Just a quick guide, in case you’ve ever a need to visit Bras Basah Complex. I always visit the $1 bookshop first (it is nearest the National Library, at the very corner of Bras Basah building). The shop next to it also has a shelf of 3 for $5 books, very current!

To take a break from all that old-book-smellin’, the next stop is to go to ART FRIEND! Woohoo! This is a great art supply shop, the biggest (I think) in Singapore. Also, I am an art friend (member la) so it’s all good. They still stock the cheap Marie gouche and oil paints, hence always enticing me back. Canvases at 20% off, 30% if you’re a member!

Afterwhich, make your way to the 2 Knowledge Bookstores. (This sounds like a travel guide) Here you can look for your specific authors, though still not exactly cheap. Buy only if you find some real old edition or copy of some banned book. Also look under your favourite author headings. ‘C’ is my favorite shelf in case you don’t know. Haha. It is also near ‘B’, my second favorite shelf. This is where I look first at Kino, Borders etc. Ops, showing too much of my nerdy side here ahaha.

‘C’ by the way is for Albert Camus (No.1), Cervantes, Italo Calvino, Louis-Ferdinand Celine and Douglas Coupland.

‘B’ is for Saul Bellow, Samuel Beckett and Jorge Luis Borges … probably some I’ve forgotten.

Oh, at Knowledge Bookstore you must bargain your ass off, it really is too expensive, even if the place is air-conditioned and catalogued.

Last of all, make your way to Popular bookstore to smirk at how much you’ve saved ala The Kite Runner. Haha, sheesh… Or to buy what you really need but can’t find. Popular here is actually 3 stories high (or 4?)

Of course, to assuage my guilt at spending 5 hours on myself, I went to Robinsons at Raffles City to look for a handbag for my poor mugging darling. The cookie monster colored one I got her from Christmas is fraying. But alas, where’s the 2nd hand section at the ladies’ section? Haha, kidding.

Today I saw a wonderful video of some teachers in the US giving students a performance-based task. It involved Primary 3 students imagining that they were unhappy with life in England in the past and wanting to travel to The New World (The U.S.) to find a new life. The teacher assessing them as they brought a box of belongings on their trip was to pretend to be the Majesty at the ‘High Courts’.

I witnessed a boy pleading his case that (I quote) ‘he does not want to believe what the court wants him to believe and he wants to believe what he wants to believe’ and hence wants to go to The New World to live the life he wants. His shoe box had a scroll map of his sea-faring route and he showed a rudimentary mini-icecream stick hut to the court, saying that he was a carpenter and could make his living there - the house was proof of his skill. The teacher couldn’t say no to his plea and ‘let him go on his way’ - he passed.

I found myself tearing slightly. Strangely enough I couldn’t articulate it. Sometimes moments exist where waves of emotion overwhelm us - though it is the impression of this vast sea and not each individual crest’s rise and fall that we can discern. Was there a single reason to be moved?

Part of it is, I believe, the great hope and requited happiness when we see the joy in a child succeed and love every step of the learning process. It is this common fount of goodwill that we tap from when we feel for the humanity in others. Perhaps more often than not, teachers have great opportunities to make such a difference in a classroom where many lives are sprouting or buried.

Another part is perhaps the tempered sadness in knowing what would be the expected response of my classmates and myself in implementing such a program of assessment. It is just too hard, too impossible. It is almost unimaginable, the logistics involved in planning the activity. Instead of inspiring us, the video could instead completely flatten us as we raise these walls in defense. Our guilt was apparent in failing ourselves in the task even before it begun. We saw no hope and crushed the messenger.

Essentially this is not a new thing, difficulty in doing whatever we find meaningful. Be it laziness to pick up a piece of rubbish or something like not participating in gossip of a friend. However, reality often introduces its hard sidewalk and grinds us into it. As a teacher of mine said today: ‘you need not walk the complete route -left or right. You can walk the middle path, taking from each (the right and left). She used it in another context but I find it applies here.

Often when faced with something daunting, we either completely reject it or face it bare-faced. The problem is not in rejecting it but finding excuses for rejecting it. There is a tendency like in this instance to completely beat down the video that we saw and deem it unrealistic, impossible. But I guess even if we can attempt and try it just for a moment, and then fail… that is most important.

I realise now why I had teared. It is the usual story actually. You have heard it before. "What is most important is to try". I think I was tearing because I was entertaining these doubt and I was tearing for what would my students think of a teacher that had given up on trying before he had even begun. It was a tear for them - and maybe myself.

I guess what I am saying is a cliche  but we must fight our resistance towards cliches. Cliches are always around and abound because what they say are true. It is just that we see them with old eyes and a sneer of knowing without understanding. That is one reason I write this. I hope to look at the truism with refreshed eyes.

