Make this Go On Forever

Where is Graphic Design Going?

2008-07-02T11:03:00.002+08:00

Graphic design has in years of being a craft for the trained and learned, opened up, and practiced even by the most uneducated. We all know the story, anyone with a computer, the adobe suite software package, a good mouse and some sort of idea can do graphic design. In fact the barrier to enter the once elusive realm of graphic design is so low, anyone really, could apply. While this has affected the overall quality of the practice, graphic design has been pushed in to an uncanny position. Because it is no longer elusive, mysterious or cooky, it has been embraced by businesses as a core to business strategies. It is not strange anymore to see Presidents of entire marketing divisions to be past practitioners of graphic design, or see Creative Directors seated at the conference table, making decisions affecting bottom-line . And also more and more business schools are offering basic graphic design programs to their students as part of their business degrees.

All this sounds great right. After years of trying to get graphic design as part of the business process, instead of a mere side thought, graphic design has finally won. We won. Or is this one of those situations where we take three steps forward and five steps back. When business entities embrace or consume graphic design as part of its process, graphic design begins to lose its core. What is this core, however is often debated by masters of the craft to the point where there is no middle ground. For the sake of argument, lets assume that core of graphic design, is its purpose to communicate clearly. And what better industry to make an example of about the need to communicate clearly other than the advertising industry. Strange. Isn't the advertising industry the same as the graphic design industry? The work might be similar, the offices might be using the same macs, but advertising is a totally different beast. In fact advertising is a fine example of how graphic design can be twisted and deformed to the point of change, that it can no longer call itself the practitioners of the craft.

Advertising places above all else, the core idea of the message that needs to be communicated. Graphic design places both the idea and the execution of that idea on equal grounds. In fact graphic design, places ideas, form and functions on equal ground. Because of this advertising mantra, our world is littered with designs that maybe witty, but hardly beautiful. In fact advertising places ideas on a pedestal, that it is willing to do anything to ensure that idea gets communicated. Even lie and exaggerate the truth. Advertisers are the lawyers of the graphic design industry. Dirty and disgusting, but if you are willing to do it, the money is there. Of course we do have graphic design studios that do the same thing, but thats the mere influence from the practices of advertising.

Now it is the year 2008, and advertising is part and parcel of life. Advertising however is weakening. People get smarter. They have more information. And are less effected by witty copy written by copy writers. Learning this, business is beginning to take advantage of and consume another aspect of graphic design. If advertising is the twisted and deformed abomination of the graphic design's craft of expression of ideas, then we should be afraid of the new beast that is slowly but surely emerging from this modern age unholy union of business and graphic design.

Graphic designers always knew that people make choices not only because of facts presented in their faces. People are ruled by their emotions and as graphic designers, we wield the ability to change moods, emotions and feelings of our audience. The colors we choose, the typefaces we set and the composition we craft are all part of a master plan to evoke a certain mood so our message could better be accepted. While we are still bound by the core – the need to communicate clearly – we know the intangible matters as much. Businesses are realizing this, and beginning to incorporate it as part of a rational process. Imagine – rationalizing the irrational part of the human experience. This new love child of emotion and business is called Branding.

Branding at its ideal, is graphic design fulfilling its true purpose. It doesn't lie, exaggerate or attempt to deceive. Branding allows graphic designers to contribute positively to the realm of businesses and practice the craft at her best. A proper brand is a reflection of the truth and an aspiration towards betterment.

However, many business are turning to branding as a cure it all. They see it as another medium to deceive more customer by creating the illusion that they are better than what it seems. At the end of the day, we will see slick brands poping up all over the place, but with products and services that couldn't stand on its two feet.

So to end this essay on a lighter note, we should take comfort in the fact that graphic design as an industry is poise for greater growth than ever. It has never been a better time to be a graphic designer other than now. But we are at a crossroads right now to ensure direction of our industry do not go to a place where we can no longer look at graphic design the same way. Where is graphic design going is a question we must be able to answer with pride and jubilation. And not shame and anger.

How did this happen?

2008-06-12T23:14:00.003+08:00

This is the Windows XP boot screen.

This is the Mac OS X boot screen. Minimal at its best.

This is the Windows Vista boot screen, attempting the minimal look. Even when Microsoft tried minimal design, it looked ugly.

'nuff said.

Goodbye Krabi

2008-06-10T20:43:00.002+08:00

Hello butt crack...

p/s: I am too lazy to photoshop that crack out of the photo, besides I think it makes the picture, well ermm.. more human.

Goodbye Singapore

2008-06-01T00:05:00.002+08:00

Hello Krabi. :)

Till death do us part

2008-05-27T13:47:00.002+08:00

To Sara and Adel who's getting hitched this weekend! :P

Silence

2008-05-13T10:01:00.002+08:00

Yeah we are not racist.

You understand chinese what, was their excuse. An excuse given not to justify anything, but just to make themselves feel better. So they continued speaking in mandarin as I just sat there. I kept my silence, not as a protest. To protest would to voice out. To protest would mean to leave. But no, I just kept my silence. Because I am not racist. Because I am racially harmonious.

Isn't that what racial harmony is?

You like chinese songs what, was their excuse. An excuse given not to justify anything, but just to make themselves feel better. So the radio, kept blasting mandarin ballads as I just sat there working on my work. I kept my silence, wondering if music is really a universal language. I kept my silence, trying to differentiate between songs, which all sound so seemingly similar. Chinese. I kept my silence, because protesting would be racist.

Race is not an OB marker that should be crossed.

So no one cares to voice out when the army systematically exclude certain races from certain departments and units. It's for security what. An excuse that don't justify anything, but just to soothe their collective guilt. It's okay. We kept our silence, because we are not racist.

We kept our silence.

Even when they said; Look at them. They and their tudungs, and children. Look at them, said with distaste. They and their black skinny jeans, t-shirts and truckers. Look at them, said with distaste. They and their tents and their picnics on the beach. Look at them. Wanting to wear the tudung to school. Look at them. Demanding equality at the workplace. Look at them, trying their very best to be what they are not. Look at them. Denying their own race because they think they can be one of us. Look at them. They. Just look at them. No excuses were made this time, and still we kept our silence.

The Condom Problem

2008-05-08T09:15:00.003+08:00

Teens, sex and Aids: Time to face up to today's realities

It seems that this realization, when similar problems are already faced in the US and other major developed conservative countries came a little too late. Abstinence will never be a 'safe-sex' choice for the sexually active. Those that wish to abstain from sex, will already done so. They know the virtues and joy of waiting for the right one to come (for the straights it's when they walk down the aisle, and the gays.. I dunno..) But for the sexually active majority, the government need to realize that the only viable solution for protection is condom usage.

It is also perhaps interesting to note that many young people are getting HIV not because they are sleeping around with random people, but getting it from their loved ones, from a context of a relationship. For reasons, perhaps linked to the government stance in sex education (abstinence first, be faithful then maybe use the condoms), most young people who are having sex for the first time, especially with a supposed steady partner, do it without a condom. So the one at risk here, isn't only the promiscuous who do it with multiple partners, but also the those that wishes to partake in the 'ultimate expression of love'.

The government needs to exercise their leadership once again, and do the unpopular but necessary thing here. Condom usage needs a better rep. Guerilla messages targeted to specific group, like the gays (usually given out in clubs on Sunday nights and during plays) is not effective. It needs massive attention. The government needs to acknowledge that premarital sex is not a 'moral wrong' or unethical, but merely a lifestyle choice, that can be practiced in a safe way. Once the stigma gets out of the way, only can the education come in. The conservative majority can complain till the cows come home, but the message of abstinence is not working. Children are having sex. Some with hot random strangers online. And many with their allegedly safe partners. Whatever it is, this kids need to protect themselves. And love isn't the answer.

The Aids pandemic of the 70s might yet happen again, only this time on our little island.

Chapter 4 - Perfection

2008-04-16T15:35:00.002+08:00

So Wan discovered a little known secret about the world. Sex brings in more sex. It's the great irony of life. It works this way. If you are having sex – and especially with a sexy strapping lawyer such as V – naturally you feel sexy. Feeling sexy gives one confidence. Confidence makes your brain releases chemicals and hormones that makes you physically sexy. And being physically sexy brings it more sex (or at least curious stares).

If you own your sex life, you own the world. Well at least that's how Wan felt. Ever since his secret affair (is it an affair even though it's just mainly sex?) with the thirty year old lawyer from uptown, Wan's steps was stronger, his posture sharper and his muscles toner. It's as if sex have breathed in renewed life into his overworked body. People noticed, and Wan liked it.

'You are so dressed for work today!' Wan's colleagues commented.

'Oh really? I didn't even plan this outfit.' Wan lied, laughing fakely down the stairs. Of course he planned his baby blue stripped shirt, solid denims, leather belt, beige loafers, purple socks and his sexy clean white briefs. He was going to meet V for lunch, and Wan used the word lunch here quite liberally. There wasn't going to be any kind of eating – at least by the standard conservative definition of the word eating. Wan walked down the blocks smiling wildly. The day was perfect. His life was perfect. What more could he ask for.

---

'LOVE!'

Hahn almost chocked on his mushroom stroganoff. Zat was as usual going about his bouts of self pity. Unlike most emo gay kids, who wallow in self pity quietly in their rooms, slitting their wrist and dying alone, Zat was quite intent on sharing his feelings with the whole world, well the restaurant, at least.

'That's what I need,' Zat continued, then munching on his chicken Pot Pie.

'And why do you need Love?' Hahn asked, almost condescendingly. In truth he knows everyone needs love. He is the ever champion for love, and the rights to be loved. Love, to him, is the fundamental truth of all things. Unfortunately, love was not enough to shake off the feeling that his relationship with Benjamin was not going all too well.

To outside eyes, Hahn and Benjamin was the most perfect of couples any couples could be. Hahn was caring and loving, almost to a fault. Benjamin; young and sporty. Always a smile on his face, and by the way he touched Hahn, truly do love him so. It was the kind of relationship straight couples aspire to have, teenage girls coo to, and gay men dreamt all their lives to be in. But beneath the shimmer and gloss, comes the undefinable problem. Hahn refused to let Benjamin obvious short comings in bed to be the sole reason of the strain in the relationship. Not everything is about sex, was the mantra Hahn lives by. Sex will not solve problems, Zat will occasionally chime in.

Because of this denial, Hahn created imaginary problems in his mind so that there is a cause should the relationship fail. Was I not caring? Was I getting boring? Was I not funny enough. The truth is, Hahn is probably the best fucking boyfriend anyone could have. And strangely, its his strong belief in pure love – the kind of love that could exist even with the devoid of sex – that is getting in the way of Hahn's pursuit of that great relationship.

---

'You look lost,' Zat suddenly said, disrupting Hahn's deep thought. 'What's wrong?' he asked, being the ever concerned friend.

'Oh nothing ...'

Zat continued, eating his pot pie in silence. He knew something was wrong. But what was the point of poking further. Hahn was contend in keeping his problems to himself, and poking further will only prove to irritate him. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. Work was proving to be a constant pain. He could not even afford to have a meal in peace. Constant beeping of the phone with texts from his students asking mundane questions. But he still answers them anyway. It gives him some sort of reassurances that someone out there still values his opinions. Still values him.

'No phones at the table,' Hahn demanded.

'This is my work. I don't knock off you know.'

And that was his problem. He never knocked off. His full dedication to his job became a separate agenda. If he was at the top of his game, perhaps someone out there would like him. Would love him. And his pursuit of perfection was not for the sake of perfection, but to prove to himself that he did have redeeming qualities of worth. His job became his life. And if he was doing great at his job, he must be doing great in life as well.

But he wasn't doing too great in life, nor his job. All his so called friends he made during the course of his work, were not friends he could count on. He was making barely enough money to feel fulfilled and compensated for all the shit he had to go through. And career wise there were no progression. He's stuck. Sure he's at the top of the food chain, but instead of the great ocean, he's at the top in a mere small little pond. To progress, he had to leave. But to leave would mean to risk throwing all the comforts he had. And at a perilous time of his life, he needs all the comfort he could get.

Oh. Also, he's single.

--

Wan flung his shirt over his back, and buttoned up with haste. Lunch time was over hours ago. If one were to follow meal times strictly, it would already be tea as about now. With his hands busy buttoning up, he was scanning the floor for his briefs.

'Where's my underwear?'

'Why are you in such a hurry?' V asked, completely ignoring Wan's questions. 'Stay. We haven't had lunch,' he continued as he flipped over onto his stomach and stretched like a cat.

'Lunch!' Wan exclaimed. 'Lunch was two hours ago. Now is the time I get fired, my career ruined and everything I ever worked for destroyed!'

'But it's all worth it isn't it,' V replied with that charming smile and dreamy eyes. He flipped over the pillows to reach for his pants.

'Now is not the time for jokes. Help me look for my underwear goddamned it!'

'Oh forget about your underwear. Just go commando.'

'My briefs are expensive!'

'I will get you are a new pair if we cuddle for fifteen more minutes.'

Wan looked down on V who was still on the bed naked curled up like a puma. It was all so tempting and he knew fifteen minutes of cuddling was really going to be thirty more minutes of not so much cuddling and and just sex.

'I'm really late.'

'Oh come on.' V insisted.

'Its three thirty,' Wan replied sternly. 'We can always meet again tonight.'

'I will still get you that new pair of underwear anyway,' V smilled.

'Why?'

'Because I like you.' V replied with a straight face, his piercing eyes now staring deep into Wan's. Wan was stunned. His lips quivering. After the information had sinked in – which took Wan appropriately 30 nano seconds to process – it daunted to him that he had to say something back. But what should he say. What did the 'I like you' mean? If he said 'I like you' back would it mean they are now in an official relationship. Or is the 'I like you' really one of those charming things V says all the time.

'I like you–r cock.'

That odd phrase was all Wan could muster after what seem like three equally odd seconds. Wan immediately rolled on his jeans, and left the visibly stunned lawyer.

Things I hate about myself

2008-04-15T17:50:00.001+08:00

When something funny happens (while watching a movie or listening to a comedian, for example), I look at other people while I laugh to make sure they thought it was funny too. This also applies to whether or not they’re moved by a song.

I could spent hours just munching on snacks, watching youtube movies and sketching fun things if I have a looming deadline. When there is nothing to do, I would me moaning about the boredom.

When I read text on the Internet, I highlight and unhighlight the text repeatedly. It drives other people nuts, so I guess there is something of merit there.

I hold anger in for so long that sometimes it builds up enough to require a nap (but one day…it’s all coming out!).

I’ve been trying to learn to play the guitar…for 11 years.

I like looking at other people's computer screen, secretly.

I pre-judge PC users (non Mac users). When I meet other designers or creatives, who work on a PC, I will deem them to be of the lower echelons of the creative class. This also applies to those who use their non mac laptops in public.

I cannot read something for a stretch of 30 minutes.

I mumble when I get nervous.

Craziness

2008-04-15T09:19:00.003+08:00

I was cleaning my work space this morning, and I found so many crazy sketches, that I don't even realize I did.
If one's sanity is directly represented by one's sketches, that you would probably know which end of the sanity scale I am at.

Top or Bottom

2008-04-11T11:47:00.000+08:00

So what do I do now
I don't know how I'm supposed to be
Do I get on top
Do I sit or squat
What happens if I have to pee

I've seen what he's got down there
And I'm worried just a little bit
Though I know I'm strong
He's oh so long
And I'm afraid it might not fit

So what am I worth now
Does the prize justify the deed
Will he hold me tight
Will it last all night
How much will I have to bleed

Ok, so here I am now
Dressed as he asked me to be
Will he taste real bad
Will he tell my dad
And will my dad take my money from me

I've been paying all my life
For this body, this hair..objectised
And now it's time to make this body pay for me

Cigarettes

2008-04-03T13:09:00.001+08:00

I once, in my proud egoistical days (which wasn't too long ago), proclaimed that I would never date a smoker. Smoking reeks of pretense. No one needs to smoke, and the only reason people smoke is to be part of the smoky social crowd. Smoking becomes a social glue. A dangerous social glue. Of course, like a cosmic joke, I dated, fell for, had the sex of my life, and fell out with a rather sexy smoker. He would light a cigarette after every session, the smoke clouding the darken room. The ashy smell of tobacco mixed with musky sweat became a typical sex after scent. It was scene right out of a sleazy movie. Typically, no one smokes around me, but I was not about to nit pick with a guy who gave one hell of a blow job.

Recently I had to deal with another smoker. A sexy little foreigner who fell for the Singapore dream – came here with the hopes of money and a good life. While I wouldn't barrette someone who chooses to smoke (hey its their life), I would stop short at actually buying someone a pack of smokes. I asked this foreigner why he smokes, even though he is broke, still looking for a job and the cost of cigarettes in Singapore cause ten times as much as they do back home. He looked at me with sad eyes, puffing his last stick.

'Oh they remind me of home,' he said. 'I miss home. Singapore can be harsh sometimes.'

I didn't know if it were his words, the eyes or the sex we were going to have soon after that, but I excused myself, rushed to the nearest 7-11 and bought him a pack.

'Here. So you don't miss home,' I said.

Never say never I suppose.

