Tuesday, April 29, 2008

the 'foolish journalist'

We had a little role-play for our class today, where we had to draw lots to pick out a character and act it out in class. The setting was for a 'press conference', and the theme on 'Asian values', where Singapore's draconian laws on hanging without exceptions taking central stage.

The roles were that of Singapore SM Lee Kuan Yew, Malaysia former-PM Mahathir Mohamad, and journalists from all over the world, including South China Morning Post, International Herald Tribune, New York Times and The Straits Times.

As usual, you always pick out the role which you least favour. And, for me, I picked out the role that I would most hate to be in real-life - Journalist for The Straits Times, Singapore.

Well, basically, since the setting was a 'press conference', the main stars were 'Lee' and 'Mahathir', who had to field questions from the 'press'.

Everyone began saying how easy my role was, because basically I had three choices on what I had to do as a journalist with The Straits Times:

(1) Agree with Lee Kuan Yew

(2) Agree with Lee Kuan Yew

(3) Agree with Lee Kuan Yew

How hard was that, really?

And, so, the 'press conference' began. It was basically divided into three groups. 'Lee' (played by this Caucasian guy) & 'Mahathir' (played by another Caucasian guy), the 'Western press' (played by mostly Caucasians) and the 'Asian press' (played by mostly Asians, including myself).

The 'Western press' started off by firing questions mostly at 'Lee', such as why Singapore had to resort to hanging people, instead of sentencing them to life-long sentences.

(Side-track a bit: Hangings in Singapore take place every Friday at 6.05am at Changi Prison, and media coverage usually seen the following week. Singapore journalists actually send their articles to public relations departments to proof-read before sending it to press. And also, some international publications go to the extent of sending their articles to Lee Kuan Yew himself to proof-read before sending it to press.)

A 'Western journalist' argued that a lifetime behind bars was more humane than hanging people. To which 'Lee' replied, "Do you know how much it costs to keep someone in jail?" adding that it was costing taxpayers' money to pay for jail -baits' food, housing etc.

The 'Western press' was pretty aggressive in the beginning, firing non-stop queries, leading 'Lee' to question: "Can we please have some questions from the Asian press?"

So, basically, as I've so clearly outlined my role before, I had to agree with whatever the Caucasian guy (playing Lee) said. Easy enough. But, I ended up making a fool of myself.

Raising my hand, I introduced myself and where I was from, before directing my question at 'Lee'.

"Singapore is building itself up as a global city. So, by hanging people without considering reasons such as why they are bringing drugs into the country, do you think it will taint the image of the city?"


Which I admit was INDEED a very inane question, and TOTALLY OUT OF CONTEXT OF MY ROLE-PLAYING.

To which, 'Lee' turned to the lecturer, puzzled, and sought to confirm which 'publication' I was from again. After confirming, 'Lee' turned to me and said something along the lines of,

"Well, you do know that you need to have
your license renewed annually.

I'm going to have your license revoked."

I know of some Straits Times journalists who have actually been brave enough to voice out their dissent to Lee himself. But, unfortunately, the only outcome of their courageousness was having their press license revoked, and most leave the country disillusioned.

There was a
Reuters journalist who also posed a very provocative question to Lee once on the freedom of the press, or lack of it, in Singapore. To which, Lee avoided the question thoroughly and asked totally inconsequential questions of his own, such as the journalist's name and which publication she came from.

I could be wrong, but after answering my question and causing a minor uproar, 'Lee' turned to 'Mahathir' and said that it was a 'foolish' question to ask, which led me to think if it were in a real-life setting, would I have done the same thing? The answer is no. Because it's just not worth it, simple enough.

Well, I got to redeem some of my common sense back later on in the 'conference'. A 'Western journalist' had posed something along this line of question to 'Lee': "Do you think it's right to restrict the freedom of the press and cause your citizens to live in a climate of fear?"

To which, 'Lee' started off by disagreeing that the citizens live in a climate of fear, before trailing off, and finding himself at a loss for words. Cleverly, he turned to me and asked, "Well, what do you have to say, Singapore journalist from The Straits Times?"

My reply went something along the lines of, "Well, I would say that Singapore citizens don't really mind the lack of press freedom. Because they have everything, housing, cars, education...They place economic stability above freedom of speech." To which, I could see my lecturer at the side nodding her head vigorously in agreement.

Having only stood up to 'Lee' in a pretend-setting, I must say that I applaud the journalists who have done so in real-life, but yet I cannot help shaking my head and questioning the outcome of their bravery.

A revoked license. A disillusioned you. And just another statistic that bloggers and senior citizens at the Kopitiam discuss about and the mainstream media indelibly censor out.

