Short Stories

Just a little queasy in the stomach right now after chomping down cereals, bread stuffed with ham, and biscuits - all while reading about MJ's autopsy report on how he was a 'virtual skeleton' upon death. And the details.

The past week has been really fun. Fun as in like, fun. There isn't really much of a way to describe fun when you know it is. Fun.

Chi Ling's relatives flew over from Hong Kong last week (in a decision made the night before in Hong Kong while myother was there.) and I've finally met ALL of them! Though my grasp of Cantonese is so terrible but I admit I felt pretty comfortable with all of them by the end of the three days. Now I miss them, but I know I'll get to see them soon.

Lunches, outings, photos, dinners. Esplanade, VCH, ACM, Geylang No Signboard stall. Housewarming! Kids, Megan, cone ice cream, chocolate ice cream, corn strawberry ice cream, 2 million points, pillows. Gameboy parties, Jordon, Jessie, Aunty Jasline's birthday! The Singapore side, the Hong Kong side. Well, it's just about it. Everyone.

I spent the whole of last night reading The Catcher in the Rye. I mean, I read it until 3am. Then I decided that I could no longer take it, and slept.

Have a clear focus of what's going to happen for this year's competition, and I'm going to win it. But Zhang Aidi's so imba. Sigh.


Next book to read: The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Re-thinking Life

Can you not believe in ghosts but believe in God at the same time?

What's the difference in believing in ghosts and God? After all, both are as intangible. Just that the idea of a supreme being appeals more to the head. We all need a little light and organization in our lives. The idea that I'm trying to push through here would be that God is man-made, an invention, a utility to all questions that seemingly have no answers to. He is the jigsaw piece that makes our puzzles complete.

He is Our jigsaw piece. We really do need it. So we make one ourselves. Why question? We need it anyway. These are people living in different places. Some look at the jigsaw puzzle from afar. Others want to be part of the jigsaw puzzle.

So much one can talk about but-

After reading CL's blog I feel like blogging intelligent stuff but I realized that there's a social limit to your intelligence - any further show of knowledge and lack of ignorance would mean transgressing The border!

Thus preceding the sudden possibility of a private blog.

Which is useless because the private journal would be a better option.

But it really is better to run these thoughts through your own mind (at least for me so that I don't get heckled by people for being 'extra' - those badass memories coming from The Musical Chord). And keep the journals occupied with musical stuff, experiences, and observations.

But you're wrong about life not just revolving around music and you. It's always good to keep it simple and less cloudy. Clear, simple, directions. There's already a hell lot of things to do with music, anyway! Obviously there are more things in lfe to think about, but these are just the cardinal ones, duh.

I prefer my life to be that way. Definitely doesn't make my life any less interesting, right?



Do bloggers plan what they type before they start, or do the thought processes happen concurrently? Am I wasting my time thinking about this? Probably not. At this age it's only normal to keep asking questions. Then when we get older we hardly find time to ask these questons and realize at some point that all the while we have been working to earn more money, raise a family, and lead a comfortable life.

Then we return to these questions. It's a cyclical thing I guess. Stop, reflect, go on. Stop, reflect, go on. Maybe the only thing that matters is which stage you are at when you pass on. Were you at a state of desperation, with no one to turn to? Were you surrounded by friends and leading a comfortable life?

Yeah, that's all that matters right? You either die a sad or happy or contemplative death. Like, a frozen frame. That's how your life ended. Here, tis' a picture taking when you died. You left in the dead of the night, your wife beside you, your children and grandchildren all asleep.

You've done it. You have ended it on a good note. Great. All the highs and lows, pleasures and pains, but really, ALL, all that matters is you died Good. A morally-high ending. No one cares about the bad things you have done in life. As long as. Yeah, he's dead already, forgive him.

Imagine what would have happened if you ended on a moral low. Your histories would tilt towards the ending. The things you have done that made the ending this way. Not good. Bad life.

No death does justice to the person.

