The Truth About My Spiritual Vocation, and of Purgatory

There is a popular myth among devout Catholics (mostly women volunteers doing church work) that if you are single, intelligent, devout to some extent, and interested in the church activities, you have a vocation as a priest or religious. These vocation hunters (vultures or some other predatory noun may be too unpleasant to use) think they are doing the Holy Spirit's good work as they rant about and gossip about one or another's sons or brothers, boyfriend or stranger they just met, and astutely believe they can smell when one has such a vocation or not. It is a mystery of contradictions that in the same breadth or a few conversations later, they could abrogate their earlier confession. Very Islamic theologically, and less Christian influence of sort.

The truth is that vocations being a very personal call from God to the individual is both pre-destined as well as the co-operative action of human free will. And even if one's soul received that grace of God's primitive voice harking into the depths of the human heart and mind, as if haunting the spirit of the person until one yields, there are just very few such pre-destined souls even in Scripture to speak of. Remember that the Psalmist is certain about the pre-destination of God's grace, but not of man's response.

The idea of finding's one voice (voce, Latin), and the real root of the word (vocare, to call, in Latin) harked to Jesus inference in the Gospels of labourers being called to the fields by the Lord of the harvest (Luke 10:2). I like to think that it is both voce and vocare, the call and the voice that seeks to respond.

One responds according to our humanity, whether this is strengthened by upbringing and fervour, or because one asks the question interiorly and then seeks out the answer. My own upbringing did not lack fervour, but it lacked emotional stability from familial strength. The relationships I witnessed from my earliest youth was that of estrangement in the family: an abusive father, a distressed mother, and brothers who for the most part abandoned any interest in their siblings. Certainly I found strength in personal independence, but there was always going to be a longing for dependence, the affirmation of friendship and acknowledgement of giftedness and ability.

Therefore, I was not to know then - but understand it much now with the clarity of hindsight - that these were instigated in my soul by God to draw me on a spiritual journey because of the errors and other failings that were to alay my path in the decades ahead. In that sense, I can appreciate the pre-destination of a higher power. I can imagine my life if I was brought up atheist, or Buddhist, for example, and of the sort of ideas which would have enveloped and shaped my approach to life and interaction with the world. I could not imagine the violence that would have precipitated, though.

I cannot say that my own disquietened soul benefitted in such a way that I was to be wholly peaceable and gentle; no, I think that my person was bred from some sort of violence at conception and throughout my own rearing, there was always abuse and physical violence. There was just a great deal of unresolved distress which permeated the environs; of course, that exists because of the denial by those involved in its creation in the first place, even to this day.

Therefore, the call I received was to a personal relationship with God in an intimate way, rather than those who's call was a gift of the grace of charity, where they could instinctively see Christ in the person of others as a reality, as Francis of Assisi, Ignatius of Loyola and Catherine Laboure, and all the saints did. I think anyone who receives this grace of charity is called to serve the Lord in a sacramental as well as missionary way, within the actual life of the Church. For me, it was like wearing the inside of the garment outside. I was called to love the Lord, in order that I would stay alive within the Church. I was called, to be saved.

Protestant Christians have completely misunderstood this particular difference in how the Lord called for labourers and the call for sinners to repentance and salvation. They defined incorrectly that the garment of salvation is the same garment of priesthood of the victim. The garments washed white by the blood of the Lamb is what we all professed Christians wear; the office of the apostles is not preached by any of the apostles as the good news per se. Instead, what was preached, was the message of salvation, not of priesthood, which is that of Christ, shared by these apostles by their appointment (laying of hands).

It is that presbyterian and espiscopalian office which I never had to aspire to, or feel it was to be worn by me as if destined by some divine order. It could have been a choice, but not one which instinctively I would be drawn to because of grace. Never for one moment in my life can I say that I see Christ in my neighbour with that sort of clarity the saints describe. Instead, I can say more easily when the face of that which is unspeakable makes its presence felt before me. (This is true for instance when a mentally unstable man appeared in front of the school chapel and as he cursed, I felt the need to hold fast to faith. I was 15 then. And as I flipped the Bible at the Chapel's entrance open, it fell on Jeremiah 31:33-34, and those words I read aloud where permanently imprinted on my mind.)

I find it inspiring to read of Mother Teresa of Calcutta who finds Jesus in those desolate and inconsolable, abandoned and in the nadir of life. To that end, the reflection of Catherine of Genoa's life as meditated on and preached by the Pope on 12 January 2011 makes particular sense to me: "We must never forget that the more we love God and remain constant in our prayers, the more we will truly manage to love those around us, because in each individual we will see the face of the Lord, Who loves without limit or distinction".   

This mystical awareness of purification of the soul on earth, as experienced by Catherine, expresses the very nature of my own relationship with the Divine Light. She did not see Purgatory "as a place of transit in the depths of the earth: it is not an exterior fire, but an interior fire". Speaking of her experience of Purgatory, Benedict XVI continued, "the soul is aware of God's immense love and perfect justice; as a consequence, it suffers for not having responded to that love perfectly, and it is precisely the love of God Himself which purifies the soul from the ravages of sin". 

