An Introduction

So...if you've been a loyal follower of this blog, you would have witnessed the birth of a masterpiece (Har har. Not really, but I can say that I've done my best), and after all those, you probably can tell what kind of a person I am. But still, there's a tinge of guilt in my conscience, for not having written a proper introduction. (It's just not right!) And, thankfully, since all new entries go to the top of the blog, there's still a shot at redemption. So, let's start afresh.

You've seen the header. (If you've missed it, I can safely say it's a fault on your part, not mine) "Hubert's blog." Well, who exactly am I? Well.

The name's Hubert. Hubert Tang.

Spanning over 13 1/12 years, my lifetime has been filled with ups and downs, joyful and melancholy events. Of course, in the eyes of an optimist, life's full of wonder. The way rainbows form after the rain, the fragrance of flowers, how there's a silver lining in every dark cloud (metaphorically speaking, of course), how the world is just amazing......

I am not an optimist. There are, of course, two ways to view everything in the world: a positive perspective, and a negative one. But, the world isn't always just black and white. Sometimes, there are grey areas. Sometimes, I tend to view the world using both perspectives.

Overall, however, I'm a pessimist. Let's just face the facts: one day, we're all going to die anyway, so why bother? Who cares if we're goners in 2012, or 2072? Why make the world a better place, if you're not going to be here much longer?

Whether you're a king or a street sweeper, we're all going to dance with the Grim Reaper.

But enough of the doom and gloom. Just live life, enjoy it while you can. Enjoy life's thrills, treat those hellish experiences as "character building", and basically, make your time on Earth the best there is. (I am not condoning the breaking of laws.)

Where was I? Ah, yes, the introduction. Throughout my life, I have developed a few likes and dislikes, hobbies and hatreds.

The hobby which I enjoy most is reading. (Damn it, class, read! Gain exposure!) Reading, it's a wondrous experience. You are transported into a whole new realm, the author's universe, viewing it through the eyes of the characters, being in their shoes....but, I really don't have a particular genre that I like. (I can tell you what kind of books I loathe, though. Business books. "How to Get Rich". Oh, the dullness!)

Another hobby, a close runner-up, is playing the guitar. Ask any other musician, really. Playing musical instruments, it has a liberating effect. It helps you to express whatever you're feeling, be it frustration, depression, moodiness...all those pent-up feelings. It also helps you to break free from your daily monotonous life. Well, listening to music also has a similar effect, especially music that you relate to. If forced to pick a favourite genre, it'd have to be rock music. I'd acquired the taste for it after relishing the occasional good music that comes up on radio stations, such as Guns N' Roses or Led Zeppelin, the hidden gems amongst tonnes of garbage. (i.e. pop music)

Also, I love watching movies. Not those Disney-produced three-dimensional, wholly animated garbage, (Ah well, at least they have inspiring messages which teach moral values to children...) but legendary classics, such as Dirty Harry. I notice a trend that all the good things in life have come from the past, while now, in this modern age, we have lost sight of all these.

Finally, a hobby which I have developed over the past year, along with some other friends, is playing on the pull-up bar. (Freestyle!) And, by playing, I mean doing flips, pull-ups, muscle-ups, those kinds of exercises. It's a small trend, initiated by our very own Timothy Seow (A round of applause, if you will) from Track and Field, or pole vault, to be more specific. And they're more fun than they sound. The rush of wind as you flip, or better yet, spin on the bar...it's just pure exhilaration!

And, since I'm working on a time constraint, this thus far basically sums up my likes and dislikes, and my view of the world. (Rather shallow, isn't it?) So, enjoy the rest of the entries, because this will probably be the last post, at least until I find the time (and the will) to continue "blogging".

Night

Hello, dear reader. Huddle around the campfire, (your computer, that is. Hey, it gives out warmth, doesn't it?) roll out your sleeping bags and get ready for a tale, a tale that will take you to the darkest hours of the night. More aptly stated, this entry will be about sleep -- the innocent sleep, sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care, the death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course, chief nourisher in life's feast. (note: Taken from Macbeth Act II Scene II)

So, how was your night? What were you experiencing then? Perhaps you don't remember, what with the being dead to the world and whatnot. Or maybe you were in the midst of a memorable dream, which you recall now? Yes, sweet sleep -- the very sleep that you loathed while in your youth, whining, "I want to stay up, mom!" -- the sleep which you cherish now, every second of it.

As for me, my night was slightly...disturbing. One could even say that I had a run-in with the supernatural. (It didn't happen last night, though, it was actually sometime last year.) Well, you judge for yourself. Let us not digress any further, and return to the tale...and I can assure you, that every word of it is true. (Maybe not every word, but I can honestly say that it happened.)

