Under Control

I cannot seem to put a finger on this. 

To recognize my own shortfall, to realize and more interestingly, admit my own incompetency, 

that is something else altogether. 

This is especially hard, if I were egotistical, narcissistic, a prideful and chauvinistic male. 

I realize the difficulty to honey-coat my words. I am often a harsh critic of many things, but unsurprisingly and infrequently of my own shortcomings. 

I cannot put a finger on this, on exactly what is going wayward. 

It is obviously easier to identify something outside of oneself. How about within one's own domain. Within my own domain, I can easily maintain control. But what exactly is seeping out? The control over myself, or the control itself? 

Take dietary habits for one (word:diet raises far too many eyebrows in these non-fat days). 

How far is too far? While I put myself through a clean stringent eating habit, that control will inevitably alter the preferences of where we end up patronizing. 

A salad bar as opposed to fast food chains. Simple enough. 

So where do I find my guts? 

When I cave, do I cave because I care for the other's preference, or do I cave because I slip up? 

To have the courage to do what's right, to say what's right. 

It's not unheard of, only that it is unpleasant to hear. 

I heard that's what the Truth sounds like. 

Decision making aside, tracing back from the gut, up to the oesophagus and then to the brain, does the self control really apply to myself? It is no longer much of a self-control if it forces the other half to be under control. 

It's dual-control, other-control, macro-control. 

And when in control, the one wielding the power and exerting the authority has the power.

Power often misleads and is easily confused with the Truth. 

Truth is spoken by those who holds the Rod.

If so, I relinquish the power. 

I resist against the control.

I put the 'control' under control. The resistance against the resistance itself. 

Now, I am only human. 

No one, but yourself.

I owe no one but myself my own living.

It's my life, and I choose the way I lead. 

So bow down to no one, justify to no one. 

is what a single, bachelor, chauvinist would say.

But it really is more than just me, myself and I. 

When more bonds are forged, more extensions of responsibility are tethered. 

We all have different goals/people that we doggedly slog for every day.

In peace I love,

In tribulation, dig deeper, I still love. 

For those that are worth my sweat and tears, I forge ahead. 

Flowers

Flowers, a thing of nature and when in bloom plays a part in the big circle of life that Simba is also found in.

Flowers, while practical in its original and rightful place serves up to be very useful. 

Flowers, when plucked, removed and unplugged from the circle forcibly and violently, loses every bit of its original purpose. 

They then redefine their purpose of existence. 

The purpose of not being purposefully practical. 

Now, in a vase, it adorns the site it resides, the artificial space it stands. 

An organic reminder to an otherwise very artificial and concrete-like urban environment. 

The romantic in me will put them in a bouquet. 

The purpose of not not being purposeful.

On top of costing a few more cents than the edibles; chocolates and cookies.

Holding less sense than an artfully designed iPad or iDevice.

Flowers, redefining the purpose in today's all-purposeful life. 

Flowers, because the beloved deserves.

Beauty, second to none. 

it pays the bills, man.

These two lads spontaneously posed for me, smiling brightly into the camera and providing such a good shot. The countenance and expression is priceless.  Is it that only in America that I find the boldness to take such shots? Or such subjects are hard to find in the more reserved culture like ours.

The gardener in his overalls is one of my favorite shots in US. Upon inquiry, he spoke about how this job 'pays the bills, man'. While the passion is to deejay, he willingly (or is compelled economically) took up this gardening job to make that dough to pursue his passion during his leisurely hours.

As far as I know, this is pretty exclusive; to be able to do what you love and make it a living outta it. Well inculcated with pragmatism, we are bred from young to engage in something 'useful' and profitable. Pursue your passion in dance/football/painting as a career is almost not feasible - but of course I am speaking generally. 

Not many of us are as lucky as those select few: those who are not just talented enough to be absolutely brilliant in these aspects, but also fortunate enough to be given opportunities to shine in these situations. 

A Flurry of Events

After a brief hiatus, here we are again. 

Once more, with fleeting human interactions, compelling (single)subject matter, 

Enjoy.

Breath of Fresh Air

A redefinition of smoking by kerb side

The notion of being at ease and in one's comfort. The perfect acceptance of how one can simply dress the way they want whenever they want. 

Whoever said pyjamas are strictly bound to the bedroom hasn't been to America, and specifically San Francisco where individuality is all the more celebrated.

He/She who spells pyjamas as pajamas is entitled to at least that; the freedom of exercising one's free will via their dressing.

To be truly comfortable in one's skin, now that's a real breath of fresh air.

Here in Singapore, it's almost sacrosanct that we stay true to the Asian values, as if Confucius had never died. 

I pick 'Humility', one that can be expressed via our dressing and the virtue that can be most related to conservativeness. 

The other extreme: Arrogance to the extent of being obnoxious can also be represented via our dressing. The louder the clothes, the more distasteful it is. 

It will probably take a little longer before we can recognise the fine line between 'being outstanding' and the individual 'just being him/herself'.

Technology has arrived. Proliferation of social media(and the relevant technology) has engendered a greater acceptance or 'tolerance' in the masses for fashion and behaviour alike.

Is it really a natural progression towards individuality as modernity creeps in?

Perhaps.

Everything Else Is An Aberration

You stand the test of time, unfazed and unaltered.

You stand my stench, wincing with slight grimace.

You stand en pointe, sturdy and stoic.

Because everything else is a deviation

Because you are the only entity that holds true

Because everything else is an aberration

My brief (and valiant/miserable attempt of) ode to you, the one who has just attained legal adulthood, is how I shall begin this mini-series.

This milestone is only the start. It merely entitles you to jail time and not detention in troubled homes.

It also grants you entrance to the subordinate court instead of the juvenile variant.

You can now strut the clubs within American borders without feeling ridiculed by how Singapore’s(of all places) legal age is 18.

Some things do not change, though.

You are still unable to voice out any sort of political/religious dissent in public.

How bleak and pessimistic this outlook of our world. These are the times we live in. Fortunately for me, you provide me respite, the first break of light post dawn.

You are my Fermina, my Lolita, my Daisy and my Cheryl.

The concept of infidelity evades me. When I have someone like you, it takes an outright defiance of logic to hanker for anything else. Because no one else can match up to what you can provide. Not even close.

Our bodies wither with time.

Our love, if quantifiable, will not diminish but only grow to become stronger.

There are many more 21 years to come, and let this be the milestone that always reminds you on the first step towards reality.

The reality that the shelter above your head will no longer be propped up by the mighty arms of your parents.

The reality that you will be putting yourself up for constant and perpetual review by your peers and your superiors.

The reality that nothing comes free in this world; that without toiling, you shall be bereft of the comforts that you currently own.

This somehow seems more like introspection, an outward profession of what I feel about myself.

In any case, the bereavement that I can imagine is way too much for me to take. I know better than to let someone like you slip from my fingers.

It has also been proven that we are loss averse than gain-driven. If so, let me be constantly reminded of the possible nightmare that will drive all my dreams to ground should the time happen that I am no longer worthy of you.

Guileless as always

Z