I did not see Purgatory as a place where souls transit between death and heaven, or limbo as a place either, but a special state of awareness - not intellectual alone, but in spirit - where one senses the perfection of God's Love, and being aware of one's less than perfect state, experiences that Perfection erasing and polishing away the rusticles of imperfection, not just on the surface, but through the whole self.

Yet, in this life, those rusticles of sin grow back fast - especially in those imperfections of habit and associated with the deepest human needs and desires. It is as if the DNA of our spiritual selves have mutated as well. It will take much more than a dousing of love to heal such agonies.

Purgatory therefore was already something the spirit experiences when the soul is not affixed to God by consent and affection. I think the sick and dying experience that sort of purification, which sweetly is often accompanied by consolation at the final moments. In some cases, perhaps not, and one does not know the Divine Mind well enough to guess where such destinies lie.

So, I want the matter to rest. I never had a sense of my vocation being directed towards the professed life, or I would have proceeded out of my own will. Instead, the call I felt was that of God saving me from any despair a soul might feel if it was abandoned by its Lover. And as for the current trials in my own life, these are part of my own mystical joy too - knowing that only through the intensity of absence, and of spiritual trust, can I find the sweet assurance of Providence at work in my life.

I wanted my MBA, and got one!

There are a few things which persuade men to pursue their desire, and few things in this world can be as persuasive as new, sexy technology that works, at a price you can afford, and giving you a functional edge to perform what you want done with utmost simplicity.
I am talking about the MBA.
Not the NBA or NFA.
Just the Mac Book Air.
See what I mean?
I got one now and am using it to get this blog entry done. And I really don't care any more who reads this. The whole point is purely solipsistic. I have one. That is all I care.
It was like when I bought the iPhone in 2007 and virtually nobody had one. Every meeting room and conference meeting were hijacked because my iPhone was on the table, looking like a new born princeling.
Now, the phone-menon (get it?) is quite ubiquitous. Even the zanniest folks in town use it on trains, buses, and toilet queues! The Mac Book Air however is just quite something else.
It has the best of the iPad and everything which Apple learnt from creating both these iconic items. Then they created this new generation 11 and 13 inch Mac Book Air.
I have been a PC user ALL MY LIFE, until yesterday. I watched my brother Christopher work on his Sinclair, then his Apple, and the Mactintosh. I worked on the IBM made CPT Word Processor with its 8 inch diskettes,, and got on to the Epson Brother electronic WP typewriter, before buying my own series of desktops and everything which was DOS-PC OS based. Ever since.
I feigned the Mac would be purely inaccessible and difficult to master. Every Mac user I knew loved their experience so much they did not become evangelists as much as they wanted to be part of an exclusive cult. And for the longest time, we PC users were the boring office cubicle executive types while the Mac users were all in giddy open concept offices and dressed in smart casual.
At SITEX, I met Daniel, one of the sales persons at the epi Centre run booths. He was a PC user himself, and then graduated or evolved to Mac. In three minutes he taught me how to use the Mac Book Air. Now, I have absolutely no fear in using it and love it instead. There are just all these little clicks and tabs, and pull-down menus to discover and laugh at. The Mac, you see, is like all Windows based apps, and just made easier.
So, finally I have my MBA. I did not pay S$40,000 or S$15,000 for it. Just S$1488 plus a handful of accessories that subtracted S$600 from my bank account. But this tiny entry level 11 inch, 64GB machine is better than an iPAD any time, and works very well as a personal satellite laptop to my very cool and powerful Acer Aspire ONE.
Now, I feel like I have just gone inside the grid in TRON. Wham, wow!

The Town & The Social Network

The Town and The Social Network both did not disappoint. I watched both movies yesterday by accident. The reviews for both movies have been accurate and reflected the artistry of the makers, so for once, I have decided not to write my own review in my Urban Archaeologist blog. 
Instead, I decided to write my reflections about these movies, their themes and messages. (I must be really stressed out from preparing my next trips that I desperately need the distraction of doing this.)
It helped that creatively I liked the cast of The Town, and that bias made it easier for me to enjoy the story and plot development. I never knew before that Charlestown in Boston had notoriety of being the place where families literally handed down their criminal activities. It must be like farming! But I think most migrant peoples forming ethnic clusters will do that for survival and Asian triads and the Scilian mafia are not exceptions. So, what struck me about the film - apart from its wonderful Bonnie and Clyde/Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid exploits - were the acute pathological understanding the crime busters (Jon Hamm not quite as a mad man) have about these people. What do people do after a successful heist? Well, they might go out splurge and celebrate. It is such a basic human response. Yet, criminals have a knack of behaving in particular ways to escape detection, and you wonder if their emotional and social intelligence is heightened by their own pathology for crime.
Afterall, how many of us are comfortable breaking rules or the law. That does not mean that we may not be found contravening some rule or law, even in our everyday life and much of that depends on the repercussion or consequence. I suppose that after being comfortable with a yard, we might go for the mile? If that were true, we would all be murders and rapists over time. So it seems that there is a mental safety catch somewhere. I adored Jeremy Renner in The Hurt Locker and his character James in The Town reminds me of some people I know whose ability to exceed the imaginary boundary of ordinary is astounding. There is a built-in intensity whenever passions arise, and things are literally thrown out of whack. I cannot tell if it is a case of instinct (fight or flight) or pure adrenalin (and other substances) ruling (or ruining) the brain. But in the climatic shoot-out at the end of the film, the inevitable happens. "He who lives by the (gun), dies by the (gun)," to paraphrase the dictum. One can suspend belief in some parts of the film because by then you are so absorbed into the charm of the characters. I think that was what Ben Affleck succeeded so well in doing. He created these characters that you feel "live just around the block" and are too plainly familiar and not so roughnecked that you would avoid them. They could just be your neighbour. There is nothing horrifying about that, because their actions are committed in disguise, so you don't feel threatened directly. And for that reason, it became believable for a robber to fall in love with his former hostage, and vice versa. 


