If

It's funny how things work out.

If I had succeeded in getting into the Jessups or Shipping Moot team, I'd have become what I wanted to become at that time, a successful litigator. I'd have had a rigorous apprenticeship under a big-name lawyer, and picked up skills and networks that would have helped in my early career.

And at the end of that, I would have become as my friends have become - disillusioned, and wondering if this was all they could do for the rest of their lives, victims of their own success.

If I had gotten onto the moots team, I would not have entered into a (admittedly stupid) business venture.

If that business venture had succeeded despite all odds, I'd have quit law, and entered business. I'd have worked through a moderately successful business, right up to the point of the dot-com bust, and I'd have entered the work-force, having lost nothing but a few years, but with solid business experience under my belt.

Instead, I was outmanuevered, and was forced to make a decision between finding love and finding justice.

And because I was outmanuevered, I was much richer for the experience, because the first rule of business is not succeeding. It's knowing how not to fuck up, and I've since experienced almost every variation of second-hand fuck ups in every job I've been to. It's a valueable experience, knowing how and when things fuck up, because my job requires that I fix them.

If I had not entered that business venture, I would not have met my ex-wife. I'd have been spared the heartache of watching her tear asunder everything we've built. I'd not have been called boring, uncreative, and a typical Singaporean. I'd not have to face rejection from every angle, from someone I deeply trusted, to complete strangers who refused to give me the time of the day.

I would also have missed out the small opportunities that turned into big ones - the unpaid internship I procured in California, which turned into a job here in Singapore. I'd have lost the single greatest opportunity to prove what was best in a "typical Singaporean" - hard work and never-say-die.

I'd never have realised that success is not about huge successes, but of small accumulated wins, and not giving up.

I'd never have realised that life is transient, and all the more beautiful for it.

***************

Here I am now, a failure at everything I had wanted to be 10 years ago, and so much the better for it. I failed at becoming a Jessup mooter. I failed at becoming a businessman. I failed at finding a new job and life in California. I failed at keeping my marriage together.

Yet, somehow, I ended up where I wanted to be at 32 - a decent job, close to family, with friends and loved ones close by.

If I had succeeded then I'd have failed now. I'm glad I failed.

Happy New Year.

Yes We Can

I will remember the day Barack Obama was elected POTUS. I was in Redwood City, California, at a restaurant, having dinner with my new colleagues at the last company in Sillicon Valley still hiring new employees. I saw his acceptance speech later that night at the bar of the hotel I was staying in.

He was magnificent.

**********

Many detractors of Obama had told me earlier this year that change, by itself, means nothing. Change can mean the dawn of a new golden age. Change can also be getting run down by a truck.

I now have an answer for them.

You are right. Change -is- a neutral concept, neither good nor bad. However, that is only half an answer. To answer the question this way ignores what has come before and what is going to happen ahead. It ignores the 8 years we have watched the worlds only superpower flush itself down a toilet.

Simply put, no one calls for change when things are going right.

So yes, change is neutral, but a call for change is always positive. It means the first step in solving a problem: it acknowledges that we have a problem in the first place. It is this way and ONLY this that we can grow.

This call has been answered at last.

**********

I originally went to America in search of a better life, to find a place that I could call my own. It was only when I returned that I realised I already had such a place - Singapore.

The lessons I learnt during my stay in America are, frankly, Hallmark Card moments. Love your parents. Value your friends. Do right by others. There's nothing profound about these lessons, except that I had to travel 8000 miles to learn them.

I was expecting to be choked up with seeing the part of America that I loved so much and missed so badly. Instead I felt...nothing. No tears, no change, no choking up. When I went back to my old stomping grounds, I actually felt a little disappointed. Was this what I worked so hard to return to?

That's when I realised that, over the last two years, I had outgrown California. That is and has always been a symbol of freedom, hope and love for me. Like all symbols, they were not valueable in and of itself, but for the messages they conveyed. Once you grok the message, well, there isn't that much left.

I didn't need California anymore. But I still appreciate it, like an old friend with whom you finally come to terms with, warts and all.

