Mobile Dilemma

So here's the thing. Due to some poor care of my HTC Hero as seen here (yes, I got the bronze one):

It started to display sentient-like abilities in calling my girlfriend every few seconds on its own, literally. This could be due to the numerous times it has been soaked in various forms of liquid substances, not excluding soy milk and certain well-known brands of instant coffee. Now I do realize that the Android 1.5 (Donut) operating system was, at least a year ago, in a league of it's own for mobile phones but I did not quite think that it would go the way of Skynet. Though it did at that point in time feel that way.

And so I needed another smartphone to take it's place, with the Hero being sent for repair (thank goodness for warranties), which may mean weeks with me having to make do with an old Nokia. Having scoured what available cellular concoctions at the time -which was roughly two months ago - I did not feel all at ease with what was on offer. Sure Motorola's Milestone was pleasant looking phone running on an Android 2.0 but the in your face presentation of the first generation MotoBlur really put me off it. Besides, I was never a fan of slide phones with QWERTYs.

And then there was the HTC Legend. The supposed continuation of the Hero's legacy. However, apart from the unibody construction, updated HTC Sense UI and the Android 2.1 (Eclair), there was nothing in terms of computing power or memory that places this as the next logical step up from where I was before. The Legend was basically a Hero-refit, if you will, with an updated operating system, which does not necessarily translate to it running any more smoother or being more capable than the Hero itself. It did look good though and very familiar as well.

Bear in mind too that my options were limited given that I was still contracted to my local mobile service provider and could not quite jump off to another provider without incurring further delays. And thus I did the unthinkable.

I got myself a 16GB iPhone 3GS, without contract. Yes it did cost me a bundle and no, you may not ask me how big a bundle it was. I figured, it's a good enough phone with a relatively high trade-in value should I decide to revert back to an Android phone (which was more than likely) considering that a recontract was due in roughly 8 months from that time. And even though it had just a 600 MHz ARM processor, there was no multitasking ability, so it should run quite smoothly.

I have to admit the experience of using this was good, to say the least. No multitasking meant no overloading of the CPU and very minimal lag. Getting full access to the App Store and all it's contents, paid or otherwise is also refreshing considering that users in Singapore only have access to the free content in the Android Market if one were to use an Android phone, without any special procedures. However, it's the user interface that I find somewhat lacking. Rows of icons spread over several pages doesn't necessarily inspire me to feel as though this contraption is in any way of form, representative of me. I know that sounds a bit absurd, considering that it's just a phone but that was the feeling I get from being able to customize with HTC's Sense UI.

And so I waited for a worthy enough Android phone to make it's way here. What with the Google Nexus One and the HTC Desire already out in the world somewhere. The only downside with Google's first foray into the handset market is that it was, at that point in time a web-purchase only for the rest of the world, which was quite costly in itself and was only tied with certain telcos in the United States. And so I remained hopeful for the Desire.

There were some Android based phones that seemed to make tiny ripples in the mobile world. The Acer Liquid, the Samsung Galaxy series, the Sony Ericsson Xperia X10, X10 mini and the X8. However, apart from Sony Ericsson's customized layout of Android 2.1, both Acer and Samsung's offerings were more to vanilla Android 2.1. And having said that, Sony Ericsson's own modifications of Android 2.1 did not quite, at least to me, do the operating software justice.

And so I waited. Though it pleased me to know that HTC had in fact released two mobiles of the highest quality in the Droid Incredible and the Evo 4G, I was at the same time saddened to know that these were telco-specific phones for Verizon and Sprint respectively. Still, I was especially impressed with the Evo 4G, touted to be the only phone able to match up to the now announced, soon to be released iPhone 4. Just have a look at the Evo 4G's promo video. Not to mention that it has been placed head to head with the iPhone 4 as it's only real competitor over numerous websites, with this being one of them.

Nevertheless I waited and hoped and was glad to know that the Desire was finally released in Singapore and picked up by the telco that I'm contracted with. So it should be a simple trade and upgrade, right? Not quite. I've kind of grown to like this iPhone 3Gs of mine. And what with all the accessories I've bought for it (solar charger included) it kind of makes it difficult for me to part with this piece of retro-junk. Yet at the same time I would dearly wish to own the one

handphone that I've waited for nearly a year now. And seeing that my contract will only truly end in November, god knows what other HTC-Android gadgets might pop up to temp me. Especially now with the release of Android 2.2 (Froyo) and the rumours of a certain HTC Scorpion sporting both the mentioned operating software and a 1.5 GHz Qualcomm Snapdragon processor.