Is it really worth it?

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

the death of a loved one

❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
girl im suffering from a heartbreak
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
becoz my beloved jus died..
sweet ★ promises says:
ok im gg to type WHAT
sweet ★ promises says:
but i think you're talking bt e JJ serial right
sweet ★ promises says:
=)
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
NO I'M TALKING ABOUT REAL LIFE
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
AND I'M REALLY UPSET
sweet ★ promises says:
WHAT ? ?
sweet ★ promises says:
WHO ? ?
sweet ★ promises says:
JJ died ? ?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
AND VERY DEPRESSED
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
I COULDN'T SLEEP OR EAT PROPERLY EVEN.
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
NO. NOT JJ.
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
ITS MY DARLING.
sweet ★ promises says:
i thot ur darling IS jj
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
LIKE THE MOST IMPORTANT ONE IN MY LIFE.
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
GET IT?
sweet ★ promises says:
ohmygod is it really a person ?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
MY SONY ERICSSON PHONE DIED YESTERDAY NIGHT LA
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
VERY DEPRESSING CAN
sweet ★ promises says:
OH GOSSSH you gave me a heart break can!
sweet ★ promises says:
but thats still terrible news !!
sweet ★ promises says:
how
sweet ★ promises says:
you dropped into e bowl isit
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
YES
sweet ★ promises says:
what you really did ! TSK !
sweet ★ promises says:
i hope it was a CLEAN bowl
sweet ★ promises says:
=P
sweet ★ promises says:
but ew, toilet bowl =P
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
yeah. and it was a toilet bowl full of shit
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
becoz i haven flushed it yet
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
and the hp dropped in
sweet ★ promises says:
YUCKS tell me you are SO kidding
sweet ★ promises says:
then you deserve to have it die on you after such humiliation !!
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
no i'm not kidding
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
i'm totally serious
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
and u know what else?
sweet ★ promises sent 4/23/2008 5:03 PM:
oh gosh it better be sth not worse than what you've alrdy told me
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
well actually it is
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
but if i tell you, you must promise me not to tell anyone else
sweet ★ promises says:
WAIT I KNOW
sweet ★ promises says:
you took it out w ur bare hands amidst e shit !!
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
OMG, how did u know?????!!!
sweet ★ promises says:
YOU SO DID NOT DO THAT !!
sweet ★ promises says:
dont you have gloves or anything like tt ? ?
sweet ★ promises says:
TONGS ?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
how else was i supposed to take it out?
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
it was a public toilet, for goodness sakes!!
sweet ★ promises says:
hahhahahaha
sweet ★ promises says:
oh man
sweet ★ promises says:
tissues! LOTS OF TISSUES
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
but that was not what i was going to tell you
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
i was going to tell you something else
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
but then u must promise not to tell anyone?
sweet ★ promises says:
zip mouth shut and throws key out e window
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
ok la its kinda like a secret
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
you see
❤ The Chocolate Writing System ❤ says:
actually, i'm harry potter, and every night, i fly around on a broomstick, and if i touch water, i turn into a mermaid

I might as well mention to you, dear readers, that this is the very same friend who once believed me when I told her I was working as a fireman (or woman). "I put out a fire and saved an entire family today," I said, and she took in every word faithfully, in the same way a Christian believes in the words of the Holy Bible.

The real truth of the death of my handphone is a lot less carnival-fanfare. I forgot to take it out of my jacket and soaked the whole thing in water.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

St. Kilda Beach


St.Kilda beach is postcard-perfect.

Especially more so when the sun begins to set, and amazing streaks of pink and orange start to taint the sky.
























St. Kilda Beach at Daytime
























St. Kilda Beach at Sunset
























St. Kilda Beach at Night

And, that's not the best thing about St. Kilda. While loitering around the beach and the sea rocks, we noticed a sign that said penguins come out to play at St. Kilda when night falls. After confirming it with some passers-by, we hanged around, waiting for the penguins' grand arrival. As far as I know, there are a total of three penguins at St. Kilda. Shy creatures by nature, they cower behind a stumble of rocks, and never really come out to meet people. Photos are not allowed, but...



















Penguin hiding behind rocks



















Close-up of Penguin
























Seagulls at lighthouse



















Close-up of seagulls





















Just some of the thousands of boats floating above the seas


























When we were about to leave, we stopped for a chat with this fisherman. He was only one of the many people fishing at St. Kilda. Apparently, he had been here for quite some time, and haven't had a single catch yet. During our conversation, his fishing pole started stirring. He had caught a fish! Just as he was reeling his catch in and placing the fish into the white bucket, his second fishing pool started jumping as well. He had caught another fish! Before we left, this gentlemen held our hands and thanked us. "You bring me good luck," he said, the resounding ending note of our time spent at St. Kilda.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

i want to go home

Once the novelty has worn off, I miss the familiarity I once had.