Subtlety

2008-03-30T12:20:00.002+08:00

I always believed that if you have to get yourself specs, get yourself something really strong and outrageous, that your life and style begins to revolve around it. Well that's until, Rara, the most unexpected of all people got to change my views. She got herself a pair of Marc Jacobs frames (yes Marc Jacobs, not the cheap diffusion line, Marc by Marc Jacobs, or any of his collaboration line). The design is subtle, and the only severity of the design is the way the frame is sliced, to show the idea of construction (something very Marc Jacobs). While the color is not exactly the most conservative – its metallic purple – the subtlety of the shape makes it rather pale in comparison to my frames, even though the color of my frame is conservative. I know all this design talk is nothing without pictures but Rara has yet to collect her spectacles.

But I am rather excited for it. For once I actually remembered the detailing of the design and how the philosophy of Marc Jacobs is apparent on it – severe without being in your face. What's amazing about the spectacles is the unexpected subtlety. On the shelf, it looks rather menacing, and post-modern but somehow, when worn, the strictness and maturity of the design softens onto a modern almost Bauhaus-esque form, without being aged or stuffy. It is modernist while still being art-deco.

Rara, this could be your best designer purchase this year yet. And Zat, decide on a pair already. As for me, perhaps its time I retire outrageous for some subtlety.

A satorial complain

2008-03-27T15:16:00.001+08:00

It is said, that the Singaporean men dress better on weekdays than on weekends. The perhaps due to the fact, that many companies in Singapore still demand a certain decorum and formality in regards to their employees clothes, especially the financial and banking industry (and almost everyone in Singapore is in financial and banking - no joke, every major banks in the world has a HQ in our little island). While I appreciate the efforts our men put in when dressing up for work - with proper shoes, trousers of the right length and shirts tucked in tight - many seem to be carrying the worst bags you could find - The Crumpler sling bag. I have nothing against crumpler, even though they are usually compared to as the crocs of bags. But a crumpler bag and executive wear is a match made in hell. The shape of the bag distorts the slimness of a pair of dress trouser. The sling of the bag, crumples up the shirt. And you end up looking messy, shabby and not at all executive like. If you refuse to carry a man tote, carry a briefcase then. Crumpler sling bags are reserved for the designer who can wear t-shirt and jeans to work.

A great way to cry

2008-03-25T23:04:00.007+08:00

You most probably heard that SIA, dropped the locally grown advertising agency Batey, for the american advertising superstar TBWA. Now the fruits of the new agency is out in the papers.

When TBWA won the most coveted account away from Batey, they promised a fresher more modern approach to the Singapore Girl.

Ah.. right.

Look at the poor Girl. Not only has she been pushed aside away from the focus of the ad, she is now more subservient than ever. That's not the only problem. The ads are not even creative. Sure the new planes are big, but is that your only take on it TBWA? Oh yar, the new planes has double row windows, lets somehow try to inject that in.

This is Batey's first ad for SIA. Look at how confident the ad is. No big bolded (and really bad) typography. Just the Singapore Girl in profile. Celebrated. Respected. Displayed whole heartedly. The Singapore Girl is a brand TBWA. Use it properly. Respect it. If you think you can do better than the Singapore Girl, ditch her. Think of something smart to replace her with. Do not put her in a corner like some asian subservient servant.

Back to the drawing board.

I was asleep

2008-03-21T09:55:00.002+08:00

Just because you read this blog

2008-02-27T09:18:00.003+08:00

You are invited.

Good Morning

2008-02-26T09:32:00.003+08:00

An incomplete Essay

2008-02-22T11:15:00.002+08:00

"I was asked what I would do if I wasn't a graphic designer. It's a hard question to answer, because none of us has the ability to understand our path until its over. As of right now, I want to be a graphic designer more than anything else. It's a beautiful job – the ability to create art on a daily basis. Yes, I did say art. There are industrious designers out there who believe their work to be more than art, and that it performs a function, either it be business or academics. I know we have clients to serve, but I would like to believe the role of my work serves more than just the needs of the client. And that it can fit in between the world of fine arts and the functional world of billboard advertising.

It's impossible for me to accept that my work isn't art, no matter how the established dictionaries define the word art. I cannot accept that I am a mere player in the wheel of the giant consumerist machine. I cannot and I refuse. That's probably why I find it hard to see myself in an advertising agency, whose main role is to propagate the need to buy and buy more. This is not an altruistic high road that I am taking. I have always wanted to do more than just profit (not that I am profiting a lot) from designing.

Art is said to be the great gift to cultures. And that, the gift has to be passed around so that we would all have something in common. If you like the work of Van Goth and I like the work of Van Goth, the chances of us mutilating each other to death is diminished. We have a common base. I would like to contribute to culture in that way. The way, musicians, painters and sculptors do. Designers should view themselves in that same list, and it is crucial we do that, because our work is viewed by many. Not everyone has access to musicals and art exhibitions, but everyone looks at graphic design – whether they know its graphic design or not, is a whole separate inconsequential issue.

We can debate to the death regarding art versus design, but the very public nature of our work must not be abused to merely sell. It must be balanced by society's thirst for education, beauty and inspiration. Our work must delight the viewers as well as implicitly fulfill our responsibility to sell. "

Sex and the Unsexy City - The Three

2008-01-20T03:01:00.000+08:00

Singaporeans has always assumed that they live in a conservative country, modern yet out of touch of modern values and ethics. Naturally Singaporeans do not generally talk about sex. But the truth is, every young twenty and thirty somethings (and even the forty and fifty somethings) are having sex. And they have sex quite regularly. The fact is, we live in a society that hides under a blanket of conservatism while our actions are quite liberal. Singaporean loves sex. It's just not okay to publicly admit it.

Ever since he was hired a designer at a leading studio who works with big name clients, he was found almost everywhere. Cooperate identity launch parties, industry luncheon, design forums and whatever excuse to party, he will be there. Suffice to say, Wan has never required to ever again queue up to go anywhere. Of course, it was at one of these parties that he first met V.

On the rooftop of Odeon towers, the chic new trendy bar, The Loof, was transformed into a wonderland of pink and black. Black carpeted swirling stairs with pink draped handles leading to French doors. It was all so Victorian, with a color splash of modernity. And this was Wan's idea for the look of the newly founded law firm his studio was working with. The co-founder and principal partner, Mr Wang insisted that the firm be called Wang and Wang, even though the other partners had different surnames. Wan didn't approve, but he also didn't care. Even with such a tragic name, his designs for the firm's identity would be strong enough to be different. No other law firm in Singapore, let alone Asia would dare to use black and bold pink as their primary color. But that's what you get when you work with Wan. Rules are broken, and you get the unexpected.

As everyone was congratulating Wan for his designs, he was suddenly caught in his gaze. He was standing there, against the railing, lighted cigarette in one hand and the other a martini glass with half chewed olives on a stick. He was looking at particularly no where, but for some reason, or maybe it was all the alcohol, Wan truly believed that he was looking at him. Wan grabbed Anne, a friend who he hooked up to work at the new firm, to a corner.

'Who.. is.. that..?' Wan asked, almost unable to breathe.

'Darling. Breathe.' Anne replied. 'He is a lawyer at the firm. Not a partner yet, but important enough to be invited.'

'I don't care if he's a partner or a fucking janitor at Wang and Wang. He's hot!' Wan rebutted. 'Is he gay?' he asked, almost hopeful.

'Does it really matter?' Anne laughed. 'Okay okay. I don't really know if he's gay, but he's 32, single and never married. If that's not a red alert for homo, I don't know what is.'

'You got to hook us up! I am desperate Anne! He is fucking hot and I think he was looking at me.'

'I don't know Wan. I just started here. And it will be awkward.'

'Hey. I practically gave you this job. Now you got to return me the favor.'

Anne gave Wan a slight dirty look, jabbed him in the chest and then smiled. 'Fine' Anne replied. 'And if you do get to fuck him, give me the video as a thank you gift.'

--

'So you are the one responsible for making me carry hot pink name cards?' V said, extending his hand towards Wan. Wan shook it, and felt a little tingle. How could a gay's man handshake be so firm. Maybe its a lawyer thing, he thought.

'Well, you should be so lucky. Pink is really your color.' Wan replied, smiling ever so boldly. V suddenly pulled Wan's hands, tugging his body towards him. He pressed his mouth to Wan's left ear and whispered.

'I don't really date and I think you are cute.'

A million things was rushing through Wan's head. How do one respond to such a comment? What does it all really mean? He doesn't date? So what does he do? Wan thought. Does it all really come down to just sex? Is dating in the gay world dead? He has to say something. Something smart. Something a smart twenty plus year old designer would say.

'Get off me!' Wan pushed V away. 'People are watching.' As soon as he finished that sentence, Wan turned around, grimaced and gave himself a mental slap. He don't care people were watching. All that matter was V was fucking hot (cliché I know, but that was the only way Wan would describe V).

'Hey. Hey.' V called Wan back. 'I do really think you are hot.' As V continued talking, Wan was busy exploring every inch of V's face. His skin was almost flawless, except for a few blemishes around the eyes you get from too much sun-tanning. His neck looked so young. It was the kind of neck that looked so soft. It was impossible those belong to a thirty year old. And that body. It was lean, with enough muscles showing through the shirt to entice. His hands was in his pockets, creating a tension around that nice buttocks. Wan was smitten. He had to fuck him.

'So I really think you should come back to my apartment. It's just around the corner.'

'I don't think that's a good idea.' Wan said, once again grimacing. Why was he saying all this things that's he was not suppose to say. 'I have to work tomorrow.'

'Same here.' V replied, smiling with those eyes. Wan was once again caught in those dreamy gaze. He got to say it. He had to go to his apartment, Wan thought. Suddenly he was reduced from a star designer of the night, to a mere teenage boy with a high libido.

'Perfect.' Wan replied smiling, doing a slight toast with his champaign flute.

--

It was dark, raining and cold. It was those kind of nights where you snuggle up with your love ones, whispering sweet nothings to each other, drink hot milk and watch bad television show reruns. At precisely this moment, it was one of those nights, and Zat was alone, in Starbucks no less. When they said that coffeehouses were the best place to meet other people, they were lying. How can you meet other people, when all other people are with other people, Zat thought. He shruged off the feeling, dug into a huge piece of cheesecake and munched on it real slowly.

Zat's last relationship didn't end that badly. It was one of those relationships where the magic just stops. One of them just decided that it was not working anymore, and the other just did not bother fighting for it. Zat missed him terribly of course, but he also believed he had moved on. He only wished moving on means moving on to another guy. That's problematic part it seems. Zat had trouble finding new guys to date. And he seems to believe that's because he's not exactly the type of gay guy other gay guys are going for.

'I'm too fat Wan. I'm too fat and no one loves a fat person!' Zat suddenly confessed one day, in the changing room of Topman while Wan was trying on some jeans, he himself seems to have trouble fitting into. Wan was shaken, both by the fact that he can no longer fit into a size 30, and Zat's sudden development of an inferiority complex. You see, Zat was the confident one among the three. Even though he's not exactly the thin type – in fact he's quite chunky in certain places, he has this vivacious personality coupled with that indestructible confidence. Zat exude an aura of awesomeness. Almost like a superhero. He just don't look like one.

'Honey. You don't say such things while I am trying on jeans –'

'I'm serious!' Zat cut in. 'It's been a freaking year! I am still single and horny. What's is wrong with me?'

'Nothing is wrong with you.' Wan replied, rolling jeans off his legs he attempted to fit on. 'Just that maybe you could be quite threatening.' Wan added. He really wanted to suggest a gym membership to him, and try to get some sort of exercise routine into his life, but he held back, and tried to be a good friend.

'Threatening? How can I be threatening? I'm a musician! I'm a fucking musician and could not even get a date. A single date. Is that too much to ask for Wan? Am I really that fat?' Zat asked. His face had this serious look like he was expecting a serious answer.

'You really want me to answer that?' Wan looked back pleadingly.

'Yes.' Zat nodded, crossing his arms.

'Well maybe you could lose a small couple of kilos?' Wan suggested.

Zat rolled his eyes in response.

'Urgh. Sometimes I think this gay thing is just so fucked up.'

--

While Zat was contemplating his singlehood, over a cuppa, Hahn's lips was all over Benjamin's nipples. It was the perfect setting for a hot steamy sex session. His place was free, new sheets for the queen size bed and candles everywhere. The setting was perfect, unfortunately the sex was not as hot or steamy as Hahn would expect.

'You.. are.. soft..' Hahn whispered, in between licking, sucking and whatever it is you can do with a soft penis.

'Yeah..' Benjamin replied casually, shrugging his seventeen year old broad shoulders.

Hahn was disturbed. He has had few sex partners, but never has anyone gone soft on him. It was as if, his 'talents' were not appreciated. And he would never expect a seventeen year old, an age of one's sexual prime to be soft in the middle of sex.

'Is there a problem B? Am I doing something wrong?' Hahn asked, genuinely concerned.

'No. You are great, Baby.' Benjamin replied, caressing Hahn's hair and face.' This... happens sometimes.'

Hahn was visibly shaken. Suddenly Wan words - 'If he ain't good in bed, what makes you think he can be good at anything else' comes in mind. If Wan's words were true, this is the part where Hahn would pack, and leave Benjamin high and dry. Well dry and not too high anyway. But Hahn being a sweet homosexual that he is, refused to allow something as mundane as a limp dick to stand in his way of a blissful and great relationship.

'Do you have a problem B?' Hahn asked almost cautiously not wanting to break his fragile teenage ego.

'NO!' Benjamin replied almost uncharacteristically. 'I'm just not in the mood.'

--

It was Wan's dream apartment. The flooring is white marble. The wall is grey with a subtle tinge of beige and sunny yellow. It's the kind of walls that would reflect light really well, Wan thought. The whole minimal look of the apartment, was further accentuated with the bold and strong lines of the furniture.

'Impressed?' V asked as he reached into the cabinets for a bottle of red wine. 'I like clean designs. Minimal. Function over form. You know...'

'I do..' Wan agreed. 'You apartment is really impressive.' Wan was visibly awed. He was practically twirling and spinning around trying to absorb every detail of the apartment. 'Is that sofa a Norbert? Oh my god. It is!' he screamed excitedly as he sat on it, feeling the sofa velvet textured and abstract contours.

'Let me give you a tour of the apartment.' V invited, handing Wan a glass of red wine. He extended his hand, and Wan casually held it, like it was the most natural thing to do. V led Wan slowly to the second living room. It was not big, but it was not contrived either. Wan noticed that the paintings on the walls were all produced pieces. Nothing chosen, or handpicked from a gallery. It was hung merely for its aesthetic values. Wan always hated art hung just for the sake of beauty, but tonight was not the right night to get into a debate about the theoretical value of high arts.

Wan smiled at V. 'I fucking love this place.'

Suddenly V's head darted forward, and ambushed him, closing his mouth down on Wan's. Still holding a glass of wine on one hand, he pulled Wan closer with the other. Wan willingly curved his body into V's, thinking that his soft sweet lips were like a juicy fruit, a mango perhaps. His hard body however, provided an irresistible contrast. The kiss lasted for what felt like several minutes, but in truth it probably lasted only a few seconds. Wan then began to feel overwhelmed, like he couldn't breathe. He put his hand on V's chest and pushed him away.

'Hey, its okay if you don't want to do this,' V said, confused and quickly buttoning up his shirt. 'I could just call you a cab and -'

'No.' Wan cut in, placing his hand on V's luscious lips. 'I want to.'

'Okay.' V grinned, flashing all his white teeth, like a little boy who just discovered a new toy. 'Let's do it slowly this time.' He placed his hands on Wan's butt, pulled him nearer and knelt down to crotch level. Wan pushed back his head with a groan of pleasure. At this moment Wan felt like the luckiest person alive. A hot lawyer was on his knees, giving him the blowjob of his life. He doesn't care if he was not going to see V again after this. He doesn't care if this was just a mere one night stand. He was going to enjoy the sex. He was not about to let reality and conscience to get in the way of this one moment of pleasure.

Resolution Review

2008-01-13T17:02:00.000+08:00

It is week two in January, and it is about time of that month where most people drop their resolutions and go about their lives. I, being an ardent believer of resolutions, and just plain stubborn, however, refuse to yield. Yes it is strange, how a person like me, who is widely believed by his circle of friends to suffer from commitment phobia to be so, well, committed to his resolutions. So, I believe it is only perfect for me to review my resolutions and document them for the world to read (the world being those very few readers including you whom I can count with my toes).

Here goes:

Continue fitness regime I started last year with more resolve
Oh how cliché can you get. Yes. Like almost every gay man on this planet (yes this even include the not so typical gay Zat), I need to get fitter. Aside from the minor problem with the weighing scale – nothing major, just a little inaccuracy on the scale department, making me actually three fucking kgs heavier than I really thought I was. How tragic right? At least I have been discipline on the gym department. Not so on the cardio and food. More running? I don't know. Suddenly the only solitary cardiovascular exercise I like to do, is wanking while watching asian porn.

Save money and be more thrifty
This is sadly more of a necessity than anything else. Having worked at a place I loved and found myself in a career where I had always dreamt to be in, and being there for over a year, I found myself in an unfortunate predicament of having no solid savings. I do not have an emergency stash of money anywhere. I have no saving plans. I have insurances and endowment plans I signed up merely for the attractive cash backs options, and the ability to reap the rewards of my premiums on top of the sad interest rates these insurance companies are paying me. Other than that, na da. No fluid cash storage anywhere. I live paycheck to paycheck, and this needs to stop. So I started myself a little excel spreadsheet (and I took a week to learn how to use those excel formulas!) where I document everything I spent on in a month, and suddenly my bank balance is looking healthier than ever. Apparently documenting that expensive $18 lunch and seeing how it affects your budget makes you think twice about doing that again. Inflation you can bite me!