So here it is. My final lesson. Never lose hope. Money lost can be earnt back. Opportunities will come again. Failures will stop stinging. Love can be found again.

Take it from me. All that shit doesn't matter. I was penniless, jobless and torn up over all the opportunites I missed because I needed to nurse my emotional wounds. Today, I have a great job in a company I love. I have friends that I love, and family I learnt to see with new eyes.

Tomorrow they may all be gone, but it won't matter.

Only hope matters. Hope is what will keep you going, because nothing can keep you down forever, so long as you have hope. Hope makes the bad times liveable, and the good times magical. Hope is all. With hope we can do anything, live through anything, achieve anything.

Yes we can.

Closing a Chapter

I've often wondered what the phrase "closing a chapter" actually means, in the context of life.

Unlike the pages of a storybook, life isn't sorted into neat little bundles of narrative, where events happen sequentially. Unlike prose, there is no discernible main plot and subplot to life, no protagonists, no antagonists, no foreshadowing, no metaphor beyond what the interpreter of life chooses to impose.

Where does that leave Pan Narren's, the storytelling ape?

I'm glad my friend has sorted out his issues. It's been such a long time. To be frank, I don't even miss the money anymore, because I've long since given up hope on it. I'm just glad that he's sorted himself out.

I wonder now, as I've wondered a lot in the past year, whether the money would have honestly made a difference. I don't know, but the speculation drives me fretful. I still wonder to this day, if I was able to make a difference, would I have made that different choice? Would I have avoided the pain, knowing that doing so I would give up the wonderful life I have now?

Life isn't a narrative. I can't flip the pages back, because I don't have any pages to flip back. I can't look forward and skip to the ending. All I can do is to live my life as best as I can.

In that sense at least, perhaps I can "close" this "chapter" with some dignity. Best wishes, old friend, and know that you mean a lot to me still.

Contemplation

I am thankful for this week of rest, giving me many opportunities for quiet contemplation.

********************

I've been thinking about my newfound insights into Fiore. Tome and Ken have their own insights about the seminar - I will not repeat them here, but I agree with them. I will add that I am thinking more about their perspectives as well as my own.

Fiore (the swordmaster whose work we are studying) talks about "Sentimento de Ferro" or the "Feeling of Steel". When a sword contacts another sword, there is a feeling, a pressure acting against the sword you wield. Often, this feeling guides you on what to do next. An attempted bind on a sword, for example, feels very different from an attempted beat, and the counters are different. True, your sight and knowledge of attack lines will guide you, but too often, we neglect to hear the voice of our own sword telling us what needs to be done.

At the risk of sounding sentimental, I will add one extra dimension to it - true, the sword has a voice telling us what to do, but as swordsmen, we must also learn to listen. Too often, I have scripted plans of attack and defense in my head based on what I -think- the opponent is going to do. VERY often, these scripts fail and leave me in a world of pain. Only when I stop scripting, and start feeling, do I get a sense of what needs to be done, and do it.

In short, I am learning to listen, and not voice.

********************

How human a failing is that - to superimpose our own voices over the voice that already tells us what we need to know.

Quite by accident, I stumbled across the Wikipedia entry to "Man of La Mancha". This is essentially a musical adaptation of Cervantes' "Don Quixote", a washed-out fifty year old who has read one too many novels on chivalry and believes himself a great knight. I believe the opening act is familiar to all - Don Quixote charges at a windmill, believing it a four-armed giant and promptly collides into it.

The power of the Don Quixote myth, however, is exactly his delusion. Failing to defeat the four-armed giant, he goes on quest after quest to ensure that he is not defeated again. In the course of the story, he is confronted by a doctor who attempts to cure him and succeed - by showing him in a mirror exactly how the world sees him, a washed-out old man. The climax is where a barmaid, wooed by Don Quixote and treated as a lady, begs Don Quixote to return to his delusions, because she cannot stand being a barmaid.

Too often, we make the achievement of a dream the paramount concern. We build scripts and plans over these dreams. Too often, we think that by our hand we will achieve these dreams.

Too often we charge at windmills thinking they are four-armed giants. Too often, after we collide, we see ourselves as we truly are - washed-out fifty year old men, and then crawl off somewhere to die with dignity.

