Disappointing Innocence

An article in today's ST reported the result of a recent round of balloting for places in primary schools. The print edition displays a photo of a father holding his 6yo daughter with the caption:

"It's disappointment for some, like this father consoling his little girl, who was among the 32 names that were not picked out of the ballot box at CHIJ (Toa Payoh) yesterday."

Now how can a child at such a tender age experience the kind of profound disappointment that is implied by this caption?

A year ago a segment on the evening news also reported on balloting results and they showed a young boy saying how disappointed he is because he lost a chance to get into a good school yada yada.

As G points out, these children are simply told by their parents that they have to get into these schools because of the excellent track record of producing good students yada yada. But I doubt they really understand, at 6yo, how a lack of a good education and conducive environment would impact them in their early and especially vulnerable developmental stages.

Instead of ending the article with "ACS (Junior) had to disappoint 45 boys...", I say it should be corrected to read "...had to disappoint the hopeful and eager parents of the 45 boys".

You and I

You and I Both
Jason Mraz

Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen but not to me
Oh, things are gonna happen naturally
Oh, and taking your advice and I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing
Oh, But it often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright light turns to night
Oh, Until the dawn it brings
Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of, others only read a of the love
Oh, the love that I love

See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages, for words
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of and if you could see me now
Oh, love love, you and I, you and I,
not so little you and I anymore, Umm
And with this silence brings a moral story
More importantly evolving is the glory of a boy

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of and if you could see me now
Well that I’m almost finally out of
I’m finally out of
Finally-dee-deedle le dee dee
Well I’m almost finally, finally
Well I am free, Oh, I'm free

And it's okay if you had to go away
Oh, just remember the telephone well their workin it both ways
But if I never ever hear them ring
If nothing else I'll think the bells inside
Have finally found you someone else and that's okay
Cause I'll remember everything you sang

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of and if you could see me now
Well that I’m almost finally out of
I’m finally out of, Finally-dee-deedle le dee dee
Well I’m almost finally, finally
Out of words

Emptiness

"Anyone whose goal is 'something higher' must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves."

Milan Kundera
The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I,Human

I've gotta think of less cheesy titles for my blogs.

While I,Robot was deemed more a science-fiction action thriller than an engaging thoughtpiece (*all science fiction fans yell travesty*), the 2 essential questions posed by the show (and suggested by Asimov) do come through clearly: What does it mean to be human? Can humanity be programmed into bits and bytes; can the complex human brain be imitated with artificial intelligence?

Recent films dealing with the same subject matter:

• Bicentennial Man (1999)
  (incidentally based on the short story by Isaac Asimov and on the novel, "The Positronic Man", by Asimov and Robert Silverberg)


• The Matrix (1999)


• A.I. (2001)

The 2 scenes that effectively capture the show's substantial message: When Sonny jumps Will Smith in a room full of robots and asks in a chillingly human voice, "what am I?". Where the viewer expected a highly intelligent but malfunctioning killing machine, a bewildered creature who is cowed and cornered is revealed instead.

The other scene is when Smith rhetorically asks Sonny if robots can paint a masterpiece and Sonny floors him with his simple retort "can you?". To my puzzlement, the rest of the theater broke out in laughter. Either this momentarily blurred difference between (angry afro-american) man and machine (with growing pubescent-like self-awareness) eluded most or I've lost my sense of humour.

There are no answers to these questions that can satisfy all of humanity. While I'm still searching for my own answers, I shall not presume to provide any here.

Interesting Links

• NY Times: Obsessed with perfection in the artificial


• Seattle Times: Today's Robots


• Wired Magazine: Today's Robots


• Wired Magazine: Asimov and the Science of Robotics

Viva la Blog!

"Bloggers are navel-gazers. And they're about as interesting as friends who make you look at their scrap books."

Elizabeth Osder
Visiting professor, School of Journalism
University of Southern California
Wired.com

Hurrah for the Weblog, otherwise known as the blog! Online is where I can freely say anything about virtually everything while hiding comfortably behind a monitor and even a pseudonym if I so desire! If my opinions are highly biased and bigoted, and perhaps even likely to spark riots somewhere, all the more people will read them and keep coming back for more!

Sound self-indulgent to you? Absolutely.

A frivolous and pointless pursuit? Think twice before you dismiss 'em boring blogs, buddy.

Power to the Bloggers!

Of course, not everyone cares to read about the daily events in the uninteresting lives of common folk. So why read Weblogs? Because of their scintillating and highly scandalizing contents! After all, if I want comprehensive and objective reports on world happenings, I'd read the news. If I want qualified expert opinions on complex subjects, I'd read editorials. Now if I want some quality bitching that can't be found in the media, where'd I go?

The humble Weblog first demonstrated its insidious power in journalism and politics. Bloggers were the ones who brought about the fall of Republican Senator Trent Lott by making the press notice Lott's racist remarks that were earlier overlooked and more significantly, pack journalism at work.

During the height of the Iraq war, Christopher Allbritton, a freelance journalist, solicited more than $14,000 in donations from his Weblog readers to fund his trip to Iraq and launch Back to Iraq.

America's Democratic Party not only joined in the fray with the Weblog as another tool in their campaigning arsenal, but also invited bloggers to attend the Democratic National Convention happening in 3 days' time. To be fair, that's 30 bloggers out of some 35,000 delegates.