Be a better Designer.
How do one be a better designer? You spent years trying to understand how those designers do what they do and try to do professional design like them. And then you polish up your portfolio, thinking you are all that, and try to apply for a position at a design studio. Getting a position at a design studio is a dream most designers dream of. It's difficult, requires hard work and many give up after endless unsuccessful portfolio interviews. For reasons that is perhaps above me, I was offered a place in a studio. I was exhilarated. Now that I am looking back at my portfolio, I cringed. There is no way I am hired because of that portfolio. Perhaps it's my height. I don't know. All I know is I need to continue be a better designer. How do one be a better designer? I think this is one of those lifelong aims. You may never know, but that's probably the point.

Go back to school
After talking to a few people (my colleagues, friends, people in the industry, recent graduates), I am starting to reconsider this resolution. But I have this strong gut feeling that I need to do this business degree I have been considering for almost a year. Financials is an obstacle, but it's not an obstacle high enough to stand in my way.

Love more
Still trying.

The Three - Lies

2008-01-13T01:49:00.000+08:00

Stereotypes are only stereotypes because they are true. We all belong to one, and it is an inescapable fact. The gays and straights both have their own clichés. Non-conformity is dead because all the non-conformist are dead. We conform to a certain social standards and form cliques of our own. In a city of four million, Singapore is a like a giant high school cafeteria. Popular cliques rule the roost, and we all secretly want to be part of them.

Zat unfolded the napkin and looked around the restaurant with relief. Even if he's not earning that much, or has anybody special in his life, there is still a place like Mikes where there's no pretenses. The food was great and more importantly affordable. Service is not much to rave about, but at least there is no bullshit. You come to Mikes to dine, talk and enjoy the company of your friends. Not to be treated like kings. Unlike restaurants in the upper town – the Mezza or Carrasale, where no one in there really enjoys the food, or the pretentious service. Mikes straddle the line between class and not-really-there-yet which makes it all hip and trendy. It is expensive enough to make the students with too much time stay away, but yet cheap enough for those who just started with their careers to enjoy themselves.

Zat drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited at the table. Wan and Hahn has yet to arrive, but they will any minute now, appear at the door, waved their friendly wave, smile the best smile ever and just non-chalantly ignore the fact that they were twenty minutes late. Being the earliest to arrive, gave him the opportunity to scope out the scene. The first things he noticed were the sudden increase in the number couples. They were practically everywhere. 'Were they always there?' he thought to himself. Did he only begin to notice them, when he is now at his most vulnerable? Vulnerable not because he is alone, but because he was the only one alone. Hahn is now happily attached. Well attached at least. The happily part can come later. And Wan. Well Wan makes everyone feels lonely.

He remembered clearly when Hahn first made the announcement about the boy he's dating. It was at the very same table. 'I'm seeing someone!' Hahn suddenly blurted out then looking around waiting for some sort of excited response. Wan was suddenly very interested with the paper napkins arrangement, pretending to study them, and Zat stopped his sentence mid air. 'You are?' Zat replied cautiously. 'Wow.. who? When? Why? How? What happened?' Zat asked, expecting an answer in the exact same manner it was asked. Zat suddenly noticed, Wan's suspicious silence on the matter. 'Wan... Why are you so quiet?' he questioned. Wan then looked at Hahn pleadingly and nudged his head towards Zat, indicating that Hahn should explain himself. 'Well.. Wan already knew. I told him like two weeks ago..'

'Two fucking weeks!'

Actually it was more like two months. But telling that to Zat would mean treachery of the highest degree. The three did not keep things from each other, especially not someone you are dating. But for some reason or another, Hahn decided that his illicit tryst be kept from the rest. He only told Wan only because Wan found out accidentally when he was playing around with Hahn's cell. Wan really wanted to tell Zat, but he didn't know how he would react to the part where the boyfriend is only seventeen years old.

'You mean he's not even eighteen!' Wan exclaimed in the most dramatic fashion, when he found out he's age. 'Honey, isn't that like illegal over here?'

'Sixteen is the legal age of fornication.' Hahn explained, knowing that using technical legal facts as an excuse would not hide the fact he is dating a child. 'Besides, we haven't even had sex yet!'

'Great! You are not a pedophile.. yet.' Wan replied, rolling his eyes.

The door at Mikes opened, and enter Wan. He's a tall, this time in a casual long sleeve dress shirts and tailored jeans that shows off his long defined legs really well. Wan is not technically a beautiful person. But his height, and his muscled stature was usually enough to impress. And if that was not enough, there was his smile. A smile he used often to get away with things mere mortals could not. He walked over to the table smiling, water dripping from his cuffs and forehead.

'Did you walked in the rain?' Zat looked up at Wan more amused than surprised.

'Well, I didn't have an umbrella with me, and I can't run fast enough with these silly boots,' Wan said, pointing to his shoes. 'Where's Hahn anyway? He's coming right?'

'Oh he's coming. He better anyway.' Zat opened the menu as Wan settled into his sit. 'Let's order first shall we?' he said, waving to the waiter for his attention. 'I'll have one tuna nicoise salad please, with no potatoes.'

'Potatoes on the side at least?' the waiter asked, smiling almost smugly, as if he had suggested something that was clever and unexpected.

'No! No potatoes at all on the plate,' Zat insisted. 'In fact, if you could remove all the potatoes from this restaurant, that would be ideal.'

The waiter looked at the table blankly.

'Ignore him darling,' Wan assured the waiter, almost bordering on flirting. 'He's trying to lose some weight. He hasn't had sex since last year!' Wan added, the waiter now smiling. 'I will have the chicken quiche, with all the potatoes you could fit in it, in it. We'll have real food soon.' he ordered, ending it with a wink.

And as soon the waiter left, Hahn arrived. He walked steadily towards the table, as Wan excitedly welcome his arrival. Zat too was uncharacteristically smiling. This was the moment, where nothing else mattered, they thought. Their friendship came about almost like an accident. Three unlikeliest of people, sharing in common nothing but perhaps their love for dick. As Hahn took his sit, they looked at each other with affection. Their relationships were invaluable, because it is only among the three of them that they could be vulnerable. They could ask from each other for a pat on the back, without appearing hopelessly insecure.

'Sorry, for being late,' Hahn apologized, exchanging caring glances with both Wan and Zat. 'You know the rain and all..'

It didn't matter. They were going to spent the night dining and chatting their fabulous lives away. And when they were done with dinner, they would stroll down the lighted streets of Orchard, passing by the glamorous Paragon, secretly hoping they could one day afford to shop within the guarded walls of the branded stores. They would end their night in the coffeehouse, sipping lattes and eating muffins. In that moment, their life seemed perfect. If they didn't let go, nothing could go wrong.

Almost nothing anyway. A cellphone beeped. 'It's mine!' Wan pre-empted, waving his cell. It was a message from V. He carefully read it, not wanting to misinterpret the meaning of the words – 'Let's do dinner. Tmr. 7.30. Anywhere.'

He kept the phone almost as immediately as he finished reading.

'Who was it?' Zat asked.

'Oh no one important.' Wan lied. This lie however was necessary. He could not tell Zat the truth he believed. It would shake the foundation of his almost idealistic view of relationships, and that sometimes the attraction of the flesh is greater than oneself. He is fucking V and would end it as soon as it gets boring and it would be a clean end. No one needs to know. Not even Hahn, who would probably find the matter fascinating.

So why did he still feel guilty? Dirty? He shook off the feeling and ordered another cake.

Rain - The Three

2008-01-03T12:30:00.000+08:00

Rain in Singapore are never glamourous affairs. Unlike those drizzles in London, accompanied by the mist, and defined silhouettes draped in branded hoods and ponchos, Singapore's rain is a different animal all together. Singaporeans carry mostly black umbrellas (and if you are really lucky, you get to see the crazy aged lady with a plastic bag on her head), flip-flops on their feet, running about for the nearest shelter. Rain either brings about the slob in people (practicality used as an excuse to don the flip-flops and bermudas ) or the most glamourous. Suddenly layering, shawls, jackets and all manner of fashion not practical for the humid weather seems, to at least, make sense.

Of course it had to rain when Wan stepped out of his small shophouse office. Leather boots and skinny jeans are never practical in Singapore and made more so unpractical in the crazy weather. And of course, like a planned, twisted divine comedy, Wan would have no umbrella with him. He glanced at his watched. '6.30.' he thought to himself, followed by string of expletives. Like most of those that lived and worked in the city, he takes public transportation. Nothing to be ashamed about. You either have to be really rich or lazy to drive around here. Wan stared at the mocking gray sky, rain drops falling on his tired face. He had to make a dash for it, across the road in the rain to reach the bus station. But those boots. My precious boots, he thought.

'sure! cya there' Zat squints his eyes ever so slightly, reading the text he just received. He looked at it again, just to confirm the message. Then he looked at it again, knowing Hahn all too well. There must be something else behind the innocuous text. But there is not much you can implicitly say in a simple 'sure! cya there'. He shakes off the paranoia and kept his phone. He looked out the rain through the glass panel as he sips his steamed milk. Glancing at his watch, he wondered whether they are going to be late. '6.30,' he muttered under his breath. 'They better not be late,' he went on. Zat was already in the town since 5. You see unlike Wan or Hahn, his schedules are forgiving and flexible. A music director has to do a lot planning and background work, he always say, to assure himself that he is actually a working person. But you can plan and do background work while sipping milk and munching cheesecake.

'What do you mean if he's pretty? Of course he's pretty. He gorgeous!' Hahn exclaimed to Shirley, while folding the last t-shirt. He stared at the pile of t-shirts and his face cringed with displeasure. The t-shirts has some sort of odd grunge graphic printed across them, with the words, 'I heart EARTH!' in bold pink letters. Wan would never approve, he thought to himself. What was sadder of course, was that those monstrosities were the store's best sellers. 'I don't understand the world anymore Shirl,' Hahn sighed. 'What is there to understand? You have a gorgeous boyfriend and I don't!' Shirley replied, her voice hinted a resignation only a single 35 year old woman could have. 'Awwww,' Hahn said, hugging Shirley, trying to comfort her. Realizing something, he glanced down at his watch. 'Shit! It's 6.45!'

'I got to go Shirl!' Farhan rushed behind the wall panels to get out of his uniform. 'Late to meet the Boyfriend huh?' Shirl joked in a semi-mocking manner. 'No Shirl. I'm meeting people more important that that.' His head peaked out from behind as he squeezed into his jeans. 'My girlfriends!'

You need friends in Singapore. A city full of backstabbing opportunist, you need to surround yourself with loyal people. People who would not betray you. People who do not see you as just a mere networking point for something bigger. You need friends. True friends. And some people spend an entire lifetime thinking that they do have true riends, only to be betrayed much later in life. But the risk is worth it, because true friends are just like family only better. Because true friends are families that we chose, to stand by us to enjoy the sun, and get drenched together in the rain.

The Three

2008-01-02T01:26:00.000+08:00

A fictional tale inspired by real life characters and Sex and the City. Enjoy. Comes in part so stay tune.

---
Introduction

The splendors of Christmas and New Years celebrations are over. Champagnes are already popped and the hang-overs gotten over with jugs of water and (for those a little chi chi) shots of Bloody Mary. It's January, and the people of Singapore are already buzzing with work and more work. Singapore is special like that (or unforgiving). Others may look at us with disdain about out no-bullshit attitude and all out spirit about getting what we want, but we all know they are just jealous of us. Where else in the world can you get what you want, by just working really hard. In Singapore, everyone was once a nobody, even the Prime Minister.

It is a Wednesday afternoon, and Wan was already late – by 2 weeks. Design deadlines are vicious, and the internal deadlines are totally unrealistic. But he refuses to allow simple things like deadlines and unrealistic demands to get in the way of his plans he made with his two best friends, Zat and Hahn. It's a Wednesday and that means it's either tonight or he'll have to wait till next week before he can meet them again. Deadlines be damned.

Wan however is never totally out of control. That's what usually impresses his Creative Director. Having mastered the art of bullshitting (just listen to his explanation on how the chopping up of letters and spreading them all over the poster is a symbolism for stylistic freedom from fashion and aesthetic constrains, and you'll understand why) , he usually aces internal deadlines with much valor. He is more concerned with the more important things – The selling of the design to the clients. And it depends on who the clients are. From the start, Wan will always insists on meeting the clients personally and understanding their sense of aesthetics and style so he knows what to show, what not to show and what will win. And if he deemed the clients not to be worth his time and thought, the design will show. However the subtly of the craft means that good design and bad design are quite hard to differentiate. And Wan gets away with it. All the fucking time.

The only other person that perhaps could match Wan's precise sense of design and aesthetics is Zat. That's probably why Wan quite willingly volunteered his services to Zat's school band for free. Pro-Bono. Zat loves that he doesn't have to think about doing the unnecessary promotional designs and can focus on being a better Music Director, and Wan thrives on the fact that he is doing something for the arts and the amount of creative freedom given to him for every project. In a city full of gay men, Zat quite stand out from the rest of queer crowd. While every gay men lives and die to party, drink and gym at least 2 hours a day, three times a week, Zat has never touched alcohol, stepped into a gay club and scoffed at the idea of going to the gym. (He tried the gym thing, only to confirm he doesn't really like it). If one were to look at him from the surface, he would appear to be a straight men. Only the limp wrist and the shawl draped effortlessly on his shoulders gives him away.

Zat is blissfully immune from people's opinions of him. His innocuous comments will come out bitter and stinging and sometimes he doesn't even mean it. This is a gay man, who refuses to participate in the regular social niceties, and to most, he's a bitch. However, under the aloof exterior lies a fiercely loyal friend, a confidant and an extremely hardworking person.

Zat slipped out his mobile, and quickly text Hahn, reminding him about dinner plans. Dinner plans usually revolves around Hahn's schedules, so it is quite silly to remind him about dinner plans. But ever since the BF, subtle and not so subtle reminders needs to be sent across. In an uncertain world, and certainly in an uncertain Singapore, where the idea of love is laughed at, and promiscuity is a viable lifestyle, having an exclusive dating gay relationship is a rarity. Every gay men is single, out there to have fun and seeking that next one night stand. Not Hahn however. His continuos search for The Man is hopeful, and even a wee bit idealistic. Wan thinks its crazy, while Zat is quite guarded about his opinions. His one ever relationship that lasted a year, makes him want to believe in love, but a year later after the breakup and still no men (and sex) had made Zat quite frustrated with the notion of love. Perhaps promiscuity is the way of the future.

Hahn works in retail. So that means though his schedules are fixed, his free times are limited. 12 hour shifts are not uncommon and off days are treasured dearly. And within these limited off days, he has to balance the BF and his two best friends. And to add to the headache, Wan and Zat are not exactly jumping with joy about the BF. Choosing between friends and a partner is a terrible place to be in. And for Hahn, that happens almost every week. Navigating this sensitive social minefield is hazardous and it could potentially blowup in his face. So he did what sweet Hahn would naturally do. Be coy and avoided the inevitable till the last minute. He would apologize to either side he stood up and give out excuses, and hope the whole thing would pass. But not tonight. Tonight he needs to go to this dinner. He received the text from Zat on his phone, and replied 'sure! cya there' after much deliberation and thought. If he stood them up again, he knows it would be quite hard to explain himself to them. And he did sincerely missed them. He just wished the BF would be more understanding. No. He just wished Wan and Zat would be more understanding.

That's the problem. As close as the Wan, Zat and Hahn are, nothing is what it seems in the city of opportunities. Beneath the gloss of glamour and fashion of the tall mirrored towers, lies a city with problems unheard of in a democratic system. Nepotism, suppressed human rights and zero freedom of press. Perhaps it is a little too much to compare their relationship with the dynamics of the city, but it is dramatic that way. And drama is never lacking in the fabulous life of The Three.

To be continued...

Those Resolutions Again

2007-12-31T01:34:00.000+08:00

Once again, the year ends, and a new one begins. Already experiencing this 23 times, perhaps one should realize that the feeling of renewed hope and enthusiasm is but a passing wind. A temporary state everyone feels when the earth completes its revolution around the sun. But like everyone else, I never fail to have a list of things I resolve to do when the New Year Begins. Yes, maybe New Year Resolutions are excuses one gives to procrastinate. Why wait for the New Year, one you can start losing that weight, improving yourself and learning how to use that complicated software now. But I still do it anyway – make a list of resolutions for the New Year.

1. Continue fitness regime I started last year with more resolve
Like every cosmopolitan urbanite, we all want to start exercising. Yes it's a cliché resolution, but I feel good about doing it. I started to go to the gym and jogging regularly early this year. I sort of slowed down on the jogging part. This year I am going to do that, and start eating healthy too. That means no more oily lunches. Will attempt the Standard Chartered Marathon too.

2. Save money and be more thrifty
No brainer here. With rising inflation (my favorite Soy Milk vendor just increased his prices by 30%) and a pay increment that do not match this inflation, I need to really tighten my belt. No random decadent lunches whenever I am feeling fancy, no taxi rides just because and definitely no random snacking in mid day. Which in turn will help me with resolution number 1.