Oh well, guess I'll just keep watching videos of the HTC Desire over these few months while I make up my mind.

!Hiatus

The period of time since I last posted here was filled with......... changes. Alterations in perspectives of things that once were thought permanent.

Earthquakes, sessions, studies, tech,social agendas......... and most importantly writing. Something I need to do more often.

Besides, I've been neglecting my blog for way too long.

In A Day

The day did not start at dawn. Well, it did. It was just that my day, specifically, did not. And if it wasn’t for the phone call from the hotel room that my parents were in, my day would have most probably, if not likely, started at dusk. Not that I would have minded that at all. Periods of hibernation were rare.

The voice through the phone was fuzzy, like those voices you’d hear in dreams and I still had trouble recalling whether it was my mom or my dad. Fuzzier still were the contents of the conversation. All I remembered after was that returning to my slumber suddenly dropped down the list of greatly desired things to do. Like one of those Resident Evil zombies, I moaned as an unseen force dragged my body out of bed in search of nourishment. Donning my light pink polo –T and my faded black jeans from yesterday night, I sauntered out of my hotel room, self hygiene being the last thing on my mind.

What happened subsequently remained between the realms of sleep and wake. My hunger was satiated and it was only after coming into contact with the cold waters from the shower did my senses spring into consciousness. And I instantly remembered of getting my hair cut whilst being here.

In pretty much the same attire I was in before, I headed to where I remembered the line of barber shops were at. It was about two lanes down from where the hotel I stayed in was. Passing by both the Haniffa Department Store and Mydin Megastore, which were not unlike the Mustafa Centre found back home, I came to the area where the barber shops were. Something about the whole layout of the lane was different from the image being recalled in my mind but I put it down to a probable progress in the development of the area. Not having any particular preference of barbers, I stepped into the center shop on the right of the lane. The Coliseum it was named, not after the Roman arena of death but after one of the nearby hotels that have been earmarked as a historical landmark.

One of the unique experiences of getting your hair shaped by the talented hands of the barbers in K.L., were their equally talented gift of the gab. Conversations with barbers were few and far between back home, most preferring to only initiate communication when permission was required to either shave off ones sideburns or begin further removal of ones hair. Or in some other cases, they would even speak over you with the other barbers in the same shop. That is if you’re lucky enough to get any conversations going, regardless of your involvement in them.

The barber that styled my hair was a native of Malacca and had moved to the capital to make his livelihood nearly twenty years ago. Most of the skilled tradesmen in that immediate area seemed to share similar backgrounds. Traveling from their native counties and even countries, in the hopes of finding a way to sustain their lives. The scope of the conversation spun from origins to those of current events and of course, what manner of conversation would it be between males if topics relating to politics did not come up every so often. I even got wind of a fire that broke out in the lane not so many months ago, which explained why it looked much from different from the memory that was stored in the recesses of my mind. Most of the shops in the affected area have been shifted to a nearby mall which lay in the outskirts of this immediate densely populated and high traffic area. The stylist himself, now putting the finishing touches on what would come to look like something out of a line up of Ivan Drago impersonators, was once a permanent barber in one of the shops that fell victim to the flames, having now moved to the Coliseum to continue his trade.

With the haircut now done, I then made my way towards the nearby Maybank where I was meant to meet up with my parents and brother. Taking a spot somewhere outside the flagship bank of Malaysia, I scanned the area for cigarette butts. It’s the normal thing a smoker does before lighting their stimulant inducing sticks. Well, the normal thing this smoker does anyway. Like one of those Red Indian trekkers who search for signs of wild animals before setting up camp in the woods, except not quite that nature friendly or even as cool. Call it a smoker’s trekking habit because I know that’s what I call it.

Upon meeting up with the rest of the entourage, we then went to the Central Market or what the locals would call Pasar Seni (Art Market). Five minutes was all it took for us to get there, pass the permanent bazaar near the Indian mosque and then onwards beyond the Masjid Jamek station interchange for the Ampang and Kelana Jaya LRT Lines. As the name suggests, it’s the place to go for art supplies as well as to view amazing portraits, sculptors and other works that would inspire the quarks of creativity vibrating within us. Although the experience there was still as how I remembered, there was one aspect of the whole place which caused some other quark to vibrate. You see, you needed to pay fifty sen (around 20 or so Singaporean cents) to gain access to the sanitary facilities of the place but it wasn’t the price that bothered me. It was the manner in which you’d enter that caused some rearrangement in my schemata regarding toilets. Like the action of dropping said coin into a slot not unlike those found in jackpot machines which was then linked to a turnstile fit for most subterranean train systems. This was coupled by swinging double doors that you might find in movies set in the Old West. If I didn’t really have to go then, I would have probably been quite mesmerized with this mix and match theme. Needless to say pictures were definitely taken for the purposes of verification, if not anything else.