On that note, I need to turn my thoughts to The Social Network, because there is a certain veil as well as open window which one has when connected online. You can be both voyeur as well as exhibitionist, and by equal measure seduce others to believe in what you want them to.


Again, the reviews for this well-hyped film have been fair and well-disposed, thanks to a Sorkin script and fine cast. What struck me most was that which we knew for the most part. Even genius in youth may be great in creative work - in this case programming - but may be socially inept and awkward. You almost feel that to any level of genius has to include a necessary flaw. Needless to say, Jessie Eisenberg is much prettier (hence more tolerable to watch and listen) than the real Mark Zuckerberg. I could not put this on Facebook! Zuckerberg in real life is still very boyish and has a tendency to speak nasally, and with his nose up. I want to say it is a Jewish-thing, but I don't mean it derogatorily, so that's an unfair stereotype. But for all his smugness (hence the theme of being an asshole in the film, as it starts and ends with that remark), he is just a consummate lover of his art, which is much less about programming than about intuitively understanding how people communicate on a digital network. He is a true digital artist. Programming is just the alphabet.


As his friend Saverin says in the film, "Mark doesn't care about money. He needs to be protected." And whether it is true or not, it is Sean Parker that seems to devastatingly mercenary. You just have to read the "Info" on his Facebook account to understand what could be so right and so wrong in the same thing. It reminds me of the social etiquette among diplomatic circles where smiles and handshakes conceal everything, where they can put something on the agenda that spells goodwill but where the objective is exploitation and self-interest at the same time. There should be a name for this.


If you want to think the Justin Timberlake character is fake, well, go on and read all about what Parker says about himself, not the least that he calls himself a "anti-imperialist avenger". I wonder what he thinks about the Facebook empire and its adherents? I guess they all just feed his ego and income while he thinks we are all nothing but a city of suckers (ie. "zucker-berg").


There is not much difference between the cloak-and-dagger world of the Roman forum or the Greek agora. Today, we bleed differently maybe.


People are driven by their goals and usually blind-sided by these as well, unless we have the good fortune of having excellent conscience and strategists on our side, capable of achieving what one has set out to do. Why preach Six Sigma, KPIs and benchmarking if we all did not care about results. There is the situation which is recounted in many tales, where the persecutor holds the young child hostage and asks for information, which the child beguilingly reveals, leading to the capture of the prey. You get a sense of this when Sean Parker moves into Mark Zuckerberg's inner circle and deposes a relatively inept Saverin in the money-making expansionist scheme. Plainly because Parker has an intuitive mastery over the digital network of hearts and minds, spanning the very corporate entities he despises and the little artful infant companies he courts. 


It reminds me of a Polish intern in a former company of mine who was so utterly enamoured of the seductive words of  "respect and dignity" that he became an informant about the behaviour the corporate executive body. Arbitrarily, he would seek out information among the junior executives and be a snitch of sorts. Yet, a genius of sorts in doing this work (his family was in fact from a farm under the Soviet regime), he was completely without self-awareness in his own activities and the consequences being born out.


Similarly, among the juvenile executive ranks, there is as much ideal as there is passion and talent. Which minced together without supervision and guidance can be a potent and even virulent force, which is looks seductively impressive but is actually very volatile. The same executives who gripe about management around the water fountain (the new euphemism for Facebook) are giving irresponsible behaviour a new definition. The proof, when discriminating video or comments and material are posted online to embarrass or hurt others. Now that sort of behaviour has become so captivating that the liberal news mongers of today editorially indulge in the same tactic to get "sticky" with their audiences. Because we are led to believe that there is "prospective value" in the invisible and often deceptive milieu of communication with the masses.

The Shifting Sands of the Progressives

There is a wonderful charm about being "progressive", and in the Sinapore national anthem we proudly sing "Progress, Singapore" (Majulah Singapura). Human civilisation depended on the progress in all fronts of society and thought. Some led to war, genocide and terrible destruction, and some led to new products and services that allowed us more time for leisure and want. Progressiveness is as fecund in human society as our desire to aspire and to be better. But is all progression for our better, that is the question; and, is such progression intended for everyone. It rests on the conscience and intelligence of the individual in society to know which to subscribe to, which to utilise and when to do so. Thus, with progress, we need to discuss accountability and responsibility.

Progressiveness is the idea of evolving thought and ability - presumably for the betterment of men. We know too well that economics and profit can drive the agenda on progress. So without some form of check and balance, progress can result in exploitation.