So, the day ended with the routine consumption of a glass of milk - thick, rich and...milky, for want of a better word. (I started a milk diet after being paranoid about learning of osteoperosis.) And, as I climbed into bed, with the windows open, the cool night breeze blowing in, caressing my face and tousling my hair, I prepared for the oblivion that would eventually consume me, the blackness enveloping my vision...



...and experienced a sudden paralysis of my entire body, rendered immobile by lord-knows-what.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. There was a weight pressing down on my chest (or at least I felt the weight), and, damn it, it was humanoid, and it was evil. The force pushing down prevented me from taking large breaths, so my breathing was shallow and quick. I was afraid. Very afraid. My train of thought was derailed, replaced by indiscernible whispers, nerves on edge.


In my peripheral vision, I noted a figure. It just appeared, with no dramatic entrance, no gathering of dark particles. It, or he, rather, was just...there. He was dressed in a black coat and suit, with a hat masking his facial features. Feet off the ground, he began to levitate towards me. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, get away...but still I remained in my immobile state. His hand reached out agonizingly slowly, reaching for me, and the fingers slowly started to fade, turning skeletal, along with his face, and his eyes, oh, his eyes, they started turning a bloody crimson...

I sat bolt upright, panting and gasping for air. Relief washed over me. My shirt clung to my back, cold sweat beading my forehead. Looking around, I realised that the man had vanished, and all was normal, with nothing out of place, nothing but my nerves. I was still high-strung from that episode, and in no mood to sleep. Eventually, though, sleep claimed me, swallowing me up into its blissful oblivion.

The next day, fearing for my sanity, I looked up my...condition, and, through the internet, and discovered that I was not alone. (Oh, sweet internet, I thank thee for salvaging my sanity. And yes, I lied about the "supernatural" part.) It was known as "sleep paralysis", a sort of paralysis that took place at night. It was, literally, a waking nightmare. It occurs when you are on the brink of falling asleep, and your brain, slow to realise that you are resting, confuses reality with dreams. And what do you get? Well, you essentially experience paralysis, (After you've experienced it, you'll learn to really respect disabled people.) accompanied by an acute sense of fear, and yes, hallucinations.

Wow, I've just realised that I could potentially lose the respect of all my peers and be branded a coward. So be it, but I can, and will testify, that it is terrifying.(Run-to-your-momma scary!) Now, the day is drawing to a close. I'll part with this advice - to avoid it, get ample rest (but not too much - sleeping in also can also cause this), and avoid stressful thoughts that prevent sleep. Or, if you're already experiencing it, learn to recognise the patterns that occur just before the paralysis, and avoid them like the plague.

I bid you a good night, and sweet dreams...

A Special Moment I Enjoyed With My Family

Hello, reader! I thank you for remaining loyal to this blog (To the teacher(s) reading this, I empathise with you. It's tough going through the pile of blogs, so I'll try to liven my entries up.) And, as the title blatantly states, this entry will be about a special moment I enjoyed with my family.

So, how are your relationships with your kin? Are you close-knit, or cold and distant? Is the communication flowing between you just a trickle, or are you open with each other? Do you confide in your family for matters plaguing your mind? (Food for thought, these questions are.)

...I'll stop prying into your private life now. Anyway, last year, my entire family, needing a breather from our hectic schedule, went on a trip to East Coast Park. As usual, my father, being the only person with a driver's license, chauffeured us to our destination. Along the way, the radio was cranked up, and blaring some...(dear Lord! Mercy!)pop music. (Since my brother always sat in the front seat, next to my dad, he got to select the radio stations. The rest of us had to suffer through the songs.)

Once we reached our destination (and in good time too!), we got out of the car and headed to the bike rental store. Upon exiting the air-conditioned freezer that was the car, a gentle breeze caressed my face and tousled my hair, providing some reprieve from the (surprise!) blistering heat. (You can't blame me, I just got out of the car.)

Upon reaching the bike rental store, the sight of sleek bikes, glinting under the sun, greeted us. We each selected and tried out our bikes, and my brother and I waited while our parents paid for the bicycles. They were, sadly, many notches above the shoddy bicycle that I own. (Sadly because the memory of the bike's performance will always stay in my mind, gnawing at me, mocking the inferior excuse of a bicycle that I have. Damn.)

Once we were ready, we placed our water bottles in a compartment conveniently located below the handlebars. At first, all of us were a little wobbly, due to the long period of inactivity from biking activities. Gradually, we regained our balance, and set off, staying on the lane nearest to the shore, so we could admire the scenery and feel the sea breeze on our faces.

