The Shy Ogre That Wasn't.







In a stony outcrop in The Wood, there once lived an Ogre.



It was a very shy Ogre.



When it slept, it slept under a great big pile of rocks. It kept it warm and safe.



When it woke in the late mornings, the great big pile would shiver and a few loose rocks at the top of the pile would roll down, and you would have been able to see the top of the shy Ogre's head. She had frizzy black hair, and it shone under the late morning sun. And she would peek out over the pile to see if anyone was around before she came out.



If there happened to be a passer-by, she would timidly speak in a small voice,"Would you turn around please? I am about to come out of my pile and I am quite the shy Ogre."



If there was not anyone around, she would slowly ease herself out of the pile, and when she was sure she was alone, she would give herself a thorough shake to shake off any pebbles and bugs that were caught in her shiny, frizzy black hair.



Everyone in The Wood did not know what the Ogre looked like. Because she was so very shy.



"We do not know what she looks like. Sometimes we are not even sure whoooo she is." said Old Ollie the Owl as he sat in his branch high up a birch tree.



"Yes! We do not know! We do not know sometimes!" cried the litter of light brown bunnies, hopping excitedly around the place. "Hush, little ones. We must not be rude. Sometimes people are too shy to be as noticeable as we would like them to be." cooed Ma Rabbit, patiently trying to gather all her little bunnies into their hole in the ground.





The Shy Ogre trundled by one evening and all the little bunnies were excited to see her, even though they could not quite see her face.



"Ogre! Ogre! Do turn around and show us your face! Do not be shy! We want to know what you look like! Let us be friends so that we can play together in the meadow!" cried the little light brown bunnies.



The Ogre blushed deeply and shook her head.



"Please Ogre! At least look at us!" cried the little light brown bunnies, giggling to themselves when they saw that the Ogre was blushing.



The Ogre gathered up its courage, and it slowly turned to face the little light brown bunnies. But they could not see its face. It was covered by all her shiny, frizzy black hair.



"Oh Ogre! We cannot see your face! It is covered by all your shiny, frizzy black hair!" the little light brown bunnies cried.



But the Ogre was shy again and it turned away and trundled off to its home in the stony outcrop of The Wood.



"Come to the end-of-season picnic tomorrow! It will be held at the meadows! There will much to eat and drink Ogre! Do come!" the little light brown bunnies cried out as their very shy friend walked off.







The next day, the little light brown bunnies were hopping around merrily in the meadow as Ma Rabbit prepared little dishes of carrots and lettuce. Almost all the animals of the wood were there. Grandpa Mole was there, Big Beatrice the Bear was there, Monterey the Field Mouse was there, even Lopez the Lemur was there.



Everyone was happy and eating and drinking. Old Ollie the Owl sat in a tree looking down at the merry proceedings.



Suddenly the Ogre arrived, but no one saw her at first, for she was standing shyly behind some ixora bushes as it looked at the crowd. Soon she emerged from the bushes and walked to the merry little crowd of animals.



"Look, it's the Ogre! And she's got her shiny, frizzy black hair tied up and tucked behind her ears! And she is...!" the excited little light brown bunnies cried out but were stopped mid-sentence by the sight that was presented to them.



"Why, yes, she does have her hair..." Ma Rabbit started, but could not find her voice to finish what she had to say when she turned to look at the Ogre.



"Oh my." said Big Beatrice the Bear.



"Sweet Jesus." said Grandpa Mole.



"Holy fucking crap." said Monterey the Field Mouse.



"I'll be fucked" said Lopez the Lemur, "that is one ugly son of a bitch of an Ogre."



The Ogre stood unmovingly before them.



She smiled.



She looked around coyly and she smiled some more.



Her smile got so big and wide that it almost covered her face.



"Ma! Tell her to go away!" cried the little light brown bunnies, all of them close to tears.



"...Oh my..." was all Ma Rabbit could force herself to say.



The Coy Ogre beamed. And she turned around and walked away.



Now everyone knew, the Shy Ogre was not Shy at all. The Shy Ogre was just being Coy.



The Coy Ogre reached her home in the stony outcrop in The Wood in the night. She gathered up a pile of rocks and crept inside the pile and settled down to sleep, with a big smile on her face.



The Coy Ogre was happy that everyone knew she was not the Shy Ogre they thought she was.



The Coy Ogre slept like a baby.



"Jesus, that is one ugly bitch." muttered Old Ollie the Owl to himself, sitting on his branch high up a tree as he saw the Coy Ogre go to sleep.



No one bothered the Coy Ogre anymore from then on.

Corazon de diablo. Siempre me intentas rebajar.

do you believe what i sing now?





Ok i'm going to do a bit of promoting here.

For those of you who don't know about it yet, Dashboard Confessional are the next band you have to hear. Believe me, you will like them. Originally a one man band, now it is a full band. Fronted by former further seems forever frontman, Chris Carraba. Check them out.



Choice tracks - "A Plain Morning", "Screaming Infidelities","Best Deceptions", "So Impossible"

i did something today that i've never done before in my life. i hope it's not the start of something bad.

Wow. What an uproar my little comment on channel 8 drama serials has caused.







All The News That's Nu







Ahh...sunday morning. Nothing like getting up when you want to, but it would seem that it doesn't matter to me since i get up around 8.30 most of the time on sundays. Most of my friends(whatever little i have), get up way later than this, and have trouble getting roused from their slumber. Sometimes all it takes is just a shiny glass bottle(perrier or corona will do) up the arse. Sometimes you need to add a little twist of the wrist to get them up and singing.







There hardly is anything interesting to watch on tv in the mornings on sunday. What happened to cool programs like "Sunday Brunch" with Ng Chin Han and pre-fame Diana Ser? I settled for channel Newsasia this time seeing that somehow Pokemon hasn't started and the Powerpuff Girls only fight crime on saturday mornings.







There's some Japanese guy on tv and he's talking about some retraining stuff after he got retrenched. He's in a new job now and he's nattering about his boss who helped him. Then as i tuck into breakfast, a trailer for an upcoming show comes up. "Follow Billy the Beagle as he goes through a day of obedience school". Now, that's news. Just what the busy executive needs on a sunday morning after a week of missed deadlines, shoddy accounting and underhanded business practices.