'Real Love' by John Lennon

All my little plans and schemes
Lost like some forgotten dream
Seems like all i really was doing
Was waiting for you

Just like little girls and boys
Playing with their little toys
Seems like all they really were doing
Was waiting for you

Don't need to be alone
No need to be alone

It's real love
It's real, yes it's real love
It's real

From this moment on i know
Exactly where my life will go
Seems that all i really was doing
Was waiting for love

Don't need to be afraid
No need to be afraid

It's real love
It's real, yes it's real love
It's real

Thought i'd been in love before,
But in my heart i wanted more
Seems like all i really was doing
Was waiting for you

Don't need to be alone
No need to be alone

It's real love
Yes it's real, yes it's real love
It's real, yes it's real love...



Which expresses what I want to say to you. For you.

Yay.

Yeah.

Ok just to confirm the questions posted to me by friends over the week, yes, I'm going into NUS full-time.

FINALLY. I get to not do all the shit work that RIJC gives me.

Ok. I'll blog later.

Untitled 3

I want to play the piano now. Because I've finally hit upon what comes after the slow introduction. Always think about expectation...even I just thought about what I couldn't expect right after the slow intro.

BUT I NEED TO USE THE PIANO NOW and its already 1.30am. Later in the morning then.

Tiring day today, but the efforts paid off. If I did put in any.

Maybe I should go downstairs and take a walk. With my manuscript paper.

She's right, I need to focus more. Enough sleeping, and I need to get into the right mind. Should be back by 3.

On my favourite hobby that is Improvising -

Yes, something that I do in the morning, in the afternoon, and just before I sleep. Frequently, I would lumber straight to the piano a few moments after I open my eyes, clad in only boxers and eyes adjusting to the light of day. Of course, this only happens on weekends and the holidays, and no one is dumb enough to do that at 5am during schooldays.

Maybe at 2, but 5am is definitely overboard.

When did I pick it up? I started improvising since 9, but the music had no logic in it, and could thus be safely labelled 'atonal'. By logical I mean, with the proper voice-leading, melody, meter, form, and structure that could stretch the improvisation to well over 5 minutes. I only reached that level last year, while preparing for my Ettlingen competition. Surprising to know that it was not attained in Singapore.

Oh, and suddenly I remembered that there was one object that gave me the inspiration for my first improvisation - that of a clocktower in the centre of the town.

While practising the Ettlingen pieces in a musty practice room in the school, I noticed a most elegant and wise clock tower, gleaming white in the lukewarm afternoon sun. Underneath it was luscious green, and red-roofed houses were angled around it.

Interesting to note that the inspiration for Tendresse was drawn from the ticking of a green alarm clock in the dark of the night. Time and again.

Back to Ettlingen, I immediately recorded the improvisation, which was in D major. But before that there was a short process of discovery, taking roughly 10 minutes - a realization that everything did actually clicked into place - D major, G major, Bb major (the beautiful submediant major), A major, B minor, all of its different inversions, thus allowing the chromatic shiftings of each individual voice that would eventually lead to another key.

So all those years of nonsense didn't go to waste. All those years of "What are you playing? Doesn't sound right," from dad didn't lead to nothing. They lead to the realization of a dream. They led me to believe that it wasn't fake, those words from the history books - "Beethoven and Mozart improvised, Haydn improvised, he was good at improvising".

I questioned constantly the meaning of improvisation, WHAT it was. I had absolutely no idea what improvisation was - such was the cluelessness.

To know that I've finally improvised was such a huge joy. But the learning never stops.

The moment I got back to Singapore (without any prizes of course, those guys were freaking good), I immediately googled the word itself - here's something from Wikipedia that I read when I got back:

"

Improvisation is usually defined as composing music while playing an instrument at the same time. In other words, the art of improvisation can be understood as composing music "on the fly". This of course requires great skill and knowledge, and is a very important aspect of music in general, for any experienced musician. Musical improvisers often understand the idiom of one or more musical styles—e.g. blues, rock, folk, jazz—and work within the idiom and music-theory of the certain style to express ideas with creativity and originality. Improvisation can take place as a solo performance, or interdependently in ensemble with other players. When done well, it often elicits gratifying emotional responses from the audience. Very few musicians have ever dared to offer fully improvised concerts such as the famous improvised piano recitals by classical composers/pianists like Franz Liszt. The origins of Liszt's improvisation in an earlier tradition of playing variations on a theme were mastered and epitomized by Mozart and Beethoven.