And, ah...the sea was just breathtakingly beautiful, the bluish-green waves lapping softly against the shore, the beach-goers frolicking about, or just suntanning, under the midday sun, the same sun that caused the water to shimmer...and the smell of salt that pervaded the air...it was all calm and blissful. However, as much as I would like to say that the beach looked like this:


It really wasn't the case. The sand, it was fine and golden, but litter was strewn at many spots. (So much for the CIP, huh?) It sort of killed the buzz, the serenity I'd been experiencing. They were eyesores, really, and once I stopped just to pick up a plastic bag that had been flying around.

Finally, I just decided to overlook the litter and enjoy the view of the sea. Even though it wasn't as clear as the one pictured above, it was still beautiful. And the breeze, oh, the glorious breeze! As we cycled, I enjoyed the wind that blew against my face, the rush that came with the speed...it was all adrenaline-pumping. Feeling hyped, my brother and I raced each other from one pedestrian crossing to another, which were spaced quite far apart. Granted, it was dangerous, but still, everyone's allowed to have fun, right?

We stopped for a bit at a path that stretched towards the sea. It was a spot for fishermen (and women) to enjoy the scenery and the breeze, the sights and sounds of the beach, while fishing tranquilly.

At approximately 5 pm, we paddled back from whence we came, and returned our bikes all too soon. I bid my bicycle farewell, and even though I've used it for a short time, I somehow felt attached to it. (I am not a weirdo.) Strolling to the shore, we spent the rest of the day frolicking at the beach, walking barefoot and letting the water lap against our feet, stopping ever-so-often for the occasional seashell, which we stashed in a plastic bag we found lying on the ground. Our parents sat together on the sand, chatting with each other.

At that moment, I felt the bond between us, the close-knit family we have come to become after all these years, putting up with each others' faults and mistakes, placing aside any misgivings. This was the family that I had come to love.


(Sorry if you find it corny, hehe.)

A moment spent alone doing something you enjoyed

Hello, reader! Brace yourselves, and get ready for another dose of blog entries! (Well, only one, actually.) And, as the title states, this will be an entry on a moment spent alone doing something I enjoyed. (Hmm...it sounds suggestive. Har har.)

So, what do YOU enjoy? Sporting activities, maybe? Basketball? Blogging, perhaps? Or maybe something which teeters on the brink of insanity? Blurring the line between socially acceptable behaviour and taboo? (Plucking out strands of curly hair FROM OTHER PEOPLE'S SCALPS. Cough.)

Well, to be frank, mine isn't all that...intriguing. (Timothy...really, hair? I'm sorry, but I find it a tad bit disturbing.) I enjoy...(DUN DUN DUN) playing the guitar. (And, as I type, it's resting on my lap.)




So, I realise that some may loathe music. (Well, certain genres might be more apt.) But, music is a sort of universal language. Since the dawn of time, man has conceived of various ways in which to immerse themselves in the (not always) pleasant auditory sensations, using some curious instruments.

Personally, I hate pop music with a passion, and avoid it like the plague. (Really, people. Britney Spears? I mean, there are some good ones, but those are few and far between. (And not on my playlist. Yay!) But I digress. Let me return to my tale of musical self-indulgence.

So, after a month of abstaining from playing the guitar during the holidays, (I was stuck in a musical rut. It's like a variation of writer's block, which I'm sure all of us have experienced while writing. Gah. It's horrid.) I finally took notice of the black, glossy surface of the guitar body, just standing out in contrast with my house's white walls, and it was calling out to me. "Play me, damn it! Remember the good old rockin' days?"

Subconsciously, I reached out and grabbed it. I felt the smooth wood of the neck, the sleek metal plating, and...I sneezed. God, but it was dusty! (Well, that was anticlimactic.) After a sneezing fit, I slid out a guitar plectrum (It looks like this:

A pick), plugged my guitar into my beaten-up, worn out amp (it's what you get for scrimping, really) and positioned it on my thigh. The motion felt completely natural, and the guitar rested snugly on my leg. Unsure where to start, I picked a string. My skills were kind of rusty (As if I had much in the beginning), so that felt really awkward. (Come on, you know what I'm talking about, right? It's like when you have a vacation and after your holiday, your handwriting's just flat-out terrible.) After some gradual and random hitting of notes, I got the hang of it. (Again, just like handwriting!) During that process, the sounds emitted made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but thankfully, it was only a while before that feeling of familiarity washed over me.

Moving on to my first actual piece that was remotely musical, I tried something classical: a song entitled "Romance". (Never heard of it? Youtube! The internet's a man's best friend) And yes, it is the stereotyped French-sounding corny music often used (and abused) in romance movies. (Ooh la la!)