3. Be a better Designer.
I am going to read more design materials, jump on every design opportunity with thought and intelligence and look at the world better. I am also going to share my expertise and help all the design young'ins be better designers themselves.

4. Go back to school
I really want to go back to school and get a bachelors. My long term career plans requires that I have a masters degree, so I have to start somewhere. Money is a problem, which explains resolution number 2.

5. Love more
Yeah. Just love more. :)

So there you go folks. My resolutions for 2008. Happy New Year readers!

To the crazy ones

2007-12-12T01:02:00.000+08:00

I am very much fond of the old Apple ads, especially right now when most of the modern Apple ads are no fun. Almost everyone loved the much acclaimed 1984 ad, when Apple first introduced the Macintosh. If you don't get it, the ad basically references the book by George Orwell, 1984. Its about a totalitarian government and the 'big brother' syndrome. At that time, IBM was considered a 'Big Brother' due to widespread acceptance of their PCs. The ad is not a too subtle jibe at them.

Another ad, which I personally am fond of is the Think Different Campaign ads. While another subtle jibe at that time IBM own 'Think' campaign, it is still a beautifully written ad. The ad uses nothing but stock footages and a simple voice over, but the message is satisfyingly inspiring.

Here’s to the crazy ones.
The misfits.
The rebels.
The troublemakers.
The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They’re not fond of rules.
And they have no respect for the status quo.
You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.
Because they change things.
They push the human race forward.
And while some may see them as the crazy ones,
We see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough to think
they can change the world,
Are the ones who do.

Edit: Oooh I just noticed Apple is paying homage to this very ad in its latest operating system Leopard. This is the icon for Textedit (Notepad for the windows equivalent).

Pre-party denial

2007-12-10T16:19:00.000+08:00

Maryann: I look Indian.
Me: You are Indian.
Maryann: HOW DARE YOU!
Me: Give me more wine...

Wan Christmas's Gift Guide that will make any gay man (or anyone) real happy.

2007-12-06T12:12:00.000+08:00

Can you hear the faint chiming of the bells? Can you smell magic in the air? Can feel the bustling happiness of Christmas? Yes? Well describe them to me, cause I can't. Christmas time is here and the inevitable christmas gift guides (which really is a vaguely disguised christmas-gifts-i-want-myself list) is all out. So here I present, my list – Christmas's Gift that will make any gay man (or anyone) real happy-

Hourglass

I have a thing for desk accessories. And I have a thing for modern minimal design. So this hourglass (a cliché desk accessories) with its simple design (it really cannot get any simpler than this) just turns me on. And then add black sand. Orgasmic.

Sons Calendar

Aren't we all sick of those flesh parade calendars (think Trevvy Pinned Up and those free FHM TOP 100 HOT NEXT DOOR GIRLS pinups)? I am, but sometimes we do need a little eroticism in our life. The Sons Calendar features brilliant photography by Dennis Chong, and the guys photographed are all tastefully shot. In fact most of them are clothed, normal looking and are normal people. But that's what makes it brilliant (and strangely erotic).

I don't Need a Bag Thanks

Global warming, melting icebergs, forest fires, haze, sars, death, the retention of 377A. etc. And we all know all of these problems could be solve if we are just a bit more eco-conscious. Everyone has that silly I'm Not a Plastic Bag Bag, but not everyone has the I don't Need a Bag Bag. Besides, the I'm Not a Plastic Bag Bag looks cheap. The I don't Need a Bag Bag is just cheap.

Anna Sui Hand Mirror

I don't know about you, but every time I pass a reflective surface, I stop, pout, posse and adjust. It could be a kettle. It could be a huge reflective door. What ever it is, I would stop, pout, posse and adjust. It is almost like a natural reaction. I am sure I am not alone with this problem (the last time when I was stopping, pouting, posing and adjusting, some one was doing the same beside me.) So what a better gift than a Anna Sui hand mirror so he or she could be stopping, pouting, posing and adjusting anywhere and at anytime with great style.

Naoto Fukasawa

Strange as it sounds, I am still excited to receive Design Books as gifts even if I have tons of them. One book I have been searching high and low is Naoto Fukasawa monograph. Naoto Fukasawa is a product designer, whose design are usually described by those that do not know better, as gray, white and whatever, But his designs do not demand attention onto itself. It doesn't need to. While at first glance his designs appears simple and obvious, it rarely is. The thought process behind the designs are complicated and through so that the user can implement it without much though. Elegant. Eloquent. Thoughtful. Three perhaps most flattering words than can be said of a designer.

The Sartorialist

2007-12-05T11:14:00.000+08:00

It is perhaps the biggest, most challenging decision one has to make in the morning, before heading off to work; What to wear? Unlike the glorious Victoria Beckham (or Queen of the Ants, really depends on the context), I rarely – no make it never – plan my work outfit the night before. While most of my friends has clothing restrictions when it comes to their individual work (teachers can't wear jeans, retail assistants have uniforms and band conductors just need to look respectable), I on the other hand have an almost unlimited clothing option. I can come dressed up in a nice suit or a shammy torn up jeans and tank top and no one would would bat an eyelid.

I would of course try my best to look at least, reasonably tastefully stylish. But that's the problem. What is reasonably tastefully stylish? On days when I would be stuck in the studio till late, drawing and redrawing advertising illustrations, coming up with ideas for the morning presentations or just trying to make the layout look right, I do not want to be in a stuffy work shirt and fitted pants. I would love to be just in a t-shirt and jeans. But the nature of my work requires that I meet clients and clients usually look at Graphic Designers as the authority of style and taste. And the authority of style and taste can never be in just a t-shirt and jeans. Besides, its a well known fact that if you dress up nicely, people believe everything you have to say.

Truth be told is, I am sick of shirts. I have loads of them, but I so much prefer wearing t-shirts. Something about the fussyness of shirts bothers me. There's the buttons, then the stiff collars and then there's the cuffs. Cuffs bother me loads. If I pull up the sleeves, do I ensure the cuffs shows, or do I just roll it up and hide the cuffs?

I like t-shirts, but it's really hard to look good in one. A v-neck makes you look too femme, a crew neck makes you look like a kid and then there's the problem of fit. Do you wear a tight-fitted one and risk bits of you showing through, or a big one that makes you look all sloppy.

And then after I have decided on the top.

There's the pants. Then the shoes. And finally the bag.

Imagine this every morning, five times a weeks. Now you know why graphic designers just wear black, top to toe.

The Happy Working Song

2007-12-02T23:40:00.000+08:00

I can't get the Enchanted soundtrack out of my head.

Today, during my Sunday evening jog, I was tempted to burst into a song, waltz down the block while spinning round and round helplessly with my hands doing small little dances in the air. Only the queer stares from the ladies at the bus stop prevented me from doing so.

And my favorite song of the lot has to be the Happy Working Song. Humming the song while I was tidying up my room really made the chore much less of a chore. I even cleared after my brother, something I would never do. But being the princess to be that I am, I did.

This Enchanted madness could go on for weeks, so watch out world, as I traversed trough my day with a song and dance - well at least in my heart.

Communism

2007-11-23T00:25:00.000+08:00

Okay, yes I probably have too many bags for my own good. But that doesn't mean anyone can just willy nilly take my bags and use it without my permission. This is what irks me about my siblings. Now that my brother is in a stay-out camp (apparently god answered my prayers in a humorous way), he assumes ownership over everything that is mine. My computer. My clothes. My books. My papers. My condoms. Okay the last part is just there to exaggerate the point. I don't really mind my brother wearing my clothes, but is the throwing the clothes any ole how, all over the place that really gets me angry. And I don't get angry easily. Oh honey, but when I do, stay out of my way.

Now then there is the issue of my sister. I love my sister. Really I do. Anyone who can get paid that little to put clothes on mannequins just to follow ones passion for fashion (she's a starving VM), really do deserve as much love as possible. But as of late, she has been raiding my bags for her own use. Once again, being the generous person that I am, I really do not mind my bags being carried by her. In fact I sort of like it. But my bags are usually stored with random pieces of things inside the pockets. Like receipts, and random notes and packets of lube (i love the lube the give out freely at clubs and events). And when my sister wants to use the bags, she just empties the stuff on my bed, scattered on the table or sometimes even on the floor. Now if that isn't rude, I do not know what is. My mum once walked in and found condoms and lube on the floor, because of the sister. (true story!)

I am at the point, where I can't stand my siblings. Their almost brazen disrespect for my property annoys me. My attempt at reasoning with them only ends up in shouting and loud arguments, which I seriously cannot be bothered to be involved in. Once I got so angry at my sister's irresponsible antics, I waited for her to get home, grabbed my bag from her and overturned and emptied the bag right at the doorstep. Juvenile. Perhaps. Satisfying? Oh yes. Evil. It better be.

As for the brother, I got him where it hurts the most. Being the owner of the only computer at home, and sole payer of the internet bills, I password protect my computer at all times. No internet access for the brother, until... well, he learns to behave.

Jogging and Music

2007-11-20T23:02:00.000+08:00

I didn't go to see the city. I went to see it around you

The recent bouts of rain had really put a damper on my jogging plans.

I changed my jogging schedule from jogging in the morning to jogging after work, in the evening because I can no longer wake up in the ungodly hour of 6am, drag my fat ass out of bed, don the jogging shoes and run round the block. I do not know how I use to do it so religiously, at one point of time, almost every morning.

Jogging in the evenings has it merits though. You are not that tired, so you can actually look around you while jogging. And because you are soaking in the sights, you can also jog further. Then again, there are other joggers too, some who happens to be worth the sights and chase.

Though recently because of global warming – now we can blame global warming for everything, finally a scape goat who can't fight back – the weather has been rather erratic. My plans was right after my nine o' clock show, which ends at ten, I would run around the block a few times, cook up a sweat and then go shower. It was all fine and dandy, when it suddenly just rained. Exactly at ten. Like fuck right. I was so pissed, I even decided to forgo doing my abs exercises. I am exercising like crazy these days simply because I need to pass my IPPT okay. Not for any kind of shallow vanity reasons.

On a more interesting note, I was invited to Zat's Concert and totally enjoyed myself can. Zat, super lar your band. Props to you girlfriend. And I am randomly proud of myself that my designs and art are part, albeit a small part of your concert.

After you have stop staring at the two cute boys, please go ahead and look at the gorgeous paintings in the background. They are all done by yours truly. /no shame/

That's Zat, in all his conducting glory. He has done such a good job, I am sure we all can find it in ourselves to forgive him for that too long of a pant's hem. :P

Tokyo Modernista

2007-11-12T21:20:00.000+08:00

I am sadly one of those gay men that are not necessarily born with fabulous sense of fashion and impeccable style. So fashion rules like not to layer stripes on stripes never really made sense to me. And because I rather spend my money on things other than expensive imported fashion magazines, I am trapped in the endless cycle of one fashion faux pas after another. So one of my more mundane and shallow morning rituals is visiting The Sartorialist.

Now I have another great website to visit every morning – Tokyo Modernistas. Be forewarned that the looks of Tokyo Modernista is very much a Japanese aesthetics. If you are like me, and is very bored of the very anglo saxon influenced style of The Sartorialist, Tokyo Modernista can be a refreshing inspiration.

One Night Stand

2007-11-12T01:10:00.000+08:00

Kristen. You dance great girl. Too great for my camera it seems.

Bored hands

2007-11-09T17:21:00.000+08:00

are the Devil's.

Typography 101

2007-11-09T09:40:00.001+08:00

And here, I quickly discovered that something had gone horribly wrong. One after another, bright-faced young hopefuls displayed the products of their long hours in the studio. Book after book spilled forth with content ranging from how to cook a frittata to how to understand Freud. There were personal books, commercial books, literary and poetic books, serious and silly books, childrens books, how-to books, and everything in between.

And there they were — virtually all of them — typeset in Futura.

Oh dear. Futura being my favorite typeface ever – seriously the clean geometric shapes of the letters just give me mental orgasms – is now being regarded by Design Observer, an authority in the Design blogsphere, as stale and overused. Well, not exactly like that, but the article questions the choice of type Designers made base on frivolous criteria like said type being a favorite. Kind of like what I have been doing for awhile now.

Choosing a typeface is fun, and making language visible is nothing short of enchanting; in these modern, computationally-enabled days, it's also way too easy to wander and stumble and fall. To fail to address the degree to which design history plays a fundamental role in any typographic course of study is nothing short of tragic.

A fundamental read for the designer that cares for typography.

Romanticism and not the art movement

2007-11-07T00:35:00.000+08:00

What I really love about working on Christmas projects is the ample amount of illustrating opportunities I get to indulge in. While at heart I am really just an artist who just wants to sketch whimsical monster the whole day, my miserable skills with the pencil, and not to mention the amount of money I am going to make as a full time illustrator (not much), really keeps me at reality bay. So when the holiday hits the businesses with full force, and they don't mind a little illustration in the name of the Christmas spirit, errm... well they hire me. (A designer got to do a little freelancing on the side, to actually afford a humane christmas.)

Designing and illustrating is seemingly similar. Both deal with images, proportions, shapes, colors and composition. But while designing is cerebral and almost devoid of personality, illustrating is a heart-on emotive experience. It's a contrast of writing an instruction manual and writing a heart wrenching novella. An illustrator almost cannot avoid leaving a mark of himself in his work. Designers on the other hand, try their hardest to make the work all about the client.

This client of mine, seems really open to most ideas (except the shirtless boys and girl angels on a huge Santa idea, I wonder why :P) and really is generous with his praises. Being in this industry for awhile, you will learn to differentiate the real praises and critics from the fake ones, but the occasional barrage of praises really does help boost the ego. Here is a tip to get the most from your designer, stroke his ego endlessly. He will work harder for you than a hebrew slave.

I love design work that makes use of illustrations. The presence of an artist's touch in a design makes it all so romantic. Squiggly lines. Rough edges. The process of the work is transparent to the audience Compare this to clean typography, conceptual photography all packed in a sleek glossy print. It is almost fake. The world is not that perfect. No one writes in Helvetica. (Though if you have to write in a typeface, I would rather write in Futura).

Maybe one day, after I am tired trenching down in the dirty world of graphic design, I would settle being a freelance illustrator, of course with typographical wits and wisdom. My days would be busy trying to get inspired and sketching on notepads. Lots of walk in the park and slow lunches. Occasionally an idea would struck, and I would quickly take out my sketchpad (I would of course, carry my sketchpad everywhere I go) and record the idea in sketch. My close friends would just look at each other and sigh at my quirkiness. While those not too close acquaintances would either be drawn to me armed with curiosity or repelled away by the strangeness.

And at the peak of my illustrating career, I would be invited to illustrate huge murals at a new fancy government building, where millions will see and agree unanimously at my ingenuity. I will be awarded the cultural medallion just because I am too old to receive any other award, and I will die, leaving behind sketches more precious than any other public work ever erected in my name.

Glory Train

2007-11-06T00:17:00.000+08:00

A majority of us Singaporean commute to work on public transportation, seeing as how it is insanely expensive to own a car. I did my calculation, and it is still cheaper to commute with a taxi everyday, then to actually drive. Nothing wrong with public transportation really. I usually see the peak hour train ride as a glimpse to the slice of the Singaporean life. If you can deal with the crowd, stupidity of people and general discomfort, a train ride can be the most inspiring activity of the day. Though on unfortunate days, a train ride could be the deal breaker for everything else.

And on some fortunate days, you not only get inspired, but get to enjoy the shallow physical beauty of men as well. And when I say men, I mean men, not humanity in general. :)

He stepped in with much purpose. Our gaze immediately caught. Amidst the crowds of hands and heads, it seems we were meant to meet. But alas, non of us had the boldness to do so. He walked in, and stood beside the lady, who was standing beside me. It was a calculated position. To stand not to far, yet not obviously close. As I continue with my gazing of this aloof man, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bible. 'Oh my God,' the inner voice exclaimed. Oh my god indeed.

What we have here, is a god fearing beauty.

And he was a beauty. I was about to excuse the bible as mere theological research that needs to be done in the train – his intense flipping of the pages, focused stare into the word and silent whispering of the word Amen, could only mean that god got him first.

I would not be as bothered if he turns out to be straight (which of course following sexuality statistics, he most likely is). But it is the fact that he is such a god abiding person. And the public display of one's devotion underscores that fact. All of a sudden all hope is lost. My gazing stopped. His prayers must really ward off whatever evil gayness in the train.

However, he inspired me for my next christmas card project. Angel in the train makes a really sweet image don't you think.

For Cutie

2007-11-04T23:31:00.000+08:00

Okay, so my recent bout with Britney's latest album is a crazy one. A confession made with a delirious mind. A confession made after too much electronic tone trash. You see, I do not discriminate my music. But dedicating an entire blog post for my love of Black Out seems rather out of pocket. This morning I woke up, and I hated the album. I still listen to Gimme More, while changing my clothes though. Nothing is more confidence boosting than dancing naked to Gimme More. Just cover all the mirrors.

It's hard for me to settle with what kind of music I like. For the whole of last month, I was listening to Jewel like crazy. During the Dream Girls madness, I listened to the album on iPod, during commute and my toilet break. Yesterday, it was Black Out. I just cannot settle. Not even the genre. I still remember my Andrea Bocelli days, feeling all pompous.

If music is suppose to be a representation of oneself, than I got issues.

