When Immortals Die

What scares the shit out of me these days, is the lack of me sketching. I used to sketch all the time, though I really started to enjoy it when I was in my poly days. The long journey from home to school requires entertainment, so at that time, it was the music player and a sketch book. I would feel like a god, drawing new worlds, new people with different personalities and different stories. My sketches were never that good. They were never polished or refined. I never enjoyed refining sketches, turning them into drawings. I enjoyed the speed and pace of how my hands would move to illustrate my thoughts and imagination. I never was the good 'artist', or that person who could draw. I was just the crazy one with that sketch book. At one point of time, I was even ashamed of my sketches.

When I got the wacom tablet, I started sketching on the computer. Thinking that would allow me to refine and perhaps draw better. I never really did manage to do that. Till today, my sketches are haphazards of lines and sguillies. They are never meant to be masterpieces but a mere glimpse of the stories in my head, at that moment of time. The great graphic designer, Milton Glasser, once said that drawing is one the critical skills designers should possess. I am a graphic designer and my drawing skills are negligible. Ironically, before I wanted to be a graphic designer, I wanted to be a concept artist or illustrator.

This blog post was really meant for me to showcase some of my favorite sketches I did so many years ago. Not masterpieces or anything, but I really like them.

When Immortals Die, is a sketch from 2003. This sketch was really meant to be a basis for a bigger painting, but it never really happened, so all that was left was a sketch. The story of this sketch was part of a bigger world – a world of immortals and gods, and it depicts of how immortals dies. Immortals only die when they are betrayed by love, and I wanted to showcase that in a more direct, fantasy whimsical manner.

Pride before the fall, is an accompanying sketch for When Immortals Die, showcasing the prideful faes. I was addicted to drawing flowy ribbons.

Kite, a weird really deep sketch..

Sketches of random twinky boys I saw on magazines. Yup, you guessed it, I draw boys better than I draw girls.

An attempt of a portrait sketch. Reference from an unknown magazine.

Once a upon a time in a quaint little city, Singapore...

If you guessed that I have been watching too much Sex and the City, you probably guessed right. It's funny, how one of the world greatest and bestest (sexiest and not forgetting to mention, gayiest) show fails to capture my attention when it first got screened. All my straight female friends – not that I have any lesbian friends, but in this day and age, apparently your sexuality is more important than your gender – have been talking, pontificating and worshiping the show to the point that I think they are little coo-coo-fa-lu-ka.

Mary Ann, who incidentally her full name goes Mary Ann Joseph (you know Mary AND Joseph? funny eh) loves the show so much, to the point she practically is living the show. She super imposes herself into the show, lives the show and if you draw a direct reference, Mary Ann is practically like Samantha without much of the sex (but with all the glorious sexiness of course). She has been bugging me to watch the show, that on Christmas day, she decided to bless me with her collections of Sex and the City DVD collection, and I have been hooked since then.

It's easy to get hooked on something like Sex and the City, because of the urban city lifestyle that Singapore practically is. It empowers you and make you realize that suddenly you are not that helpless. You can be sexy, promiscuous and a professional all at the same time. It made you realize that if the option of straight, getting married by the time you are 25, own a 5 room HDB apartment by the time you are 26 and have 2 kids by 30 is so remote, you have the other more sexier, Sex in the City option. Clubbing, dining, sex, dating models and more sex, all without the burden of responsibility towards another but yourself. It's the selfish, but just oh-so tempting option.

It is funny, that I am considering all this and that I am still living with my parents, not earning much and still has yet to cross the age 25 barrier - soon but not yet. I think Sex and the City should carry a R30 rating, you know, only for those above the age 30. Being influence by sexy drama shows on the verge of adulthood is not healthy! Of course considering that I have a sexy job (anything with a designer in the title is a sexy job, according to a certain sexy magazine), live in a sexy city (arguably, but i think a select few Singaporeans are sexy, especially those from the arts and media scene), a sexy body (shut up! its sexy to me :P), all I am lacking is of course the random sexy sex. That and the alluring sexy confidence that incidentally will get you more sexy sex. Living the Sex and the City lifestyle suddenly don't seem so remote.