Fast forward again and we’re in one of those red and white topped Proton cabs, heading towards Selayang. This was a stop to visit our relatives there who were going to accompany us to the now popular and well-known night bazaar in Setapak, or what the locals would call Uptown or Danau Kota. The cab ride itself was something out of the French movie Taxi with the driver initiating moves into back lanes, hotels and petrol kiosks entry and exit ways to make headway despite the jam. The only thing lacking was an ultra fast automobile and death defying stunts but it was close enough.

The conversations that transpired between my dad and the driver though was something that, though expected, still boggles me from time to time. It was more due to my dad’s ability to strike up a conversation with almost anyone regardless of the situation – coach bus drivers, cab drivers, cleaners, security guards to name a few. I guess it helps when one is working in the frontlines of service. Then again, it was always the other party that begins the conversation and that aspect of my dad’s ability to draw someone to share their experiences upon first meeting, is quite a skill in itself.

It was nice to have met my relatives in Selayang and them bringing our family to Uptown was much appreciated, what with me getting whole loads of reasonably priced polo-Ts and other apparels. Reaching home at nearly 3 am, we settled into our separate rooms in Hotel Noble but our day didn’t quite end there. My brother had this idea of attempting some light writing. It was a photographic technique that required a dark room, time setting manipulations, a singular light source and several flashes. After an hour of trial and mostly errors, we finally got it right. Now he has one of his photos with his pseudonym under it.

All in all a good day ending at 5 am. Need to go get myself into the hibernation process now, hopefully.

In The Journey

The moon stalked me. Its full form surrounded by a ghastly aura seeming to shimmer amidst the clouds surrounding it. And it followed me still. Through water streaked windows it peered, like the watchful eye of a concerned unseen. For long moments my gaze was fixed upon this celestial of the night sky. The wonder of its existence making my own appear inconsequential. Devoid of all thoughts and emotions, save for the unusual sense of contentment then emanating from the deeper reaches of my being. The feeling was short-lived though. For as WRX 2132 sped along the highway, it seemed to traverse in the opposite direction, bidding farewell as it did so.

So then there I was in seat 3C, hammering away on my old school heavyweight Compaq Presario M2000 laptop. Everyone else on the coach bus had already gone to sleep, what with the serving of onboard movies ranging from It’s All Gone Pete Tong, Pinata: Survival Island and Hairspray not quite being the proper kind of stimulation for a trip like this. The sights at twenty three hundred hours in the night did little to help in the matters of staying awake either. Unless you were one that finds the alternating flashes of passing street lights to be one of sufficient amusement. Besides, it was already close to midnight, the time when most diurnal creatures would have chosen to go through their much needed cycles of rapid eye movements. Then again, I am not like most diurnal creatures.

Sleepless nights were somewhat the norm with the occasional lack of sleep nights and the quite rare periods of hibernation. And this night was no different, trip or no trip.

In about an hour or two I would be exchanging SBS and TIBs for Metrobuses and Rapid KLs, Delgro backed Hyundai Sonata cabs for Proton backed, red and white topped taxis, the Mass Rapid Transit for the Ampang and Kelana Jaya Lines. There would be no thrills of possible meetings with potentials this time around. Just me, my parents, my brother and my thoughts.

With the NICE coach bus now easily doing 150 kilometers, if not more on the highway and the low battery life icon flickering on the bottom right corner of my laptop, I am left to ponder here in the semi-darkness of this large vehicle. Grateful of being sequestered from Singapore’s hyper-rhythmic tempo of the mundane but at the same time unsure of what really to do in this first phase of overseas trips.

It was here in the stillness of the moment, devoid of watchful eyes, human or otherwise that my mind became most active.

