A moment of happiness

Many people around us think the secret of happiness can be found in self-help books, or on TV, or in the wise words of a friend, or teacher.

But they're not looking in the right place. If you look within yourself, you'll find that happiness come from within you. You don't need anyone or anything to help you find it, neither do you need anything to make you happy. It's just a part of you. As much a part of you as your heart beating, or breathing, but sometimes, things on the outside, like stress, and worry, and work just pile up so much you don't notice it anymore. Like when you don't pay attention, you don't notice your breathing, or your heart beating. However, if you just relax, you will notice these things. It's the same with happiness.

I found this out one day, when I was just sitting down with a book, enjoying the cool air conditioning, Haley Westenra's Pure album, apple juice and a dark chocolate mignonette. Nothing really out of the ordinary. But it was in this relaxed state of mind that I found my own real happiness, and not the transient, ephemeral kind.

Another thing about finding happiness, you have to discover it yourself. No one can really tell you how to get it. Part of hapiness is the joy in finding it. I may reveal this secret, and so may many other words of advice, but at the end of the day, as Mrs Tong might say, "it's all up to you, girls".

I'm getting back my prelim marks over these next two weeks. It may seem random, but it's not. Marks are one of those transient, ephemeral aspects of life which may bring you temporary happiness, or sadness. I've decided I'm going to enjoy the experience, relish the moments of worry, and find humour in moments of sadness, and of course, delight in the rare moments of gladness afforded to me.

怎么去拥有一道彩虹

怎么去拥抱一夏天的风

天上的星星笑地上的人

总是不能懂不能知道足够

－《知足》，五月天

Dumbstruck

If there was one ability I wouldn't mind going without, and would sometimes even rather do without, it's the ability to speak.

Why bother with speaking, when there's a superior form of communication - writing? Why choose to voice out sentences that are not even fully formed in your mind? For that is how most people get by when they make conversation - conceptualise the ideas as they communicate them, not before. Why choose such an inferior, unpredictable form of communication when you can plan out and present your idea in a clear, concise manner in the written form? Surely the half-formed garbled sentences can never do you sufficient justice.

True, even in writing, one can ramble on muddleheadedly, as I have just done, but at least, I have the satisfaction of knowing that that is exactly what I want to say at this moment, and that it's in some semblance of good English, and not the occasional broken sentence I manage to ejaculate on occasion. But forgive the digression, if you will, and allow me to continue with my tirade.

Why choose to communicate verbally when it gives you so little time to adequately ponder over your words? When writing, you have to opportunity to decide and filter and dissect your thoughts and only write what you want others to read. When you speak (unless it's a prepared speech), you scarely have time to form a proper sentence before it has escaped your mouth, never to be undone, or deleted, or canceled out with a neat rule and pen mark. Saying things like 'I go with you' instead of 'I will go with you' are slips which are only too easy to make when you speak, but which seldom occur when you write. Sometimes, you let go of a sentence before it's even formed, and your brain doesn't work quickly enough to fill in the blanks, leaving you trailing off with a helpless look in your eyes, and a 'you know what I mean' shrug. When you write however, you can form these wisps of sentences, and yet still fill in the blanks before the reader has a chance to see your weakling of a sentence.

Why choose to communicate verbally when you can actually finish an argument or an idea without someone interrupting, and breaking your flow of thought? Sometimes you never even get a chance to express a point of view, let alone and argument, over the clamour of voices. In writing, however, you can be sure that you've 'said your say', and be content in the knowledge of having made a proper case for your stand. True, you can refute the points other's bring up immediately when you speak, but you can always adress them with additions to and editng of your essay when you write.

But the worst thing about speaking is the way it's all too easy to betray your emotions. You can unintentionally let a bitter word slip that destroys relationships and ruins lives. You can betray your fear and upsetness when you speak. It's much harder to distance yourself. When you write, it's a different story altogether. You may be crying when you write, but in your writing, if you do not intend to show your emtional upheaval, it won't be detected easily by your reader. You can maintain a seemingly calm, collected, logical, unemtional stand, or discuss sensitive issues without revealing that you are het up about them. In fact, you can address more sensitive issues, because when speaking verbally, you may be so choked up with emotion that you cannot dislodge the lump in your throat to talk, but it doesn't mean that you can't think. And what you think can be written down easily enough. It's not likely you can be so choked up you can't move your hand. In no way are your tear ducts related to your hands, at least not in any way that I can see at this moment.

True enough, speaking is faster. Perhaps communicating verbally is also more spontaneous and hence, more exihilarating form of conversation. Verbal slander, if you're into slander at all, is also less "serious" than written slander. So in that sense, the temporal nature of speaking is advantageous to some.

But even though speaking may be convenient, and perhaps I might even go so far as to call is indispensable, I still cannot help but wish sometimes, that I was mute. It would make verbal communication irrelevant.

Orchard road, 10PM

Walk along Orchard Road at ten o' clock at night. Music with a heavy beat that pounds your heart plays, and the inky blackness of the night is warded off by numerous fluorescent lights from the stalls that are still set up at this time of night. One of them is a cariacature artist's booth, and even at this time of night, there are still people queueing up for his services. At the moment, a fat lady in an overly-tight red tank is being drawn. Just like in the daytime, you can smell smoke everywhere. In the night, though, it's a more powerful stench - an acrid mixture of smoke, sweat and booze. It's not hard to see why some might find it compelling though.

At ten o' clock at night, giant ang mohs roam the streets with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, and equally tall, leggy Asians wearing stilettos tower over you effortlessly. Standing at a respectable height of 1.65m, it feels strange to be the shortest one in the crowd - you feel small, and insignificant.

By ten o' clock, all the shops in all the shopping centres are closed, or closing, and everyone is forced into the streets. Mothers holding ever so tightly onto whingeing boys. Last minute shopaholics holding fast to their paper bags, bludgeoning their way through the crowd, on to their next 'last' buy. All of a sudden, over sound of the heavy music and loud talking, the honk of the rubbish-man is heard. His pedalled vehicle is empty, but somehow, he still manages to leave a trail of some glistening liquid on the road. Perhaps it's from the doubtful looking broom turned on its end. You walk past more ang mohs and try to steer clear from the ones stumbling around in a kind of drunken song and dance routine, and a couple more wannabe sexy Asians, who are short and dumpy, but wearing mini-skirts and over-large hoop earrings. In the distance you can hear the sharp sounds skateboads connecting with roads as skaterboys are still trying to perfect that last jump or turn.

As you make it to the safety of the car park, you wonder why you've never seen this side of Singapore before.