Why, hello there (Part II) Finally finished grading papers and tallying up final scores... No one failed! Hooray! Although one guy almost got knocked down a grade because I can't do simple sums. Seven plus nine is what? Thank god for calculators.I should sleep, but someone sent me links -- and now I'm much too distracted. These photos are yummy, but she looks a bit too much like Becca here and that's an unnerving thought. The guy that did the azaan yesterday at around half past four in the morning was seriously out of tune.I felt kinda embarrassed on his behalf. It was karaoke-gone-wrong, and maybe that's why they had him do it in the middle of the morning? Letting him have a practice run during the off-peak session?Maybe it was his first time, and he was just nervous. It takes guts to sing to an entire neighbourhood from huge ass speakers, I'll give him that. I can't even do it with a tiny microphone in a bar with three friends. Unless, of course, I'm drunk -- but then again list of things I won't do when drunk is painfully short.I really don't think I should be writing stuff like this during Ramadan. I don't know how I missed this when it was first released, but I spent the most part of my previous working day reading Slate's special issue on procrastination. It was quite a spread.Favourite:Letter to a Young ProcrastinatorBy Seth StevensonI, too, am a procrastinator. Always have been. In college, I'd start 10-page papers after midnight on the day they were due. Half my memories of this period involve screaming at my printer to print faster, ripping the pages from its maw, and then sprinting to my professor's office with moments to spare, sweat streaming down my face...Why did I subject myself to so much stress, instead of starting my work earlier like "normal" people do? Well, you've no doubt heard all manner of theories regarding the root cause of procrastination. Fear of failure. Crippling perfectionism. Abnormally low type-2 phloxiplaxitus levels.I'm here to tell you that it was none of these things. The root cause of my procrastination, in technical terms, is this: I'm lazy. Extremely lazy.Don't judge, pal—you're lazy, too. It's why you procrastinate. When there's a difficult, disagreeable, or tedious chore that needs to get done, guess what? You don't want to do it. So you don't. Until you have to.It's just that simple, my slothful friend. And guess what else? The trick to overcoming procrastination is even simpler. Ready? Here it is: Get off your fat badonk and stop procrastinating. Right now. No, not after the Gilmore Girls rerun ends. Now now.Will you do this? No. You will not. You will dabble at the crossword for a while. Later, you might get a yogurt. Eventually, you'll start reading pointless crap on the Internet. You see, you're doing it as we speak! Because: You are lazy.He knows me better than I know myself. Brian said his goodbyes today at the last staff meeting. It should have been an emotional and teary thing, but true to my form, I kept up the defences and just kept smiling. "I'll see you again soon, when you get back!"I wonder if it would have been more appropriate of me to have shown a little sadness. The truth is, I am. Having a boss who actually knows what the hell he's doing is something I've come to appreciate. The insane amount of faith he has in me is rather frightening. I may have been here for almost a year (anniversary's just around the corner), but I still think any moment now, they're going to realise they've hired a moron.But I will see him again, so that's that.Tonight, I am thinking of Choosin's classic "leave a light on for me" moment -- which I hope I'll never forget. I want to be God. I kinda really want this.I spent hours failing at the Sims and SimCity -- this might be easier, I just have to try not to die. SMS Conversation between me and my strangely unsympathetic father -- How to make belacan ah-- We dont make but use it to blend with chili paste and abit of lime-- But there is no belacan here so i have to make-- U dont seem to understand it is made in factory from fermented shrimp and fish so u cannot make it ok-- :( Took photos at the recent Krishna Janmashtami-- birthday of Krishna.One of the most tangible skills I will be taking home with me is the ability to wirelessly reconfigure a router. Did you know that a router has to be configured? Me neither.I take insane pride in my mystical technical skills. I relish telling and re-telling the same fucking tale of working in an office of men and being the only female and the only one who could get the printer working. It was a high point of my life, and I will not relinquish it.I had an impromptu lunch with an Australian who was the vice-principal of a primary school here. We