Of Fallacies

Since the Analytical Skills course, fallacy (a word most haven’t heard of previously) is hanging on the lips of everyone.

The first time I heard it, I was amused. It’s always amusing to hear someone bring academics into daily life, to apply it and feel it in all its practicality. Such practicality unimaginable when studying it.

The second time I heard it, I was still amused. Wow, the trend’s catching up pretty quickly. Now isn’t that cute? People are saying it as though they’re the first.

But upon excessive usage, it lost its novelty and became as predictable as bad drama. Yeah yeah, I know you’re really knowledgeable about fallacies and I know you can spot one when you see it. But I’m sure every other nutcase around here can name half a dozen offhand.

Then, it started getting on my nerves when every argument is slapped with the name of a fallacy. Well, for one, I am a very fallacious person. Fallacies are spilled all over my writings and speech. It irks me to have my arguments dismissed simply because I do not make some technical requirement and especially when the dismisser knew very well what I was trying to put across.

So please, humour me. My pride and ego makes me want to believe that I really do still make sense.

Survey!

Spent the night disturbing friends, acquantainces and people I absolutely don’t know on MSN to do my survey. So I might as well do this again now. Surveying Singaporean sentiments, so Singaporeans only please, thanks!

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.asp?u=741251856562

Oh, and did I mention it? Doing surveys brings good karma, and likely good complexion, good hair, good figure, good brains, good health, good luck, good just about everything! If the crowd rushes to do this survey after hearing that, and the above link reaches its limit of 100, fret not! Your chance is below:

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.asp?u=977841884650

Same survey, but please use the first link, second one only if the first is inaccessible.

Do it, be blessed with everything good!

"There’s more to life…"

(Call it illness-induced-philosophical-comtemplation or fever-fried-brain-crap. Here’s something I thought of writing yesterday, while the flesh was weak.)

Recently, I’ve been hearing a lot of that. “There’s more to life…” Feels good to hear, doesn’t it? It kinds of signals some unknown wonderful higher purpose in life compared to the current mundane, boring lifestyle.

But I really do not understand. What more? Over what?

Long time ago (which actually isn’t all that long), when I was still a joyful little girl with the naïve notion that life was all about the A’levels, my form teacher came along and gave us a most touching and enlightening speech. “There’s more to life than studies! Think of your family, your friends…” How inspiring.

But it leads me to wonder, one day when I have developed all that social capital (bonding and bridging and what not), is it the day when I have attained the higher meaning in life? I’m afraid not. Because a little rubbing at the crystal ball will show someone, somewhere along the way who’ll tell me, “You know, everyone’s gotta settle down someday.” The tired me inside will find that inspiring again, and I’ll find someone and start a family. Then of course, I must not neglect the “more in life” such that I must not only provide for my family, I must also spent some quality time with them.

But I’m sure, somehow again, someone will come along and this time he’ll say, “But all you’re enjoying now are but earthly pursuits! Think divine. Think celestial. Think spiritual. There’s more to life…” So I’ll abandon my family, give away my worldly goods and take to a life searching for the ultimate meaning of life in some unowned woods somewhere. I’ll live a life of “four big all empty” and (I hate to use this), “see through red dust”. Somehow, these things are kind of “IN” now, with people putting a lot of cash into renovating their houses to look “zen-like” and “back to nature”. (But I digress.)

Cool, isn’t it? There’s more to life. And there’s always more, it doesn’t seem to stop.

Some time ago, I had this lofty dream of wishing I could travel the world owning nothing but whatever I had on me, doing odd jobs, making friends from all over the world, seeing the world as it really is. I thought, THAT would be the life! But really, I ask myself again, how will I feel to leave all my family and friends, uproot myself from the place and culture I belong to, to travel the world, make friends I’ll probably see only once in my life, visit places I do not belong to and understand cultures that are not mine? Will I be happy? Then again, is the pursuit of happiness the ultimate “more” in life?

Wow.