Sometimes tears need not make vision fog - tears can clear vision too.

——————————————————————————————–

Indulge me a little. This reminds me of a short story from ‘The Sandman’. It is 10 pages long - short for a comic; but I will never forget its message.

It tells of a guy writing a play and he backs out from it the last moment, anxious about the audience’s reaction. He has always had nightmares of climbing up a steep precipice and falling (the psychoanalysts will have a field-day here). However, he never dares to complete this dream of hitting the bottom. The night before the play commences he has the same dream again. He always forces himself to wake up before hitting the ground. He knows that if he hits the ground somehow he will die, his mind will die. In his encounter with the Sandman, he finds the Prince of Dreams at the top of the cliff again - and he falls… off…

<mid-air>

This is their conversation:

Man: It’s all getting to be too much for me. I feel I’m out of depth. I’m scared. I’m scared I’m going to do something stupid.

Sand: And if you do something stupid, what then?

Man: Aren’t you scared of falling?

Sand: It is sometimes a mistake to climb; it is always a mistake never even to make the attempt.

Man: What are you saying? That I should ought to go back to the show? Not walk out? You’re just a dream. Listen, I’ve made up my mind.

Sand: If you do not climb you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?

Sometimes you wake, and sometimes, yes, you die. But there is a third alternative.

<as the man falls through the air>

Man: And I’m about to wake myself up, when… And I stayed with it. And I didn’t wake up. And I didn’t die.

SOMETIMES YOU FLY. SOMETIMES YOU FALL.

What is the third alternative?

<He is tumbling, falling through air, space>

Man: I met someone who changed my mind about alot of things. Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. AND SOMETIMES WHEN YOU FALL, YOU FLY.

(wow! borrow the book from me, you won’t regret it!)

———————————————————————————————

Amazing ain’t it. Often in life there are times of weakness and times when we feel charged as if all of humanity is behind us in our purpose. The thing is to often surround ourselves with opportunities to inspire ourselves and people who will do so to us. Then we will falter less.

Sensational as the title is, today is one of the more interesting days of my life (dull as most days are). Hence, unlike usual posts where I talk about feelings or some random thoughts, I’ve decided to recount today’s events (with some glee).

In a friendly soccer match at my place…

I was surprised by the care of my sec 4 buddies as I went down under a challenge from my own goalkeeper. But considering that I was bleeding from the right nostril and that my spit had blood 3 hours of the match, I find the rare attention and affection quite deserving. haha. For the record, it was my zealous never-say-die take-no-prisoners, warrior-soul-mate Abel who took me out as I went for a header with an opponent (some guy called Hanyang; I remeber his physical presence as we jostled for the header. Btw I got the ball ok) On hindsight, Abel tells me that it was more of a palm, but my sensationalist mind would like to blow up the story, so I call it a two-fisted punch to my face. Witnesses to the red-card-worthy foul (from my own team mate at that) have said that ‘It was not malicious’ and ‘there was no malice.’  Actually it was Derrick who said that - of course, it was my team-mate how much malice could there be?!… but considering that Abel’s M.D.G. (Most Desireable Guy) status was under threat from a handsome me…

Haha, ya I deserve the punch right?

After many exhortations from my pal Henry to go see a doctor, I was wondering what would be Abel’s reaction if I went to the nearest hospital, Yio Chu Kang Hospital, and his girlfriend, Louise, who was working there, were to see me and ask, "Who is the beast who did this to you?!’ Of course, laughing at that joke didn’t make my sore jaw any better. Worse, in fact.

But in actual fact I was kinda proud when Kang’en said that ‘Wow I never saw you go down/being taken out before.’ other than this time of course. Guess that I had met my match in Abel, another Wimbledon in spirit buddy. Carr (him) and Trukk (me), that’s what we called ourselves in JC… oh the irony

The next events that I am about to recount may at times be translated from mandarin and hokkien for abit of the authentic feel, so pardon my abuse of my Engrish.

Anyways we had a nice swim after that (stinking up the pool!) and got kinda sunburnt and went to AMK hawker center for lunchies. Ordering 3 cups of sugarcane juice, I was kinda pissed when the uncle didn’t serve it to us after some time. Instead he was giving it to people who were standing in front of his stall. Hey, there wasn’t a ‘Self-Service’ sign.

Anyways, I walked in front of the queue of 2 people, one of the people of which was my friend queueing to order another 2 cups and took 3 cups from the man. I gave him the only note I had, a $50, and he said he would return me the change later.

