I was a spiteful boy

In the yester-yesteryear of primary school days, when we were blissfully still little kids who prance around and live a social existence oblivious of human treachery, unaware of social decorum and the complexities of human relationships, we uttered one too many silly thing - things that on retrospect you can't recall or disbelieve that you actually said them. But we needn't be surprised, really. It is probably not far from the truth that over the years each and everyone of us would have accumulated legions of remarks we wished we had never uttered - remarks that are variously unbelievably stupid, silly, outrageous, bizarre, ridiculous, harsh, hurtful or just simply unnecessary. And it is perhaps not implausible that all these qualities may all at once be present in some of the things that were ever said.

I found myself in embarrassment and disbelief when i met a primary school classmate once. And yes, as you would soon hear of, apparently i'd ever said something very horrible. But bear in mind i was then in all respects pretty much still a KID. And as we all know, kids can be really pesky and nasty; they say things in plain terms, from genuine opinions to downright silly but hilarious stuff; they are little devils and angels all at once. (Yeah, in case you don't know, i'm now providing advance justification for my imminent revelation.)

You know, because this is tiny Singapore, for a good majority of us born and bred here, the paths that we and our peers take often cross and converge. The ex-primary school classmate that i had met came from the same university as me, and needless to say, there were occasions when we would bump into each other (she also lives very near my place). She's the loquacious sort of person, and unrestrained by the inhibitions that normally make many girls shy talking, she's clearly comfortable speaking with both guys and girls. Together with a few other ex-classmates who lived in the same area, we used to hang around together after classes, sometimes playing catching in the playgrounds that used to be an ubiquitous sight in our neighbourhood. I also remember her as candid and brash speaking, but always confident and strong in the face of consistently frequent biting reprimands by our form teacher. In fact, many of us had to be strong, for we had a tough lady teacher who practised favouritism. She was affectionate to the academically strong students and especially harsh and biased against the weaker ones (of which i fall under this category). As we were talking about our primary school days and classmates, this friend of mine recalled bitterly how vulnerable she felt then, what with a stern, biased teacher being so harsh on an 11 year old kid.

She went on and told me many details of our primary school days, and i was rather stunned by her amazing memory. It seems she could recall so many things that I just couldn't remember. In fact, her memory is so fantastic that it apparently retained certain things that would suggest i was not a perfect, sensitive, kind and lovable boy at the age of 11 years. I really thought i was a very nice person like i am now (smirks). But i had to be proven wrong.

"Do you remember you said i was the ugliest girl when we were in primary school?"

I would like to say, in all honesty, i don't. And by the way, are you sure you remember correctly? Oh well, so the truth is i am capable of such hurtful, spiteful remarks. But because i do not have the benefit of good and clear memory, there's no ascertaining under what circumstances were those words said. But one thing is for sure - they've clearly stuck in her mind since. Oh boy, now i can add another charge to my accumulating list of sins i've committed. Fine, i shall say more nice things to my friends from now on to compensate for all that. And to somewhat redeem myself a little, my friend can take comfort to know that she certainly isn't ugly now. I doubt i genuinely believed she was ugly at 11 years old also. Hell, there are many uglier people around - and to this, i can safely say that my sin-list has yet taken another huge leap upwards...

words in politics

In the arena of politics and international relations, words matter a lot. Sometimes, their inadequacy is precisely meant to express - or conceal - the obvious, which is forbidden from being mentioned by the vague notion of political correctness. Language by itself permits vast possibilities of nuances and subtleties, and by the same token, that which is spoken or said permits various interpretations of its meaning and significance. Just ask any diplomat or lawyer.

During today's lecture, the sincere and dedicated but ultimately boring and monotonous lecturer caught my (and the rest of the lecture's) attention when he said something. We were on the topic of ASEAN and politics in Southeast Asia, and he mentioned something about PM Lee and Thaksin's meeting in Thailand, wherein the two leaders discussed matters with regard to Indonesia, that biggest member in the regional organisation.

He said: When Thailand and Singapore speak in Thailand about Indonesia affairs, it is called interferrence. When Thailand and Singapore and Indonesia talk about the latter's problems in its country, it is called dialogue.

It seems so trivial yet this demonstrates in a limited sort of way how language gives meaning to the whole notion of political correctness, or incorrectness.

The choice of words speaks volumes.

the indispensable Music

Listening to music is a great way to chill, to enjoy a certain equanimity and peace that accompanies the pleasure of imbibing splendidly melodious notes. And it doesn't cost much to appreciate music.

I find myself enjoying walking through the malls in the weekdays when there's not much of a crowd - no screaming kids, no three-generation families out in full force, no chaos and unbearable din. It's not because i fancy walking around looking at beautiful things which i would not mind possessing but which i can't afford. Sometimes i just linger around simply because the department store or mall happens to be playing some music that has got me hooked. You know, there must be a few times when you unconsciously find your attention diverted away from the array of displays to the certain piece of music or song that is being played. I've had that exprience many times. By sheer chance, there would be times when some really nice music happen to be played just as you happen to be around in that particular store or mall. And then you just continue to stroll on, while your head is full of the music/song in the air.

