A Rose Among Flowers

I had a dream recently which left me waking up, heaving a deep sigh of satisfaction, but at the same time gave me a heavy heart. I don't normally remember any of my dreams, but how this one played out was so cliche, like the climax of a cheesy romantic drama, that I just had to write it here. It helps that I found it rather sweet (at the time) as well.

A Rose Among Flowers

I looked around desperately, trying to see through the crowd. Colors were whirling in front of my eyes as I spun around, searching. Balloons floated in and out of my peripheral vision as I looked, the children pulling them along wearing funny hats. Their mothers strolled behind, wearing their designer shades, and flowery dresses. Hawaiian shirts and beach pants obscured my vision. The cacophony of life and excitement rang in my ears as I scrutinized the scene, searching.

Searching for her.

It must be the school holidays for the waterpark to be this crowded. I was on the opposite side of a man-made stream which seemed to line the top brink of an outdoor auditorium, where the waterpark's shows were held. Small wooden pathways allowed people to cross the stream into a sun-shaded walkway, overlooking the auditorium.

I knew she was looking for me as well; I could sense trepidation in her steps as she walked slowly through the crowd. Yet, I couldn't know where she was, couldn't see. I squinted my eyes as I scanned for any hint of her through the kaleidoscope of colors across the stream, on the shaded walkway. The constant movement of children, balloons, and duck mascots, created moving colors. Moving colors that required me to readjust my focus as I searched.

I wasn't getting anywhere with this. I walked along the stream, scrutinizing the crowd on the shaded wooden walkway on the opposite side. I could sense that I was getting closer to her with every step I took. I could "sense" the color of dress she was wearing. I could sense her long straight hair, the sweet scent it made as it caught the wind when she walked. I could sense her.

And then, I saw her.

A dark blue dress; knee length, cut at an angle at the bottom. A dainty shoe; simple, yet speaks volumes of its classiness and elegance. Long hair tied in a shoulder-length ponytail. She was walking unhindered through the crowd, unaware of me, her pursuer.

I cry out to her, but my voice became drowned in the sea of cheer and laughter. I had to catch up to her. I broke into a small jog trying to keep pace with her walking through the crowd on the opposite side of the stream. For every step she took, I had to take 5. I glanced back across the stream every now and then as I jogged to see blue flitting in and out amongst the crowd. She seemed to be moving effortlessly amongst the crowd. I had to cross the stream. Panting slightly, I jogged across the nearest wooden bridge, into the sea of people on the walkway. Stopping, I looked around; she should be reaching this point soon, any second now. . . . . . or did she already pass by here? I looked back, down the walkway, craning my neck, trying to look past balloons and people, squinting, searching for blue, and waited.

Nothing.

She must have gone further up the walkway, then. I turned around and looked up the shaded walkway. Amongst the throng of people, I was beginning to lose my sense of direction. The scene was the same everywhere I turned; people were walking, rushing past me in both directions, jostling, balloons brushing my face as they pass, the feeling of claustrophobia setting in slightly. I had to start moving through this crowd in any case, after her. I started up the walkway - when I heard a voice. A voice like melted honey.

"Hey, you".

I spun around - and heaved a sigh of relief. The crowd seemed to disperse slightly, and there was breathing space again. Space between me and her. There she stood, one person among people. A rose among flowers. Uniquely beautiful among the common, smiling at me as only she could. I gave her an exasperated look, and grinned back gingerly.

"Hey", I said, almost hoarsely. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you. . ."

-END-

Skewed Reality

I wake up every weekend day at noon - regardless of how early or late I slept the night before - without fail. As if all the fatigue accumulated during the week days only start to take effect during the weekends. So I make up for the lost rest I needed during the weekdays.

But despite sleeping for long hours, I don't sleep well. Concepts of XML, parent-child relationships (database tables), hierarchy nodes, data structures, play around in my mind even as I sleep.

Imagine dreaming. Then imagine designing and problem solving a computer system. Imagine your brain doing all of that at the same time. Its almost like having a fever, the kind that makes you think/imagine crazy things as you sleep. Like how to take over the world of tooth-fairies using mathematics.

Except that with a fever, once you wake up, you realise the absurdity of the ideas you had in your mental spiel, and forget all about it.

Waking up from a dream (or nightmare) of systems design is like waking up with a hangover; the effect lingers in your head. It doesn't make you feel dizzy. It doesn't make you feel nauseous. But you start to see everything. . . . . .differently. You start to look at things, but you don't see it for what it is. You don't "know" (in a loose definition of the word) what the heck it is you're looking at. Almost as if your mind had split into two. And whatever you perceive goes into these two minds to be processed, and you end up with a jumbled up interpretation. You end up living in something of a virtual reality. Like "the Matrix". But its not virtual; its real. You're just reading the world differently; looking at it through a filter - a filter of rules, data structures, their attributes, and their relationships, all of which cannot fully represent any real world entities.

You end up living in a skewed reality, and you hope to high heaven, that the filter isn't permanent.

Talk the talk

Before getting a job, I never really understood why ordinary people don't "understand" IT people. The language they speak. The thought processes that goes on in their head. The way they analyze and solve problems.

Now, having been exposed to the world of SAP for 2 years, I'm beginning to see why. I've been involved in discussions, that in retrospect, wouldn't have made any sense at all - AT ALL - to an outsider. Looking back, I'm actually amazed that I managed to keep up; never mind been able to present my own ideas.

Heck, its like suddenly realizing you can speak in tongues, and whats more, be able to sing Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" in it as well!

I mean, how many acronyms can you stuff into one sentence?! Consider the following:

Guy 1 - "So we want to create an FM and make it RFC enabled, so that it can generate the XML dynamically, which will of course be called within the BSP, eliminating the need for us to use a WSDL instead.

