glorious.

After what felt like an interminable period of repressed retail compulsions:

Lest you think I've become vapid, it's just the December writer's block. In this drought, recycling proves to be the most painless fix:

Scrooge’s Christmas.
It is a bleak Christmas this year. While the wet weather has been quenching our Christmas spirit, the looming recession is a rain on our buyer’s impulse. Each time my fingers close in on an object for sale, my heart reaches for it only to be thwarted by my mother’s voice in my head: “Now economy so bad…you know the value of money or not.” Of course, this has amounted to insane financial contributions to the F&B industry because when the going gets tough and the tough can’t shop, the tough goes eating.

And if like me, you’re ripe for an exit with Bachelor’s, you might also be asking yourself the million dollar question, in the manner of Shirlyn Tan’s robust rendition, should I stay or should I gooo? Is honours a value-add or really just a perfect alibi to escape the stodgy life of an underpaid working adult with unfamiliar responsibilities?

Because in times like these, graduation is so much more than just that scroll of paper, square hat and the launch of an exciting career. Graduation in this climate could entail unnecessary nerves, shelved graduation trips, loads of discouraging interviews and might possibly culminate in a disappointing job. I paint a grim picture but this is really no time for quixotic career choices.

With Singapore being the first country in the region to fall into this slump, we might even have to review the virtues of our degree, honours or no. Is pumping another 6K* worth of financial resource into this so-called ‘first class education’ going to see any returns other than that yearlong reprieve from the struggle for employment? We might be better off investing in stocks that are hitting rock bottom prices.

Nevertheless, amidst this wasteland of snuffed-out ambitions and unfulfilled retail compulsions, Merry Christmas, we will see better times.

* Local undergraduates.

Source: http://www.sheares.nus.edu.sg/shout/?p=1450

of cavewomen and myths.

Let me tell you about the Cavewomen myth in SHeares.

A long, long time ago, at the beginning of academic year 0809 semester 1, in the C block of SHeares, on the godforsaken lands of NUS, there lived 4...cute seniors (one was a frequent guest). Unfortunately, because they were "seniors" and hence of little ogle value to the shallow, red-blooded male species of the land, they were relegated to a solitary retreat in an inconspicuous portion of the estate. 

Nevertheless, life was simple and life was good. Among them, they sang, they skipped, they binged, they mugged, they laughed, they slacked, they danced...you get the idea. While the skirt-chasers of the land chased (young) skirts, they had reclusive suppers, rolled on each other's beds, and filmed incriminating videos of one another in the toilet (brushing teeth!).

Then one fine day, a gang of skirt-chasers stumbled accidentally upon these (cute!) forgotten creatures of the land! Alas! These shallow skirt-chasers have long since had their visions dulled and wits dimmed. When their eyes fell upon these cute! creatures of the land, their bovine faculties could not register beauty and goodness. Scathed by the radiance of these gentle creatures, they drew back in revulsion and screeched terribly. They scampered like hacked crocodiles away from the bewildered (cute!) creatures.

As they recuperated back in their lairs, they passed on, erroneously, the horrors of the forgotten creatures in their mysterious and obscure retreats. Uncertain what to make of these (cute!) creatures and hampered by deteriorating creativity, they called these wonderful creatures 'cavemen' in their vastly inaccurate tales of the untrespassed. 

Cavemen! We changed it to 'Cavewomen' in our discourse, of course (: Like I said, dull-wits couldn't differentiate female from male. For dramatic literary purposes, the intellect and respectability of the male species of the land were slightly compromised. Most of them are nice. Hmm.

cavewomen rarr!

Found these.

Oh my god, we look so young and cute! Hahaha.

Youth.

Sigh. I'm going to be an adult soon.

Don't wanna grow up. What's the way to never-never-land again?

Happy 21st, o-neh. Because there won't be another shot at childhood. (even though you'll always look 6. HAHAHA.)

life and death.

I've been looking for controversial news articles about Singapore politics by news agencies abroad since 530am for the SC2214 midterms. And it just struck me that Chee Soon Juan would be exactly the type of person my parents won't understand. Okay, not that it would take a giant leap of intellect to figure that out but I've never really bothered myself with him until just now. In fact, I recall my parents discussing about him years ago. Hmm frankly...they were puzzling over the discrepancy between his publicized 'antics' and his profession (which in their opinion should warrant more mature behavior). But I wouldn't blame them. Where did they get their news from? Singapore media.

So I should have paid more attention before judging him but I'm apathetic. Now that I've gotten all my information from the correct sources (I hope), I rather admire his ideals. What could have inspired a man to fight so hard for democracy in a place where few others cared? In his words, he would persevere even in the face of a lifetime's bankruptcy. And he's almost a lone warrior in this war. How many of us could claim to join him? I wouldn't. Truthfully. I won't pretend to be noble. If push comes to shove and I really find my ideologies incompatible with what my country has to offer, I would simply pack my bags and leave. 

But I think it is people like him who live a worthy life. Because when we combust into nothingness, what is left of us is all that we have fought for and believed in. We are nothing but our ideals. Don't tell me about all that afterlife, next life, past life stuff. What we have is only here and now and causes we believe in. Chia Thye Poh - exiled for 23 years. We might look at these people and wonder what the hell they were thinking. Why can't they just bite their tongues and pretend to obey? But they might be looking at us, laughing, knowing in their hearts that people like us will live our whole weary lives without ever tasting the passion of a fervent belief. Sometimes, I wish I were a religious zealot just to feel that gusto, or even just that sense of solidarity with like-minded comrades. I would go to Church and cell groups, privately wishing hard to be converted but I can't be convinced.