Last night, right after my confession Ig immediately MSN me with a huge OMG (and more). Surprised. Shocked. Disappointed. And overwhelmed. I didn't know declaring outright love for Britney, is like a gay men declaring support to the ever vile NMP Thio (see how I smoothly worked in politics into my ever harmless blog post :P).

Ig: That's quite enough Wan.
Wan: Toy Soldier sounds a little like Gwen you know.
Ig: I don't really care about Gwen to know that. But listening to Britney is serious!
Wan: It's a new album. I'm trying to like it.
Ig: You got problems.
Wan: Just because I am listening to Britney?
Ig: That, and liking Britney. Do yourself a huge favour and download Death Cab for Cutie. You need some Emo.
Wan: I don't need Emo right now!
Ig: You are listening to trash. Now is a good time for some Emo.

So I did get myself a couple of Death Cab for Cutie songs.

And I am loving it.

Blackout

2007-11-03T22:14:00.000+08:00

Graphic designers are a snobbish bunch. They turn their noses up at design they deem cheap and gaudy. They would be quick to discount overly ornate design as mere fashion and stylistic cheap tricks, lacking the intellectual thought and wit. The mere thought of aesthetics for the sake of aesthetics, would anger them, so much so, most of them are usually dressed, head to toe in black, forever pursuing the passion of modernism and perfection of function. That's probably why I don't hang around many graphic designers, even though I am one myself. Graphic designers are a sad angry bunch. They are angry if they are not hired. They get angrier when they are hired working in a studio. And they would probably cast me out from the elite tribes of graphic design, when they hear my next confession.

I am in love with Britney's new album, Black Out.

Yes, okay I have to admit. From a graphic designer's perspective, the album cover is pretty horrid. It looks like trash, cheap thrill, amateurish graphic design. And look at the typeface. It makes Britney Spears read like Britney Sperm. But hey we were all there once. But the cover grows on you. Just like the electronic, overly produced sounds that you will hear once you pop in the cd. For my case, its the metaphorical cd, since I got it from a little birdie. ;)

I do not know what it is, but hearing popish, electronic and overly produced hip-hop lite all combined with Britney's robotic voice and sexy whispers is suddenly so refreshing. Imagine this album as Justin's Future.Sex.Love.Sounds, but Britney and more trash. It's Justin gone drag and dirty. It's almost brilliant. This is trashy pop done right.

If you manage to get your paws on the album, listen to the Lil Wayne's Remix of Gimme More. That's the epitome of brilliant hip-hop trash. I love it!

Open letters to Random Things

2007-11-02T15:02:00.000+08:00

Dear Computer,
As much as I love your pristine 24inch screen and your delightful design, I am beginning to see the joy and point of mobile computing. Yes. I would gladly sell you and get a less powered, smaller screen but more mobile laptop. Sorry.

Dear Work,
You are beginning to bore me. Even as I take on more challenging projects, some even outside the realms of my expertise (product design and interior design amongst them), you are no longer sending out tingles down my body. I need to be excited like before, but you ain't cutting it for me. If it isn't for the cheque you are sending me every month, I would gladly leave you.

Dear Work Desk,
You must understand that I am a designer. I spent most of my time drawing on large piece of paper, and sometimes on more than one piece. I need the space. You, even with your gorgeous woody grains, and fine construction, are too small. Replacing you would be such a joy.

Dear Alarm Clock,
Why did you scream at me this morning? When i asked you to let me snooze it seemed like just a second had gone by and you started yelling again. I can't live like this anymore. Ever since i got you i haven't slept past 6 in the morning. Why do you feel like you have to control me? I'm just not happy and i refuse to let you do this to me anymore. I'm leaving.

Dear Porn,
Thanks.

Dear Every One Else,
I know you lie awake hoping you will one day attain a mere fraction of my wit and style, but it's just not in the cards. Love ya. ;)

Dear Ditzy brain,
I know you would rather be dancing and playing, but we are at work right now. [whip crack!] So stop giving me ideas for blog post and crazy shit to draw, and focus on the project at hand!

Yours Truly,
Sudirwan J
Bored Designer

Quickie

2007-10-28T23:13:00.000+08:00

I am still alive yes. Immensely disappointed with the government's decision to retain s377a. Too many design projects to keep up with, thanks to the In-Camp training. Still celebrating raya. Will try to update with a proper entry soon.

Love ya.

Spread The Word Baby

2007-10-15T23:17:00.000+08:00

Got it from Zat, but I thought I should spread the video around too. If you do not know what 377a (you should really start reading the newspaper), visit here.

We still got it together

2007-10-14T21:12:00.000+08:00

Me goofing around while asking for forgiveness from my Sister (who still gives me Green Packets to this day, even though I probably earn much more than her), while my dad is relaxing in the background and the mother, still as sexy as ever, even if only half of her body is in the picture. (i mean look at that body, the heels and that bag!)

p.s. Hamdan's taking the picture.

Ada Cinta

2007-10-12T06:50:00.000+08:00

In the spirit of Hari Raya, I though I post my favorite malay song of the moment, Ada Cinta.

I know we are all sick of the Acha and Irwansyah collabos (honestly Irwan, stop singing with your girlfriend already) but this particular song is less irritating then their last one.

Enjoy, and if I don't get to post again, Selamat Hari Raya!

A sad day indeed

2007-10-11T22:02:00.000+08:00

I was once asked what I thought of the Paris Hilton situation. This was when she released her sex tape and would eventually gain world wide notoriety. This was also when I had no idea who she was. 'So what do you think of the whole Paris Hilton issue?' a friend casually asked. My mind panicked. My mouth dried out. Do I admit the fallacy that I have no idea what the issue was about? Or do I lie? I decided against my better judgment and lied. 'Oh yes. Terrible. Terrible the whole Paris Hilton situation.' I said and quickly changed the subject.

When I reached home, I logged on to the net immediately to read on what had happen to the Hilton Hotel in Paris. Yes. I honestly believed the whole ho-ha involves the actual Hilton establishment. Was there a fire? Was it robbed? Were important dignitaries involved? It was only after much searching, did I finally realize that there was such a person called Paris Hilton, and what she had done. Now I see her everywhere.

I define myself as a person of knowledge - I know what I know , I know what I do not know and I know what I need to know. However what keeps me unsettled, the stuff that keeps me awake at night is that I do not know what I do not know - like Paris Hilton. Was my life adversely different from now, when I did not know the famed heiress? It's strange when you begin to learn something new, it begins to appear everywhere. Things you have never seen, is suddenly seen all over. Was it always there, only to be noticed when you actually realized its existence?

Knowing is the eternal quest of man. We are, however you put it, defined by the knowledge we possess. With the internet and the free access to knowledge, it seems unlikely that anyone of at least acceptable intelligence to be ignorant of world affairs. Unfortunately, this assumption, is presumptuous at best.

Together with crocs and birkenstocks, ignorance shall be the downfall of civilized society. I was speaking with a few young designers (fresh out of school, awaiting NS and job placement), and seek their opinion in regards to the recent issue of The Armenian Genocide Vote by the American House of Congress. 'What Armenian Genocide?' one of the bright eyed designer responded. 'They are some kind of race right?' another designer claimed. 'There is another racial genocide going on?' one other said, continued with a sigh of surrender. I was stunned. I am not talking to a bunch of low IQ special students here, but intelligent students who actually manage to get into design schools (singapore design schools are notoriously hard to get into). 'How can you not know about the Armenian Genocide?' I questioned, my voice more disappointed than angry.

'Oh we don't bother to keep up with the news. It has nothing to do with design,' a voice from amongst them casually claimed. I was bothered by this response. Not only are these young designers ignorant, but they are no longer ashamed of being ignorant. They even have the audacity to excuse their ignorance.

During the Chinese Revolution Era, thousand of books and scripts were burned. The chinese rulers equates these books and scripts as knowledge and understands that knowledge is power. Now we live in a time when knowledge is free. There is no reason not to empower yourself with it.

It will make you a more interesting person, no matter your current standing, at least.

Confessions of a designer still awake at three in the morning

2007-10-01T03:13:00.000+08:00

1. Whenever I stumble onto a creative block, I would whip out my dick and masturbate like crazy. If this happens at work, then I really can't get over the creative block, unless I get to get off. Strange I know. But the reason I think most creatives get into a mental block is because of built up stress. When there are so many things to do, naturally the mind shuts down. When the mind shuts down, we can't get any thinking done. And since creative work demands that the brain operates at its peak, the only way to get over the creative block is to de-stress. What better way to de-stress than masturbation.

2. During my more straight in-denial years (when I use to date girls), I would use my art to attract the ladies. I would draw, paint, design and print and for some strange reason, girls buy into all these stuff. And when I go into Pieces artist mode, and start talking about the fall of artistic merit during the era of the Sun King, Louis the fourteen, hearts and self-restrain melts. The art thing is not working for the guys unfortunately.

3. My design portfolio contains a few dozens of whimsical illustrations and really few proper design work. The reason being, I spent many hours of my time, drawing, and not so much exploring graphic design. When I was hired as a graphic designer, I was pleasantly surprised. Once I went to apply for a design position at a magazine, and the creative director looked at my portfolio and chuckled. He asked where all my layout work was, and I told him I had none. He promptly told me that I was not suitable for the magazine. Now I an avid reader of the magazine.

4. My love for typography doesn't necessarily reflect my talent at the craft. I am however very particular about kerning (spaces between letters) and leading (spaces in between lines). I am also known to be able to identify font types rather accurately at times.

5. My number one pet peeves in many designers is the sacrifice of good form and execution over meaning and concept. In simpler terms, designers who excuse ugly design with clever meaning and concept. 'Oh it doesn't matter that its ugly, it's the meaning that is important.' My advise to such designers: Join an advertising agency.

6. Due to my bias for illustrations, I am known to close an eye at illustrator's high fees whenever I hire them for projects. I am however very critical at photographer's fees. Not a good example to follow.

7. A copywriter once pissed me off when she told me that it was my job to fit her long copy in a limited space. I told her that the length of copy she writes will not impress anyone, cause it sucks anyway. She flipped me, and walked out on the project. I ended up apologizing to her and writing my own copy. Tip: Do not piss off the copywriter. They are powerful word smiths. You know what, just don't piss anyone off.

8. I am embarrassed of most of my very public projects. I am extremely proud of those that are not so public. Strange I know.

9. My designs have reached the USA.

10. I believe titles in design and creative establishments and institutions to be ridiculous and laughable. It's the work that matters and nothing else. I have seen self proclaimed art director's work that shouldn't even pass through gates of art schools.

p.s - Happy Children Day!

I don't really like meetings

2007-09-27T00:15:00.000+08:00

Okay, so meetings are a necessary evil. My greatest ideas and design solutions are never thought up in a vacuum. (stories of designers hidden in dark rooms only to emerge with a brilliant design are best taken with lots and lots of salt) They are usually the results of brainstorming meetings. But most meetings, even those internal meetings discussing design with the boss, are usually fruitless.

My meetings with the boss usually go like this:-

Me: So here I got a few concepts for this project. I personally like the first concept, and I think we should push for it.

The Boss: Hmm.. I like it. But can you think of any other approaches other than just merely typographical? It's nice. But you know what I mean.

Me: What do you mean merely typographical? I believe it to be the most direct and effective solution. The copy-writing is brilliant, and we would do it disservice if we are to overly design it.

The Boss: Perhaps. Lets get the opinions of the others okay.

Designer A: I agree with The Boss.

Accounts: I agree with the Boss, on the basis that BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH (spent twenty minutes explaining the merits of over design)

Programmer: I think it could do with more colors.

Web Designer: What is the project about?

Accounts: Explains projects....

The Boss: So what are your plans Wan?

Me: Seeing as how we just spent an entire hour discussing, I think I would just go with this current approach. I like it. Any major objections?

Everyone: No..

Yup. As you can see, nothing really happens in meetings. No new breakthroughs. No new ideas. Just everybody, trying to be heard. Worst are meetings that start with half an hour discussion totally in Mandarin and then later me asking for a translation, spending another half an hour translating. An hour wasted. An hour I could use to watch YouTube or something.

Meetings with the clients are the worst (doesn't apply to you V ;P). Not only are most of them unnecessary (why do you need a meeting to tell me about the fonts and colors you favor? Email email email!), but most of the meetings plans are there for the mere sake of meeting. It's as if, without an actual meeting, the clients are not getting value for their money. And most clients plan meetings as liberally as they would drink tea (okay bad analogy).

The only good thing about meetings are the opportunity to dress better than usual. I realize if you dress really well – better than your client or boss – it will guarantee you a win should any conflict of taste arise. If your client is shabbily dress, and you are there in your sharpest shirts, trust me, his or her rights to question your design choices are diminished. And that's a really good thing.

The Rush

2007-09-26T00:29:00.000+08:00

There was a mad rush of wind and bodies. The flashing LED lights, stating that in 2 mins, the train will arrive. I look at my watch. It was 8.04am. 'If I rush for this train,' I thought to myself. 'I will actually arrive 10 mins earlier.' More and more people began to run towards the station gates. The flashing LED now blinked, almost mockingly that in a min, the train will arrive. It was insane how everyone sprinted, only to be slowed down by the actual tapping of the magnetic travel card, and the opening of the gates. As soon, as they passed that, they ran to the escalator, and continued running, on the moving escalator itself. Nothing shall get in their way.

Are these people truly late? Or is there are secret competition to beat the train going on somewhere in these secretive society of executives. Or is this act of racing for the train, the physical manifestation of the rat race? Somehow, losing out to the other executives, will stain and dampen your career.

Maybe, this is an abstract performance art every executive will perform for the public. The race for the train, is a display of defiance. A brazen display of will against the system which is represented by the train. Interestingly, this performance has an implicit message behind it, that can be read only by the distant observer. Try all you might to fight the system, but there is no way you can get to wherever you want without it. Those enlighten ones that gets to understand, never ever, chased for a train again.

Ramadhan

2007-09-23T23:10:00.000+08:00

One of the more beautiful things about Ramadhan – other than the sudden heighten feeling of faith – is the opportunity to have proper meals together as a family. Whenever it is possible, we would try to all come home in time for dinner. And whenever it is possible, we would all wake up early before dawn for a proper sahur. The family gets closer. I get to be more muslim than I usually am. I try my best to fulfill all my obligatory prayers – having a mosque nearby, makes that rather easy – and even the nightly terawih (some kind of lengthy prayer ritual after the obligatory night prayer).

We all (the family) try our best to be better muslims, even if it's just for a month. Unlike Zat's extremist view that faith is not seasonal, I always believe that Islam is a compassionate religion. Islam expects the best from all his followers, but accepts the frailty of human beings. And if I can only afford to be a good muslim once a year, what other better time that Ramadhan, I say.

However beautiful Ramadhan is, my father is displaying disturbing behavioral patterns when it comes time to break our fast. He would take a sip of drink, chew on some dates and then proceed immediately to smoke a stick of cigarette. He would have a euphoric look in his eyes, as if renewed life was sucked in. I understand than, he has refrain from smoking for more than twelve hours, but must he immediately smoke before even having a proper meal. It's like me – a self confessed wanker – would immediately rush to my computer, play some porn and ejaculating immediately to mark the breaking of my fast. I don't anyway.

Also, I am tremendously more productive during these fasting periods. Having no reasons to visit the pantry ever so often, I can work the moment I turn on my mac, through lunch till its time to leave. It's almost unbelievable the amount of work I can get done just by not visiting the pantry at all. And I can even help the other designer and my boss with their stuff. Last week, I had all my proposals done by Tuesday, leaving me with nothing to do the rest of the week.

Alas, its two weeks into Ramadhan, and soon it will all be over. Raya will come, and the much dreaded NSmen ICT approaches. Seeing as how this is a holy month, I will not go into details about my plans of massive wild army orgies in camp.

The Toned and The Lumpy : An Un-intellectual Short Caption of their Imagined Life

2007-09-23T08:58:00.000+08:00

Toned was of course fat in his previous life. Previous life, as he would call it, was not previous life as what those who believed in reincarnation would imagine it to be. Previous life to Toned was when he lost 25 kilograms in total, bringing his 1.87 frame to a total mass of 76 kilograms. The day his BMI was in the healthy range of 22 was the beginning of the day he marked the start of a New Era. Previous life was to be forgotten. It was like Previous Life never happened at all.

And such was the peril for Toned. For he has forgotten Previous Life, his new life was not much of a difference for him. Of course, he was no longer on the receiving end of fat jokes. No one can look into his eyes, and tell him sincerely that he is fat. Toned can even call himself fat only to have a reassurances from those around him, that he is not fat. Sometimes he calls himself fat, just to hear to those reassurances. Sometimes he calls himself fat just to insult those to his judging eyes, fat.

For Toned has forgotten Previous Life, he never really appreciated the changes. Everyday he will do push-ups and sit ups. He will fidget endlessly if he misses his morning run. And all hell break loose, should his gym schedules be messed up by unexpected events. Its like as if nothing changed. He still wants to loose more weight. He still wants to be toner. Every time he looks into the mirror he sees glimpses of Previous Life. The start of a New Era seems never really.

---

Lumpy has image issues, of course. Physically, Lumpy in all aspect and consideration, is fat. Fat is word which carries with it a negative connotation. So he calls himself Plump, Big Boned, Heavy, Thick. Words that generally meant the same thing – not thin. While Lumpy is not that fat – he reassures himself that there are other fatter fatties around him – he is not by any reasonable definition of the word, slim.