I also like chilling out at bars or pubs that play soft rock music or jazz, or where there are live bands performing. Ironically though, i haven't had many opportunities to spend time in such places. One thing is that you usually have got to pay a lot for the drinks in order to be inside the bar. This is not good for poor folks like me. Coffee clubs or houses are a good alternative, though the ambience is certainly not quite the same. And i don't suppose any coffee houses have any live bands performing. In Kuala Lumpur, there are quite a couple of pubs around that look pretty conducive for enjoying drinks and chilling out with friends. (Many of them, at least in the area where i was, aren't the kind that has loud raucous music blaring from within.) I was at this place in K.L. once where it is somewhat like the Holland V. of Singapore, in terms of the street ambience and its slightly cosmopolitan crowd. After walking around for some time trying to find a pub that plays decently good music, my friends and i finally settled on one that has nice cushion seats that can accomodate all of us. There were plenty of other bars around which have very creative names and which all seem to be playing music that is palatable to our preference. But i reckon we were then too tired from all the walking and decided to just get into one quickly. It turned out to be quite a decent one. And if i recall correctly still, a bucket of heineken bottles was ordered and shared amongst 4 of us. As it is our neighbour up north, of course the drinks were far much cheaper, allowing us to drink our fill merrily.

When i to travel to K.L. the next time, i would definitely visit the place again. Far better than shopping and tiring your legs, enjoying drinks with a group of friends and appreciating good music is a much better deal.

There are times when i feel like...

Getting away from home, from school
From the familiarity of everyday routines;
To be transported to a distant place where
Nothing else stands between you and
That elusive sense of inner calm.

Not with all that banality Life entails;
Not with the angst, the pain, the frustration -
Even capricious joy and transient relief.
Not with the engulfing din that refuses to cease,
Assaulting you no matter when and where.

You shut your eyes only to see the images.
The pillow over your head proves no match
Against the infilitrating noise that
Finds its way through insidiously -
Just as poisonous fumes would diffuse
So effortlessly, till every space is territorised,
Leaving you out of breath.

Solitude is no loneliness.
It is the quiet absence of troubles and din,
Its company well-loved and soothing.
When a crushing sense of helplessness descends,
You start to feel like a child all over again.
And so it's time to get away,
To take a breather and to find content.

Portraits I

1. I was on the bus when my wandering eyes spotted someone who looked almost certainly like her. She was leaning against a pillar outside Macdonald's and talking on the mobile phone. Even for the brief moment that i saw her from the bus (which was moving along still), that unmistakable languorous and insouciant air emanating from her gave me an immediate sense of certainty that i did not spot the wrong person. (I later got off the bus and approached her, and indeed i had not spotted wrongly.) At that position where she she was standing, she moved languorously on the same spot, talking into the phone and seemingly oblivious of the rush hour traffic both on the road and around the area where she stood. Amongst the friends that i know, not any of them exudes that nonchalant, almost unbothered mannerisms that i have come to associate with her. When she speaks, however, she is forthright with her opinions and her speech projects a vivacious tone. I am not sure if this aspect is contrasting or compatible with the idly-like quality i find in her movements.

2. He is one of the many people who patronizes the library, a place where during school semester i have no choice but to constantly seek its services. With plain but ordinary looks, he is not someone who would catch your attention if you spot him from afar. Yet there's something about him that makes me want to steal a quick glance at him without him being aware of - because it is with unkind intentions that i have found him worthy of another glance. He has short but abundant hair that is not combed in any parting, and neither is it styled - this is no fault of course. He also spots a mole on his face, though i can't reall now which part of his face it is on. This is no fault either.

Alas, it is the humongous pair of black-rimmed spectacles coupled with the two aforementioned features that make him such a comical and conspicuous sight. The huge spectacles are by no means a fashion statement - they aren't the kind that fashion-conscious people nowadays wear to give themselves a retro look. Instead, i suspect it is a pair that can well be considered an antique, for it is big and squarish on either side of the rim that hold the two lenses, and i dare say it covers half of his entire face - which, if you imagine, is a rather amazing sight. In particular, it is the square-shaped appearance of the spectacles that renders its mammoth size. You wish someone you know were with you so that you could point him to the comical sight. Then something bothers you a little: why does this guy look so familiar? Then you realise why: with his ultra-gigantic square-rimmed spectacles, he is the regular guy whom you always see in the Hong Kong-made movies of the 60s and 70s, like those starring the Hui brothers (Sam, Michael and Ricky).

He notices that you have been looking at his direction for some time and seem to be carrying a look of stifled laughter. As it dawns on you that you could have been looking at him for too long a time to be deemed polite, you quickly turn your gaze elsewhere, not without having secretly relished the sight of a decidedly comical look.

3. It is hard to focus on his lecture and one finds himself distracted and getting bored all too easily. It may not be an exaggeration to say that it takes an effort of will to follow what he says and not lose attention. For others who are taking this course not out of some genuine interest, it is difficult to imagine that they will ever find themselves inspired about the subject, which is all too academic in nature. I try to find an appropriate analogy to describe the lecturer's conduct - which is proof that i am distracted - and my friend concurred with my choice, albeit in a somewhat patronizing way.