Sunday Ramblings

It is a strange time tonight, as I struggled to type this. I am suffering from a writer's block – not that I am a writer or anything – at the worst possible timing. I have this need, this menacing little voice in my head telling me to write about my day, yet I struggled to fit text into this small little blogger text box. As I continue to struggle through, I know this will eat into my bedtime, which will have repercussions. I will wake up a little late, I will make my cardio a little shorter than it should be, I will not burn the supposed amount of calories I should be burning, then I will skim on breakfast, which would then make me tired and hungry, and then resulting in me having a heavy lunch which of course eventually will lead me to a sleepy afternoon.

Today was the day my family decided to celebrate my dad's birthday. And it was no big fun fare or anything – we didn't even get him a gift yet. But I know we would give him something this Wednesday – his real birthday, December the Thirteen. What a freaky date to be born in, I must say. We decided to have a dinner of Ayam Penyet (Smashed Fried Chicken for the uninitiated dumb foreigner) which we of course throughly enjoyed. Ayam Penyet has become my new unhealthy obsession. While other cool people obsessed with Marijuana, cigarettes and oats, I am contend with my five dollars odd wooden plate of fats and calorie laden smashed fried chicken.

Dinner was a really quick affair. Sometimes dinner is over so fast, I thought we haven't even started yet. My family do not believe in eating slowly or chewing. Chewing to them is a strange concept which offers nothing but waste time. So our dinner rarely go beyond twenty minutes. Hell our dinner average time is fifteen minutes. Yes we are that fast. Depending on the number of dishes, we might, on occasion go beyond thirty minutes. We are civilized fast eaters. Time is precious, so chewing is optional we say.

After the quick twenty minutes dinner, we decided to walk around Orchard Road, and gaze at the gaudy Christmas lights and decorations. And since I brought my camera, we also posed for some pictures. And after walking about for what seems like an eternity – it was just five minutes really – mummy decided that we should go to Swensons and have gigantic Earthquakes and fries. Note that we just had fried chicken for dinner, steak and chocolate pudding for lunch and other fatty stuff in between. Calories watching and portion control apparently don't exist on the weekends.

And true to my family's traditions, we polished off all eight scoops of ice-cream in 15 minutes flat. And mind you this is not the normal size earthquake, but the giant earthquake. The one with bigger scoops of ice-creams. If I am looking a little chunky this week, I have only my family to blame. The fries, we took our time to consume. No we did not suddenly decide to chew, but we were too full. So we ate slowly.

To quickly end this entry, it's fair to say that we all enjoyed ourselves. My siblings, my parents and especially my dad. It's rather unfortunate that we can't do this daily. We do not have our dinner together on weekdays. We are a fully working family, and all of us busy with our own busy lives. So I appreciate moments like this, when we all could be together, sit down and just eat and chat.

And in the unfortunate event that if you did find this blog and read this entry Dad, Happy Birthday!

Pretty legs and great big knockers

One of the many problems that I face when trying to update this blog is my incessant need to ensure what I write is neither self-depreciating, insulting to anyone or embarrassing to any party involved. So whatever I write, I would read and reread and then read again to ensure things are alright. Sometimes I would even not post the entries that I have spent hours writing. It's like safe sex I suppose - I wouldn't really know, for reasons obvious enough. So whenever this blog appears like it is neglected, be sure that I tried to write. Well in spirit of adventure and risk taking, I will attempt what I have rarely attempted – write, read once then post. It's like sex without a condom, but you withdraw before doing the shooting deed. The Pope would be proud of me.

While I was drinking my caramel Starbucks drink, munching on cheesecakes and chocolate delights with my feasting buddy, Farhan, I noted to him that the how different we all have become. Ever since knowing each other in army, we all dream of power lunches in Swiss Hotel, glamorous jobs and lifestyles of traveling yuppies. But here we are, sitting in Starbucks, stuffing our faces with food that we shouldn't even be in the same room with and contemplating about our rather, at this point of time, shaky future, non-existence love lives and a rather non-happening social circle. We are like broken socialites with bankrupt fathers.

I have chosen the path of a graphic designer and now I am beginning to feel that I cannot do this forever. It's scary when you wanted to be in the creative field your whole life, you manage to get into it and then figured that you might not actually want to be in it forever. I always prided myself in that I always knew what I wanted to do, but now everything seems to be in shambles. Job happiness and satisfaction is only for the lucky few I suppose. I need to stop reading Tommy's tale.