happened to be having our lunches alone at the same restaurant and, being the shameless whore I am, I struck up some conversation.He's only been here a month, although he has made several visits since his first ten years ago. That was when he was doing the 21-years-old-and-backpacking-across-the-world stint.He confessed he was still in the "honeymoon" period. He was in love with the villages. He couldn't see himself going back to Sydney, where people didn't talk to each other on the street and nobody tried to mind his business.It's always good to talk to people like that, because I do like being reminded of all the good amidst the bad.I've come to accept that there are days when all I want to do is to tell every Bangladeshi just how fucked up this country is, and then there are days when all I want to do is to give them a hug and tell them they are really such wonderful people and I'm so sorry for all the bad feelings I've ever had about them. I believe such contradictory behaviour is called "being normal".I stepped out of the newspaper office at 10pm in Karwan Bazar, and the sound of a jaunty percussion had me tapping my feet as I chatted to the security guards. A crowd had gathered nearby, and I walked over to see a man with an instrument that looks like a banjo (only that its not, but I don't know what the name is), entertaining everyone.The speed at which friendship and camaraderie is formed here is unbelievable. The only thing you need to be admitted into a group is to simply stand within it. The crowd of strangers, all laughing and singing along and cajoling him to do funny bits -- some gave me a look, but they soon returned their attention to the singer.These are the workers of Karwan Bazar. The labourers who make their living using their muscles, sleeping in the same huge baskets they use to carry goods from the trucks into the stalls. I looked at their laughing faces -- it just felt so good to be standing there. Fantasy Kingdom I made my way down to Fantasy Kingdom (thanks to Trond, for the tip), expecting to be overwhelmed in the land where kitsch went to die. Strangely enough, it wasn't that bad - I think Sentosa (and just Singapore, in general) had primed me well.It wasn't as crowded as I had expected, and the space wasn't that large at all. Many rides were closed, evident from the weeds and grasses that had grown over the control booths and steel beams. Still, a fair number remained opened for business. I was tempted to give the solo roller-coaster a try, but I guess I just wasn't in a risk-taking mood that day.I planned to return to the long stretch of highway built on an embankment cutting across Ashulia lake. It seemed absolutely beautiful when I had passed it on the way to the Kingdom. Empty chairs and food stalls dotted the side of the road facing north - it looked promisingly peaceful.I was wrong, though. The crowds emerged along with the impending sunset, and I soon felt as if I was back in Dhaka, squeezing my way through streets that were never wide enough. With every lewd stare and catcall, things just got worse and worse. I couldn't speak, couldn't say anything. Anything I uttered was deemed hilarious and just turned me into more of a circus act. I felt utterly exposed. Twice, I shoved men who pointed their camera phones into my face. One laughed, the other got scared and mumbled something about how he was actually not aiming the thing at me.The only brief respite I had was when I climbed down the embankment to watch some boys swimming and performing various acrobatic feats. I turned my back to the main road, where there was already a sizable group just standing around watching me, and tried to pretend I was alone.I felt relief when the sun finally set, thinking that the darkness would make me less noticeable. It didn't occur to me that others would think the same way.The first hand reached out and barely grazed the side of my pants when I was walking past an exceptionally narrow stretch of road. If it hadn't been for my bulky camera bag limiting access, the hand would've gotten a lot more than a handful of cloth.I was startled, and was walking far too fast to have broken my momentum in time to know for sure who did it. I didn't slow down, didn't look back, but mentally prepared myself to not let it happen again.Sure enough, barely five minutes later, when I had already reached the other side and was so close to getting a CNG and going home, another hand reached out from right behind me. He didn't just get a handful of cloth.I swung round. There were two men behind me, and both stared right back at me, expressionless. I grabbed the front of the shirt of the man nearer to me, yanked him closer, and slapped him hard across the face.He was stunned for