Lumpy believes that world is shallow. And that the world places far too much importance on the physical aspect of humanity. Lumpy insists that personality carries far greater value that physicality. So entrenched with such values, Lumpy begins to dismiss those that place – even slight – consideration on physical beauty. He rolls his eyes at those that exercises, calling them conformist. He waves his hands at those who lost weight insisting that they are sellouts.

Lumpy became bitter. Lumpy became deluded. Lumpy became judgmental. At one point of time, he truly believes that he has a great personality. And at one point of time he truly does have a great personality. Sadly, as the day goes by, as he becomes poisoned by his extreme principals, he lost the very aspect of humanity he values so highly. His personality.

It's Britney Bitch

2007-09-20T10:50:00.001+08:00

Well not exactly.

But he makes the song sounds cool.

Allure of Digital

2007-09-19T09:27:00.001+08:00

This is an old article I wrote. Reproduced strangely because the debate between digital vs talent has cropped up again.

Last Christmas, I gave Kristen a print-out of a digital painting I did as a Christmas present. I was not being cheap (though designers are usually misers). I even framed the print-out and it looks pretty good. I must say I was pretty proud with the painting.

However, during the gift exchange part of the dinner, where we publicly rip apart wrappings and show our sincere (sometimes not too sincere) thanks towards the giver of our gifts, I discovered that I am not too proud of Tempest – the title of the digital painting that I gave Kristen. It was not the work itself, but the medium of the piece. It was entirely digital. No sketches. No messy oil paint or runny watercolours. It was conceived entirely in Photoshop and Painter.

Friends around the table generally respond kindly and favourably towards the print-out, but most asked me how I did the painting. “Was it done in Oil?” “How did you do this?” “This is amazing.” I could not bring myself to say that it was done in Painter, the computer software than simulates the natural medium. I could not bring myself to say that it was colour corrected in Photoshop, and that it was printed with a high DPI so it looks good and real.

If the situation was in a digital illustration forum or Deviantart even, I would be quite please with myself, proud even. However this was real life. And to me, the general consensus with digital artwork in real life is, it’s easy to do.

Even though I consider myself a graphic designer first, illustrating and drawing has always been something I do to express myself creatively and emotively. It is a hobby - a hobby that brings pleasure. When I first started drawing, I was an overgrown teen in a train, sitting beside the ever talented Kristen. I started with the pencil and like many overgrown teenager, I was amazed with Japanese Anime, and wanted to draw impossibly sharp featured boys with ridiculously huge eye balls. As this went on, and my drawing skills improved – or at least I manage to convince myself that I had improved – I was eager to add colour to my drawings. Naturally I turned to the computer. Ever since, my artworks are exclusively digital.

Digital artworks are not easy to do, but probably they are not the hardest. They are not as messy as oil and watercolour. There are multiple levels of undo. Magical layers to help you. And most importantly, art software is widely available to everyone. And perhaps because of this, the allure and exclusivity of the craft is lost, hence regarded as not true art. Something that is easy to do.

Though we have to admit that to create art digitally is less tedious than say, using chalk and oil, is digital art less art than real oil and chalk art. To answer this, we have to ask ourselves, how do we judge art? Do we judge a piece of artwork purely on its execution? Or do we judge just the concept and imagination?

Digital painting may never have the romance of oil painting. The combination of the mess, smell, texture and the ability to touch oil painting makes it undeniably real. But do not discount digital painting just because it’s binary. It requires just as much imagination and creativity (perhaps even more) as any oil painting, and maybe even just as real.

The Almost Affair

2007-09-18T23:33:00.000+08:00

To get straight to the point, I woke up, and found myself in bed with another man. Well boy, but he's a man. Man-boy. Whatever. The point is, to salvage this entry from being a trashy read, I woke up, at 4.25 am in the dead of morning for some insane early breakfast routine (sahur for those still clueless) and found beside me a shirtless, boxers shorts wearing boy.

His back was facing me, and he was rather petite-esque in size. I recognize my brother's back pretty well so I was sure it wasn't him. I tried to recall what I did last night and somehow, I ended up, in my room, sharing my super single bottom bunk bed with a stranger boy, who is now still fast asleep, in his underwear! I didn't know what to do, so I just laid there.

I looked at my handphone (yes, I go to sleep with my mobile. I'm paranoid that way), and it was already 4.35am. I had spent ten minutes just laying there – ten minutes I could have spent eating and drinking – because of this boy. If it was a different place, at a different time, I would already grab this boy by his arms, pin him against the mattress and mount him there and there, just to satiated my morning boner*. I mustered all the ounce of courage I have left, and poke him at the back. Yes I poked him. With my finger of course. It was not one of those manly pokes. But a childlike sissy poke.

He reacted. He stretched, lifting his arm and turned to face me. He smiled and mouthed something that I roughly read as:- 'Friend of the brother. Thanks for sharing the bed.' I blinked cluelessly and jokingly pushed him of the bed. He promptly crawled to the floor, wore his singlet and walked out for breakfast.

While it was a brief interlude, we were still on the same mattress , using the same pillow and sharing the same duvet. Our body parts could have touched and this felt like a beginning of an illicit affair!

I think we just need new mattresses for our stay over guests.

*sorry for that trashy bit

Wan's Random Tips to get through the tough times

2007-09-17T23:46:00.000+08:00

For those that need a little third party advice.

Never put yourself on the back burner. Focus on yourself. Then move on.
Live and love life.
Never resort to immediate reactionary methods for pleasure like over drinking, over spending and over eating.
Stop blaming and start living.
Forgive yourself. This comes from Oprah, and its working really well for me.

We are alright

2007-09-17T00:18:00.000+08:00

The alarm on my handphone was beeping rather annoyingly, which means I was too late to have my insane-before-break-of-dawn meal (sahur as it is said among the malay and muslim community). I continued to just lay there. My arm hung loosely at the edge of the bed. My face was pressed flat against the pillow in an uncomfortable way, but I refuse to move. I could feel V stretching beside me, his hand smashing against the duvet and the pillows. We had a plane to catch in an hour or so, but seeing as how little I packed – practically nothing actually – and how kind of V's office to arrange transportation for us, I was not in a hurry to get up.

I continued to pretend to still be asleep. V climbed up to my side, and I could feel the bristle of his beard scratching against my earlobe. I shut my eyes tighter. His hands rubbed me. 'I know you are awake.' he said. I smiled a little, knowing that I was caught. 'Come we got to go.' he continued, before yawning again. I opened my eyes, and there he was. His hopeful doe eyes, and pursed cracked lips. I smiled wider this time, not saying anything, because I was conscious about my morning breath.

'Everything is okay right?' he asked.

I closed my eyes, hoping that everything indeed was.

From boy to a bigger boy.

2007-09-15T23:46:00.000+08:00

The brother completed his basic military training (a little sooner than I would hope), with much exuberance and spirit.

Ah... was I ever that young.

Origami

2007-09-13T00:13:00.000+08:00

It was a serene image. The morning sun was shining softly through the glass panels of the train doors, illuminating him – his edges nearly lost in the light. He looks like a painting almost. Unreal, yet so delicately real. If nature is indeed an artist, this is her best yet. It was not just the image that seem so soothing, but the intent focus act of folding paper cranes and paper hearts. The hard seriousness of his features was a distinct contrast to the soft imagery nature has painted of him.

He was continuously folding cranes, lost in the world of origami. He will switch from folding cranes to folding hearts, and each time he completes one, he will place them gingerly in a translucent box. The light passing through the translucent box, with the colored hearts and cranes in it, creates a wonderful kaleidoscope effect. It was magical, to the point of hallucinating to look at. Each time I try to avoid being too obviously staring at this young artist, the more obvious I become. My eyes refuse to ignore the beauty that was just within my grasp. My heart yearns for such innocence. My soul was inspired. My mind roams far into the colored depths of the translucent box. My body desires the texture of smooth paper.

Realizing that I had drowned into the fantastical world of origami, I snapped back into reality. It was almost like a defense mechanism, refusing to stray further into the dangerous territories of the free endless mind. My eyes shifted from the folding hands, to his focused face. His eyes were filled with much purpose, gazing into beyond the folded paper birds and hearts. Though his folding acts were calculated and precise, his mind was wondering. The further the mind wonders, the more cranes and hearts were folded. He had strayed too far into the wilderness of the mind. Beauty, it seems, comes at the expense of consciousness.

New Shoes

2007-09-10T15:26:00.000+08:00

There are something about clean sneakers that bothers me. Sneakers shouldn't be clean. They look disturbingly clinical and unnatural. I just bought a pair of white Converse Chuck Taylors (so much for my shopping sabbatical), and almost felt that they look so weird on me. I stared for long, only to realize that they are still crisp and clean. They need to be seasoned out a bit me thinks. I, however absolutely loves new crisp white long sleeve shirts. The perfect man to me decks out in a crisp white long sleeve shirt, blue straight cut jeans and a pair of white roughed out sneakers. And for a touch of decadent, a long dark scarf thrown over the shoulder nonchalantly.

The Practice Room

2007-09-09T20:53:00.000+08:00

A poster I designed for Zat's coming soon concert - The Practice Room. I really do not have the details for the concert, like where to get tickets etc, but tickets are $6 and you get it from him directly I suppose.

The poster calls for liberal interpretation and I would be doing you a disservice if I tell you my version of interpretation. I do not want my version to be the 'correct' interpretation while yours is misguided. Much like music, even if the composer starts with an idea, much of how you process and interpret the information, is up to you.

A rare peak into my embarrassing sketches.

Rejected freaky monster, that will probably never see the light of day (maybe the program booklet?)

The Deaf

2007-09-07T10:28:00.000+08:00

His earphones were plugged into his ears (where else would we expect it to be plugged in anyway), but the music was seeping out. No – seeping is not the right word in this situation, it was more like pouring out. Pouring out viciously. His earphones were like speakers, pumping out the techno remix music to the whole morning peak hour train.

He is a young beautiful thing. His skinny jeans fits him without irony. His t-shirt hangs loosely against his pale and delicate skin. His eyes full of curiosity. So much potential, yet he's blind – no. deaf – to the discomfort he was causing to the group of tired out executives. Maybe he was doing them a service. These executives look like they can do with a few techno remix music in their lives. Perhaps that would cure them of their anal retentiveness and slap them out of their drone-esque lifestyle.

Then again, maybe he is just being a child of this generation. The young could learn so much, by just listening. With all that music, they only thing they hear are the repetitive beats of electronic and synthesized drums and bass. And when they gain wisdom, either through age or through shear realization that their lives do not revolve around house music or the latest spins by the hottest spinner in town, when they are most ready to listen, when they will in anyway possible seek that whisper of advise.

They are already deaf.

No need for whys

2007-09-03T17:33:00.000+08:00

I placed my head over his and gripped it tight I feel the cold prick of his wedding band on my palm. I look at him but he averts his gaze and stares straight ahead listlessly not daring to meet my eyes.
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” I asked him
“I didn’t want you to know because I know that you would have talked me out of it.”
“Do you still remember what happened in KL? Do you remember what we did then?”
There is a pause, a sigh and then: “Yes, I do.”
It is my turn to look away now; I fight the tears that force their way to the surface.
“Well all I can tell you now is that if you are telling me that now that I am holding your hand you do not feel anything in your heart, then you have succeeded but if there is one ounce of feeling or a flicker of doubt, you will fail.”
I grip his hand tighter. “Look at me; I want you to look at me.”
Reluctantly he turns and faces me.
“I want you to remember this. Happiness is the bottom line, in whatever you do remember that it must make you happy.”
I remove my hand get up and begin to walk away as the tears start to fall.

New Space

2007-08-31T22:08:00.000+08:00

I remembered the words I uttered to my boss during my interview, when she asked me whether the location of the office was an inconvenience to me. I replied with much gung-ho enthusiasm that I like commuting to work because looking at things would give me more creative ideas. Of course, the place was absolute pits. Located in the middle of nowhere. Not a single direct bus, far from the train stations and traffic jams beyond compare. Lesser than a year later, we finally got a new space! The chi chi area of Smith Road. Convenient, centralized and busy and noisy enough to provide us designers with creative stimulus.

Tomorrow is officially the day we would move to the new space, but today was madness. Designers may have a whole slew of design ideas in their heads for packaging design, but apparently the actual packing is not one of our forte.

Veron hard at work.

The whole team figuring out how to arrange the boxes in way that will allow for maximum use of space.

My desk, where most of the magic happens. Yes, I am still busy designing while packing.

My stuff all needly packed in one box finally.

Baby Romance

2007-08-26T19:36:00.000+08:00

I was bugged, prodded, pressured both physically and psychologically to go to a 'kenduri tahlil', which unfortunately for my non malay and non muslim readers, quite difficult for me to explain or even find a similar english word to describe said event. The simplest way for me to describe it is, a religious gathering of family and close friends to say prayers for the family members that had already moved on to the nether world, followed by refreshments and socializing. I never liked going to such gathering. I would feel awkward, sit in one corner alone playing with my toes. Then I would have the occasional over-enthusiastic aunties approaching and offering me coffee and some kuih, which I would immediately decline citing that I can't eat anymore as a reason.

Another more potent reason that I usually stay far away from such events are the kids. If I become a dad, I would be a monstrous dad. Kids annoy and irk the shit out of me. They scream at the top of their lungs, run about at the most inappropriate times, throw things at each other which end up hitting someone else and are constantly sticky. The worst kinds of kids are the kind that can talk. Because I am usually alone by myself at these events, kids like to gather around me and start talking and asking me questions. Once you start answering their first question, you have perpetually doomed yourself to a continuous irritating conversation for the rest of the evening.

'Abang, abang, I like your watch.' one of them little demons would say. 'Thanks.' I said with an authoritative low voice, in hopes this would scare them away. 'How much did you get it for?' she continued, prodding the face of the watch with her sticky crummy fingers. I pulled my hand away. 'It's a gift.' I replied swiftly. 'Your girlfriend gave it to you right...' she responded. 'Eh abang Wan got girlfriend.' the rest of the demonic army joined her. Conversation with kids cannot be anything else but terrible.

Ironically, I used to be one of them chatty kids. My mum would recall stories to me, that I used to talk a lot. I would tell stories of lamps, books and plates. I would play with cups and pretend them to be little house for the ants and force all the adults around me to listen to my gibberish. I would take spoons and pretend that I have antennas over my head and irk the hell out of my dad. My dad, in hopes of making me more interested in sports other than playing imagine, brought me one day to a soccer match. I spend the entire evening asking him what was going one. Soon enough my dad just gave up, and practically left me alone to my imaginations, never again tempting to graze me to the world of competitive team sports.

I suppose in some ways, my disposition with kids is the symptom of a much deeper inner problem of being a gay guy. V never liked kids, he told me. He don't hate them, but having one as his own is not something he would consider. As for me, having one as my own would only bring much misery to the child. I would glare at my chatty kid with my eyes that speak its own language of authority and power. 'SILENCE,' I would demand if said stare was not enough. Oh no. No kids for me.

Sweet August

2007-08-26T10:50:00.000+08:00

August is ending and this strange feeling of satisfaction is feeling me up rather quickly. While end of months are usually crazy affairs for me – what with the mounting projects, nearing deadlines and last minute design work which my boss laps up readily like a desperate pitiful dog that she is. August feels a little different. It could be that my office is finally going to be located in a humane location – near the train station, centralize and not far from civilization. Ministers and leaders of our beloved nation had always pointed fingers and blamed the unemployed for being too choosy about office location. Well its easy to say, when most ministries are located in prime location. I would like at least one ministry building to be located at Kallang Way, then we'll see.

I have also been trying to live like a miserly hermit for this month, minimizing myself to just a quarter of my meagre pay cheque. Yes a quarter of my pay check to pay bills and support my ever high maintenance self. No. I am hardly high maintenance. I don't need a daily dose of Starbucks coffee – I'm hardly a coffee drinker anyway. I realize buying a box of tea from the supermarket, and putting it in the office and making tea everytime I need some sort of buzz or jolt far cheaper than rushing to the nearest coffee joint and getting those overly expensive sugared drinks.

I am also refraining myself from buying new clothes this month. Honestly, how many t-shirts, jeans, shirts, underwear, socks, caps, etc do we really need. I try to avoid those supposedly cheap clothing stores entirely. A $65 dollars pullover might feel like nothing, but it adds up. I do need underwear though, so instead of the usual CK, Gap or Renoma briefs, I get them a dollar briefs from a certain market stall I happen to chance upon. I know. I know. A dollar briefs. Damn Wan what happened to taste and self worth? But they look ridiculously sexy, them dollar briefs. I still wear my CK though if I need to reveal more than usually needed. :)

So August is ending, and my bank account still feels healthy, and another new pay cheque is coming in. It isn't so bad, living a frugal life I must say. Mary Ann, once said to me, in her rather comical sexy ways that she spends cause she can't save. Well she's living a fabulous life. I can' live like her. First of course she earns more than me – damn those high earners in law. Second, I don't really find much comfort in material things. No, before you think I am on some route to higher living base on abstinence, I must admit, I am hardly immune impulsive shopping. But I usually end up feeling guilty, miserable because I don't really need whatever it is I just purchased. The joy of shopping has evaporated it seems, when the act of shopping itself becomes attainable. Ah words of wisdom from Wan. I am allowed to be wise, at least once a year.