After we had almost finished our meal, he actually came to me to demand the $2.80 for the drinks! Knowing my propensity towards forgetting things at times, I decide to check me pockits, lucky of which I had only one, OP shorts la. And my wallet, only some lonely receipts resided there. Anyway I did remember passing the money to him, and my friend Yi Chen said he remembered me stretching out past him i the queue to give the fella the cash.

Since my bag was under a pile of my friends’, I was convinced that he had the cash and was being funny. It didn’t help that the cleaning auntie said that a few days ago he tried the same stunt on some old lady. Feeling quite injusticed, my friends came to my rescue, persuading me to call the police and calling the guy a swindler.

Armed with a chopper in hand, he started to shout and point at my rather meek-looking friend who was my witness, he said ‘Ni gei wo hao hao xiang qing chu chai jiang!’ (You better think carefully before saying!) But my friend never backed down, though he still strikes me as meek-looking (he wants to work in a zoo or something with the AVA, a cool pacifist I would say)

Of course being the rough-looking ruffians (hey!) that we are, my friends got more enraged, replying in shouts. They told me not to hesitate to call the police.

Thinking of a trip down to the station was kinda a bummer for me (my record ain’t that clean either, haha) and so suddenly I thought of thinking straight (which I must say isn’t my hallmark la).

I began thinking about the motto of ‘Win-win’ from my alma mater and heard Yue Fei’s Man Jiang Hong (River of Full of Red[blood]) haha, crap la, actually I tot of the win-win argument strategy that I read before. Never confront someone unless you are very sure of it. Also, giving someone a form of escape is the best way to win. Hence the ‘win-win’ cheese.

So despite the gold-chain-adorning, black-PCK-boots-wearing, chopper-wielding-demeanour, I decide to reason with him. It helped that I was sun-burnt and I had the fiery-red face of Guan Yu (face only har, I said face) (Guan Gong to some). Also to my favour was the fact that I had a blood-stained tissue flaring from my nostril and I was a little crazed (dazed actually) in the eye because of the ‘punch’ 3 hours earlier.

So I took my chances. I went with him inside his little shop (close quarters harder to swing chopper) and told him in the calmest voice that I could muster ( we had to clear out my angry friends from the way btw) that I believed it was a genuine mistake and that I had tried my best so far in trying to clear up the misunderstanding. I believed that he could help us to do so too. I had check my pockets and my wallet. All I asked of him was to check his pockets carefully, and his money.

At this point, some idiot oblivious to the crowd of people around actually tried to order 2 cups of sugarcane. AS I was standing at the stall entrance and the Lau Beng being inside, I decided not to spoil the moment and actually took the order, asking whether he wanted lemon. He said ok but didn’t state his seat number before leaving. Wisely, I decided not to pursue the dumbass.

Anyway…

after checking, the old punk suddenly toned down his voice and told me that ok he saw another $50 dollars in the pile of money, and hence he said, assuming that it was mine, he would return me my $47.20 change. It was quite a nice moment actually as I beat him affectionately on his waist telling him he must check more carefully mah; this type of misunderstanding very troublesome. I felt as if I was a nagging mother chiding a child. He said that he didn’t want the women to be talking, they were very busybody. To go with the moment, I kinda agreed with him that yah they can be meddlesome in these sort of situations. Then he told me to hold my wallet behind the counter and he counted and put the change in it. He then told me to quickly go and don’t talk to others about this.

Having left, we were faced with a little dilemma whether to still report him or otherwise, Some arguments put forth by my friends was that he will try the stunt again and maybe manage to cheat other gullible people or people who wouldn’t stand up to him. Also, giving me the change was admission to being at fault, and he was so sure previously that he hadn’t the money. My friend Peh was especially incensed that he had the cheek to come and demand $2.80 from me when he was trying to pocket my $50. Actually this reminds me of another story of us and my friend, Tung Lung, in my secondary school days ;P … anyway…

Another old man who was a passerby (wisely?) told us that since he returned us the money and kind of admitted it, let the matter rest and not ruin him. Other eaters said he would get his just reward some day. Hence being the kind-hearted souls that we were and being the pacifist that I am (stop giggling), I decided to let the matter rest.

Well, was it all in a usual day for us 4Mers?

P.S.: Of course Adeline is gonna be worried after reading this post. Have I lost my looks after being punched? Would I ever again walk into a stall with a crazed lau ah-beng wearing short shorts, a thick gold chain, permed hair and with chopper in hand?

Answer is ‘no’ for both har.

The World Cup playing out its expected bouts of drama these few weeks, Keano’s retirement seems like a distant event. The furor and controversy surrounding the man has cleared, and has kinda petered out tamely considering that the Republic of Ireland is not represented in the World Cup.