a moment, and started babbling angrily. I honestly have no idea what he was saying, but it seemed to me that there was no apology hidden amidst those words (was he trying to protest his innocence?) and as he started to raise his voice again, I slapped him a second time.I didn't really know what to do, at that point. I couldn't argue with him, I couldn't yell, I couldn't tell the people around me what he did. I didn't know the words. So I turned around and walked to the nearest CNG, got in, and left.On the way back, it occured to me that this was the first time in my life when I had intentionally slapped a person. I'm sorry to say that it felt good. Short rant in the midst of sub-editing Please, oh please, I don't want to have any more facts given to me. If I've to rewrite one more "given the fact that"... Double argh. Why, hello there Am slightly obsessed now with finding out more about this particular character, which would not have been the case had I paid a bit more attention to news coming out of East Asia in 2005.I'm a great lover of androgyny (in women only), and I thought Katherine had it nailed down, but then again she had a rather unfair advantage since she's supposed to play up the androgyny in her role as Shane. Not that she has much difficulty in that area, but surely the script helps.This TIME magazine article does a rather good job giving the background info on Li Yu Chun:What Li did possess was attitude, originality and a proud androgyny that defied Chinese norms. During the tryouts—in which 150,000 contestants were winnowed to 15—Li wore loose jeans and a black button-down shirt, with no make-up and the haircut (and body) of David Bowie during his Space Oddity phase. She auditioned with In My Heart There's Only You, Never Her, an oldie made famous by Taiwan's Liu Wenzheng—a man. In the main competition she sang other songs written for male performers and called herself "a tomboy." For an audience reared on the bubble-gum, lip-gloss standards of Chinese girl pop, Li's disregard for the rule book produced an unfamiliar knee-weakening.She stood out in the China's official song for the Olympics, a plain Jane in the midst of numerous heavily made-up women that litter the entire video. Then I watched her MTV, and just kept thing, holy shit -- that's hot. Joy Juice Looking back at the posts displayed on the main page, Bryan's right, I've been quite the grouchy bitch. I think he was too kind to call me a chickadee, whatever that means. Isn't that the name of some artificial corn/chicken snack?I could be confusing that with kickapoo - which to me is the most artificial looking drink on the planet. I know the name hardly rhymes, other than the "a" in the middle, but there's a common chicken element (to be explained very soon).I vaguely recall first seeing it in primary school, and being rather subconsciously put off by the cartoon chicken endorsing the drink. Of course, I've since realised the very lousy drawing is not actually that of a chicken - I actually have no idea what it is, really. But when I first saw it, I flippantly believed it to be a chicken, and I thought it very odd why anyone would want to drink a toxic-yellow liquid that looked like pee and appeared to have been made of chicken parts.Last night I dreamt I was pregnant. I've had dreams about my children, but this was a first. Don't ask me who the father was, I've no idea. It was all very festive, I remember feeling particularly happy about it (at first, before it evolved into the nightmare). It seemed like I was four or five months on, and the bulge was showing and some old friends gathered round celebrating with me. I felt complete, fulfilled. And then, erm, it became nosso pleasant and I won't elaborate more about how it turned into a nightmare. Can't remember most of that part, anyway.It was all very, very odd.Post-alcohol update: I read my stuff from 2 years ago, and I think I was a lot funnier (even if I was still a grumpy, grouchy bitch) and didn't keep harping on the Same Old Things. I miss ST more than ever. Culture My successful attempt at (too) spicy black pepper prawns and sambal kangkong is making my stomach rather unhappy, and its all a bit strange right now as I read Monty Python scripts online while 张学友is playing on iTunes. Very Bad Idea to google recipes on local dishes when hungry. What the hell are candle nuts? Can I not make laksa without it!??!? And stop asking me to use pork. IT IS VERY TROUBLESOME TO GET PORK HERE.And everyone talks about using belacan. But no one is telling me how to make belacan. You think here can find meh?? Too tired. Cartoons talk for me. My sentiments, exactly. Balance It's a sense that no matter what China does, it won't really be accepted as an equal