What happens to that voice then?

Cervantes already has the answer - Don Quixote awakens at the climax back to his delusions and remembers his barmaid, who he has always mistakenly called Dulcinea, fights off men he thinks are threatening her, and dies of the fever he has developed. The barmaid henceforth refuses to be addressed by any other name.

The importance of the Don Quixote legend that he's always listened to the voice in his heart, and in doing so, paves the way for others to hear the voices in their hearts.

********************

Like "Sentimento de Ferro", it takes a lifetime to learn to hear the voice. More accurately, it takes a lifetime to unlearn the hearing of other people's voices, and do what you've always known to be right.

Like Don Quixote, the important fact is not achieving the dream, but having the dream, and when that dream fails, having another one.

To every man his Dulcinea.

This Day, A Year Ago

I was on the Berkeley waterfront pier. The Golden Gate bridge stretched out in front of me, except I could not see it. The infamous Bay Area summer fog obscured it. Beside me there were men fishing. Kids were scampering around, their families in tow.

The pier is almost half a mile long. That day it felt longer. I walked to the end of the pier and paced around, waiting.

There was nothing left in my apartment. No TV. No furniture. Just a bunch of boxes and two large suitcases. Like my first day there, only in reverse. I couldn't bear sitting around in my apartment. It felt like death row. So I took my rental out and ended up at Berkeley Waterfront, my very first relaxation spot and easily my favourite.

I remember crying. I couldn't stop the tears. Some passers-by glanced at me, but I turned away. Every innocent glance looked accusatory to me. I couldn't face them. Not yet.

The fishermen caught a small shark. As they reeled it up, curious children gawked at it. A few of the braver ones approached. After a friendly warning by the fishermen about shark skin, a particularly courageous child poked a finger into the side of the shark. I smiled for a brief moment.

A few moments later, red light washed across the horizon. I looked up, and the moment I had been waiting for passed all too quickly. The sun set over a mountain up north.

I walked back to my rental and headed back to my apartment. I had a plane to catch the next day.

Comedy and Change

"But resisting old age makes you old. It makes your losses serious. When you accept those losses, on the other hand, they become comic. You defeat old age by making friends with it. By letting it win. And you might as well, because it's going to anyway."

Gary Kamiya, "I'm younger than that now", Salon.com

It's been a year now. The question remains - "How do I cope?". The answer is, I didn't. There are days where I am inexplicably grief-stricken for no reason. There are nights where I relive that fateful day in California where everything came crashing down, except in my dreamscape, the scenarios mutate into a literal multitude of torments.

There is one thing to be said. The grief-stricken days are far fewer now. The nightmares trouble me far less.

I bring up Mr Kamiya's excellent article because it is relevant. Old age is the avatar of what we fear most - inevitable change. What do you do when Fate drives you away from where you want to be?

Healing is not in defiance, as I once thought. It is not in acceptance, nor rage. It does not force itself into your psyche, but descends upon you as a butterfly upon a flower. It cannot be forced, cannot be accepted, merely integrated.



The comedic attitude offers a kind of resignation, a calm surrender to the inevitable. And it's regenerative because it doesn't see change as the enemy. It's an invincible, self-fulfilling belief, one that bubbles up from somewhere unseen....This may seem like a superficial way to live, all "positive thinking" and blind optimism. But it isn't. Comic laughter emerges from the darkness. It isn't naive. It coexists with tragedy, but it cannot be defeated by it. It gets, literally, the last laugh. The man of comedy has experienced the pain of life, been staggered by its strangeness. He turns his staggering into a self-mocking dance. His laughter does not deny his losses. It is built on them."

- (emphasis mine)

Spot on. Quite a few of my new friends have already noted my razor tongue and sense of humor. Older friends will note that my laughter is no longer tinged with the same cutting edge it used to have.

I laugh the way I do now knowing I have lived through personal tragedies, I have paid the price for my dreams, and I will go on living my life. I don't celebrate my loss by displaying my scars, neither do I mourn the loss. Somehow, laughter becomes easier each day, just like how life goes on.