The single biggest issue I have with the so-called progressive lobby is that they have become intolerant, factually promiscuous and inaccurate, and self-serving. In History, the progressive party in the 20th Century were radical modernists which gave rise to many Fascist ideas. Some of that legacy in the 1950s and popular through the 1960s included selective population planinng and breeding programs for the elite and the gifted (dominantly white and with higher education), as well as population control policies - the same we see in China, which saw promising initial success in Singapore of the 1970s-1980s ("stop at two" and getting graduates to marry and breed).

Nowadays the progressives are more recognised as the humanist liberal lobby. They are the ones who clamour for human rights for minority interest groups whether these cross religious lines or not: from female ordination (nothing to do with them), pro-abortion rights to gay union rights.

Notice that these secularist lobby do not care as much for the exploitation of peoples in Africa, the oppression of people in Mynamar or corruption in the Third World or such. Where eco-warrior activism was once run by the hippy radicals in organisations like Greenpeace (and did they so often get their facts wrong because of poor quality research) that nowadays (thanksfully), ecological activism is generally run by educated persons who are both academic and field researchers, aided by naturalists and funded by organisations with proper governance. Even NGOs like Amnesty International had to clean up their ranks before they could be perceived as credible.

Today's liberal lobby will have to undergo the same evolution in order to be credible. The thing about progressives is the groups, their sensitivities, their drive and whatever makes up their pulse is shifting like the sands over time. Today they are mainly made up of atheists and humanists, and not surprisingly their main fight is with the conservative Left and social institutions like the Roman Catholic Church, hence their popular protests and slogans appear at the recent Papal Visit to the United Kingdom for instance. They were calling for reforms in areas which primary did not concern them as non-Catholics, which actually made them a laughing stock. Imagine if they were lobbying for the right of Hindus to eat beef, or for Muslims to eat pork for that matter. Certain matters in life is meant to be left to the conscience and not to suffrage.

Deaf To Divinity - losing my marbles in the sand

I thought I heard God speaking to me, but it turned out being my neighbour's absurdly loud home theatre speakers being tried out the day after they bought it. It was rather interesting to be able to hear the Divine Voice(s) without the murmur of confusion or worry of translation. It is not as if the whole Babel episode would have bothered the Lord God, especially if at Pentecost He proved he could let lose the ears to hear the murmurings of praise in all tongues. That also meant probably that He could be heard well above the deafening drone of F1 Grand Prix engines blasting through the day-light lit streets of night-time Singapore, or the ear-plugs we might be wearing as well. The question is, does He speak with the whole audio dynamics of soundwave motion or does He cause the neurons in our brains to fire up directly?
I am not so sure if the Lord God spoke to Moses through ambient sound, or that His voice thundered over the Jordan as soundwaves rippling through the air when Jesus was baptised or transfigured on the hill outside Bethany.
As I wondered precisely how the prophets of Judaism, Islam and Christianity might have perceived the Divine Voice, a image fleeted past my mind which convinced me I was momentarily insane. Without any inkling of an idea, I thought of beautiful glass marbles on the sea sand, scattered or heaped together. I thought of children playing these marbles on the sand, laughing and thrashing about with glee and abandon. Then I saw my own tiny hands, tossing and sieving the sand and marbles in the glittering sunlight, and my own voice as a child laughing aloud, no word coming from my mouth, but bubbles of air rushing through my larynx simply from pure joy.
I do not know how this thought could have interrupted my mediation on the Divine Voice, but somehow, in the momentarily lapse of consciousness, when I lost my "mind", I seemed to have perceived the heavens unfold with great wit and candour. It was as if the Divine could be heard best when we have left our dependence on our human sensibilities. Perhaps, losing one's marbles might be the very first bold encounter towards hearing the Divine.

The Personal Frontier: the only space left beyond the virtual frontier

(Image from Enter The Void (2009) by Gaspar Noe)

Folk cultures and ancient mythologies reveal the anthropology of possession and space. As the first human tribes crossed out of the African rift valleys and encountered other unfamiliar species and geography, they were probably still nomadic in mindset and behaviour. For whatever reasons, when they settled or reduced their nomadic activity - because of stock, illness or providential richness of the land - they must have begun to lay stake on the lands as part of their communal possession. Within these settlements, as they outgrew the resources, groups would migrate again and settle. This cycle would have repeated itself many times, limited only by the fertility of the land and the people, when humanity was still largely agrarian. We know that as basic tool industry developed with the use of copper and iron, and bronze then steel, masonry and carpentry were greatly supplemented by these new technologies. Space became more defined, by boundaries not merely of stone, but of personal wealth.
Fastforward to our time, and MySpace, Facebook and your personal banking ID for online use, as well as access to personal details in your government database, and the frontier that defines our personal space has become virtual.
Even so, the erosion of that virtual privacy - caused partly by the new wave of "shared networking" online to satisfy the need for instantaneous exchange of personal information and updates - is fast removing the boundaries of virtual space. Without even the need to hack, it is possible to track down trace data of a person's activities or whereabouts or interests, by strategic online searches, whether you are a celebrity or any ordinary individual. In fact, with the rise of shared networks like Twitter or Facebook, there is no distinction between one identity and another - between celebrity or ordinary persons.
As a result, differences of opinion or preferences are now brought very much closer. Where once your picket fence or front gate formed the spatial boundary, that has eroded to the virtual domains online, but even so much of that is accessible within networks and certain protocols.
Ultimately today, people are more likely to feel threaten or their security vulnerable as the spatial zones dwindle to our very personal, individual sense of being.
This is the new frontier: where what we think, feel, believe in, desire and hope for, are directly becoming the area where possession and extension are being targetted. Where once polling samples could have representative clusters of a certain size, new statistics will need to aim for better accuracy with a larger threshold and more data collected. Wills, minds and hearts are the new territories in this arena.
Where once we spoke of collective will in terms of nations and sovereignty, of crusades and expeditions, as connectivity increases across continents, more and more people will be connected via their virtual identities and that would be the ultimate portal to access the personal space that defines the final remnant space or frontier of the human race.
So, there is no surprise that blogging is similar to the intellectual forum of exchange where the currrency is opinion and ideas, creating new thresholds of idea-related communities. This was the original basis of dot.com, virtual communities. What we will witness is the quantum leap in evolution of that original concept which was first conceived as the basis of the Internet. The emergence and success of the Facebook phenomenon will see how clusters of opinion and ideas can quickly be created and evolve in very dynamic speeds, compared with the static pace of the original dot.com.