'He (who is around 50 years old) speaks like a moving train which stops or slows down every few seconds, all the time while the train journey continues.' You don't get a respite because you are a passenger in the train; you may choose to be unattentive but there's no shutting out the lecturer's halting speech. It is as if he is trying to find the right word to complete his thoughts all the time. Despite his way of speaking, people around me do not seem very affected though, the reason perhaps being that he is teaching seriously - and, really, what other choices do they have? Sometimes, though, the jokes - if you consider them funny - he makes helps to relieve the boredom a little, though this happens sporadically. For example, urging students to familiarise themselves with the university's schedule, which is different before and after the semester break (before the break, the week starts on Monday, which is normal. Then the mid-semester break commences on Sunday and ends on the following Thursday. After which, each academic week begins on Friday till the following week's Thursday), he declares in no uncertain terms: 'This system is designed to confuse all of us.'

One wishes he would give more of such surprising comments in future so that the train journey would be more bearable.

We were all kids before

When you have relatives who live all over Singapore as well as across the causeway, sometimes it may take some years before you get acquainted with new additions to the extended family - or clan, if you like. Meanwhile, those whom you last met - and even then for only a brief moment - are growing up a little too quickly, and when you next see them, you realise to your horror they have morphed into something else you can't quite recognise. All would have grown taller, no doubt; but while some seem to have been underfed, there are those who would do well if they could give more of what they eat to their skinner siblings or cousins.

Altogether there are about seven to eight of them, an irrepressible bunch of kids. The youngest is around 3 or 4 years old while the oldest ought to be no older than 13 years of age. These little nephews and nieces are strangers to me, much like my family and I are to them. Unlike the rest of the kids who eagerly surround my brother and watch him play his computer games, the youngest boy is surprisingly unaffected by peer influence and the gripping source of attraction that has held the rest spell-bound. He's got a pair of sympathetic but somewhat melancholy eyes, and wears a dazed look that matches his habit of walking around absently - which is why he and not the others caught my attention.

Content to settle in his own little imaginary world - a world in which every one of us creates and immerses ourselves in when we were a kid - his quietness and seeming indifference to people and things around him set him apart from the rest. When i caught him uttering to himself at a little corner of the house, I lowered myself to his midget height and asked softly what his name is, careful not to speak unduly loudly for fear of frightening him to tears. Eyeing me with his charming but forlorn pair of small eyes, and looking placidly calm, he says gently, almost whispering, 'Derrick'. I smiled and he walked away indifferently, returning to his own little cloistered world, as if there had not just been an interruption. I knew only too well that this intruder was nothing and could not ruffle his placidness, for he certainly does not occupy a place in the privileged imaginary world of his.

It does not matter that most kids - like my nephews and nieces - behave shyly when they first arrive at the unfamiliar home of some very distant relative whom their parents have come to visit. Because, they being kids, all sense of unfamiliarity and uneasiness unfailingly disappears when the likes of computer games, toys and sweets are in plenty abundance to occupy their attention. (Kids can behave annoyingly, but there are many charms one can employ to turn them into obedient children.) Many a time though, some of these kids inevitably find themselves suffering the almost customary Auntie assault that all kids somehow would have gone through before: enduring the uncomfortable embrace of a loud-talking Auntie whom they have little affection for. Usually, their parents are either quiet accomplices or guilty partners-in-assault; using a combination of coaxing and threats - the latter more when their child displays stubborn resistance - they make sure their kid obliges the whimsical demands of the relative, who is probably someone of higher seniority, such as an aunt.

Typical profile of the Aunt: A little on the bulky side, with a crop of hair that has visibly been dyed many times over and again; gesticulates incessantly, talks and laughs a few decibels higher than normal, and makes small talk through sometimes unfunny or embrrassing recollections; but most important, displays an almost compulsive urge to grab or cuddle whichever hapless kid she fancies - though usually it's the youngest one (even toddlers are not spared).

Now, the hapless kid who finds himself in the doting embrace of his parents' aunt unfortunately doesn't share the same enthusiasm: he struggles to free himself of the persistent clutches of said Aunt, and with whatever puny strength of his, desperately fends off strong arms and hands that are all over his body, particularly on his cheeks. Meanwhile, he hears his unsympathetic parents authoritatively beseeching him to say some incomprehensible language to address the almost comical Auntie. As soon as he regains his freedom, he learns his lesson and steers clear of the vision and path of the Auntie. But before that, the Auntie-assualt is not over until that devastating, mouthful kiss is firmly planted on his face, to which he either rubs away instantly or seizes the opportunity to break free.

I look at kids and always find myself feeling a sense of joy and quiet happiness. Not only do they remind me of some experiences I've had when I was young, but their sheer presence and actions satisfy my selfish need for amusement as well. A perfect picture of guileless innocence and human charm, they represent the part of life which ironically is appreciated only when it becomes eternally eluded from us. Kids have a lot of fun at their age, unaware of adult problems and troubles in this world, but the fun and enjoyable times that they had is only fully realised when they have grown up - by which time they would already be too old to appreciate and relive the joy that is only bestowed on kids alone.

Perhaps, this is why kids are always so well-loved - not just merely because they are lovable little creatures, but that they are our connection with an innate part of our lives which would later become relegated to the vaguest of our life experiences, memories of which are triggered only when in contact with kids.