"

(munch munch, eating baos I just finished steaming)

Then again I'm thinking that it is a really good way of revealing one's character, and personally I think I would be amazed also to see the huge array of personalities and characters emerging if everyone could improvize.

Experience of improvising? It does seem overwhelming at first sight, but after a while, I absolutely appreciate the large range of tones I have in front of me, 81 of them, 1200 chords in one octave, 8400 in seven. Combine the different chords together, at different intervals, different dynamics, different configurations, and there you have it, a NEW WORLD available at your whim and fancy.

That is, if you can make it yours.

I search for passing inspirations, experiences - they float across my mind, and zip through my brain. There have been times when it gets so overwhelming I wish that I could write it all down, but such orgasmic moments are meant to be relished, with nothing worthy, not even time, of capturing it. It is meant as a gift of the moment, for the moment, that the performer could receive, but only just, before it withers into memory's recesses.

Yes, mind, body and soul are required.

You need to have the facility -and as I always emphasize, arsenal- to get the best OUT of the keyboard, and of course, to better express yourself. Look at it this way - the larger the array of technique you possess, the more you can express with. It's better to have something you have but don't need, rather than something you need but don't have.

Mind - the vision as to how your improvisation would turn out to be, its form and structure. This took years and years of looking and listening to hundreds of songs and pieces. And command of theory I guess, must be really way high up. Just that I have a cheat source, that's perfect/absolute pitch. Which is something I really treasure. Ok, this whole passage looks easy to type, but I'm proud of whatever that goes behind it. At least 10 years of immersing yourself in music.

Soul doesn't need much talking about. The lifeforce to the music, without which there would be nothing.

BTB

Bleary-eyed, just woke up. Some of the goodies of the holidays would be being able to wake up so late in the morning (we're talking about 8am here) and still able to laze around.

Yesterday's night ended with a table-tennis game right in the living room, and within minutes I was glistening under the light. Moonlight, fluorescent, no matter. Oh wait, it don't. [inside 1E joke]

We went for another family outing on Saturday again. Ok, so, no more drunken chicken, no more drunken tapirs, no more drunken rhinos, we went to the Night Safari!

Took a hell lot of photos together, but MYJ is at camp now, so I can't upload them. Would be up by this week though.

Went back to Johor Bahru yesterday to celebrate Ah-Ma's 80th birthday. I'm so proud of her!!! She's still so healthy and strong. I did however, felt a queer mix of joy and sorrow when she took a photo with her birthday cake. I do hope for many more years of this to come.

An indignant boy had made his way into my blog by opportunistically vomiting on MY sandals, while I was taking a break inside the house watching Night at the Museum. Good job, BRYAN. But I still like you though, although I wished you'd rather stop jumping around.

"See Brrryan Mummy 跟你讲了，不要乱跳，跟Jonathan-gor-gor say sorry?"
"My sandals!!! My good old sandals!"
"Cool! There's grape, porridge, oh look at that, it's bubuchacha. Oh is that the mango?"
"My SANDALS. Sand..*faints"

Was the exact scene yesterday.

I think I was a little harsh but setting him down in front of me and saying, "Look, do you really have to vomit on my sandals." He gave me a look, and then lost attention and his gaze started to wander on my hair.

You know you fail if your hair grows long enough for people to call it Jonathan.

You know you fail when you shatter your permanent tooth riding on a four-wheel 'bike', realizing only after the accident that brakes exist.

You know you fail when you help a guy open the door, and he shatters your tooth by pushing the door too hard. The same tooth.

You know you fail when your mum passes away on Mother's Day (this one isn't funny but it's quite fail)

You know you fail when you dream of your friend telling you, "Jonny, 136 nipples on your face and still counting.


Ok another non-descript post worth forgetting. It's lacking in any bite but that's because I'm just a bit lazy. Now, back to Ballade.

My Adventures on May 31 and June 1

I wandered aimlessly around my bedroom for close to a minute in total darkness, trying to figure out whether I should, or not, switch on the air-conditioning. Just two hours before I was lying on my bed (that was ten), clad only in my jeans, and sweating myself in this moist cabin.