on the world stage, that it will always be left cleaning the toilet at the OECD country club.Ok no prizes for the pun. But, ah, the rest of it was... heaven. I leaned back in my chair to slowly savour every single word of this piece. It was like someone scratching an itch I couldn't reach. It was bliss.So are the media just being a little mean to China? It does at times feel akin to if coverage of the Atlanta Olympics were focused on the failings of the U.S. health care system and the plight of the American Indian. One foreign correspondent for a major American newspaper agreed, telling me, "In Athens the traffic jams were presented as the outgrowth of a hip Mediterranean lifestyle. Here they become yet another product of state repression."...... Right now, China is an awkward place that just wants to be loved—and that makes it particularly easy to kick around. Staying Awake. I'm refusing to sleep tonight, for reasons unknown.Took more pictures today. I am annoyed at how the colours on photoshop and flickr appear totally different. WTF?Karwan Bazar is a place that I should rightly spend hours in, but barely a couple of minutes in the maze of stalls, and I'm ready to call it quits. A lot of it has to do with fear. I get claustrophobic quickly in there. Everywhere I turn, I can feel the eyes boring into the back of my head. I imagine that I would not escape in time if the crowd mobbed me. The last time I went there, I got lost and very nearly started to panic. Its all irrational and ridiculous, of course.I'm still feeling shitty, and those who know me well will know why. There's only one thing that can get me down like this. Third time lucky? Fuck that.I really should get some sleep. Yeah, still in a foul mood. Been considering moving to another site which allows posting of bigger pictures. I've been experimenting, but I do realise that doing that requires a helluva lot more commitment from me regarding pictures.Stuff from the other day. Slow steps. At this moment, right this minute, all I really want to do is to get on a plane and leave all this behind.How much are you capable of taking? You never do know until you're pushed all the way. Everything's possible in theory -- its real life that's the bitch. Staff Sergeant Max Fightmaster Feeling oddly giddy, my eyelids are "heavy" and I can barely focus on what I'm looking, almost as if I had the flu (except that I don't). Very odd - I've had my meals and enough sleep. What's up man.I've been reading bullshit on the net about names since I came across this one (a friend actually does know her) which reminded me about the other one I read about sometime back. A judge in New Zealand made a young girl a ward of court so that she could change the name she hated - Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii. Judge Rob Murfitt said that the name embarrassed the nine-year-old and could expose her to teasing. He attacked a trend of giving children bizarre names, citing several examples. Officials had blocked Sex Fruit, Keenan Got Lucy and Yeah Detroit, he said, but Number 16 Bus Shelter, Violence and Midnight Chardonnay had been allowed.Amongst others banned - Fish and Chips (for a pair of twins). Nice! Some people shouldn't be allowed to be parents. Case in point, as read on Dooce.And do you want to know what is the manliest name on the planet? Although one dude left a comment saying the writers overlooked the obvious winner:The president of Zaire: Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu wa za Banga which translates to "the all powerful warrior who, because of his endurance and inflexible will to win, shall go from conquest to conquest, leaving fire in his wake" Manliest name ever. period. Ok wait the comments thread for that article is more entertaining than the article itself. This is just such awesome stuff to waste time on!Oh and Frankie found the most beautiful table eva. I felt loserish because I'm forever stealing stuff off other people's blogs, so I thought I'd head to the website to see if I could find anything else I preferred. Nope. No chance for any originality whatsoever.John Nouanesing's Love Me Table trumps all else (although I seriously covet all the hang-on-the-wall stuff he had as well).I think I stopped breathing for a bit when I saw it. I never quite understood what those hosts of interior design shows meant when they picked stuff out to be a centerpiece of a home (always ended to be some lousy fireplace or hideous sofa set) - now I get it. If I had this table, we would have nightly worship sessions around it. Fuck, I would build my house around it.I need a better internet connection to waste more time this way. After battling online via email with very rude people, I am too pissed off