Of Episodes and Coincidences

In Aristotle's Poetics, the episode is an important concept.
Aristotle did not like episodes. According to him, an episode, from the point of
view of poetry, is the worst possible type of event. It is not an unavoidable
consequence of preceding action, nor the cause of what is to follow; it is
outside the casual chain of events which is the story. It is merely a sterile
accident which can be left out without making the story lose its intelligible
continuity, and is incapable of making a permanent mark upon the life of the
characters.

...But it is precisely here that we realise the relativity of the concept
of the episode, a relativity Aristotle did not think through: for nobody can
guarantee that some totally episodic event may not contain within itself a power
that some day could unexpectedly turn it into a cause of further events.

...We can thus complete Aristotle's definition of the episode and state: no
episode is a priori condemned to remain an episode for ever, for
every event, no matter how trivial, conceals within itself the possibility of
sooner or later changing into a story or an adventure. Episodes are like
landmines. The majority of them never explode, but the most unremarkable of them
may some day turn into a story that will prove fatal to you.

---Milan Kundera, Immorality, p. 338-339


I know i sound very unrealistic but it is precisely such ideas and possibilities about events, fate and coincidences that always have me thinking a little more about life's enigmas, about how Life can be regarded upon. I do concede there's that element of romanticising in thinking about all this, though i wonder if there's not an element of truth in all this as well. Things happen, but sometimes they do not just happen but are instead triggered by some earlier events. There are words and concepts like coincidences, miracles and episodes that we humans use to capture and give meaning to various occurence-types in life. Sometimes i wonder if too much significance is given to them, because they could be just mere creations that humans use to express what happen in our lives. Yet sometimes i also wonder if it's the other way round - that such occurrences in life conform to and represent the same concepts which we have devised to explain them; that a chance meeting is precisely a chance meeting, and coincidences, however frequent and ordinary they are, are nonetheless coincidences still.

The other day i was struck by the idea that a particular characteristic of Life could be accounted for by this: that outside the linear progression of your private life, of growing up through different ages and stages, one important aspect is comprised of and given meaning by gatherings, meet-ups and so on. Imagine how in your calender and schedule there are countless number of social and/or family gatherings occupying your space and time. Consider how you came to know a group of friends, or a certain friend, through some particular institution or certain stage in your life (it could be JC, university, your first job, your seventh job, your church, your piano lesson etc). There comes a time when you would inevitably see them less often. And here comes the time when it seems almost necessary to arrange for regular or annual gatherings. In this manner, haven't such gatherings and meetings become woven into the beat of your life? If besides work and eat and sleep and sex that form the basic necessities in a man's life, aren't human interactions and gatherings just an indispensable part, unless you live a devotedly solitary life?

Therefore, in between the routines wherein you go about your life everyday, deliberate time has been set aside for meeting with different groups of friends and people. Almost unknowningly, these gatherings have come to occupy and define a part of your life that otherwise moves on ceaselessly without you taking time to ponder over their significance.

Two secondary school friends of mine, whom i have stayed in contact with, unexpectedly met our then-Literature teacher in a cafe. One of them called me up and passed the phone to my teacher, who had me guessing who she is. It was a really pleasant surprise, for i had lost touch with this teacher whom i enjoyed talking to a lot since a few years back. The next thing, my friend promised that a meet-up would be arranged, for the teacher will be leaving Singapore soon.

Is that just something innocuous and unlikely yet not to be surprised at? Or is this what would be called a coincidence (or fortuity), which seems likely to be producing certain consequences that are entirely attributable to that chance meeting, of which i wasn't even involved?

Reading the particular chapter from Milan Kundera's novel, his words struck a chord in me.

Enid Blyton or Roald Dahl

I suspect many of my peers must have been an Enid Blyton fan when they were young, probably in their primary school days. Either that, or they could have been reading Famous Five novels or Nancy Drew. (I hope i didn't get the names wrong, for they all seem so yesteryear.) I do remember reading one or two Enid Blyton books myeslf - there were many, many titles - but i was never enamoured of them. These days, besides that immensely popular Harry Potter series, i wonder what books our young are now reading.

I do have a favourite children's author though, and to this very day i still relish reading his books, which are absolutely delightful. I wanted to write something about this because of two reasons. First, i had bought a book by the said author during the holidays - and no, it's not one of his children books but his collection of Unexpected stories (hint!). Secondly - now this is a giveaway - the cinema is showing a film by the same title of one of his books: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Incidentally, i just read that the film was given a good rating by Ong Sor Fern, the film critic with the Straits Times.

He is Roald Dahl of course. Right in the back of my precious little bookshelf is a series of his books that i had begged my mum to buy them for me when i was still very young. They are a treasure and i wouldn't for anything give them up. Although many of the plots of the stories have somewhat faded in my memory, there's no doubt that reading them had once given me infinite joy. Titles like The Witches, James and the Giant Peach, The BFG, Matilda, The Magic Finger and - yes - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory are true gems which simply nourish the imaginative powers of any child and adult alike. And that's because Roald Dahl writes with amazing wit and charm. He is able to write about characters that readers like me would find sympathy in and rally behind, and these characters are juxtaposed with delightfully caricatured nasty guys whom we all know too well and detest (because such characters are all around us). In short, as many novelists and critics have pointed out, Roald Dahl is that famous, superb master storyteller - that 'absoulte master of the twist in the tale'.

