Hoo-ey!

So it's been ages since my last blog post. Many things have happened in between, but I'm realizing as I grow older the importance of writing and documenting.

Not to worry, I've moved to Wordpress. Please find me here: prapimc.wordpress.com

Hope to see you there!

Cheers,
Prapim

Thoughts on a seven-hour train journey

You know that position I was interviewing for a few weeks ago that I mentioned? Well...I didn’t get it.

The timing of when I found out was extremely unfortunate - I’d just spent a wonderful four days with my good friend, Daran, in Berlin, and was going back to Leiden to continue the remainder of my holiday, when I happened to check my inbox.

"There were many enthusiastic candidates like you, but we regret to inform you we are unable to-"

I remember only those words, because by that time I'd already closed the email, dazed. I didn't want to read any more. I was surprised at how upset I was, but I suppose I should have been, considering how much I'd been banking on getting this position. 

“I’m not really sure I should be putting you on a seven-hour train journey by yourself in this condition,” Daran said worriedly. It was the first time he'd seen me cry, or even emote so dramatically, and I could tell even through the haze of my tears he seemed taken aback.

I shrugged. "I'm sure I'll be fine." At the least I'll just obliterate the snacks I packed, I joked to myself feebly.

The whole seven hours back, I kept running through in my head why, why, why didn’t I get the position? (It was a government position for an arts teacher, by the way.) For the first time in my life I'd felt confident going into an interview. I was qualified, and had relevant experience, and felt like it was something I really wanted to do. Perhaps it didn't show through in my interview? Or maybe I'd answered some questions unsatisfactorily? Maybe I wasn't quite localized enough for them, and was a bit too honest in some of my answers. So many maybes, and perhaps, and what ifs.

Just goes to show that so many things never quite work out the way you plan. That you can feel you've done so well, and tried your best, and...well.

I'd fallen asleep halfway through the journey, and was waking up around Deventer - only an hour's journey left. By that time, I felt calmer, if still worried about the future. I suppose it wasn't meant to be, then. That's what I had concluded as I stepped off the train.

I’ve since had the time to compose myself and think a bit more. I'm sure had I gotten the position, I would have been happy in my own way. But now I think, there's always another path for me. Things never work out the way you plan, but they have a way of working themselves out, nonetheless.

You know, I've been neglecting this blog for a while. I know nobody else besides me reads this, but hey, I think I'm a good enough person to entertain to continue.

You may know that I am totally boy-crazy. If you didn't before, you do now. I had this one project where I wanted to create a 'Prapim's Top Ten Men' zine, but it didn't quite go through. Who knows, perhaps one day, I'll do it. For now, have this post.

There are so many things I had wanted to say to you

I'm not the type of person to have regrets. I do dwell a lot on the past, and I reminisce more than I think I should. I'm not the confident type who would say that were I to live my life again, I'd do it exactly the same. There's a lot of things I've done I've always thought I could have, should have done better, or differently, or not at all. There was one time when I was about three years old, at a birthday party, where I blew out the candles of a birthday cake that wasn't mine. I remember stealing a handful of candy at around the same age from a shop, running away as the elderly shopkeeper came out,  shouting after me. I've had my share of temper tantrums and outbursts.

But I don't particularly regret them. Sure, I wish I hadn't done them - if for nothing else than the consequences after - but now that I've done them, I don't feel too bad about it. I look at myself and say, you're only human, I understand. You shouldn't have done it, but you did, and I understand. You see, this is how you learn. Maybe it makes me a better person, these things. Maybe it doesn't. It's all fine.

It must have been the late hour, the watching as dark clouds against a sky intermittently lit by the light of the plane, the one empty seat next to me as the man in the aisle seat slept, but...as I was coming back to Singapore yesterday from Bangkok, it suddenly struck me that yes, there is one thing I regret. Or rather, two.

I regret that I never got to properly say goodbye to my grandparents.

You see, my maternal grandmother and paternal grandfather passed away within the same year. I didn't attend the funeral of either. I was in London at the time, unable to afford a ticket back home for two return trips, my family insistent I stay to concentrate on my studies. It hurt me, but I understood. No, that was not what I regretted. What I regret is that I had wanted to say more, so much more to them, before their passing.

(What would I have said, I wonder?)

