Polarity

I must say that this is rather anomalous.

I lost my voice for quite a while, even before I started on the story-a-day challenge that I had since given up on. Somehow I felt that I had nothing to say, and that's why I said nothing at all.

Yet this fortnight has seen me writing enough entries that can be considered as an obtuse sense of ``frequent blogging''. I cannot tell though if this is an indication that I have finally found mhy voice, or if it is merely a phase to pass through before I go back to long periods of silence.

Work has been harrowing yet interesting. We are close to a major delivery date for the thing we were working on, and so there were the countless tests and re-tests, bug-fixing, feature-inducing, change request masquerading that come along with it. At this point as I write, I can feel that tension headache starting from the crown of my skull and slowly spreading itself as I count the number of hours that I had slept over the past two days.

Of course I'm tired. Giving that final polish on a thing that we had put so much time into building and tweaking is always the 80% of the 80-20 effort. Cognitively, I am quite distended. But there is this deep sense of satisfaction that I can barely start to describe. If it all works out, t'is good.

Yet beyond the satisfaction lies that compulsion to suddenly erupt into a primal scream, as if to release the pent up tension and angst that had been mercilessly gathering within my soul, like the eye of the maelstrom of interactions with the world. Reading and observing people who are no better than imbeciles keep trying my patience at maintaining a sense of outward calm. I took the bus home from the MRT station as always, and I met the most unruly and ill-mannered brats that I had the displeasure of seeing.

They couldn't be more than sixteen. Their diction was poor; vulgarities and obscenities punctuated whatever few conversational words they knew. Their sense of fun was jejune and consisted of spending the entire thirty minutes of taking turns to surreptiously smack each other in the head. Their choice of fashion was poor---mis-coloured hair, shabby looking T-shirts and bermudas, uncharacteristically short blouse that was at best a plain looking piece of brassiere, and tiny shorts with inseams that suggest better use as an inner garment. Their behaviour unruly as they took over the front half of the bus with their antics while the rest of us stared at them in disdain, annoyed enough to show it but not annoyed enough to step into put a stop to it.

When I saw them, what came to mind was not rebellion, it was idiocracy. And I was suddenly aware at just how screwed up a world we live in.

And that's why I avoid going out of the apartment unless it is absolutely necessary.