Speaking of representation, the departure of Roy Keane from football represented something important for me. Of late, I have lost interest in watching soccer matches. As a kind of withdrawal symptom, only betting seems to raise the excitement a notch. Nonetheless, there seems to be little to care about in soccer anymore.

Who are these men who take the game as a sport? Who are they that I should care and cry with them? What did it mean to anybody other than themselves if they won?

When we support something, usually it is thought of as an extension of the self. It is strange if you think about how we associate things with ourselves. Walk into a pub and you hear: ‘Hi I’m Mark and I’m a Man Utd fan.’ It almost seems like an important biological fact of our lives.

But when you think about it, it is quite absurd to say that you support a club. What does ’support’ really mean? Do you pay the players’ wages. Does one feel the rivalry of the clubs up North, whatever that means? I live in Yio Chu Kang and I’m supporting a football club in Manchester? It is quite a ridiculous assertion to say the least. Hence these days, I would only say I’m a fan, because I admire the football played by certain teams, certain countries. I would say Roy Keane supported Manchester United. Why? If he didn’t play or he didn’t care, there was a direct impact on the team. Who gives a hoot if you or I stop ’supporting’ a club?

Anywayz, what is there to miss when Keano’s gone? And what is now missing in all these games. The bets increase from $25 to $50 dollars, it could reach a hundred, a measly sum to some. But the point is, you are excited about the money, anxious about your winnings. You don’t care for the game.

What Keane represented to me was not the usual terms associated with him. Aggression, determination, loyalty. These qualities I do value alot. But what is simply special about him is that he is someone who cared.

In this day when the importance of things fade as there is always another distraction, there are few people who care enough about anything. If you are feeling down after your favourite team lost, you go out and eat prata and soon you’ll forget it all. Same as footballers. If they lose a match, they have their girlfriends, their tonnes of money, their next fashion show to go to. Buy another house. Nobody cares much about anything anymore.

Lost in time is the madness of the warrior giving up his life for the cause. It takes a naked belief to be in the front row of a charging wave of battlers. Have you watched Braveheart or any film where two armies met in hand-to-hand combat? To rush headlong into certain death, it takes a certain sort of commitment. It is not a buts-and-ifs situation. To find such a man in these times would be priceless. You could never buy such a man.

When you see Roy Keane, he WAS Man Utd. You couldn’t take him away from Man Utd. No other club bothered to bid for him, there never was any transfer speculation. Nobody bothered to. It was impossible to get him to leave unless he wanted to.

Look at all the other clubs. Patrick Vieira, captain of Arsenal was hounded every season by other clubs, eager to prise him away. Now after he has left for Juventus, their next captain, Henry is always being targeted by other clubs. Liverpool always had to endure speculation about Gerrard’s future. Only Terry from Chelsea is spared this and he is another to be admired.

Is there any other player who cares as much? Seeing teams play in the World Cup, it breaks my heart. If you are playing for your nation, when you are representing it, you have to play your soul out. Yet, all can be seen are half-hearted efforts by teams. I spit in the England players face when they said that ‘it was hot’ as an excuse for underperforming against Paraguay and Trinidad and Tobago. What *^&%$#@ nonsense is that? (Wow I’m really ranting here)

It is almost a joke considering that I play with everything I’ve got, whether rain or shine, and I play for free, on an uneven-pitch. And I even have to fork out my own transport fares. These players are flown first-class. They have no respect for themselves man. It is absurd and disgusting to say you support any of these people.

Ultimately, it comes down to what these things mean to one personally. Everyday we live half-hearted lives, pursuing half-believed causes. Yes, we can fail a test, we will take another one. Lose a friend, make another one. Fallen out of love, find another one. Yes, many of us are beset with self-doubt, insecurities, uncertainty. And there is much to fear in this modern day. But also, there is too much to fall back on. What I see in Keane is that he could look straight at the cause and invest himself totally in it. There was no consolation, there is no tomorrow to make up for failure. He always played as if it were the last match of his life.

As if possessed, sometimes his spirit shakes me on the field. And that is what my eyes search for when I look across the green plains of grass. Real men whose past spirits bear more force and fury than the pale imitation of today. Only ghosts run through these fields now.

Frozen

in my memory is an image of Roy Keane against Arsenal seasons back. Having won the ball off Vieira, he sailed out of our defence in front of the baying crowd of Highbury. We had not won the game yet. Wearing a white away strip, with his men about him, he was a shining fighter bearing a flag and rallying his troops. They ran by his side, first fast, then slowing to admire the regal image. In an instant, doubt, uncertainty and fear - the future - was banished with the white reflected in your eye. You could fling talent, speed, agility, these names at him, but he would overcome them with sheer will. With this figure, we knew we had won.