Guy 2 - "Right, but we probably want to compress the Extended Markup Language code to keep the size to a minimum right?

Guy 1 - (Laughs hysterically). "You must be new. Use more tech-speak next time, ok?"

Guy 2 - "ROFLMAO. NP. 1337 5P3AK FTW!"

Weirdos. Oh wait, I'm writing this damn entry, aren't I?

Life and the line of duty

Ever met people in the working class who bragged about how long or how hard they work? "I've worked over 2 days without sleep" or "I've worked until I actually blacked out when I stood up to get to the toilet". The way these people go on, its as if they were having a competition about who suffered worst because of their jobs.

Why, oh why do they brag about it? Do they actually think its something to be proud of? You know what it translates to when someone brags to me about how long/hard they worked: "I've spent some precious time in my life doing something that does not contribute to how I would like to remember my life to be, PLUS it will shorten my already short lifespan as well".

I've suffered because of work, so I know what its like. I know what its like, to work weekends. I know what its like, to do 3 men's work at once. I know what its like, to work across 24 hours. I know what its like, to be awakened in the middle of the night, because "an issue" has arose. I know what its like. And I was never ever PROUD nor do I BRAG, that I experienced any of the above. I find it pathetic that I spent most of my waking hours working instead of living. Suffering because of work is not an achievement; it is a bloody tragedy.

Sure, you may not have a choice and it might be your responsibility to do it, fine. Just don't come out and say, with your nose in the air, "its dedication". Don't come out and tell the whole world like its some sort of achievement that's worthy of a medal and a statue erected in your honor. To me, that is akin to slashing yourself in the wrist "for the betterment of the company" and expecting a pat on the back for a job well done.

I know what its like to work like hell. And its pathetic.

"Well, basically. . . . ."

Don't you just hate it when someone tries to explain something that begins with "Basically. . . . . ." and follows it up with an explanation long enough to become a university lecture or text book in itself? And thats just within the first sentence.

"So basically, we need you to design the solution to accept a variety of objects such as orders, networks, work breakdown structure elements, confirmation numbers, not to mention. . . . . "

(the sun sets and night falls, polar ice caps melt, Osama died of old age, Service Pack 3 for Windows XII was released.)

" . . . . . and the various order quantities should be handled as well which should allow the forecasting module to give an accurate number, up until they finally confirm it. You got all that?"

"Yeah, no problem. When I get back from trimming my beard, could you please elaborate on it some more?"

Providence

This blog is called "Providence".

About a year ago, as I was flipping through my barren Friendster profile, I stumbled upon the blog which I had written a few years back. I read through my then posts, and was amazed. It was like reading the writings of another person.

It was the writings of a person with a sense of humor, a believe in values, and most importantly, a sense of hope. Writings of a stranger. Except, it wasn't. It was me, 2 or 3 years prior.

Reading it, I realised; how far it was I had fallen in the previous years, how much of my former self I had lost, how huge of an impact that event had on me (see Prologue). My viewpoint on life, after that event, had apparently been skewed. Everything I see, hear, perceive, is taken with a pinch of salt. Scratch that. With A LOT of salt. I carried a burden in me; pessimism. My own mind was taking me down.

But reading my old posts, and its mix of humor, philosophical musings, and optimism brought back a little of my former naivete and optimism in me. It was almost as if I had known, all those years ago, that some event or occurrence would bring me to my knees, and wrote those posts to lift the spirits of my future self. It was as if I was making preparations to lift me up from my own fall. "Providence", is the word.

It was almost like providence.

And so I created this blog, as whatever providence it may serve, to whoever I may become, in the future. This blog will capture anything that runs through my mind that I care to write about. Thoughts, musings, or just strokes of creativity that I would like to capture.

This blog is mainly for myself. A time capsule of thoughts. Anyone else who stumbles upon this blog can consider themselves lucky to step into the unfiltered musings of a person's mind. Because that is what this blog is about. Honest, unfiltered musings.

And so, this is where it begins. . . .

Prologue

The White Raven

There had once lived a raven,
Whose dark black coat saw wear.
He had grown weary of living,
And lived each day without a care.

Then came a dove, perched nearby,
Feathers white made in heaven.
A stark contrast to the dark'ning sky,
And even more so to the raven.

"O' raven, raven, but why do you strain?"
Cooed the dove; voice like melted honey.
And with narry a hint of his usual disdain,
Raven gagged "I'm making home on this tree".

The dove watched and pitied the raven,
For trying and failing was he,
"O' hither. I shall aid you, raven,"
And aid the raven did she.

She pecked twigs, and pulled twine together,
A mass of sticks, and leaves, and grass.
The raven had simply twigs to gather,
Suffice to say it was a simple task.

Soon it was finished, raven's abode,
The dove left, fluttering away,
The raven stared, he hadn't told,
How grateful he was to her that day.

The smitten raven vowed to himself,
"One day the dove I shall woo,"
"But foremost is to rid myself,
Of these feathers black I rue."

So the raven worked, and labored and toiled,
And improved himself with time,
So sure was he his plan couldn't be foiled,
Certainly not when he 'comes sublime.

And lo' and thus, the raven whitened,
Its black feathers now shades of white.
With a worn coat now thick and brightened,
His goal to woo the dove was in sight.

But alas and alack for the raven,
The dove had found its mate;
Another dove with feathers of heaven,
The raven was simply too late.

He cried and wept in silent sorrow,
For his efforts were for naught,
His grieving followed each morrow,
For how long, time had forgot.

And till this day, there lives a raven,
Whose shady white coat saw wear,
He has grown weary of love and living,
And lives each day with little care.

-Event construed by K.C-