I've been asked and I've been mocked for using a fountain pen, especially when my fingers get stained with ink or when the pen chokes. Someone said the ballpoint pen was invented for a reason and there's a reason too that only a minority of people still use fountain pens.
I can't explain it either. It's like trying to explain why you love the sea, or chicken rice, or cats, or a certain book, a certain person... there's just no concrete reason sometimes why you love something. I like the sound of the pen scratching the paper, I like how the ink flows when it flexes, I like how some strokes are so fine that it resembles a strand of hair, I like the softness of the nib... and why do these things give me a good feeling? I don't know.
Been to Bali a second time in march and the feelings about Bali remain the same; I didn't fall in love with it. I guess there are just some places you can't love.
I was upset by someone today. Oh well, actually two people. People can get really overbearing at times and I just feel so suffocated and pissed. The other infuriating thing I shall not mention... but I think little things add up... an unkind word here and there, impatience, selfishness, etc.. before you know it, an ocean has been created and there's no way you can return to the other side.
Should I give up already?
What is it that is holding me back?
Fear of unknown territories?
The inability to believe in myself and God?
In limbo... caught between reality and a dream...
Friday, March 31, 2017
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Randomness
The library in beauty and the beast is to die for. Curved grand staircases, ladders, thousands of books. Last check on library thing- 300 books in my trove. Paltry.
That itch for a camper van trip is still there... arghh. Totally undo-able for this year and the next...
Haven't been writing much. The journal remains quite empty. Somehow I'm just not sure what's best to put onto paper.
Still considering whether to get a typewriter. But I'm starting to get a little tired of clutter and things. Yet on the other hand, I like to collect things and start new hobbies. Looos like I can never declutter my life and live the minimalist way.
That itch for a camper van trip is still there... arghh. Totally undo-able for this year and the next...
Haven't been writing much. The journal remains quite empty. Somehow I'm just not sure what's best to put onto paper.
Still considering whether to get a typewriter. But I'm starting to get a little tired of clutter and things. Yet on the other hand, I like to collect things and start new hobbies. Looos like I can never declutter my life and live the minimalist way.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Bus life
http://vandogtraveller.com/
Simplebuslife
Been looking at these camper vans and bus life blogs, IGs whatever. I wonder what lies in that magnetism? The simplicity, the freedom? Having your life pared down to just a tiny van? Is it only beautiful in a dream, like everything else in the world? will being stuck in a tiny space with the bare minimum jolt you from that dream ? I'm not sure but somehow, I'm just so drawn to that lifestyle and can't help dreaming.
Simplebuslife
Been looking at these camper vans and bus life blogs, IGs whatever. I wonder what lies in that magnetism? The simplicity, the freedom? Having your life pared down to just a tiny van? Is it only beautiful in a dream, like everything else in the world? will being stuck in a tiny space with the bare minimum jolt you from that dream ? I'm not sure but somehow, I'm just so drawn to that lifestyle and can't help dreaming.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Pablo Neruda
Let us look for secret things
somewhere in the world,
on the blue shore of silence
or where the storm has passed,
rampaging like a train.
There the faint signs are left,
coins of time and water,
debris, celestial ash
and the irreplaceable rapture
of sharing in the labor
of solitude and the sand.
Will put this on paper soon.
Handwriting still looks horrid despite poring over others' instagrams.
On another note, I've converted a notebook in the journal to bullet journal. Very tedious work but hopefully it will be of use and fun.
Read the battle hymn of the tiger Mum. Honestly I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Anyway book review on another day.
Have moved on to sense and sensibility. Wanted to read pride and prejudice and so I happily thought I have it on my bookshelf, but to my horror, it wasn't in my possession. I have the life of me, no idea why I had not purchased this classic.... bummer.
Was a little upset when I realized someone gifted what I had gifted to him/her to someone else. But then again, long as someone uses it, I shouldn't really care who possesses it ... right ?
somewhere in the world,
on the blue shore of silence
or where the storm has passed,
rampaging like a train.
There the faint signs are left,
coins of time and water,
debris, celestial ash
and the irreplaceable rapture
of sharing in the labor
of solitude and the sand.
Will put this on paper soon.
Handwriting still looks horrid despite poring over others' instagrams.
On another note, I've converted a notebook in the journal to bullet journal. Very tedious work but hopefully it will be of use and fun.
Read the battle hymn of the tiger Mum. Honestly I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Anyway book review on another day.
Have moved on to sense and sensibility. Wanted to read pride and prejudice and so I happily thought I have it on my bookshelf, but to my horror, it wasn't in my possession. I have the life of me, no idea why I had not purchased this classic.... bummer.
Was a little upset when I realized someone gifted what I had gifted to him/her to someone else. But then again, long as someone uses it, I shouldn't really care who possesses it ... right ?
Thursday, March 9, 2017
Journal
Was really tempted to purchase the traveler's company notebook in camel but thought for the same
Price, I could get a personalized one, one with a logo I made. The etching didn't come out too pretty but can't complain for the price. I was so looking forward to receiving he journal in the mail but when it arrived, I realized I had no idea what I wanted to write in it. Do I get my schedule in there, to do list, thoughts, book reviews, quotes, use it as a spiritual journal, or what... a day has passed and except for a packing list, the journal remains empty...