What initially began as an subculture of Internet users sharing links and personal comments within their online community has grown into a phenomenon referred to as the Blogosphere where bloggers are heavily interconnected through reading, referencing and commenting on each other's Weblogs. Collectively, bloggers can pack a mean punch. Where once readers were confined to coffee shop banter and the occasional formal letter written to the press, readers today are able to engage actively in scrutinizing and criticizing journalists' works.

While the ability to express oneself, unbridled by censorship or the journalist's code of ethics, makes blogging extremely attractive, the ease of online publishing through blogging software is just as crucial in bringing about this trend. After all, it really helps that we don't need a degree in computer science to setup and maintain a blog.

Fact: Only 11% of Web surfers visit blogs.
Fact: Only 10% of American bloggers update their blogs daily.

CNN.com

Weblogs are also being promoted as an educational tool that essentially engages students beyond the classroom by empowering them to take charge of the content of their Weblogs. At the University of Southern California's Annenberg School of Communication, the Weblog has been used as a teaching tool since 1999 to sharpen the news reporting skills of aspiring journalists.

Even attorneys like Ernest E. Svenson have hopped on the blogging wagon as he continues "searching for truth and justice (in an unjust world)". Incidentally, according to the Infotech Update article I read, Ernie the Attorney is 4 times more linked than the top five law firm Web sites.

Moral of the story? Better not piss off a blogger though or else not only other friends but the whole world will know about your evil deeds. But bloggers beware; take free speech too far and you'll lose your job, as did Steve Olafson, then a reporter with The Houston Chronicle, whose political comments cost him.

Businesses were next to feel the impact of Weblogs, so deeply that BlogOn 2004 - the very first conference focusing on the business of social media - was just held last week.

The ability of Weblogs to facilitate informal communication and the sharing of information and knowledge have inevitably make them ideal communication tools in the arena of knowledge management and online content management. Weblog vendors, such as Traction Software, are tweaking their software to enable the further use of the Weblog as a collaboration tool in enterprises.

Weblogs are also being mined for their marketing value - the latest marketing concept being viral marketing or word-of-mouth marketing where companies try to create amongst people a buzz about their products so that these people spread the information on the companies' behalf. Go figure how this works in the ultra-linked Blogosphere.

The important points to remember here as you try to sell the features of blogging to your boss: easy publishing and efficient distribution of information. Perfect for busy people with good ideas to share or quality bitching to partake of.

But like a double-edged sword, blogging employees can work both for and against their companies and true to this, top Microsoft blogger Robert Scoble speaks freely about his employer's products. Even Six Apart, a Weblog vendor, was subject to scathing critisms from bloggers using its very own blogging technology.

Up Next?

Moblog, short for Mobile Blogging, refers to blogging via pda's and mobile phones while on the go. Moblogs have been around for about 2 years now but we haven't seen any radical impact yet. At least now you can follow your favourite celebrity (such as Jamie Oliver) around through the virtual window opened into his or her life.

Perhaps the most interesting use of the moblog was by Joi Ito and his virtual organization. Once Ito simultaneously moblogged during a conference in order to facilitate Q&A for some 110 of his blog readers around the world.

Locally, we have Singapore's 1st Moblog as part of this year's National Day celebrations (if following the lives of local celebs is considered celebrating) and the world's 1st moblog reality show both organized by Singtel. Pretty frivolous, if you ask me, but definitely another marketing tool to be exploited.

A "blogs on steroids" service called Amplify touts its ability to allow users to collate information on the Web and create customized pages. Though there's nothing particularly innovative about this service, the convenience of managing less windows on my desktop does sound geekily appealing.

On the flip side, many have lamented the recent decline of interest in literature, both reading and writing, while the trend of blogging and fisking continues to rise. But frankly, I'd rather be where the action is.

So what do all these mean for the rest of us? Keep on blogging!

More Interesting Links

• Wikipedia's Overview and History of the Weblog


• Welcome to the Blogosphere


• Blogosphere: the Emerging Media Ecosystem


• Blogging of the President Documents the Role of the Blog in the Presidential Campaign of 2004


• The Weblog: An Extremely Democratic Form in Journalism


• Is Reading in Decline, or is it Just Evolving?

Have a Heart

A few days ago, I was walking through an underpass in Orchard with G. On the floor, sat this beggar who oddly didn't fit the profile of a beggar. Though it was only a cursory glimpse, I thought he looked pretty young (20's?), healthy and fit with 4 able limbs, and sporting a crew cut and decent plastic spectables.

His placard read, "FAMILY BROTHER SISTER NO MONEY PLEASE DONATE".

I would never donate a single cent to him because he looks perfectly capable of supporting himself and his family, no matter no many mothers, brothers and sisters he has to feed. He could attend those job fairs that local CDC's organize regularly in the heartlands targeted at the unemployed by providing them job opportunities and subsidized rates to equip themselves with new skills.

But bigger questions remain: Why beg? What drove this seemingly able-bodied man to swallow his pride and dignity? Is the money that good?

I wonder if I am conveniently assuming that he is capable of supporting himself.

