Ah, my first double-post in a day, and perhaps, finally one of importance.
I'll be kidding no one if I say this will make an iota of difference. All I hope to achieve is to remind myself when I look back some time down the road, that for a moment in time...something profoundly touched me.
Shanmugam Murugesu. A name. An Indian name. Uncommon, perhaps, but not one of note to most people. To two more names, Gopalan and Krishnan Murugesu, however, it's the most important name in all the world. For, you see, Murugesu is their father. And on a yet-known day some time in the immediate future, this man, will die.
The entire story is all here. For those of you who don't know, and for some strange reason are here, I strongly urge you to click and learn. For myself, I found out while I was striding down Orchard Road one day, toward some purpose that, then ever-so-important, became simply, fucking, nothing in the face of the enormity of the situation this family faces.
Some commotion ahead. What, are they hawking something again? No, wait, they're distributing flyers of some sort. Gods damn these pests. Rapidly approaching the proximity where noise resolves into sense, little snatches of what I'd thought to be their touting filtered in over the dull buzz of the crowd.
"...Save..."
"Help save..."
"Help save the boys' father!"
Immediately, I did. And read the flyer, for the information in the above link. I wish I had that copy, so I could tell you what it said. Basically, it was an appeal directly from the twin boys of Murugesu, for the public to help appeal to the President for clemency for their father. What I can recall went something along the lines of:
"Please, help us ask the President for clemency. We know he has done a bad thing but he is all we have. Send him to prison for life, where, at least, knowing he is alive, we can draw strength. Please god, don't let him die."
No, no drama. I didn't cry or shed a tear. I find it hard to, and the last time I did was literally years ago. But I was stunned, shocked, and...touched. I looked around for the boys (A Chinese Woman gave me the flyer, I think she was helping out), and there they were, two nondescript teenage Indian boys, shouting the same mantra the woman was, for all the world looking and sounding like newspaper sellers. Yet underneath the forced energy was a quiet melancholy. During lulls in the crowd, with no need to shout, etched upon their faces was an infinity of mirrored sadness.
The President has since received and rejected the appeal: Murugesu will hang. Did we really expect anything else? Yes, I understand the laws are there for the protection of the public. Yes, no one should be exempt or singularly above it, for such would lead to social chaos and disorder. Yes, Singapore is oh-so-proud of its strict stance on such matters which the President underlines in his rejection of the plea. But above all, a resounding YES as to whether I think this kind of Singapore should whack some fucking sense into its head.
So riddle me this: Why does a man who hacked up his wife's face over a petty domestic squabble and a man who sexually abused his mentally retarded daughter (yes, actual cases) get some strokes of the cane (I understand also, that it's no walk in the park but still) and their ass in jail, while a man who in a moment of folly attempted to transport drugs for money to support his 60 year old mother and two teenage boys' education must, without question, hang? Oh, fuck, I do understand I may not have the complete picture here, and that things are never quite as simple as they seem, but what does this say about the Singapore government's care for the two teenage boys?
"Well, excuse us, young gentlemen, but we'll just run along and kill your father, now. We understand this is a considerable blow to you and may, of course, entirely crush your lives. But hey! Shit happens, so run along and do your best to rise above this and become good outstanding citizens that'll make yo' country proud now, you hear?"
I have no wish or intention at all to slander my government, for in a lot of things, it has indeed done the best for its people. I well and truly appreciate the things a lot of people take for granted: Non-corrupt government officials, safe streets and economic strength. But I really, -really- wish the cabinet would take some time out from sharing tearful stories about the evils of gambling and games of chance...to give Murugesu and his two amazing sons their chance.
Because the House is showing an Ace to their 2, and the stake is his life, and their future.
They say the House, always...
Friday, April 29, 2005
A Tale of Two Cities.
7.30AM, April 29th.
So I'm in bed, at the computer, with a half-naked skinny dude lying beside me, realizing how sick this sounds. No, it's not one of those coming-out-of-closet moments. He's a friend. I'd venture to say a good one, but you'd have to ask him. We had a brief conversation over the night about Writing, and his relative inability to. All this somehow leads in to what I've been meaning to do for a bit: Write about the two Blogs that were influencing factors in my deciding to start and maintain one.
Ok, so it's not that relevant, but for some obscure reason, I was unable to pass up the occasion to mention I have a half-naked skinny Chinese guy in my bed. Who snores. And has profuse leg hair. You know who you are.
www.wessatong.com
Written and maintained by the immaculate SPH Scholar Miss Tessa Wong. There's a whole, entirely more dramatic story about myself and my relationship with her Blog, and perhaps I will speak more on that later. For now, suffice to say, I stumbled upon her original journal at wessatong.blogspot.com one day, bored, at work. So I glanced past her first page, and intrigued, went to the first post in her archive some two years or so back and started reading afresh...
...And finished on the third day or so thereafter, having done nothing else but stare thoughtfully at the monitor at work and home. So clearly, she demonstrates for all the world why she is an SPH scholar, and people like myself are little dust bunnies in her shoe cabinet. Of the two-year old ones she doesn't actually wear anymore. She is where I want to be, intellectually and creatively, and if it all sounds a little far-fetched, a little too worshippy - Read it for yourself! Sheer genius, and that's coming from a self-confessed intellectual snob.
My firstborn child for a picture of her posing provocatively with a pen. The symbolism is simple enough, and the provocativity...well, men. -limp hand motion-
I've since sort of stopped myself from following her writings regularly, really, because it's depressing how somebody can be just that damned good. Kidding. More of...other reasons. I forget the source of this, but I quote -
Why?
Because she is alive.
So much more alive than I am.
The best to, and from you Tessa, wherever you are.
xiaxue.blogspot.com
Not that the esteemed Miss Wendy Cheng really needs more publicity, heh. My opinions on her writing remain somewhat...reserved. Being uneducated, of course, my comments on the awkwardness of her sentence structure, her dubious spelling and her...strange sense of grammar, may definitely be dismissed, for who am I to judge those above myself? She does have her moments of brilliance, I must confess, though I feel she rates her maturity at a far higher integer value than it actually is. What has earned her my undying admiration, however, is the fact that she has managed to attract thousands of readers daily, attain Local Celebrity Status, and landed several lucrative jobs by building a personal shrine to her ego. Wow.
Irony and sarcasm, in the hands of the unskilled, are sometimes lost upon the reader. Being unskilled, as par the uneducatediosity, let me clarify that that was NOT irony or sarcasm. She seriously has earned my admiration with that last. It takes a certain kind of person to get away with something like she has built in her blog, and not only does she get away with it, she secures her future with it. Hats off, ma'am. Xiaxue's success is the ignoble cause of I Quite Stupid. Heck, I'd be happy with half.
I still think the boobs help, though.
In all fairness, I have had limited experience with Blogs in general. Certainly, there should be far greater sites out there I have yet to hit, and some I never will. The success and quality of the two above, however, is something I hope to achieve in spite of the uneducation someday. As surely as the fact that skinny Chinese guy with the leg hair has since gotten dressed and left my house.
...Whatever happened to cuddling after?
COULDN'T RESIST.
So I'm in bed, at the computer, with a half-naked skinny dude lying beside me, realizing how sick this sounds. No, it's not one of those coming-out-of-closet moments. He's a friend. I'd venture to say a good one, but you'd have to ask him. We had a brief conversation over the night about Writing, and his relative inability to. All this somehow leads in to what I've been meaning to do for a bit: Write about the two Blogs that were influencing factors in my deciding to start and maintain one.
Ok, so it's not that relevant, but for some obscure reason, I was unable to pass up the occasion to mention I have a half-naked skinny Chinese guy in my bed. Who snores. And has profuse leg hair. You know who you are.
www.wessatong.com
Written and maintained by the immaculate SPH Scholar Miss Tessa Wong. There's a whole, entirely more dramatic story about myself and my relationship with her Blog, and perhaps I will speak more on that later. For now, suffice to say, I stumbled upon her original journal at wessatong.blogspot.com one day, bored, at work. So I glanced past her first page, and intrigued, went to the first post in her archive some two years or so back and started reading afresh...
...And finished on the third day or so thereafter, having done nothing else but stare thoughtfully at the monitor at work and home. So clearly, she demonstrates for all the world why she is an SPH scholar, and people like myself are little dust bunnies in her shoe cabinet. Of the two-year old ones she doesn't actually wear anymore. She is where I want to be, intellectually and creatively, and if it all sounds a little far-fetched, a little too worshippy - Read it for yourself! Sheer genius, and that's coming from a self-confessed intellectual snob.
My firstborn child for a picture of her posing provocatively with a pen. The symbolism is simple enough, and the provocativity...well, men. -limp hand motion-
I've since sort of stopped myself from following her writings regularly, really, because it's depressing how somebody can be just that damned good. Kidding. More of...other reasons. I forget the source of this, but I quote -
Why?
Because she is alive.
So much more alive than I am.