A Letter To My 15 Year Old Self

Dear Asrorie,

I guess there’s no other way to say it other than I’m from the future, more specifically, your future. Well, one of your futures anyway if you believe in the idea of multiple timelines and parallel dimensions of existence. Of which I’m very sure you do. And no, I’m not writing this from beyond the grave, not by any means. Be sure that I’ll find more prominent ways of contacting you if that were the case. Not to mention the temporal-metaphysical implications of such a venture, which in itself is a nice sub-plot for a Doctor Who episode. You might not know it now but this will be one of your favourite sci-fi series along similar lines as Star Trek, Babylon 5, etc.

Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know 15 years on or so, you will still entertain the pseudo-megalomania that has in some if not most ways shaped much of our drives in acquiring or initiating something. This undying need to create an influence for the betterment of mankind, as a whole or in part still plagues us. Not necessarily a bad thing, though selecting a specific focus of particular aspects of humanity’s spectrum of dysfunctions would by its own nature be both a necessary but altogether messy process. Not to mention the conflict between abilities or potential in abilities and of pursued interests further adds to the messiness. And all that is regardless of whichever dimensions of existence you or I may hail from. Perhaps it was due to our perceived birthright, our genealogy, our given name and that which would have been our name. More so given the manner in which we were named giving rise to such perceived implications. I know for a fact that you have struggled with this name of ours. What it means and how it relates to the grand scheme of things as seen by your eyes, whether or not your actions would impact the world in the way it should and of your own significance or lack thereof within this complex meshing of realities.

Charles Gunn (played by J. August Richards) said it best in the Inside Out episode of Angel Season 4 “The final score can't be rigged. I don't care how many players you grease. That last shot always comes up question mark. But here's the thing. You never know when you're taking it. It could be when you're duking it out with the Legion of Doom or just crossing the street deciding where to have brunch. So you treat it all like it was up to you, the world in the balance, 'cause you never know when it is.” (link) What’s Angel you ask? Only what will be one of your most favourite TV series of all time that would in some and maybe most ways assist in refining your, our moral and purpose compass.

In a lot of ways, this very reason of influencing change for the better is why we seek to be an author. And though I know that you have placed writing on the backseat at this time in your life, preferring to pursue other means of self expression and possible avenues for a career, I’m also very sure that you realize that your potential abilities in those areas are not quite the ideal. Nothing wrong in trying to be the next Jaco Pastorius but through time, you’ll realize that there can only be one Jaco, due to more factors imaginable to you now. Experiences that you will garner through this endeavour though are without a shadow of a doubt priceless and the insights will give you more than just an idea of why most of your musical idols left this realm of existence early. Your current preoccupation with alternative, grunge and punk overtones though are natural, given your age. Nirvana, Green Day, The Offspring, they all kick ass yeah. Helps you to create schemata to deal with all these nuances in what you’re experiencing. You’ll learn more about the whole schema thing way in the future. Hey, even I still listen to them in my age.

Oh and even though I can tell you now that your exploits in pursuing a career as a professional footballer would ultimately come to no avail, pursue it anyway. Trust me when I say that you will be thoroughly tested both physically and mentally and will come out the better from it. Not to mention that you will find other aspects of football more appealing to you than merely being a chess piece in the field of play.

You will ultimately return to written words and the writing of them given due time. That is ultimately the solace for us, both as a form of catharsis and resolution as well as a tool in spreading influence for the betterment of others and a reflective tool.

You will soon read that all throughout history the various ways and means in which literature had inspired nations and cultures to rise and adversely sent them toppling. Of how scores of people are invigorated by ideas proposed through combinations of symbols. From Hitler’s Mein Kampf to the Bhagavad Gita. From Shakespeare’s Othello to Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. We both realize the impact of carefully concocted words on the teeming masses, both the intrinsic burden and of their uplifting effect.

Such are notions that I’m sure you’d love to keep hidden for the most part from your friends and even your family. Fear being the main motivation for this. The fear that nobody would understand all this preoccupation with the betterment of humanity through such means as music, written words and elevated levels of fame, all but a means to an end. Or of how such things could even possibly have any impact on you other than a superficial stage that requires one to pass over from. A naïve view of the world before reality sets in and age and the demands of responsibility wither your so-called passion. Stephen King, our most beloved author wrote in one of his intros in the Dark Tower series of books that you will, in time, read as “the Highway Patrol Boy who would cut you down for going too fast and having too much fun”. But cut down or otherwise, the Highway Patrol Boy failed in his attempt to slow King down. This in most ways reflect the fear you had in the possible judgment others would impose upon you or your choice of actions and how whatever reasons you may present might seem insignificant, inconsequential, negligible at best if at all. “How will that put food on the table?” “Being an author isn’t a job.” “So you think you can save the world through words?” would be the common representation of the feedback you’d get. Doesn’t matter though, in time, you will learn to harness these fears and skeptical remarks to aid our pursuit of the very same goal they themselves reject the possibility of.