This morning, I was on a bus heading home with my breakfast of hot, steaming pau's. Along the way, a smelly-looking and probably homeless old man boarded the bus. He had white wispy hair and dark leathery skin and was clad in scruffy clothes - a cheap white cotton t-shirt and blue berms. From the way he shuffled slowly and painfully down the aisle, he must have been suffering from some ailment, either in the back or in his legs. I didn't notice whether he had money or an EZ-link card to pay for his bus fare.

What perturbed the most was that a middle-aged lady, garbed in presentable office attire and seated 2 rows in front of me, immediately shifted from the inner seat to the outer one, preventing this old man from sitting next to her. While her calculated gluteal maneuver was not accompanied with outright haste or a vehement show of disgust, her intention was clear - right to the edge of the cushion squashed beneath her comfort.

Then the old man shuffled nearer and it occurred to me that he might want to sit next to me. Nostrils instantly flaring, I tried to detect whiffs of homeless, unbathed putridity. I recall how once in Hong Kong, I passed a hobo who reeked of feces. The old man stopped and leaned against the side of the bus, with only about 2 rows of empty standing space between us. I couldn't smell anything.

Double phew.

I sat there, contemplating the reactions of both myself and the lady. What if he's really poor and unbearably hungry, and the smell of my food agitates him into snatching it? I further wondered if I should offer him half my breakfast but decided against it. How do I really know that he's homeless and too poor to buy his own food? What if he feels insulted, spits and rails at me in Hokkien?

Before I got up to walk past him, I positioned my food on my left, away from him, and tried to walk as naturally as possible as I got off the bus.

Horrible thoughts for an able-bodied and educated young male. Am I actually cowardly and selfish? At least I'm honest about it, are you?

It takes a whole lot of courage and genuine love to embrace this old man, to acknowledge him as an equal human being, and to offer him help. Now you know why we need to be prompted and reminded to pay it forward.

And if sympathy ever afflicts us, we are only willing to offer our money, not our precious time and manicured hands. Even then, death-defying stunts performed by celebrities and luxurious lucky draw prizes are needed to motivate us to loosen our purse strings tied firmly around our hearts.

Lyrics of Hands by Jewel

If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all OK
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after
We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
We are God's hands
We are God's hands

Up Sai Your Mewl, Sir?

That's our local, auntie-delivered version of "would you like to super size your meal?".

I recently caught Morgan Spurlock's Super Size Me. It was every bit as entertaining and informative as described by reviews. It was also pretty ironic that I was buying a drink from Mac's just before the show.

Funniest moment: When a kid identified a saintly portrait of Jesus as George W Bush (in the same experiment, kids readily identified Ronald McDonald with ease).

Most sobering moment: On day 3 of his McExperiment, Spurlock force fed himself a super-sized meal - a large burger, a pound of fries & half a gallon of Coke. His lean figure literally couldn't stomach so much food and after 15 agonizing minutes, vomited all of it - to the audience's collective disgust.

As Spurlock himself points out, the film has achieved its main objective, which is to raise awareness of issues by becoming a talking point. It's interesting how MacDonald's chose to ignore Spurlock and to deny that its recent maneuvers were in response to his film.

At a bus-stop yesterday, I overheard 2 guys discussing the show, talking about the very same force-feeding scene. While Spurlock made me realize the adverse effects of eating processed food, these 2 guys made me wonder, do we all fully understand what personal responsibility entails?

A month ago, I was inspired by my McDonald's breakfast to post this entry which I never published:

Still Lovin' It?

Nothing beats piping hot pancakes and free flow of coffee first thing in the morning! Till you realize that it's 600 calories of mostly sugars and that margarine made from hydrogenated corn is bad for you.

How's that for a spoiler?

Other than that one moment of early morning folly, I haven't had another meal under the Golden Arches. In fact, the last time I put non-MacDonald's fries into my mouth, it was met with strong internals feelings of guilt and reprehension, followed a barrage of jokes from friends about widespread famine in parts of the world when I didn't finish my food. Yet rewind 10 years back in my life and you'll find me blissfully sharing an entire tray full of fries with other innocent, naive friends.

What's changed?
 
I believe it's heightened self-awareness and personal responsibility.

Voulez-vous Coucher Avec Moi, Ce Soir?

That's French for "Would you sleep with me tonight?".

Have been watching Sex and the City (SATC) with G. I've to admit, the very 1st episode we caught (about threesomes) actually left us feeling too prudish and conservative for the show. Now, 3 and a half seasons later, I'd gladly recommend the show to everyone, be they single/married/divorced/horny/asexual.

Call me Charlotte the prude, but every episode leaves me amazed at how sexually liberated the Americans are. When was the last time I had an engaging conversation about sex and dildos?? But beyond the blatant sex talk and multiple sex partners, the show poignantly portrays the ups and downs, ins and outs (pardon the imagery) of dating, relationships, and the clichéd F word - friendship.

The character that intrigues me the most? Miranda, the unattractive and career-driven redhead who is often angry yet desparate for a man, cynical about life and relationships and yet hopeful and yearning, fiercely independent yet emotionally vulnerable.

But this isn't a TV review.

A friend I met recently bemoaned how being attached is not only the default but also the ideal state that most S'porean men are or desire to be in. According to him, S'porean men are pathetic in our need and fulfilment in couplehood, or in his words "for someone to reply to their sms-es late in the night". Within one hour over lunch, my 23yo single & eligible friend had imparted way too much information about his sex life, opinions and taste for women, and a roving eye that was quick to critique anything in a skirt that was vaguely attractive.