After a few cubes of swiss chocolates with raisins and nuts and iced-milo, I got into a rather interesting discussion with Kristen. It's funny how all the interesting and smart things in my life happened while I am eating sinful things. Kristen highlighted that I am no longer drawing as much as I use to. During my polytechnic and army times, I draw and painted whenever I have some bits of free time. I love drawing that much. Kristen herself too noted that she is no longer drawing and painting as much as she would love to. "We grew out of it together," she said. Growing out of art and the love of art is sad. I hope to stay young and amazed by art forever.

As I approach 23, I realize there are so many things that I have yet to do. Learn the piano. Get a degree. Rent and live in my own apartment. Get nicer jeans. Work out, and get a leaner and meaner butt. Have more friends. Learn photography. Read the Holy Koran, and the Bible. Read more books. Find a partner who loves me for what I am, and I can love back for what she is. My boss once told me that I should do all the mistakes when I'm young. What a wise women. I am young, yet I feel that I am not allowing myself to make all the fun mistakes I should be making.

In closing, I have to explain and if you were paying careful attention to my entry, you too would notice that my title have no relation to this entry what so ever. The only reason is that pretty legs and great big knockers sounds so nice and would make a really great title either to a book, and essay or for lame people like me, a blog entry. So since I am a little strange and retarded, I decided to just use said title, even though I have neither pretty legs (I have really long legs though, if you care) or great big knockers. For the gay men out there, knockers are breast. And big knockers means big breast – the only kind of breast that matters.

God, you are so goddamn funny.

I always held the believe that God, has a really morbid, cruel sense of humor. If you have been reading this blog, you would probably know my reasoning for me making such a statement. However never has I felt that I am truly the star of his divine comedic genius. On Friday, by his divine intervention, he made me that comedic star.

Since I started work at this graphic design studio, I had never been broke. Well, not terribly, left with 2 dollars and still 20 more days to go broke like in the army days. I have been living rather comfortably, able to eat (thank god), the occasional taxi ride back home and shopping (though, since my shopping partner, namely Farhan has been jobless since, I have yet to go shopping in quite a while) . And even better, last Friday, an old freelance client of mine called me and said he has transfered all the money that is required for the services I had done. Overwhelmed with the prospect of having more money than before, I rushed to the nearest ATM to withdraw some mulah.

Of course, if everything went as planned, it wouldn't be a divine comedic intervention. This would have been really funny if I was just a spectator but no – I was a player in this. The main and probably only player. My card had to be rendered unusable. I couldn't withdraw any money. And it had to be a Friday, the last day the bank would stay open. And it had to be 6pm. The time all the banks had already closed. And perhaps the divine punchline in all of this. I had to be left with only two dollars in my wallet.

Isn't life wonderful?

Excuses

You know those mornings. When you just showered, and you are drying yourself and then you saw your naked reflection in the mirror and then you realize that you are fatter than you were yesterday. But in deep inside you had this inkling, that the mirror is probably playing some tricks on you, or this is one of your i-am-so-self-conscious days. Well today, was not that day for me.

Today I woke up, looked into my naked reflection, all wet and disgusting and know that I am truly a fat ass. For some reason or another, every thing looks wrong. My chest was droopy, my abdominals, pouchy and my dick seems a little shorter than it should. Well too much information there, but this is my blog and hell if I want to write about my dick, I would. Then I began to regret the fried nugget eating frenzy I had the night before and quickly thought of hitting the gym – twice.

I know I need to go back to my gymming sessions, before its too kilo-fat late. It's scary. At one point of my life, I practically do not care how I look like (yes that's why I had that hair) and now I almost had a nervous breakdown at the mere though of gaining some kilos. I stepped gingerly onto the scale, and sure it enough, I gained 2kgs. Which is okay, but why so much difference physically?

To lose weight, you have to cut back at least 500 calories from your daily calorie intake. The problem is of course, I do not know what my daily calorie intake is. I never knew. I don't read every label, count every calorie or remove the skin from every chicken. I try my best. My mum once told me that your body is going to remember every insult that you give it. That chocolate, potato chips and fries. Your body is going to react, and not in a nice way.

