Bread Pudding

Yes, some things have changed, but I am always surprised by how much has stayed the same despite everything that has happened. It was the one catastrophic decision of these two years...well, the only one so far at least. I can't bring myself to say that it was a bad decision, an outright mistake. No...what I feel is not regret per se, though sometimes in the nights one wonders the age-old question, "What if..." I think I would have taken that decision anyway, at this point - there really wasn't a viable alternative open to me. It's not personal, just self defence. I'm still telling myself that it had to happen sometime, so I can slip into the familiar groove of drawing comfort from the assurance that it will never happen again. But if there is anything to regret, it is that it had to happen with other people on the scene. Other persons.

But still...yes, I'm glad that not everything has changed. Maybe what we had all that time ago is only maintained now because we all agree to prop it up, this ramshackle reality rehabilitated by willing memories and sentiments. Perhaps we are just holding up one last candle against the winds of time, that whisper in our years that our time is up. Maybe we all know, on some deep level, that this is only temporary.

But the attempt is all. And I appreciate the attempt. Thank you.

* * * * *

Winterson's really affecting me. It's a brilliant book. Just finished the redocumenting today, which means that now I'm marginally enabled to do the Lit S paper. Have to take a look at more Olds before the time comes, but perhaps I can put it aside...ration it over the next two weeks. But yeah...there are points in the book that never fail to strike a chord in me. The two death scenes (put one on waystation), the cannibalism scene, and the last union of timelines and memories. Such intense emotions invoked. These two books are the best books I have ever read, in terms of emotiveness. It's because of the remarkable amount of sympathy that I seem to find in them. I'm still not done marveling at the uncanny luck that had me picking up these two books at a second-hand shop for $3 total, and then having them carry me all the way to this spot. The two books must be the most worth-it things I have ever bought. The consumer surplus goes through the roof.

Now, attention turns towards Econs and EHist, the first biggies that are coming up. One week left. Everything in its proper perspective? Good. Then let's get this show on the road.

* * * * *

Was rather peeved after the PSC talk. It was wholly pointless...didn't learn something I didn't already know. And there were so many people there. The sheer number of prospective applicants is daunting. And frankly, I find myself recoiling from the perspective of fighting with all of them for the scholarships. In the eyes of many of them was the glint of determination that shows that they want it at almost any cost. All those people scrabbling and bustling each other for the scholarship. The ultimate cesspit of politics and backstabbing. When that much money and prestige is up for grabs, all bets are off.

Though I am being unfair. I should not be this hostile. There are plenty of good people who are going too for the scholarship. This is where another conflict erupts. I hope each and every one of them gets the scholarship they deserve, but I know that that is not possible. Yesterday, I realised that seeing all those familiar faces, it was not hard to cheer them on in this race, even if they will be my competitors. In fact, I'd like to think that I would be able to be happy for their success even if I myself am not able to join them. The difficult part comes in the case where I end up knocking out someone worthy. A variation of survivor's guilt, perhaps.

In church that afternoon I experienced a deep pang of guilt...no, sadness. The sermon, coincidentally enough, was about cooperation and community spirit. How, as a church, the objective is not only to get to heaven, but to take as many people with you as you can. The thing is to support each other so the most people can get there. Of course, this is different from the scholarship race in a few ways. Firstly, one's place in heaven is confirmed, and all one has to do is to get there and take it. Secondly, there's no limit to the number of places. That does make it easier to be altruistic. But still, it struck me that there was so much competition that was frankly unnecessary. If only everyone would cooperate. If only people were able to look beyond immediate personal interests, which are doubtlessly important, to consider your neighbour.

It's really frustrating...the arrangement is such that anyone who tries to change the way the system works will be swamped by other people's indifference. People will have the incentive to cheat. And everyone at the PSC briefing was smart enough to figure that out, to rationally conclude that self-interest is not compatible with charity. Yes. Sometimes it's pointless to try. Was about to cry, practically (okay, exaggeration for effect), but thankfully, Yiting was there to put things in perspective. Yes, we may not be able to help. And anyway what right have we to impose help on someone? But the thing is to be ready to step in, to be available when needed, to be there waiting to be called (there's something that FEMA could have figured out before Katrina).