A short account of the previous few days would do good. A rehearsal at St Mary of the Angels, with my cello still missing its A-string. For the 2nd time running we rehearsed Schubert's Ave Maria, but with fewer instruments because the rest couldn't make it. By the time I got back, it was already early evening, and Chi Ling and I did well to finish watching License to Wed. Ma Yanjie desperately needed a partner to watch it with, but she watched it solo anyway on the other couch.


We waited for Aunty to get back home, and we reckoned that we should watch Night at the Museum 2 together since it was going to be another Family Day.

Now here's the part that showed me something important for the rest of my life. No, it's not another reflection on my part, no, but really, a physical ailment. My dad ordered steamboat on behalf of himself and Aunty, myself reluctant and my other being quiet about it, while MYJ suffered from a case of diarrhoea, subjected to my endless teasing (which had its retribution).

We were at our favourite Hong Kong restaurant (probably the only one in Jurong Point) once again, with all the food fare that we usually had. But today had to be special, because they were offering a package, and the package had to include the elusive drunken chicken.

It had been known since time immemorial that I have an alcohol allergy, or either that, am extremely sensitive to alcohol. Just one spoonful of drunken chicken, I was down. At first I thought it was just myself, imagining that there was a raging storm within my walls, but it wasn't.

I wasn't imagining. So here I was in the brightly-lit room, the two adults leaning against the glass wall opposite us, on my left my mei (:O, yes since ChiLing calls her that) and on my right ChiLing. The lanterns hanging overhead did drift in different hues, and my vision blurred several times as a immediate response. A plastic bag was soon at my disposal, and my attempts to retch out the wretched liquid was to no avail.

Meanwhile, I think we were there for a total of 15 minutes, myself suffering not so quietly, MYJ silent with the incessant thought of diarrhoea. My other got up to get medicated oil and she returned swiftly, the contents of the dial dabbed onto myself to sooth the pain. No, it wasn't a brilliant pain, but it was spasmic, and I could feel them shifting and groaning as the supposed cause traversed its normal course.

The walk up to the cinemas was itself a terror, and I once-again nearly vomited into the plastic bag.

Night at the Museum 2 was generally amusing, but it severely lacked coherence and we both agreed our intelligence (if we had any) went down. By a lot. But it was innocent kid fun, I guess. So not much to mention here.

The climax of the show undoubtedly came at the last part, when my eyes started itching. And they itched more when the show ended. By the time the credits came, it had hit upon both of us (we were sitting behind Dad Aunty MYJ) that my eyelids were swelling, and for myself, that I would soon be practically blind.

From this point onwards I could seriously not get a hold of anything, except that I proceeded the staircase with no incident, but I literally had to be led by the hand. While waiting for the car to arrive, I decided the best way to hide that hideous face of mine (for two bunions for eyes don't make a good human) was to cover it with the hood of my jacket.

Everything after that was a blur, and I suppose I had fell under the onslaught of the minutest spoonful of alcohol.

Every loud thud or sound rattled my brain, and there were consistent flashes of black lines that zipped across my eyes. The world seemed to be whirling around slowly, and I dozed off several times (or drifted in and out of consciousness), only to wake up hearing the sounds of my girl calling her mum to know where the nearest clinic or hospital is. I think. I think that I might have shouted 'Thank You Aunty' to the phone, but even this needs confirmation from witnesses.

I remember vaguely being bundled out of the car, and as you all know my vision was limited to only the ground beneath me, even with it a black line consistently hovered across, and that was the hood. A change of environment, the black night washed away by a sterile light, a greenish-white.

I thought it was a clinic, but only much later did I realize that I was in a hospital, a West Point Hospital. And that I was in the Accident and Emergency Department - my queue number, if there was even a queue, was 3035. Last check on 4D yielded no results.

One of the clearest instances of the entire hospital trip was the temperature taking, that comforting protrusion into your ear, a fuzzy feeling, a click.

"It's only my eyes that are inflamed, not my ears," I had said at one point. Either the nurse got too tired, or she just had a terrible day, but I heard no response. Probably she laughed, but the thermometer prevented any sound from reaching my drugged ears.

