I have more insight than all my teachers,
for I meditate on your statutes.
I have more understanding than the elders,
for I obey your precepts.

My birthday wish, I suppose, is not one of a material nature. I yearn for wisdom - not knowledge, but a deeper understanding and maturity in thought.

I'm really blessed to have good friends in my life - albeit a small pool, but numbers don't matter in these sort of things.

10 April, 10.23pm. The light in my room was turned off - something which I hadn't done before I left for the shower. Sigh, "those two people next door."; the folks in the adjacent bunk had once came into my room to turn off the light while I was out. Nothing significantly wrong with that, though I'd prefer if they did not trespass in such a manner. I opened the door, and I saw 2 back-lit figures in the room, one sitting on my bed, the other standing behind it - the effect of it was not unlike that of the photographical term contre-jour, but I digress. That bothered me, and my mind spurned such thoughts: what the hell are the two of you doing in my room; not only do you turn off my light, now you're trying to scare me? As I inched towards the light switch, a deep voice boomed behind me. It was familiar, yet I couldn't see how that should happen. It was S from my previous section. Flick. And I was surprised. S, CL, JX, Sgt P and PS YK were all in the room, and a small yellow (unmistakably cake-containing) box sat on a chair in the middle of the room.

Thanks for the surprise, it really made my day (which was otherwise a boring one).

12 April, night. Kilo (it's atmosphere and food) was great, but the company was greater.

We are both victims and exploiters of the system.

In Soderbergh's Side Effects, there is a faint line between antagonists and protagonists. Everyone's morally ambivalent, everyone is driven by the same desires. Rooney Mara's performance as the seemingly depressed Emily is stellar - one cannot predict how insidiously her character would play out, only that it would. Likewise, Jude Law's Jonathan fits perfectly into that calculative and scheming world, where profit and vengeance collude.

‘Scout’, said Atticus, ‘when summer comes you’ll have to keep your head above far worse things… it’s not fair for you and Jem, I know that, but sometimes we have to make the best of things, and the way we conduct ourselves when the chips are down - well, all I can say is, when you and Jem are grown, maybe you’ll look back on this with some compassion and some feeling that I didn’t let you down. This case, Tom Robinson’s case, is something that goes to the essence of a man’s conscience – scout, I couldn’t go to church and worship God if I didn’t try to help that man.’

‘Atticus, you must be wrong…’

‘How’s that?’

‘Well most folks seem to think they’re right and you’re wrong…’

‘They’re certainly entitled to think that, and they’re entitled to full respect for their opinions,’ said Atticus, ‘but before I can live with other folks I’ve got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.’

"It's like a worker's dormitory," I said, half-jokingly to CL.

10am, the warm morning light is diffused - that doesn't make the room any cooler. Nor do the small ceiling fans that whittle away incessantly (don't get me wrong, I rather have them do that than suffer the blazing heat of Brunei).

I'm lying on a grey double-deck bunk bed, and many more surround me - there are 2 rows of beds that face each other, 16 beds or so in each row. I'm lucky to have a fan near me, its far warmer sleeping below. The bed sheets are familiar, I think to myself. They are the same blue ones that are used in every Singaporean army camp. At least they seem clean - no dubious stains on them. I sit back up, its tiring to read while lying down, and I observe the narrow artery of the bunk. That grey concrete walkway, whose dark grey veins no one notices - surely that can allow for no more than 3 franticly rushing individuals (its always about rushing here and there in the army). Yet that isn't an issue on this day, or on many other days as well - most people are out in the Borneo jungle. The only proof of their frantic rush is the stuff left lying around: toiletries above their narrow green cabinets, footwear tossed about the tight space between every 2 beds.

I needed a break from A Clockwork Orange - Nadsat was really pissing me off. Or perhaps I was getting drowsy from it, I can't be sure. I looked up and stared at the pitched roof, and the wooden structural beams caught my eye. They were painted a disgusting shade of brown - why couldn't the builders have simply varnished the wood to allow the natural grains to shine through. It would definitely make the space less depressing. And then I stared at what was behind me: meshed screens, chock full of exoskeletons.

And then I thought to myself, this would be home for two weeks.