Friday, April 18, 2008

fuck you

I'm not scared of loneliness.
If I were, I wouldn't have come all the way to Australia all by myself.

Suddenly, three years seem like an eternity.

Sunday, April 06, 2008

clubbing: billboard style ver 1.0

I went clubbing on Saturday night with a few of my mates at Billboard. Basically, clubs are a mass gathering and the 'celebration' of the wastage of so much human potential.

Young people, with really bad dancing, attention-seekers trying to fit into the 'cool' bracket, girls with outfits that one of my ex-colleagues term 'half of her moon is showing', and guys looking for a free fuck.
Loud, blaring music. Cool, hip people. Outrageous dress sense. And, some of the rare few with So You Think You Can Dance? worthy dance moves.

It amazes me how my friends who are all great dancers, can dance for more than three hours without stopping. Vic, who is from Russia, got onto the tabletop and danced continuously for three hours straight, no breaks in between.


This guy, with piercings all over his face, asked me to take a picture of him in this body-builder posture. Here are his 5 seconds worth of fame in this humble blog of mine.

This couple (OR RANDOM STRANGERS, I REALLY HAVE NO IDEA) were engaged in some sort of dirty dancing. Dance, kiss, separate, dance, kiss, separate, guy walks off, friend joins girl, and then both get back together again. Repeat above.

Halfway, I caught one of my friends chatting with a very decent-looking Malay guy. Initially, I assumed that they knew each other. But, then something about my friend's demeanour, triggered off alarm bells ringing within me. Something inside me snapped and I just knew something wasn't right. My instincts were later proven correct.

This Malay dude proceeded to whisper something in my friend's ear. Again and again. While my friend listened intently. "Do you know him?" I wanted to ask, but the blaring music made any sort of hearing nearly impossible.

My friend, clearly drunk, would later confess that she couldn't hear a word the dude was saying. I guess the dude took my friend's drunken disposition as silent acquiescence, for the next thing I knew, he had a firm grip on my friend and was dragging her across the dancefloor. Hand on heart, I didn't want to intrude, especially if the both of them knew each other. With a million questions racing through my head, my feet did the thinking for me. My steps quickened with each beat of the music, as I whizzed past the dancefloors, the table tops, to come to the bar.

Now, the Malay dude was talking to my friend again. But, in a split of a second, all the dynamics shifted. He pressed my friend against the wall, his body against her, and he was kissing my friend on the lips. My friend said, 'No', but the guy persisted. It was clear enough that he wanted to bring her home. Confused, shocked and disconcerted, I found myself reaching for my friend, pulling her away from the guy, turning on my heels and walking away. My head was reeling from all the shock and the mystifying turn of events.

These guys are so cheap. They go to clubs, pay a cover charge of 15, and scan the dancefloors for a free shag. Suddenly, I find that guys who pay for prostitutes are waayyyy classier. So, when my friend T told me: "If you dance, you get to meet some really nice guys," I shot him back with, "If you dance, you get to meet all the wrong sort of guys."

The night was called to an abrupt stop when all the lights went up, the music went dead, and the security guards started chasing everyone out. I checked my watch. 3.10.

When it was time to leave, we caught M scribbling his number on some Asian chick's hand. Apparently, the chick wanted his number, and he said, 'No', but he could give her his number instead. What's the attraction factor that Asian girls have towards Aussie guys? The exoticness that allures them to something unknown, tantalizing, fascinating, strange and the very unfamiliar?

After a couple of drinks....

S: "Cheryl, I swear, you are my best Uni friend ever!"

C: "Er....okay. Right.....but I've only known you for a while..."

S: "NO! That's not true! I've known you for TWO weeks."

I SWEAR drunk people have no idea what they are talking about.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

more than meets the eyes

In most people's eyes, holidays have become a festival of convivial merry-making, school holidays, time-off from the banality of life to smell the proverbial flowers by the roadside.

These festivals have become so commercialized that how many of us actually truly know the meaning of these festivals, that these calendar dates actually mark the death of these saintly mortals?

During Good Friday and Easter, crucifixions in honour of Jesus take place every year in the Philippines, the only country in Asia that has a predominantly Roman-catholic population.

Children as young as fifteen are pinned to crosses, have 6-inch pins driven into their flesh, and have to endure blistering pain as whips are slashed across their backs hours before the c
rucifixions take place.