FYI I'm not particularly worried about him reading this. His reaction "Not another f*****g blog!" to the URL I sent him tells me that he won't be visiting this page any time soon.

In typical SATC fashion, his comment got me wondering.

*cue Carrie Bradshaw narrating*

"Are we all wired to need that special someone to make us feel loved and appreciated at the end of the day? Is singlehood really a less desirable and even laughable state to be in? When do swinglehood and wanton sex romps start losing their appeal, and eventually become overtaken by the urge to settle down with the one and have kids - 2 or more if you can afford it?"

Notwithstanding my personal resume with only one relationship to boot and my brief 25 years of life experience, I have a strong, personal belief in monogamy, i.e. lifelong, faithful commitment to a single partner even while dating.

A while ago, I was chatting with another friend online when he suddenly asked me how I had gotten together with G. Apparently he needed to review his wooing tactics towards achieving success that has eluded many a male. Suffice to say, I was pretty amused and a tad flattered that someone was actually asking me for love advice? Am I there already??

Honestly speaking, I'm not. Another friend - a self-proclaimed relationship guru - recently related over email the sobering relationship experiences of his guy friends. While I'm glad that nobody has broken my heart yet, I realize how emotionally (and sexually) inexperienced I am. This is not to say that I have gained little from my present relationship. But there is really so much in the gamut of love and lust many of us will not get to experience.

So I cannot yet answer whether singlehood/swinglehood/couplehood is the answer. We all have to make our own.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Caught the movie with G last wednesday. It's a wonderfully brilliant film that exposes how man cannot but hold on tenaciously to the memories of his life experiences that define who he is. And above this, it reminds us that love is a great thing that cannot be stamped out.

Kirsten Dunst's character quotes these lines from a poem by Alexander Pope titled "Eloisa to Abelard":

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.

Who Me? Entrepreneur and Socialite??

Last night I attended an IT Networking Session organized by NUS OAR. Targeted at both fresh graduates and working alumni, the evening consisted of a panel discussion on the topic of "Taking on the Entrepreneurial Spirit with IT" and a networking session over dinner.

It was to be my very first social event of this nature. For the past few days, I felt rather apprehensive about it; all I could imagine was myself, a fledgling fresh grad, lost and silent among a crowd of successful people busy at socializing. When I tried asking friends to accompany me, they hadn't heard about it and weren't interested anyway. But it wasn't so bad when I got there. Fortunately I met an acquaintance there and managed to avoid looking sad and lonely.

The panelists consisted of a mix of 4 successful young personalities - one dead serious and dead boring, another totally irreverent, and one utterly intelligent and well-spoken. The discussion was many things to me - mostly sobering, sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes dead boring, occasionally hilarious, and overall quite inspiring.

Many personal anecdotes and experiences were shared, encapsulating invaluable nuggets of wisdom. But nothing said was novel or radical; we've all heard these familiar words one time or another:

"stepping out of comfort zone"
"pursuing a dream passionately"
"choosing to working for yourself or for others"
"compelled by choice or no choice"
"the ability to sell is crucial"
"spotting and catching the next big wave"

But to a professional bummer, closeted at home in my comfort zone most of the time, these are simply pretty phrases of information, chucked away in my mental log for future reference, if ever. True epiphany occurs through enlightenment or experience when information becomes knowledge and wisdom. To this point, one panelist related how he took 11 years to realize that

[profit = revenue - cost]

For me, my epiphany is that entrepreneurship is not an occupation, it's a mindset, an attitude towards life of grabbing the bull by the horns. Of course, I don't know about every single thing that entrepreneurship entails. But I know now that it's not something only for the street-smart, business-savvy, or the sole proprietor. The label "entrepreneur in the corporate world" is still ringing in my head.

Once the discussion ended, everyone headed out directly at the food. Instantly it could be seen who was socially-savvy and who wasn't: people who dived into the food first, and others who socialized first; people who clung on to others they knew, and other who went up to the panelists to introduce themselves. Took me a while to warm up to it, but finally I stuck my face into 2 of the panelists' and introduced myself. To my surprise, they were warm and friendly. One even got me to treat him to lunch. What struck me most was the confidence and energy that shone through the glint in their eyes.

So am I going to start my own business? Maybe.

Am I going to shamelessly make friends with total strangers? Perhaps.

Am I going to grab life by its horns? Definitely!

6 Days in Green

Day 1: In-Processing

Catching up with army friends. Many look rounder (and most tell me I look thinner).

Funnily, everyone's hardly changed. Talking in the same way (some more Hokkien) and joking in the same crude humour that manifests only in the presence of pure testosterone.

The old-bird reservists are amazingly slack and bo-chup. My kind of company.

Day 2: Combat Jump

I grabbed fear by the balls.

Today's training included a jump off a 5m high platform over a 4m deep swimming pool. Almost didn't want to jump.

As I stood up there at the edge looking down, I felt dread welling up inside of me. Threatening to paralyze me, fear almost gripped my very being. But I grabbed it by the balls: yelled out my IC number, took 1 step forward, and plunged straight down.

The next thing I knew, I was a couple of meters in the water. Wasn't so bad after all, and I actually didn't mind going again. Of course I didn't.