"Gee Lou, I wonder how the stock market's doing this morning. There'd better be more yield for my equities or heads will roll on Monday. Hahaha! Ahh...What the? Where's the stock market table? What's this damn dog doing. I don't want to see this damn dog go to school! Lou, where's my Business Times? No, no get me the Asian Wall Street Journal instead. What, you haven't bought them yet? Where is the damn market report. C'mon...c'mon, yes, dog peeing dog running c'mon show the...oh jesus christ."





i've switched the tv off.











Oh there's one good thing though. Turns out that there are drama serial reruns on saturday mornings after all. i was pleasantly surprised when i switched on the tv yesterday morning. This time however, the focus of the episode wasn't on fashion, it was on the bad acting.





i can't wait for monday morning to come.

The story that has been in the works for about 2 years now is finally done at smallstoriesonline. Go check it out in its complete glory. All 16 parts of it. Story's called " Same Difference" and i guarantee it will not be like any other comic you've seen before. And it's good stuff too.

The days are getting longer, and the time is getting shorter.





i wake up real early in the mornings and i usually sit down to some tv as i eat my breakfast everyday. i'm always looking forward to watching one of the cooking shows i love, be it those hosted by the nosh brothers, jamie oliver, nancy kwan or even nigella lawson. But somehow channel 5 has screwed up big time and put a stupid design show on the 5.30am slot instead. It's not even "designer guys"! Or the one, the only, Nik Manjolovich from the lifestyle show i cannot remember the name of. It's really fulfilling to watch fags host design and lifestyle shows. Instead of any of these essential shows, they instead have reruns of incredibly old chinese drama serials on channel 8. The one on this period of time is one which has Sean Say, Madeline Zhu, Sally Chen and some other familiar face who acts in my genie 2 right now. How fucken retro can you get? C'mon it's Madeline fucking Zhu. When was the last time you heard of her?





The thing about old chinese dramas is that you get a look at fashion back in the day. And holy crap, it was fucking horrible. The drama that was showing before this current one was one about two policemen who are best friends, one of which was Thomas Ong. An example of fashion from there? A pair of light faded jeans, tight. Track Shoes, unknown brand. T-shirt which looks like it was bought at the wet market. And the final finishing touch. A beautiful stained-pink-in-the-wash windbreaker. Now we're struttin'. The show right now is about a female police inspector, Madeline Zhu. Sally Chen is some gongfu tomboy. And she has a deep voice, which i wish i wasn't reminded of. And Sean Say, i can't remember what he does besides run around and shout with conviction a lot(that seems to happen a lot in chinese dramas, no?). The horrific sight i was greeted with this morning was this guy(the resident baddie, smarmy, over-confident and supposedly dashing) who was in a mustard-beige suit ensemble. Only thing was, the fashionista wasn't wearing a shirt inside his suit. Not a tie even. Instead, Mr Hotlook was wearing a goddamn singlet in his suit. A low cut one at that, with ethnic wet market designs on the front. And of course, a black choker with what seems to be a hardened shiny fish's eyeball dangling off it. i wish i wore stuff like that. i like to look good sometimes too.





And they say that Singaporeans have a terrible sense of etiquette, wearing sandals and flip-flops into hotel restaurants. Considering the era before this, i think we've made quite a leap ahead. And really, this is a bleedingly hot and humid tropical country so you can't really dress up in the latest fall fashions unless you want to have your trendy togs sticking to your back the whole day can you? Want an example? Look at the shows on tv now. The American shows, everyone wears jackets and stuff. The local shows, everyone wears, at the most, a shirt and pants. Unless there's a really stereotypical businessman character in his suit wardrobe didn't have the right size in.





It is still early in the night, but i feel like going to sleep now so that i can wake up early tomorrow for my daily fix of the latest in fashion of the era past.





Wait, it's Saturday tomorrow, so there won't be a rerun.





Damn.

you want parallels, but all i am is tangential to you.

Has anyone realised yet that the Malaysian milk product "Klim" is just milk spelt backwards? Could we get any more clever with ideas? I'd rather they just called it Susu or something.





i do love it so when you people leave comments. On that note, i'd like to extend my warmest regards to faeriepoof for your delightful contribution to this space. i'd like to show you my cherry one day.





i think "someone you should know" is hitting the nail on the nose here. You guys can just use this place as your own blog too and leave your comments. Cos if theres something to be said, there'll be someone to hear it. Nonsense is good. i value nonsense greatly.





Gimme your best bits of nonsense you have and ill pick a winner when a person actually participates in this. i'll show you a secret place i've never shown anyone if you win.

Not everyone is comfortable with bring the person everyone hates. Some people hate being it because they can't stand that people don't like them or because its just not a nice thing to be. Some people love it which probably is due to some egotistic reason. Hated people have a function and a place in the society we live in. Just like how we have idols and role models, people we hate are part of life.





Right now i am a person that someone hates. And i can't give a good goddamn.





Nada Surf - "Amateur"

My email account at toast.com just died. Actually more like toast.com died. So here's my new email account that you all can reach me at: fiendandfoe@yahoo.com.





Theres a travel show on Central that's called "Fork In Asia". If you think about the title in a British kind of way you wouldn't get something very pleasant about this place we dwell in. Is it a sly dig? If it is, it's a good one.









Sometimes in life you're on your flight and you're just flying. You can fly just about anywhere but sometimes you don't go anywhere. And then sometimes your plane crashes. Sometimes the wreckage is everywhere and there are many little pieces that are difficult to get. Sometimes there are hardly any pieces to find and your plane is still almost intact. Whatever it is, there is only one thing to do.





Pick up whatever pieces you can and keep on going.

i went to a good friend's birthday gathering in this chalet in Pasir Ris yesterday. To go there me and my friends had to take an MRT to White Sands, and that brought back many less than pleasant memories of BMT.





Time on your own out of Tekong was always incredibly precious to me. And i remember rushing to get the hell out of the Pasir Ris area everytime i managed to get off the island. Even the need to go to the toilet was less important than getting the hell out of there. It was get on the MRT and away i go.





