It's off hours at work. I'm here because I haven't got anywhere else to go but home. And home is not where I want to be at right now. You see, it can get a little crowded in The Menagerie.
So the question for today is: Is there such a thing as fate or destiny? And if there is, is there a way to change it?
Have you heard of the story of... uhm... er... whathisname... *sighs*... okay let's call him Bob? It's a very generic name. Like LiquidPaper. Anyways.
Bob was a scholar back in the old China days. So long ago even before the Great Wall was up the Chinese arse. When he was a young man, he worked on the farm with his family. His dad was a chief executive farmer. His mom was the deputee chair-farmee, his elder brother was the assistant farmee manager. And Bob was just another chink working his way up the farming ladder.
On the way home after a day of hard sweaty labour, he met a long white bearded crooked bent old man. And for some strange freaky reason, all long white bearded crooked bent old men in China in that century were occult and astrology masters. This long white bearded crooked bent old man told him that one day, despite his poor farmee status, he would one day be a great scholar of China. So great that the prime minister would kow tow to him. So great that the Emperor would seek his advice in good gold digging days. But despite his greatness and his fortune, he will die of an early age (say around 40?) without an heir.
And I ask this of you: What good is all greatness and fortune without family and love?
Nothing.
Bob thought to himself: It's almost fortunate and unfortunate hearing the prophecy. But the long white bearded crooked bent old man was just being a good kepoh nose digger. He thanked the long white bearded crooked bent old man and went on his way. And indeed, Bob went on his way to become a great scholar. He took that year's government examination like all good Chinese boys did at his age and he passed with amazing colours! As splendid as it is on a rainbow. And every year from then on, he received much fortune and respect of China.
Up till his 30th birthday he had been everything the long white bearded crooked bent old man had predicted him to be. As a thin line of HuangHe (Yellow) river trickled down his pants he realised that he had only 10 more good years of life to go. So he decided to visit another long white bearded crooked bent old man to see if he had any advice on how he can counter his fate. His destiny. This long white bearded crooked bent old man was also an occult and astrology specialist but unlike the other, he knew as much as there is little you can possibly do to change the lines on your palms, you can do something with your karma (def.: cause and effect. Universal power balance-o-meter of Good & Evil).
So he advised Bob to do more charity. Sincere welfare projects. Heartfelt goodness to fill the void of this sad little selfish planet. And the more Bob delivered, the less he thought about himself and the more he wanted to touch lives no matter how long he lived. Yes, Bob became the first Chinese Santa's helper (Go Bob!). As years passed, he met the love of his life, had a child and lived till 100 and died with a full and satisfied well-spent heart.
The moral of the story is: Don't trust every long white bearded crooked bent old man you meet on the road. Mom's word: Don't talk to strangers.
That's not all: Life is not destined or written in the stars. It's not written in some book of Fate in the high heavens. What you do with your life, is your choice. Good befalls those who do good. Bad befalls those who smell like rotten eggs. Cliche on the way: 'Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you'll be able to enjoy it a second time.'
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Friday, September 16, 2005
A month later...
and the cursor blinks at me. and blinks. and blinks. and blinks.
well, i've almost given up on blogging. and i have perfectly good reasons why i should. just that ... i don't want to hurt your eyes too much with my whining. it takes tremendous effort to pull a straight face at someone's whining. i know. so i won't do it to you because i'm far too kind. so since you don't have to put with my whining, you'll have to tolerate my gloating.
nyahahaha...
well, all that is really brilliant except that i don't really have much to gloat about.
so this is what a plog suppose to be. a blog with pictures right. except i've screwed up the fact that i have an slr and it takes money and time to process the film and that usually spells disaster because i don't have time and i don't have money.
i did have plenty to say. truly. really. sincerely. everytime something occurs, i'd think, 'whoa this would be interesting to blog about'. but i never do. of course i don't. or else you'd be reading it by now. and i'll be famous for it. HA HA HA!.
oh so here's a weak attempt:
"you know the story about the running frogs? there are like 100 little frogs that goes on a marathon (yes, i'm quite aware they 'hop' not 'jog' thank you but hear me out). so the big frogs go, 'you can't do it, you're not meant to run. you'll have cramps. you'll have ugly jogger thighs. you won't be able to jump for life.' and after an inch or so (because they're really tiny alright?), 50 falls back - partly because it's hot and another because they've thought it over about how right the big frogs are. After another inch, as the sun rages on, another 25 frogs decided to give up. And slowly there were only 10 little frogs left. Soon the rest falls back and there was just one very sweaty, puffy and tired frog. But he ran and ran and ran until he reached the peak of the hill (oh, i forget that there's a hill). So anyway, as he nears the finishing line, the big frogs and 99 little frogs doesn't cheer him on but tells him: 'Stop! there's no way you can make!' 'You're going to get a cardiac arrest!' 'You're tearing your muscles apart!' 'You're not made to run!' 'Don't ruin your bright future!' 'What are you trying to prove?!'. But the little frog runs and runs and runs and finally, at the breaking point, he passes the finishing line. he won the marathon that he wasn't meant to win!
so why? why did this little frog win the race he shouldn't? was he a rebel? a show-off? a wannabe?
not really. it's just hard to hear all that voices when you're deaf. totally.