Day 3: IPPT

Got gold! Jumped 238cm for SBJ (a personal best!) and ran 9m13s (not a personal best :) $400 richer and feeling happy and accomplished.

G: It literally pays to be fit.

Quite amazed that I managed to run so fast, kudos to the sergeant with whom I'd agreed to be each other's pacer.

*flashback to start of run* Fellow pacer broke at intense sprint and left me eating his dust 6 seconds behind

I'm sure I could have beat him. It's mind over matter.

Day 4: Nothing Memorable

Boring boring boring...

Must have lost 1million neurons that day.

Day 5: Naviation Exercise on Scramblers

Fell off a motorbike in lim chu kang during a navigation exercise. Received 3 minor cuts above my eye, and a bruise below my armpit.

I was the pillion rider and barely knew what was happening, except that my friend had lost control of our bike while going up a steep slope. Was feeling shitty for a while that I was suffering for the mistake of another person. But no, I don't blame my friend; accidents happen.

Moral of the story: if you're driving other people, whether in a car of on a motorbike, be responsible. Too many stories of riders who survive, but their pillion passengers didn't.

Day 6: Out-Processing

I hate waiting. I hate bureacracy.

There's no place like home. There's nothing like home-cooked food and a loving mother to nag at you.

"We Marched Last Night Ah!"

6 days of ICT starting tomorrow.

Took me a while to pack.

As I rummaged through a cardboard full of musky army gear, I found my good ol' trusty leather gloves - real tattered and seriously well-worn.

I was surprised at my own reaction - a chuckle and a irrepressible grin.

Seeya in 6 days' time!

Of Dumplings & Dragons

What do Singaporean housewives do in their free time? Make rice dumplings, of course! At least my mom does.



Ah yes, the familiar shape of the bah zhang - 4 cornered, bamboo-leaf-wrapped packages and its sticky contents of glutinous rice, mushrooms, pork, and chestnuts to be savoured with dark, sweet sauce. Back in my secondary school days, I used to eat it practically everyday in the late afternoons because that was all they had in the school canteen.

Old wives' wisdom dictates that you can't eat more than 2 or 3 at a go, or else indigestion and bloatedness will afflict the greedy and foolish one.



For the culturally amnesic, rice dumplings are part of the Duan Wu Jie, aka dragon boat festival. This festival commemorates Qu Yuan (332-296 BC), a patriotic Chinese poet who, according to folklore, drowned himself in a river in a bid to protest against rampant corruption. To the horror of environmentalists and lovers of aquatic life alike, the lau bai xing (i.e. common people) began throwing rice in the river while beating drums and splashing water to keep the fish from getting to the poet's body.

Motivated by curiosity and a need to maintain my reputation at home as mommy's domesticated boy, I joined in the dumpling making while my father and brother were simply disinterested in this supposed family activity. But I failed miserably at this deceptively difficult task of filling, wrapping, and tying the dumplings. In the end, I only managed 2 and my mom made the rest.



These dumplings that my mom made were ti zhang, a fillingless variation of yellow glutinous rice to be eaten with sugar - white, brown, or coconut. It has a signature smell that I absolutely detested when I was young, probably because it wasn't sweet enough for my liking. And I could never understand why my mom kept buying it even though nobody else at home really liked it.

So when my mom began making it this time round, I asked her why. Her answer was so simple, it floored me.

"I like it."



This time round though, my mom decided to experiment by filling the dumplings with red bean paste. The experiment failed miserably; the middle of the red-bean-filled dumplings stubbornly refused to cook properly, despite hours of boiling and steaming. My mom, evidently used to occasional failure in the kitchen, was instead rather amused and proceeded to rectify the situation by painstakingly reconfiguring each dumpling.



As I hesistantly sampled her handiwork, my mom quizzed, "did you know that the Great Wall of China is made of the very same glutinous rice?"

Guess she wanted to exonerate herself for underestimating the resilience of the humble grain of glutinous rice.

Why Mosquitoes Exist

Someone's gone and answered the biggest question of all: why do mosquitoes exist?

According to the article on NY Times, population control and keeping humans away from wildlife are two important reasons.

Amazing huh?

Music Making: Weaving the Ethereal

Last Sunday night, I attended a performance at the Esplanade by "Yo-Yo Ma and the Silk Road Ensemble". As part of the Silk Road Project travelling round the world and to which Yo-Yo Ma is founder and Artistic Director, this concert was a commendable effort to both entertain and educate about traditional Eastern music that sprung up along the Silk Road and also music inspired by these Eastern roots. This is but my humble, little review of the performance.



This world-renowned cellist hardly needs introduction. However, while his current achievements of 15 Grammy Awards, 50 released albums, and a multi-faceted music career of crossovers and collaborations are undoubtedly impressive, Yo-Yo Ma is more likely to be remembered for his genuine and unassuming personality, and a winning, effervescent smile.

As I watched him move onstage with cello in hand, under the intense gaze of an expectant audience and the immense weight of his very own reputation, nothing about him spoke of arrogance or pompousness. Instead, from a slightly hunched and relaxed stride to a navy blue business suit (as opposed to the typical musician's black tuxedo, regal with bow-tie and tails) to his familiar circular-rim glasses to an intelligent and upbeat voice, this man's aura was one of sincerity and unpretentiousness.