The voluntary participants line up as they wait for their turn to be crucified for an excruciating five minutes under the relentless scorching sun. As pins the size of an adult's little finger are hammered through their flesh, you witness their faces twisting into tormented expressions, and blood pours down their faces and bodies. It is a gory, bloody sight to behold.

Sadly, even the evil claws of commercialization have found their way into such activities. Stalls are set up nearby selling items like souvenir whips and even VIP tickets are sold for spectators wishing to have an upfront view of these real-life crucifixions going on right before their very eyes.

Such events are treated with all-seriousness in the Philippines, being the only Catholic nation in Asia. During the Easter festival, bloodshed has a whole different meaning with the Filipinos. During processions, they cut their backs with broken glass, until their entire back is covered with blood, some of which inadvertently splattering onto the cutter's hands.

In such reconstructions of how Jesus died on the cross, these acts of self-flagellations are seen to be a washing away or atonement of sins, as well as to bring blessings for the family.

The entire significance of the event has been lost through the meaningless blood-fest tastelessly packaged as a spectator sport, ad nauseum in its masquerading as a glorification or tribute to Jesus. The volunteers who have the pins pierced through their flesh do it for base reasons, and lack true understanding of the crucifixions.

I think such processes lend new meaning to Good Friday and Easter, that in some countries, it is more than just cute bunnies and chocolates eggs.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

the ugly duckling among the swans

Before I came to Melbourne to study journalism, my friend who is studying media in Perth told me,

"No matter which class you go to, there will definitely be ONE Singaporean. I went to a class, there were 23 students. 11 were Singaporeans, and 12 were Aussies."

My friend's right.

No matter which class I go to, there will always at least be ONE Singaporean.

And, that's myself.

It was hard getting used to the idea. Going to a class full of yellow heads and blondes, where you are the only Asian, where no one bothered to talk to you, where the Aussies congregate, where you feel different, out of place, foreign. Before I came here, I had a very idealistic view. But, after I came here, I noticed that EVERYONE sticks to people who are a mirror reflection of themselves. The Asians stick with the Asians, the Aussies stick to the Aussies. That's the rules of the game. You either stick to it or you rewrite the rules. Most people do the former.

In a world where the Chinese stick to the Chinese, the Westerners stick to the Westerners, being the only Asian studying Journalism (an unpopular course in the East, no doubt), with no Vietnamese, no Malaysians, no Indonesians to turn to (my Modern Asia class is the only exception), you are forced into a situation whereby you have to change things.

Any Asian student who has ever studied in Australia can tell you how difficult it is to make friends with the Aussies. Reasons have been given for this: saying that Aussies may not be as confident as they appear to be, they might have the same insecurities as the foreign students, and so they choose to mix with their own kind.

But the rule of the game is: You have to be the first to throw the dice.

You see so many Asians on the street that you forget this is Melbourne, that this is a Western country (afflicted with the "Sydney disease" - large influx of foreigners). But, then you take a further look, and you realize the great segregation of skin colours.

Monday, March 17, 2008

F1 Ferrari Fever @ Lygon Street

This post is specially dedicated to my friend Dee, who is nuts about F1. Happy 21st babe.

Hand on heart, I did everything I could to dig up every last piece of information bone-dry on the Australian Grand Prix because my friend is a fan of F1 and Kimi Raikkonen.

I even searched the internet for details on Kimi's flight, but some of my guy friends who are into F1 told me that it costs at least $80 for the cheapest ticket to the Grand Prix. So, it would be wiser to watch it on TV for free.

So, I thought that at the very least, I could make my way down to Albert Park on the day itself. But guess what? All the tram services have been shut down due to the Grand Prix!

So when this Aussie friend working at an Italian restaurant informed us that there was going to be a Ferrari showcase ("where people go to see the models, not the cars"), I went nuts.

The entire Lygon Street was brimming with activity, restaurants having outrageous promotions, Italians who are HUGE, HUGE fans of F1. Trust me, I hear the word F1 wherever I go.

The F1 merchandise is sold for crazily high prices, a jacket alone costs $180, and an autographed memorabilia of Kimi costs $200++. It's crazy.

The night ended on a note of disappointment, as you can see from the photos below. There wasn't much to see at all, even when I returned at a later timing.

Lunch at the famous Lygon Street. This is seriously the only place I know in Melbourne that operates on a 24-hour basis.

It has built up a well reputation for housing a smorgasbord of high-class dining eateries. The prices of the food are equally high-class.