to say anything proper and pleasant.Photos from yesterday. Nothing satisfactory - always just missing it by a bit, but I guess I do need a lot, a lot of warming up.I was so sure I would remember his name that I didn't bother writing it down. Turns out I was wrong. It was a nice, chance encounter when I turned round the corner towards the main road and saw him sitting by the side of the road at the makeshift rickshaw repair stall.I got onto his rickshaw two weeks back, and it was only after we had moved off that I noticed his leg. I was flustered (and late) that morning - I didn't even notice his crutch hanging off the handle bars till later.This makes it the third physically disabled rickshaw wallah that I've met. The first lost a leg in an electrical accident, the other lost an arm (couldn't decipher his explanation even after I asked) and this one has polio. I really feel bad that I can't remember his name. It sounds like "Shankar" but I know that's not right.After all the talk about ethics in class, I felt rather apprehensive about taking his photo. Exploitation and what not. I talked to him for a bit. He comes from Bhogra, saying that there was no work there. And I joked back that, why, aren't there rickshaws there too? And we laughed.It might come across as being rather inappropriate (certainly seems that way when put in writing), but I stand by my lousy joke.He painted on the mobile numbers of his family members back home onto his crutch. I thought it was awesome. He laughed at me for being so taken with it.Machiam like gangsters, yeah? Didn't manage get the shot I was going for - this is the best of the lot. Tired. Today's class was about photojournalism ethics with regards to coverage of violence and tragedies. By the end of the class, some students seemed rather taken aback by my callous and chipper talk about dead bodies and crying people. I apologised for that, explaining that the class was exhausting (they agreed) even when conducted with a lighthearted attitude, and none of us would've been able to last the entire lesson if I had been politically correct and respectful throughout.I found it extremely difficult to have that class. I stumbled on my words, I took lengthy pauses. By the end of it, I really wanted to run into a closet to cry. My callousness was overwhelming, even for me.In retaliation, I ended up shooting and spent hours at adsoftheworld.(Foundation for girls with bulimia.)"Don't make it a grad to forget."- Mothers Against Drink Driving"There are journeys from which you come back richer."- ICEI - Association for responsible tourismAnd my favourite tonight:"I've made a creative team win a lion at Cannes."- Clube de Criação do Rio de JaneiroI am inexplicably exhausted. Go Aussie! A case of too much success?Slept too late, thought too much and now on a caffeine high. I'm feeling kinda awful because I'm bursting with energy yet feeling mentally lethargic.The internet's pretty boring this morning too. Other than this quote from a commentary on the XX Factor regarding Barbara Walter's ruthless questions with Carla Bruni which the writer called "possibly the most sexist piece of television programming I've ever seen"."Still: Did anyone ever ask Mick Jagger if it's true that he really can't get any satisfaction? I bet they didn't." Bitches! The family living in the house across the road from my apartment has three dogs that they named whiskey, brandy and vodka. I have something that goes by the same names in my house as well.The dogs are lovable lap dogs - white and furry and I'm too goddamn tired to google for the exact breed (which is what I would usually do). They're not exactly my favourite kind (lap dogs are not real dogs, did you not know?) but if you're going to run happy laps around my feet - I'll indulge you. Oh fuck it, I love you too!I know that I like it when people like animals, but now I'm wondering if I may prefer those who dislike all animals, as compared to those who profess a love for tiny lap dogs. Toy dogs and lap dogs are irritating. I'm sorry, but they are. I find it hard to be fond of a chihuahua.I think this may indeed be the case. GQ - I much prefer you running away from animals than running towards pomeranians.A very attractive man I met recently told me he liked poodles. It was a rather sad day. If you have to use force, its rape. Baby Steps. Nothing great, but I suppose something's better than nothing, isn't it?