The best to, and from you Tessa, wherever you are.
xiaxue.blogspot.com
Not that the esteemed Miss Wendy Cheng really needs more publicity, heh. My opinions on her writing remain somewhat...reserved. Being uneducated, of course, my comments on the awkwardness of her sentence structure, her dubious spelling and her...strange sense of grammar, may definitely be dismissed, for who am I to judge those above myself? She does have her moments of brilliance, I must confess, though I feel she rates her maturity at a far higher integer value than it actually is. What has earned her my undying admiration, however, is the fact that she has managed to attract thousands of readers daily, attain Local Celebrity Status, and landed several lucrative jobs by building a personal shrine to her ego. Wow.
Irony and sarcasm, in the hands of the unskilled, are sometimes lost upon the reader. Being unskilled, as par the uneducatediosity, let me clarify that that was NOT irony or sarcasm. She seriously has earned my admiration with that last. It takes a certain kind of person to get away with something like she has built in her blog, and not only does she get away with it, she secures her future with it. Hats off, ma'am. Xiaxue's success is the ignoble cause of I Quite Stupid. Heck, I'd be happy with half.
I still think the boobs help, though.
In all fairness, I have had limited experience with Blogs in general. Certainly, there should be far greater sites out there I have yet to hit, and some I never will. The success and quality of the two above, however, is something I hope to achieve in spite of the uneducation someday. As surely as the fact that skinny Chinese guy with the leg hair has since gotten dressed and left my house.
...Whatever happened to cuddling after?
COULDN'T RESIST.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Racist? Me?
Teh Happiness.
Amazingly speedy recovery from feeling like total shit just last night. Teh miracle that is teh human body. And better still, the OMFG VERY IMPORTANT BRIEFING ON TECHNICAL MOBILIZATION THAT YOU MUST COME FOR...was settled with a phone call.
It's disgusting, at least to me, how the Armed Forces takes a firm grip on your testicles when you turn 18 (for most of us), and doesn't let go till you're wot, 40-ish. Also disgusting is its apparent disregard for your personal welfare and convenience. So someone calls me up and tells me I missed some important briefing, and to go for a make-up today. At Pasir Ris Camp. 7pm. Pasir Ris Camp, and let us for the moment ignore the fact that it's on the utter other end of the island here, is situated in a middle of a desolate area, accessible by a road that winds...and winds...and winds... . You get the idea. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly thrilled by this. This morning, I re-lived my schooling days (ah, those schooling days) and sat for fifteen minutes or so testing and discarding excuses aloud. Alright. Call.
Me: "Hello, is the the Mobilization Clerk?"
Poor Unfortunate Soul (PUS): "Yes?"
Me: "Ah, yes, hi. Someone called me yesterday about this Technical Mob. briefing I missed and that I'm supposed to attend a make-up one today? "
PUS: ""
Me: "Uh, yes. Well, a Personal Emergency came up just, you see, and I can't make it. Can I go at some other time instead, or...?" -hopes-
PUS: "Oh it's alright you can just do the Technical Mob, then."
Me: "I mean, it's very important and all, this Personal Emergency, so...uh...wha?"
PUS: "It's alright. You can skip the briefing. Just come for the actual thing."
Me: "...Oh. Well, ok. So, what exactly does the briefing cover anyway? Let me guess, they hand out many sheets of paper, and tell you things you already knew?" (sudden success tends to embolden people)
PUS: "Hehe, well, sort of. You know the SAF."
Me: "Ah, glad to see you're as disillusioned as I am."
Subsequently, we both laugh, he takes down my NRIC, and thatsh abourrit. I quite liked him, actually, and the unfortunate word formed by the acronym I coined for him is...regrettable. Don't worry that he did the wrong thing by encouraging a trend: I'd do the same for all of them. Two and a half years of conscripted service is more than enough to learn how the Army tends to work. I highly respect Mr Lee Kuan Yew - Without him, I firmly believe we wouldn't be half what we are. But with all due said respect, sir, TEH NATIONAL SERVICE. IT IS TEH HORRIBLE.
And yes, this relates to my promises of sharing my opinion of our deer-in-headlights PSC Scholar. You see, prior to this, some other fuckwit raise the very poignant point to a MINISTER in person, I believe, at a public forum, that interracial couples "make my skin crawl". His name, I forget, but he was similarly an undergraduate.
Suddenly, Racism is the Next Big Thing on the Straits Times Forums. Outraged citizens flooded the forum mailbox with letters expressing concern as to the state of said student's skin. Well, not really, but you get the idea. Chua Cheng Zhan could -not- have timed it worse if he'd planned it.
The details of the scandal can very easily be researched simply by Googling "PSC Scholar Racist". Talk about HUGE. You almost feel sorry for the bugger, really. As it is, views floating around on the internet about it, though mostly hostile, also include the almost-obligatory portion of "oh, the poor boy" sympathizers.
Myself? Despisal. Not because of the actual racist comments he made, mind. Allow me the pleasure of elaboration.
You see, I'd consider myself a racist a well. Now, hold the Molotovs. I'm racist against racial stereotypes, which includes that of the Chinese. We're all familiar with the passing mental comments one makes to the self sometimes, no?
-Chinese Male, hair bleached blonde walks past, puffing on his cigarette and spitting profusely, all the while practically shouting into his mobile phone, which has been modified to light up in seven different colours and patterns.
Me: "Fucking Chink Beng."
-Buncha Malay secondary school kids make a HELLA noise at the library, chase each other around, etc.
Me: "Fucking Mats."
-Group of Indian Nationals walk past, in wraparounds and smelling strongly of coconut oil.
Me: "...Indians."
-Caucasian man, eating at the hawker centre.
Me: "Oh forgive me for I am not worthy..." -Kidding.
So, yes, I am racist in that sense. I also have friends from every one of the abovementioned racial groups which I am on cordial terms with. I believe people are people, no matter what race - The issue is very simply that each race has its own particular brand of undesirable behaviour.
I was introduced to the world of racism and the need for political correctness at an early age, really. I was, what, 8?, when the teacher seated me next to an Indian boy, whose behaviour I had no qualms about at all. But his hair, the rancid coconut oil...I requested to sit elsewhere, and upon query, remarked that,
"He very smelly.".
My father beat me to shit for that. Retrospectively, I think it was harsh. I wasn't being racist. Really. Fuck, at that age, you don't even KNOW how to be racist. Merely making an accurate observation and wishing to alleviate myself of the situation, I was whipped. To shit.
But it comes to the stage now, when, amongst all the friends of various different races, we can swap racist jokes, and laugh heartily. I laugh the hardest at the Chinese ones, really, and I fail to see how this is dangerous and promoting of social discord, no matter how subtle. The Straits Times went as far as to interview two groups of people; one that shared my point of view with regard to the racist jokes, and one that did not tell them, ever, because it was disrespectful. Call me an anarchist, but I'm of the opinion that group 2 walks around with carrots up their asses.
The true racists, the ones that simply bear an unreasonable dislike, or even hatred, of other races simply because they're coloured differently, I despise. There is no basis for that, and these people should be shaven bald and put out naked in the cold. The racists, I mean. Now, I'm not sure which whether Chua Cheng Zhan is of the "skin crawl" persuasion or the kind that asks people how many Indians it takes to screw in a lightbulb, but the fact remains that when push came to shove, and his comments were hauled up to merciless scrutiny, he went...sort of flaccid.
His defense, as far as I can recall, went along the lines of "I don't know what came across me when I wrote those. I'm not racist. I don't use my own persona when I write on my blog. I'm sorry."
Had he used only the last sentence, it would have been a mitigating factor. Yes, you fucked up. 'Fess up, apologize. Don't deny the blatant truth. We're all critical of people different from us to some degree. Don't go all I plead temporary insanity on us. His father denounces this, stating that Cheng Zhan went on volunteer work in...some third world country or other, I forget, and haughtily told us to form our own opinions. Yes, yes, sir, your son very good ah, make you proud ah, scholar and volunteer all wah seh. I have more respect, though in equal measure of disdain, for the "skin crawl" guy. His shaving is pending, but at least he had the balls to say it. Cheng Zhan, whether you're racist or not, one thing is for certain: You're a pussy.
Ok, ok, to avoid libel suits by the rich and powerful father, fine, wussy. There's your PC, I hope you choke. Interesting, the hidden sides of all these educated people. -sniffs-
eH, I tend to go on. Let me end this with finally bringing in the relation the SAF plays in this entry. You see, another one of the poignant factoids dragged reluctantly into the limelight by the press was that, in one of the forum-writer's Basic Military Training, his sergeant told him he never let two Indians sit next to each other because joy fills their heart at the proximity to their own kind and they proceed to talk throughout whatever activity they were originally supposed to do, telling each other about their dreams, family, ambitions and brands of coconut oil they use. Ok, maybe not in those words, but the gist is true: That the sergeant forbade Indians to sit together because he perceived they indefinitely would end up chattering. I've actually witnessed it, though, and I'm sure some of us have too: That Indians do tend to congregate and talk. Hey, nothing wrong with it.
And you know what the grossest piece of blatant racism I've witnessed, right in front of me, was? A Compant Sergeant Major, telling off two Indian sergeants having a conversation in Tamil in front of him. He says something the lines of:
"Are you scolding my mother? No? How do I know? How many times do I have to tell you, when you are together with other people, SPEAK ENGLISH so everyone can understand! Is that clear!?"