Endure, and eventually endurance will give. Defy, and eventually strength will go. Rage, and eventually your anger will burn out. Accept, and eventually, your pain will consume you. Surrender to it, for inevitable change is just that - inevitable.

Surrender enfolds your tragedy and transforms it. It allows you to laugh at what once made you cry, to look to the past with no bitterness, nor regret, nor nostalgia, to look to the future with no fear, anxiety, or sadness.

Time to keep on keeping on.

At What Price, Peace?

"Memorial Day orators will say that a G.I.'s life is priceless. Don't believe it. I know what value the U.S. government assigns to a soldier's life: I've been handed the check."

Andrew J. Bacevich is an anti-war writer who writes for the Washington Post. I do not claim in-depth knowledge of his other articles, but this article struck me as being particularly poignant - he lost his son in a suicide bomb attack in Iraq.

That line above, especially, reminds me of the recently reported incidents, where 3 young men serving out their National Service lost their lives in a freak accident, and another paralysed from waist down is forced to live on $500 a month for the rest of his life.

I understand the need for National Service, even though I dislike it intensely. I can even understand the necessity of creating one-sized-fits-all policies to at least create the illusion of equality.

What I cannot accept is how easy it is to justify sacrifices in the name of a greater good when the person making the justifications is not the person making the sacrifice.

If defense is something everyone in the country benefits from, why does half the population escape it? Why create distinctions in practice for "white horses" where none exist on paper? What practical reason can there be?

If globalisation is something all Singaporean's benefit from, why does the benefits of globalisation fall mostly on the top 10th percentile while the bottom 10th percentile are trapped in poverty with even fewer opportunities for social mobility? Why is it so easy for Parliament to say "Here's your $290, too bad"?

If a relationship is something that both people benefit from, why do I see so many couples with one person bearing most of the burdens while another deriving most of the benefits?

Why do we do this to each other? Are we truly that monstrous?

Finding Peace

"Somewhere along the way after doing what you have to do in your own way in your own time, not calling it healing and not scheduling it on a white board but just bulling your way through it with the uncomprehending determination that is sometimes called faith and sometimes called the instinct for survival and sometimes called a necessary belief in a nourishing fiction, you are going to be talking on the phone or eating or opening a window or just walking dully along and you are going to notice that he's not in your head anymore, he's not shadowing you, he's not pulling you down and you don't even care anymore about what happened or how he left, in fact you hardly notice he's gone except that it is notably quieter in the area of your heart."

- Cary Tennis, from Salon.com, advising a mid-life crisis widow

Amen, brother, and thank you.

Great Expectations

Terry Pratchett coined an alternate term for describing humankind. Rather than Homo Sapiens (the Thinking Man), he suggests Pan Narrens (the Storytelling Ape).

Today, my attention is on how our love for narrative have essentially screwed up our lives.

*****

Much has been said in the blogosphere about the Minister's pay rise. I will not repeat arguments about benchmarking, or the audacity of the Government to begrudge $290 a month to the needy while voting for a massive pay rise for themselves. Hat tip to Intelligent Singaporean, which has a fairly comprehensive listing of all the blogs discussing this issue.

If the Singapore Government insists on comparing itself with a corporation, then let it. I'm perfectly happy giving them enough rope to hang themselves with. After all, the issue of executive compensation will only demonstrate how much of the existing discussion on ministerial pay is based on myth.

In the late 90's and early 00's the issue of rising CEO and executive compensation has been debated to death. CEO compensation is spiralling out of control. Shareholders often wonder if what they are paying for actually translates into gains for a company. They would be right. The business world is rife with examples of well-compensated underperforming CEO's.

The arguments for often cited for rising CEO compensation is an attractive one. Top talent deserves top money. The CEO makes or breaks the company after all - would you skimp on hiring a good CEO? There is something in our psyche, after all, that longs for a saviour.

The reality, however, is that the idea of a leader-hero is nothing but a myth. The sucess and failure of a company is more complex then the decision of one powerful man (or for that matter, a group of powerful men). Yet, when things go right, credit is claimed. When things go wrong, responsibilty is disclaimed. Such is the nature of men in power.