Of course, I wasn't satisfied with that. It came off as cheesy. So I went for something more gritty: the (in)famous Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven". (See the play button on that "Mixpod"? Click it! Note: I am, by no means, a good musician. Also note that the song is infamous for its lyrics when played backwards.)

Cranking up the distortion, I went with the flow of notes, conjuring up in my head the accompanying beat, and pressing against the rusted strings, fret by fret, throwing in bends and vibratos, I basked in the soulfulness of it. It brought forth an exhilarating rush of sheer satisfaction. The feeling...imagine soaring on wings, through the clouds like a free bird, and looking down below...it was sheer rapture!

Playing the guitar, it has always been an outlet, to express the pent-up feelings, playing with all your heart and soul, going with the flow of your emotions...and playing it, I felt liberated. I was free.


"There are moments when one feels free from one’s own identification with human limitations and inadequacies. At such moments one imagines that one stands on some spot of a small planet, gazing in amazement at the cold yet profoundly moving beauty of the eternal, the unfathomable; life and death flow into one, and there is neither evolution nor destiny; only Being." - Albert Einstein






*Note: At no point in time was I ever under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

something that took place in school

Hello, dear reader. As expected, this is the maiden entry, the first of the posts that will chronicle the events at various points of my life. Well, at least until the 28th of January. And, as the title so aptly states, this entry will be about...(drum roll) something that took place in school! (How very exciting.)

However, this particular event did not occur today. Neither was it during curricular time. Instead, I shall take you all the way back to the previous Saturday. (Not that long ago, was it?) So, what exactly were you doing in the wee hours of the morning? Having a cup of coffee, perhaps. (Too young for caffeine? Milo it is, then.) Or maybe immersing yourself in current events, reclining on your comfortable sofa, flipping through the newspaper? Or better yet, still in bed and sleeping like a log?

Well, certainly not me. I, for one, was in school for my co-curricular activity: Scouts.

SCOUTS

As per normal, we had the customary 'flag break', where the flag, originally bound, was unfurled, or "broken", for want of a better word. The flag, depicting an arrow, fluttered gracefully in the wind.

Then the routine PT (physical training) followed suit. We jogged from the school to the nearby lagoon, where we ran another 2.4 km. I managed to pull through by contemplating the scenery, which was breathtakingly beautiful. (Well, not exactly, but still mercifully eye-pleasing.) The trees were swaying in the breeze, the leaves brushing against each other. The waves lapped against the golden sand of the shore...

My peace was shattered when the finish line was in sight. Summoning the last of my strength, I burst forward, not stopping until I crossed the line. I came to a sudden halt, and stumbled forth, but regained my balance.

I was panting, my body strained from the sheer exhaustion of the sprint at the last stretch. We walked back to school, and immediately after that was a game conjured up by our seniors, Omniball. And, to be honest, it was a pathetic shot at originality. It was basically football and basketball combined, where we had to kick the ball into the goal for a point, and shoot it into the net for three points. For the next ten minutes, the patrols were slogging it out with each other, pushing and shoving for the ball. Naturally, my patrol lost. (Throughout the past year, I have seen the true nature of the Baden patrol. They were, and still are, a bunch of slackers.)


After that, we went for a short break, and a re-test followed, for those who failed. Since I passed, I chatted with a friend throughout the test. Little did we know what was in store for us. It was a tormenting foot drill session, which was basically, leaders giving out marching commands, screaming bloody murder at us for the slightest mistake, followed by intense push-ups. Today, however, it was particularly torturous. Through this session, we were instilled discipline (a whole load of it, I assure you), and learned the true meaning of the phrase, leaden arms. And, lo, perfect timing! It was a scorching day, and under the furious blaze of the sun, the heat from the pavement happened to be particularly searing. (Did I mention we were in full uniform, AND had a run merely an hour before?) It was akin to the flogging of animals to make them perform better, then only providing a sip of water barely enough to pull through. But, I must admit, we probably deserved it. Our discipline was lax and sloppy, falling short of expectations. And it was compulsory we set a good example to the new batch of students, but still. (Thank you for putting up with my whining. I had to get it off my chest.)


After that, it was bliss. (Well, it wasn't, but it was certainly better than the torture we had undergone.) Since we had already suffered enough, push ups were no longer demanded of us. We had a hasty "patrol corner", during which we reflected about the day's events, and then promptly dismissed.


In a nutshell, I think the day was hellish, but worthwhile nonetheless, since we were, after all, instilled discipline. I will never view Scouts in the same light again. (Last year, I was lured into Scouts by the facade of a lax CCA, when we weren't tormented as frequently, until it was too late to turn back.) I am now disillusioned.

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