The same fuckheads think nothing. Nothing at all. Of speaking in Mandarin non-stop to his fellow senior officers and specialists around Indian specialists, who just happen to be of lower rank. And no, this didn't happen just one time in my two and a half years, and stick vivdly in my mind. It happened often enough over the two and a half, to stick vividly in my mind.
Hmmm. No wonder they shave all the new recruits bald and put them in the cold. A just-in-case, I guess.
Up yours, mates. Stick to defending the nation, and ease off the blatant abuse of rank and racism, eh? It makes my skin crawl.
Amazingly speedy recovery from feeling like total shit just last night. Teh miracle that is teh human body. And better still, the OMFG VERY IMPORTANT BRIEFING ON TECHNICAL MOBILIZATION THAT YOU MUST COME FOR...was settled with a phone call.
It's disgusting, at least to me, how the Armed Forces takes a firm grip on your testicles when you turn 18 (for most of us), and doesn't let go till you're wot, 40-ish. Also disgusting is its apparent disregard for your personal welfare and convenience. So someone calls me up and tells me I missed some important briefing, and to go for a make-up today. At Pasir Ris Camp. 7pm. Pasir Ris Camp, and let us for the moment ignore the fact that it's on the utter other end of the island here, is situated in a middle of a desolate area, accessible by a road that winds...and winds...and winds... . You get the idea. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly thrilled by this. This morning, I re-lived my schooling days (ah, those schooling days) and sat for fifteen minutes or so testing and discarding excuses aloud. Alright. Call.
Me: "Hello, is the the Mobilization Clerk?"
Poor Unfortunate Soul (PUS): "Yes?"
Me: "Ah, yes, hi. Someone called me yesterday about this Technical Mob. briefing I missed and that I'm supposed to attend a make-up one today? "
PUS: "
Me: "Uh, yes. Well, a Personal Emergency came up just, you see, and I can't make it. Can I go at some other time instead, or...?" -hopes-
PUS: "Oh it's alright you can just do the Technical Mob, then."
Me: "I mean, it's very important and all, this Personal Emergency, so...uh...wha?"
PUS: "It's alright. You can skip the briefing. Just come for the actual thing."
Me: "...Oh. Well, ok. So, what exactly does the briefing cover anyway? Let me guess, they hand out many sheets of paper, and tell you things you already knew?" (sudden success tends to embolden people)
PUS: "Hehe, well, sort of. You know the SAF."
Me: "Ah, glad to see you're as disillusioned as I am."
Subsequently, we both laugh, he takes down my NRIC, and thatsh abourrit. I quite liked him, actually, and the unfortunate word formed by the acronym I coined for him is...regrettable. Don't worry that he did the wrong thing by encouraging a trend: I'd do the same for all of them. Two and a half years of conscripted service is more than enough to learn how the Army tends to work. I highly respect Mr Lee Kuan Yew - Without him, I firmly believe we wouldn't be half what we are. But with all due said respect, sir, TEH NATIONAL SERVICE. IT IS TEH HORRIBLE.
And yes, this relates to my promises of sharing my opinion of our deer-in-headlights PSC Scholar. You see, prior to this, some other fuckwit raise the very poignant point to a MINISTER in person, I believe, at a public forum, that interracial couples "make my skin crawl". His name, I forget, but he was similarly an undergraduate.
Suddenly, Racism is the Next Big Thing on the Straits Times Forums. Outraged citizens flooded the forum mailbox with letters expressing concern as to the state of said student's skin. Well, not really, but you get the idea. Chua Cheng Zhan could -not- have timed it worse if he'd planned it.
The details of the scandal can very easily be researched simply by Googling "PSC Scholar Racist". Talk about HUGE. You almost feel sorry for the bugger, really. As it is, views floating around on the internet about it, though mostly hostile, also include the almost-obligatory portion of "oh, the poor boy" sympathizers.
Myself? Despisal. Not because of the actual racist comments he made, mind. Allow me the pleasure of elaboration.
You see, I'd consider myself a racist a well. Now, hold the Molotovs. I'm racist against racial stereotypes, which includes that of the Chinese. We're all familiar with the passing mental comments one makes to the self sometimes, no?
-Chinese Male, hair bleached blonde walks past, puffing on his cigarette and spitting profusely, all the while practically shouting into his mobile phone, which has been modified to light up in seven different colours and patterns.
Me: "Fucking Chink Beng."
-Buncha Malay secondary school kids make a HELLA noise at the library, chase each other around, etc.
Me: "Fucking Mats."
-Group of Indian Nationals walk past, in wraparounds and smelling strongly of coconut oil.
Me: "...Indians."
-Caucasian man, eating at the hawker centre.
Me: "Oh forgive me for I am not worthy..." -Kidding.
So, yes, I am racist in that sense. I also have friends from every one of the abovementioned racial groups which I am on cordial terms with. I believe people are people, no matter what race - The issue is very simply that each race has its own particular brand of undesirable behaviour.
I was introduced to the world of racism and the need for political correctness at an early age, really. I was, what, 8?, when the teacher seated me next to an Indian boy, whose behaviour I had no qualms about at all. But his hair, the rancid coconut oil...I requested to sit elsewhere, and upon query, remarked that,
"He very smelly.".
My father beat me to shit for that. Retrospectively, I think it was harsh. I wasn't being racist. Really. Fuck, at that age, you don't even KNOW how to be racist. Merely making an accurate observation and wishing to alleviate myself of the situation, I was whipped. To shit.
But it comes to the stage now, when, amongst all the friends of various different races, we can swap racist jokes, and laugh heartily. I laugh the hardest at the Chinese ones, really, and I fail to see how this is dangerous and promoting of social discord, no matter how subtle. The Straits Times went as far as to interview two groups of people; one that shared my point of view with regard to the racist jokes, and one that did not tell them, ever, because it was disrespectful. Call me an anarchist, but I'm of the opinion that group 2 walks around with carrots up their asses.
The true racists, the ones that simply bear an unreasonable dislike, or even hatred, of other races simply because they're coloured differently, I despise. There is no basis for that, and these people should be shaven bald and put out naked in the cold. The racists, I mean. Now, I'm not sure which whether Chua Cheng Zhan is of the "skin crawl" persuasion or the kind that asks people how many Indians it takes to screw in a lightbulb, but the fact remains that when push came to shove, and his comments were hauled up to merciless scrutiny, he went...sort of flaccid.
His defense, as far as I can recall, went along the lines of "I don't know what came across me when I wrote those. I'm not racist. I don't use my own persona when I write on my blog. I'm sorry."
Had he used only the last sentence, it would have been a mitigating factor. Yes, you fucked up. 'Fess up, apologize. Don't deny the blatant truth. We're all critical of people different from us to some degree. Don't go all I plead temporary insanity on us. His father denounces this, stating that Cheng Zhan went on volunteer work in...some third world country or other, I forget, and haughtily told us to form our own opinions. Yes, yes, sir, your son very good ah, make you proud ah, scholar and volunteer all wah seh. I have more respect, though in equal measure of disdain, for the "skin crawl" guy. His shaving is pending, but at least he had the balls to say it. Cheng Zhan, whether you're racist or not, one thing is for certain: You're a pussy.
Ok, ok, to avoid libel suits by the rich and powerful father, fine, wussy. There's your PC, I hope you choke. Interesting, the hidden sides of all these educated people. -sniffs-
eH, I tend to go on. Let me end this with finally bringing in the relation the SAF plays in this entry. You see, another one of the poignant factoids dragged reluctantly into the limelight by the press was that, in one of the forum-writer's Basic Military Training, his sergeant told him he never let two Indians sit next to each other because joy fills their heart at the proximity to their own kind and they proceed to talk throughout whatever activity they were originally supposed to do, telling each other about their dreams, family, ambitions and brands of coconut oil they use. Ok, maybe not in those words, but the gist is true: That the sergeant forbade Indians to sit together because he perceived they indefinitely would end up chattering. I've actually witnessed it, though, and I'm sure some of us have too: That Indians do tend to congregate and talk. Hey, nothing wrong with it.
And you know what the grossest piece of blatant racism I've witnessed, right in front of me, was? A Compant Sergeant Major, telling off two Indian sergeants having a conversation in Tamil in front of him. He says something the lines of:
"Are you scolding my mother? No? How do I know? How many times do I have to tell you, when you are together with other people, SPEAK ENGLISH so everyone can understand! Is that clear!?"
The same fuckheads think nothing. Nothing at all. Of speaking in Mandarin non-stop to his fellow senior officers and specialists around Indian specialists, who just happen to be of lower rank. And no, this didn't happen just one time in my two and a half years, and stick vivdly in my mind. It happened often enough over the two and a half, to stick vividly in my mind.
Hmmm. No wonder they shave all the new recruits bald and put them in the cold. A just-in-case, I guess.
Up yours, mates. Stick to defending the nation, and ease off the blatant abuse of rank and racism, eh? It makes my skin crawl.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
WTF? You mean I'm human?
...
Sick. No feels good. Damned weather. Damned broken air conditioner.
The author of this Blog is currently otherwise indisposed, feeling miserable and sorry for himself.
Chua Cheng Zhan has enough flak going on for him to do without my particular brand of diss for now, I would think.
Indefinitely postponed.
As a parting shot, fuck you, Singapore Armed Forces, and fuck all you lolx-ers.