His adult short stories are equally fascinating, and every one of which indeed has an ironic, almost sardonic twist that accompanies the development of the story. For someone who is able to inject ironies into his stories with such seeming ease, i reckon he had lived an enriching life, where his keeness of mind and penetrating eyes had observed the many ironies that are replete in our lives. Yet it takes someone who has a certain wit and gift for writing to be able to produce those engaging stories.

My teacher used to read my class wonderful stories, using those gigantic books that are held on her laps to aid her story-telling. But when it comes to Roald Dahl's books, which were thicker and not available in those massive book sizes, she would simply sit us around her and read out the story to us as would a master storyteller. The class would listen intently, and sometimes, there would be illustrations in the books which my teacher would stretch her hands out and show to us. That's when little brats like us start to get excited and incorporate those pictures into our own mental pictures so as to visualise what and how the story would play out in real life. I still remember that Quentin Blake did the illustrations for many of Roald Dahl's novels. The pictures resemble the caricatured characters and they are somehow long and malleable-like. Most important, Quentin Blake's illustrations and Roald Dahl's vivid and ironic descriptions make a formidable pair. In any case, this was how i fell in love with Roald Dahl's books.

I wish i had time to revisit his books all over again. I tried in the holidays but ultimately, other necessary books and readings, plus many excuses and procrastination, had meant that i couldn't finish reading. I've started reading Tales of The Unexpected although i'm far from finishing. But it's all right. These are short stories which i intend to read every now and then - they are not like novels and my academic readings that need longer time and consistency to finish. Only thing is i have too many of both leisure reading and academic reading materials!

That time of the year again

The surest sign that the Chinese 7th month Hungry Ghost Festival has arrived is not the chilly wind that brushes your face and arms while you hurry home in the quiet of the night: It's when you visit the hawker centre and see tables set up along the side-walkways, with elaborate set-ups consisting of a potpourri of altars and ash-filled urns cluttering the table. Before you even set foot on the hawker centre, the scent of burning incense would have already been detected from afar. And, depending whether you grew up in a family or in an environment where practices such as burning of incense and making offerings to Chinese deties or ancestors are a familiar sight, you may either walk on with ease, feeling not the slightest discomfiture, or you may hurry your footsteps while trying hard to bear with the noxious smell.

The first day of the festival starts only tomorrow, yet the atmosphere of the hawker centre has already discernibly transformed: there's a certain subdued liveliness, and a certain air of quiet calm seems to have descended on this mortal marketplace. Or perhaps this could be attributed to the thinning afternoon crowd - a common scene in our hawker centres - which has clearly caused your attention to rest firmly on the preparations by the hawkers for the first day of the 7th month. There are people busy setting up the tables that would hold the altars, urns and a constant supply of offerings (consisting of both cooked food and fruits) for the entire month. Others, including passerbys, respectfully take their turns to light up joss sticks offered to spirits or as prayers for Chinese deties - but you aren't really sure about that, and neither are you very bothered by your ignorance. Although a Chinese yourself, you look upon such practices and beliefs as mere traditions that have endured and been passed down for generations.

Instead, other trivia piqued your curiosity. You recall that on those tables that would be around for the entire month, who provides and replenishes the joss sticks and food that never run out? Can anyone just pick up the joss sticks, light them, say a prayer and stick them into the urn? Who takes charge of emptying the urns? What happens to the food that are being offered on the tables? It's just amazing that the Chinese are simply able to put aside many differences and commit themselves to the tasks necessitated by the occasion. Save for the Muslim stall holders, almost every store owner who is a Chinese would dutifully join the rituals. Especially because they are businessmen, ensuring that incense and food are offered - as appeasement? - is something that needs to be carried out piously.

On your way back home, you walk past a shop that on most days would not even have caught your attention. Its small store space and unattractive goods make it a perfectly inconspicuous shop in the area. But this time, you bothered to take a closer look, and you realised the shop has risen up in importance during this period. Cartons of goods stacked haphazardly outside it informs you that its goods are in high demand and sales, most probably brisk. Then you realise why: this is one of the few surviving shops around that sells the items the Chinese use for making offerings during important occasions; incense, red candles, paper money and various other items could all be found here. Again, you can't help but wonder just how does the shop owner survive in this trade. Sure, there aren't many such shops around and competition therefore isn't cut-throat. But these items are not like foodstuff and other daily necessities which people buy frequently. One can only guess that the shop owner possibly still makes enough to get by. And now is the period to make a lot of sales to compensate for quieter times.

Night has come and almost instantly, everywhere in the neighbourhood there would be some pious individual - some, families - burning incense and paper money. It's an all too familiar sight for someone who lives in public housing estates. At the fringe of the grasspatch that meets the concrete drains, candles and joss sticks alike sprout up all over. The flame flickers in the wind, which carries and fills the air with the waft of the burning incense. The surroundings are shrouded in a mild haze and the smell of burning joss sticks permeates the air, giving some an uneasy feeling.

