Summers Long Gone

I got my first real two-wheel
Bought it at the three and flea
Rode it till i bruised my heel
It was the summer of '93

Me and some boys from school
Had a clan and played real hard
Tommy quit, Timmy threw a fit
I should have known we'd never get far

Oh when I look back now
That summer seemed to last forever
And should the sands of time allow
I'd still want to be there
Those were the best days of my life

Ain't no use in whining
When you had a class to pass
Rode up the range to the railing
And that's when I met you, lass

Standing on the hilltop porch
You told me you would wait forever
Oh and when I felt that scorch
I knew it was now or never
Those were the best days of my life

I guess nothing can last forever
Looking at what's came and gone
Now we're lost in our endeavours
Sometimes I still weigh it up and wonder what went wrong
It was the summer of '03

Inspired by Bryan Adams' Summer of '69

The Warrior Within

After such a long hiatus, I'm finally beginning to ease into my training regime. Today's routine didn't feel quite as hellish as the past 2 weeks, although I'm only lifting about 50% of what I used to do. It's really good to see those old faces again, and everyone seems to be bigger and stronger, which is...not really all that good. I'm no longer up there with the best anymore. Paradoxical is it not, that I should be glad to see them, yet be so envious of their progress. But it is such jealousy that propels us to further heights. Envy, for lack of a better word, is good.

And then, there were the naysayers.

"Why do you even bother, Ryan? It's a waste of time!" Scrawny Sam wailed, in between sips of coke and chunks of nuggets. I winced, and gave Sam the most incredulous look, as if he had just asked what was blatantly obvious.

Scrawny Sam was what I would call skinny-fat. He has a small frame, and looks rather thin. He also has a pot belly. Fortunately for him, nobody notices under all that clothing. Sam continued to munch on his greasy fries, his inquisitive eyes peering at me through the kind of huge, dark rimmed glasses which are all the rage now. I had had such questions hurled at me a million times, and I was, frankly, quite tired of such questions. I deftly switched the topic, and sure enough, his curious gaze soon turned to one of nonchalance.

So, why do I train?

Is it a matter of vanity? Of wanting to look better than the average man? Or is it elitism? Wanting to be stronger than the majority?

These are secondary. Weightlifting is my way of getting back at the world. I pick up my 1st barbell consumed with rage and hatred. At the end of a good session, they are all gone, seemingly absorbed and used by the Iron to remold my body into a manifestation of my most treasured values - tenacity, willpower and a disdain for mediocrity.

And now that I have taken this path, it is unthinkable to turn back. The Iron forces me to leave my ego at the door, or be punished by injuries. When I just don't cut it, it tells me right in the face. And it will always be there, like a glowing beacon in the darkness.

It is the best friend I can ever have.

The Value of Beauty

A lady once lamented to me, “Why is it so hard to find a nice, rich guy? I'm good looking, and I have suitors, but many of them just don't cut it.”

I thought that was shallow, and proceeded to preach about the insignificance of beauty and wealth, and about what traits should really matter. Unfortunately, my wise words fell on deaf ears. Now that I've pondered about it, I realised how unreasonable I was. She was simply stating her preferences for rich men. In retrospect, I would have been more helpful had I analysed her predicament based on the two variables she defined, which were beauty and wealth.

Now, what is beauty? Granted, the concept of beauty is complex. Philosophers have, since the beginning of time, tried to encapsulate it. In the lady's context, it should be assumed to be physical attractiveness. Even with such a precise definition, our analysis would prove difficult. As the famous saying goes, “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.” In short, beauty is subjective, due to exogenous factors, or perhaps even merely the differential preferences of individuals. An attempt to identify all of these factors would be an insurmountable task. In order to make some progress, it would have to be assumed that everybody has the same perception of beauty.

After deconstruction, the lady's predicament was simple. It was an offer of beauty for wealth, the trade of one asset for another. If the value of her beauty matches the wealth of her suitor, it would be a fair trade, no?

Obviously not. Physical attractiveness fades with time. At the age of 45, I'm sure our protagonist will not proclaim herself to be good looking any longer. In fact, when she is a wrinkly old hag at the age of 60, there will hardly be any remnants of her past beauty. It is also apparent that physical appearances deteriorate more rapidly as aging occurs. In economic terms, beauty suffers from accelerating depreciation, with no residual value at the end.

On the other hand, wealth begets more wealth, thanks to the wonder of compounding interest. It can be said that the growth of wealth is exponential. This is, of course, assuming that the rich man in question manages his finances well. Wealth would thus be an earning asset, with new income integrating with current wealth.



The graph above represents the two variables over time. The intersection point would be where our protagonist deems her suitor worthy of her. From that point on, the value of the suitor's wealth would become increasingly higher than her beauty. It is clear that our rich man would reject such an unfair offer. It would make much better economic sense to lease our lady instead!

With such dire outcomes, what should our distressed damsel do? I would love to hear your comments!

PS: Lady in question, if you are reading this, I am merely trying to resolve your predicament. Please do not get upset!

The Dew at Dusk

Dusk's last drop of dew
Fathomed the fate of few
She glided down the blade
Yet lingered at the edge
What allure adhered her to the sedge
As such to abhor the everglade?

Of Sorrows & Songs

On an abject afternoon
In a room full of emptiness
I was lost in the tunes
Of a song full of wretchedness
Hearing how we'll walk alone
In a blight of loneliness

And on I listened
To these melancholic chords
Till the day was distant
And I sat in remorse
For regrets non-existent
Till the crooning went hoarse

Borrowed Time

The Devil's time I borrow
To fill the void in my burrow
Yet I wallowed in my sorrow

Till the weaver of the morrow
Spun the fall of the sparrow
And sent a chill down my marrow

Henceforth it struck me as narrow
To dwell on the sands of sorrow
And thus on them I boldly blow

Too Late to Set Goals for 2008?

Alright so half the year has passed, and I've finally decided to sit down and do it. This is it, my ultimatum, no more procrastination, no more lame excuses. Imma work at them everyday like clockwork, till I nail 'em all. Here's the list *drum rolls*:

1. Learn Cantonese (speak to me in Cantonese if you can)
2. Develop my cross-dominance into ambidexterity
3. Squat 1.5 x BW, shoulder press 1 x BW, bench press 1 x BW

The list's up, and all of you are witnesses to it. Enough of my self-deception! Now if you will excuse me, I've got a few goals to fulfil.