It may be surmised that I be not exactly overflowing with love for the world right now.
Sick. No feels good. Damned weather. Damned broken air conditioner.
The author of this Blog is currently otherwise indisposed, feeling miserable and sorry for himself.
Chua Cheng Zhan has enough flak going on for him to do without my particular brand of diss for now, I would think.
Indefinitely postponed.
As a parting shot, fuck you, Singapore Armed Forces, and fuck all you lolx-ers.
It may be surmised that I be not exactly overflowing with love for the world right now.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Retrograde-
eH.
You know what? I used to be teh funny. I could take the most uninspired title and work it to elicit chuckles from even my usually solemn home tutor. I used to be so much more expressive. Amongst the top of the class for an essay on what I believed to be the best invention mankind has created, mine argued convincingly for the Rubber Condom. Solicited by classmates to do the honours for the compulsory one-entry-per-class book review, I smacked something together over the course of one lecture on a book I'd read months ago, and won. A streak of the unconventional, a scathing wit, and killer use of italics made me a force to be reckoned with on paper, as bad as that sounds, and earned me respect from those I respected.
So, WTF did that all go?
I'm going to go out on a limb here and draw a nice parellel between the state of myself and how Minister Mentor Lee Kun Yew says he has handled Singapore. In wanting, so badly, a place for top culture, he ignored pop culture. Similarly, though I'd be hesitant to call something as unique as myself pop culture, I believe that, in all the self deprecation and journalistic ambition, I've lost a sense of what I used to be. Sure, a good chunk of what I wrote would never qualify for publishing in polite circles, but fuck, back then, I liked myself and my writing! Look at the damned educational flow-chart I drew out previously...just look at it. With nauseatingly few amendments, it could easily be passed to damned foreign delegates as an informational source, as far as political correctness goes. Where is the irreverence of yore?!
As these things tend to, I just got all of that in one inspired flash from a weird place, really: A friend, who doesn't Blog that often.
This was him, back then:
If Ya'll wodering why I haven't updated in 3 days... I STAYED IN CAMP YESTERDAY!
it wasn't all that bad actually... went to watch daredevil after work.. then it finished at about 11+ so well. decided to stay in camp.. it'd be stupid to spend a shitload of money to go home and come back to camp early the next morning when i can spend sixty cents getting back to camp and waking up at 7:30...
yeah so today went to work and.. did nuthing really.. such is the life of a storeman.. fucking hell signed for loss of store amounting to about $125+.. cheeeeebyeeeee. its okay lah.. handing over my stores to the regular sergeant.. my bloody faggot of a supervisor, trying to make me feel small all.. whatever lah. i dun give half a fuck.. so went to NUS GUild House to play snooker wit me mates after work then proceeded to ---'s place to hang and chill.. was damn tired by the time I left his place.(no dirty thoughts You perverts!) hailed a cab at 11:57 and a merce cab came.. cool.... but stupid thing is they start midnight surcharge at 11:30.. fine.. at least i got to go home in style.. paid 5:40 for the cab and well.. now i am back bloggin... WhooPee!.. off to bed..
He has since joined some multi-level marketing company. Something to do with health products and sales. In my opinion, the first thing he sold when he joined up was his soul. This, is him, recently:
I went home after work yesterday to reflect on how things are now and how being in XXXX Corp. and what XXXX Corp. has given me has made me happy. XXXX Corp. has given me so much and I really owe such a huge debt of gratitude to Mr. ----, ----, ----, --- and ----.
XXXX Corp. has given me personal development which is priceless. It has given me a career. It has given me sight of my future. It has given me GOALS and Dreams. It has given me a team I know I can rely on. It has given me fresh perspective on life. And although I wasn't quite lacking in the department of self-confidence before, XXXX Corp. has boosted my self confidence. I can list so many more reasons why I love XXXX Corp.
One's own conclusions can be drawn, really. You could say he's matured. Developed himself. On his way to something stable he can call his own. The fact is, he never calls me these days, or even says hi on MSN when we're both on. He used to be able to make me laugh till my cheeks ached. These days, when I do get to see him, we eat, and go home. Identities witheld to protect yackityshmackity.
I miss him, a lot. I wish he knew, and maybe I should talk to him someday about it. People like me don't make many friends, but he's one of a select few that I thought was one of those people one could sit down in old age and bitch about times gone with. I don't know if I'm wrong. As much as I give him flak for what he does, and diss the damned company itself, if he's happy, I guess I'll have to be.
...Plus, he owes me two thousand dollars.
So, yes. In my wanting so badly to enter into the Writing scene, I believe I've done myself an injustice with the whitewashing and political correctivity, the lack of both of which was really all the claim to fame I had as a writer. As much as I admire some journalists and indeed think Sumiko Tan is teh bomb, I enjoyed writing this piece as much as I was reluctant to start on the previous few; and I believe that's revealing enough about what kind of a stance I should take with regard to content and style.
Fuck, half of Xiaxue's appeal comes from her swearing, and indeed, a whole PAGE IN THE NEWSPAPERS WAS DEDICATED TO THAT PARTICULAR ASPECT OF HER ALONE THE OH-SO-POPULAR BLOG AWARD WINNER THAT SHE IS. And I'm writing anonymously, too, and very probably to just myself. For while some random piece of shit out there might Google "education", I doubt anyone would do the same for "uneducated in singapore", heh. Oh, don't get me wrong though, I think Xiaxue has potential. That was just professional jealousy speaking.
In the next session with The Uneducated, find out his stance on the little slime that is PSC Scholar Chua Cheng Zhan!
"So, for the sake of argument, let's call them 'Lesser Races'..."
Thanks, half-lost buddy mine, for helping me rediscover the inner asshole in me. =)
You know what? I used to be teh funny. I could take the most uninspired title and work it to elicit chuckles from even my usually solemn home tutor. I used to be so much more expressive. Amongst the top of the class for an essay on what I believed to be the best invention mankind has created, mine argued convincingly for the Rubber Condom. Solicited by classmates to do the honours for the compulsory one-entry-per-class book review, I smacked something together over the course of one lecture on a book I'd read months ago, and won. A streak of the unconventional, a scathing wit, and killer use of italics made me a force to be reckoned with on paper, as bad as that sounds, and earned me respect from those I respected.
So, WTF did that all go?
I'm going to go out on a limb here and draw a nice parellel between the state of myself and how Minister Mentor Lee Kun Yew says he has handled Singapore. In wanting, so badly, a place for top culture, he ignored pop culture. Similarly, though I'd be hesitant to call something as unique as myself pop culture, I believe that, in all the self deprecation and journalistic ambition, I've lost a sense of what I used to be. Sure, a good chunk of what I wrote would never qualify for publishing in polite circles, but fuck, back then, I liked myself and my writing! Look at the damned educational flow-chart I drew out previously...just look at it. With nauseatingly few amendments, it could easily be passed to damned foreign delegates as an informational source, as far as political correctness goes. Where is the irreverence of yore?!
As these things tend to, I just got all of that in one inspired flash from a weird place, really: A friend, who doesn't Blog that often.
This was him, back then:
If Ya'll wodering why I haven't updated in 3 days... I STAYED IN CAMP YESTERDAY!
it wasn't all that bad actually... went to watch daredevil after work.. then it finished at about 11+ so well. decided to stay in camp.. it'd be stupid to spend a shitload of money to go home and come back to camp early the next morning when i can spend sixty cents getting back to camp and waking up at 7:30...
yeah so today went to work and.. did nuthing really.. such is the life of a storeman.. fucking hell signed for loss of store amounting to about $125+.. cheeeeebyeeeee. its okay lah.. handing over my stores to the regular sergeant.. my bloody faggot of a supervisor, trying to make me feel small all.. whatever lah. i dun give half a fuck.. so went to NUS GUild House to play snooker wit me mates after work then proceeded to ---'s place to hang and chill.. was damn tired by the time I left his place.(no dirty thoughts You perverts!) hailed a cab at 11:57 and a merce cab came.. cool.... but stupid thing is they start midnight surcharge at 11:30.. fine.. at least i got to go home in style.. paid 5:40 for the cab and well.. now i am back bloggin... WhooPee!.. off to bed..
Monday, March 03, 2003
Heh... Met up with --. Was quite boring actually. I'm of the opinion dat -'s friend is pretty much her friend coz he wants ta get into her pants. Disgusting. I'm not like dat... I'm her friend so i can get into her pants AS WELL as make fun of her! hah! hope she dun see dis...He has since joined some multi-level marketing company. Something to do with health products and sales. In my opinion, the first thing he sold when he joined up was his soul. This, is him, recently:
I went home after work yesterday to reflect on how things are now and how being in XXXX Corp. and what XXXX Corp. has given me has made me happy. XXXX Corp. has given me so much and I really owe such a huge debt of gratitude to Mr. ----, ----, ----, --- and ----.
XXXX Corp. has given me personal development which is priceless. It has given me a career. It has given me sight of my future. It has given me GOALS and Dreams. It has given me a team I know I can rely on. It has given me fresh perspective on life. And although I wasn't quite lacking in the department of self-confidence before, XXXX Corp. has boosted my self confidence. I can list so many more reasons why I love XXXX Corp.