But for you, everything's just normal. Such are the things you've grown accustomed to living in a Chinese-dominated society and in the HDB heartland. After all, you've even engaged in these practices when you were younger, believing and fearing many of the things that your elders told you in hushed voices. However, as for now, other matters preoccupy your mind: the cleaners are going to have a hard time the following day clearing up the ashes and left-overs of the incense and candles.

I bemoan the demise of yet another blog. Although this blog RARELY saw new life
breathed into it - which the owner is only too well aware of - its termination
means there would be no chances of reading from someone who displays wit and
unfailing humour in his writing. =(

I left this message on my friend's blog after learning of his decision to stop blogging. Actually, the message is ironic, even superfluous - for his announcement doesn't change anything, as he hitherto posts a message on his blog approximately the number of times local opposition parties win electoral seats: few and far between. Hence, the content of his latest post makes little difference, really.

Yet I can't help but lament his decision, because on the few occasions that he blogs, i invariably relish reading his witty remarks and hilarious observations. Before, there were the regular and not so regular emails that provided opportunity to hear from him. A pity he wasn't an enthusiastic writer, and coupled with other factors, the emails soon petered out. Which is why his termination of his blog, however infrequently updated it is, can mean only bad news. Add to this the fact that he speaks as little when we meet up as i do when i visit my grandmother (who speaks only hokkien) - gosh, i am so not going to hear from him either in person or through writing in future!!

The Kueh Tu Tu Seller & Hawker Centre

I can't help but notice that the Uncle selling Kueh Tu Tu is the same man who has been selling the traditional kueh since i was probably still in my primary school days a decade ago. Surprisingly, given what i can recall of him when i was still a kid, he seems not to have aged very much, unlike most other hawkers who have been pedalling their trade for many years. He could be in his early fifties, though years of standing for long periods of time each day have not made him any less weary or shrunken. Instead, he exhibits a certain kind of resilience and sturdiness - qualities necessary for a job that requires one to stand for long hours and ceaselessly make hot piping kueh out of very basic tools and ingredients. (For the record, kueh tu tu - either a peranakan or indonesian delight, i ain't sure - is a simple kueh made of flour containing either coconut paste or peanuts as its filling. It is steamed and served on a small pandan leaf.)

It is all the more impressive that he alone has been making the kueh all these years. Though of course i don't sit down at the hawker centre and observe him for hours, i wonder if he ever has time for a break when he starts making and selling the kueh from late afternoon to night each day. The small ones are sold at 3 for a dollar and i must say they are very delicious. While you don't see a queue snaking from the front of the store, there are always people buying from him. Usually, people would wait at the empty tables or stand around the stall.

I found myself doing just that yesterday, having decided that the plate of bland nasi goreng i had for my late lunch was inadequate and unsatisfying. Quite ashamed of myself, i have to confess that i have not patronised his stall for as long as i can remember. It has always been my parents or someone else who buy the kueh; all i have to do is to stretch my hands and grab it. Anyhow, i waited quietly around as i tried to figure the system of making orders. Although there is no formal way of queuing and placing your orders, customers are hardly bothered by that. This is probably because such unspoken rules are recognised and acknowledged, and people generally wait for their turn to order. Besides, no one can begrudge the Uncle who alone takes orders, collects money and at the same time makes the kueh and steams them. If there's any complaint, it is ultimately assauged by the appreciation shown this polite and stoic hawker. At any rate, people who buy from him are probably long-time customers who understand too well how the system works.

Like other people who were standing around waiting for their food, i did what most other people appeared to be doing: observe and appreciate how the Uncle manages to run everything by himself. As with other veteran masters of their trades, this Uncle is no different in that his consummate skills and years of experience show in the way he manages every detail of his business. To make the kueh, he would fill a metallic cup with plenty of flour, followed by either peanut or coconut paste as the inner filling before covering it up with more flour. The metallic cup is able to hold just three small kueh. This would then be placed on the steam machine (next to the table which he does all the preparation) to replace another one in which the kueh would by now be cooked. At any one time, the steam machine - designed especially for making kueh tu tu - can hold only two metallic cups - the equivalent of 6 small kueh. And while the kueh are being steamed, the Uncle is either preparing for a new batch of kueh ready to replace them, or he would be packing the cooked ones for the customers and collecting money from them. He also arranges the kueh according to their filling - though it amazes me how he remembers which is which, since the final product all look the same, not to mention that there are surely many things in his mind as he carries out all the said tasks over and again.

-----------------------------------------------
A secondary school teacher once told me that she prefers to eat at hawker centres over food courts and restaruants because she feels that the former offers you food that is more genuine. I have always liked eating at hawker centres, however dingy or uncomfortable some may be, because they offer a gamut of delectable local delights and don't burn a big hole in your pocket. Restaurants are fine only if i can afford the costly meals.

But hawker centres offer much more than just great and cheap food: they give you a slice of local life, of what it means to be earning a humble and, many a time, hard living in a city that is increasingly recognised more for its cosmopolitan and global aspirations. This is the impression and genuine feelings evoked whenever i visit a hawker centre, and they are totally different from the experience i get when eating in restaurants. In addition to the doubtlessly necessary fault-finding with the often terrible and dismal service at many restaurants here in Singapore, eating at restaurants and upmarket eating places, while being able to enjoy a cozy setting, has a somewhat more artificial and detached facet that accompanies the experience.