Food is always a problem for me. I take breakfast and a good light lunch, but when it comes to dinner, I could not control myself. I just get really hungry at the end of the day, and god damnit I hate being hungry. And researchers said that dinner is really what make people fat. I am not a follower of the no food after seven bullshit, and I am beginning to think that its a good idea if I start practicing it.

My job is not physically demanding I must admit. The only job hazard that I have to deal with is the occasional paper cuts that I get when I am doing some mock-up. As much as I like to go to the gym three times a week, I am simply too tired after work to go to the gym near my work place. And it does not help that the gym is frequently crowded and considerably smaller compared to the gym near my home. Also it also does not make it easier that this particular gym is filled to the brim with neck less muscle thugs who grunts and hog all the machines.

As I read back this entry that I am typing, I realize I am typing out nothing but excuses. And that sort of realization really hits you hard at the back of your throat (or head, or any other place that can be hit hard). I need to make some changes in my life. No more excuses Wan!

Sweating Design

Strangely enough, when I started this blog, I sought of knew that this thing here wouldn't be updated too often. Never a good sign. Not only that, but I have resorted to use tricks such as posting photos with vague unrelated titles, to appear smart and intelligently mysterious. Of course, I realize I am insulting my readers (all 3 of you) - my readers who I know happen to be very smart and not easily fooled by silly tricks.

So today, I have decided to indulge you and satisfy your need of Sudirwan's ramblings - and if you do not want to be sated with my ramblings, just read on and pretend you are interested anyway.

So it has been two months that I am working at this design studio. I am a Graphic Designer, to the still uninitiated folks. And, if you, like most folks, would probably be wondering what a Graphic Designer really do. Yes, what do a Graphic Designer really do? You probably have some assumption of what we do. Yes we design posters and pamphlets and brochures and we do advertising and all that. But today I am to walk you through of my typical day, and hopefully you would appreciate the work that go to designing that booklet or poster or little price tag.

On most days, I would wake up at 5.45 am, do my morning prayers and try to do a little cardio exercise. Sometimes I would use the machine if I'm lazy, but most of the time I just jog outdoors. My work starts when I am exercising. I think best, when I am sweating in out, with my iPod blasting music into my ear hole. Design assignments or problems are rarely solved instantaneously. Inspiration don't come easy - at least for me. They are usually solved through a tedious process or system - which includes word play, random sketches, brain storming and in my case sweating it out, as I burn my calories.

I commute to work on the MRT and sometimes, design solutions do come to me when I am stuck in the morning train crowd, but usually like most people, I try to get some shut eye. When I reach the office, at about 9.00 - 9.15 am, I fill up my water bottle, on my computer and try to clear my email. The first part of my morning are reserved for clearing email and corresponding with clients and vendors. I realize I am less bitchy and blunt in the early morning. Do not try to pull no crazy stun surprises on me on in late afternoon, unless you want a nasty putting down that had make people cry. I am working on trying to be less mean, but sometimes stupid people have to be made to realize that their existence on this planet is probably a mistake made by someone up there who has a really morbid sense of humor.

After all that corresponding, I would then try to catch hold of my art director and other designers for their opinions on certain designs. This is the most productive time of my day. A lot of design problems are solved through these discussions. Though I trust my sense of design direction and aesthetics, I do get lost and stuck sometimes. No harm asking for opinions I always believe. I would also do the same, if my opinions were asked for, which these days, happen quite often - my colleagues are now used to my blunt and sharp comments.

Once I get design problems solved and the visuals are done and ready to be presented to the clients for their opinions, I would try to give them the visuals as much as possible through email. I like meeting clients, but these days, I realize that much could be done through email, without actually meeting them. Emails also allow for clients to be more honest and brutal, since some clients do shy from giving opinions when they do meet face to face with their designer.

Most of my time is spend doing design production (computer work) and corresponding with clients for their opinions. Rarely do design go out of the studio without being filtered through other designers and clients. Some become extraordinary work of design and some becomes diluted pieces of mediocre work. I always start on every new design project, hoping for the best design possible, fulfilling both the client's brief and my creative soul. Rarely do both happen at the same time, but when it does, I would realize again why I chose to be a designer in the first place.