---------------------Dhaka skyline, as seen from the top floor of Bashundara Shopping Complex. Questions unanswered. You may, or may not, be glad to to know that I had a wonderful time last night. [As I typed that last sentence my knee nudged the laptop and almost sent it crashing down from the roof of my office. Would not be fun!]I dragged him to the legit bar that I visit occasionally, using his presence as an excuse to get myself some beer. I didn't really know how the conversation would turn out - its always a big gamble to meet up with someone you know nothing about, but its a risk I'm willing to take.I think it was simply refreshing to talk to someone who didn't have his head in the clouds. No talk about idealism and principles, big goals in life and meaningful careers. No need to apologise for what you do. No guilt trips on ethics. No over-analysis of what went wrong, or what should have been done. Life gets in the way of your plans, just deal with it.The other company I keep here do "deal with it", but not before a complete and arduous analysis of life itself. They are rather fond of digging deep -- which is something I do too, but I'm not particularly fond of doing it every day.I hoped he would be the trigger I had been searching for. The thing that would kick my passion back into high gear. Maybe some long speech about making the best use of my time here. Who else better to motivate me than a WPP winner?But there was none of that, and on hindsight, I'm thankful. I think our casual, politically incorrect conversation made me feel more like a photographer than all the other heavy discussions I've had.And in a very random digression - I wish they had asked where the bacteria was coming from.-------------------Treasure trove of old clips from the 1950s and 1960s of Singapore and other places like Amsterdam, Japan and France. Fucking amazing: http://www.youtube.com/user/MichaelRogge Grumpy So shall channel feel-goodness from icanhascheezburger.com by searching for photos tagged with 'peace'. Behold! And then the Earth moved Ragini and I were talking on the sofa when the floor started to sway beneath us. In the distance, the crows started cawing in unison as they took off from their perches.We grabbed each other and as our eyes widened, which just reaffirmed that neither of us was hallucinating. Wouldn't have been that inconceivable -- one sat through a six-hour long meeting and the other just got off a 15-hour bus ride.But nope, Dhaka had its very own earthquake.I'll read up on the details in the morning. bdnews24.com impressed me with a short article half an hour after the tremors.I had put on my long pants, grabbed my camera and instinctively just wanted to get the fuck out of anything that could collaspe on me. Apparently I overreacted. Kirsty emerged from her room, tousled and sleepy, and while we talked I realised that was probably the end of it so I put the camera down and we chatted.Of course, and I should have mentioned this earlier, the quake was extremely short-lived and mild. Probably not enough to get the water-swishing-in-the-fish-tank shot that we always see on CNA after Singapore experiences tiny tremors.I'd take a guess and say we were probably just felt the aftershocks following the two earthquakes that hit Andaman islands (6.1 Sat evening, 6.7 Friday).My embarrassing, exaggerated reaction is an Aceh hangover, because everyone there took any forms of earth-movement rather seriously. Every tiny tremor was a reminder of what the earth could do and have done.Anyway, had a marathon meeting that lasted waaaay too long, although it didn't really feel like it. Shall not elaborate since I've ranted enough in the earlier post.Sarah! I dreamt of you last night. We were having dinner, and you said a really strange thing to me. I had wanted to write it down in the morning, but forgot, so now I've totally forgotten what the sentence was. It was suitably quirky. You would've been proud.And I visited Mirpur Zoo yesterday. Spent most of the time being pissed off, wishing the tigers and lions would escape from the cages and kill all members of the zoo's management team. Yelled at a zookeeper that kept throwing sticks at a giraffe that tried its best to inch closer and closer to the bunch of fresh leaves they were arranging. It was ridiculous. An elderly man throwing sticks at a giraffe three times his height, even after the giraffe had backed away. Just trample him. I wished in silence.I miss Singapore's zoo. Lotsa Words I had been intending to write this blog entry since the day started, since I logged on the net and saw a fresh bunch of pictures that instantly brought tears to my eyes. It was unexpected - I have been feeling exceptionally immune of late.But then the day dragged on, turning into a major exercise of restraint for me. I may have controlled what came out of my mouth, but I never could control what showed on my face. My father says so. I tried to etch in neutrality, but failed miserably.The major meeting I held today was a meeting that should have been held a long