Now this little phrase “There’s more to life” isn’t all that simple, is it? It looks quite profound for my little brain to comprehend. And I wonder. Do all those people who say it with an air of knowing really do understand what they are trying to say? Are they all in some kind of conspiracy to keep this wonderful knowledge away from me?

I really do not understand and I shall not pretend to.

Drunk without a drop!

Spent a short time having fun at the playground after dinner today. Yes, not the fitness corner, it’s the playground, that place in the neighborhood built for kids below 13 years old. Sure felt great to be a silly kid again.

I love this roundabout thing, where I sat in and my sister spun me around. Round and round and round, until even when it stopped, everything I saw was still a formless whirl of messy colours! I struggled out of the roundabout, then staggered around the playground laughing like a lunatic. It was so fun! I was damn high and happy and silly! For the first time, I felt so happy even though I was so nauseous I thought I was going to puke. Maybe that’s how it feels like to be drunk.

It’s scary manz… I’m almost 20. Gosh. I’ll be out of teenage and adolescent soon, like in a few months’ time. (!!!) Then, I’ll really completely thoroughly totally absolutely irreversibly lose my right to be childish. And if I wanted to feel drunk, I’ll really have to be drunk. Ugh.

Romantic?

Had lunch with Weizhen today. No, I will not be recording down chronologically everything we said, did and ate.

Anyway, the conversation started with Weizhen saying, “My friend’s boyfriend folded 999 roses for her!”

I understand that by saying the following, I am going to be slapped with a name of being an insensitive, unfeeling block of wood or maybe even a jealous sour-graper. But this block of wood has something to say, nevertheless.

Me: So what is she supposed to do with them? Chuck them under the bed?
Weizhen (OMG I can’t believe you just said that): Don’t you think it’s so touching?
Me: Yea, and then? She can’t throw them away, and it’s so bulky to keep at home.

As usual, my response returned stares of disbelief.

Well, I thought us pragmatic Singaporeans learnt from an early age the concept of limited space. But that’s really besides the point.

The point is, why spent all the time and effort doing something that creates no value? What does it do, other than prove that you’re really willing to spend all that time folding roses for her? The sad truth is, nothing. It really just means that you want to please this girl, and immediately, instinct or pre-made ideas tells you – I’ll touch her by spending lots of time and effort making lots and lots of a something for her, doesn’t matter if she doesn’t need it, at least I’ll prove to her that I care for her.

Roses folded. Roses received. The effort proven. Girl touched.

Then?

Now, perhaps that’s hard to see. So I brought out the example of an extreme case. “I’ll prove to you I love you! I’ll go and die for you, right now!” So, person dead, point proven. But so what? What value does it create? So what if you love her? She doesn’t want you to go and die, why can’t you just like… stay alive and love her?

Well, Weizhen half killed me when I brought out the example.

But I don’t see how hard such a concept is. She has nothing to do with the roses after feeling touched and appreciated, except maybe feed her ego to keep her feeling touched and appreciated when she digs them out from under the bed to look at them, occasionally. Have you ever considered if that’s what she really wants?

Guys, throw out those pre-made obsolete ideas, whether roses, cranes or coloured sand. If you really do appreciate her, spend the time on getting to know her, understand what she likes and what she wants, then spend a little effort getting or making it for her. How hard is it? It’s just like staying alive to love her.

A mother never needs to fold 999 cranes for her child to prove to him that she loves him. But everyone sees the love, when she cares for her child and worries about giving him the best that she can. We all perfectly agree that parents should understand what their children really want, and support them in it, instead of imposing on them what they feel is best for them. So why can’t it be applied to romantic relationships? Why is it that most people go gaga over some useless thing that a party does for the other, even when sometimes, the very basic value-creating need is neglected?