Yes. Everything in the proper perspective. She is a levelheaded and goodhearted person. Kind of like Dolly Winthrop...

* * * * *

Yesterday Grace came over again to do the usual mix of Econs and Hist. I was busy finishing off Silas Marner and Gut Symmetries. Heh, is it really that indulgent to devote an entire day to literature? Okay, yes it is. I admit. It was positively sinful. But it sure felt good. And anyway, I needed to get the two books out of the way sooner or later. As things happened, I was positively euphoric to reach the enlightenment points of both books on the same day. The feel-good effect of good literature. Yes. Definitely indulgent =P

We had quite a spread for dinner yesterday...Mum cooked shepherd's pie (a first, to be sure...I didn't even have an idea of what shepherd's pie was...), made a really good salad (with baby tomatoes...mmm...Fruits and Veggies should enshrine them in a song) and even threw in a bread pudding. And while we were tucking into this peasant meal that even Silas Marner would have been proud of, she took out her laptop and told the whole story of her Europe trip in photos. The trips from Bern to Interlaken to Glasgow and then Stratford and Oxford and enchanting London. Heh...these stories I myself have never heard of.

To be sure, my family seems to come alive whenever my friends come over. I find myself sometimes learning more things about my mum when my friends are around. Like they are a catalyst to the chat. But don't get me wrong...I'm not resentful. Far from it. I'm glad for any opportunity to talk to my family, my far-flung and high-flying humble family. And if someone beyond my family can enjoy it too, who am I to begrudge them that? Heh, I guess I should feel a bit sad that such chats don't happen more often, without the help of my friends. I should. But I don't. It's just the way my family is. If there's anything that this home encapsulates, it's privacy. And we grow our own type of love that does not need expression to sustain itself. Sort of like...familiarity. Comfort. And security, total security.

Yes, so we had an hour split between Dr. Dolittle on the telly and snapshots of Europe on the laptop, as we waited for the bread pudding to set. Really really good, the feel-good of the movie, and the glimpses of a place where we could very well be in a year's time. I can't really describe the feeling...something approximating pride. I was proud to have such a family, if that makes acceptable sense.

* * * * *

Had the strangest dream last night...I dreamt that I woke up in Lyon, back in the old room in the Tills'. And Mrs. Till looked in and woke me up, told me to remember my meeting. So I dressed quickly, and departed to head down the street to go and meet...Young. Before I knew it I was walking down the side of a Taiwanese highway, and since it was a long way to go, I decided to stop at this rest stop. There was a carpet shop in there, and a lamp shop, and the lamp shop had such strange and wonderful lamps that I had to stop to take a look. And then it occured to me that I'd seen that shop before. It was at the Night Market in Bangkok. And then I turned around and walked up a highway viaduct and found myself in Silom.

It didn't occur to me that it was strange that Lyon should be so close to Taipei and Bangkok. It was utterly natural. Maybe it's because conceptually, all these places and experiences are equally distant from everyday life. Miles and metres don't matter in the mind, where every centimetre can encompass whole realities. But what was striking to me was that my dream self had its own memories. I actually remembered a previous dream. It was a memory that only existed in the subconscious - I was wholly unaware of it on a conscious level until last night. And yet, I'm sure that it was a memory, that I had walked that dreamscape before, because of the feeling of familiarity that I felt on those highways. I knew the way. I had been that way before. And so, this subconscious memory was brought to my conscious surface.

And I was walking alone. It was natural, utterly natural. It didn't occur to me to look for someone to journey with me. I knew that there would be people waiting at the end.

What does this mean?

* * * * *

Went to the MFA talk today too. It was brilliant...and I am eager to join that ministry now. It strikes me as having some of the most intelligent civil servants in Singapore. But will talk more of that tomorrow, perhaps. That deserves an entry of its own.

pondered by phoenican @ 5.9.05