Sunday, March 5, 2017
When Breath Becomes Air - Paul Kalanithi
A very poignant read. The epilogue brought tears to my eyes. I enjoyed how Paul Kalanithi came to the conclusion that a life in medicine was his calling. He was sure at first that he would never follow in his family members' footsteps (he pointed out that he had associated medicine with absence- that of his father) and was keenly interested in literature and philosophy. I guess most of us had grappled with the same questions of life and its meaning, and by the same token death and its meaning/what lies beyond it at some point in time. I liked how he never relented in pursuing the truth by reading extensively and going through the academic route, driven by the hunger to understand rather than achieve (for the rest of us, our focus is sometimes misplaced on that elusive 'A'). On a walk one day, while contemplating the intersection of morality, philosophy, literature, biology, he had an epiphany and the rest was history.
What also stood out to me was when he was deciding on his residency. He noticed most of his peers electing to specialise in less demanding, "lifestyle specialties" (e.g. dermatology/radiology, according to Kalanithi) - those that offer a better work-life balance and higher salaries- seemingly forgetting/losing the idealism of their youths. Such choices are entirely reasonable as people sometimes grow weary and become disillusioned over time, or had a change in priorities. He added however, that when you find yourself considering pay, work environment, working hours, etc., you are choosing a job, not a calling. He chose neurosurgery in the end and I believe he would have been one of the best neurosurgeon/scientists (in terms of skills and compassion) had he had the chance to live beyond his 38 years.
He also pointed out that much of our decision-making process lies in how much time we have left. If we had 20 years vs. 3 months to live, what would we choose to do? He had a hard time deciding whether to continue his work as a neurosurgeon, become a writer, or spend time with his family because he only knew his time was limited, but by how long, nobody had a definite answer.
He admitted that at one point in his life, he became an atheist of sort since there is no empirical evidence for existence of God. He later concluded however, that to believe that since science cannot prove the existence of God, would by the same token, gives rise to the belief that there is no meaning in life, since science too cannot prove the existence of meaning. I wonder if the athesist believes in love, since nobody can prove its existence either but we all know it is there, just as we know there is hate, there is evil. If we could believe in the existence of evil, why couldnt we believe in the existence of a God? I could never really grasp how for e.g. a geneticist, a physician, or even a botanist, could study the wonders of the human genome/body/ a plant and not marvel at its intricacies and to subscribe to the belief that these are all created by CHANCE. By chance, we evolved into an organism that is capable of love, capable of creating beauty in the arts, music, capable of seeking meaning in its own existence. That reasoning is something my mind is unable to grapple with.
I was really upset by an incident Kalanithi had in the hospital, when his usual medication was not ordered. He spoke to the junior resident who was attending to him and explained that without the medication he would be experiencing excruciating pain soon but the resident couldnt care less. Ordering the medication would impose an inconvenience on him as he would have to call a senior to sign it off in the middle of the night. He asked if Kalanithi could wait till the next morning for his medication, by when he would be off-duty and the trouble could be passed on to the next unsuspecting person taking over his duties. Kalanithi said he saw in the resident's eyes that he was just a problem to be checked off and not a patient.
He also described how a peer had hoped that there were metastases in a patient so that she could escape a 9-hour surgical procedure. She later wept at having such thoughts. It is perhaps understandable to harbour such callous thoughts, as it is in our human nature, to put self above others. To suppress and overcome our innate selfish nature, requires effort and supernatural strength at times. We ought to applaud those who always put others' needs (especially those of strangers) above their own, such as those who toil daily in the healthcare setting.
The young think that they have all the time in the world. They make their 5 years' plan, 10 years' plan for that dream house, dream car, dream job...To them, tomorrow is a certainty. But they forgot that to death, age is just a number. No one escapes it, not even the young sometimes.
I believe that Kalanithi was able to face his impending death with bravado not only because he was used to facing death in his work, but because he was surrounded by love and the promise of eternity after this life has ended. The ending sometimes is just the beginning.
What also stood out to me was when he was deciding on his residency. He noticed most of his peers electing to specialise in less demanding, "lifestyle specialties" (e.g. dermatology/radiology, according to Kalanithi) - those that offer a better work-life balance and higher salaries- seemingly forgetting/losing the idealism of their youths. Such choices are entirely reasonable as people sometimes grow weary and become disillusioned over time, or had a change in priorities. He added however, that when you find yourself considering pay, work environment, working hours, etc., you are choosing a job, not a calling. He chose neurosurgery in the end and I believe he would have been one of the best neurosurgeon/scientists (in terms of skills and compassion) had he had the chance to live beyond his 38 years.
He also pointed out that much of our decision-making process lies in how much time we have left. If we had 20 years vs. 3 months to live, what would we choose to do? He had a hard time deciding whether to continue his work as a neurosurgeon, become a writer, or spend time with his family because he only knew his time was limited, but by how long, nobody had a definite answer.