Dichtomies of Truth

Recently I was invited to be a part of a corporate resource team. We have a library of proprietary materials which are designed to inculcate and promote various service culture values based on specific brand concepts and other tools gleaned from the ancient Six Sigma methodologies. As a new trainer, I am invited to either present some of these materials or to observe how these materials are delivered to participants as part of their learning culture program.

I have also learnt to write and use American English words mixed with Standard International English and British English usage, to produce some sort of version of English the client would understand, because it reflected their regular use.

In all these colour, I also encountered concepts of thinking, being and belonging which otherwise would have remained in the archives of some grand academic or learning institution, or dusty shelf in a bookstore.

Fortunately, I made much attention to the people who took an interest in mentoring me -current and past - and have been able to grasp many of these concepts and ideas.

The interesting dichtomy I quickly realise is that the two clients I have - one which hires me for my assignments and the other which I am assigned to present these programs - work in a tangent world, where their contact with each other is somewhat oblique. The hiring client issues all the program materials but do not seem to reflect the working ideals and concepts of the materials; the assigned client is taken through these materials and supposedly with the aim of espousing them.

After the assignments are completed with the program client, as a trainer, you sense their enthusiasm and their interest in the values of the brand and culture. Then you correspond with the hiring client and find many difficulties - one comment is fedback here, another there; smiles are shown to you upfront when you appear at their desk, but as you walk away they assess and critically feedback to their superiors every possible fault of yours from their point of view. You  are invited to this event and that, incidentally, because you happen to be around, but if you weren't, you would not have been invited anyway. No, you cannot comment or give feedback which is negative towards them because it would cause a fracas and everyone would be unhappy with you, and that would be a "derailer" in your ability to manage your relationships with them. Then you would be typed a "difficult person to work with" and this would happily be built up as a case against you. As it reaches the pinnacle of your tolerance and you want to leave, the team throws a smiley and a lifeline, and you respond with earnestness not realising they are all laughing at your desperation.

On one hand, we are evangelists for the team and the corporate culture, promoting one approach and vision for them to all the various locations in the division. On the other hand, internally, there is rife issues. Immature and manipulative behaviours, soliticitation of negative feedback, personal attacks disguised as feedback, and all sort of organisation faux pas. Internally, there seem to be some tolerance because the team is considered to be "high tolerance" but in practice, at the slightest fault, there is no demonstration of those behaviours you expect from a highly mature, skilled, professional team that espouses the very values and behaviours in the programs they send out as assignments to their business units.

It makes one wonder. Do we work for clients for income or because we are motivated by belief. Are we gratified by the work we do at our assignments which leave us willing to tolerate the bickering attitudes of people that do not practice the same values preached?

It seems to be that the team at the hiring client needs to undergo the very brand and experience, and leadership training, in order for them to espouse those values and live them out credibly. It is ironic, but sometimes in the castle, the young princes and princesses may not know what it is like to live in the ordered civility of society below their high walls. It is a long time dichtomy about truth and reality.

And that heresy about "reality is perception" was invented by admen who needed to sell campaigns to finance their lifestyles. There is no reality in one's perception. Reality is an amalgam of perception and only intelligent creatures possess that faculty. It does not mean that reality does not exist for the nudibranch. More important is the context of what constitutes a reality. Your reality may be flawed and confined to your microcosm, which does make another person incorrect. The truth of the scientific method is to establish that common threshold of observable and tested knowledge which can then be held as a common reality. That then transmute from reigning hypothesis to scientific fact, which can be evolved to higher truths over time.

Scientific observation and fact is what we need to deal with, not dainty perceptions by faulty observers.

Why is it hard to "Sing A Song For Singapore" (NDP Theme 2010)?

This is a beautiful song (well written and composed) sung by Corrinne May for the 2010 Singapore National Day parade on 9 August. The video production is of great quality and there's little to fault about it. While the melody is memorable, the key may be somewhat high for most ordinary people to sing along. Still, it's firstly a song that is intended to celebrate the event and mark the occasion. Similarly, you don't expect the Olympic song sung by Sarah Brightman and Andreas Bocelli to be sung at the same key for ordinary people with untrained voices.