One's own conclusions can be drawn, really. You could say he's matured. Developed himself. On his way to something stable he can call his own. The fact is, he never calls me these days, or even says hi on MSN when we're both on. He used to be able to make me laugh till my cheeks ached. These days, when I do get to see him, we eat, and go home. Identities witheld to protect yackityshmackity.
I miss him, a lot. I wish he knew, and maybe I should talk to him someday about it. People like me don't make many friends, but he's one of a select few that I thought was one of those people one could sit down in old age and bitch about times gone with. I don't know if I'm wrong. As much as I give him flak for what he does, and diss the damned company itself, if he's happy, I guess I'll have to be.
...Plus, he owes me two thousand dollars.
So, yes. In my wanting so badly to enter into the Writing scene, I believe I've done myself an injustice with the whitewashing and political correctivity, the lack of both of which was really all the claim to fame I had as a writer. As much as I admire some journalists and indeed think Sumiko Tan is teh bomb, I enjoyed writing this piece as much as I was reluctant to start on the previous few; and I believe that's revealing enough about what kind of a stance I should take with regard to content and style.
Fuck, half of Xiaxue's appeal comes from her swearing, and indeed, a whole PAGE IN THE NEWSPAPERS WAS DEDICATED TO THAT PARTICULAR ASPECT OF HER ALONE THE OH-SO-POPULAR BLOG AWARD WINNER THAT SHE IS. And I'm writing anonymously, too, and very probably to just myself. For while some random piece of shit out there might Google "education", I doubt anyone would do the same for "uneducated in singapore", heh. Oh, don't get me wrong though, I think Xiaxue has potential. That was just professional jealousy speaking.
In the next session with The Uneducated, find out his stance on the little slime that is PSC Scholar Chua Cheng Zhan!
"So, for the sake of argument, let's call them 'Lesser Races'..."
Thanks, half-lost buddy mine, for helping me rediscover the inner asshole in me. =)
Saturday, April 23, 2005
E = MC²?
An Object at rest...
Will remain at rest, until a sufficient force is created to overcome its inertia and set it in motion. Necessity, you see, is the mother of Invention; and Procrastination is the bastard son of a lack of said Need.
To relate -
My writing. Too many instances have occurred, past, present, and no doubt, future; where something has struck me as being -Something I should/could write up-. But as I've mentioned, the deed smells too much like work to be relished, and more often than not, frivolous activities are then taken up instead. I well understand the benefits of undertaking the task: Much-needed practice in actual writing as opposed to simply article ideas. Sorting out of thoughts. Something to potentially use, in future, as a writer.
My exercise. I'm relatively sure this is one everyone shares. Nobody wants to be fat, and each time a well-sculpted body goes by, this weird emotional cocktail of admiration, envy, and guilt is served. Admiration is straightforward enough. Envy sets in after, and guilt, when we think about all the put-off working out that could well have yielded similar results.
My smoking. Like a frickin' chimney, and gods know I can't afford it, at least financially. Definitely, I know I could be healthier, live longer and avoid malicious diseases for the quitting of it. Yet it's still just one half-hearted resolve after another, someof which last shamefully for mere hours.
My finding of a job. It started off enthusiastic. Classifieds every day, JobStreet.com, etc, etc. Then slowly, as the listings each day resolutely remained those of which I was either not interested, or interested and not qualified for, being uneducated and all, the enthusiasm waned. Just about 4 months, now. A quarter of a year, unemployed. Wow.
Something needs to be done.
The blog helps with the first, I guess, though I practically had to mentally bludgeon myself into starting this post. Having seen results with the weights, I'm actually not doing too bad with consistency there, though I still skip days sometimes. The smoking...um. And I haven't read yesterday's Classifieds yet.
What's actually scary about this, really, is that I can afford to go on like this for a while, yet. I've miraculously still got some money left. "Ok, this is going to be my last pack." . It's not like I'm getting all that fat, and fuck, who's going to read my writing anyway?
This has actually been a useful self-conversation. I feel better already. =) I just really, really hope, that I can be enough of a force to set myself in motion.
Will remain at rest, until a sufficient force is created to overcome its inertia and set it in motion. Necessity, you see, is the mother of Invention; and Procrastination is the bastard son of a lack of said Need.
To relate -
My writing. Too many instances have occurred, past, present, and no doubt, future; where something has struck me as being -Something I should/could write up-. But as I've mentioned, the deed smells too much like work to be relished, and more often than not, frivolous activities are then taken up instead. I well understand the benefits of undertaking the task: Much-needed practice in actual writing as opposed to simply article ideas. Sorting out of thoughts. Something to potentially use, in future, as a writer.
My exercise. I'm relatively sure this is one everyone shares. Nobody wants to be fat, and each time a well-sculpted body goes by, this weird emotional cocktail of admiration, envy, and guilt is served. Admiration is straightforward enough. Envy sets in after, and guilt, when we think about all the put-off working out that could well have yielded similar results.
My smoking. Like a frickin' chimney, and gods know I can't afford it, at least financially. Definitely, I know I could be healthier, live longer and avoid malicious diseases for the quitting of it. Yet it's still just one half-hearted resolve after another, someof which last shamefully for mere hours.
My finding of a job. It started off enthusiastic. Classifieds every day, JobStreet.com, etc, etc. Then slowly, as the listings each day resolutely remained those of which I was either not interested, or interested and not qualified for, being uneducated and all, the enthusiasm waned. Just about 4 months, now. A quarter of a year, unemployed. Wow.
Something needs to be done.
The blog helps with the first, I guess, though I practically had to mentally bludgeon myself into starting this post. Having seen results with the weights, I'm actually not doing too bad with consistency there, though I still skip days sometimes. The smoking...um. And I haven't read yesterday's Classifieds yet.
What's actually scary about this, really, is that I can afford to go on like this for a while, yet. I've miraculously still got some money left. "Ok, this is going to be my last pack." . It's not like I'm getting all that fat, and fuck, who's going to read my writing anyway?
This has actually been a useful self-conversation. I feel better already. =) I just really, really hope, that I can be enough of a force to set myself in motion.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Simi Uneducated?
Well.
Looks like I'm about to make a regular thing of this...at least for now. Being jobless and uneducated has its dubious perks.
A little explaination is in order I suppose, for the benefit of the hapless stumbler and Attractive Stranger who somehow ended up here. What do I mean, -Uneducated-?
For those uninitiated to the Uniquely Singapore-an education system, formal education in Singapore progresses thus:
Birth - Age 6:
In this day and age, children sadly tend to grow up on Television and Video Games, as opposed to to Books and Lego of yore. Parents wishing an early start in academia for their children often enrol them in Kindergarten courses. Various government and privately-run kindergarten/childcare centres exist on the island, all of them geared toward honing and developing young minds for the onset of greatness.
Ages 6 - 12:
Primary School, which is divided into 6 grades, appropriately named Primary 1 to 6. Students are groomed in the various disciplines of English Language, Native Tongue, Mathematics and Science at this level, with the more academically inclined students beings allowed options for advanced study in Native Language (Termed Higher Chinese, Higher Malay, etc) and basic Art and Music. At the end of Primary 6, students take a governmental examination known as the PSLE (Primary School Leaving Examination) Via merit of their resultant grades, they then apply for and are allocated places in various Secondary Schools around the island. Exceptional students may also be hand-picked at mid-Primary levels to take a MENSA-type test involving advanced analysis of critical thought processes and many obscure patterns, the nuances of which are lost upon the common man. The really smart children, as evinced by their ability to pick out patterns and solves problems their parents cannot, will then be evaluated for entry to the Gifted Education Program (GEP). These children are then plucked mercilessly from their comfortable surroundings and re-instated into a Primary School specially geared to handle exceptionally smart children. They continue Primary School as normal, taking the same examination which most of them will ace with one hand tied behind their backs, and subsequently continue their privileged education in the Secondary chapter of the GEP.
Ages 13 - 16:
Secondary School, which is divided into 4 grades and similarly named. While one's Primary School is, for the better part, none of anybody's concern, Secondary Schools tend to be an entirely different matter. Some are simple, government-run public schools with taken-from-the-neighbourhood names like "Ang Mo Kio Secondary", for a school in Ang Mo Kio. At the other end of the spectrum are the branded Secondaries, which in general tend to be single-gender schools and hold track records of producing a better grade of student. It is a subject of much debate as to which school is the best, and indeed, competition at the top levels can be very intense. Generally, however, the Raffles Family is the direction loving parents pivot their children towards (and where said children had better end up, if they know what's good for them). Raffles Institution boasts the reputation of being founded by the nation's discoverer himself, Sir Stamford Raffles. Also on its long list of accolades is the prestige of being the first of its kind, dating back to 1823, when policemen really did wear shorts. In addition, it counts Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew, along with many other illustrious national figures, in its alumni. Being an all-boys' institution, it was to be inevitable that when women started burning undergarments and demanding to be taught things, an all-girls' counterpart, Raffles Girls' School, was founded, and since evolved to a similar, if not greater level of quality. This self-drawn distinction between the grades of school by the islanders themselves is a large part of choosing one's Secondary School, and must be understood to comprehend the background currents and flavour when a successful businessman says he was "Only a neighbourhood school student, lah.", and the stiffness of a teenage delinquent when he acknowledges he is from Raffles, or any one of the perceived "top schools".