Sleeping Beauty

2007-08-19T01:40:00.000+08:00

As the train came in, I saw through the windows that there was a boy sleeping soundly, his head rested on the glass panel back rest and was slouching down. He was hugging his beg, guarding it, as though it was filled with treasures. Perhaps that's why he was so tired. He was treasure hunting all day. What else could cause this teenage boy to be so tired on a Saturday. Oh maybe it could be that he was playing happily in the playground all day. His shoes were scuffed with sand and dirt. Then I notice his low slung jeans and his over sized t-shirt drowning his slim frame. He could be a skater, flying through the air on his board, like Silver Surfer did through the cosmic void. Such activities do tire people out.

I felt almost sorry for him. As I boarded train at an interchange, this could only mean that this boy had missed all of his stops and was going on an endless brutal train ride cycle. I wanted to extend my hand, and just gently tap him on his shoulder. That would be enough to wake him from his slumber and enough time for him to realize that he must leave the train. But I didn't. I was mesmerized by the sight of this sleeping boy. If I close my eyes, and concentrate hard enough, I could hear his gentle but heavy heaves of breath. His chest was gently rising and falling, like the ocean wave. His lips slightly parted – the signs of a good sleeper. Then the train bells chimed and the doors close. The train violently accelerated forward and the shaking woke the boy from his slumber.

He looked around, his eyes half closed, his mind still wandering in the land of the dreams. Then the truth hit him hard. His eyes widen, his breath become short and loud. He looked at his wrist watch and looked out the window. Has he slept that long? What if he was there sleeping since yesterday, and nobody woke him up, because he was such a sleeping beauty. He took out his hand-phone and punched it digits that I can only guess he was sending a text to his lover – reminding his lover that he is still alive and not to worry, or cry endlessly. He was such a sleeping beauty. Sad that no handsome prince was there to kiss him awake.

Fast Food

2007-08-14T23:30:00.000+08:00

After work, usually throws me a conundrum. Especially today, when there was no dragon boat training. (note to those anti-establishment gay types: I am doing this not because I am narcissistic stereotypical gay, but I am doing it for networking and exercising purposes U_U) The first thing that got onto my mind was to stay back at work a little late and finish up whatever projects that needs to be completed. But strangely enough, I got nothing to do. By the time it was four, I was mindlessly surfing the net. I tried to start on my other non studio project commitments – Zat's concert collateral, identity for a friend's start-up and AFA educational campaign, but my mind just couldn't conjure up anymore design magic.

I had my gym clothes under my table, and immediately planned to hit the gym after work. It would be great I thought. I will workout for an hour, head home early enough to actually see my parents still up, watch a bit of television with them and actually have a decent conversation with them. I'm quite anxious to hear my mum's adventure at her Koran recitation classes.

But like life, things don't usually go as plan. As I said my goodbyes to my colleagues, I had a sudden craving for fast food. Any kind of fast food. I have been trying my best to stay far away from fast food until at least I lose a couple of inches around my tummy. But cravings for fast food do not care for fitness or beauty plans. It needs to be sated. With greasy fries and over salted and deep fried meat. Even after horror stories of fries and chicken meat being injected with breast enlarging hormones. Well the story of the chicken did scare me, but the fries staying in your body for six short months did not really. So I marched straight to Long John Silvers and got myself a plate of Combo 2 – battered deep fried fries, chicken slivers and fish fillet and sweet chili sauce. Everything on my plate was oil drenched. I devoured everything in mere minutes.

That's the best part about eating alone. You are able to eat as fast as you desire. If you are with company, there are manners to uphold and etiquette to maintain. I finished everything in twenty minutes. Including my coke. No. Its not no diet coke. But a full sugar and calorie laden coke. Ah. It was one of the better meals I had in weeks.

Of course there was a post meal guilt, which results in me working out extra hard in the gym. My body is going ache tomorrow morning.

Open Letter to all Graphic Designers

2007-08-11T12:21:00.000+08:00

Once, a long time ago in the days of yore, I had a friend who was studying graphic design to become, presumably, a graphic designer.

This friend introduced me to other friends, who were also studying graphic design. Then these friends had other friends who were graphic designers - real graphic designers doing real graphic design like designing corporate logos that look a lot like ink stains. And these real graphic designers knew other real graphic designers and now the only people I know are graphic designers. And they all design ink stains that win awards like the ink awards but ultimately get ignored by people like me.

Do not get me wrong, graphic designers. I like you as a person. I think you are nice, smell good most of the time, and I like your glasses. You have crazy hair, and if you are lucky, most of it is on your head. But I do not care about graphic design. It is true. This is what I do care about:

burritos
hedgehogs
tea

As you can see, graphic design is not on the list. I believe that graphic design falls somewhere between toenail fungus and invasive colonoscopy in the list of things that interest me.

Perhaps if you didn’t talk about it so much, I would be more interested. When you point to a advertisement at the side of a hotel and say proudly, hey my office designed that, I giggle and say it looks like a vegas broadway sign. You turn your head in disgust and shame. You think, obviously he does not understand. What does he know? He is just a writer. He is no graphic designer. She respects vowels, not ink stains. And then you say now I am designing a brand, and I ask what is that, and you say it is a system of differentiating services and goods and I say you mean like a logo and you say no. It is a brand. I say it sounds like a logo. I am from the Valley, bitch. I know logos.

Graphic Designers, I will not lie, you confuse me. You work sixty, eighty hours a week and yet you are always poor. Why aren’t you buying me a drink? Where is your bounty of riches? Maybe you spent it on merlot. Maybe you spent it on hookers and blow. I cannot be sure. It is a mystery. I will leave that to the scientists to figure out.

Graphic Designers love to discuss how much sleep they have gotten. One will say how he was at the studio until five in the morning, only to return again two hours later. Then another will say, oh that is nothing. I haven’t slept in a week. And then another will say, guess what, I have never slept ever. My dear Graphic Designers, the measure of how hard you’ve worked and how much you’ve accomplished is not related to the number of hours you have not slept. Have you heard of Milton Glaser? He is a famous Graphic Designer. I know this because you tell me he is a famous Graphic Designer. I hear that Milton Glaser is always sleeping. He is, I presume, sleeping right now. And I hear he gets shit done. And I also hear that in a stunning move, he is making a logo that looks not like a ink stain, but like a coffee mark. When you sleep more, you get coffee. You can all take a lesson from Milton Glaser.

Life is hard for me, please understand. Graphic Designers are an important part of my existence. They call me at eleven at night and say they just got off work, am I hungry? Listen, it is practically midnight. I ate hours ago. So long ago that, in fact, I am hungry again. So yes, I will go. Then I will go and there will be other Graphic Designers talking about Photoshop shortcuts and something about screen printing and can you believe that is all I did today, what a drag. I look around the table at the poor, tired, and hungry, and think to myself, I have but only one bullet left in the gun. Who will I choose?

I have a friend who is a doctor. He gives me drugs. I enjoy them. I have a friend who is a lawyer. He helped me sue my debtors. My graphic designer friends have given me nothing. No drugs, no medical advice, and they don’t know how to spell subpoena. One graphic designer friend figured out that my apartment needed more posters. That was nice. Thanks for that.

I suppose one could ask what someone like me brings to graphic designers like yourselves. I bring cheer. I yell at graphic designers when they start talking about architecture. I force them to discuss far more interesting topics, like turkey eggs. Why do we eat chicken eggs, but not turkey eggs? They are bigger. And people really like turkey. See? I am not afraid to ask the tough questions.

So, dear graphic designers, I will stick around, for only a little while. I hope that one day some of you will become doctors and lawyers or will figure out my taxes. And we will laugh at the days when you spent the entire evening talking about some European you’ve never met who designed a poster you will never see because you are too busy working on something that will never get produced. But even if that day doesn’t arrive, give me a call anyway, I am free.

Sudirwan Juhaimi

Post National Day

2007-08-10T23:53:00.000+08:00

So its 10 August and its a little too late for me to post a National Day entry. So a post National Day Entry would suffice. This is my list of things that I wish for Singapore. Happy National Day people. Yes we are all allowed to be patriotic at least once a year.

1) You are probably tired of hearing this. You probably heard this from another gay person. But Singapore, for the sake of your dignity and standing in the modern world, lose 377a already. The government might claim that they will never enforce that law, but 377a becomes an emblem of inequality. If 377a remains, how can we even begin to talk about equal rights among races, religions and creed. The abolishment of 377a is not only important to the homosexuals but to Singapore and the rights of her citizens.

2) Loosen up on the censorship already.

3) A free press would be nice. If that's too much. A newspaper that's a little more critical of the government would be a good start.

4) Abolish the GRCs and reinstate one man constituencies. Why? So every MP that is in Parliament is actually elected and not harbored by powerful Ministers within GRCs. If MPs actually worked to be in the Parliament, they would value their position as the voice of people and not abuse it.

5) 4.5 days work week. Is it too much to ask if I want to knock off in the noon on Fridays.

:)

Fahion Victim

2007-08-06T22:48:00.000+08:00

Blame it on Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana – the inventor of the male hipster – that my crotch now is sore.

While I rarely tuck in my shirts, today I decided that I should indulge old school manners and proper fashion, and tuck in my shirt. There is a reason why I rarely tuck in my shirts – though most average height men would benefit greatly from a good tucking in – is that my body is shorter than my legs. Way shorter. So tucking in, does nothing but accentuates the strange proportions I happen to be blessed with. But seeing as how it's the first Monday of the month and I got to meet a new client, I decided to tuck in my shirt tails and look all polish.

So to counter the effects of looking like just chest and legs, I decided to bring my jeans low. Really low. In fact its so low, my jeans are just supported by my hip bones and my rather unfortunate genitals. And it doesn't help that I decide to wear my rather big belt buckle. So every time I move, the buckle would narrowly scrap against my member.

By the end of the day, after much movement, my crotch is screaming to be released from the evil low slung jeans. If women have to deal with high heels, I think us tall men has to deal with the greater evil here. A threat to our fertility. The hipster jeans.

Random August

2007-08-05T22:21:00.000+08:00

"Ey." (This is me, getting ready to make a nuisance of myself.)
"Yeh?" (This is an unsuspecting victim.)
"If my fingers were really penises, would you still talk to me?"
"No."
"Really? Come on!"
"Make that 'Oh, hell, no.'"
"Don't you want me to run my ten dainty penises down your back?"
"Er...."
"Or I could tangle them in your hair..."
"Augh."
"...wrap them round your hand...."
"Stop that!"
"Hey, if my fingers were penises, and I took off my gloves in public, would that be indecent exposure?"
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

New addition to my already huge collection of lights

2007-07-31T00:20:00.000+08:00

A trip to the cash converter got me this! :)

Yes I know it's one of those arcane insect repellent, but it makes for a really cool night light.

Patriotism is in the Air

2007-07-29T14:49:00.000+08:00

In a form of bad design

In a form of over enthusiastic army stories from the brother who just experienced his first book out ever.

And in a form of the brother ruining the decor of my room, simply because getting his clothes dried on time is of the most importance and since (the weather is bad, so he is using the air-conditioning of the room to dry them uniforms)

Daddy fetish

2007-07-27T22:10:00.000+08:00

I find it particularly touching when I see fathers take their children to school on trains everyday. While it is common to see fathers sending their kids by car right to the school gate, its rather rare to see one sending off their kids on public transportation. It's a hassle really to send your kids to school. Not only are schools generally situated deep within the heartlands, the ungodly hours that school starts – 7.30 am for most public schools – means it requires almost immortal efforts to do such. So its rare. In cosmopolitan Singapore, the act of taking care of the children still largely falls on the shoulders on the mothers. Fathers bring home the bacon. Mothers do that and take care of the family too. So yes, Fathers in public transportation, showing unrestrained love and concern to their children do affect me somehow. Same goes to fathers with little toddlers in supermarkets.

Triumphant

2007-07-26T21:48:00.000+08:00

It was one of those morning train ride to work. Uneventful, head filled with design ideas, eyes closed and plugged into the iPod. It was seemingly impossible to get a seat in the trains these days. Even though my ride aren't usually sardine packed, getting seats is impossible. As the train moves through station to station, more and more tertiary students fills in. I like to look at them. Besides the obvious reasons that they still possess the juvenile hotness, they have the glimpse of total freedom in their unfaded eyes.

As I was looking, one of them looked back. This caught me unguarded and I immediately turned back towards the glass doors that I was leaning against. I can still feel that she was looking towards my direction, but it was getting a little too uncomfortable standing in such an awkward position. I turned back and to my surprise there she was, standing a mere ten centimeters away from me. The train has moved and filled the train with more youthful students, tired workers and jaded executives. There was no escaping her.

She reminded me of Letitia. A girl I used to fancy when I was still in Temasek Polytechnic. As I tried my best to avoid her gaze, I noticed that she was wearing red converse sneakers, skinny jeans, a long puffy blouse and a rainbow colored hair lace. Retro. She too, like me, was plugged into the iPod. While I was a total wreck by now – I practically was looking at my scruffy old shoes like a scolded little boy – she seems confident and ready to play.

I notice the little things she did. The flirtatious pulling of her jeans just so she can scratch that little part of her hip bone, revealing her flat stomach. She would occasionally come closer, stretching her body like a feline, so that I could smell her delicious scent. Then she would search in her bag, pulling both her shoulders forward and revealing that dangerous cleavage.

This is however a mere game that she was playing alone. She was not expecting me to participate nor was she going to entertain me if I even did. She noticed my lingering stare, and was there to remind me that she was hot, young and unachievable. She is the object of desire, to be always desired. Soon the train reached the station where most of the students will get off. She was one of them. She left, feeling triumphant I'm sure. I smiled. Little did she know, all I cared about was that young man in the gray hoodie carrying, in his toned arms, engineering text books.

Baby's Romance

2007-07-25T22:39:00.000+08:00

3 months and I'm still standing.

Caught

2007-07-21T23:49:00.000+08:00

It was 11pm and I was rushing into the train to get home. The train as usual was crowded but this time it was a little too crowded for taste and class. As I squeezed into the train, trying to find a comfortable and dignified place for me to stand, there was this old lady, standing rather steadily without the need of support of handle poles or back rests. Non of the young punks that was comfortably sitting down offered their places for this old lady to sit. But this blog post shall not be dedicated to these uncivilized young brutes, but rather to this inspiring old lady.

As was mentioned, she was standing rather steadily, her legs shoulders apart. While most of us commuting on a train would rather spend our time listening to our iPods or catching up on some sleep, this lady was furiously scribbling down her thoughts on her yellowing notepad. As she was writing, the people around her watched intently as though they were trying to make out what she was writing. I took a sly peek, adjusted my specs and tried to read what she was writing.

She wrote fast. She wrote furious. I couldn't make out what this aging writer was penning down, but I do hope on some idealistic level, that I was part of her writing. That she was inspired by what is happening around her and took the time to record it down. As I squinted and tried to read the notes, she slammed her notepad closed. Was I caught? Is a writing in progress something not to be observed by the casual observer? I was terrified for that second. Then, she gently slide her pencil into her rather worn out handbag, adjusted her glasses and left the train promptly.

I looked back as this aging lady gracefully walked towards the escalator. Her gaudy skirt flirted in the breeze. Her silver hair messily tied in a bun. I stared her as she got on the escalator, and as the train were moving. And then she looked up gently at me. She smiled.

I was indeed caught.

And I'm glad.

Asian Boys Volume Three : Poetic Brilliance

2007-07-21T00:59:00.000+08:00

I am writing this right now in an almost drunkard state. I experienced the play just hours ago, just changed into my sleeping clothes and now is typing furiously just so I could write this commentary on what I believe to be one of the more profound contemporary gay plays ever written. If you have yet to watch the play, there might be spoilers, so if you wish to venture further, ample warning has been meted out.

Asian Boys Volume Three (ABVT) is an adaptation of the Singaporean Novel by Johann S. Lee, Peculiar Chris. The first act explores how the writers deals with being gay through the principal character, Chris. Here in act one, everything is ethereal. You have muses and masked angelic beings acting as background players and providing heavenly chorus throughout its entirety. Though the issues and problems troubling Chris are not light or frivolous in anyway, the execution of the first act do reflect the juvenile freedom and idealistic perception of how young Chris – and in some extend, how young gay men – view the world. Act One on its own, was enough for me.

Then enter Act Two. While Act One seems almost imaginary and dream like, Act Two brought me to a completely different place. In fact it brought me to a strangely and disturbingly familiar place. It brought the audience to a modern day, year 2007, Singapore, a society still struggling with the concept of basic human rights and dignity. Here is where all the political didactic begins. If we simplify Act One and say it deals with personal gay issues, Act Two then brings those personal issues and reflects them as political. Alfian Saat has brilliantly merge the two together - the Political is indeed Personal.

Watching Act Two, I kept thinking to myself, I should have brought my mum here. I should brought my straight friends here. I should have brought my ex-girlfriends here. This is because, Act Two, in all its brilliance, the issues it brought up are not new to most of the audience. There are of course certain issues that hits too close to home – like being apathetic to social issues and the obsession with looks and the physicality – but most of the message are already passé. Alfian Saat is preaching to the already converted.

But this is I suppose the weakness of stage theater in general. Trying to use theater as a platform for change is ineffective because theater do not have the broad appeal that cinema or television do. Just try to drag your homophobic straight friends to a gay play they have pay $50 for. It could indeed prove challenging.