While I was in Brunei, someone posed me this question: Is there truly free will in Christianity, especially when it is God who dictates what is right and wrong, and punishes 'wrong-doers'? This is roughly what I answered him with:

I believe that while God is all knowing - every choice we make is known to Him, we are still granted the ability to choose, regardless of whether there are any internal or external factors contributing to that choice. The ability to choose, in spite of one's circumstances or the number of choices available is what I define as free will.

Absolute right and wrong is dictated by God, assuming that He is omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent, and both of them exist as possibilities that we must constantly choose between.

We are given the free will to choose between them, as well as a myriad of options that fall between what is defined as absolutely right or wrong. This choice is granted to us because of two reasons: 1. We are created in His image - that is to say that choice is an attribute of God that we are granted. 2. Complete love is reciprocative - not only does God love us, but He desires us to love Him as well - therein lies the necessity for our free will, that we consciously choose to follow Him, and therefore sacrifice for Him as He did for us, rather than being mere mindless beings.

As Anthony Burgess put it, "When a man cannot chose, he ceases to be a man."

And while mankind may be deemed a fallen creature, he is not without the ability of discernment - it is one thing to know what is moral, it is another to choose to follow it. We were created in His image, and possess godly characteristics inherently as a result, in spite of our sinful nature. This inherent knowledge of good and evil is further guided by information and guidelines offered to guide discernment and choice - they exist in the written word of God.

Yes, I do subscribe to the Arminianism school of thought when it comes to free will in the Christian context. And my thoughts are a little messy - I am no philosopher.

Any thoughts?

Image Credit: ArchDaily & Ben Blossom

Follies of any sort are almost extinct, especially in pragmatic Singapore. All we do is work work work, busy busy and busy ourselves. And that's an especially awful notion to contemplate, especially when more often than not, we simply hate what we're doing.

I guess that's why I'm so drawn to this project. It's sheer simplicity (both in form and function) make it so endearing. It's the perfect spot to escape from reality, especially when one has a Monet-worthy view to gaze at. I suppose that's what it's like to live within, or near the Botanic Gardens. I love how it frames up, and highlights what I suppose would be the loveliest views of the garden.

Its quite ironic that I should have to retreat to a densely populated city to seek solace, but I did, and it was wonderful.

"When they saw the star, they were overjoyed" - Matthew 2:10

It isn't quite doodling to sketch based on images from a magazine (Nat Geo Traveler), is it?

Mark 9:24 is fast becoming something that I quote quite frequently, perhaps in my bid to express the extent of my humanity in matters pertaining to a realm beyond my own.

I've been pandering a pretty dark valley these past few weeks, and this cry (the title of the post) has been on my mind along with other things. I want to believe in something real, I want You to be with me, I want Your rod and staff to be my source of comfort.

And hence it is rather interesting to be recommended two separate songs, along with a chance encounter today with a stranger, to be a reminder that I am not alone.

I'd like to believe that all of these were not by chance.

1 Corinthians 15:55 - "O Death, where is your sting? O Hades, where is your victory?"

Just last week, as I was on the train with Joel, I had a particular discussion with him - it pertained to faith, and if one could truly be sure of our eternal security, or even the existence of God for that matter.

What would happen to us when we pass on? Do we return to ashes and nothing more? Do we enter an eternal realm of bliss? Or do we pass into eternal torment because all that we had lived for wasn't true - these were all questions that often occurred in my head, even as I profess to believing in God.

Kierkegaard coined the notion of leaping to faith, where the act of faith is born out of faith.

Personally, I do not believe that one can be fully convinced when it comes to religion - we do live in a fallen world. I will never be fully certain about the truth of God - it is simply a fact that this life is one defined by uncertainty (rather ironically of course). Yet it is truly remarkable that in every aspect of our lives, suggestions of His existence and grace are plentiful - should we choose to interpret them as such.

Reading the Daily Bread (October 15) sometime this week, I came across an interesting perspective on a familiar verse (Psalm 23). It hovered on how death was merely a transitory period into the afterlife, and suggested that the "darkest valley" of that psalm be viewed as so. I've always thought of that as merely a metaphor for the trials and pains of life, not the final frontier.

And sometime this week, Newsweek published an excerpt from a book published by a neurosurgeon entitled Proof of Heaven: A Doctor's Experience with the Afterlife. While it was replete with seemingly cliched images of the afterlife (think fluffy clouds, gleaming crystal etc.), I'd like to think that it was placed in an issue of Newsweek that I had access to for a reason.