time ago. I blame myself for this, because really, who else is there to blame?What was supposed to be a "moving on" meeting -- filled with constructive comments and perhaps a couple of rightly-placed barbs of criticism to remind people that they had to buck up -- turned into a Singaporeanisque tragic comedy of pushing blame and defensive excuses.Of course, as it is always the case, I am bound to be generalising. But if I had to summarise today's meeting, it would be: "Its not my fault because XXX did not tell me to do it."Worst of all, it seems nothing wastaken seriously. I guessed as much when I headed out to buy snacks, and everyone cheered me on asking me to "get drinks as well". I retorted by saying it was not a party. What I really wanted to say was, "This is not a fucking party. You should not be laughing and should rightly be pissing in your pants because the fact that this meeting was not organised by you is an indication that you've fucked up."I left feeling rather defeated. It was utterly tiring. I don't even care who reads this now -- I will be very glad to announce to anyone who would listen that I was utterly disappointed and let down today.And on the way to the other job, I got a call from a colleague who told me that the stuff I'd been staying in late nights for was not good enough. This would be fine if I had known I was doing a shitty job -- ironically, I was actually rather pleased with what I had done. That basically meant all the late nights I had stayed agonising over picas of space was for naught.When I reached the other office, I surrendered. Do whatever you want, I said. Change it however you feel like it. I don't care.Exchanging barbs with Malcolm online, it occured to me that ST was the first and last place I had worked at whereby I actually believed my bosses to be better than me. They knew what they were doing, they were smarter and more experienced, and even though I disagreed with them on stuff, at the end of the day I am always happy to defer to people that I trust and respect. I was happy to be the novice, to be the one who knew nothing, who had a lot to learn.Haven't felt like that in a long time. I'm tired. I want to learn. I'm happy to pretend to be a leader as long as the rest of you stop acting like sheep.My lousy analogy for the day would be this: You're on a sinking ship with a captain that you know is stupid. Rather than figure out a way to save yourself, you turn and ask the captain to save you. And then you blame the captain when you start drowning.Of course, real life is not so simple. There's no prospect of death to kick your survival skills into high gear. The ugly fact is, we probably don't pay them enough to give a shit.My friend defends their behaviour as being understandable, since they're saving their asses and aren't really in a privileged position to save anyone else's. My argument is that no one can be saved when a ship is going down.Moving on.Everywhere I go, I see flashes of pictures. These are moments -- moments that I knew I would be clicking the shutter, if only I had the camera in my hand. The last one I saw today was when I disembarked off my rickshaw and waited as the rickshaw wallah counted my change. A SUV went by, momentarily illuminating him in the darkness, etching shadows along his sunburnt skin and muscles, highlighting every bead of sweat. His face, furrowed with concentration as he counted his money, was a face that could represent the millions that labour under the sun.Pictures, pictures. I told Brian that it seems as if I'd lost my passion for the thing I thought I'd be passionate about my whole life. I desperately hope I'm wrong. He sighed in response. I can't help you there, he said. He's right.I saw an updated batch of photos on FB from the closing of Mercy Relief's operations in Aceh. I'd forgotten about Heru. The last I saw him, he was surrounded by a bunch of volunteers, all trying their darnest to entertain him. It was funny.I recalled Eddie's words about him. I've forgotten the details, but the essense of it was this: The Singapore government gladly took the credit and glory for Step 1 of his recovery, but threw him back to his family for them to take care of Steps 2-100. Did they even think of how a burn survivor could recover in a house with no working electricity?Eddie was frustrated. I tried to share the frustration, but I was just another who flitted in and out of Heru's life. Eddie stayed. He built a house.Terence Teo/Mercy ReliefThat's him on the right. He looks about 4 now.Three years ago, he was a toddler just learning how to walk. I was a budding photographer who thought she had finally found her profession for life. One of us has progressed, the other's right back at square one.