Usually my then girlfriend would meet me there or at my house, and we would go for lunch. But almost everytime, most probably everytime i got home with her, i would bathe and then fall into a slumber while she would wait for me to get up, while she was famished.





i am not happy or proud of who i was when i was in BMT.





There are too many things that give me bad vibes at Pasir Ris. The day it doesn't have this effect on me needs to come soon.





But that was the only bad thing about yesterday. The rest of the day was a blast. This year seems to be so far full of birthday parties, cos of everyone turning 21 so it is some sort of a must. This is the best one i've been to so far. Rock on Gene.

Today is international weezer t-shirt day. It commemorates the day weezer was formed 11 years ago on valentines day.





i would wear a weezer t-shirt to represent. But i don't have one.





Everyone go check out the weez at www.weezer.com. This is one of my links at the bottom half of this site if you haven''t already noticed.





By the way, if anyone's got an interesting site, book or music to recommend, just post it on the comment board. Share the love y'all.





i speak like i get millions of hits a day on this site when it probably is only about 3 (if im lucky)? Whoever you are that comes here, i love you for coming here unless you already know that i hate your goddamn guts.

Tomorrow is valentines day.





Yay!





...

The Turtles - "Happy Together"

good things.





When i was waiting for my bus to arrive in town, a blind man walked up beside me sweeping his cane and it touched my leg. He asked me whether the bus services 14 and 123 stopped at this bus stop. i told him i'd tell him if his bus came. He told me to go first if my bus arrives but i said that it was ok and that i'd wait with him. After a while he said to me again that i should go first if my bus arrives but again i said its alright, that i'd wait. Then a 16 bus pulled up and he asked if it was 16. i told him yes and he said he'd take that bus cos he didnt want me to wait for him. i was going to tell him that i'm fine with that but he was moving off to the curb already. So i guided him up the bus. i felt kinda bad. He probably has to walk a longer distance to wherever he's going now cos of him not wanting to inconvenience me. i should've told him to stay and wait.





Then after a while another blind man led by these two girls boarded another bus that had pulled up. One girl told him to be careful and said bye.



It was a little surreal. If you know what i mean.

When you have trouble sleeping, is it because you were dreaming that you couldn't sleep but were actually sleeping?

i look around and i see almost everyone around me in relationships that have been going on for real long. And i also see the people, like me, who have fallen out of their relationships, or have been single all the way. There's a pretty obvious difference between us. Those in relationships seem to a certain extent, comfortable, and settled. Or at least have an idea what to do or what they want to do. The rest of us, are still wondering, and wandering. Which is better? i really can't say. But this feels pretty alright.





i think this is getting too philosophical and contemplative.





Why?





Because i feel like puking when i read it.





i could punch myself.

Finally.

PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

How living in New York has illuminated for us the difference between the Singaporean Dream and the Singaporean Plan



By Colin Goh & Joyceln Woo





Former lawyer turned writer/cartoonist Colin Goh and educator Joyceln Woo are married and have been living in New York for the past three years.





COLIN & JOYCELN: We fell in love and in June 1998, we got married - true Singaporean style. The studio photography, the clothes, church, the dinner and the hundred of guests that we had never met before. What happened to us after that was not so typically Singaporean. Here are our stories.





JOYCELN: As a child, I could never sleep the night before the first day of school. The night before my first day of teaching was no different. I didn't know what to expect but I knew that I was going to help kids learn, be the

best teacher, and make a difference.





At my first staff meeting, the principal screened an image familiar to all new schoolteachers - the Prism. Like a magical crystal ball, the

Prism told many things. It could predict how well students entering secondary school with 4 subjects at PSLE would do for the 'O' levels. With the Prism, we could evaluate each student's potential grade in literature based on his/her PSLE grades and then tell if our school had "added value" to the child's education.





Looking into the Prism, the principal announced that while she was concerned about the various aspects of development - Intellectual, Aesthetic, Moral, and Physical - "This year, our school will focus on the Intellectual." By this, she meant that as teachers, we should all ensure that we stretched the potential of the students so that they performed "better than expected" at

the 'O' levels. I noticed in the subsequent years that we never decided to focus on any other aspect of development.



There was never an Aesthetic, Moral or Physical year.





The conversations in the staff room educated me considerably about the concerns of teachers.





"Oh, I heard you bought the new condo in Bukit Batok, that's a good investment?"





"So which piano school are you sending your child to now?"



"Do you want to go buy diamonds with us, we are going to buy diamonds this afternoon."





In my naïveté, this came as a shock. Why weren't teachers talking about helping students learn or improving instruction?





And when they WERE talking about improving instruction, it was invariably:





"So what questions do you think will come out for this year's 'O'levels?"





"Yes! Yes! I spotted the right questions!"





"You have to make sure your students write 5 'compositions' and do 5 'comprehensions' this semester."





And when questions were asked, the answer was inevitably "Can't change.That's what the principal wants to see."





The culture in the staff room was a mix of different groups:





The Tai-Tais, women who had married well-off husbands, and who admired, respected and competed with each other for their Ferragamo shoes and Louis Vuitton bags.





The few unmarried men who were mothered by the Tai-Tais as they were regarded as "good" men (i.e. hardworking and honest) but ironically insufficiently compelling marriage material (for why on earth would a functioning, virile, desirable man become a teacher?).





The married men who usually lived in HDB flats (unlike the Tai-Tais and their non-teacher husbands), who generally kept to themselves.





The older single women who were diligent in ensuring that all forms are handed in on time and helping students who need extra help get the preferred grades. They were usually more conservatively (and cheaply)dressed, and did

not generally interact socially with the Tai-Tais.





The expatriate teachers who were generally avoided by the other teachers and not expected to do very much because they either could not be trusted to do the work, were too difficult to communicate with, or were too troublesome

to work with. And when they got together, they made plain their disdain for Singapore and its school system of which they were a part. Stereotypical as it may sound, those I'd met had invariably come to Singapore either to heal

from a broken marriage (in which case, getting involved with a local woman usually came with the package), or had fled an unsuccessful career so they could return home and say, "I spent a few years in the Orient."





