What Are Words

Guess I've got no time to be dithering over the value of words when I've got a personal statement to construct/put together/fabricate. Thinking about it now though, I'm probably a lot more direct in my thinking than I ever was back in school. Or maybe not hehe. My brain works in pretty odd ways. I spend ages thinking about the right thing to say, then in the end decide that it's way too generic and mainstream and end up saying something else instead, stuffing the proverbial foot in my mouth. And it's not even the right foot! This self-sabotage really has to stop, eh?

But seriously, what are words? Cause I just can't resist. It's the time of the night when words flow freely yet mean nothing at all, which is why I'm refraining from working on it till the dawn of the cruel light of day. Night, that's a time to sort through jumbled thoughts and emotions, rearranging them in different ways, that may or may not be noticeably organized.

Much like anyone else, excepting those certifiable vegetables, and many non-certified ones out there, many thoughts course through my head throughout the day, some which I wish to convey, some which I don't. For lack of a better means, this unenviable task falls upon the ever so ubiquitous words, which more often than not, I find horribly limited. Set aside the irony that it's those self-same words which I'm employing right now. There's no other choice, you see. I think in words, holding those long internal dialogues (or is a better term monologues? I wouldn't want to imply that I'm suffering from split personalities, which Wiki kindly informs me is known as Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID for short) which spiral on and on, downwards or upwards nobody knows. Sometimes I wonder privately, a far-more-than-lingering suspicion that this mental framework of words severely limits my mental capabilities. If by force of habit I think in words, is the speed of my thoughts only as fast as these words can be selected and put together into a semblance of rationality? If I can only process things in words, is my ability to understand new stimuli and input limited by the words with which I have at hand to describe and ascribe certain characteristics to? And if these words, in their recalcitrance, refuse to come to me, and I find myself not only speechless but completely and utterly flabbergasted (now that's a word I've been wanting to use) am I then completely hapless? I apologize if the above paragraph sounds more than a little insane, it's been brewing for awhile now, and what started off as a seemingly perfectly good idea to be developed on has now grown out of hand, and yet I, as it's originator, much like how Frankenstein probably couldn't bear to get rid of his monster till it had offed a couple of people, just can't bear to euthanize it.

Very often I have difficulty expressing myself (in dark moments I wonder if maybe it's because I'm devoid of anything to express) the thoughts too heavy for words to bear. Yet words are such easy things to give and receive in so many forms, what then are they truly worth? Far be it from me to disregard words from the heart, but it's honestly so hard sometimes. Strange then that despite questioning their worth, that I could be hurt so by just a couple of words, flippantly delivered. When the message sent differs from that which is received, should that be considered the greatest travesty or a blessing, well disguised?

Then there are those moments so pure words simply do them no justice, that in the mere retelling they are inexplicably diminished; these I recall with nostalgia, joy tinged with regret, for come again in self-same form they won't, rewind the clock I can't, and even memories don't last forever. I remember a time almost two years back, day spent head buried in words and more words, the minutes timelessly passing by, and afterwards, making the trip home. The air cool, traffic light, a detour gladly taken. The fog lifts and words depart on the stroll home, passing by the set of bars and deciding on a whim to pull myself up, towards that gap between the foliage overhead and the full moon peeking through, up and down, over and over, each attempt to reach out and grasp it giddily fulfilling but ultimately unsuccessful. As I near home, the neighbor's dog barks; I shush it as I pass, step through the gate, and the moment is over. Of passing out in September, that charge down the street, all of us, wordless growls emanating from our throats, so fresh to the chevrons, pride, achievement, all that didn't really matter, just the immediacy of release. Moments I now recall as a pile of snapshots, and yet the words come in, as they invariably do. I don't really know how to describe this, but think of it this way: When you name something, does the object describe the name, or the name the object? It may be the former, initially, but as memory fills up, all that's left are words, words ascribed yet which aren't a perfect fit, can't be a perfect fit, and something crucial is irrevocably lost. Best then that these moments be given the varnish of time and held at arm's length. Look too closely and you may not like what you see. Best also, as we humans are creatures of time. We can't live simultaneously in past, present and future, though some would like to think otherwise, and onwards we must go.

I'm tired, and till now no closer to answering or even exploring the question. There's probably never to be an answer, and I suppose I've revealed enough mental instability for one day, or possibly a lifetime, you never know. I could end of with a list of things words are, which is basically a whole bunch of contradictions, and at another time, I guess I would have, but enough with the coulds and mays and whatnot, I simply will end, in the laziest and most basal of ways; in eponymous rhetoric:

What are words? Thank you.

