Unbearably Instant

Just some things to ponder about.

When I was in Jakarta, my littlest sister one day threw tantrums to her boyfriend because he had not replied her text messages for several hours. Or not @-replying her on Twitter. Whichever it was.

I was like, “Seriously, sis? Maybe he’s just busy doing something else?”. And my sister shot me a blank look, depicting something like “Even if he’s busy he should be able to reply me”.

Isn’t that the bane of today’s world? It’s unbearably instant (borrowing phrase from my friend Putu). Decades ago, lovers will send each other love letters and wait weeks, even months, for a reply. To even receive a reply is a lovely surprise.

Right now we have text messages, IMs, Twitter, and many other applications that claim to bring people closer together, but create attention-deficit impatient people instead. We don’t even send long e-mails anymore (except perhaps when your groupmate is acting really obnoxious. SMU joke – if you don’t get it never mind). When was the last time you sent an e-mail like a real mail? Something like how are you, how is it like at your place, what has been going on, and yadda yadda yadda. Never? I am not surprised. Too often the longest emails I received are from my aunt who just caught the e-mail forwarding virus (yes, in 2010!).

Do we not have enough time to stop and wait? Or are we expected NOT to have time? Because everything is unbearably instant…

Here’s a suggestion. You don’t even need to send a real hand-written letter via post (do people even know that postal service still exists?). Try sending long e-mails. Write to a friend. Tell him/her how you are doing, what have you been up to. Ask him/her about what he/she has been planning to do, or even about his/her quirky hobbies.

Send the e-mail.

And then wait for the reply.

Savour the time.

Does Service Matter?

Please tell me I’m not the only one who found the service level in Singapore is like 6 feet under. It sucks.

Almost every time I sit down in a restaurant, or simply ordering food at hawker centres, the server/hawker will only ask “Yes, order?”. Sometimes there is not even a question. They will only take out their order pads, or the best one – raising their eyebrows at me. It’s as if we have a telepathy going on.

Whatever happened to “Good morning/afternoon/evening, may I take your order?”?

That's not food, by the way

Pardon me for being particular. But I come from the land of smiles and I mean that literally. Doesn’t matter if it’s a restaurant, a fast food joint, or an undignified “WarTeg” (small diners providing basic food, usually for lower class citizens), people always greet me with a smile and chirpy voice. Ok, not always, but most of the time.

Perhaps it’s the tips thing? It’s always customary to give tips to service staff in Indonesia, when it’s not a common practice here in Singapore. Already included in the bill, they say.

Small fact: I pay 21% service charge in Indonesia, and I still tip anyway. (we are all expected to)

Does tips really make the difference in service level?

Does service matter in the first place anyway?

For me it matters, a damn lot. I don’t care if the food is gourmet, if the service is bad the food will taste bland. I stopped going to MOS Burger at Novena Square because there is this super annoying auntie who doesn’t even speak when I’m ordering, or even look at me for that matter. That is despite my unrequited LOVE for MOS Burger. At the food court/hawker centre near home, I only buy sugarcane juice from 1 stall, just because the owners are nice, smiley, and always remembers me.

How about you? Does good service matter in your choice of where to eat?

Photo by remittancegirl, under Creative Commons NC-SA 2.0

Last Week of School. OMG Really?

Before I even stepped in SMU, I had already prepared a post in my mind to release when I’m about to graduate.

It would talk about my feelings. About my takeaways. About how I treasure the opportunities I have managed to attain. About how all my previous struggles had been worth it.

But seriously?

I actually don’t know what to feel right now. I know for sure, for years when I finish school after school, there was only joy. I couldn’t wait to move forward. I couldn’t wait to leave the past behind.

And yet now is the first time ever when there is no certainty after the finish line.

I kinda realized that it’s the last week of school really late. I just realized earlier this week that I have no exams. Only a final test this Saturday (3 April), summary and reflection paper due on Friday and Saturday, and then a short story due on next Monday (5 April), and then I’m done. Done. Finito.