An injection was obviously performed, because not long after my right arm felt a burning pain, the muscle having been penetrated and the medicine dealt. This pain lasted for several days, and was evident during my Chopin performance the next day, which I would elaborate upon later.

It must be known that I didn't take much notice of the pain at all, simply because I was in such a stupor, that any bright lights or loud noises would only startle me, and stimulate all my bodily muscles into a tense fit, only relaxing after a few seconds. This condition continued right until the third day of my poisoning, where the alcoholic effects finally started wearing off.

[a reminder to the reader that it was only a sip of drunken chicken soup]

Also imperative to note that not at any point of this post have I exaggerated a single word, and I am merely describing my experiences at that point of time.

Returning from this digression, the ride back home was essentially missing, because the next time I opened my eyes ChiLing was no longer in the car, and for once I had failed to preserve my sanity enough to step out of the car and ensure her safe passage home. Upon discussion we both realized that this was wholly impossible, and I might have been a burden should I concur to faint in the lift or along the walkway.

I found myself in bed the next morning, and was told that I had fell down upon the floor in an attempt to remove my shoes. My socks were miraculously off, but my polo, jeans and belt were expectantly, still on. At this point I was reminded of a joke told to me a few years back, when a boy had fell asleep after physically pleasuring himself, only to find the next morning that he was clothed in his entirety.

Hardly a joke, but terribly amusing-amusingly terrible experience one could be in. To thus step out into the living room and find both parents at breakfast as if nothing had happened, to ask what state he had been found in the previous night.

"We figured out you had such a sneeze that your mucus went everywhere, and the obvious cause being that you weren't dressed, thus being exposed to the winds, my dear. So we clothed you."

Ah, it's only human to digress.

This day I wake up to would be Monday, June 1.

My eyelids were still in its enlarged state, but only less. I was fed half a dozen pills in one go, but I was willing to try anything that could rid me of the alcohol. Any intense stimulations caused all my muscles to contract, and my sense of balance could not be worse. I decided that I should continue watching the movies that I had borrowed from the Shaw Foundation Library, but could not bring myself to concentrate on them, for the fact remained that I still had to practise my Chopin.

Nothing much of interest happened in the afternoon, except that I went for rehearsal, which involved much shifting of chairs and sofas, and I wasn't of much help either. I was half asleep most of the time, and only awoke when there were exceptionally sudden motions, one of them being Thomas Ang's slam upon the table, which left me reeling.

Whilst on a stroll with my beautifully-dressed girl back to the ArtsHouse, I lost my balance after swivelling my head to take a view of the Central Business Area. This was not surprising then, considering we were walking on a sloping platform, and the buildings loomed so majestically over me.

The performance that ensued in the evening was without incident, and no chandeliers dropped while I played my Nocturne. Thank you to all who came to support me, the four most important being my Dad, Aunty, MYJ and ChiLing. You lovely people.

The rest of the night was spent getting ChiLing to Pre-U Seminar, at 11pm. And thus ends my Monday, which was spent mostly in a better state of mind, contrasting sharply with the horrific events of the day before.

Thus ends my narrative of my adventures. Do wait, if possible, with bated breath, for the next chapter. You might get to see more interesting shit.

Edgar Allan Poe is really cool.

The Alcohol Allergy.

The past few days have been the craziest days of the year.

I know this sounds like something out of a Taiwanese soap opera, but it's true. Few weeks back my dad found his long-lost brother at Parkway Parade, and subsequently his brother started calling up everyone else to inform them that, yes, they've found the last brother.

Well, my dad could have been dead for all they know, but of course he's still alive. In any case, the gathering was last Saturday, and we had a hell lot of fun. Singing Beatles, Carpenters, and Barry Manilow, not forgetting the Hokkien songs and the Chinese ones. If I can remember, I think there were 9 of them in all, with the spouses and such.

Truly frightening and hard to believe, because everyone laughed so loudly and cheered even louder. They were all soccer fanatics, and one of them even said they would die for football. So it seems it indeed runs in the veins. They are all my uncles and aunts, and I just found it super cool.

Finally, after 16 years of knowing their existence but never having seen them.

Feeling super tired now. Yawn. None of you will know what happened yesterday, shhh. Delirious.