At the end of the day, whenever that is – sometimes it stretches to midnight – I would shut down my mac, clean up my desk and quietly remind myself that I am a lucky bitch who gets to do what he wants do and still get paid for it.

You could be happy

Please make everyday a Sunday

Chasing Cars

Once again I did what I swear I will never do. Well, not exactly swear. But I did, at one point of my life, really believed that I will never never ever start another blog. Blogging is such a modern phonomenon that it feels like a fad. A really long fad - which people in the know call trends. I have started in my 22 years of life, numerous blogs, of varied nature. I have my personal blog, which has migrated from platform to platform. Ironically now, my personal blog lies in the servers of the monopolistic company known as Microsoft. I have nothing agaisnt microsoft, or its really ugly operating system. It's just that I am a mac user.

The only great thing about Microsoft Spaces, is that everytime you update your blog, your online msn contacts will know about it. The bright yellow star will blink, telling the world that once again Sudirwan has succumbed to self indulgence to write about his life which is not really a life. The bad thing about Microsoft spaces is everything else. And being a mac user, you can't see that star.

So i decided that I should migrate my personal blog to blogspot, which I use to host my other uncared blog. My design blog. Or more specifically, my attempt to be part of the ever elusive world of design writing.Coffeebanana is the name of that design blog, and its a collaborative between Kristen Danker and me. Both of us are design and art enthusiast. She got smart and became a teacher. Me, being the more optimistic and dumb one, succumbed to the unglamorous world of long hours of blood, sweat and tears and became a graphic designer. I love design and art, but writing about it, seems so hard. I am still trying – so no, I am not ditching Coffeebanana just yet. Sadly, Kristen seem to have gave up, and now is more interested in sexy Physical Education trainee teachers and student clubs.

Coffeebanana the design blog, is not Kristen and I first foray into the world of collaborative blogging. In fact, our first collaborative blog was also called Coffeebanana, and its our personal blog. Yes, a personal blog shared by two people. The blog had some great content – cooking videos (yes way before they was such a thing called videocast), computer voices and msn chat logs. Sadly, Kristen outgrew that blog and started her own blog, which I must say Kristen, is not that happening either! So I was ditched. Stiil, I find the idea of collaborative blogging to be very appealing.

Then one night, I had a brilliant idea that me, Farhan and Zaid should start a blog together. It would be great I thought. Who is Farhan and Zaid you ask? Well together, they appear to be like husband and wife, if only one of them is a girl. But they argue alot. Not that their arguments merits for anything. I am okay if the argument was about the merits of improving world poverty by holding huge world telecast conserts or the merits of trying to help aids victim in Africa by selling rebranded products. But their arguments are so pointless – they argue about whether one of them have anything against a certain camera brand or something equivalently pointless. But that's what I like about them. Their pointless arguments add to a certain background noise, that i find, calming. My advice to them. Stop trying to out bitch other. Cause in the end, you are still bitches.

Individually, they are one of the nicest, most unprejudiced people in the world. I can talk with them for hours and hours and still talk some more. They can be sarcastic at times, but always in jest. Inspiring to no end, and I hope, I can as inspiring to them as they are to me. And through them, I get to know other great people. Nora, Rara and Sara! The three girls somehow seem like a mirror image of me, Farhan and Zaid. Just much more mature and sane. Someone I would like to be

So back to the point. I wanted to start a collaborative blog with Farhan and Zaid, but it appears that Zaid was not too sussed about that idea. Oh well, I am appealing to you guys one more time, lets do it! You are invited to join this blog and trust me, it would be great! But of course you are free not to do so. Cause, by blogging with other people, you lose the narcissistic nature of blogging. Collaborative blogging forces you to think a little deeper before you write. It forces you to be responsible. Because what you write, whether you like it or not, represents the group, not just yourself.

I start this blog, not knowing what it is going to be about. I would like to call it a personal blog. But I am not too excited to write about what I ate for lunch or what I lift during my late evening gym sessions. I have a life, not much of a life, but still a life. I would like this blog to be much more than just a journal of a sexually confused twenty something, trying to find his way in this world. I hope it could be much more than that.

So if you are reading this, you are probably suppose to be reading this. And you, probably would understand why the title of this blog entry is Chasing Cars.

Welcome.