Here you see me having pasta for lunch. See the wine and see the plain water that I'm having. The wine owner recommended the sweetest type of wine to me, and I still found it bitter! Apparently, its a medley of rose and raspberry, and the bright, ripe colour gives an idea of how sweet it is supposed to be. I guess, unlike Aussies, I don't have a 'European's stomach' ( a term used to describe people who can consume large quantities of wine in a single seating) for wine.













A giant poster of Kimi. Or at least what I think is Kimi. For god's sake, I have no idea what Kimi looks like exactly, so please forgive me, if the guy in the photo is some random dude instead of Kimi.


Thursday, March 13, 2008

youth is wasted on the young

My friend ruffles through her bag, takes out a cigarette and brings it to her lips. "Ahhhh..." A mild form of ecstasy passes her face briefly as wisps of smoke danced around her. "I haven't smoked, like, the whole day."

I sit beside her, witnessing my friend in her marathon run to get lung cancer. She's doing well in the race.

"So..." I begin. "Your aim is to get lung cancer, huh?"

My friend's face tells me she doesn't like the sound of that. She is silent for a moment before asserting, "I don't smoke a lot. I only smoke, like, once a day!"

"Yeah, that adds up to 365 times a year." I pause. "That's like, 365 attempts to get lung cancer!"

My friend doesn't look pleased at all. Honesty is a rare commodity, nowadays.

My friend, who is a heavy drinker and smoker, laments that I do neither of those. "It's a pity you don't drink, because it's when you drink, that you talk crap." And, her argument is that you can have a hell of a great time, bonding and talking crap with your friends when you are drunk-pissed.

What good is verbal diarrhoea if all that comes out is shit and crap? (pun totally intended)

This is why George Bernard Shaw said: "Youth is wasted on the young." We are at the peak of our physical health, our minds are at its most alert, and what do we decide to do with this boon? We go out, party, and get ourselves drunk-pissed.

Nice.

"So, basically, you don't drink, you don't smoke, and you don't do weed." One second later, "That's pretty good, you know."

Sometimes, I forbid my friend to smoke, and she listens. And, because I don't drink, it means that time spent with me isn't spent on drinking.

I think that I'm a very positive influence. This is the reason why people should try hanging out with nerds more often.

Saturday, March 08, 2008

road trip

On an early Saturday morning, the seven of us made our way to Mount Dandenong. We set out in two separate cars, and it was a one-and-a-half-hour journey from the city.













































Halfway, we had some car trouble. One of the car's wheel got stuck in a pile of debris and had trouble reversing. So, we had to get out of the car, which was halted in the middle of a down way slope. Meanwhile, a middle-aged lady living nearby was peeping her head outside to see what the ruckus was all about.




















One of our pit-stops - where we could feed the birds - the cockatoos and the parrots. The cockatoos were an aggressive bunch, and one of us got bitten. Here, you can see a cockatoo happily munching on food.





















































This is the part where supposedly you can see the whole of Melbourne from where you are standing.




















Just your typical English Garden - flowing gushes of little streams of rivers, green shrubbery, flowers (some in their full bloom, others in a withering state), bridges, benches, old and young people.














The girls - on one of the benches in The English Garden





















The guys - on The Giant's Chair.

Apparently, there is a legend (to trick small kids) that whenever the monster who lived in the Stone Age got tired, he would traipse his way to The Giant's Chair where he laid to rest.





















































Miss Marple's Tea Room, a cute cottage outside flanked by acres and acres of creeping greenery, inside is like straight out of a movie set - replete with teapots, cackling firewood, photos of Miss Marples (a movie character), and waitresses decked out in cute, tablecloth-inspired dresses and aprons.

We had British-style breakfast of Scottish origin - freshly-baked Devonshire scones, complete with a heavenly combination of soft vanilla cream and jam.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

pardon me.

For my previous post, I recieved some flak from a couple of total strangers for NOT raising my hands when my lecturer asked if there were any Singaporeans in class.

Many seem to have gotten the idea that I was ashamed to raise up my hand become I was embarrassed of the country that I grew up in.

YOU GUYS ARE SO WRONG.

However, to say that I didn't raise my hand because I was a Singaporean, and because I was born that way, then you've got it right. As one reader put it, "Shows how much of Singaporean indoctrination you've gotten into you already."

I once read an article that Singaporeans who have emigrated overseas or are just staying in foreign countries on a temporary basis, love to fade into the background. They seldom do or say things that makes them stand out from the crowd, but rather, they seem contented to remain just another face in the sea of crowds.

Another reader lamented that it was a shame that I choose to melt into the background, and that "The country has no connection with you, apart from the fact that you were born there. "

REALLY???