"...music has the ability to transcend space and time...

I have to confess, I scoffed internally at his initial words for this phrase is so clichéd and hackneyed, it wheezes and flaps like a leaky balloon every time it's blown in public. Even reading the programme booklet made me snicker silently.

"Said Ma, 'As we interact with unfamiliar musical traditions, we encounter voices that are not exclusive to one community. We discover transnational voices that belong to one world.'"

But as I sat through the performance, my jadedness at music-making (narrow and unwarranted for an amateur musician who was hardly part of the local music scene) was thrown out and replaced instead with a revived hope and optimism towards music, and an ear more open towards Chinese musical instruments. Never have I heard and seen someone pour out so much of his heart and soul into... simple, long notes; it was an inspiring reminder of how music really has to extend far beyond the notes we see on music sheets.

Ethnomusicology, a dirty word to some because it reeks of fusion (aka new age hybridism of culturally inspired elements that is intended to challenge and tease in a curiously refreshing manner). We've all heard it before: East meets West, European tradition infused with Asian elements etc. But far from feeling scandalized at my enjoyment of music mainstream enough for the masses, my interest and curiosity really were piqued about the music, its origins - the very objective that the Silk Road Project has set out to achieve - and even my very own roots. I reckon the success of this project is attributed not so much to Yo-Yo Ma's award-winning playing but, to a large part, his name and credibility as a carrying vessel.

At times the evening's music was minimalist, in terms of both content and instrumentation, but it was captivating nonetheless. I was instantly mesmerized by the ethereal quality present in the opening piece, Tryst, a love song between a courtesan and a scholar/poet. While the oboe's main theme evoking images of a wailing woman was refreshingly haunting, when the Kayagum performer, garbed in traditional Korean costume, really began singing and wailing, it was utterly forlorn and poignant. Such is the power of the human voice.

The other piece that completely enthralled me was the Mugam-Sajahy for String Quartet. A surreal sense enveloped the darkened stage with lights focusing only on the players standing at both sides of the stage and Yo-Yo Ma, seated in the center, both beginning and ending with a two note, heartbeat-like ostinato. This simple theme softly beckoned and yet, under the weaving of Ma's artistry and expert movements, morphed and danced. As three other voices gradually joined in, I found myself initially at a loss at which player to look at and which voice to focus on. Then I simply looked up, listened, and slowly realized my interpretation of this arrangement: lost, individual voices from afar searching, finding, and finally meeting. Other antics such as extremely vigorous playing and dramatizing the music by moving deliberately across the stage added to the theatrical feel of this performance.

The evening finally climaxed when the entire Silk Road Ensemble gathered for a final, boisterious encore - their unofficial theme song whose title frustrates my online search. I had watched them perform the same piece on TV, but this live performance was simply magical. Synergy (another hackneyed word) and pure simple fun - two rare and elusive elements in classical musical performances - were definitely alive and kicking onstage.

I am, once again, a music lover.

Who R The Best Boyfriends?

Got this hilarious email from a friend.

Any of your husband or boyfriend is an Engineer?

Message: Today's lesson - Girls must be convinced, so learn to promote yourself - convince them that 'Engineers are the Best Boyfriends'. Let me tell you why girls should eventually marry an engineer over a Law, Management, Arts or Medical School Graduate. He has three distinct advantages over the rest of the graduates.

Advantage 1: Secure lifestyle
An engineer boyfriend can provide you with a secure lifestyle. At 27 years old, an engineer probably has a respectable, stable job that gives him a high income to own a car, invest, have a comfortable life, and get married and buy a house too. Law graduates are still working as a lowly apprentice in law firm, most management graduates have just failed on their first business plan, the arts graduate is still looking for a job, and the medical school graduate is still living in a hospital.

Advantage 2: Unmatchable industriousness
An engineer boyfriend will dedicate an unimaginable amount of his time and effort to understand you. Engineers strain really really hard to understand their work. You can believe that they will try really really hard to understand women too, just like how they understand their work, once they believe that you are the one. So even if they don't understand you initially, they will keep on trying. Even if they still do not understand, they will figure out the correct method to keep you happy (e.g. buy diamond ring = 1 week's worth of happiness.) And once they find out the secret formula, they will just keep on repeating it so that the desired results appear. Unlike the Lawyer who will argue with you, the Management graduate who will try to control your spending, the Arts graduate who will 'change major', and the medical school graduate who will operate on you. And you know what, it's really so easy to make engineers believe that you are the 'one'. Say that you like one of their projects and they will be hooked to you forever.

Advantage 3: An engineer boyfriend will never betray your trust.
Let me first tell you what is wrong with the rest of the others - the lawyers will lie about everything, management graduates will cheat your money, the arts graduate will flirt, and you probably just look like another cadaver to the medical school graduate. Your engineer boyfriend is either too busy to have an affair, and even if he does, he is too dumb to lie to you about that. Hence, an engineer is the most secure boyfriend that you will ever find - rich enough, will keep on trying to understand and please you, has no time for affairs, and too dumb to lie to you. So girls, why procrastinate?

Get an engineer for your boyfriend!

Porn On Local TV?

That's food porn, to be exact.