And the young teachers, bright-eyed and bushytailed, who believed theycould make a difference, and who usually started out immensely popular with the students. They organized extra activities which they were not required

to do, sat with students for long hours when they had problems, and generally tried to innovate with teaching. The Tai-Tais usually tried to matchmake the young single female teachers with single men they knew, but never the single male teachers. Seasoned teachers generally sat back and placed bets on when the neophytes would eventually burn out.





I didn't know a single lazy teacher - everyone was extremely hardworking, taking work home, often physically running around as they hurried to different parts of the school. The teachers hardly had time to rest and reflect. It was as if we had been trained to work hard, but not to think.





What unites Secondary 4 teachers is the common goal of ensuring theirstudents score well in the 'O' levels - preferably better in the subject that they teach rather than in another subject. Success is defined largely in terms of how many As produced in their class.





I remember one year distinctly - the school had done well in history and the Sec 4 history teacher was jumping up and down in glee, like she had won a war. On the other hand, the students hadn't done as well in literature and the teacher was walking around with her head down, wishing that the bulletin board with the results didn't place the teacher's name next to the results of each class. While everyone congratulated the history teacher on doing well in spotting the right questions, we all didn't know what to say to the literature teacher. We sort of patted her shoulder as if someone had died.





And for non-Sec 4 teachers, our overriding concern was assigning the required number of tests and exercises and grading them. Each semester, all our students had to submit binders containing their completed and graded assignments. And each semester, the teachers would spend several days of class time ensuring that the students had everything in place, as the submission of completed binders were a factor in a teacher's evaluation. The binders would disappear for months because it would take the Head of Department that long to go through the binders and count how many assignments had been completed. It didn't seem to matter if the teacher had taken 5 minutes to grade each composition or 30 minutes to make sure that the students received meaningful feedback. What was

important was that the assignments were there.





I felt both angry and guilty that my idealism constantly came up against so many artificial obstacles. I felt that the obsession with bookkeeping and papering over any mistakes, real or perceived, allowed neither time nor space for innovation. Further, the mania to deliver standardized results trumped the notion of harnessing individual potential, of the teachers and the students.





Worse, I felt I could not raise these issues. There was a culture of silence.





My experiences are not about bad principals or teachers in particular. It is about ways of being and seeing that represent to me, the Singapore legacy that I have inherited. The principals and teachers that I talked about are not to blame individually - it is just so difficult to be and to see otherwise in the busy-ness, routines, and duties of our everyday lives.





I decided to leave to pursue graduate studies. Teacher education in Singapore is tilted more to the vocational than the intellectual and I

wanted the space, time and knowledge to help me articulate and frame what I was thinking and feeling. On a more pragmatic level, I knew that nobody took the feelings of groundling teachers seriously and that people would probably

listen to me more if I had a doctorate. I was disappointed, but still hopeful.





COLIN: I remember my first visit to New York. I had just graduated in law from University College London, and had several months before I was scheduled to take the English bar exams. Where most of my friends had chosen to do attachments with Singaporean law firms with the prudent aim of acclimatizing themselves with the career-to-come, I was paralysed with a single, terrible thought: "These are the last few months I'll ever have to indulge my youthful passions."





In an impulsive moment, and much to my parents' annoyance, I blew every last cent I had and wangled myself a place in a cartooning course at Manhattan's School of Visual Art. I had been cartooning for The New Paper for several years by then (my comic strip The Concrete Jungle continues to run in their august pages), but had no formal training.





I chose Manhattan because it was supposed to be the cynosure of the creative world, and most important of all, where Marvel and DC Comics had their headquarters. Where else would one study cartooning but in Spiderman's territory?





Those few months were the most mind-blowing of my life. By day, I was either sequestered in a musty studio sketching Brazilian women or wandering the varied New York neighbourhoods. By night, I hung out with the other residents of the international hostel I was staying at - a diverse crowd of students from Argentina to Kazakhstan and everywhere in between. I had always thought Singapore to be a model of diversity and cosmopolitan progress, but over countless milkshake-fueled discussions in East Village hangouts, I felt like the proverbial mountain tortoise.





It was also the first time I began to question the path I was about to take. I was meeting people who were taking chances and simply following the dictates of their passion, whether it was art, dance or securities.





I had studied law largely because it was often cited it as the next best thing after medicine, which I knew I'd be awful at. Besides, SM Lee was a lawyer. What better endorsement could a Singaporean have? Despite being a published cartoonist and writer by then, I never thought about a career in the arts. It was a completely nonexistent option.





What was worse was that my parents never forced me into law. I just read their minds, I guess. Besides, all my friends seemed to be doing it too. It was the Singaporean Dream.





I also remember in my first year in law school, my parents telling me about SM Lee's now seminal "If I were an undergraduate" speech, where he told JC students that were he a student now, he would not study law; he would be an engineer, join the civil service, then obtain an MBA and thereafter enter the private sector. SM Lee had switched from Coke to Pepsi. There was a New Dream.





For a moment, I thought, well, if I'm yesterday's man, I might as well deviate from the path altogether. However, that year, the Singapore government decided it had too many lawyers and restricted the number of recognized overseas law schools. A rumour began spreading amongst the legal undergrad community that it wouldn't be long before they didn't recognize British qualifications altogether. We had to hurry and enter the Singapore workforce as soon as possible, before we were shut out. (As we now know, the rumour was unfounded, and Singapore now admits it needs more lawyers.)





Nevertheless, out of prudence, I shelved any thought of changing fields and became a barrister, then an advocate and solicitor of the Supreme Court of Singapore.





I joined a large law firm, again largely because it was commonly believed that it was good to bloody oneself in the trenches of the giants. I practiced shipping law, again an extremely prudent choice, what with our being the world's busiest port. Further, it was perceived as exciting because shipping lawyers often had to go out to sea to rest ships. (In truth, arresting ships is not vastly different from what loansharks do when they hang pig's heads on debtors' doors.)





I had a decent, almost enviable, income. I had to keep telling myself that, because the lifestyle was neither decent nor enviable.