I have no idea why he would choose to romanticise the entire scenario. The truth is, people have their own biasness and prejudices, and people form baseless opinions of you just based on your nationality. For example, I would say that China people have a pretty bad reputation among Asians in Australia. And, even if you were just a product of your country, there is no denying the fact that the culture you grew up in has a very vital role in shaping and forming you as an individual.

Also, just as a final thought, as another reader also pointed out, if I had really went on to raise my hand, would the lecturer then have minced his words? On the other hand, wouldn't it be interesting for the lecturer to speak with unbridled flow, without biting his tongue or toning down his language just because there was a Singaporean around? Maybe only then could he really say what he intended to say.

And, that's probably the best excuse I can give for not raising up my hand.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

singapore, the concrete jungle

"Are there any Singaporeans around here?"

The lecturer waited patiently, for anyone, anyone at all, to raise their hands. Mine remained nestled in the cradle of my thighs. No way was I going to raise that hand of mine.

"Oh, come on," the lecturer conjoled. "There HAS to be a Singaporean here!"

Still, my hands remained stubbornly still.

Is it any surprise that Singaporeans just love fading into the wallpaper roles when they are overseas?

Now, the entire lecture hall had heads turning. Some shook their heads, indicating to the lecturer that, "No, there are no Singaporeans here."

"Well then," the bearded man clasped his hands tightly together. "Then I shall go on to slight Singapore!"

Thank God I didn't raise my hand, I thought.

Call it instinct, but I just KNEW that the lecturer was going to pass some offensive comments on Singapore. It seems that, in a school culture where Singapore is more often than not a talking point among the lecturers' teaching materials, nobody has anything good to say about Singapore.

As some of you might know, Reporters Without Borders did a survey of press freedom internationally, and Asian countries consistently ranked the lowest among these rankings.

Singapore, OBVIOUSLY, has no press freedom to speak of. It came out 146th place in the rankings. The Straits Times is the government's mouthpiece, and Lee Kuan Yew once said that the purpose of the daily newspaper is for "nation-building".

What with all the ethical talk of journalists, my lecturer then went on to criticise Singapore. We have to pick a country for our assignment, and I'm thinking Singapore. Because I have so many things I would like to criticise about Singapore's press. But, Russia would be a good country to scrutinize too.

For our Modern Asia class, we watched a documentary of Singapore (AGAIN!) on the Lonely Planet. Basically, the show portrayed Singapore as a concrete jungle and its citizens having a real passion for food.

I watched the video and had the same effect a bulimic sticking a finger up her throat would induce. Fake. Try too hard. Just playing it up for the sake of the cameras. Couldn't understand a word the guy was saying - were just some of the comments my Aussie coursemates had to say about Singaporeans.

And, sadly, I could only agree. Come on, I grew up in Singapore, and people DO NOT speak in that ang-mohish accent, DO NOT speak in proper English and full sentences and CERTAINLY DO NOT just whip up a chick onto his bike.

So, anyway, Kumar (Singapore's most famous drag queen) was featured in the video, in an all-too-obvious attempt to portray Singapore as anything BUT the sterilized country it is. So, there we have Kumar with his trademark slap-stick antics, talking about sex and holding a vibrator for his Grandma.

And, the best response he could elicit from my Aussie coursemate was: "I couldn't understand a word the guy was saying."

Well, guess what?

Half the time, I have no idea what my lecturers are saying.

Saturday, February 09, 2008

The Long and Short about My Not-Very-Smart Maid

Everyone, I have a very, very sad piece of news for you all today. And, that is, as of today, 9 Feb 2007, our family is still stuck with the same maid.

Well, as they say, at the end of the tunnel you will find light. This light, that I'm talking about, is the very funny tales that I shall share with you nice guys today.

All of the conversations were painfully exasperating at the time when it happened, but outrageously funny upon reflection.

--------------------------------

Well, I had a job interview some time ago, but had left the house forgetting to bring the address of the company along with me. So, I called home, and the maid answered the phone.

In the end, I spent a good half-an-hour just to get the company address out from the maid.

Me: You know, the classifieds newspapers two days ago, can you turn it to the last page?

Maid:
(ruffling sounds of her turning the pages of the newspaper can be heard over the phone. Her modus operandi? Turning the newspaper from page one onwards, page two...page three.....)


Me:
(exasperated) Can you please just turn to the last page? THE LAST PAGE?
(Sounds of her flipping pages continue, page four, page five, page six...)

Me:
Erm, you don't have to start from page one, you know? Can you please just turn to the LAST PAGE of the newspaper?!