Sadly, the people (Singaporeans and foreigners) who have had comments to make on the song and video on YouTube.com seem to just want to slam it. I am no fan of Corrinne May, but indirectly, I felt offended at their comments. Sure, I may not agree wholesale with all government policies or the political parties that wrangle for control, or the infernal social fragmentation and parochial interests that underpin much of everything which goes on this island-state. But there is the ideal which is above all our self-interest, and when we look at the flag, the symbols of state and sovereignty, and such songs as this is meant to represent the heart and spirit of the country. You can call it propaganda but then all sort of information directed at any audience with the intention of moulding opinion or influence preference is such. Even some crappy pop songs are propanda for popular culture and may not represent the interest of conservative values and so forth, anyway.

I decided that my own selfish preferences must be waived for the new generation to enjoy their voice, right or wrong, like it or not. So, for what it's worth, this theme song gets my thumbs up to help celebrate our nation's birthday. In as much as one man's food may be poison to another, to those who don't like it, well, here is my advice: please endure and enjoy your silence.

Remembering Chance Phelps (b. 14 July 1984, d. 9 April 2004), and all those who served the war against terrorism.

This is a tough subject, laced with vitrolic for some. We look back in history and easily criticise those in power for not speaking out against the atrocities of war. We say, more should have been said and done, and till today academics and various interest groups lobby their point of view. But what are we doing about the war that is still going on? The debate about the morality of war to disarm those who seek to terrorise others is not the question. I think instead of those who serve in the allied forces that represent all of us in this world where we want to walk in our streets, fly across the skies and go to work in peace without the fear of some extremist group planning to gun us down, bomb our offices or fly airplanes into our buildings.
After the events of 11 September, my own career took a direct hit and nose-dived with the economy and regional political play in the organisation I worked in. More than just those who lost loved ones were victims of these events. It included those who also lost jobs and opportunity as a result of the impact of those events on the global economy.

Chance Russell Phelps was born on this day in 1984, and after those events of 9/11 went on to join the US Marine Corps. But he had already decided this was something he could do with his life. On 9 April 2004, he was the turret gunner on a humvee in a convoy in Iraq. After the convoy was slowed by an IED, shots rang out and he responded with valour to draw fire to himself as well as provide cover for the others. He was struck and killed. A PFC with six ribbons showing how much action this 19 year-old had already seen, he was infact promoted to LCP but between 1 April and 9 April, that fact was lost between events. He was post-humously awarded the Bronze Star with "V", for valour in combat. The story of his repatriated remains and escort to his hometown of Dubois was recorded by LTC M. Strobl, which was circulated in the Internet and reached popular attention. This is what my reflections today are about: that we may not speak in ire about the war, but we can support and pray for those in active service there - military and civilian, who are sacrificing their lives for something greater than themselves. I often include these people in my prayer intentions, and am happy to add that watching the HBO Film, "Taking Chance", was very good in framing the context of why I do that. Not all of us can put up anti-war posters or taking our political views to air. We can actively reflect and pray about what is really important. That for me is remembering with respect, dignity and appreciation that sacrifice which is made by those who have put themselves at risk. I remember the media interest which followed this film's Emmy nomination, and picked up the brief profile of Chance Phelps made in the NYT online. It was more than just fascinating - not just about a young man's impact on the lives of so many people across the globe alone, but the underpinning truth about what we can do right and do well in honouring their sacrifice. It is indeed ironic, as LTC Strobl notes: that with the likes of more people like Chance, the world would not need to be at war.

I do not know what can console any friend, son or daughter, spouse or parent, who have lost a loved one as such. I have lost a son, a child, friend and a mother in very recent times. In our grief, we look past the rights and wrongs of our own lives, and just need to pause to honour the memory of the one we have lost. To bring their own lives into relevance in our present "now", even if they are far gone. To that effect, what Michael Strobl and Chance Russell Phelps have done is very remarkable. Grief is a very personal experience, and when this is shared, it is a very potent and empowering influence to elevate our own self-interest to that of sacrificial love. It is a coincidence, maybe, that I chanced on the recording and the DVD of "Taking Chance" today and watched it only to realise that today would have been Chance's 26th birthday. I can understand the pain anyone who has lost a loved one must feel when dates remind us of their absence, when walkways and empty chairs recall their being taken away from us, when smiles and scenes in our every day lives spark off a memory of them which is all serpia and fast fading into grey. For this reason, we do not want to forget, and what we write and speak and share of our innermost loss makes us feel alive again, even so that we can feel them once more. That sacred memory is more than any stone marker or lost footprint, washed anew by an act of simple faith made by a heartfelt prayer.

My next indulgence... the awaited and longed for perfect digital camera

NEX-5B/D Body with SEL16F28 and SEL1855 lenses (Black)

Far and away

What a blissful day. I stayed in mostly and out of the sun and away from all activity. Evening came and after a happy nap, I awoke and strolled to the restaurant located at the tip of the island where it stands on stilts out in the sea. Whipped by the wind and drizzle that come in, you look out and see the edge of grey where the full moon lurks behind, and the bright blue of night. Then you realise you are indeed in the middle of an ocean, and somehow you are embraced by this sweetness of spirit that ripple the water surface and turn the turquiose sea like an lantern beneath your feet. I contemplate with thanks all the grace of peace received today. I count my blessings the friends I embraced and those I missed. The heart of all quiet rests in my soul and sits with me like the dew on a lotus in the break of day.