I was like, really? This is it?

I suppose it’s the case with many people. You don’t really realize what you have been through until the last minutes of it. And right now I wonder whether I haven’t savoured the experience, the last days, enough.

And I still don’t know what to feel….

Depending on Yourself

Some days ago I wrote to my fellow choristers that people can help them sing better by singing the notes to them, giving tips and tricks for better sound production, making recordings/midi files to listen to, but no one can magically transform them into a songbird overnight.

And I thought, heh, isn’t it also relevant to other stuff beside singing in choir?

Maybe I, or you, or other people, depend too much on other people to change ourselves. Perhaps it’s rooted in the education system (Indonesia’s or Singapore’s at least) where we were conditioned to expect our teachers to spoon-feed us with information and knowledge (and test and exams!). We become so passive, believing that we will change once we find somebody who can help us.

But to change ourselves need the conscious effort, just like the conscious effort I took in practicing for my choir singing. The effort I took in utilizing my back muscles, positioning my voice so that it resonates, raising my eyebrows, and every single little thing to make my voice clearer.

But sometimes the bigger question lies in whether you want to do the conscious effort. Thinking of doing it and really doing it are two different things, and taking action to move from thinking to doing takes quite some time, or even bravery, for some people.

So, have you moved from thinking to doing yet?

(something like) Spelling Bee in My English Exam

So if you guys follow me on Twitter/@sylvdoanx, you should have seen my public breakdown over my then impending grade 8 piano exam.

I know it’s not a school exam or something, but let me tell you, piano exam is much much worse than school exam. Because unlike in written exam when you can try hard to access your memory, practical piano exam is a one-off, now-or-never thing. Once you slip when doing something – that’s it. That is it. From passing with distinction to passing with merit in just one slip.

A little more technical here, one thing I hated the most (because I’m no good at it – simple, right?) was the 6th apart scale. Just for you laymen, basically you have to play a scale (something like doremifasolatido-dotilasofamiredo), but your hands/fingers start on different notes (6 steps apart). And you have to play it 4 octaves up and down (simply saying, you play it 4 times continuously).

Wait, what? So difficult?

Oh, yes, apparently. Now, I understand the importance of playing scales in order to play piano well – it’s all about balancing the power and making the lines as smooth as possible (if you don’t get this, don’t worry, not important), yet I don’t understand making it compulsory to test these freaking scales on piano exam. At the end of the day, playing these scales requires more brain-teasing work instead of paying close attention to how I play my piano correctly. It’s more like they’re trying to test my brain, or muscle memory, instead of my musicality.

As per my title, it’s just like they ask you to do a spelling bee or a tongue twister and you’ll be graded for it in your English exam. It’s not how you can use English or how you can play piano anymore!

I know, I know. Maybe I’m just bitter coz I didn’t do well on my 6th apart (and my 3rd apart) scales. Whatever. I hope the examiner is nice enough not to let me repeat this hellish grade 8 exam. Ugh.

Image by myself! Press on Deviantart

A Case of Too Many Choices

Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish that I had gone to a “specific” school.

If you go to a medicine school, you become a doctor.
You go to a nursing academy, you become a nurse.
Go to a teacher’s institute and you become a teacher.

And yet I go to SMU and soon enough I’ll hold Bachelor of Science in Information Systems Management degree with second major in Corporate Communications.

That’s both the wonder and the curse of it – I can apply to a really wide spectrum of jobs. With my IT(S) degree I can apply to many IT-related jobs. Or I can start in PR since I had a double major in it. Perhaps a little marketing too since I did an internship kinda related to it.

Sometimes I just wish my path was kinda narrower, and it was clearer.

But I wasn’t sure about what I wanted to do (unlike those people that voluntarily entered specific schools because they knew what they wanted to do), and I’m not even sure if I know now…

Are you what you listen?

