Samuel Yeoh

I’ve alway had a little fantasy that one day, while I’m out there soaking in the rain at a random traffic light, this awesomely cute girl would offer to share an umbrella with me. It’s a typically cliche romantic notion borne of one too many movies.

The other side of this romantic notion is simply being nice enough to share an umbrella with another stranger. It’s not a very difficult gesture, but in the sunny island of Singapore, or rather, the occasionally pouring wet island of Singapore, there occasions seem far and few between.

I usually do not carry an umbrella, as I’d rather soak than lug it around, such is the nature of sloth I possess. But I’m proud to say on that on the rare occasion that I happened to carry one, I shared it with a soaking schoolboy last month.

Odd that karma should return the favour today.

It was a light drizzle, one that I’m accustomed to taking a walk in. But for the first time in the 20 odd years of my life, someone offered to share an umbrella with me! Incredible,  I know!

Exactly like how I envisioned but never imagined possible, it was at a traffic light. What’s more, it was a cute 16 year old girl from the School of the Arts. Romantic notions aside, I have to take back some of the meaner things I’ve said about the younger generation. Not all are selfish little brats after all. Looks like SOTA should be proud, they got some good civic education going on there!

Alas, we made small talk and parted our ways shortly after. No romantic follow-up whatsoever. In my defence, she is way too young for me. Oh well, better luck next time.

Update: I shared the little anecdote about a student who offered to share the umbrella with me to my Primary 6 tuition class. All of them said that it was suspicious. *face palms* Maybe only a scant few students in the world still know what the meaning of gracious is. Sigh.

If I were to set a resolution for this year, instead of achieving great successes, it might just be overcoming fears for me.

One of the things I have most often shared with those who ask me, the greatest thing a man can have for himself is freedom. Freedom to live, freedom from financial constrains, freedom from illness, and of course, freedom from fear.

Honestly, I’m not a very brave man, unlike my father who knows nothing about cowardice. His is a reckless courage, eager to rush headlong into physical danger for the sake of showing me what a man should be. I am however, a lot more cautious. I like to see where I’m going, plan ahead for an infinite number of possibilities, and still bail if I feel one ounce of insecurity.

The past few years have been about removing one of my greatest fears – my fear of another man. That stage of my life has reached an acceptable level in my opinion. I no longer fear the average bully, as I’m confident that my skills should allow me to defend, and take out if needs be, a significantly larger opponent. The benchmark has always been my father (still a head taller and wider than me), and well, I’m content to say I don’t see him as a threat anymore.

Ok, long preamble done.

Today marks the day I embark on another journey to address a different fear. A small fear that I can live with, but will have tremendous impact in raising my self-esteem nonetheless, should I overcome it.

The fear of the dancefloor.

Dancing has always been a royal pain in the ass for me. I love dancing, rocking out, and having a good time. But I suck at my body movements, and I am way too self-conscious about it. The end result is that I get too little practice, and end up taking very conservative and awkward movements whenever I dance in public.

If you ask me, lousy coordination aside, it’s a larger self-image problem that needs to be addressed.

So there I stood at the counter of the dance studio, hesitating, wondering if I made the right decision to try out a lesson. My very first Hip Hop class.

Barely a few minutes in, and I knew my gut instincts were right. I have not a single spark nor talent for dancing, and was atrociously horrible at it! To add to the irony, I was standing in the front row, and nearest to the glass window where all the passerbys could look in. What an eye-cringing show I must have put on!

I couldn’t help but feel thoroughly amused. Despite my valiant efforts to keep up with the class, I was having way too much difficulties remembering steps, looking at the mirror, feeling the beat, trying to look good, and in general just feeling extremely self-conscious and embarassed about the whole thing. The instructor addressed the class with the tone of someone who has seen too many failures and non-talents that he gave up trying eons ago.

In the end, the class ended with me feeling like a complete idiot, with terrible coordination and stiff limbs. Couldn’t help telling myself how bad I sucked. And the experience was so horrible I never want to relive it again.

So I signed up for the class.

Might as well right? Since I hated the feeling, the discomfort and uneasiness, the awkward movements, and the utter lack of talent, might as well put myself through a few more classes to get used to it, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll improve after that. That’s what classes are for anyway. And if I still turn out to be hopeless, well at least I tried, and perhaps I’d be less self-conscious of getting onto the dance floor and flailing like a moron the next time. From experience, you can get used to being embarassed if you do it often enough, hehe.

It remains to be seen how I’ll come out surviving from the next few classes. No way am I gonna be a prodigy, but hey, it’s all about building those blocks of confidence one brick at a time.

Rock on, y’all!

From ashes we come, and to ashes we return.

We take along with us nothing but our memories and our spirit – the only true things we can grow in our lives.

While doing some housekeeping, I chanced upon a little note I penned on the impending adulthood of my 21st birthday. Odd that I should come across it with my birthday looming in sight again. Coincidence? Mayhaps. I take it as a sign to remember what I have so long forgotten.

The note is a list of sorts. A list of dues I owe, the people that have shaped me and honoured me in their own ways, and whose favours I owe a lifetime of debt to. A list that I should never forget, but in the sinkholes of the last 1 year, I have let slipped from my mind.

Forgive my disservice, but now I do remember.

And to this list I add a whole new list of names and faces, some of it which may be incomplete. But should you ever be in that list, I will abide by my duties in your hour of need. Even though our paths may have fallen apart, the invisible string of obligation will bind us through time and space, and I will never relinquish it. An obligation that I have imposed on myself, that those who have helped me may not go unrewarded, and those who have hurt me may not go unpunished.

If you but even wonder if you have a place, then you are on the list. If you have the cheek or gall to wonder, than you have already touched my life, be it as friend or enemy.

See you soon, my friends. And enemies, see you on the other side.

Recently, I participated in a Russian martial arts seminar featuring the Wave system. It’s quite interesting to see how they translate dance-like body waves into powerful strikes. But more interesting for me was the knife-throwing component. It’s an exceptionally tricky art, and I tend to miss more than I hit my mark during practice.

That said, on the 3rd and final day of the seminar, we had a little competition among the amateurs, and I managed to come out tops with an impressive score of 7 hits out of 9 throws. While I surprised even myself with the results, I vividly recall each throw.

Read the rest…

The past few days have been quite emo for me. I nearly broke down a few times doing almost nothing at all, like wiping cutlery or arranging menus. It’s funny what the mind does when you have too much time to think, and too little things to occupy yourself with.

A lot of thoughts have been running through my head, why I am where I am now, and where I want to be headed. And watching all those people coming in and out of the coffee outlet can set some really unhealthy thoughts for the hyperactive mind. In that mess of nameless faces and uncountable futures, I find myself searching, thrashing around for some sort of meaning. Meaning to their lives, and meaning to mine.

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Recently, I’ve moved out of the travel industry to the non-travelling industry – bumming. Yes, I quit my day job. To kill time though, I decided to take up a part-time waitering job at one of the local coffee outlets.

Waitering has always been one of those curious holiday jobs I’ve wanted to try, and they are a great place to see lots of fun things for a person like me. Just a day on the floor can yield a lot of interesting story ideas and fantasies, more than enough to fill a few posts, but I digress.

Today though, I got tipped for the first time. Unexpectedly too!

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