I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!

Image Credit: NI&Co. Architects via Dezeen

All I can say is that goodness, this store's design is conceptually really similar to the Grid Table design that I came up with just prior to my A-Levels.

An old woman's recollection of romance under the Japanese occupation of Singapore causes her young interviewer to re-evaluate life, memory and history.

Widespread death, loss and destruction are unimaginable but ingrained concepts evoked through the collective memory of Singaporeans at the mention of the word Occupation. Undoubtedly, this has much to do with the years of government rhetoric on the war years. Yet beyond the statistics of lives lost, of buildings reduced to rubble and national boundaries permutated lie human figures, and their human stories - tales that involve more intimate emotions, tears, flesh and all.

Jo Kukathas powerfully portrays a pantheon of characters, whom through their various experiences and/or opinions on the Japanese war years, explore themes that transcend time - love, family, class and religion, to name just a few.

Beautifully set in a minimal stage, where crystalline Philippe Starck chairs serve as metaphorical reminders of the many acquaintances we meet in our life experiences, Ms Kukathas shines.

And that is what makes Occupation so beautifully executed.

Image Credit: Andrew Gallacher

A feather floats down,
The black, viscous, mirrored depth;
Unseen, forever.

Just yesterday, as I was wandering the malls along Orchard Road with a few friends, a thought that frequently recurs in my mind hit me again; I thought to myself:

How can I justify paying for something that I want when it is exorbitant in price, even if it were extraordinarily well made, even if I could afford it, when that same amount of money could go a long way in improving the life of someone else.

That someone needn't be in some far flung place like a village in China, or a war orphan from Somalia. That individual could be separated by just 6 degrees from us.

It isn't exactly the same as what this video discusses, but it does skirt similar concerns.

The world is a gravely inequitable place to be in. There is no doubt about that, but I suppose we all have to try our very best to make it a tad bit better, regardless of the extent of our success at doing so. It is particularly interesting (as Leslie T. Chang notes in her video) how these Chinese workers "choose to leave their homes in order to earn money, to learn new skills and to see the world."

It speaks to a very fundamental need - to improve oneself.

I guess, everyone seeks to better and maximize the experiences that one could possibly get out of life. But honestly, what is a pair of sneaker in the grand scheme of things, what is the true worth of all that we are fighting to attain - are they not merely a transient objects, that offer temporal pleasure, whose surfaces are subject to the same forces of decay and destruction that threaten every other material item?

Have I won Monopoly to forfeit my soul?

Aren't we meant for so much more?

As a counterpoint to the views expressed above - the decadence of.

Image Credit: Alberto Campo Baeza

It is a stone box open to the sky that holds a crystalline box and protects it and tempers it, immersed in the midst of a wonderful garden.

Those were the architect's own words - the 'crystalline box' is truly beautiful, they evoke images of Apple stores, but without the oppressive sense of commercialism that the Mac shops imbue.

What I find truly interesting (and really ironic as well) is how the idea of transparency and openness within a very private space. Almost as though the architects were making a point on how the human spirit functions - yearning for a protected space to express themselves fully.

It's really pretty.

Yet how as some others have pointed out about the building, how does the building stay sufficiently warm in the (frigid) winter months while being sustainable?

Hmm.

I guess being pretty matters more.

Psalm 103:1-4 - "Praise the Lord, my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. and forget not all his benefits- who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion"

Last weekend's service preached on God being our [source of] peace - Jehovah Shalom. It is one that manifests itself in known and unknown ways. It tends to be an internal one, but can manifest itself in bold and surprising ways. It's interesting how Shalom in its own right is a greeting, Hebrew for "God be with you" - I suppose the presence of God and His intervention is paramount for peace.

I cannot say that I am truly at peace with where I am, but that is because I am looking at it from the very human perspective - finding equilibrium, or being in control. Yet I was calm this week, because circumstances played out, blessing after blessing. It was a good week, I won't deny that.

03.09.12 As off-kilter as the subsequent portion may seem here, I feel that I really want to catalogue/chronicle as much of my thoughts as possible on this blog, even if they may seem incoherent collectively - such are the rambles and musings that I pour into my Muji diary when I am in camp.