I submit that it is more important for us to grow a strong team than to grow strong leadership - something this process of paying top dollar for ministerial talent has completely undermined.

My question to the Government. Are you truly being pragmatic? Or is pragmatism just an excuse to pay yourself more?

******

Here's a second story that I think women have become too enamoured with - success. I will not be commenting much on this one. It still cuts too close to the bone. Suffice to say that I think it is not solely a woman's problem. I've experienced first-hand how it affects men too.

(Hat tip to Zach who found the link, and to Feministing who reported the story.)

Changes

"I like your new glasses. They look funky"

Yes. I also wear Zara shirts, Marks and Spencer trousers and Hush Puppies now. I weigh the same, but I've lost inches off my waist and gained inches around my shoulders. I eat out more often, but have mostly stopped snacking. I have more social appointments than I can conceivably handle, but less time to be with myself. Strangely, that matters less to me than it did.

I've almost completely stopped WoWing. I've almost completely stopped watching TV. I spend my time quietly trying to understand myself. I spend my time trying to quietly understand my surroundings. I think more in terms of physical violence, less in terms of concilliation. I read more widely now. I wonder less about how the world works, and more about how I affect the world.

I make more money now. Paradoxically, I am less ambitious. I want to do my job and have the time that is due to me. No job will ever own me again.

The scars have become itchy keloids now. Movie scenes of a BART in motion remind me of its iron tangy scent. From pictures of San Francisco, Berkeley and Oakland I can feel the chill coastal wind, the light humidity of the ever-present fog, the golden champagne of the Californian sun. I'm not Singaporean, any more than I am Californian. Going to one place makes me miss the other. These itches, they remind me that I am in transition. Perhaps that is my fate then, to always be in transition.

It doesn't matter that much to me now - stability, and yet, I am more stable than I've ever been in my life. Perhaps that is life - to always be in transition, always moving from the past to the future, through the junction box we call the present. That is the purpose I chose to impose on my life for now. It is enough for me.

I sleep on a sofa bed. I understand it is not permanent. I will be moving soon. There, then, will be another change. I still cannot spend a night in my old bedroom. I go up on occassion, when I have something to fetch. It's a corpse of the former me. The stuffed toys have understanding looks. I still hear their soft voices . They say to me...

"I like your new glasses. They look funky"

Swordfighting

As promised, I return to writing about post divorce issues.

I had recently obtained news that cast my divorce in an entirely different light. I don't quite want to talk about it, but suffice to say, quite a number of the issues that I had written about weren't entirely accurate. In some senses, the divorce still has its impact on me.

A highly cosmetic change was weight. My weight yo-yoed fantastically during this period. I went from blubbery to (relatively) stick thin to blubbery again in a very short period of time. I was seriously wondering if I was developing body image issues or some form of clinical depression. Fortunately, the cause for me was more mundane than that.

When I am upset, I don't eat. My stomach ties itself into knots. When I finally regain my appetite, I usually feel so starved that I eat tons to compensate.

How I regained some measure of discipline was one part discipline, seven parts coincidence. An old friend of mine referred me to this. Over the month and a half that I have started taking it up, it's become the lynchpin of my routine. I've since lost 2 kg over 1 month, and developing some muscle tone.

I suspect my current, slightly-healthier disposition has more to do with the mental aspect than the physical. Having a routine to stick to helps. Doing something you would enjoy helps even more. When that something involves your childhood fantasy of actually being able to swing a sword around, it becomes that much more engaging. Engaging enough that you consider how to make yourself even better at it.

I'm not encouraging all divorced men to go out and take up swordfighting. It's just something I chose to do. What is more important is to head out and do something. Recognise that there is probably going to be a lot of anger and hurt inside you, but there is also going to be a lot of unspent energy. I suggest channeling it into something aggressive and macho-shit.

Yes, I am aware that I will be accused of overcompensating, but I think of it this way. My pride and self-worth took a serious hit during the divorce. Learning to fight, to swing a sword, and to wrestle my opponent to the ground builds my confidence, teaches me something new, and allows me to vent my frustration without actually hurting anyone.