For the late wakers and the no-life, white-collared cubicle slaves, the culinary slot on Channel 5 starts at 11.30am every weekday morning. Over the past few weeks, I've been faithfully catching Oliver Twist everyday but as that drew to an end, I worried about life after Jamie Oliver. But this uneasy void was soon filled by my latest goggle-box obsession, Nigella Lawson.



Forever Summer's the name of her home culinary show. Sensual and bordering on orgasmic is what she is, the way she liberally spouts slurring adjectives like "amaaazing" "intensssse" "llllovely" and the way she sighs and moans in mouth-filled delight. Even her groan, as she heaved a heavy mortar, is especially sexual. And the way she looks up to the camera ever so sweetly with a gleam in her eyes.

High and dry is what I am, after watching every episode.

*cue soundtrack: bopping bossa nova beats with girating flute solo*

Perhaps it's my weakness for full-bodied women who spout a thick English accent and are addicted to the intense heat of fresh red chilli. But I'm not the only raving about her. Her first culinary show, Nigella Bites, was described by Salon.com as "the most consistently lubricious show on the air".

Without a doubt, food is better than sex. After all, how many food orgies have you had in your life? And how many sex orgies? Case in point (unless my friends have secret lives). During the latest episode aptly titled "Green" for the mint-centric recipes, I practically ogled at the thick, oozing mint syrup being poured deliberately over full, fleshy peaches poached in spicy bourbon.

Lawson's life story is indeed inspiring. But for all her success with 2 shows, 4 books, and being the subject of countless sexual fantasies, Lawson proclaims herself as being merely a food enthusiast and not an expert. She is apologetic yet unabashed about her apparent lack of adeptness in the kitchen that is typical of TV chefs. Her motto is "to achieve maximum pleasure through minimum effort". True to this, some of her recipes are really so fuss-free that she prepares them in the open of her backyard and even her kitchen tools are chosen to minimize effort on her part so she can still look good on TV (like the curved, double-handled knife that makes dicing look fun). After all, the underlying theme of her life is emancipation from blandness, prudish weight-watching, and the imprisoning kitchen.

And all feminists who love fried food say Amen.

Clifford Pier: Retro Lost in Modernity

Located at the edge of the familiar concrete jungle we know as Shenton Way is a forgotten treasure trove of curious sights. Dwarfed by its towering neighbours, most people in their daily rush to and from work hardly pay any attention to this quaint little place by the waterfront. It takes a professional bummer like me with a curious eye to notice it. Of course, I only did because G's working in the area.



Named after former colonial governor Sir Hugh Clifford, Clifford Pier was opened in 1933 and underwent major expansion in the late 1970's. Once bustling with the activity of money changers hawking their services (supposedly yelling "Change! Change!" hence the name Change Alley) and American sailors whose ships had called at the pier, today it is quiet and unexciting mainly because of competition from other ferry terminals. And since I was there on a hot, lazy sunday afternoon, it seemed especially deserted, except for tourists heading for a cruise aboard the Chinese junk and foreign workers chatting and even napping on the cool, concrete floor. Sadly, with a new pier coming up at Marina South, this pier is slated to be demolished, but for now stands to remind us of our heritage and identity.



As I walked over from Caltex House into the bridge linking Clifford Pier and Change Alley, the scenery changed from one of sparkling modernity and see-through glass walls to one of dim lights and dirty walls, typical of old shopping centers. I was immediately drawn by the curious interior design that is reminiscent of earlier times. The shop names ("Dinky Di Store, House of Russian Goods" and "Trendy Cafeteria") were even more intriguing. Thus I made a promise to return with my camera to capture these sights that we always take for granted. So there.



Do check out my photo blog but please pardon the poor quality of the pictures. It's my first photo essay anyway, so be nice. Do check out a much more professional article and a photo essay done by Straits Times a while ago.



Neither did I know about Neptune, the first revolving restaurant and the largest theatre-restaurant in Singapore that used to run topless nightclub shows. In the course of my online research, I also found a forum where various people have posted photos and postcards of Singapore in her yesteryears.

See, there are interesting places in Singapore after all.

Ease the pain by sharing

Got this article from the Life! section from Straits Times (16 June 2004). If I've infringed any copyrights by publishing it here, pls let me know and I'll take it down immediately. Otherwise I'm just sharing a heart-warming article.

Ease the pain by sharing

The family that hurts together, stays together. Or at least, that's what I learnt when my daughter had to get an injection

ONE of Haley's Hello Kitty earrings had become impacted in her left ear.

It was probably due to a bout of eczema. When the skin broke and then healed, the earring just got set in the earhole and was not going to budge.

'There's nothing I can do here,' said Dr Pat, our family doctor.

'I suggest going to KK Hospital where you can get her sedated.'

My wife shuddered - sedation means a needle and a needle means pain.

We have all been there. The terror of a sharp, thin, metal rod piercing your skin. Even as you age, there remains some trepidation, but at five years old, it seems like a near-death experience.

'You explain, Stephen. I can't handle this,' said my wife with all the bravery of a field mouse.

When D-Day came, and as the girls were having breakfast, I decided to bite the bullet.

'Haley, darling?'

'Yah,' she replied.

'We are going to take out the earring today. There's a hospital where the doctor knows how to do it.'

Apparently, she had been mugging up on her civil rights.

'If it hurts, I'm not going.'

'Well, that's just it. They have medicine that puts you to sleep so you won't feel a thing.'