Sleep in camp has been particularly odd last night, as was the nap in the morning. At hearing my alarm in the morning, I simply couldn't figure out what that noise was - such a feeling was surreal, otherworldly. I suppose I was still in my dreamscapes. Then came the oddity of a nap sometime in the morning - I guess I was in a partially awake state, or perhaps in a moment of delirium; I started to get panicky, worrying about where I had placed my glasses. Yet I was still in my bed, unable to search around (or perhaps I did, in a state of sleep-walking/moving). Only later did the realization hit me that it was on the bed's headboard, where I always leave it when I lie down.

Madness is prevalent in my camp, but then again, what is normalcy when one's state of rationality and level-headedness isn't part of the status quo. Every day, people shout for no reason, yelling things with all the air in their lungs, when simply speaking it out with a normal tone would suffice. Daily, conflicts arise for highly silly reasons, especially over pride-related issues. But lunacy on a level that I witnessed on Monday afternoon was unprecedented - many people do try to escape outfield moments, but it was the first time I had witnessed anyone resorting to self-injury to do so. I shall cease to discuss this any further, except by saying that he needs help - lest it spirals into something far more detrimental.

04.09.12 - 05.09.12 The actual outfield experience this time around was quite relaxed - that I must admit. Such was the case because we weren't actually on any form of military exercise, rather, we were offering another unit (let's call them Five) support services - we were the enemies that they were to attack. All of us were issued with a little laser-emitting gadget that was supposed to track how we fire at others (and how they were wounded or killed) and vice versa. My unit didn't work, so there wasn't any incentive for me to actually shoot any blank rounds - I couldn't be "killed", nor could I "kill" any of those people charging at me, so I was as good as a spectator. That lightened one burden for me - having to expend many rounds, and consequently having to clean my rifle particularly thoroughly.

I got a chance to catch up on some snooze in the night as well, just prior to the morning attack that the Five were supposed to execute, because they came late - at least an hour or so. Coupled with my defective electronic laser unit, I didn't really need to put up a fight.

The next day featured a different terrain - this time around, we weren't in a forested area, but rather, an urban setting. By the grace of God, I got selected to be stationed inside an SUV - we were to patrol the area for Five troops, and fire at them. In the end, because of how things played out (it was remarkably difficult to communicate with others when one was roaming around in an SUV - the communication equipment were really lousy), we ended up doing more waiting than actually moving around - which was a good thing, it involved sitting down inside a vehicle. Nothing more.

06.09.12 - 07.09.12

Joshua 23:8 - "But you are to hold fast to the Lord your God, as you have until now."

Theft cases occur rather often in my camp, but I think have been spared, until now. I didn't lose much, simply because I didn't bring much cash to camp, but just the notion that someone around me would steal is rather vexing. I suspect I had forgotten to lock my cupboard - that is my own misdoing, but that doesn't give that individual an excuse to help himself to the contents of my wallet.

I take back the statement that I have been spared thus far - there was another incident where my wallet was found to be completely empty; back then, I had suspected that I had forgotten to bring cash into camp.

I must be more cautious. There's a kleptomaniac in camp, no there isn't. There's probably someone who needs money to indulge in cigarettes, and conveniently helps himself to others'. But I'm being harsh here - such a statement implicates almost everyone in my camp as a suspect, and that most definitely isn't the case. Justice and vengeance is the Lord's, and I must hold on to that fact, and be more careful.

We booked out by 5pm on Thursday, as there was a platoon barbeque at a sergeant's place the following day - that proved a slightly awkward few hours, if anything. I suppose I just have a hard time bonding with most of my platoon mates - we are so very different. But it was most definitely interesting to see them outside of camp, and to see a different (non-military) side to them.

I was still quite hungry after leaving the barbeque, so I suggested to CL to join me for dinner deux at Fei Fei - it was my first time trying it after hearing so much about it from Joel during my JC years. It wasn't bad, though not as good as Foong Kee in Chinatown.

09.09.12 I decided to give the Sunday service a miss this weekend because of the Army Half Marathon (AHM) that we were required to attend - thankfully, we were participating in the 5km version of it, instead of the longer distance races. It was an early morning - I woke up at 5am, even earlier than I would in camp, and all that was in my mind was to get it over and done with. I wasn't the only one with such a desire - I suspect most of the NSFs there felt the same, especially since most (myself included) would get a day off on Monday in return for our participation. I suppose that's a good deal. It was really messy there, the place was chock full of people, and needless to say, the initial idea of 'running as a platoon/company' proved unfeasible - that allowed me to walk a large bulk of the route (and allowed me to avoid sweating much). Plus the weather was good, and there were many interesting sights to behold (such as the vast openness of the undeveloped portions of Marina Bay, or some historic buildings here and there - I'm such an architecture geek).