so anyway, here's another one:
we bought my car in 2003. and though it's certainly nothing to shout about it's enough for me to reach point Z. now, the best part about this very simple automobile is that it's been made to think like a lancer. yes it's louder than a lancer but no one said it had to sound like one. so anyway, its good enough for me that it thinks. you can tell the previous owner loved it to bits. gave it every piece of tender loving care it ever needed. the works man. i don't know what he did, but i'm sure this guy sat his mechanic down and said, 'listen, don't tell me what you can't do, but tell me what you can'. and they did a good job.
so anyway, he must have outgrown his toy because it's now mine. and my mechanic certainly doesn't know that it has a mind of a better car. so he makes it think and tinkle like its a very ordinary type b car. not a hotstud. but an ordinary oatmeal muffin.
i know nuts and bolts about cars. but i sure can feel them. everytime i send my baby for a service it goes crying because it's being torn down and brainwashed. now, i drive the poor dear, it's like 'an-every-other-car'. forced to be something ordinary even if it was never. broken dreams.
the point and morale of today's long and lengthy blog is that - don't bug me about not writing because you'd get philosophy crap like this.
no. of course that isn't all.
what i've been meaning to say is, as we grow up, we also grow apart from our dreams because there are voices who persistently tells us that we cannot do what we want to do most. the saddest part is as much as there will always be voices to drown our hopes and dreams, most of the time it's not the society who tells us this but ourselves. And even if we had the courage to overcome these big bad inner voices, there will always be someone like the mechanic who with the best intentions even, may ruin the rest of our potential greatness.
so don't ever EVER tell anyone - Don't. Can't. Won't. Shouldn't.
because as much as you care about them, crippling them is a bigger ghastly mistake.
have a good night thinking about it. cheers.
well, i've almost given up on blogging. and i have perfectly good reasons why i should. just that ... i don't want to hurt your eyes too much with my whining. it takes tremendous effort to pull a straight face at someone's whining. i know. so i won't do it to you because i'm far too kind. so since you don't have to put with my whining, you'll have to tolerate my gloating.
nyahahaha...
well, all that is really brilliant except that i don't really have much to gloat about.
so this is what a plog suppose to be. a blog with pictures right. except i've screwed up the fact that i have an slr and it takes money and time to process the film and that usually spells disaster because i don't have time and i don't have money.
i did have plenty to say. truly. really. sincerely. everytime something occurs, i'd think, 'whoa this would be interesting to blog about'. but i never do. of course i don't. or else you'd be reading it by now. and i'll be famous for it. HA HA HA!.
oh so here's a weak attempt:
"you know the story about the running frogs? there are like 100 little frogs that goes on a marathon (yes, i'm quite aware they 'hop' not 'jog' thank you but hear me out). so the big frogs go, 'you can't do it, you're not meant to run. you'll have cramps. you'll have ugly jogger thighs. you won't be able to jump for life.' and after an inch or so (because they're really tiny alright?), 50 falls back - partly because it's hot and another because they've thought it over about how right the big frogs are. After another inch, as the sun rages on, another 25 frogs decided to give up. And slowly there were only 10 little frogs left. Soon the rest falls back and there was just one very sweaty, puffy and tired frog. But he ran and ran and ran until he reached the peak of the hill (oh, i forget that there's a hill). So anyway, as he nears the finishing line, the big frogs and 99 little frogs doesn't cheer him on but tells him: 'Stop! there's no way you can make!' 'You're going to get a cardiac arrest!' 'You're tearing your muscles apart!' 'You're not made to run!' 'Don't ruin your bright future!' 'What are you trying to prove?!'. But the little frog runs and runs and runs and finally, at the breaking point, he passes the finishing line. he won the marathon that he wasn't meant to win!
so why? why did this little frog win the race he shouldn't? was he a rebel? a show-off? a wannabe?
not really. it's just hard to hear all that voices when you're deaf. totally.
so anyway, here's another one:
we bought my car in 2003. and though it's certainly nothing to shout about it's enough for me to reach point Z. now, the best part about this very simple automobile is that it's been made to think like a lancer. yes it's louder than a lancer but no one said it had to sound like one. so anyway, its good enough for me that it thinks. you can tell the previous owner loved it to bits. gave it every piece of tender loving care it ever needed. the works man. i don't know what he did, but i'm sure this guy sat his mechanic down and said, 'listen, don't tell me what you can't do, but tell me what you can'. and they did a good job.
so anyway, he must have outgrown his toy because it's now mine. and my mechanic certainly doesn't know that it has a mind of a better car. so he makes it think and tinkle like its a very ordinary type b car. not a hotstud. but an ordinary oatmeal muffin.
i know nuts and bolts about cars. but i sure can feel them. everytime i send my baby for a service it goes crying because it's being torn down and brainwashed. now, i drive the poor dear, it's like 'an-every-other-car'. forced to be something ordinary even if it was never. broken dreams.
the point and morale of today's long and lengthy blog is that - don't bug me about not writing because you'd get philosophy crap like this.
no. of course that isn't all.
what i've been meaning to say is, as we grow up, we also grow apart from our dreams because there are voices who persistently tells us that we cannot do what we want to do most. the saddest part is as much as there will always be voices to drown our hopes and dreams, most of the time it's not the society who tells us this but ourselves. And even if we had the courage to overcome these big bad inner voices, there will always be someone like the mechanic who with the best intentions even, may ruin the rest of our potential greatness.
so don't ever EVER tell anyone - Don't. Can't. Won't. Shouldn't.
because as much as you care about them, crippling them is a bigger ghastly mistake.
have a good night thinking about it. cheers.