I recognise the unfairness in my assessment because, indeed, eating at hawker centres and restaurants are supposed to offer vastly different experiences. Food courts offer patrons the comfort of eating in an air-conditioned and generally clean environment, while people who dine at restaurants are willing to part with more money in exchange for good service (which is not always present), famous cuisine - offered only at such places - as well as ambience and other aesthetic qualities and practical concerns (social gatherings, for instance, would be better conducted in restaurants rather than hawker centres).

Yet it is precisely for the above reasons that all but render eating at restaurants and food courts a comparatively less genuine and heartfelt experience. The authentic cuisines and occasional impeccably polite waiter or waitress aside, a food court or restaurant experience simply fails to provide the rich, vibrant and interactive conditions that their humble brethren affords. It is a structural fault, so to speak, because such is the difference between eating at local food centres, tucked away in the midst of the Singapore heartlands, and fine restaurants and ubiquitous food courts.

Eating at the stuffier hawker centre whose air is saturated with smoke and a potent concoction of smells emanating from char kuay teow and fried western food to grilled sambal fish, among others, there are infinitely more sights and sounds and smells that enrich your experience. If you enjoyed the food but regret that your clothes now reek of oil and fried smell, remember the hawkers who stand for hours on end preparing those food. And remember that the food costs much less than what you would expect at other places. Take also a closer look at the hawkers, such as the Kueh Tu Tu Uncle, and appreciate that what you are seeing might well be a dying trade. While some hawkers are rude and some put on an invariably forlorn look, there are also others who are enthusiastically friendly and loquacious, chatting you up and sharing stories more than you are interested to hear from them. The sugarcane drink Auntie spots you from faraway and yells in her clear prominent voice to direct you to empty seats, faster than you could reject her well-rehearsed lines that are repeated tirelessly hundreds of times everyday. Then there are so many of them vying for your attention that you find them loathsome; but what more can one expect from these people who depend on selling as many cups of sugar canes as they can to pay rents and earn a living? You also witness ugly and kind Singaporeans alike in action, from those who jump queues or litter, to those who make space to share the table with you and those who despite not needing another packet of tissue yet are still willing to buy from the old lady who leads a blind man and sells tissue paper from table to table.

Above and over all that, while not many would regard such experiences appealing or relevant to the subject of eating a meal, these occurrences, sightings and experiences at hawker centres are as genuine as the food you get at these places. Food courts and restaurants precisely seek to reduce discomfort and efface many of the unpleasant conditions (like unbearable heat, dirtiness, noise etc) accompanying eating at hawker centres. And in so doing they remove the natural chaos and abundant opportunities for one to appreciate and immerse in a more authentic local setting - because in place of all the conditions present at hawker centres, what one gets while eating in a restaurant or food court is a sense of a somewhat manufactured social setting and interactions that are marred by a certain degree of pretense and enforced social order that lacks human empathy.

The Kueh Tu Tu Uncle could well be putting on a disguise when he dons his apron and churns out delicious kueh after kueh. But i find it hard not to be moved by his dilligence and dedication in a very humble business that, by most measures, makes very modest earnings. And it is perhaps this certain empathy evoked that has me find resonance with the less glamourous aspects in life.

NKF saga - Participatory Citizenship?

While the international headlines have been dominated yet again by terrorism due to the repeated London bombings, locally, it is the NKF saga that has gripped Singaporeans' attention. There is not a day since then-CEO of NKF T.T.Durai made some startling relevations in court that the Straits Times (ST) has failed to report on something related to NKF. This is, however, to be expected after all since the NKF issue has taken on national proportions - and the ST, being the national daily, inevitably would be reporting on the unfolding events.

In its editorial, A Firestorm named NKF, on 23rd July, the ST editorialises:

We should think the political leadership is acutely watchful of an
us-against-them divide forming. Is it an exaggeration to say a generational leap
has taken place in Singapore society and in the nature of a quiscent citizenry?
Maybe it is too soon to say. But what the nation has seen exhibited in the
past fornight is empowerment, participatory citizenship - something the new
breed of government leaders has been urging on the people. The NKF firestorm
unleashed was discomfiting to some, but the popular demand for corrective action
has been a compensating act of morality. It has to be positive for the country's
future.

Undeniably, there has certainly been more active participation from the citizenry in bringing about changes to NKF over the past few weeks. Public wrath has been swift and audible not least because the ST has been generous with its reporting on the matter and publishing many a Forum letter that censures NKF's wrongdoing. Also, there's no doubt the government saw it necessary to intervene, by finding an interim chairman, a new board and CEO to replace the outgoing group - something which the public had clamoured for when they learnt of the glaring misinformation that has been fed them by the nation's most successful charity organisation. We have thus witnessed, most certainly, through the media's reporting and coverage of the issue how the NKF saga unfolded and the magnitude and extent of the public's anger.

With that in mind, there should be pause to think about what the editorial piece said of Singaporeans' involvement in the past few weeks in regard to the NKF saga. The editorial observes that 'what the nation has seen exhibited in the past fortnight is empowerment, participatory citizenship'. At first glance, it is all too easy to accept that assertion in its entirety. After all, public participation has indeed been visible and pervasive. Most Singaporeans have donated regularly to the NKF over the years, and almost everyone has something to comment about the issue. They each have their own opinion what kind of actions ought to be carried out when they realised the NKF has not been forthcoming and transparent with how public donation is managed.