In the movie My Fair Lady, Henry realizes that he has become too dependent on Eliza, when he realizes that he can never seem to find his slippers without her bringing them to him. So in the last scene, Eliza fetched Henry his slippers and it is seen that she stayed to fetch him his slippers all her life. It is something so inconsequential, effortless and unimportant. Yet, it is exactly what he wants. Henry wouldn’t like receiving 999 roses from Eliza when all he really needs are his slippers.

I once blogged about this elderly couple living in my estate. The old lady was sickly and probably living the last few months of her life. The old man wheeled her around the estate everyday, sat at places to watch the world go by, while making sure she was comfortable in her seat, touching her head gently and whispering into her ear. No flowers and chocolates, no fancy restaurants and no 999 folded cranes. Yet it was the most touching scenes I see around ever. Just those little gestures.

But of course, sometimes, silly useless handicrafts seem to work wonders. A girl might be so touched by it she’ll be talking about it for ages. Then carrying it a little further, she might rely on useless sweet nothings and this “romantic” proof of his love to carry her through cooking his meals and washing his clothes for a lifetime. While at the same time, all these sweet gestures of her go unappreciated by him.

Well, I know most people find it very unromantic, earthly and materialistic when we focus on the tangible value that a gesture creates – In a mother who puts good food in her child’s mouth; Eliza who saves Henry’s trouble of finding his slippers; or simply the old lady feeling more comfortably seated in the wheelchair.

But I ask, isn’t that the true ultimate proof of understanding and concern?

A stranger’s love prospects

Today’s class ended at almost 7.30pm, when it was supposed to end at 6.45pm. A draggy BGS class plus an Econs presentation’s failed attempt at getting all my classmates drunk in the morning was too much excitement for the day. I got up the bus and was glad that a seat right at the back was still empty. I managed that last few steps to the end of the aisle (of the bus, that is) before my heels crippled me and I flopped my butt on the seat, at the same time noticing the queer-looking male/female specimen sitting beside me.

I really didn’t need to know. I know I can close my eyes if I don’t wish to see, pinch my nose if I don’t wish to smell, move away if I don’t wish to feel and leave it out of my mouth if I don’t wish to taste. But however much I wish, I can’t close my ears! Alright, you might argue that I can plug my ears but that’s not a realistic alternative considering the circumstances (I just had my biz law midterms). So, I was accidentally informed of this fellow commuter’s prophesized love life and health issues.

Partly to uphold whatever is left of this poor being’s privacy and partly because I really do not wish to put such things on my blog, I shall not reveal his fortune teller’s predictions. But by this phone conversation he had, he just informed it to everyone within 2 seats radius of him. Every other sentence he said took what I thought was the last strain of self control out of me to keep me from laughing out loud. (My self restraint surprised myself.)

What’s worse, despite the amount of talking he did, I could not make out if he was male or female. I guess that must have crossed the mind of this auntie in front, who couldn’t resist turning around to check him out. When he alighted from the bus (thankfully after 4-5 stops and before I burst out laughing), I stole a look at him, together with everyone else sitting around him who grinned upon enlightenment.

Alright, that wasn’t very nice of me. I kind of realise it must be really mean to think that way and feel the need to laugh out loud.

That was when it struck me. He wasn’t the first person to chat on the handphone on the bus. I did that too. And I can perfectly understand the need to speak audibly for the person on the other end of the line to hear. But that would also mean everyone within 1-2 seats radius of me would have figured out what the whole conversation was about.

Although my phone conversations wasn’t anything nearly as incredible as a fortune teller’s prophecy, it sure wasn’t very pretty. I suddenly felt as though everytime I made phone calls on the bus, I was up on the stage in the limelight being a comedian to everyone around me who found my mundane, personal life amusing. Everytime I chatted on the phone in the bus, I bring a part of my life or my friend’s life on screen for all those around me to watch. Free admission, no toilet breaks and no option out until the movie clip ends or when you alight.

Just about everything that ran through my mind when I listened in to the stranger’s phone call ran through the minds of strangers on the bus as I spoke on my phone.

Now that was not very funny, was it?