Plus, if I get my hands of a snooker cue or a broomstick during a streetfight, I'd at least be able to take down one assailant before the damn thing breaks and I get overwhelmed.

A New Hope

My divorce is finalized.

I did not cry as much as I thought I would. On the contrary, I feel a vague sense of relief. The worst is over. Time to move on.

****

Somewhere in my flailings to maintain equillibrium, I resorted to hunting for online articles on coping with divorce. What I discovered was fairly shocking.

• A large number of divorce sites are focused on women's issues.
• A large number of the remaining sites focused on men are focused on prospective single parents, especially on how to get and keep custody.
• A large number of sites focus on legal advice, without discussing the emotional impact. This is especially true on Singapore sites.
• An overwhelming number of sites focused on divorced men maintain how one-sided the legal system is against males.
• A minority of divorce sites dedicated to men are incredibly misogynistic.

In short, I could not find many sites that could offer what I was looking for: A fair balanced view of how to cope with life as a divorced man with no kids.

So, here I am, writing again. I am doing this for three reasons.

The first is that it will help my recovery. Writing stuff down allows me to document my progress and track in a tangible fashion how far I have gone and have left to go.

The second is to address the dirth of literature in this area. I confess that I write from a fairly limited perspective. I do not know anything, for example, about what it is like to be the one initiating the splitup. Nevertheless, I am optimistic that what I write here will be comforting at least to the extent that a divorced man can know that he is not alone.

The last is based on a piece of advice that Mr Wang gave me a long time ago. Write about what you know. I know what I've been through very well. I am far from being an expert at this though. I will be writing about what I did to get through this. You mileage may vary.

I will not be writing about certain things though. Don't expect to see these up here. My communications with my ex-wife, if any, will never be mentioned. I don't think she was entirely pleased that I wrote stuff on my blog about our breakup, even though she consented to it. Hence, to be cautious, I will not be writing about it.

I will also not be writing about my dates, relationships or my sex life. I understand that these are aspects of recovering from a divorce. Understandably, I'm a little raw in this area, so I'm not entirely comfortable writing about this.

Oh, and I will still be writing whatever I feel like writing. Interesting stuff I see, shameless plugs, whatever.

****

Yes, this does mean that I'm back. I will be writing as regularly as I can and probably at the frequency that I used to write while I was still in California - i.e updates once every 2 weeks if possible.

I'll be working on a post later in the week about dealing with weight gain/loss during the divorce. In the meantime, if you are interested in hearing about a particular aspect, drop me a line.

It's good to be back.

Thank You

For 6 wonderful years. For showing me a different way. For loving me. For being my wife.

Now we have decided to part ways. We both want it now. I can't live alongside you. You can't live alongside me. I don't know what will happen to both of us, but whatever it is, we can no longer share this road we have walked together for 6 years.

I still love you. I will always love you. I cannot wait for you forever. And now that we are to be apart, I just hope you will remember me well, in spite of everything I've done.

Goodbye.

Twinges

Home is where friends who will drag you out incessantly are.

It's been almost a month since I've returned. I'm in pretty good shape. I'm meeting up with friends, old and new. During quiet days, I read, or play silly computer games, or observe a little quiet time.

My memories of the Bay are becoming increasingly hazy. Occassionally, unexpected corners jolt those memories awake. My hand still hurts when I write. Small amounts of text will send jolts of pain through my arm and shoulder. I know I must have done something to my hand writing for three days consecutively. I'm not sure when my hand will recover.

Come to think of it, my hand is a pretty apt allegory to my situation. When I'm awake, the situation bothers me little. I know I have done everything conceivable, and for that I will not regret what has gone on. Yet, late at night, I occassionally wake up to some bizzare thought or vivid nightmare.

I am alive. That is more than I can ask for.

Almost Home

One more weekend, a Monday, then I fly off Tuesday. I return August 17th, Singapore Time. Standing offer to meet up with fellow bloggers. Drop me a mail at khaycelim-at-gmail-dot-com.