Yet one should not forget that however active citizenry participation has been, the ST has been an interested and paramount party in how events played out in the aftermath of its court victory. One appluads the ST for bringing to light the lack of transparency of NKF. Despite it being one of the parties in the lawsuit, it has to fulfill its duty as the national daily by reporting the episode and the ensuing actions taken by NKF. At the same time, because it is one of the involved parties, and the victorious one at that, one should be aware that the ST has every power to influence, however subtly, the public's reactions towards the whole affair. This is not to suggest that there's foul play here but rather, the extent of the reporting, the opinions expressed by its employees (journalists and editors) and even right down to the forum letters chosen to be published - all this have a definite and deliberate impact on the views of the public. When the ST is the only newspaper that is read by most Singaporeans, it becomes that public perception is shaped strongly by the direction of the paper's reporting and stance on various issues.

(Take for instance today's (29 July) ST publication of Dr. Balakrishnan's clarification on the headline of an article ('Shape up, charities told') published yesterday. The minister took issue with the headline because it inacurrately suggested the substance of his comments. For ST readers who read mainly headlines and articles selectively, or even those who had read the said article, they would hardly have disputed the appropriateness of the headline. The impression formed would have been one which reinforces a negative perception of local charities. Had Dr. Balakrishnan not made any clarifications, it is likely that a negative impression of charities would become further entrenched. This case serves to illustrate the important role of the ST and the powers at its disposal to shape and influence the direction of readers' opinions on a public issue.)

The bone of contention here is however not the credibility of ST or any likely wrongdoing on its part. Having laid out the implications of the role of ST in the NKF saga, it is possible now to ask whether it is true if indeed 'empowerment' and 'participatory citizenship' were exhibited in the past few weeks. Such qualities are difficult to determine and measure, and generally speaking, the only way to get a feel of 'participatory citizenship' is through the media's coverage of public reactions. Participatory citizenship suggests a vibrant and active political culture where citizens' participation in public issues is high. This is perhaps evident judging by the amount of letters the ST has received as well as the unanimous public aversion to NKF's misconduct. In the case of empowerment, one can think of how the public voluntarily collected signatures through the internet to push for T.T Durai's resignation. Public disapproval has also been prominent as reported in the papers, and it is precisely the widespread wrath incurred that has had the government sit up and intervene.

So yes, empowerment and participatory citizenship do seem to be the order of the day. Singaporeans have probably not seen such unanimous and widespread public response - met by swift government action - in a very long time. Yet there is a big caveat that is the cause of the discordant note registered in the editorial's comment that 'the nation has seen exhibited in the past fortnight, empowerment (and) particpatory citizenship'. Because the ST is an interested party in the affair, and because it is the nation's only daily (save for Today), it is empowered to influence or manipulate the ebb and flow of public opinions. While it cannot directly determine how many people would respond to and participate in a public issue, by the nature of the media, and especially SPH monopolistic hold on local news reporting here in Singapore, the truth is that the ST can contribute to the scope as well as substance of public debate and citizenry participation. Thus, while the editorial comments that empowerment and participatory citizenship were manifested in the NKF saga, could it be that the ST has a major role to affect that precise outcome; that the ST is the nurturer of a more mature and vibrant political culture in Singapore, in part because it has vested interests and stands on a moral high ground with regard to the NKF debacle? If so, it is perhaps disingenuous for ST to make such an observation.

Write on

I am facing the swimming pool now, sitting by the cafeteria and enjoying the chilling evening air brought on by the downpour. It was raining constantly but in just a minute, the tempo of the pelting rain accelerated, as if someone above has chosen to unleash its wrath at that precise moment. The rain's quite heavy but there's no lightning, hence there are still the obstinate few who continue to swim, seemingly unaffected by the ferocious rain and, certainly, the cold.

It's been a long time since i last wrote. Anyone who writes (or blogs) has got to ask himself: For what reason am i writing? It was never my intention to write about my insipid life, and i suspect this blog is going to see new entries less regularly, as it already is happening now. But why i started writing (blogging) is this: One, i see writing as an absolutely essential form of self-espression, much like the paramount importance of freedom of speech that every democratic society fiercely protects and/or advocates. To write is to at once exercise self-discipline by collecting my thoughts and expressing them concisely and clearly in words. It is also a liberating experience, because i believe self-expression, which writing entails, is an innately human condition that cannot be suppressed. The second reason is that, wherever possible, by writing regularly and consistently, I seek to hone my writing skills. To write well and to be able to express oneself clearly is certainly an asset, and like all things else, this can only be improved through practice.

Reservist training took up a considerable amount of my personal time, and my first reservist experience has impressed upon me the sacrifice that all male Singaporeans (who have served their madatory 2 1/2 years NS) make in the name of national defence. We often hear laments, complaints and innumerous army jokes and anecdotes. All this should never diminish or overshadow the reality and fact of doing NS reservist in Singapore.

And as i am preoccupied with school activities now, I hope wherever possible, i would be able to make time to post something, to muse about life and detail the transience of everyday's experiences and happenings.

Now's just too busy, however.