A Perfect Circle - Take a look at this satellite image of Hurricane Celia

Celia continued to strengthen after this image was acquired. At 8:00 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time on June 24, 2010, the National Hurricane Center reported that Celia had strengthened to a Category 5 hurricane. By 8:00 a.m. the following morning, Celia had weakened to a Category 4 storm, but it still had maximum sustained winds of 240 kilometers (150 miles) per hour, said the National Hurricane Center.



On the morning of June 25, Celia was roughly 1,330 kilometers (825 miles) southwest of the southern tip of Baja California. The National Hurricane Center anticipated that Celia would continue to weaken as it tracked north and west across the Pacific Ocean. The storm was not forecast to come ashore over land.

[Off NASA website.]

How I got AWAY last Saturday with Bliss when I missed an appointment on the island...

There are few experiences as blissful as when your mind and body is readied for some unwind time. There candlelight meditation was supposed to start at 6 pm and I walked to the Spa thinking this would be a lovely try out, a novel experience. I had called just earlier and was now at the spa lobby, but was then told that there was no other persons interested so the meditation session had been cancelled. I was disappointed to miss the opportunity. But it was already evening and half the long awaited weekend had ebbed away. So I asked if there were any chance I could get a treatment if the villas were not fully booked. I was lucky and I was scheduled in for one last appointment of the day at 7 pm, and the room was prepared so that I could get into the steam room to relax taut muscles and ease myself into the nice therapeutic rub down. The steam room was invigorating at 42 degrees and it was slightly exhilarating to stand in the open air shower facing the open ocean and hose down under the raindrop shower head. The therapist came in and after getting a good sense of what I wanted, went swiftly to work. It was superb and I wish that the treatment was only longer. But some extra time had already been alloted to me and I was very appreciative of it. The therapist has since left the spa to return to her home in Indonesia. Just a while ago, I wrote her a thank you note and wished her every success. With the bump in my head and given the monsoon weather that has struck the island all day, I would have loved to relax in the spa to get away once more and ease off into relased Wonder and sensory Lust. I will just have to locate the therapist I can be most comfortable with to replace the one that has left, and will have to patient. But I have always been lucky there.

What A Bump!

Perhaps I was plainly too delighted to have received the long awaited packages from Singapore, which after three weeks of being in transit and held up at Customs, was finally arrayed before me. I stooped to move the heaviest of the lot, shifting it to the side of the storeroom so that it would not obstruct the passageway. Then after letting the box down, I shoved it to rest at the corner and stooped up. I hit my head hard at the base of an electrical switchboard box and was just lucky enough to have been cut by it. But the mild concussion was enough to cause the back of my crown to feel acute pain, my eyes blinking against the harsh afternoon light and squinting in agony. The pain throbbed - literally - in waves, and I tried to steady myself. Later, the island's resort doctor very graciously brought me a NEX ice-pak which we left in the freezer to quickly chill. I spend the afternoon in pain, my eyes being more sensitive then usual and dizzy. The ice-pak sat gingerly over my head as I eased around my desk to work, trying to forget the pain. I could swear that for a while I did feel nauseous from the slight-headed dizziness, and headache inside my head. I found myself taking deeper breadths and slowing down. By evening, the pain had ripened into a low throbbing headache, exactly as if someone had hit you on the head with a bat. Your vision seems narrowed and greyed at the periphery. I hope my neurons can heal - I hate to be losing my memory after cramming in a great deal of new data for the coaching and training to be held here and around the region. Anyway, pain is only temporary - I worry about any permanent damage; fortunately, I am probably do done with being damaged now that whatever is left if probably beyond any hope of salvaging! I slept later than usual last night, after a long bout of laughter and jokes when some friends came over. It was a real relief. The dopamine the brain produces with laughter is definitely good medicine. If I had an aneurysm and flipped into a coma, I would have wanted to do laughing anyway and with the right company! But I woke up early as usual but felt almost unable to crawl out of bed. My head rolled from side to side just not wanting to be lifted. It was my sprained neck from the sudden impact. I finally lifted myself off the bed at about 7 am, which was already rather bright with the sun sending gleams of light through the swaying palms. I decided that it was best not to try and hit the gym as I might regularly do, but sit around and update my Facebook for a while. The headache is still lingering and I still feel sleepy and tired out. It may not be the bump but just the body intuitively easing into the weekend mode which does not exist here in these parts. My body will have to relearn that the old circadian as well as weekend routine in Singapore would not apply here. Fortunately, a great deal does not. That includes, walking from my room to the shoreline and instantly swimming out the edge of the reef which falls to about 30 metres below. Ijust want to free dive down and slip pass the reef wall into the great blue. All I need is a friend to add recklessness to beauty that is all around. I must be losing my sight right now.