Clients called me at 2 am in the morning. The High Court Registry nicknamed me "Mr. 5 O'Clock" because I regularly filed papers right under the guillotine, never of my own volition. My only pleasure was catching up on industry gossip while waiting in line to argue before the court registrars. There was not a single Chinese New Year holiday where I would not find myself in the office. My parents only caught fleeting glimpses of me early in the morning when I rushed to work, or late at night, when I stumbled in, surly and mentally exhausted. I saw Joyceln, then simply my girlfriend, for a few precious, stolen hours on Sundays.





But I had the job, and more important, the income. They brought me a measure of social acceptability. Parents' friends would nod approvingly, non-lawyer friends would remark how much lower their salaries were. I made enough to afford membership in a club I never had time to step into, and for season parking in town. I had credit cards and designer ties. I could share war stories about work that might have seemed glamourous to non-lawyer friends, weaned as they were on a diet of Ally McBeal. I was in

the secure embrace of the Singaporean Dream.





My epiphany came as I was descending the gangway of a very large oil tanker. At a height of ten storeys or more, the gangway abruptly slipped its moorings and fell several feet. I found myself in mid air for several terrifying seconds. Luckily the crew managed to secure it again. As I retrieved my dropped manhood, I saw bits of the vessel fall into the sea below. If I had not held tight to the chains, I would be dead.





When I told my colleagues about it, no one batted an eyelid. It was simply one of the hazards of the job, like the long hours and the

symbolic fellating of clients. Some even quipped, "Who says law isn't exciting?" But working late that night in the stale air of my office,

surrounded by musty documents and lit by the sickly iridescence of my computer monitor, I knew I had to get out.





My brush with death made me reflect on my life, as I suppose all encounters with the reaper must do. I realized I was unhappy. Not

weeping-and-gnashing-of-teeth unhappy, just that dull ache of uninspiration. Yet, on paper, I should have been completely content.





My conviction was reinforced when I passed my boss's office and saw her toiling away. Much more senior, she was still keeping the crazy hours of a junior lawyer. She had a brilliant mind, equity in a giant and prestigious firm and a sizeable income, but I realized that I didn't aspire to her lifestyle. And she was by no means unique. If I did not aspire to be my boss, then what was the point? My life stretched before my eyes, and I did not want to take another step in its direction.





I then made a classic Singaporean evaluation: if I'm going to suffer, then by god, I'll suffer for more money. I figured American lawyers make the most money, so that's where I'll go. I decided the fastest way to do this would be to do a one year Master's degree, preferably in an Ivy League university, since it would provide me ingress into the American market.





I spoke to Joyceln, and told her that the only place I wanted to go was New York, because I wanted to recapture a little of that energy I had felt years ago. Despite some reservations (New York has a not wholly undeserved reputation), we both applied to Columbia University, New York's only Ivy League university. Miraculously, we were both accepted.





We quit our jobs, got married, emptied our bank accounts and left immediately.





JOYCELN: When applying to do my doctorate at Columbia's famous Teachers College, I spoke to several professors at the only education institution in Singapore to find out about possible financial support. I had intended to study curriculum and technology, and felt my experience teaching as well as a stint designing educational software in an IT firm would be valuable.





However, the door was abruptly slammed in my face when I was told over the phone, "If you are not in computer science, and not a first class graduate, there is nothing we need to talk about."





Perhaps spurred by anger, I worked like a demon at Teachers College and earned several academic awards, including a doctoral research fellowship which covered both tuition and a stipend, and came unencumbered by any bond, moral or otherwise. The myopia with which I had been treated had ironically turned out to be a blessing.





I even met with our Education Minister when he visited Teachers College. Of the questions he asked me, two stood out: "When are you going back to Singapore?" and "When are you going to have babies?" It hit me that I had never spoken to the Minister when I was teaching in Singapore. I wondered: am I valuable to the country only after I leave?





COLIN: Armed with a Masters from Columbia Law School and the grandiose title of "Harlan Fiske Stone Scholar" which Columbia had over-generously bestowed upon me, and having passed the New York bar exams, I knocked on the doors of some of the largest law firms in the world.





I recall one battery of interviews being carried out in a large hotel, where prospective lawyers would shuttle in and out of the rooms, each occupied by interviewers from the firms.





A fellow prospector asked me, "Which other profession requires you to shuttle from hotel room to hotel room?"





"Prostitution," I remarked, and we both laughed.





It proved a prophetic statement, for when touring the offices of prospective firms, instead of feeling pumped, I felt horrified by the

all-too familiar office layout, the mounds of paper spilling onto the floor, the designer suits thrown over the backs of chairs.





The last straw came when a partner of one Midtown firm patted me on the back and said, "I think you'd be perfect to help work on our port project out in Saudi Arabia!"







It suddenly hit me that I was not embarking on real change at all. I was merely rearranging the furniture. Like a good little boy, I had made all the pragmatic, sensible decisions? and it was about to push me into the abyss. I was still trying to achieve the Singaporean Dream, except overseas, and on a larger scale. Well, not exactly?





It was then that I understood the difference between the Singaporean Dream and the Singaporean Plan. And what is the difference?





I suppose the Dream has to be one of searching for peace and the liberty to conduct one's life as one sees fit.





That's probably what my ancestors sought when they left China: the governments of the Ming and Manchu were ruthlessly restrictive of

cross-border commerce, the lifeblood of my ethnic Hokkien and Teochew forbears.





And no doubt it was the Dream, fueled by hard work and courage, that has made Singapore the indisputable commercial success it is today. And our story is a wonderful one: the Little Island That Could.





However, invariably once people attain success, they start to canonize the steps they took to achievement. This is how Dreams become Plans, and how one hegemony replaces another: the search for peace and liberty becomes get into a good school, then a good university, then a stable job, then buy property and stock. The problem is, then what?





There is nothing inherently unique about the Singaporean Dream. The American Dream of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is

substantially the same. (And especially in the upper middle class, the American Dream is fast becoming a Plan too: prep school, Ivy League, Wall Street.)





But what to me gives America more hope is that they still celebrate mavericks; they may never find happiness, but their liberty to pursue it is sacred.





My experience in Singapore was, however, very different. There were always people telling you what and how you should do things, and imposing penalties for deviation. There were 'right' schools, 'right' professions, 'right' strategies.





Of course there are those who would argue that ultimately, the choice is one's own and that there is nothing to prevent one from doing what he or she wants in Singapore. After all, isn't it one's fault for caving in to peer pressure? I would humbly submit that while theoretically true, such an argument betrays an ignorance of the combined workings of hegemony and power.





The issue is how expansive the reigning ideology is. In Singapore, the dominant view is to do whatever works (whatever that may be, and regardless of who it worked for). In New York (I won't pretend that America is homogeneous), the prevailing view is that everyone should find what makes him or herself unique, and capitalize on that.





Manhattan is smaller than Singapore, yet there is space for both Wall Street Wizards and Alphabet City Shamans to coexist. Despite occasional border skirmishes, there is recognition that the city would be a lot poorer if everyone marched to the same drum.





An overly romantic myth? Perhaps. But that such a myth could persist in a hostile and cynical environment like New York, was encouraging to me. And anyway, the 'fulfillment' promised by the Singapore Plan was equally illusory. In a competition of myths, I chose the one that gave the most latitude to one's passions over the one that indulged one's fears.





JOYCELN: I think the most striking thing about New York is that so many people here are in transition. They don't know where they are going to be or what they are going to be doing in 6 months' time. But they are all working towards their individual dreams, in their own individual way, and not according to some mandated blueprint or destination.





The receptionist in my building is also an actor. I recently met a waitress who was a graduate student in philosophy. I have classmates who are not only still at work, but who also shoot films whenever they can.





Until New York, I didn't know I could be poor and still volunteer to help others who are more needy than me - not tomorrow, or next year, or when my income reaches a certain level, but today.





I now tutor the children in my neighborhood who need help but can't afford to pay. I didn't know how great it feels to be able to write, and express my anger, worries, and joys. I didn't know that if I am dissatisfied by policies, I can get together with others to express it.





Just last week, there was a public school that was boycotting a tate-mandated test because the test was taking away precious

instructional time. What a novel idea! I didn't know I was not alone, that there are other Singaporeans who think like I do, who want to make a difference but who are afraid and are so used to being silent.





COLIN: The insidiousness is this: in adhering to the Singaporean Plan, I was acting pragmatically, but ultimately, dishonestly.





As late as the interlude between pupilage and practice, I had written a play that was performed for the Singapore Arts Festival Fringe, for which the British Council had sponsored me to attend the Royal Court Theatre in London's prestigious theatre school. Further, throughout my years of practice, I also managed to continue cartooning The Concrete Jungle.



While I enjoyed writing and drawing, never for a second did I think this might be a career. Worse, I felt compelled to downgrade their importance in my life. First was money, then pleasure. It was simply un-Singaporean to think one could get pleasure without money, or that working should be pleasurable.





But now I refuse to postpone my dreams any further, and shelve them under some misguided notion of pragmatism. How often was I told as a child by my elders, "wait till you grow up," "wait till after exams", "wait till after you graduate". I do not desire to wait until I retire. I might not make it that far. I refuse to be a walking mid-life crisis in the making.





But living one's dreams is difficult because it is a lone undertaking. There is no such thing as shared dreams; they are personal creatures. And while my peers are making partner and buying cars, I live in rented student accommodation and scatter my work to the ocean of publications, hoping for a bite. Thus far, I have only been published a couple of times, far from being enough to pay the rent. Yet I do not feel despair. Trite as it may sound, I recognize that life is about the journey, and not the destination.





JOYCELN: In Singapore, a considerable amount of talk in education has been about continuing to be competitive in the global marketplace. Singapore seems to have done well in this respect - we have consistently come in first in the International Math and Science Study.





But in tandem with the fear of losing out on notional global competitiveness is the willingness of many educators, policy-makers, and

parents to "train" the young to delay their dreams, desires and play for a future goal, to "wait till after you finish your homework," to "wait till after the exams" while at the same time plying them with material bribes.





On the global front, it is ironic that the US is trying to emphasize academic standards while Japan, who also finished in the top ranks of the International Math and Science Study, is trying to cut down on the curriculum to allow more time for play. Both cite global competitiveness as their reason for doing so. One wonders as a country, whether we are listening to the everyday experiences of our own children, parents and teachers, or simply responding to some speculative construction of what is needed to be competitive.





Can anyone say for sure what's needed? Only a few months ago, countries cried out for schools to produce more dotcommers. A look at the rollercoaster line that is the NASDAQ should be cause for circumspection.



There are signs that children in Singapore are straining under this ethos. Recent newspapers reports have reported that parents are spending an inordinate amount of money and time to send their children for after-school tuition so that they can achieve better results; scoring high marks in tests and exams have been found to be a top concern for students; the average 10 year-old has been found to spend 6 hours in school and up to 8 hours on homework and tuition each day, and, students have been reported to experience physical reactions such as diarrhoea and asthma attacks during or just before exams. Is this education, or child labor? Has scoring well in tests become the reason for tests themselves?



How do teachers, parents, and teachers begin to imagine our lives differently?





COLIN: I think it is important not to wholly discredit the Singapore Plan. It worked for some and may yet work for others. However, it is also true that the road to hell is paved with good intentions and that it is always an error to confuse what is with what ought to be.



JOYCELN: Consider these 2 stories. Which is closer to yours?





You wake up everyday and work from Monday to Friday, and often, Saturday too. If you finish work early, you and your partner go to your parents' place for dinner and see your child for a few hours. If you work late, you buy a packet of char kway teow from the hawker centre but eat it at home because it's too warm to eat there. You're not crazy about the job but you know that if you keep at it, you can afford a car in 3 years' time, and in 5 years' time, buy a condo close to the primary school you want to send your kid to. Your conversations with people are either for the purpose of networking, work, or for familial obligations you cannot avoid. On weekends,

you play golf with your friends at your country club or watch a movie with your partner. Once a year, you go on a ten day vacation to New York, London, or Paris, and when your children are big enough, Disneyland.



Alternatively, you wake up and you have no idea what is going to happen today, tomorrow, 6 months or a year later. Ironically, because of this uncertainty, all possibilities exist for you. You can be the Prime Minister of Singapore, you can make a movie, you can cook a meal you have ever cooked before, eat at a place you have never eaten before, you can color your hair red, you can skip instead of walk, you can volunteer at the school you have always wanted to volunteer at, you can write a book, or you can have a baby

even though you don't have a maid. You have conversations with people who set your heart palpitating and your mind on fire. Your weekday is not so different from your weekend because everyday you are thinking, creating, and more important, imagining.





Most of us recognize the first story and its pursuit of the 5 Cs of "cash, condo, car, country club, credit card." It is the Plan, which

imposes a conclusion on you, and you work in order to make all the pieces fit. A bus stop advertisement I saw recently said it best: "We spend all our youth chasing money, and when we attain it, we spend all our money chasing youth."





A Dream, on the other hand, carries you on its wings to worlds that your heart and mind have never known.





COLIN: My fault was accepting that the Plan would naturally work for me. One doesn't have to accept a legacy one inherits. I was complicit in my unhappiness. I did not question enough, whether it was my elders, the government, newspapers, consultants, whatever. I foolishly let others make up my mind for me. I rather fear I am not alone in this folly.





If there is any blame to be laid, it is the upholding of a compliant, unquestioning culture; that some people should never be challenged

because of age, status or whatever. It is not solely the establishment's fault; all political parties are entitled to play politics. But it is

wholly our fault for not fighting for what we believe in.



COLIN & JOYCELN: Criticism and disagreement is not treason, and our words emanate as much from our dissatisfaction with, as our love for Singapore. We simply believe that we are more than our legacy. This is the dream of immigrants everywhere, whether they arrive in Singapore or on Ellis Island.





"Paved with Good Intentions: How living in New York has illuminated for us the difference between the Singaporean Dream and the Singaporean Plan" offers an interesting perspective on the latest hot topic of "stayers" vs "quitters", and was written for a Singapore International Foundation book titled, "Singaporeans Exposed: Navigating the Ins and Outs of Globalisation".

This blog doesn't dig my act.





i've been trying to put up this article for days and it just goes belly up on me everytime.





How very arsed.

strange connections.





A few months ago, i tried ordering 'Let Go' by Nada Surf at Borders. They told me it wasn't out yet. But when i checked on the net it was already released. A month or so later i tried again. This time they had it and they placed an order for me. But 3 days later i received a postcard from them saying my order had been cancelled cos it hasnt been released yet. And today, i found the album in HMV and i bought it immediately.





Why do you let me down, Borders?







Im just back from a birthday party of someone i used to be with. It feels kinda weird. But i guess im feeling fine. Theres a lot of stuff that probably wants explaining but really there isnt the need. Its just stupid to even think about something like that now.

easy like sunday morning.







Its 8 am on a sunday morning and im already up. i havent been up at this hour on a sunday for so long now that i've forgotten how long the day can be if i get up early. Anyway, im waiting for a bookshelf to arrive.





All the shops downstairs are open and numerous people, mostly older folk, are having breakfast or their morning cuppa at the coffeeshops perhaps after their regular sunday morning taichi session with the other enthusiasts, or on their way to the wet market or coming back from it.





i live in a estate where the dominant age group is that of the senior citizen. so, like i jokingly tell people, i run into an old person every five metres i walk. i dont feel out of place in this area. but sometimes i do think about how it would feel to have more people my age around.





Sometimes i do run into my primary school classmates. Most of the kids in and around this area went to the neighbourhood primary school one neighbourhood away. It's now a convent primary school for girls.





i was in primary school through the ages 6 to 12. im 21 now. Its been almost ten years. But when i see my ex-classmates around, we still say hi and sometimes chat. My primary school crush lives in the next block from mine. I dont know if she's still there. As in, is she studying overseas now or if she's in NUS or NTU or...? i had a crush on her for about 5 years, which is pretty long for a young kid i should think. i bet she knew. Everyone in the class knew. But no one knew it was for so long. Its pretty insane when you think about it. A little kid pining away and being incredibly embarrassed and shy towards a girl, and at the same time being into the ghostbusters, star com, ducktales, smurfs and whatever cartoon they had on tv every weekday at 6.30pm and on sunday mornings like this one where they had disney club with mickey mouse and donald duck cartoons and talespin with baloo and his seaplane(remember that catchy theme song?). Cartoons on weekdays at 6.30pm were a ritual for almost all of us. Especially the boys i should think. No matter what cartoon, no matter how lame it was. We dug it all. Everyone rushed back from school if we were in the afternoon session to be in time for dinner in front of the tv at 6.30pm. I suddenly remember another rocking cartoon, He-man.





He-man. Blonde, muscular, and mighty He-man. Fighting a skeleton in a purple cloak, Skeletor.





Who needs 3D animated cartoons?

Left and leaving





i was just at the airport about an hour and a half ago. My cousin is going to Australia to study. Earlier today i was wondering if anyone would be crying tonight. Someone did, but it wasnt her. i kinda know that my cuz is strong enough not to, at least not in front of everyone. i gotta say that my cuz is much more independent than i am. i kinda look up to her in some ways, though shes a year younger than me. I'm pretty sure she'll be fine there. If youre seeing this cuz, tell me if you need/want anything that i could help with. ill try my bestest to do whatever. Probably the case will be that ill be needing your help before i go over. Or more like my ma will be asking you about stuff. You know what i mean. ill be thinking of you. Oh and my ma didnt force me to go the airport.





When i was at the airport, i was sitting around and just lazing cos we got there way too early due to my mother's kiasuness, there was this little kid who was wearing this kinda gypsy-ish skirt and a tee and a jacket, and she was just running round and round in circles and laughing her head off. Little kids kill me sometimes.





im kinda hungry, but laziness is sticking my body to my chair.





i think ill starve.

i'd like to meet someone who listens to chinese independent music. i wonder what that person would be like.

Today Was A Real Fun Day





Today was a real fun day. Yes it was. I swear. In the morning I take the bus to school. At the bus-stop I chanced upon this cat. It was a really pretty cat that was kinda Siamese Gingerish. Its pedigree dad probably jumped in a sack with a stray moggy and it resulted in this weird pretty cat. That’s what you get when you let the cat out of the bag. They breed. Anyway, it looked at me kinda blankly and I said hi but it didn’t reply. I couldn’t believe how rude it was so I gave it some of the skittles I was eating. I like eating candy in the early mornings. It kills the germs in your mouth. Really, I swear. My Uncle Tobi told me so. I miss Uncle Tobi. Anyway, the cat gobbled up a mouthful consisting of two yellows and a green. Pretty soon it started making wheezing noises kinda like when you sock someone’s throat in. And it got all choked up and stuff and it puked out the crap in its mouth. It looked pretty pained after that so I decided to give it some more skittles. But this time I gave it a purple, a red, an orange and a green. It ate them up but it started wheezing again. It stopped soon after but by then it had decided to take a nap. The nerve of some animals. Seeing that it was not going to thank me for the candy I went to board my bus. On the bus I went to my usual seat as usual up next to the bus-driver. Now they want us to call them bus captains but I know better. They don’t even know what bus means. I like to sit next to the driver so that I can talk to him about the latest ‘Gotcha’ gags that I caught on the early morning reruns. Every morning the bus driver gives me the same puzzled reply of “bus pass”. I don’t understand how they can be so stupid. They probably don’t even know how to add the fares that people put in those fare bins. Anyway I got irritated and I pulled a quick one over him seeing how dumb he was. I distracted him with one of my amazing magic tricks and ran to the back of the bus. I don’t have to pay the bus fare when I do that. But of course I don’t because I have a bus stamp which I used to mail to SBS. Now that’s thinking. I make it a point to beat all the people on the bus to the bell just before they reach it. I get a big kick out of it. Especially when no one actually wants to get down. The bus driver usually turns around and yells at us but we all know it’s the primary three kid sitting next to me who’s at fault because I always look at him and shake my head disapprovingly. Kids are so dumb. After about six or twenty stops I decided to get off and bug the bus driver who’s driving the bus on the opposite route. I decided not to go to school after all. The other bus driver had never seen me before and it turned out that it was Moe Alkaff. So he got all my jokes about the gags on Gotcha although he shook his head quite a few times and seemed like he was going to cry when we talked about Gotcha. He said something about it not paying much and it being the cause of him having to drive buses now. I told him that it’s alright and I consoled him. I told him that such an intelligent show like Gotcha wouldn’t need him anyway and he’s perfect for the job of a bus driver since he’s so dumb and all. I always like to make people feel better. It’s good for the soul y’know.

ive been trying for hours tonight. And im too tired to try anymore.



Sometimes you yearn for change. Maybe a big change, or a little one. But no one likes unexpected change.



There's a world of interesting things that i could really get into and dig. The thing is to realise that there are these things out there. And then everything wont seem so meaningless. When there's something i feel like doing and want to do, i dont feel like giving up.

There is little like being with a friend and talking at the top of your voice in excitement and you dont notice it. When you gesture wildly and laugh like a madman. When the both of you cant wait to say something before the other has finished whats being said.



There are little friends like that.

Theres this artificial pond that i go to sometimes. In it are a bunch of koi and some turtles, and the occasional frog who wanders in. The other day i went to have a look at the fish there and they were discussing a plan to evolve. They were planning to evolve and walk out of the pond so that they could see what was over the cement walls of the pond they faced everyday. They were getting all excited about it and many bubbles broke on the surface as they babbled on and on. i thought it was a pretty good idea. i told them they could just get me to place a mirror above the pond to see what's around. But they were too excited to even consider that. i wished them luck and left the pond.



Yesterday i went back to the pond and all the fishes were dead. Someone had forgotten to switch on the air pump system that provides the fishes their air. Some of them had little feet and toes. They never got the chance to even walk.

i know someone whose name is Adrian but he tells people his name is Justin because he likes Justin better.

What's up with that?







Once i bought a whole bunch of christmas cards to mail out to people. i never mail cards to people but i guess i was feeling a little out of sorts that year. Thing is, those cards never got mailed out, because i put them in my drawer and forgot about them till it was after christmas that year. And lately i cleared out that drawer and i saw those cards. i thought of mailing them out but christmas was just over. So i threw them away.

This beginning.



How do you make sure that you do not encounter stupid people all day? One thing to do is to sleep all day. But sleep is a waste of time, and your own subconscious is no guarantee of a safe haven.



Last night at Borders, while i was going through the CDs and getting pissed off at the incredibly annoying 40 second sample time( i'm just guessing its 40secs. Whatever it is, it's too damn short but all big companies sell their soul to capitalist demons.), there was this little group of a girl and two guys who were dressed to impress each other also hanging out around the CD section. See, they were just walking round or whatever. Actually my first encounter with them was when the girl, pretty attractive, walked over the Mr Cool and asked him, "Hey, do you know who this is. This name is soo weiirrrd!". She was holding up some CD which believe me i tried, best as i could, to see the artiste without giving myself away. The guy was all smile charmingly and mumbling some stuff which was most probably something like "Yeah I've heard of him/them/her..blahblah" when you know the smarmy bastard hasn't.



Encounter no. 2 was when they were next to me and Mr Cool sauntered off to look at something else and then girly and Mr Tag-Along-But-Also-Cool were apparently listening to some CD on the listening station which blares the music out. i don't know what they were playing cos i was listening to something on my own station. But girly's voice was loud and she said "...yadda yadda..This picture is like you know Johnny Bravo?..You know?..He's this cartoon who thinks he's so macho but he always screws things up!" and Mr Tag-Along was all like nodding and like laughing heartily at this when you could tell he knew jackshit about Johnny Bravo. The closest thing he knows is his cousin Johnny who has that cool pair of Levis that he wanted to get first.



The point is. At this moment, i had to fight the urge to just walk over and punch them all in the guts. it was just all very wrong to me that people who try so hard to look cool and trendy are trying to do so in the music section of a bookstore. Go hang out in Taka square or something fools where there is a much lower chance of me doubting your higher standing in the social class system. Ok given that it was the 2nd day of the lunar new year and nothing much was open. But at least go fucking hang out in starbucks or something. Hey i dont fucking go to a goddamn prada store listening to my CDs and talking shit about the clothes while other prada-mamas are digging it.



And if you didnt understand the point of this post, go back to your style-conscious world where the hair wax and coloured contacts matter.