Graduation from Secondary School is a complicated affair, mostly to do with the sheer number of paths a student can take both to and after that end. Most students undergoing the course do a 4-year syllabus, at the end of which they take the infamous Cambridge GCE "O" Level examination. These students are classified under the Express Stream. A noteworthy mention here is that the top few schools in Singapore classify their students as "Special Stream" students, though but a rose by another name to the same end.
Students that are less academically inclined, based on their PSLE results, also do a 4-year course, at the end of which they sit for the GCE "N" Level examination. The certificate earned thus has its own value (which is to say, lower than an "O" Level), but in general, most then go on to do another year of study and to sit for the "O" Levels, albeit a year behind their peers.
GEP Students, with the course only available at select institutions, do their own mysterious things, over and above the regular syllabus taken by everybody else. One probes into their cryptic musings at one's own peril.
Subjects offered at the Secondary level include "A" Math, "D" Math, Literature in English and Native Language, English and Native languages, Geography and History. The Sciences, Biology, Physics and Chemistry are available as individual specialized subjects as well as an all-in-one single subject named Combined Science. Native Language, here, generally refers to either Mandarin, Malay, or Tamil, as these are the languages spoken by the core races of Singapore. Students with exceptional scholastic aptitude may also qualify and apply for the study of a third language. A variety of languages are offered, amongst which are Japanese, German and French. Students may also choose to take the opportunity to master a local language other than their own (i.e. Chinese Student studying the Malay language).
The "basic" certificate for this examination must include 1 Science, 1 Humanity, English, Native Language and Math, together with 1 other subject to bring the total to 6. Choice of subjects studied, as well as total number of subjects taken, is up to the individual student, and as well, the school, which decides based on previous results what the student can and cannot handle. A constant borderline passing student applying to sit for 8 subjects in the "O" Levels, for example. Of course, there do exist the examplary students that elect to, qualify for and score A1s for all 9 (the maximum permitted) subjects. Various derogatory remarks at this point are borne entirely out of envy and have no place.
Ages 16 and above:
Depending on what qualification the student managed to attain at the end of the Secondary term, he has a few options as to how he can progress from here.
-Junior College:
Known as the Highway to University, this is a 2 year course not dissimilar to the Secondary School system of meritocracy. Once again, the Raffles family, with Raffles Junior College, tends to dominate the top niche. Groomers of the nation's future leaders, or so they claim. To qualify for a low-end Junior College, one must score no higher than 20 points for their GCE "O" level examination (More is Bad). The top ranked Junior Colleges, of course, have correspondingly lower cut-off points, with the top few Junior Colleges having as low as 6 (Means you must score an A1 for every subject), after which they take into account extra-cirricular activities and individual accomplishments. Junior College students currently choose between either the Arts or Science Faculties. While the distinctions at this level not are based on merit, Arts students naturally are the more creative, outspoken ones, and study subjects such as Literature, History, Geography and Economics. Science students tend to be mindless automatons and undertake higher degrees of Math, as well as Biology, Chemistry and Physics. Prizes will not be awarded for correct conjecture of author's choice of Stream. Native Language and General Paper, as well as basic Math are common subjects between the two faculties, and cross-faculty studies (i.e. Science student taking up Literature) are not unknown, though uncommon.
At the end of the 2 year course, students are then examined at the Cambridge GCE "A" Levels. Compulsory subjects are General Paper and Native Language, followed by the 3 or more specialized subjects the candidate has chosen to study over the duration of the course. Having sat for this examination, the students are then awarded their "A" Level certificate, which they may use to apply for entry to a University.
-Polytechnic:
Should the Junior College route not appeal to them, holders of "O" Level certificates may also apply for entry to a Polytechnic of choice. These Polytechnics offer exhaustive specialized courses as opposed to the Junior College system, which is a sort of Enhanced Secondary School. To name a very few, Polytechnics offers subjects like Mass Communications, Nursing, Marine Engineering and Chemical Processing for study. The duration of the course, I believe, varies with the specific course selected, but is an average of 3 years. Upon satisfactory completion of the final examinations at the end of the course, students are awarded a Diploma in the chosen course. Candidates who have performed exceedingly well may also choose to then go on to further studies in their course at a University to earn their Degree. Polytechnics generally have a higher cut-off point than Junior Colleges, though the specifics vary by course rather than institution, and for this reason, students in a Junior College are generally considered the smarter ones of the batch.
-ITE:
An abbreviation of Institute of Technical Education, students may apply to this course of study with only an "N" Level certificate. As the name suggests, subjects offered here are technical in nature rather than academic. Although unsure as to exact courses offered myself, I understand one can learn how to service Air-Conditioners, Telephone Lines and Cars in the courses offered. Students may then go on to a Diploma in their chosen line of study or simply join the workforce after they finish.
Having actually given a far more comprehensive overview of the Singaporean Educational System than I started out wanting to achieve, where exactly, in the whole thing, does this self-professed Uneducated Chinese Male stand? The lengthy elaboration above seems to point to him being in ITE.
Actually, no. For all the intentionally insensitive remarks about each educational segment I made, they were, in all honestly, meant only to use them to illustrate the social prejudice towards and against students of each division and institution that practically the entire country holds, but doesn't, of course, actually say. I started out in a generic Primary school, and moved on to the prestigious Raffles Institution, having topped my school for the PSLE. The simple, poor man's son never really fit in there, with all the rich, educated boys. When I first entered Raffles, I was staying in a two-room flat, while some of the classmates got ferried from mansion to school in huge luxury cars. The sense of segregation could only grow, really. You see, the neighbourhood primary school and its inhabitants were all I knew prior to entering Raffles, and I was rather unprepared to be so suddenly thrust into high society. I invited a classmate, once, back to my flat for some forgotten reason. He seemed edgy, and never did speak to me that much thereafter. The possible reason only dawned upon me when I subsequently visited homes of other classmates and saw how some of the other classmates lived.
Well, enough about that, really. This isn't a sympathy ploy, and I apologize if it seemed so. I also fully understand the whole affair where Boy in Poverty Overcomes Adversity and Rises to the Occasion, but fuck it. It takes a certain kind of person to do that, and I'm not ashamed to admit I'm not one of those. The sense of non-belonging persisted, and it was rather a miracle that I managed to get myself promoted to the next grade, year after year. I was quite a bit of a teenage delinquent, the specifics of which are another story altogether.
In the end, I did just well enough to scrape into a Junior College. As with most people in entirely new, fresh surroundings, I made vague promises to the self to make a clean slate of it and do better. It worked for a while - I topped most classes I took in the Catholic Junior College Arts faculty initially. With a better understanding of people, I found interaction fun, in a novel kind of way, and indeed, somehow became Head of Student Welfare on the Student Council.
Of course, the fairytale ending is denied. Retaining just enough of the shreds of delinquency to piss enough teachers off, I was eventually taken off the Council by the Principal herself, and lost interest in most of the subjects when the novelty of studying something new wore off and they became the same drear tasks of memory they always had been. Miraculously once again making it to the final exams, the subsequent "A" Level certificate I was awarded didn't qualify me for any local varsity course.
And so here I am, having completed my National Service and worked for a year, uneducated and jobless. Ironic, really. I seriously consider even those who completed ITE and hold related occupations now to be more educated than I am, for I now see the "A" Levels to be the educational risk it is. Screw the supposed learning of the finer things in life. If you choose it, you'd better be damned sure you make it through. ...Or at least have the financial means to study abroad if you don't. If you don't make it through to University and can't afford to study abroad...
Ta dah. Me.
Looks like I'm about to make a regular thing of this...at least for now. Being jobless and uneducated has its dubious perks.
A little explaination is in order I suppose, for the benefit of the hapless stumbler and Attractive Stranger who somehow ended up here. What do I mean, -Uneducated-?
For those uninitiated to the Uniquely Singapore-an education system, formal education in Singapore progresses thus:
Birth - Age 6:
In this day and age, children sadly tend to grow up on Television and Video Games, as opposed to to Books and Lego of yore. Parents wishing an early start in academia for their children often enrol them in Kindergarten courses. Various government and privately-run kindergarten/childcare centres exist on the island, all of them geared toward honing and developing young minds for the onset of greatness.
Ages 6 - 12:
Primary School, which is divided into 6 grades, appropriately named Primary 1 to 6. Students are groomed in the various disciplines of English Language, Native Tongue, Mathematics and Science at this level, with the more academically inclined students beings allowed options for advanced study in Native Language (Termed Higher Chinese, Higher Malay, etc) and basic Art and Music. At the end of Primary 6, students take a governmental examination known as the PSLE (Primary School Leaving Examination) Via merit of their resultant grades, they then apply for and are allocated places in various Secondary Schools around the island. Exceptional students may also be hand-picked at mid-Primary levels to take a MENSA-type test involving advanced analysis of critical thought processes and many obscure patterns, the nuances of which are lost upon the common man. The really smart children, as evinced by their ability to pick out patterns and solves problems their parents cannot, will then be evaluated for entry to the Gifted Education Program (GEP). These children are then plucked mercilessly from their comfortable surroundings and re-instated into a Primary School specially geared to handle exceptionally smart children. They continue Primary School as normal, taking the same examination which most of them will ace with one hand tied behind their backs, and subsequently continue their privileged education in the Secondary chapter of the GEP.