It wasn't long before it was over (far earlier than I had expected, might I add), and CL and I headed to the Asian Civilisation Museum to freshen up. YL wouldn't join us - he was too keen on dashing home to reclaim his weekend duty as a keyboard warrior. That aside, it was great to escape from the crowd - who'd ever think of using the loos at a museum: no one my age would (well, barely anyone if I were to get into the technicalities of things). And then came a short but good breakfast at Blackbird Cafe - a basket of bread, a pot of Darjeeling and most importantly, good company and a cosy environment. It was a good morning, without doubt. CL left soon after the meal, and I wandered off into the Peranakan museum - I'm also a culture geek. I really love the Armenian Street area; it's so quaint and historic. And then there was lunch at Saveur with the folks afterwards.

It was a good day. It was a peaceful day.

It was a good week. It was a peaceful week.

It will be a good week - I hope.

Image Credit: Pedro Pegenaute, Tuomas Uusheimo, Derryck Menere via ArchDaily

I love how the old structure's history is so respected, not only through the rawness that was preserved, but also through how the addition alludes to the building's past function as a shipping warehouse. Neri&Hu are truly one of the best architects to emerge from China.

It has been quite some time since I last blogged about anything, much less about my army life; I suppose things have either been too busy (i.e. a short weekend, activities etc.) or that I have been rather lazy - it does take quite a bit of effort (not to mention time - a very precious commodity) to pour out my thoughts and rambles.

In the past month or so, quite a bit has happened; moods have rose and fell, faith has surged and waned, my body has been rejuvenated and worn down. Its cyclical and unceasing, much like the ebbing of sea currents. And since it would take far too much (unnecessary) effort to actually reflect on the many mundane moments of that period, I'll just stick with the highlights.

9TH AUGUST - SINGAPORE'S NATIONAL DAY For quite a few weekends prior to that day, we've been stationed at the Marina Bay area on Saturdays to do some form of crowd management for the NDP rehearsals. This day was the final one, the one that would put an end to the few weeks of Monday night book-ins that we've been having. Everything went smoothly, not unlike how it was with the previous weeks. Everything went smoothly, except for one thing - my allergic reaction, which I had briefly mentioned some time ago. It was the cause for a miserable evening, and a terrible way to spend (or rather, the inability to spend) the few off-duty days that we had received. The consolation however was that the allergic reaction gave me a reason to get two more days of MC (I wasn't fully well by Tuesday), and so, that gave me a really short week in camp. One and a half days to be precise, and those days were really restful as well - especially since there was a Hari Raya celebration in camp.

MY RAISON D'ETRE - I'd type it in proper French if the blogging software I used would simply stop messing up foreign characters when it published things. I don't exactly remember the moment that I suddenly had a bout of an existential doubt, but I do know it came about when I was contemplating my interests, my distaste for the army, and how life will play out - we fight to work, to survive, and then to die. I truly want to lead a meaningful and enriching life, but if it were all to cease so abruptly and insidiously, then what was the point of anything at all? I suppose Dr. Frankl's notion that one must have the will to meaning is extremely true - life hinges on its purpose. Hence the aptness of a verse that I found the next day:

Psalm 119:116-117 - Sustain me, my God, according to your promise, and I will live; do not let my hopes be dashed. Uphold me, and I will be delivered; I will always have regard for your decrees.

DISCOVERY Sometime in the month, I found out that Ansen got a new post in the armskote of his unit - it is good news, and I am happy for him; life will be so much better, as opposed to him having to be on 7 days of continuous guard duty. And it was made possible through the people that God had placed in his camp, things played out nicely (over time, in a really unexpected manner). And it was through this moment that he saw the grace and love of God; that is something worth rejoicing about. Yet it was also a bittersweet moment for me. Out of my close group of friends, I was the only one still trapped. It was terrible and selfish for me to feel this way - I hate myself for that. But I really want to be doing something less taxing, both physically and emotionally.

