Not like the others

18 february 2009




One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn't belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

Did you guess which thing was not like the others?
Did you guess which thing just doesn't belong?
If you guessed this one is not like the others,
Then you're absolutely...right!

- One of these things (is not like the others), Joe Raposo and Jon Stone


Yes, I really don't seem to belong, do I....

I wonder when that happened.

What next??? If at all, there is a need for next....

Sigh.


Oh dear


The thing about Facebook (and blogs) is, you can't keep things to yourself for long.

Methinks there's a whole lot of shit about to fly. Or not???

Hmmm.....




Let me be your nightmare

05 february 2009


"....it is a group photo, and you had a checkered shirt on."

I'm presently trying to digest the realisation that 15 years have actually passed, among other things.....

It was one of those internet dalliances back in school. There were several online chats; a few long-distance telephone conversations; exchange of photos (none of the porny variety, get your mind out of the gutter) and empty promises (as such dalliances are typical of); and then things just died off. I sensed it was just a dalliance for him, and so I had quickly and quietly pulled away - very reluctantly.

I'm now trying very desperately to remember which photo(s) I had mailed to C - because this I do remember, that I had taken what I had assumed to be my chio bu pose (facepalm, whywhywhy). I just can't remember if I had sent him a tamer shot instead (again, facepalm, whywhywhy).

It's a small world, more so this tiny island I call home. But I hardly expected that our first meeting offline (unplanned, obviously) would be at a coughexoticcough dance event which I attended coughasaperformercoughcough some 3 years ago (that is, 12 years after our last communication). It was a 'graduation' performance of sorts, at the end of the dance course.

C was there to help out - his wife was with the dance company. As life's strange ways would have it, SF decided our team needed human 'props' and the first available and very decent specimen was just standing there as we stepped into the club. So SF strutted up to C and asked him to be her prop; I partnered C's best friend.

As introductions were made, I KNEW then, twisty intestines and all (as if they weren't twisty enough at the thought of performing for an audience), who he was. I knew him from the photo; I knew the first AND last name; I knew the affected Southern twang; and I knew the school. I don't think (or so I think) he realised who I was. In any case, he seemed more interested in SF. Heh. SF thought he was really sleazy, being married and all. (Yeah well, I have lapses in judgement too - all the time.)

Fast forward to this morning, I find a message from C in my Facebook inbox. He wrote that he was going through some old photos and found one of me, signed off with just my first name. He tried looking me up on Facebook. Let's just say it's not exactly mission impossible.

I'm now trying to console myself that mortification aside - because it's one of those episodes of youthful silliness that I would really just not be reminded about - I look much, much better, than I did 15 years ago. Not so much that I care about looking better for C since I'm IGNORING that message in my inbox, but because Mr Loke seems to be taking glee that he also has a photo of me from the 1990s, taken at his house party for the Twilight gang. I imagine I looked really fugly back then, but it's ok. I don't mind that I looked fugly, but I mind knowing there's a photo out there of me looking like I should have my head in the ground (facepalmwhywhywhy) - and a reminder of yet another best forgotten episode of youthful silliness. Facepalmwhywhywhy?!?!?!




Wild things

04 february 2009


A couple of friends gleefully alerted me to Michael Phelps' latest lapse of judgement.

Not that I'm here to defend the man - nobody's perfect.... all work and no play makes Phelps a very (VERY) bad boy.... it's all that pressure of fame and expectations.... yadayadayada.... you get the drift, yes?

Well, guess what? I don't care if Michael Phelps is a saint or every mother's nightmare. I cared only about the Olympic gold medals and the thrill of watching the swimming phenomenon chase them down, one by one. But hey, I'm not here to defend my choices either.

What I was really thinking though, was how we sometimes take such perverse pleasure in watching celebrities fall from grace. But a wrong is a wrong - is a wrong any more wrong (or in some cases, less wrong) when committed by someone famous?

Or perhaps, of these otherwise ordinary fellowmen who are larger than life, who we discover also share the same foibles as us, we wonder why him/her and not me? And perhaps too, we console ourselves for our imperfections....

Anyway.

Talking about the inner megalomaniac in all of us, there's a very good reason why some nobodies should stay nobodies. If you have already been following the ABS saga, you know what I mean. If you haven't, well, don't bother.

"With great power, comes great responsibility." - Spidey

Being a leader is not about personal gains. As a leader, you are expected to lead. But more than anything else, you will discover that your purpose is to serve the very people who you lead.

"Have you ever had the feeling that YOU KNEW you were doing exactly what you were meant to do, and you were exactly where you should be?"

Yes, I have.

And the feeling of knowing.... I like.