The Terminal

Went to Changi Airport at 7am this morning to send a friend off, and felt familiar with the place. It's a fact I find somewhat unfortunate.

The world to me has never felt smaller than it does right now, with friends in all the right places: Hongkong, Shanghai, Taiwan, Bangkok, Perth, Melbourne, Sydney, London, Philly, New York, L.A, California, Mexico ... Still, I cling desperately to a time long ago when we grew up thinking that we'd grow old together with friends, if not in the same neighbourhood, at least in the same country. Going overseas for uni might have enlarged the mind globally, but it has also meant losing friends internationally.

It's like our lives are terminals with people, friends, lives passing through. Some have no time for stopovers, others are willing to slow down enough for coffee before moving on. The closer ones don't mind waiting in transit longer. But all this traffic, coming and going, not knowing who's staying who's leaving, becomes emotionally exhausting and you're left wondering what is the point.

In all these friend- and relation- ships, are we on board for the ride or the destination?

If you have speakers on the table...

Have you ever listened to music through the wood of your table?

Place your ear on it. You'll hear a timbre that distinctly rings of the past, like an old jingle playing over a gramophone...

Way cool.

Dipsomaniacs of the world

Alcohol is like the beverage of the 21st century alongside coffee. One analgesic, one stimulant. Boy, doesn't that tell you how confused and confusing we are?

dip·so·ma·ni·a ( P ) (dps-mn-, -mny)
n.
An insatiable craving for alcoholic beverages.


... I like this word. It seems to describe everyone, well almost everyone.

Aren't we all dipsomaniacs of one form or another, when we drink : to socialize to relax to dance to be merry to kill time to have fun to get high get wild to forget? To be for a night, whoever else you want to be. Drink to become free.

In the end, dipsomania is really an insatiable craving for a life other than what we own.

Fracture of a character

Can I write a book without telling a story?

There's always a beginning and an end.

But since I don't know where to start I can only begin here, in the middle, and tell you about the last thought I had, and maybe from there you'll get a sense of who I am without my ever having to tell you.

Isn't that what we all want?

Someone to discover us for ourselves minus the contrivances that follow.

Funny how we always want what we cannot get...