The Cloths of Heaven

One of my best friends got married over the weekend. The first of my close friends whose wedding I attended, and it might be a little unmanly to say it but I was actually quite moved by it.

Last night, as I was reading through the compendium of beautiful poems by Garrison Keillor aptly named Good Poems, I came across a poem that I fell in love with back in my University days at UWA (the University of Western Australia): The Cloths of Heaven, by W. B. Yeats:

Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light;
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

The poem reminded me of the speeches that the bride and groom gave over the weekend, which to me felt were beautiful not because they were polished, but precisely because they were the opposite of that: raw; slightly apprehensive; and yet absolutely sincere.

Here’s wishing you all the best Mr. & Mrs. Ng. May you both tread carefully on each other’s dreams for a long time to come.


31 Oct Bonus: I was (re)reading one of my favourite books (Words I Wish I Wrote by Robert Fulghum) when I came across this piece that I felt too apt not to share, and which encapsulates so wonderfully how I hope we all treat out significant others and/or close friends:

“Where’s home for you?” a stranger asks a fellow traveler on a plane.

“Wherever she is,” comes the reply, as the man points at his wife.

Claiming my life back

It’s been two months since I last updated hasn’t it? Quite unbelievable really. I haven’t gone this long without an update since… maybe ten years ago? (I always made it a point of one update each month, at least…)

But I’ve been busy. Busiest time of my life perhaps. Work and school have absolutely consumed me.

But I’m hopeful my schedule’s clearing up somewhat. Having just completed the capstone project of my Master’s course, it’s time I got back to the things I’ve missed like…

  • my runs
  • writing
  • leisurely reading
  • early morning strolls
  • relaxing weekends
  • family.

A poor workman blames his tools

There is this idiom that goes something like this: a poor workman always blames his tools (a Google search reveals this might be better known as a bad workman always blames his tools, but I digress).

Having grown up with the idiom oft-repeated to me by my mom, its grown to be such an innate part of me that I never quite questioned it — it was just true  and any evidence to the contrary was simply a cop-out, an easy way to push the blame away from one’s lack of skill.

But today the meaning of that idiom changed for me somewhat. Because today, after almost three years of hopelessly chasing a typing speed record on typeracer, I finally came to within a whisker of breaking it. And with so much ease!

It all started when, on a whim, I decided to take a break from work and quite absentmindedly pointed my browser to the typeracer website. It was a game I loved (because I was good at it and because typing is a beautiful skill to be great at) but started to despise due to worsening scores.

(A little aside: the worsening scores started about a year ago after switching to an ASUS Zenbook, a beautiful laptop with an awful keyboard; I’d migrated after my MacBook Pro 2010 conked out and being a little crash-strapped I couldn’t bring myself to splurge on another MacBook (which, by the way, was both beautiful and had an excellent keyboard). I felt the ZenBook’s keyboard was worse, but thought that it was all a matter of “getting used to it” – being a strong believer of the “a poor workman always blames his tools” I just blamed myself for my worsening typing scores: I’m getting old, I thought).

So, as I was saying, I was working on my office computer, a Dell Inspiron E6230 (a seriously serious laptop that looks a tad too pragmatic, like a North Korean computer), when I decided to take a break on typeracer.com.

Within the first few games I played I noticed something different – with relatively ease, I found myself typing above all-out efforts on my Zenbook. My accuracy was up, and so was my raw typing speed. Boom! and boom! Accuracy and raw speed? No way!

Within 10 races I was up to my old MacBook speeds. And within 20, I was above my old MacBook speeds. The keyboard made a huge difference.

And then it dawned on me. It might be true that a poor workman always blames his tools. But that doesn’t mean a great workman cannot blame his tools when it’s called for!

Programming in Python

Did I mention that I am learning (and have learned) to program in Python at Codeacademy and am loving it? (Unbiased plug: if you want to learn to program, doesn’t have to be Python, try Codeacademy!)

Sometimes I think that I’m such a nerd: reading programming books in the train; programming for fun at night; cracking a “have you heard of Excel Slicers” joke when asked to cut a cake.