We’ve heard a lot of cliches around this : you are what you eat, you are what you wear, you are what you do, etc etc. But are you really what you listen? And do you define what you listen by how you define yourself?

I’m pondering about this since my choir (visit SMU Chamber Choir Fan Page if you’d like to) was visited by a vocal coach from Philippines. He did technical stuff like breathing, posture, sound production that I would not go into detail else I’ll bore a lot of you out. Not that there’s a lot of you in the first place.

After all technical stuff, before he left he said that the way to improve our singing is to listen to more choral works. He then went on to recommend some people, or rather groups, to listen to. And I just couldn’t stop pondering.

You see, if you have followed my blog from the beginning, you would know that I don’t only listen to choral or classical stuff. Review my music category. I listen to some pop, some rock, some electronica, some lounge music, and every other thing as I feel like it. In fact, I think my choral music collection is like… 5% of my whole collection?

Do we really have to listen to music that defines who we are? Do they have to match?

I don’t think we should choose a music, or any interest, first then decide how we should act. If I like emo songs (I do like some), do I have to sport the over-one-eye hair cut and write sad poems? If I like rock songs, do I have to sport studs and funky hair? If I like classical songs, do I have to act all nerdy? Do I really have to fulfill all those stereotypes only because I like a type of music? And is it fair to judge a person just based on what music they listen to? (or based on their interests?)

All I’m saying – sometimes people identify a group, and then identify themselves. Isn’t this backwards? I think we should identify ourselves first and then join a group.

But then again, this is only a personal opinion. But I’ll stand true – I don’t want to listen to choral music just because I sing in a choir. I don’t want to limit my choices – there is a lot of great music of any genres out there.

What do you think? Do you think you define yourself by your music – or does your music define you?

Woe is Numbers

I live in Singapore where land is scarce. So scarce they need to grow vertically rather than horizontally. Living in a landed house, let alone a multi-story one, is a luxury here.

And so naturally in Singapore we live with numbers. A lot of them. Our apartment’s unit numbers, for example. It’s usually 4 numbers, #03-09, #04-05, #06-07, and so on. And of course our postal code number (every building has different postal code numbers! That’s how small Singapore is….). And a lot more.

This usually is not a problem for Singaporeans or someone who has lived in Singapore for quite some time. It was not a problem for me, at first. The problem comes when you move around (quite) frequently.

You see, when I just moved here, I occupy #34-xx (if I remember correctly). Then I moved to #08-xx. And then #05-xx. Now it’s #01-xx. And of course they all have different postal codes.

The problem usually occurs in the lift. When I was still in transition, I would often absent-mindedly press the wrong floor button. Is it 8, or is it 5? Problem also occurs when I’m off visiting my boyfriend for the weekend. You see, my boyfriend lives in #08-xx. Again, is it 8, or is it 5? Or is it……?

And I’m not finished. You know that sometimes apartments have these “nifty” enter-code-to-get-in stuff? Uh-huh. These things are usually coded with 4-digit codes. So yeah you can guess what happened. Even worse, when I lived in #05-xx, they regularly change the codes and I sometimes find myself stranded outside the gate because I forgot the new code, or I entered the wrong code thrice. Urgh.

Oh, and, remember those postal codes? I’ve lost count on how many times I wrongly entered my postal code when I’m ordering something online.

The problem with numbers is not only contained in addresses. Did you know that SBS Transit has around 300 buses, and of course, with different numbers?

Sometimes the problem is that two buses with almost same numbers (12x and 12x+1, for example) sometimes have almost similar route, while on the other hand, they can also have totally different routes. So imagine if they actually have totally different routes but you forgot which is which, and you boarded the wrong bus…… The rest, as they say, is history.

So how about you? Any number woes you’ve encountered, in Singapore and in somewhere else?

Photo by stewf available under Creative Commons NC-SA 2.0