Neil Humphreys wrote in his book that Singaporean students could talk for hours on the topic of World War II or Biology, but when posed with questions on subjects not taught in school, for example armpits or doorknobs, they would be blank-faced and silent.

At parties, it's always the case that people have nothing to talk about, especially if they haven't been aquainted before. Too often I've seen a bunch of fifteen-year-olds sitting at the dinner table, staring blankly into their food, mouths chewing mechanically, and eschewing conversation. That sight never fails to brings to mind the picture of cows grazing, unmoving and silent except for the continuous grinding of cud-in-mouth. And the occasional fart. Any talk is always between those already comfortable with each other.

Worse still is the fact that no one even makes an effort to get to know each other. I'd be in a room with some friends, and someone I haven't met walks in. In 95% of my experiences, he/she would not introduce him/herself to new people unless introduced by the host, and even then after their brief handshake they would part ways and probably never see each other again. Throughout the course of the night, they wouldn't speak. No attempt would be made. At the end of the day, no one's phonebooks or email list has grown. Not unless you make the effort to do so, and then continue to talk to them in the future, and meet up again. If not, everything shall be for naught.

So I utterly sympathise with frustrated parents who put up with one-word answers. But who takes the blame for this lack of social skills? I've been told that the situation gets better as people get older, but I'm impatient. It's getting extremely annoying. Bah.

Like Christmas turkey without the stuffing: Just Turkey, Everyday Food

It's ironic that a weblog of ones life is supposed to be the conduit for his thoughts, yet it rarely fills that role. There's always someone who would take offense. There's always someone who'd ridicule it. Just the trivial stuff gets through.

So what, then, is the use of a weblog?

Every day as I walk up the stair,
I meet a man who isn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
I wish, oh I wish he'd go away.

-Hughes Mearns

Very annoying, this is becoming

'To play Bach, first you must feel calm and peaceful. Have no fear of the notes. I see much fear in you,' says the wide-eyed piano teacher who's slowly turning green and sprouting pointy ears.

I know, I know, it leads to anger, then hate, then suffering.

Adventures in the Concrete Jungle

And as I sat detached from the pulsing lights and thumping bass, I witnessed the majesty of an animal, long believed to be extinct. Sure, the wild creature was aged, but age brought a craggy and world-worn ruggedness that must have lent a sort of charm, not to mention a glib tongue. It was at home in the concrete jungle, for it carried itself with an ease that I undoubtedly lack.

Bruised, bleeding, blistered and suffering from all other kinds of maladies, I could only watch in wide-eyed admiration, while my little talking shadow gave random odd comments about the whirling masses that surrounded us.

The animal may grow old, but will never die.

But there still is only one Two of Diamonds

It's an uncomfortable realisation that not every one in the world shares your interests. 'Specially at this age of our lives, when everyone's trying to find out what he likes, and what he is like.

What is even more disquieting is that you are told that you'll eventually find out what you want, but the word to look out for is 'eventually'. So what is one to do in the downtime?

Opinions are amorphous things. Too bad sometimes your's is different from everyone elses'.

Of Prodigal Birds and Stupid Humans

There's this 'exhibit' in the Jurong Bird Park. I'm convinced that it's some cruel prank by the park.

Called the Talking Birds Section, it consists of a couple of lonely-looking parakeets and other multicoloured cousins, each solitary in their cages. The shack they are housed in, relative to the grand, spick-and-span enclosures in the park is, well, a dilapidated old shack. In front of each cage stands a sign. The names of the birds and the words they apparantly can speak, obscured by a layer of grime, are written on these signs.

Now if I were an ageing bird with creaky limbs and a bad case of ED, living in maddening solitude, I wouldn't be in the mood to talk to anyone other than my own kind. That statement must be pretty accurate because the birds didn't talk at all either. I also doubt they understand the words they were taught to say, but that is redundant because of the first point.

Obviously other people don't understand that, so what they do is call the names of the birds in retarded, croaky, voices in an attempt to get them to talk. It doesn't work. These humans would keep at it for many minutes until they lumber away, cursing the 'stupid birds'. What they don't realise is how idiotic they look while trying to talk to the birds. One has to experience it for himself.

There's a CCTV camera in the vicinity. Imagine the laughs generated for the staff.

These lines, ad-libbed, were well-rehearsed.

Well I haven't memorized all of the cute things to say,
But I'm working on it.
Maybe I'll master this art form someday,
If I quote all the lines off the top of my head.
Would you believe,
That I fully understand all these things I've read.

Im just trying to find my way,
Trying to find my way,
The best that I know how.

In the depths it's real name was forgotten.
Fetal, it's curled up, died, is now rotten.
A thing I've learned is even if you really care,
Some people will hurt you and no-one will raise a hair.

It's a bitch convincing people to like you,
If I stop now you'll all call me a quitter,
If lies were cats you'd be kitty litter.
The Olympic swimmer drowned in the lake.
A man was murdered on his birthday with poisoned birthday cake.

I would say that this has been an unforgettable experience, but then again, a jalapeno up the rectum is an unforgettable experience too. Everything has it's good and bad days I guess. Just like the stock market. Someone once told me that the world revolves around sex, but I disagree.

Instead, I think that the world is one big playground filled with 6-year-old schoolkids. The difference is that these schoolkids have big guns, and nukes, and millions of bucks to boot. Everywhere you go it's just the same similar situation where the big bad bully makes faces at the little kids and sometimes there's this upstart who tries to defy him, and then he gets squashed.

Straining my ears,
Praying for time,
Why the hell did I commit this crime.

Slips of the mouth ain't no felony.
But nevertheless, the guilt hurts on the inside,
Never something you should hide.