But in any case, they were already gone, and what I'd be saying I might as well say to the wind. Perhaps I might believe in their spirits watching me, listening in anyway, but I'd never know for sure. During a time I could be certain, I didn't say anything.

Perhaps I knew it then. I wish I'd been braver. I remember when I left grandmother's house three years ago, looking at her, frail, in her late seventies but so much weaker than she should have been, tears had unexpectedly welled up within me. My seventeen-year-old self had managed to wipe tears away before anyone could see and even my breathing so I didn't choke, but as I look back now, I guess somehow I must have just known, that today, yes, this would be the last time I saw her. If only...

It amazes me, this grief. After all this time the pain unexpectedly still comes back, the tears. I know it's not healthy to have regrets. And so, I have only just this one - or two. It's enough for me to live with. So, for now, I'll say: "Good bye, Ah Kong, Khun Yai. I'll see you on the other side."

Coming soon to a toilet near you: The Manitor (TM)

Okay. My subconscious is a bad stand-up comedian. I know people say their dreams show how weird and special they are, and all that special snowflake twaddle, but my dreams are the equivalent of a bad stand-up comedian trying desperately to get the half-empty bar that is their audience to laugh whilst nervously pulling at the collar of their cheap, un-ironed shirt. Think of it as the Joker pre-chemical peel treatment.

I had this dream that I had invented this new occupation. It was a cross between a man and a janitor: behold, the ManitorTM! He was basically a janitor, except young and exceptionally handsome, thus giving females and males (if they were so inclined) something to look forward to next time they did their business in a public toilets. Eye-candy for those answering nature's call, if you will.

And then, someone questioned me: what about the male janitors? Wouldn't that, in definition, make them a ManitorTM? No, no, you silly, stupid, naive fool, I smile while smacking them upside the head. A male janitor and a ManitorTM are two totally different things. Let me explain:

...

You know what, I don't know either.

In which I over-analyze Rebecca Black's 'My Moment'

I don't think My Moment is really as bad as some people are purporting. It's just hopelessly,  mildly, generically bland. Her voice seems to have been autotuned several times over, and the chorus is repetitive (still better than Friday, not that that's saying much) but how is that so different than what we hear in the usual pop charts? In a way, that actually makes the song worse. Let me explain.

We're not even allowed to like it ironically: no more endearingly low-budget effects or sets. No more confused extras. No more nasal voice or mind-numbing yet super-catchy lyrics. Yet, the song isn't outright hateable - either of which would have filled us with hand-rubbing glee. Sure, the number of dislikes on My Moment outweighs the likes, but the jibes feel half-hearted. How can we make fun of something that has nothing to make fun of? Blandness isn't fun. Blandness is...bland.

Although I'll be the first person to wish it was just as inane as Friday just so I could make fun of it, I suppose I'm glad for her. She's a cute girl with a contagious smile and (against one's resistance) infectious energy; she really could be much, much worse. Rebecca Black is really guilty of nothing more than being a young girl with dreams whose parents were indulgent enough to spend a few thousand dollars on her to have some chubby rapper from a music company of dubious origin write a terrible (-y awesome) song for her.

Yet, she seems to almost be asking for people to mock her mercilessly with My Moment's lyrics. Some of the lyrics essentially amount to: "HAHA! SUCKERS! LOOK AT ME NOW, YOU HATERS! I'M POPULAR AND FAMOUS AND YOU'RE NOT! NYA NYA NYA NYA NYA NYA!" Girl, you of all people should know the internet by now. This is the equivalent of dangling fresh meat in front of their faces. They'll take anything they can get. If you really are so famous and rich, please don't sing about feeling smug in proving the haters wrong. It just makes you look petty. Like, you know, you're sinking to our level. I believe in you, Rebecca. You're young yet. You can do better. You will do better. I say this with the best of intentions.

Regardless. Hopefully she'll be able to find some legitimate fame - as this video portrays her to have. But in the back of my mind, I still hope her next song will be epic of Friday-like proportions...fun, fun, fun, fun!

Random thought

Does anyone else think that 3D TV is extraordinarily pointless?

It's kind of like ordering salad at McDonald's. Not exactly the same metaphor, but a similar feeling. A lot of effort for nothing much.

If I wanted to see things in 3D, I'd just go outside.