I however do not believe Alfian Saat's agenda for the play was to incite change on a societal level. I believe he was merely reminding us, the already converted audience, to not get too comfortable with society. And that more work is still needed. There can be no better time than now for such a reminder. With all the talk about the government opening up to the gays, we must not for one second believe that Singapore is in a dawn of a new liberalization.

It's so easy to be disillusioned in Singapore – they don't enforce the 377a penal code, so why should we care? And sometimes even though we heard the message before, it needs to be repeated again. And Asian Boys Volume 3, does just that and more.

The brother

2007-07-17T22:16:00.000+08:00

Ever since the brother was enlisted into the army, my room has been in almost pristine condition – proving my theory that the room is in a haphazard mess simply because of my brother's existence, right. Of course I do not hate my brother. I think its impossible to hate one's sibling simply because of a single unfavorable trait. Other than the messiness, my brother is a lovable being. He is easy to talk too, nonjudgmental to a fault, and soft spoken. I am also secretly jealous of my brother. Not only is he blessed with a towering height (1.83m) and a slender frame, he stole all the good looks genes from me.

What can I say? Terrifyingly enough, I'm actually an aging 20 something- and a fresh young scamp of the teens seems so terribly young, effortlessly juvenile and barely out of school somehow. Was I ever that young and innocent? So when he was enlisted into the army – the infantry no less – I was somehow deeply affected. Not one to show emotions, I played the jester brother, joking to him about the inefficiencies of the army, and if I could survive the army, anyone could.

Truth be told, I wish I could have told him more. Told him that yes it's hard to adjust. And yes to survive, sometimes you have to betray your principals. I wish I could somehow help him be more prepared. I looked into his eyes on the morning of the enlistment date, and felt the same fear, nervousness and uncertainties I felt on my enlistment date. I held back my tears on that fateful day.

And I know, my brother was doing the very same thing.

On Integrity

2007-07-17T00:25:00.000+08:00

My boss got me this book, the second month I worked with her. 'I think you should read this book before its too late Wan,' she says. Ever since, I valued my 'soul' more than ever. Not everyone is lucky enough to design for worthy causes for a living, but retain that integrity, even if you are designing for that consumerist corporate machine.

Integrity in design is a bit like obesity in ballet dancers - you don't often see it. This is not because designers lack honesty and decency; quite the opposite. Rather it is because preserving integrity in the remorseless climate of modern business is difficult. For designers, integrity often becomes a bargaining chip. We give it away in return for a job that comes with a lot of cash...

Post Ikea Part 2

2007-07-16T22:25:00.000+08:00

Big Light + obscure corner = Instant Drama

Post Ikea Trip

2007-07-15T23:30:00.000+08:00

Cheap Ikea Lamps + Drawing Mannequin + Mac = Chic Designer Work Station

Just make it pretty Wan. Nobody reads them.

2007-07-10T23:12:00.000+08:00

Just make it pretty Wan. Nobody reads them.

Lately I have been hearing that particular phrase more frequently. It happened when I was designing a poster for a certain Asian pastry event. Taking the modernist approach – clean style, symbolic shapes and almost devoid of any cultural references – the poster turned out pretty clean and structured. The information on the posters, information I assumed was critical to the viewer of the poster, was treated to be at their most legible. Clear and undisturbed. Pure legible typography. Not the fanciest of treatments but clearly the smartest I believe. After all, text are meant to be read. They are utilitarian. Of course it was a dismay the client demanded that the text be treated a little fancifully. 'It looks too simple.' she said. 'Spent a little more time on it.'

'Legibility must be our utmost priority here.' I said

'Just make it pretty Wan. Nobody reads them.'

Of course at this point, I was thinking, if nobody reads them, why are we putting up the damn poster? Just to fulfill a requirement that every event needs one? People do read. People must read. People should read.

It seems legibility is no longer a requirement for typography. We are in an age where information and knowledge no longer matters. Fashion and style has become priority. Even when it comes to editorial content. Just flip through magazines. More pictures. Bigger headlines. Fancy treatments. All come with a cost - legibility and the discarding of writing. Reading has become passé. A friend of mine who worked in advertising once gave me a friendly advise that when it comes to educating people, try to use as little text as possible. In fact do it with no text at all. At that time, I refuse to believe that words has no place in life. But now, I am afraid he just might be right.

I am a reader myself. So I impose myself onto the world and believe that the world reads and enjoys reading as much as myself. In fact right now, I am believing that you people are enjoying the words and sentence structures that forms this very blog entry.

Today the nobody reads them rationale had reached its most ridiculous heights. I was designing a mid year financial report and the client told me that nobody really reads the report. 'Then why are you spending huge amounts of money to have me design this report?' I asked frankly and in jest. 'Because I hope that people will read this reports after you make them look pretty.' I smiled and quickly flipped through the report pages. I tried reading it. It was unreadable. It was boring, financial marketing talk mambo jambo. People do not read because there is nothing to read. And my job it seems is to mask the stupidity within.

Obsession of the moment

2007-07-08T21:25:00.000+08:00

It must be about the struggling artists trying to make his girl happy, the soothing guitar strums and the naive thinking that love can solve all problems in the world that just gets me obsessed with this song.

Makes me want a Delilah.

Intellectual Pursuits

2007-07-04T22:47:00.000+08:00

While I do read Graphic Design theoretical books, I am not really a fan of Graphic Design essays in general. Most graphic design essays are usually not graphic design essays at all, but conceptual exploration of a made up idea of a Utopian society – Graphic Designers are obsessed with the idea of Utopia. I like writings to hold certain substance that is practical or at least references the real world. After all designers do not work with fantasy clients, but real people who think the more fonts there are on a page, the more value they are getting for their money. So it is quite surprising that I actually decided to pick up a book of graphic design essay collection. I believe I should indulge myself the occasional intellectual pursuit of academia – no matter how optimistic the writings are.

Looking Closer - Critical Writings on Graphic Design is a collection of essays that are edited by a group of respected and renowned designers – Michael Beirut, William Drenttel, Steven Heller & DK Holland. Not really a new book, but contains enough current writings that could possibly entertain the bored graphic designer commuting on a train. To tell you the truth, the only reason I picked the book is because I am such a big fan of Michael Beirut's work. Did the book change my mind about the state of graphic design essays? No. But it did me give this renewed optimistic exuberance that I had never felt for a while.

"I was raised to believe that, as a designer, I have the responsibility to improve the world around us, to make it a better place to live, to fight and oppose trivia, kitsch and all forms of subculture which are visually polluting our world. The ethics of Modernism, or I should say the ideology of Modernism, was an ideology of the fight, the ongoing battle to combat all wrongs developed by the industrialization during the last century. Modernism was a commitment against greed, commercialization, exploitation, vulgarization, cheapness. Modernism was and still is the search for truth..."
- Long Live Modernism by Massimo Vignelli
one of the many essays that champions Modernism

One Year Old Baby Birthday

2007-07-03T22:33:00.000+08:00

W: I got to go some one year old baby birthday party
L: One year old birthday party?
L: Why would any one year old need a birthday party?
L: First of all the infant mortality rate for this country is very low.
L: So its not a big fucking deal if your kid reaches one year old!
L: 'HEY LOOK WE DIDN'T KILL OUR BABY!'
L: Geeze... one year old birthday party..
L: What's next..
W: So you really hate kids huh.. ._.;;

Hi. I am Sudirwan and I make posters for a living.

2007-07-01T13:30:00.000+08:00

Social gatherings. We all know the drill. We all probably been through it. But being a graphic designer in a social setting full of random strangers can be a very hectic and pressured situation. It is not that graphic designers are social misfits or really ugly people, but it is the very nature of our professions makes introductions very hard. It usually goes this way. You are in a room full of strangers. Your partner decides to introduce you to his peers – most of which either intellectuals or at least they look that way. 'So what do you do?' one of them would ask, his body slightly bend forward trying to hear you. 'I'm a graphic designer.' I said in a controlled enthusiastic manner. 'Oh.' He replied. 'So you can tell me where is the best place I am going to put my new sofa?' he added. 'I probably could. Though I am no Interior Designer.' I replied, my partner sniggering under his breath.

It is elusive the nature of being a graphic designer. If I were to say, I'm a fashion designer, or an interior designer, chances are they would probably guess what I do. But say graphic designer, and this illusion and assumption of what we do for a living is made up in their minds. Take my mum for example, when I first told her that I want to pursue a career in graphics design her first reaction was - 'Kau nie draw draw boleh dapat duit ke? Kau nie pandai Wan, boleh cari kerja lain kan?' Roughly translated that means 'How are you going to earn your keep if you just draw the whole day? You are smart. I am sure you can find other better jobs.' My mother's assumption that graphic design equals to drawing probably stems from the fact that during my schooling year I would sketch the whole damn time. I don't blame her, and now that I am contributing to the family, she ain't complaining much. She still doesn't get what I really do in the office. For my birthday she got me an architecture book.

So here is a compilation of funny and sometimes irritating replies I usually get when they know about me and my job.

"Wow." after an akward 15 second pause. "So you sit around and draw the whole day?"
"So what do you design?" - not a bad respond, but it usually having me end up saying advertising and stuff.
"So what do you do?" - which is not a good thing to say to anybody after they just said what they did.
"So you are like the future Gucci or something?" - design is not equal fashion people though being compared to Guccio Gucci can be a good thing.
"My little brother/wife/second cousin/nephew/son does that too. They love messing with photoshop"
"Finally some hope in this world!" - the most original respond I have ever received. Coming from a jaded lawyer who thinks lawyers are responsible for the downfall of civilized society, it was probably not surprising.
"My brother is a graphics designer. I don't know what he actually does, but all I know he likes what he is doing and get quite good money for it. Envy him." my lovely sister to a bunch of her friends.
"That's not really work right?" - Mary Ann - my plus-one to many social events and backup girlfriend should the situation requires it - when she first heard that I am one.
"That is just a temporary thing right?" my dad when I explained my jobs entails things like designing posters.
"That's so cool." - never fails to get me smiling

First Principles

2007-06-29T23:29:00.000+08:00

I have read and looked at many design books, and many of them are becoming seemingly similar. Some are just collection of good works, presented in a portfolio format, ready to inspected and studied. Good ones, will have a short write up and study of the designs. Some explore certain design principles or philosophy. And some about profilic designers. But rarely do any design books makes you a better designer after reading it. It's quite a stretch to say, but I am going to anyway. Every working, going to enter and studying designer should read and reread The Elements of Typographic Style by Robert Bringhurst. It is simply a must read. I had read it in 2005 and recently acquired the latest edition and had reread it. I still learn new things from the writings.

'Typography is to literature as musical performance is to composition: an essential act of interpretation, full of endless opportunities for insight or obtuseness. Much typography is far removed from literature, for language has many uses, including packaging and propaganda. Like music, it can be used to manipulate behavior and emotions. But this is not where typographers, musicians or other human beings show us their finest side. Typography at its best is a slow performing art, worthy of the same informed appreciation that we sometimes give to musical performances, and capable of giving similar nourishment and pleasure in return.'

There is no way you can be a complete designer without reading this book.

Jay Brannan

2007-06-28T20:13:00.001+08:00

Don't take this the wrong way. I am putting this guy on my blog not because he's a cute naked twink playing the guitar. He's really good. He plays the guitar like a dream. This particular song, Soda Shop is my favorite of the lot. He has other good songs - Half Boyfriend is a must hear - so check him out.

Karma's a bitch

2007-06-27T22:52:00.000+08:00

I use to laugh secretly at them poor women who would rush early in the morning, putting on their seemingly complicated blouses and only to have them on inside out. Once my boss – and if you are reading this, I laugh because I love ;) – came into the office wearing a green button up dress shirt. She manage to do the impossible. She had a dress shirt worn inside out. 'Your shirt is wrong.' I said while giggling trying to keep in that laughter. 'Your shirt. It's inside out,' V said. At this point, I couldn't hold it any longer. I was laughing loud enough for the whole sartorial institution (current addicted to using this word) to hear.

Of course, Karma being the bitch that he is, came biting back. After my work out at the gym, the changing room was busier than usual. Crowded and the air thick with the smell of sweaty men. I decided to just zoom through changing into my clothes. Usually I would hang out for a bit, checking out the crowd.

Apparently zooming through something complicated, like changing back into your clothes is not a good idea. Because as I was on my way back, I realize that I had my t-shirt on inside out. Oh now the whole freaking world knows I wear a size L Banana Repulic T-Shirt.

Karma's a bitch I tell you.

The Horrors

2007-06-26T23:41:00.000+08:00

Once in a while, when the planets aligns, the moons gives off cosmic energies and the stars burst into novas, brilliant graphic design is created. One of these rare phenomenon occurred in 1981 on the cover of Rolling Stone - A picture of a naked John Lennon curled up around a fully clothed Yoko Ono. Of course it's both a brilliant and tragic coincidence that he was assassinated right the next day the photograph was taken.

A highly acclaimed and respected piece of design must not be viewed lightly. It must be viewed armed with knowledge, curiosity and the outmost respect for design. So it is to my horror that a parody of the image is portrayed in a poster for a movie starring Jessica Alba and Dane Cook. I am okay with parodies and direct 'inspiration' for design. But to parody such a well known and respected design and to execute it badly is unforgivable.

If you must steal, steal well.

Eye of an artist

2007-06-25T18:10:00.000+08:00

I painted again today. Well I tried at least. It seems ever since I entered the professional field of graphic design, I have forgotten altogether my love of illustrating pictures. Pictures that just tell stories and not answer to any kind of business briefs. I am slowly drawing again, picking up the pencil, dusting off my old drawing tablet. I am trying to look at the world the way I use to. It was quite awhile back, but I remembered vividly how I viewed the sky. I would look at the sky, study the clouds and really took note of the colors and imagined how it would look if it was illustrated. Then I would rush back, fully inspired and just draw. I would sometimes create the most beautiful of pictures, and most of the time disasters. But it doesn't matter, because looking at the world as an artist is such a pleasure. Everything is beautiful. Nothing is undesirable or ugly. I would like to get that back. Hopefully.

Tommy's Tale

2007-06-22T23:37:00.000+08:00

If you have been reading, you would probably realize that I am trying to recover from the post holiday blues. I ran my usual 5km this morning and did my pull ups with the parking bars. It was a nice feeling, but I would have not be able to do this if without my favourite cheap read - Tommy's Tale. I still feel a little moody at the work place though. One step at a time I suppose.

Tommy's Tale is one of those books that stays on your shelf to be read only when you need that comforting. I read it through one sitting, and immediately felt a little better. It's strange that most life problems can be solved through gay literature.

'And there, talking to Sadie, was a beautiful man: tall, slim but tough looking. At first I thought he was Indian but it turned out he was Greek. His hair was black, short and shiny, and he had the most amazing arms I'd ever seen – they were muscular, but long and elegant at the same time. Charlie caught me staring at his arms and wouldn't look away. That was what did it, really, the refusal to look away.'

Public Conversations

2007-06-22T00:23:00.000+08:00

L: You are posting our IM conversations on your blog.
W: Yes. I need content what.
L: Would you post this?
W: Maybe.
L: SUCK MY COCK.
W: You know I would do it.
L: You would?
W: Post this conversation on my blog I mean.
L: Oh.
W: XD~

Post Holiday Excuses

2007-06-21T07:22:00.000+08:00

Call it a post holiday syndrome or blues, but ever since that Kuala Lumpur trip, I have not been doing my daily morning runs, consuming calories and carbo like I deserve it and having big dinners with whomever I have with me that night. I can feel my body talking to me, to resist evil food, and give it enough exercise. For reasons beyond me, because of this unhealthy side effect of the holidays, I have been a little lax in my work and professional life. I use to spend serious time brainstorming and researching - even through the night if I must - but now, I just do what I can in that 9-6 time frame. I notice the depreciating quality of my designs and still feel no regrets or remorse.

I am afraid to step on the weighing scale, and do not like the reflection on the mirror. Help me snap out of this someone.

Convinent theories for you

2007-06-21T00:02:00.001+08:00

L: You are not bisexual.
W: What?
L: Bisexual is gay.
W: Huh?
W: I am bisexual!
L: So you like doing it with girls and stuff?
W: Well..
L: Then you're gay!
W: How convenient..
L: Let me guess, you are going to tell me you are a flex too.
W: What's wrong with flexibility?
L: You bottom you!

The Nine Faces of Wan

2007-06-20T07:38:00.000+08:00

And not all of them are too pleasant.

In a flash

2007-06-17T20:12:00.000+08:00

Thanks for the wonderful time guys!

New Toy!

2007-06-10T00:07:00.000+08:00

XD~

London Olympics Logo

2007-06-06T20:41:00.000+08:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, The official London, 2012 Olympics logo, done by famed and renowned design and branding firm - Wolff Olins. Wolff Olins is in my list of most respected design firms. But this logo they created - costing a cool 400,000 pounds - has shaken that faith. At first glance the logo screams hell-to-the-motherfucking-no. I studied the logo a little deeper, and still hated it. It screams trends. It screams trying too hard to look young. But Wolff Olins are not known to create brands and identities that go down easy on people. They are the design firm that were responsible for naming a British Telco, Orange. Why Orange? People were asking then, and still asking now. But it doesn't matter. Orange is now British biggest and most expensive Telco Brand. I am hoping the same magic applies to London 2012 Olympics.