The last week has been a slow, drawn out process of watching the apartment disintegrate. The apartment is now one tv, two desks and a computer - almost like the first horrid week I spent here, only in reverse. Sometimes, I see the empty space and I break down and cry.

I worked so hard to put all this together. This is much much harder than I thought. The only thing keeping me going now is that I'm coming home in 3 days. I'm counting them down.

The Story

UPDATE: If you've followed a link here, I ask that you read the entire story before passing any judgment.

A year ago, my life-changing journey began. Today, I write about how it ended.

I write this for whatever wisdom my readers can take from it.

*****

My wife was bulimic and anorexic. I never knew this. Not until 3 weeks ago.

She has not exhibited the symptoms over the 6 years I have been with her. She has her methods of keeping these symptoms under control. What I didn't realise until 3 weeks ago was that bulimia and anorexia are themselves symptoms of a deeper condition.

I have no name for this deeper condition. I only know how it works. It feeds of healthy self-respect people should have of their bodies, excreting guilt and shame. It whispers dark seductive thoughts of how you can be the image of what you are bombarded with, and the teeny little sacrifices you have to make, but they are worth it, right? It is the dark monster formed of objectification and false images.

I know this condition well. More importantly, I know how ill-suited I am to tend to this condition. My ex was also anorexic and bulimic. She did terrible things to get my attention. Once, she tore her wrist open with a fork. "It's the only control I have", she told me.

I set myself up against this unquenchable thirst and failed the first time round. I lost my ex-girlfriend's attention, and she moved on to another man in very short order. I grew bitter.

When my wife asked about my ex, I told her all the horror stories, never knowing that my wife had gone through something similar. She was scared by my stories, and how bitter I had grown. She felt she couldn't tell me. She tried for 6 years to work herself through this and she failed. I don't blame her. I saw the same symptoms but I didn't understand them. Without understanding them, I was doomed to repeat the mistakes of my past.

And so it was. During the 6 years, I hurt her badly, and I never knew.

I dearly want to work through this with her. I love her deeply. I still do. Being the cause of her pain, however, I cannot. She cannot help but see me as a source of pain. She cannot heal with me beside her.

Alone, she might stand a chance.

Hence, I wait. At a determined point in the future, we will sit down again and decide whether we can heal. If it ends, it ends arbitrarily. We will have our closure.

*****

Thus ends my journey. I return to Singapore for three months. Even if I get back together with my wife after three months, it will be to face the future together. If I face the future without my wife, then at least, I face it with a clean slate and hard-won wisdom. I am content.

This is only one of many reasons behind the seperation. I choose to write about this one because it is the most poignant. If I cannot avoid my past, I can at least prevent someone else's future. More importantly, this is my attempt to make people understand: The monster claims no single victim, because it hurts us too.

I refuse to be a victim. Today, I take the fight to the monster.

It's Over Part II

The bar exam is over. It was less difficult than I expected. Of course, this might mean that they will just curve it to higher grades.

I actually feel kind of lost at the moment. All I have is this vague inkling that I need to pack and come home.

Update: To perpetuate a tradition...

*****

He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day
...
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

****

Funny how much this verse reminds me of home. I was first introduced to this from a dear old friend from AC Drama. We ended up in law school together and yet, now we take such seperate paths.

Time is truly circular, and this is the proof.

Bar Exam Minus 3 Days

I am suprisingly calm.

My taking of this exam has been an unmitigated disaster. I have, in the process of preparing for my bar exam:

(1) my laptop crash so badly I can't use it for my California Bar Exam
(2) have to leave a job, because of the stress of everything that was happening

and last but not least

(3) Go through a week of cursing, swearing, crying, angsting and finally, accepting that my wife and I have marital differences, bad enough that she wants to leave the marriage.

I'm done - everything I know, I know. Everything I don't, I can only read lightly to stop myself from imploding from the sheer weight of material.

I've been reading that the California Bar is a psychological test of endurance. Somehow, it looks absolutely pale in comparison to what I've already been through.

I don't know if this will be enough to pass, but I know that whatever happens, it will be in God's hands.

And So, It Ends

A week from my bar exam, it's over.

My marriage that is.