I suppose I always have been sort of a nerd, but now I actually feel alright coming out as one.

Feeling Sorry for Yourself in this Complicated World

I was feeling sick. I mean really sick. Walking five steps would leave me gasping for air. My throat felt like murder (:bad). My head throbbed like a discotheque.

But I had work to do. Work I didn’t feel like doing, but which my professional self wouldn’t let me off not doing.

Let me share with you a little bit of my work ethos using one of my favourite quotes from Will Smith:

I will not be out-worked, period. You might have more talent than me, you might be smarter than me, you might be sexier than me, you might be all of those things you got it on me in nine categories.

But if we get on the treadmill together, there’s two things: You’re getting off first, or I’m going to die. It’s really that simple.

So I got to work. While working away through my illness though (whatever it was; or actually still is, because I’m still feeling its effects two weeks after), I couldn’t help but think if it was all worth it. This wasn’t change the world stuff; and I wasn’t being compensated enough to make up for that fact.

In fact, I started feeling quite sorry for myself. So sorry that I started googling for help: quotes on self-pity

And came across this little gem from D H Lawrence:

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Which reminded me of the Will Smith quote and helped me carry on till most of the stuff I needed to do were done.

On my walk to school yesterday though (I’m back to school for a Masters in Tech, by the way), I passed by a bird. That bird was chasing down a worm, pecking at it. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the worm, though I knew very well it was just the natural order of things.

And I realised that the reason why wild things never felt sorry for themselves could well be the reason why we do: because we are not wild; because we feel pity not just for ourselves, but for our fellow living beings.

How complicated our world is!

2015: Dare Greatly

Happy New Year! It is now 2015.

2014 has come and passed. It’s had its ups and downs — as had every other year preceding; and as will every other year succeeding, though in many ways this year has had a little more of the latter than the former.

As with the start of every year, it’s a great time to think about theme(s) that will shape the next 365 days. One theme that I think will shape my life in 2015 is that of daring greatly, going forth in the face of self-doubt, and pursuing success in the face of unintuitive probabilities.

Do nothing; say nothing; be nothing, and you will never be critised.What will your theme be?

Whatever it is, here’s wishing you your best year yet.

Wanderlust

The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.

Attributed to  Augustine of Hippo, the quote above reignited latent wanderlust. If I had to be honest though, as much as I like the idea of Travel, the execution of the act of Travelling is very different.

Alain de Botton, in his beautiful book The Art of Travel, put it best, when writing about his much anticipated trip to Barbados during his home country’s winter:

In my anticipation, there had simply been a vacuum between the airport and my hotel. Nothing had existed in my mind between the last line on the itinerary (the beautifully rhythmic ‘Arrival BA 2155 at 15.35’) and the hotel room. I had not envisioned, and now protested inwardly the appearance of, a luggage carousel with a frayed rubber mat; two flies dancing above an overflowing ashtray; a giant fan turning inside the arrivals hall; a white taxi with a dashboard covered in fake leopard skin; a stray dog in a stretch of waste ground beyond the airport; an advertisement for ‘luxury condos’ at a roundabout; a factory called Bardak Electronics; a row of buildings with red and green tin roofs; a rubber strap on the central pillar of the car, upon which was written in very small print ‘Volkswagen, Wolfsburg’; a brightly coloured bush whose name I didn’t know; a hotel reception area that showed the time in six different locations and a card pinned on the wall nearby that read, with two months’ delay, ‘Merry Christmas’. Only several hours after my arrival did I find myself united with my imagined room, though I had had no prior mental image of its vast air-conditioning unit or, welcome though it might be in the event, its bathroom, which was made of Formica panels and had a notice sternly advising residents not to waste water.

I was just thinking back to the best holidays I’ve had. And though I was tempted to put down “the best holidays I’ve had were those I’ve felt most like a local” (because my need for control is so strong), it’s not true. The holidays that I’ve most enjoyed have had just one thing in common: beautiful weather.

Give me 5-20 degrees Celsius temperature, relatively low humidity, and you’ve got yourself one happy camper. It would be one page of the world I’d gladly read and re-read many times over.