Ages 13 - 16:
Secondary School, which is divided into 4 grades and similarly named. While one's Primary School is, for the better part, none of anybody's concern, Secondary Schools tend to be an entirely different matter. Some are simple, government-run public schools with taken-from-the-neighbourhood names like "Ang Mo Kio Secondary", for a school in Ang Mo Kio. At the other end of the spectrum are the branded Secondaries, which in general tend to be single-gender schools and hold track records of producing a better grade of student. It is a subject of much debate as to which school is the best, and indeed, competition at the top levels can be very intense. Generally, however, the Raffles Family is the direction loving parents pivot their children towards (and where said children had better end up, if they know what's good for them). Raffles Institution boasts the reputation of being founded by the nation's discoverer himself, Sir Stamford Raffles. Also on its long list of accolades is the prestige of being the first of its kind, dating back to 1823, when policemen really did wear shorts. In addition, it counts Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew, along with many other illustrious national figures, in its alumni. Being an all-boys' institution, it was to be inevitable that when women started burning undergarments and demanding to be taught things, an all-girls' counterpart, Raffles Girls' School, was founded, and since evolved to a similar, if not greater level of quality. This self-drawn distinction between the grades of school by the islanders themselves is a large part of choosing one's Secondary School, and must be understood to comprehend the background currents and flavour when a successful businessman says he was "Only a neighbourhood school student, lah.", and the stiffness of a teenage delinquent when he acknowledges he is from Raffles, or any one of the perceived "top schools".
Graduation from Secondary School is a complicated affair, mostly to do with the sheer number of paths a student can take both to and after that end. Most students undergoing the course do a 4-year syllabus, at the end of which they take the infamous Cambridge GCE "O" Level examination. These students are classified under the Express Stream. A noteworthy mention here is that the top few schools in Singapore classify their students as "Special Stream" students, though but a rose by another name to the same end.
Students that are less academically inclined, based on their PSLE results, also do a 4-year course, at the end of which they sit for the GCE "N" Level examination. The certificate earned thus has its own value (which is to say, lower than an "O" Level), but in general, most then go on to do another year of study and to sit for the "O" Levels, albeit a year behind their peers.
GEP Students, with the course only available at select institutions, do their own mysterious things, over and above the regular syllabus taken by everybody else. One probes into their cryptic musings at one's own peril.
Subjects offered at the Secondary level include "A" Math, "D" Math, Literature in English and Native Language, English and Native languages, Geography and History. The Sciences, Biology, Physics and Chemistry are available as individual specialized subjects as well as an all-in-one single subject named Combined Science. Native Language, here, generally refers to either Mandarin, Malay, or Tamil, as these are the languages spoken by the core races of Singapore. Students with exceptional scholastic aptitude may also qualify and apply for the study of a third language. A variety of languages are offered, amongst which are Japanese, German and French. Students may also choose to take the opportunity to master a local language other than their own (i.e. Chinese Student studying the Malay language).
The "basic" certificate for this examination must include 1 Science, 1 Humanity, English, Native Language and Math, together with 1 other subject to bring the total to 6. Choice of subjects studied, as well as total number of subjects taken, is up to the individual student, and as well, the school, which decides based on previous results what the student can and cannot handle. A constant borderline passing student applying to sit for 8 subjects in the "O" Levels, for example. Of course, there do exist the examplary students that elect to, qualify for and score A1s for all 9 (the maximum permitted) subjects. Various derogatory remarks at this point are borne entirely out of envy and have no place.
Ages 16 and above:
Depending on what qualification the student managed to attain at the end of the Secondary term, he has a few options as to how he can progress from here.
-Junior College:
Known as the Highway to University, this is a 2 year course not dissimilar to the Secondary School system of meritocracy. Once again, the Raffles family, with Raffles Junior College, tends to dominate the top niche. Groomers of the nation's future leaders, or so they claim. To qualify for a low-end Junior College, one must score no higher than 20 points for their GCE "O" level examination (More is Bad). The top ranked Junior Colleges, of course, have correspondingly lower cut-off points, with the top few Junior Colleges having as low as 6 (Means you must score an A1 for every subject), after which they take into account extra-cirricular activities and individual accomplishments. Junior College students currently choose between either the Arts or Science Faculties. While the distinctions at this level not are based on merit, Arts students naturally are the more creative, outspoken ones, and study subjects such as Literature, History, Geography and Economics. Science students tend to be mindless automatons and undertake higher degrees of Math, as well as Biology, Chemistry and Physics. Prizes will not be awarded for correct conjecture of author's choice of Stream. Native Language and General Paper, as well as basic Math are common subjects between the two faculties, and cross-faculty studies (i.e. Science student taking up Literature) are not unknown, though uncommon.
At the end of the 2 year course, students are then examined at the Cambridge GCE "A" Levels. Compulsory subjects are General Paper and Native Language, followed by the 3 or more specialized subjects the candidate has chosen to study over the duration of the course. Having sat for this examination, the students are then awarded their "A" Level certificate, which they may use to apply for entry to a University.
-Polytechnic:
Should the Junior College route not appeal to them, holders of "O" Level certificates may also apply for entry to a Polytechnic of choice. These Polytechnics offer exhaustive specialized courses as opposed to the Junior College system, which is a sort of Enhanced Secondary School. To name a very few, Polytechnics offers subjects like Mass Communications, Nursing, Marine Engineering and Chemical Processing for study. The duration of the course, I believe, varies with the specific course selected, but is an average of 3 years. Upon satisfactory completion of the final examinations at the end of the course, students are awarded a Diploma in the chosen course. Candidates who have performed exceedingly well may also choose to then go on to further studies in their course at a University to earn their Degree. Polytechnics generally have a higher cut-off point than Junior Colleges, though the specifics vary by course rather than institution, and for this reason, students in a Junior College are generally considered the smarter ones of the batch.
-ITE:
An abbreviation of Institute of Technical Education, students may apply to this course of study with only an "N" Level certificate. As the name suggests, subjects offered here are technical in nature rather than academic. Although unsure as to exact courses offered myself, I understand one can learn how to service Air-Conditioners, Telephone Lines and Cars in the courses offered. Students may then go on to a Diploma in their chosen line of study or simply join the workforce after they finish.
Having actually given a far more comprehensive overview of the Singaporean Educational System than I started out wanting to achieve, where exactly, in the whole thing, does this self-professed Uneducated Chinese Male stand? The lengthy elaboration above seems to point to him being in ITE.
Actually, no. For all the intentionally insensitive remarks about each educational segment I made, they were, in all honestly, meant only to use them to illustrate the social prejudice towards and against students of each division and institution that practically the entire country holds, but doesn't, of course, actually say. I started out in a generic Primary school, and moved on to the prestigious Raffles Institution, having topped my school for the PSLE. The simple, poor man's son never really fit in there, with all the rich, educated boys. When I first entered Raffles, I was staying in a two-room flat, while some of the classmates got ferried from mansion to school in huge luxury cars. The sense of segregation could only grow, really. You see, the neighbourhood primary school and its inhabitants were all I knew prior to entering Raffles, and I was rather unprepared to be so suddenly thrust into high society. I invited a classmate, once, back to my flat for some forgotten reason. He seemed edgy, and never did speak to me that much thereafter. The possible reason only dawned upon me when I subsequently visited homes of other classmates and saw how some of the other classmates lived.
Well, enough about that, really. This isn't a sympathy ploy, and I apologize if it seemed so. I also fully understand the whole affair where Boy in Poverty Overcomes Adversity and Rises to the Occasion, but fuck it. It takes a certain kind of person to do that, and I'm not ashamed to admit I'm not one of those. The sense of non-belonging persisted, and it was rather a miracle that I managed to get myself promoted to the next grade, year after year. I was quite a bit of a teenage delinquent, the specifics of which are another story altogether.
In the end, I did just well enough to scrape into a Junior College. As with most people in entirely new, fresh surroundings, I made vague promises to the self to make a clean slate of it and do better. It worked for a while - I topped most classes I took in the Catholic Junior College Arts faculty initially. With a better understanding of people, I found interaction fun, in a novel kind of way, and indeed, somehow became Head of Student Welfare on the Student Council.
Of course, the fairytale ending is denied. Retaining just enough of the shreds of delinquency to piss enough teachers off, I was eventually taken off the Council by the Principal herself, and lost interest in most of the subjects when the novelty of studying something new wore off and they became the same drear tasks of memory they always had been. Miraculously once again making it to the final exams, the subsequent "A" Level certificate I was awarded didn't qualify me for any local varsity course.
And so here I am, having completed my National Service and worked for a year, uneducated and jobless. Ironic, really. I seriously consider even those who completed ITE and hold related occupations now to be more educated than I am, for I now see the "A" Levels to be the educational risk it is. Screw the supposed learning of the finer things in life. If you choose it, you'd better be damned sure you make it through. ...Or at least have the financial means to study abroad if you don't. If you don't make it through to University and can't afford to study abroad...