My wife and I have been discussing this back and forth for the better part of a month. I can't make her stay. I can't persuade her to stay.

Therefore, I can't stay.

I've made the arrangements as best as I can, and there's nothing more I can do.

I've given it my best shot, and it's not enough.

Update: I've made arrangements to fly back on August 15th.

Singapore the MMORPG

Edit: I stumbled across an article that pretty much sets out everything that is wrong with MMORPG's nowadays - but centering its analysis on WoW. Pretty much sets out what I write in less rambly language.

Having recently hit level 60 at WoW, I could not help but notice a startling similarity between WoW and Singapore.

For the benefit of those not in the know, level 60 is the absolute highest level you can attain in WoW. In many ways, it represents a coming of age. This is where your character stops growing and starts participating. There are many "60's only" places and quests. It's like getting keys to the executive bathroom. A whole new world awaits you.

Here's the catch. The game at level 60 is vastly different from the game at level 1-59. Strategies that once worked from level 1-59 absolutely do not work at level 60. At levels 1-59, you have many choices to thrive. At level 60, you really only have two choices to avoid character stagnation.

You either sell out, or compete for scraps.

Like WoW, Singapore literally hands you the game from levels 1-59. Sure, there are super-performers in school who get all the perks. Sure there are people who get crushed by the wheels of a merciless system. By and large, however, you -will- get a decent education, you -will- get your bellies filled, and you -will- enjoy a standard of living that, while not fantastic, is certainly comfortable. Singapore hands its citizens the equivalents of level 1-59. The system facilitates both casual participants as well as fanatic workaholics. You can choose to work hard, or not.

Once you hit 60, the environment changes. The strategies that kept you alive at levels 1 to 59 don't work any more. You realise that your NUS degree, and whatever few marketable skills you have means little and increasingly less in the big bad world out there. You realise that that you are largely helpless in spite of the fact that you may have worked your ass off during levels 1-59. Casual participation becomes nigh impossible. Only complete utter dedication will allow you to thrive - anything else risks stagnation. You realise that there are only two ways to achieve the end-game rewards. You can team up with people to get "raid" end-game dungeons, or you can fight other players in "(P)layer (V)ersus (P)layer" battlegrounds.

Teaming up requires having a skill set that the team needs. That skill set may not be the one that is most desirable to you, merely those most desirable to the team. The team does not care if you have hopes, dreams and aspirations of your own. The team only cares if you can contribute to help them slay Blackwing, Onyxia or Ragnaros. Except, if you've played WoW long enough, you will know that many raiding guilds are run like military organizations or corporations, and have more than their share of catass-ery.

"PvP" requires something else. It requires you to pit your skills with foul mouthed kids and teenagers, who have nothing better to do but to hone their skills in the Battlegrounds. Alternatively, you'd face a person who plays a character that is invulnerable to damage, can teleport from place to place, and can kill you with a keypress. In short, you remain breathlessly disbelieving and wondering why the system rewards loophole exploiters and the obsessed, but punishes the casual.

Both of these are not the problems. The problem starts when you are level 1 to level 59 - the system gives no indication of the problems you will face at level 60. All we get are anecdotes of players before us - players who have their own self-interest at heart when doling information out. The senior players are likely to have gotten ahead either by nefarious means or by simply "grinding" away while the rest of us casual gamers have lives to tend to. They are not likely to lobby for casual-friendly gaming. In suffering, they expect us to suffer along with them for rewards. These hard-core gamers exert a disproportionate amount of power and often lobby and obtain landscape changes that yet again favours them while stiffing us.

So you look at your options, and wonder why you pay dues for the privilege of aggravating yourself. Your eye starts wandering. You discover other MMORPG's, and wonder if they are just more worthwhile. Unfortunately, you have a sinking suspicion that jumping ship may mean a serious case of "Same Shit Different Day".

You know that the problem is not with the system, but with the inherent nature of man.

Chances are also that while you hate the problems with WoW, you have friends you made there. Leaving WoW means leaving your friends behind, and you just -cannot- do that. Ever.

So what do you do?

I'm still trying to find the answer.



Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed.