Slurring speech, aching knees, tired body but a clear mind

Hello all,

I'm chatting from the stupor of approximately 12 shots of vodka, tequila and whiskey, mixed with orange, mangosteen and cola. Not together of course. Please forgive my English, as while my mind is clear, the transmission to the fingers is a bit... well muddled. My actions, while not angelic, is certainly permissible. 

School is over. I can't bloody believe it. After 3 years of tertiary and 10 years of compulsory education, it's over. Education and I have swapped roles; once it was my master, having complete control over me. Now it's my slave, moving along to my whims and desires. I choose what I wish to study, not what it wishes to teach me. I like that. 

Then of course there's the army. The rite of passage; A mans' journey; The two years of hell; Where ones' opinion does not matter, only the will of the Overlord. Sounds familiar? Some see it as an opportunity to serve ones' country. Some see this as a burden to oneself. I am of the former. I am idealistic about this, but it's just the way I operate; not about myself, but for the greater good.

Honestly though, even though this is what I've been dreaming about for the past few years, I am still apprehensive about the unknown. Cowardice? Maybe, but I am still going to have a hack at it. 

Then afterwards? Work Work Work. All of my friends are talking about university placements and the such. Bah. Education is my bitch now, not my master. I'll decide what it can teach me, not take what I can now, thank you very much. I'll rather take a break from the druggery of studying to something else more exciting and real time. Sure I'll fall, sure I'll fail, but I'll pick myself up, brush off the dust and run ever faster.

And the future? Whether it be a nuclear catastrophe, a environmental collapse, or another 2 million years of steady slogging ahead, Only the lord knows.

But I dearly hope that I can have a chance, in this world, to make a difference, to someone, somewhere, somehow. 

---

Straits Times Forum, 24th May 2009

"Where did you go, my Singapore of old?

I AM a 45-year-old Singaporean much in love with this country, which I am proud to call home. Over the years, I have visited a few other beautiful countries, but I cannot see myself living anywhere else but in Singapore.

However, as much as I call Singapore my home, there is almost nothing of it I can connect to when I try to look back in memory.

A few weeks ago, I decided to drive my parents around to revisit places to try to recapture the fond memories of our earlier years. There was almost no place familiar left to go. Almost everything has been eradicated. It was a sad morning.

I am sure, to the zealots of change and development, this means nothing at all, and others may say people like me are like a broken record (nostalgia) that gets stuck and plays the same thing over and over, but I feel it is very sad.

The little we have left is also about to go: the last kampung in Buangkok, the New Seventh Storey Hotel and so on. Who needs the kampung in Buangkok when there is the shiny plastic version in Geylang Serai, right? After all, it is clean, safe and pristine.

With reference to last Monday’s letter by Ms Lisa Healey-Cunico, ‘Let Singapore shape itself naturally’, I fully agree that Singapore has lost much of its soul. It truly seems we have an unquenchable need to wipe out and develop anything and everything. Alternatively, if a place is deemed worthy of heritage, redevelopment sets in with the original tenants, who contributed to the colour of the place, removed because of high rent and commercialisation.

Maybe I am just getting old, but I would like to be able to visit some places in Singapore with nothing added but a few coats of paint over the years. I resort to flea markets for photocopy pictures sold at three for $10. I used these to share old stories with my parents and daughters. That is all there is. Needless to say, one of my favourite haunts is Sungei Road. I am certain it is already in someone’s plans for eradication.

I appeal to whoever can make the difference, please leave some things as they are.

I love you, Singapore, but I fear I do not remember you.

Vincent Paul Carthigasu"

This is something I feel very much about, being a student of history and my opinion is as such:

I take the view that home is where the heart is. How can the heart stay here when your home and supporting buildings is demolished? Also, where else has it to go when your entire environment is in flux, constantly changing and moving?

It is arguable to say that the people's hearts should belong to the country, not just a housing estate or a just a building. However, what that is more intimate to you will be remembered and cherished, even if it is a boring old block of flats. We do not always go to historical sites like Cityhall or the Istana, but we do go back home every day. The feeling of familiarly and safety is hard to relinquish and not easy to regain.

I am not opposed to progress, in fact I do admit that the only constant is change, but this massive and constant upheaval can only do harm to a young nation which has precious few roots of it's own. Case in point, I was moved from my previous home of 10 years, where I made good friends and moved into Jurong East, into a condominium. Fast forward 10 years, and I have adapted to the area and it's surroundings. It would be difficult to uproot myself from this area and move another place. I might be inclined to move overseas then and the loss is on Singapore. This is also why I will block any moves to en bloc. Anyone that treats my place as a monetary opportunity can jolly well move out him or herself.

In conclusion, the bulldozers will come, the shopping malls will come and the shophouses will come down. But for pete's sake, lets have some stability, especially in our homes. The alternative to slower progress is worst; a squeaky clean city, all shiny, new and bright...

but hollow and empty inside.


---


Readers, your views please?

Running so fast, that you feel everything's slowing down

Running so fast that you feel everything's slowing down

Working so hard that you feel you're not

Training so hard that you feel you're slacking

Moving so quickly that you feel you've stopped.


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Mischievous behavior

I am doing absolutely everything instead of what I really need to do. Study!

The Flying Pigeon

First built in the 1950s, it is based off the 1932 Raleigh roadster and mass produced for the population. Simple, robust and highly adaptable, this was the vehicle that moved millions in China. Even now this model, the PA-02 is still in production to cater for the demand locally and overseas. Its classic lines and sleek design from another age hides the strength of an ox.

And I want one. Badly. D:

What is lacking

Professionalism
In the way things are handled

Responsibility
To yourself, others and the world

Courage
To stand up for your beliefs, and for others

Pride
In the service you provide

Duty
The show must go on, no matter what

Passion
In the work you do


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Addendum

I've been reading a amazing montly aptly titled: Monocle, a briefing on global affairs, business, culture & design. The magazine is substantial, more so then some books I have. The articles are well written and has a global outlook in which I enjoy. Photographs are carefully taken and some using film, a supposedly extinct medium that Monocle still supports. Even the advertisements are well designed and selected.

What I enjoy most of it is that they celebrate all the values (and more) of what I have stated above, both by themselves and the people and places they visit. Professionalism, Responsibility, Courage, Pride, Duty, Passion, incidently the same values my company, Les Thespians Drama Production House employs. Anything less is false economy, shortchanging yourself and your customer.

Law

Reading Law is interesting at times;

Case in point:

If you're below 21 years old, your guardian (parents or appointed person) can legally send you for sterilization!

But if you're pregnant, you and you alone have the choice on whether you want to abort the baby or not, no matter your age.

Curious world we're in

abstract

There's never much talk but touches and looks, smiles together, curses for parting.

It is marginal, hungry, chilly

but it's something they want to keep,

so much that to keep it they will take on much more then propaganda has ever asked them for.

They are in love. Fuck the War.

It's not where we start, it's how we end.

I met an interesting old man during the long CNY break.

I was drinking with my mates after a long day of visiting relatives(more exhaustive then a day at the gym!) at Brewerks, the makers of awesome awesome beer. We chatted for a long while before parting to make our way back home.

That was where I met him. No, not the transsexual "ladies" that came out in force that night(for a change of environment or fishing a better catch then army boys I guess) but a old men well in his seventies.

Over the years, I've trained a good listening ear, mostly from listening to too many GF/BF/Political stories from my friends which typically lasts for hours on end. This man looked like he was bursting with stories to tell, so I allowed him have the opportunity to do so.

To cut the story short(as it was a good long talk), I found out that he was a rather accomplished man.

Made it into the first batch of Officer Cadets in a fledgling SAF back in 1967. (A very rare opportunity back in those days)

One of the first batches of Singapore Polytechnic graduates. (In an era where a PSLE was something, a diploma was equivalent to a degree or higher)

An Economic Development Board scholar (Again a very rare opportunity back in the bad old days)

His command of English was top rate, with a smattering of British phrases and words as it must have been taught to him back then.

He was however a bitter old man, complaining about his life, how scholars this days were simpletons, the nation treating us as second class citizens, the army, and many more.

There was a lot more that I wanted to ask him about but alas, I arrived at my stop. So I paid the fare and left.

Because you see, "He", the officer and the scholar, was my Taxi Driver.


In addendum,
I do not wish to belittle this fine old man I met as he has already done and seen so much as compared to myself. I do however find it a shame that he, with all his knowledge and expertise, ended up in this manner. Retired but forced to drive a taxi, an occupation one does not take up for leisure but as a last resort.

A new beginning

Is what you say when you start a new day, bright and early and raring to go.

It wanes as you see the mountain of junk you have to clear.

It tends to zero (very close to, but not just yet) as you see and hear the whole closet shaking with cockroaches as you approach.

It increases as you charge in with your battle roar, two cans of bug spray and a very loose trigger finger.

It wanes again as you clear out the items inside liberally laced with cockroach dung and empty egg casings with your bare hands.

It soars as you find a rare item in working condition, bug dung or not.

It dips as you see the mountain of rubbish that you have cleared but now have to sort and pack, ready for disposal.

It rises as you look back at 20 heaping bags of trash with a sense of achievement.

It gets hard when you think of the work tomorrow, the week after and the month ahead.