Etymology, lah.

ang moh /AHng-morh/
Lit: Red hair.
Noun, count.

A casual term used to describe the English language; i.e. My ang moh not very good. OR

A generic term used to describe anyone with caucasian features. Because no one can put a finger on what exactly that is, think white American. Or English. Or white Australian. You should get the idea by now. Ang mohs began as our colonial masters, and it seems the yoke has never slipped completely. We defer to them for all things to do with the English language, even if they are of the variety that cannot distinguish between "your" and "you're". In Singapore today, ang mohs are seen as being very rich, because they digest food and excrete it as nuggets of gold. In retaliation, we overcharge them for seafood and try to sell them cameras. e.g. He got no money? How can? He ang moh leh!

Origins:
Records are uncertain when the term ang moh became popular. Because it makes no sense. The Irish never got here in any sort of great number, and there was perhaps one white man with red hair on the entire island. And that was due to a tragic lubricant accident.

The term for white man completely ignored the blondes and brunettes which composed 99.98% of the white population. Because the transliteration of blonde hair (kim moh) was already used for ah bengs, and the one for black hair (orh moh) sounded really dumb. And no one knew how to say brown in Hokkien. They instead called it the shit colour, pang sai sek.

And because the Chinese, who are largely responsible for coming up with the quaint terms we use, are better at kung fu then they are at sense, the one red-headed man became the basis for what we call the white man today.

His name was Steve.


filli-felleh /FEElee-FEHleh/
Adjective. Archaic.

Used to describe good proficiency at something, esp. language. More specifically, if you're filli-felleh at something, it means you're so good at it that the other person cannot understand you. Strangely, the term is derogatory, because it's somehow your fault for being better at something than they are. The Chinese are many things, but we're not a gracious people. e.g. You don't come and filli-felleh your ang moh down here, ok? We Singapolang, speak Singlish!

Origins:
The word was first used in a stable here in 1855. As one of the colonial masters was inspecting the horses, a mare slipped on a slippery thing and promptly fell on her side. Turning to a stablehand, he said, "Be careful what you leave around the stalls, old chap. Look, the filly fell, eh?"

A fellow stablehand came to help as the ang moh walked away, and he asked the first stablehand what happened.

"I dunno. The hoss fall down, then the ang moh say filli-felleh. Dunno what he saying. Work lah."


And finally:

shiok /shee-YOK/
Adjective. Or perhaps a verb. Not a noun, at least. You know what? I have no clue. It's a terrible word.

When you say something is shiok, you mean it's good in a way that gives you pleasure. Usually used with food; i.e. This chicken rice is shiok! Usage is versatile, and the word can be used to describe any sort of pleasing effect. Standing under the air-conditioner after a walk in the hot sun, for example, is shiok. Receiving oral sex is also shiok, though vocalising this during the event may result in it never happening again.

Origins:
In the year 1862, Singapore was a bustling port. Of the many immigrants, the Chinese in particular came in droves. Most came with barely the clothes on their backs, to begin a new life of toil and labour. Others came with precious stones hidden in unmentionable places, and traded those in for the money to start a small business, providing for their peers, the colonial masters and the occasional badger that washed ashore.

At one such humble restaurant, a group of colonial masters dined, one day. As is still seen today, the ang mohs are treated very nicely indeed. Because they're the ones with the money, and back then, the guns and the flags.

The diners were frustrated at not being able to drink their tea pinky-up, because the Chinese teacups had no handles on them. But the food was excellent, and one of them wanted very much to tell the owner of the restaurant how good he thought it was. Of course, he did it in English, because the English expect everyone to speak it.

Diner: "I say, old chap, this Chicken rice is fantastic! I mean, shockingly good! There's nowhere to get decent fish and chips on this island because we just can't explain the concept of batter to you, but the things you can do with chicken, my god. Bravo!"

Owner: "Ah. Tank you."

Of course, the owner spoke almost no English, but he knew the word "good", and got the idea. He was a great one for self-improvement, however, and he wasn't going to pass on this opportunity. Ten minutes later, he stepped up to the table again and coughed politely.

Owner: "Ah. Sok?"

Diner: "What? Sock?"

Owner, pointing to chicken: "Sok good?"

Diner: "Oh! Yes, shockingly good, I say!"

Owner: "Ah. Tank you."

He went back to the counter, and mouthed the word to himself a few times. As the diners got up to leave, he hurried over for the last time.

Owner: "Ah. Shiok?"

Diner: "Um. Shockingly good, I said. You know, like...oh nevermind. Yes, yes, shiok. Shiok! Very good!"

The owner beamed, and bowed. He couldn't wait to tell all his friends the new ang moh word he learned that day.

Hurnaissance.

Like renaissance, but for retarded people.

So I've been missing for quite some time. Just short of a week, now.

...one-person pun, that one. And hardly funny by any stretch of the imagination. I apologise.

The strange thing is, it's hard to get started, in the same way, no matter what you apply it to. Reasonable things, of course. It would not be hard to get started on having scantily-clad women feed you sashimi while interesting things go on about a metre down from where the sashimi goes in. If said women, sashimi and huge bed were readily available, that is.

And you know how hard it is to find good sashimi, these days.

But it's hard to start on anything for yourself without an immediate, tangible reward. Cleaning your room, for example. You know it's going to be a bunch of dusting, wiping, moving and mopping. And the more you think about it, the more perfectly clean your room seems to be, so fuck off, alright?

Or starting on exercise. You know how long it took you the last time to finally be able to see that first bicep line. And now you've laid off it for so long, the dumbbell you casually scratched your back with last time is impossible to lift. You blame the tiny elves holding it to the ground, then go have a beer.

Eventually, you do. And cleaning your room is just like you thought it would be. You collect enough dust to stuff a pillow with, discover the obligatory one fossilized cockroach, and break out in hives all over your body. After a few hours, it's finally done and you hurl the cloth viciously into the bucket in a gesture of finality to no one in particular. Then you take a shower to clean off off the dirty water you just splashed on yourself.

You dry off and come back into the room again and hey, it's somehow more pleasant, isn't it? Your feet don't stick to the floor anymore. And the air smells fresher too. Why you don't do this more often, you have no idea.

And perhaps you'll finally put on your running shoes and go for that run you've promised yourself for two we...months, now. And yes, you feel like shit. Oh gods, how did you ever manage to do this in the past. Jesus, you don't need to inflict this on yourself.

You get back home dejected, damned near dead and knowing it's going to take a lot more than a twenty-minute run to get back in shape. You're no Belgian Blue Cow. The good news is, you don't ever have to worry about people discovering you run cow-photos.blogspot.com Seriously, wtf.

After just ten minutes though, when you've caught your breath again, you feel pretty good, don't you? Perkier. Energetic. Why, you'd even swear you can see your abs now. Why you don't do this more often, you have no idea.

And neither do I.