Maid:
Yes, last page, last page...(continue flipping) I no found yet...


Me:
Ok, you turn to the last page, did you see that I scribbled down the address at the bottom?

Maid: (No answer, flipping of newspaper continues)

Me:
HELLO?! Please turn to the last page! THE LAST PAGE! Listen to me, don't flip anymore, just turn to the very last page.


Maid:
Yeah, yeah, I looking for....(flipping of newspaper continues)


Me:
Ok, are you at the last page yet? Ok, do you see at the last page, I used the pen to draw many circles? Can you read out to me what is inside the circle?


Maid:
Don't have, don't have. I no found yet...(flipping of newspaper continues)


Me:
(feels like straggling myself) No, no. OK, OK. Listen to me. LAST PAGE. Repeat after me. Last page. Last page. Last page. (I suddenly feel like a kindergarten teacher teaching a bunch of toddlers the alphabets.)
(no answer)

Me:
(Breathes in, breathes out) OK, OK. LISTEN TO ME. At the last page of the newspaper, I got use pen to circle right? Circle one, circle two, circle three, circle four, circle five, and circle six....Okay, can you read out to me the words in the circles?


Maid:
Six?! Okay, okay. Page one, page two, page three.......yes, page six! But, no have....


Me: NO, NO, NO! Not page six!!! Last page of the newspaper! LAST PAGE. Repeat after me. LAST PAGE. LAST PAGE. LAST PAGE. Turn to the last page of the newspaper.....Now do you see the circles that I draw using pen? A lot of circles, one circle, two circle.......

Maid: no have....ok wait....page six...telemarketer.....OH! STORE KEEPER IS IT?!

Me:
(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) (hangs up phone)

--------------------------------

Sister: Can you help me get my i-pod from downstairs, the white colour one, remember?

Maid: Oh.....okay, okay. (Maid goes downstairs, and reappears with a cup of iced water)

Maid: Here, your iced water.

Sister:
No, no, no! i-pod, i-pod, not iced water! The white colour one!
(Maid goes downstairs, and reappears with a white cup)

Maid:
Here, your white cup.


Sister:
No, no. My i-pod, I-POD, I-POD!


Maid: Wardrobe?!
No la! Wardrobe too heavy la, cannot carry upstairs!


Sister: i-pod, i-pod, i-pod, you know the one that can listen music?

(Maid goes downstairs, and reappears with a pair of spoilt earphones)


Sister:
.... (speechless)

--------------------------------

Sister: Did you see my school socks?

Maid: (nods head) Yes, okay. You want two japanese chicken for breakfast tomorrow, right?

Sister: ...

-------------------------------

(Dad is lying on the sofa in the room, maid also in the same room)

Maid starts searching frantically high and low around the room for a long period of time. Suddenly, Dad gets frustrated and asks her, "What exactly are you looking for?"

Maid's answer is this.

"OH, SIR! You are here! I am looking everywhere for you. I cannot find you!"

Dad: ... (speechless)

-------------------------------

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

I am fat, but you are ugly

Recently, someone told my mother that I was fat.

I went up to the person and told her that she is ugly.

Please don't agitate me! A fat person of course knows that he or she is fat without someone else highlighting it.

The only difference between me and her is that she is a coward, only daring to say unflattering things about me behind my back.

I really couldn't stand such rude and cowardish behaviour, and so just went up to her and told her in the face, "You are ugly."

The look on her face was priceless.

From now on, I shall be brutally honest with people who don't deserve my respect.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

The Long and Short about My Love for Money

I take back every single moronic pronouncement that I made previously on this blog about me not loving money, and money NOT being the oxygen of my happiness. Because it is.

Money can make me put up with:

(1) Being a sales promoter.

"Hello, would you like try our kueh lapis? We are having a $10 off promotion, only for today, last day."

Try repeating that a hundred times in a few hours, and then getting rejected about 60% of the time.

(2) Travelling an hour just to get to work.

They didn't get back to me initially, because they thought that I lived too far from the workplace. But, I practically insisted, that it was no huge deal at all travelling from the west to the east side of singapore every bloody morning.

(3) Running for the bus like an idiot every morning.

It's true. The further you live from your intended destination, the earlier you tend to reach. Remember how back in school, when the earliest to reach the school was the same person living furthest away from the school, and how the latecomers all lived nearby?

Well, I'm proud to say that I've ALWAYS been on time (i.e 5 to 10 minutes late only) since I started work about a week ago. No mean feat, I'll have you know. Everyone who knows me knows that I walk at the pace of an old granny carrying ten bags, and absolutely abhor running for the bus because I dread the pityingly looks on the faces of everyone who happens to be standing at the bus stop, when I've just ran 10,000 km after the bus and missed it by a whizz of a second.