Ta dah. Me.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
And then there was Light.
So.
I'm not quite sure as to why exactly I'm doing this, or how long it will last. For a considerable period of time now, I've harboured thoughts about keeping a web log with about equal measures of anticipation and loathing, and viewed people who did keep one with similar ambiguity.
I never quite understood these children of a strange, liberal, literary revolution. With the advent of "blogging" and its increasing popularity, anyone and everyone could keep a Blog, and in a small way, become a published writer. This has, as most things are prone to, resulted in both works of (to me) surrealistic perfection, as well as mangled...things that make your brain hurt in the course of reading.
Having heard it described as an -online diary- as it was just introduced, I have indeed seen it executed as such. Never having had the habit of keeping an actual diary, I was intrigued by this concept of an open, electronic version that anyone, by merit of having the correct URL or having stumbled upon it by sheer chance, could peruse at their pleasure. As time went, and myself having procrastinated the taking-up of such activity as I am prone, blogs of friends began to develop themselves, and a few things occurred to me.
People Blogged because it was novel, and in their writing almost expected their every word to be hung onto by friends and family and, gasp, perhaps even the mysterious Attractive Stranger Of The Opposite Gender Who Happened To Stumble Across Your Blog And Will Send You Solicitive Correspondence. Blogging was a form of seeking attention, of wanting recognition for effort put into verbalizing thought. Indeed, friends would tell friends to "Read my Blog! It's all there!". This was the difference between the keeping of a private diary and a Blog, for with a Blog, with its accessibility, you knew (or at least delusionally hoped) that people would be reading what you wrote.
With this in mind, it struck me as well how difficult then it would be to maintain a natural degree of transparency and forthcoming in such an undertaking. People will be seeing this, you know? You couldn't just shoot off your mouth, really, unless you happened to be one of those special breed of people who are able to say anything they want, anywhere. A special mention goes out here to an uncle of some friend or other, who every year at the traditional ChineseNew Year family gathering would comment rather neutrally that a female nephew's breasts had grown considerably. So, yes, one had to consider carefully their options as to what to say in their Blogs, so as best to promote a desired image of self. This naturally restricts the writing process considerably, and the resultant strange paradox of wanting attention only to find that you can't, really, behave any more spectacularly than you already do in real life, is my personal take on why Drifting is the main cause of death amongst Blogs.
Television and the cinema has us believe that daily lives can be exciting chains of events where you wake up, perform your ablutions, break fast while looking fabulous and subsequently, through a series of comic events, meet your future life-mate on the bus to work. Closer to home, people actually lead rather watered downs versions of these. Wake. Work/School. Home. Desired Activity. Sleep. Repeat. And though you really wonder what that girl in the next class at school is like in bed, you can't say that now, can you? Which leaves the would-be blogger not too much to talk about that would be of interest to even immediate friends, let along the coveted Attractive Stranger. When the excitement of the new project dies down, one finds that there are only so many localized events one can talk about in a politically correct manner that the entries become fewer and further between, and of increasingly shorter volume, until the Blog literally drifts off to eternal rest.
Yet, for the would-be-writer (coughMEcough), I do suppose Blogging is a legitimate and effective whetstone for keeping the creative mind sharp. Unabashedly, a good part of my desire to maintain such a web log stems from both the very impressive quality of some blogs I have come across, like the now-defunct Reboot>Review (whose author has since moved on to her own domain at www.wessatong.com), to the massive success such Blogging has brought to some, such as the recently-emerged HUGE Blog celebrity Wendy Cheng, at xiaxue.blogspot.com . More ground on these two Blog giants will probably be covered at a later date.
What do I really hope for, then, in doing this? Immense recognition and job offers a la XiaXue would be nice, but severely dubitable, based on the salient points that:
-I do not have breasts.
-I have not her particular brand of mass-appeal charisma.
-I do not have breasts.
Halt! I am far from sexist. And I do not mean to say she achieved her fanbase and notoriety through the sole virtue of being attractive and possessing breasts. What I -am- saying is that pretty women are far more likely to attract attention than anonymous males, and also have trans-gender appeal. Women who like her can fan-a-tize themselve. Women who don't can bitch. Men can both appreciate her substance and fan-ta-size over it. With anonymous males:
-Women don't know what you look like, detracting the publicizing factor of looks-based appeal or revulsion.
-Men don't give a shit.
Ok, so maybe a little sexist.
But yes, what do I really hope to achieve? Nothing, I suppose, but the said whetstone effect. Too long have I gone without any sort of creative output whatsoever; and for all that I profess to want to be a writer, the writer within (woot cliche) actually cringes at the thought of writing extended pieces, which smell too much like actual work.
For now, I tire. I promise more.
I'm not quite sure as to why exactly I'm doing this, or how long it will last. For a considerable period of time now, I've harboured thoughts about keeping a web log with about equal measures of anticipation and loathing, and viewed people who did keep one with similar ambiguity.
I never quite understood these children of a strange, liberal, literary revolution. With the advent of "blogging" and its increasing popularity, anyone and everyone could keep a Blog, and in a small way, become a published writer. This has, as most things are prone to, resulted in both works of (to me) surrealistic perfection, as well as mangled...things that make your brain hurt in the course of reading.
Having heard it described as an -online diary- as it was just introduced, I have indeed seen it executed as such. Never having had the habit of keeping an actual diary, I was intrigued by this concept of an open, electronic version that anyone, by merit of having the correct URL or having stumbled upon it by sheer chance, could peruse at their pleasure. As time went, and myself having procrastinated the taking-up of such activity as I am prone, blogs of friends began to develop themselves, and a few things occurred to me.
People Blogged because it was novel, and in their writing almost expected their every word to be hung onto by friends and family and, gasp, perhaps even the mysterious Attractive Stranger Of The Opposite Gender Who Happened To Stumble Across Your Blog And Will Send You Solicitive Correspondence. Blogging was a form of seeking attention, of wanting recognition for effort put into verbalizing thought. Indeed, friends would tell friends to "Read my Blog! It's all there!". This was the difference between the keeping of a private diary and a Blog, for with a Blog, with its accessibility, you knew (or at least delusionally hoped) that people would be reading what you wrote.
With this in mind, it struck me as well how difficult then it would be to maintain a natural degree of transparency and forthcoming in such an undertaking. People will be seeing this, you know? You couldn't just shoot off your mouth, really, unless you happened to be one of those special breed of people who are able to say anything they want, anywhere. A special mention goes out here to an uncle of some friend or other, who every year at the traditional ChineseNew Year family gathering would comment rather neutrally that a female nephew's breasts had grown considerably. So, yes, one had to consider carefully their options as to what to say in their Blogs, so as best to promote a desired image of self. This naturally restricts the writing process considerably, and the resultant strange paradox of wanting attention only to find that you can't, really, behave any more spectacularly than you already do in real life, is my personal take on why Drifting is the main cause of death amongst Blogs.
Television and the cinema has us believe that daily lives can be exciting chains of events where you wake up, perform your ablutions, break fast while looking fabulous and subsequently, through a series of comic events, meet your future life-mate on the bus to work. Closer to home, people actually lead rather watered downs versions of these. Wake. Work/School. Home. Desired Activity. Sleep. Repeat. And though you really wonder what that girl in the next class at school is like in bed, you can't say that now, can you? Which leaves the would-be blogger not too much to talk about that would be of interest to even immediate friends, let along the coveted Attractive Stranger. When the excitement of the new project dies down, one finds that there are only so many localized events one can talk about in a politically correct manner that the entries become fewer and further between, and of increasingly shorter volume, until the Blog literally drifts off to eternal rest.
Yet, for the would-be-writer (coughMEcough), I do suppose Blogging is a legitimate and effective whetstone for keeping the creative mind sharp. Unabashedly, a good part of my desire to maintain such a web log stems from both the very impressive quality of some blogs I have come across, like the now-defunct Reboot>Review (whose author has since moved on to her own domain at www.wessatong.com), to the massive success such Blogging has brought to some, such as the recently-emerged HUGE Blog celebrity Wendy Cheng, at xiaxue.blogspot.com . More ground on these two Blog giants will probably be covered at a later date.
What do I really hope for, then, in doing this? Immense recognition and job offers a la XiaXue would be nice, but severely dubitable, based on the salient points that:
-I do not have breasts.
-I have not her particular brand of mass-appeal charisma.
-I do not have breasts.
Halt! I am far from sexist. And I do not mean to say she achieved her fanbase and notoriety through the sole virtue of being attractive and possessing breasts. What I -am- saying is that pretty women are far more likely to attract attention than anonymous males, and also have trans-gender appeal. Women who like her can fan-a-tize themselve. Women who don't can bitch. Men can both appreciate her substance and fan-ta-size over it. With anonymous males:
-Women don't know what you look like, detracting the publicizing factor of looks-based appeal or revulsion.
-Men don't give a shit.
Ok, so maybe a little sexist.
But yes, what do I really hope to achieve? Nothing, I suppose, but the said whetstone effect. Too long have I gone without any sort of creative output whatsoever; and for all that I profess to want to be a writer, the writer within (woot cliche) actually cringes at the thought of writing extended pieces, which smell too much like actual work.
For now, I tire. I promise more.
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