'But if it's painful, I'll wake up.'

'This is a special kind of sleep where you can only wake up when they stop giving you the medicine,' I said.

'Daddy's had it before, it's very fun. They ask you to count backwards from 10, and before you even get to seven, you fall asleep,' I continued.

I feigned sudden unconsciousness by slumping in my chair.

'OK or not?' I asked.

'OK lah,' she replied, smiling.

At the hospital, she was her usual buoyant self. She happily laid on the bed, and her jolly demeanour quickly charmed all the nurses.

Even when they disinfected her thigh and I helped pin her arms above her head, she seemed relaxed, albeit with a slight look of curiosity.

Then came the needle.

A split second of shock was followed by the realisation that she was being injected.

Her eyes widened in shock and pain. Then came the screams that would rip out the heart of any parent and drop-kick it between the goalposts at Guilt Stadium.

After what seemed like forever, the needle was withdrawn from her thigh.

By now, her face was soaked in tears. With big, startled eyes, she implored: 'Why did they prick me? It's so painful.'

I brushed back her hair, dried her face and assured her that there would be no more. But even though she was staring with eyes wide open, the sparkle had gone and so had the trauma. She was sedated.

Twenty minutes later, a five-nurse team had removed the earring and an unconscious Haley was wheeled into the observation area.

She was expected to be out cold for another 45 minutes. But within moments, the little tiger had opened her eyes. She was aware but could not see clearly.

I felt sure she could hear me, though. Close enough to whisper, I told her I was there and that all she had to do was sleep.

But she was scared and fought against the unfamiliarity.

Her face seemed numb. Slowly, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and held it there for a scary 10 seconds, trying to understand the strangeness she was feeling.

Responding to my voice, she whispered: 'Papa?'

Despite her condition, with all the strength she could muster, she lifted her left arm onto my head to draw me even closer.

For the next 15 minutes, she drifted in and out of consciousness - her hand never straying from my head.

Soon, she asked for Mummy and got the big hug she was looking for.

It is so hard to see your little girl cry when she is scared of the unknown. In that situation, you realise that you are all that she has in the world.

But I was to realise something else that day too.

While still vulnerable though slightly more lucid, her face suddenly collapsed into tears again.

'I want Jie Jie,' she cried.

More than anything I had experienced all day, that plea for her elder, nine-year-old sister made me realise what we all are to each other.

It is natural to think that a child wants her parents when she is scared.

But for Haley to ask for Amelia, that speaks volumes for their relationship too.

Sisters, I have observed, can share a friendship, unlike brothers.

There seems to be a special closeness, born of trials of growing up together and cemented with affection, which perhaps brothers are afraid to express.

It is good to think that in their adult years the girls will still be friends. I hope our family unit stays tightly together.

After all, if I ever got my ears pierced, I would not want to do it alone.

Send your comments to stlife@sph.com.sg

Remember Your Army Daze?

Like most Singaporean males, I have a bunch of rowdy army friends, with whom I literally shared thick and thin, and shed sweat and blood. I've definitely have come a long way since the age of uninhibited, profuse cursing and swearing (Hokkien included). Yet when we met up recently for dinner and coffee, it felt just like good ol' times. Apart from a newly minted degree and more girl-related stories, nobody seemed to have changed much outwardly.

Amazingly, the entire evening's conversation revolved round that gruelling and trying 2.5 years of our lives which took place about 5 years ago. Haven't 25yo's who have spent a good 4 years on an, at the very least, eventful university education got anything better to talk about?? From the way we were reminiscing, these events seemed to have occured just yesterday.

Perhaps I've erased from memory all remnants of the trauma of temporarily losing my individuality and freedom in submitting to authority and a highly disagreeable system. But recalling numerous memorable incidents and colourful characters I'd met during NS did bring back many a chuckle or even a guffaw. And undeniably a warm fuzzy feeling.

*cue canned audience going "awwww"*

Once again, I'm reminded of the power of shared historical experience. In this case, one that is so intense and unique - physically, emotionally, and psychologically - and has left us with indelible collective memories to be laughed and joked about. From camou-sticks to maggie mee to hammocks to smelly berets, from acronymns to codewords to soldiers' creeds to infamous phrases, from a rat-infested camp to guard duty patrols to local training grounds to overseas training trips, from the mundane to the peculiar... Every detail was recollected and savoured, including the infamous mistimed curse muttered by one guy under his breath that aggravated an already furious barrage of corporal punishment.

My personal most unforgettable experience? Once, during a training exercise deep into the night, my team was unfamiliar with the terrain and had to resort to bashing (an NS term for insistently moving - sometimes hacking - through thick vegetation with connotations of foolhardiness) through a tapioca patch - its indomitable branches, the bane of all NS men. It took us almost an hour to clear through about 100 to 200 meters of it. At the end of it, I remember looking up and seeing HDB flats in the horizon. I imagined their residents all tucked under their covers, warm and cosy, and snoring through the night, while here I was - cold, wretched, and exhausted - suffering the glory of proudly serving the nation.

But it's true what they say, NS is a rite of passage, filled with eye-opening sights (and smells) and experiences. At the end of the day, beyond a greater wisdom, I know I have gained a group of reliable and trustworthy guys that I can count on as friends.

*cue canned audience going "awwww", followed by applause and cheers*