The Long Search For My New Mobile Is Over: Married to the Blackberry Storm2 9550

I guess for a while I thought I was surely married to SAMSUNG after the long five-year love affair with their phones. From the very first ultra light Windows Mobile Blackjack to the Omnia, I felt completely at ease with the way SAMSUNG made their mobile phones. In some ways, I felt it even included engineering that was superior to the iPhone. But the haptic response on the iPhone's capacitative touchscreen is highly addictive. I scoured the mobile phone stores for over three months, debating between Android and waiting for Windows Mobile 7, between HTC's HD2 and the SAMSUNG B7610, between the new Xperia and the Vivaz Pro. Then, just this afternoon as I was heading back from Suntec City on the MRT, there was this girl texting at incredible speed with both hands tapping away furiously on the QWERTY board on a touchscreen phone, which I realised was the Blackberry Storm. I wanted it when I first read it about it in June last year - probably in Men's Health US Edition. But I knew it would be sometime before we would see it in Singapore. I chanced on the phone at Lucky Plaza, famously for these parallel imports at ridiculously high prices. But after checking a few stores, found one which offered a stiff deal at S$640 with a 16GB microSD card, and accessories. I could not get the price down further and thought it would be a good buy to replace my aged Omnia. Afterall, at the SAMSUNG centre at Plaza Singapura, they would replace the metal casing for S$110 and even that needed five days. I was beginning to think that I should get a new phone.

Specifications wise, check out the Storm2's impressive line-up, which makes it a truly world-wide mobile phone. But PC Magazine's solid review makes this purchase a definitely great choice. I have installed the latest software driver and updated the phone, synchronised it with my Outlook and transferred my 1500 songs into its memory already. Perhaps a few more files and reference documents and I think I have made this my new laptop remote device. I can't be more happy. Also, with my pal Chong Jin whom I had drinks with this evening, we found another mobile store at Lucky Plaza that had an OEM leather flip pouch with a hard plastic cradle - quite just what I wanted and at just only S$25. What a grrrreat deal! I checked M1's Blackberry plan and if I were not leaving Singapore and relocating so soon, the basic plan would have worked very well for me. Anyway, I can still use the Mobile Broadband data plan on the Blackberry to exploit its connectivity features at no extra cost.

I am really pleased with this phone...!

Jordan Tay - Remembered this day, his 27th Birthday

Happy Birthday, Jordan. It would have been your 27th today and though you have been gone these past two years, you are fondly remembered. I hope this honours your memory in some small and humble way. The things you gave me are still cared for and treasured, and the conversations we had, forever warm in the urn of my memory. May the Lord bless and keep your spirit forever.

TAKING CHANCE - A HBO FILM

It's a remarkable story that was faithfully produced from an escort trip report originally prepared by LTC Michael Strobl for his superiors. He volunteered to do this duty of accompanying one of the US Marine Corp soldiers repatriated back to the US after being killed in Iraq. Then PFC Chance Russell Phelps (posthumously promoted to LCP) was already decorated with six ribbons for his action in the war theatre at Iraq, having been in the service for just a year and a half. There is nothing to make you feel raw in realising how much this young man was destined to do in his brief life, as son, brother, friend and soldier. His personal belongings on his body were washed and carried in a red velvet by LTC Strobl until he delivered these personal effects into the hands of Phelps' parents. From Strobl's own witnessing of the events he experienced as he undertook this particular duty, he became moved by the "chance" encounters which unfolded as his own companion in the casket evoked incredible response from all around, by strangers and passer-bys. Through this profoundly moving film, inspired by these true events, LCP Chance Phelps will be able to move even more hearts and minds towards the ideas of service and sacrifice which our selfish world often ignores and forgets. His story - that of Strobl and Phelps, have inspired many other servicemen to better understand and appreciate their calling and duty, and for others who serve in our own respective countries' armed forces, respect the duty, honour and dignity which in death is no less preserved for those who fell. I don't know if anyone could watch this film and not be moved. I hope that Phelps' parents and family, and friends, will always be comforted with the knowledge how his life and death has been so inspiring, and for Strobl, that the journey he undertook in April 2004, eight days after Phelps fell in Iraq, would awaken this great sense of appreciation we ought to have and press to remember, for those who served and have falled in service. Not just in these recent conflicts, but also those great wars of our fathers and grandfathers, where liberty of the free world was threatened by the madness of individuals and groups. For this reason, I hope we always remember all service men and women in our prayer, that they be safe and kept in God's care in their work, always. May they all return with success to their homes soon, and lead lives of peace and fulfilment.

TRX TOMORROW

That's Josh Schlottman with the heads up on what TRX is about. Niffy demonstration! I will be doing just that tomorrow. Actually, I am looking forward to it. When I first saw the personal trainer Nelson working the TRX reins with his client, I was very impressed with the form and efficacy of the movements. Well, will find out tomorrow morning. Yiaks!

Eugene Cussons in Chimp Eden gets tickled by passing Chimp Grasshopper!

This is so serious... you know, listening to Eugene's South African accent and commentary... until he's reflecting on being away from the chimps in the Sanctuary and stoops down near the fence just to see one of the younger chimps come towards him and then pass by in some pretty laughable grasshopper skips. Then you look at Eugene and he's all tickled by it, and that really makes this clip so cute! Good to look at when you need some relief from all that email work piling up in the Inbox! Happy Easter everyone! I couldn't get the Bunny but hope the Chimp will do!

The compelling case for the SONY Alpha A700...

Gordon Laing, Editor of Cameralabs.com offers a terrific review of the technical specifications of the SONY Alpha A700. It's not the newest model, but its features and design still represent some classic thinking that will outlast minor technical and application updates.