He admitted that at one point in his life, he became an atheist of sort since there is no empirical evidence for existence of God. He later concluded however, that to believe that since science cannot prove the existence of God, would by the same token, gives rise to the belief that there is no meaning in life, since science too cannot prove the existence of meaning. I wonder if the athesist believes in love, since nobody can prove its existence either but we all know it is there, just as we know there is hate, there is evil. If we could believe in the existence of evil, why couldnt we believe in the existence of a God? I could never really grasp how for e.g. a geneticist, a physician, or even a botanist, could study the wonders of the human genome/body/ a plant and not marvel at its intricacies and to subscribe to the belief that these are all created by CHANCE. By chance, we evolved into an organism that is capable of love, capable of creating beauty in the arts, music, capable of seeking meaning in its own existence. That reasoning is something my mind is unable to grapple with.
I was really upset by an incident Kalanithi had in the hospital, when his usual medication was not ordered. He spoke to the junior resident who was attending to him and explained that without the medication he would be experiencing excruciating pain soon but the resident couldnt care less. Ordering the medication would impose an inconvenience on him as he would have to call a senior to sign it off in the middle of the night. He asked if Kalanithi could wait till the next morning for his medication, by when he would be off-duty and the trouble could be passed on to the next unsuspecting person taking over his duties. Kalanithi said he saw in the resident's eyes that he was just a problem to be checked off and not a patient.
He also described how a peer had hoped that there were metastases in a patient so that she could escape a 9-hour surgical procedure. She later wept at having such thoughts. It is perhaps understandable to harbour such callous thoughts, as it is in our human nature, to put self above others. To suppress and overcome our innate selfish nature, requires effort and supernatural strength at times. We ought to applaud those who always put others' needs (especially those of strangers) above their own, such as those who toil daily in the healthcare setting.
The young think that they have all the time in the world. They make their 5 years' plan, 10 years' plan for that dream house, dream car, dream job...To them, tomorrow is a certainty. But they forgot that to death, age is just a number. No one escapes it, not even the young sometimes.
I believe that Kalanithi was able to face his impending death with bravado not only because he was used to facing death in his work, but because he was surrounded by love and the promise of eternity after this life has ended. The ending sometimes is just the beginning.
Saturday, March 4, 2017
Love
Rain. A bus stop. The wind blowing wild. A shelter offered no reprieve on a day like this.
As she stood there waiting, she began making a mental checklist of why they couldn't and shouldn't be together. Check, check, check. 10,000 reasons later, she was sure that they wouldn't work, and this meeting was to be their last. A blurry figure was running towards the bus stop. It was him. The moment he came into view, all reasons flew out of the window. One reason superseded all others... love. She didn't understand it, and she never would. She smiled at him, took his hand, and they dashed off into the cold, hard rain.
As she stood there waiting, she began making a mental checklist of why they couldn't and shouldn't be together. Check, check, check. 10,000 reasons later, she was sure that they wouldn't work, and this meeting was to be their last. A blurry figure was running towards the bus stop. It was him. The moment he came into view, all reasons flew out of the window. One reason superseded all others... love. She didn't understand it, and she never would. She smiled at him, took his hand, and they dashed off into the cold, hard rain.
No one heard the bird's song
No one saw it flap its wings
No one saw it soar high into the sky
No one saw it tumble and fall.
No one saw how its wings got broken
No one heard its cries
The world lies wasted
In desolation
And the lone bird
It breathes its last
Spiraling down towards
Its earthly grave.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Wind-up bird chronicles- Haruki Murakami
Decided to read this book after seeing it on a 100 must-read books list. I can't really decide if I liked the book. It was interesting enough to keep the reader flipping page after page- the plot was uncommon and so offered a fair bit of surprise. The story opened with an ordinary Japanese couple - Okada and Kumiko, who led a pretty much routinuous life with Okada being the house husband after losing his job. Things started getting strange when their cat disappeared and Kumiko hired a psychic of sort to find the cat. Instead of finding the cat, Okada ended up losing his wife. Kumiko vanished one fine day and Okada only knew the reason why after receiving a letter from Kumiko stating that she had been having an affair and wanted a divorce. Okada was however, determined to find Kumiko. The psychic, Malta reappeared in his life, this time, bringing her sister , Creta along. Creta had the ability to enter Okada's dreams and the line between reality and dreams began to blur. Creta eventually revealed to Okada that she had been defiled by his brother-in-law, Wataya, whom Okada abhorred. Central to the story was a cursed house in Okada's neighborhood- past occupants had all committed auicide. Okada was however drawn to the house and its well, which had laid dry for years. Okada decided to shut himself off from the outside world by entering the well and it was in the well where he received a burning "mark" on his face. The mark it seemed gave him the power to heal emotional troubles of middle-aged women. The twist and turn of the story ended with Kumiko killing her own brother for revenge as she knew that Noboru had caused the death of her sister by similarly defiling her.
The book borders on the occult and it felt just surreal reading it but it's probably not my cup of tea. I may however try to read Norwegian wood before giving a final verdict of the author.
The book borders on the occult and it felt just surreal reading it but it's probably not my cup of tea. I may however try to read Norwegian wood before giving a final verdict of the author.
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