I would risk myself for you; but only if I were absolutely certain that nobody else was willing/able to do the same, and extremely reluctantly at that. A selfish little caveat, I must say, it won't be proven unless the situation arises, so till then you may treat it as abashed self-justification to make it easier to live with myself.

There's a certain tipping point I guess, beyond which the helping hand is not extended as freely and casually as it was before. It varies from person to person, of course, with some giving and giving, apparently with no thought for themselves, and others simply unwilling to offer without any benefits in it for them. I lie somewhere in between, obviously, and as time passes and I encounter various situations, most notably in the Army, I'm gradually starting to make out where that point lies for me, with close friends, friends, section/platoon mates, or simply Coy mates. It's important, though not the most savorable of tasks to make that distinction. How far out of your way would you go to help out a "mere" casual acquaintance?

Or should I continue to feel bad bout not helping one at a pretty great personal expense.

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Anyhow, it was an enjoyable weekend, I volunteered at IMH again on Sat, then met up with Mos and Merv to walk around Orchard Central before settling on dinner at Marche@313. The moment you step in you're assaulted by a barrage of smells, saliva-inducing visions of chicken being flame-roasted on spits, fried calamari, hugeass sausages, Rösti and so many other such offerings demanding that you get them right NOW. And it's so simple too; just scan the card and walk away with the spoils, hassle-free, and you don't really realize how much you've spent till you go to the cashier when you leave, and by then, it's too late xP The Rösti was very worth it though, I think I'm in love. Just look at it... I've dreamt up a particular design for a homemade potato shredder which should work, so maybe I'll get down to it someday. Till then...I'll continue dreaming hahaha. The sour cream goes very well with it, and it has just the right amount of crispiness from the frying mmmmm. The cream of mushroom is also damn good, very rich and I'd say quite worth it. We also shared some Kalamari Rings (also worth it) and half a chicken (not so much). Quite filling, and not the bloated kind too; it leaves you very satisfied and possibly a little eager for more.

Sunday we went shopping for my bro's grad night blazer; spent a couple of hours at H&M, and I looked around a little too, trying on stuff for once, but didn't really find anything satisfactory. Damn big difference from our grad night last year where I simply borrowed my uncle's suit; not that I'm (overly) jealous of course!

The ORD function ironically organized by the ORD-ing crew for us meant I didn't have to book-in Sunday night and we met up at Bayfront MRT Monday morning for the day's activities at GBGB instead. Not the most well-planned but a pretty good effort, and I got to explore the place a little more, which I'm thankful for. I'm determined to pay to enter the domes the next time I visit; they look interesting! The event culminated in kite flying at the Barrage, which was exhilarating, especially given the strong wind, good atmospheric conditions. I'm deffo going to do it again sometime. Pizza afterwards and that was it. I'm certainly envious of the ORD crew but my time will come eventually (there's less than 365 days till then!) so I'll try not to think too much about it and take things a step at a time, I've still yet to resolve this horrendous mess, which crouches just barely out of sight atm, just waiting to pounce.

That's it. Some friends are going through tough times recently, and I guess it'd be too cliched to say: "Tough times don't last, but tough men do". Nothing I can say/do will help, really, but I just hope that though the pain is undeniable, that they can stave off feelings of helplessness and despondence and remain strong through this and do what needs to be done. It's no fairy tale, there's no guaranteed happy ending, but you've got to go on nonetheless, yeah? All the best :)

So I got rejected

Mr Ngan: Hi Christopher. How's med applicn?
Me: I was offered my second choice, Science.
Mr Ngan: Haiz. Students like u, christopher, r the ones who should be doctor. One of ur tutors said students like u r the ones we wouldnt mind teaching for 10 years. I nodded in agreement. Tcare.
Me: Thanks alot, really! Don't worry about me..I've decided to pursue an interesting education wherever it may take me..may need your help next year as well, hope you don't forget me! Hope I'm able to go down sometime to thank you properly.
Mr Ngan: Gd ure taking it well. Proves us right.

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Cause my army phone really doesn't have much sms storage space.

What are words, eh? Nothing but vehicles for thought, carriers of concern, empty if there's nothing else behind them. Maybe I tend to read too much into things, but I was touched, though it's such a simple gesture. I'd gotten over it already, but appreciated it nonetheless.