I also know of the rejection you received for one of your original manuscripts from one VJ Times back when we were 12 years of age. Demographics, lack of marketing ability, branding direction and demand were the reasons cited for why the genre we pursued within would not be profitable. Shitty lame ass reason was the thought you had then and honestly its still the same thoughts I’m having now. The fact that you’ve lost that manuscript further added on to the notion that a break from pursuing this dream of ours might be the best option. I also believe that by now, you would have already read much on demographic crap, business plans, marketing and branding and have immersed yourself on how you could, in the future, publish on your own. Take heart in knowing that given developments in your future, it is more of a possibility than you are able to imagine now. Reading has always been one of your better habits and you’ll be glad to know that it is still one of mine too. It is one of the means to acquire knowledge and develop our ability to sift between one crap and another. Add movies, songs and other media and there’s more wonderful shit to sift through and either assimilate or accommodate into our schema.

And trust me when I say that you are not alone in this, not by a long shot. Every author, every writer past, present or future is, was and will be ego-centric. The need to express oneself and by extension create impact within the lives of others is I guess in some ways a social drive within us all, whether we acknowledge it or not. You will get to meet like minded individuals in the most unusual of circumstances from the most unlikely of places and through the most inconceivable means to you at this time. And they will be the most enlightening of people you’d ever meet, you can bet our lives on that.

The jobs that you will undertake in the years bridging from yours to mine will not quite be what you envisioned them to be. And not all of them will be of your choice. Choice or not, there is no doubt in the impact it had on your selection of a profession. Yes, you heard me, there is a very strong possibility that you will be a professional and get your manuscripts published at the same time too. Not quite the ideal but I guess given our limited resources, this is the best course of action.

Of all the things I have divulged to you thus far, vague though they may be I have to admit, the only thing that remains an enigma to me of which I’m sure you will agree are those concerning of the opposite gender.

By now I guess you’ve had one pseudo relationship which is close to the current number that I myself have had. You still feel as though your trust has been betrayed in what transpired then but know that it won’t be the last time. And also know that you do and will take a long time to get over such transgressions. I guess there is a similarity in experiencing betrayal and that of grieving for us. The one that was once there for us is in most ways forever lost to us. Still, it wasn’t as painful an experience for me as that which most would classify as “the one that got away”. For the purpose of easy reference and that individual’s privacy, let’s call her Elle. This name is derived from one of the characters of one of my favourite anime series Rave: Groove Adventure. Oh yes, you’ll be very much into anime and manga too. Either way, I digress. You have not met her yet at this time in your life but knowing you, you’ll easily decipher that name and draw conclusions as to whom I writing about here when you do meet her.

If there was ever the closest thing to this concept of “The One”, she would most probably be it. I don’t really know what went wrong or right in the whole thing. Neither can I justify to you on how I could lose something that isn’t really mine to begin with. You see, we were never really together. I guess all in all I was too afraid to spoil this, whatever it was we had and have it ended up wrong in the end anyway. Sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy and it most probably was. Prophecy or not, it still sucks either way. And I guess, since then most of the women I’ve met have been set against Elle as the benchmark. Unfair to do so, I know as each woman has their own unique qualities but it is always hard not to when one has left such a deep imprint on my very soul. And what makes it ironic is that Elle has somewhat of a forgetful quality about her, similar to the anime character of which she is named, though hers was more of amnesia than anything else.

If I do have a time machine, I would so dearly love to go back through time to fix this perceived error in my life. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you in the first place, to warn you against making this mistake as I see it right now. And though I have learned much from this mistake with insights that have enriched my life in amazing ways, it just doesn’t feel right. Perhaps it’s a sense of regret at me betraying myself. A consequential grieving process of which I have yet to go through all the stages. Something which I hope to do soon for the good of us both.

Whatever it may be, me knowing you the way that I do, I know you’re one stubborn headed ass. You will plug through life the way that you want to, regardless of the consequences. And this letter, be it prophetic or clairvoyance of your impending future or not, you will continue to plug on anyway. Just like how I am plugging on, regardless of what I know, think or feel might happen. That’s just the way that we are made to be, I guess.

Enjoy the next fifteen years of your life man, you might not realize it but it will definitely go by in a flash.

Sincerely

Ahmad Asrorie