(4) My stupid bloody moronic idiotic ungentlemanly Indonesian boss.

Firstly, it is just NOT RIGHT, to have two girls (one young, the other pregnant) to lug two heavy luggages all the way from the car to the office, and YOU (a young, perfectly normal man) to carry a light packet of tissue paper boxes or even NOTHING, trailing behind the both of them.

Secondly, thanks to ME, I managed to help you make a total of $400+ sales in just over a few hours, and I'm not even talking about the commission, but it's bloody RUDE and INSULTING when I answer a phone call, and just happen to forget the stupid price of the prune kueh lapis because of my cluttered, overloaded mind, to say that I have been working under you for four days, and shouldn't I have memorised the price by hard now? Oh, yes, I should have. How could I have forgotten that a prune kueh lapis costs $45 for 1.2kg? Sorry. My bloody mistake.

(5) Being a food packer, sticker paster, admin staff, phone-call answering machine, rubbish collector, and I'm not even mentioning about sweating like a mad idiot in the food factory, with the moronic aircon breaking down like an old man with arthritis, leaving your entire body drenched in sweat.

Well, that's about it.


Friday, January 18, 2008

The Long and Short about Never Giving Up Hope

"Every if you tell me that the person is dead,
I will still believe that I can bring him back to life."
~smartyypants

If there's one thing about me, it's that I embrace a glimmer of hope in even the most dire circumstances. Even when everyone around me is telling me that whatever I do would be rendered useless, I will still go ahead and do it anyway. I will still have hope anyway. I have to. By not deserting hope, it's the only way I can continue believing.

So, anyway, my sister had been 'suffering' an emotional backlash at her new school. Turns out, that MGS girls are really stuck-up, arrogant bitches, who stick to their own clique and exclude everyone else out. (psst, everyone else had the same complaint)

So, my sister decided to enlist all the help she could to get back to her old school. In the midst of everything, there was a lot of differing opinions. Emotional well-being or academic achievements?

Despite everyone's well-meaning advice asking her to stay on, the emotional tug-of-war in my sister's heart could not be ignored.

Finally, on Tuesday, we received news that someone had transferred out of the school, because she couldn't fit into the social environment.

There were a flurry of calls, altercations, and most importantly, a beacon of hope.

A personal trip down to the general office was being drenched in a flood of negative opinions. From "no more incoming applicants on the waiting list allowed" to "even if you speak to the principal, the result will be the same" to "chances are very, very slim, almost none (i.e you can forget about ever coming back this year)."

I remember HER very well. The person that delivered the news. She was a stern, slightly plump middle-aged lady.

We were informed that the chances of my sister getting back into the school were VERY, VERY SLIM, and the vacancy had been filled already, thank you very much.

When we finally left the school, the feeling was like a final nail in the coffin. The flame of hope had been snuffed out right before my sister's eyes. We saw no more hope, and yet we continued hoping...

Undeterred, that night, I decided to write an appeal letter addressed personally to the principal. The letter was heart-breakingly honest, the emotions very raw. When I was done, at the bottom of my letter, I signed off as my mother's name.

When I went down to the school the next day to personally hand in the letter to the principal, the reaction from the staff were less than friendly.

"Didn't we make it VERY clear to you already yesterday?"

"Yes, but I would like to speak to the principal personally please." Inside, I felt like a little kid suppressing guilty feelings for pestering her mum for sweets when it was dinnertime.

"(Annoyed) She's in a meeting right now."

"Okay, then please pass this letter over to her on my behalf, thanks." When the brown envelope left my reluctant hands, there was a sinking feeling in my heart.

Th principal promptly got back to my mum the very next day, and very clearly told my mum that she would give my sister first-hand priority if anyone decided to withdraw from the school.

"Chances are very slim, it's already the second week, it's highly unlikely that anyone would back out of the school now." Inside, the ringing discouragement from the school staff leeched onto my mind.

Everything we had done thus far in our attempt to get my sister back into her old school, was met with a stern NO. Now, this, THIS, if anything at all, was our best excuse for hoping.

A week later, a student was forced to uproot to another country, and withdrew from the school.

----------------------------------

Today, I was at the same location, and I was walking on the same path. But, there was one thing different. My sister is now officially a pupil of the school she loves so much.

And, when the stern, slightly plump middle-aged lady approached my sister with regards to her re-admission to her school, my heart swelled with a kind of triumphant elation.

So did my sister's.