OUTFIELD BEGINS I hate being out in the field. It's dirty, bug-infested (those that creep around creepily and those that annoyingly bite), but above all (or perhaps, as a result of those), it is the severe loss of personal comfort that I cannot stand at all. And there were two in the week that just passed, not to mention that there will be more ahead in the coming weeks.

The first one was the platoon live shoot (on a Monday), and it was supposed to have been a really easy day for me. With the exception of bashing through some bits of vegetation, all I had to do was wait till it was over, without even firing a single shot. That was what I thought was in store for me, that was indeed supposed to have been the case for me, until members of my platoon started falling out, be it via simply not turning up to camp the night before, or by taking MCs. It is indeed a problem that plagues my camp (and I am sure, other camps for that matter). I ended up being a replacement for one missing guy. That wasn't so bad, I consoled myself. And it was true, until the weather started getting torrential. It was far from what I wanted - prior experience had taught me that. I did not want to end up being in pools of mud, but honestly, I would rather do that than to have the activity postponed to what would most probably be on a weekend. The rain finally ceased at around 2pm - just in time for us to start with the blank shoot (every live shoot must be preceded by a blank practice - while it's tiresome, it's a safety practice that I agree with). After trekking through vegetation for slightly over a kilometre, we were about to commence with the shoot, and then it rained again. Heavily - that resulted in the shoot being cancelled yet again, except this time, we were soaked in the process. Everything else in the day went relatively smoothly, except for the lingering discomfort of being wet (not only were the clothes on our backs soaked, so were our feet - they were swimming in water-logged boots). It goes without saying that the rain caused the grounds to get muddy - and we were muddied, but that was not as grave an annoyance and discomfort as the state of wetness that we were in. We were cold and wet - and by a certain point, hungry, all the makings of being miserable. I was just thankful that the day was over. And one more thing: I had left my blank attachment (it is a small metal contraption added to the rifle to allow it to fire blank rounds) not far from the place where we departed - that freaked me out ridiculously. I didn't want to get into any trouble for losing a weapon part, and I was insanely upset with myself for being so careless. Long story short, it was found (rather easily might I add), and I was not punished - it is the grace of God that I have to thank for that. I suppose that was the only good thing that came out of the day, apart from being spared any lightning strikes and being shot by rounds.

The next one was a platoon outfield exercise. This one was marginally better than the live shoot, though it was not any less tiring. We had to dig a shell scrape (basically, a shallow trench/pit in the ground) to rest in the night before - we did in close to complete darkness, save for a torch light. It was excruciatingly frustrating to do that - not only was one battling a task that would be tiring on its own, it was made more difficult by the darkness, and in addition, the heat rashes that I had developed as a result of Monday's activity. All I can say is that I was amazed that God had brought me through the whole entire night - it felt like eternity when I was digging that hole. We were supposed to stay awake at some point in the night to guard the place, but I fell asleep during my shift, and I must say, it was truly necessary - the next day's activity would be immensely tiring. We were to attack enemies (rather ironically, these were played by some those who tried to weasel their way out of attending this outfield exercise by getting a MC) who dotted a very long and steep incline, but not before an insanely arduous trek through vegetation - that lasted over 4 hours. It was supposed to be around 4 kilometres, but it felt far longer, and I am sure that it was, given the detours that were made here and there. And just when that was over, we had yet another mission to complete - to attack another enemy hideout. It was supposedly near to where we ended the previous attack, but that walk took another 2 hours.

Truly, I say, outfield is ridiculously silly. And tiring.

And that is all that I have to say.

"Humanae [by Angelica Dass] is a chromatic inventory, a project that reflects on the colors beyond the borders of our codes by referencing the PANTONE� color scheme."

I'm not quite sure how I would like to interpret this particular project. On one hand, Ms Dass does a fantastic (and might I add, a rather thorough) job at highlighting that [skin] colour is nothing more than pigmentation, that diversity and variety are quintessential features to human existence. Yet I can't help but be slightly bothered about how skin colour is being tied to the Pantone colour scheme. It is almost dehumanising, especially when one notes that "[the] project's objective is to record and catalog all possible human skin tones", as if colour, and by extension the people that society have come to define them by can be treated as mere items that belong in a record.

And because I don't know what to make of this, I'll simply term it as remarkably interesting. But that doesn't do the work any justice. Hmm.