And then still, there are others who lead lives punctuated with sufferings that culminate in a premature truncation. I don't know what to make of it. Except that it actually pains me. And why do dying people always claim to see people from their past who are already dead? I should probably look for scientific explanations right. Like hallucination, pre-death trauma whatever. But actually, when it comes to your loved ones, it is so much more heartening to use religion to explain things surrounding their deaths. I see why religion holds so much appeal. I mean, I've always known that but... It's an opiate. And I'd rather be stronger than that, I want to.

bathroom talk*

Jiafen: “Do you know just now Val was pregnant? Then her waterbag burst. That’s why the toilet floor is wet!! Hahaha!” (She delivered that last line triumphantly, as her lame impulse kicked in. And pregnant = I was wearing one of my pregnant tops.)

Me: “Yah and you know why my waterbag burst? Cos Jiafen was my gynae. And Cylysce was my husband.” (We had a prior enactment, hence the conversation.)

Cylysce: “I’m a good husband! But dunno why my wife is crazy. Last time when I married you, you were normal.”

Yean Ching: “Where’s the baby?”

Jiafen: “Oh I threw it away already. Cos it was expired.”

Note that at this point, everyone in the toilet was speechless and had acquired a stunned expression.

Me: “Yes cos it was past the December 31st timing.” (I recovered.)

Jiafen: “Yah that means the baby cannot join the last year’s intake for school and the government somehow didn’t give money. So I threw it away.”

Mingli was speechless for the course of this conversation. As it expired, she plodded into one of the cubicles.

Tell me how I manage to stay sane with neighbors like that. When I graduate, I will have gained not only a mediocre degree in Communications but also a certification that I am highly skilled in the art of sprouting rubbish on command.

*We were having our nightly teeth-brushing session.

please don't take this seriously.

What would happen if I ran for President of Sheares Hall?

I'd abolish the endless meetings. Have them online with that program we used in NM2220 Media Writing, the one where you hold down a button to speak, one person at a time. I'd keep everything in perspective. Come on, a hall is a hall. For students to live in and be exposed to all the common vices; get attached and break up; screw up their systems and get fat. And through all these, learn that when it comes down to it, your friends, the ones who were there for you when you cried, who made you laugh when you couldn't keep things in perspective, the ones with the ready listening ears, beer and cigarettes, are all that matter. So fuck the administrative nightmares and all the unnecessary politics. The only valid reason for a long meeting should be mass inebriation.

Oh, and finally, a female president. (Notice the first line of our anthem says 'We, sons of Sheares Hall...". No girls? So un-PC.) Quite an entertaining idea, huh? Hilarious, in fact. If I can get down to it, I'd also throw in an election speech worthy of failblog.org!

shame on me.

My obsession with cleanliness and stamina for cleaning was put to the test on Thursday when I opened the door to my new room. They conflicted. I watched helpless at the appalling condition of my room and seriously contemplated quitting hall. After spending close to 2 hours mopping every inch of the table and the wall and floor around it with an excess of dettol until my hands burnt from the alkali, I conceded defeat.

So being the genius I am, I delegated. Help was only a phone call away and that was settled in less than 3 minutes. I called a cleaning agency and hired someone to do the job. Easy-peasy, right? Until Friday, when the cleaning lady arrived.

My heart plopped into my stomach when I saw her. Thin and wide-eyed, speaking in clear, halting English. She told me later she's 60. And we settled for a conversation in Mandarin. She was cheerful and eager and friendly and helpful. And she was worriedly apologetic about being late. But my voice took a low, tired personality. In my head, I was thinking, "Fuck, I suck. I'm making an old lady clean my room." My conscience was eating me up but I didn't know what to do. How could I send her home? She got caught in a traffic jam and mistakenly alighted 2 stops earlier to get here. What will her agent say to her? And worse, would I be undermining her and insulting her ability?

And what is wrong with this world?! Why are old ladies coming out to work? Where are their children? I want a robust young man to clean my room! Not a sweet and frail old lady!

She was keen to get down to work. And I couldn't watch. Besides, the 'genius' was clever enough to have only 35 bucks in her wallet. "Off you go," she said, "enjoy yourself!" I wanted to duck into the first church I see and confess to the nice priest and do all the Hail Mary's he'll want me to do. Even though my published religion is Buddhism and I don't know what Hail Mary's are.

And this is nothing compared to when I returned 2 hours later. She had removed and cleaned all the drawers and even the side table with rollers and laid them out to dry outside the room. Excuse me while I dig a hole to bury my face. She had cleaned every surface in my room. And she looked happy while the sweat glistened on her forehead.

We started talking as I walked her out and waited for her bus. Life lessons, they're conducted at times and places least expected. She told me she had cleaned my room as if it were her own house or her own daughter's room in hall. She has a daughter, by the way, who had graduated with Honours in Economics and Geography and had also stayed in hall. She cleans because she likes to, on top of her day job as an accounts clerk. She told me about the importance of putting your heart in everything you do and striving for that kind of perfection because it will give you meaning and happiness in your actions.

"What if you find that life has no meaning? Then where's the point in putting your heart in?" I asked.

"Then you have to ask yourself why you think that life has no meaning. Is it because studying is tough? Think about it this way. You're studying now so that you'll get a job you like in future. Many people drag themselves to work, thinking only of the paycheck at the end of the month. But a job is more than that. Because you are doing your job well, your boss brings in more profit, he hires more people, and these people get to support their family and do more stuff with the money. You make people happy this way."

Her outlook on life is so simple and pure. I cannot help but marvel at her innocence. She's 60. She can easily be cynical and bitter and say that she's seen the worst of people and of the world. Yet, she finds joy in living her life for others. She smiles when someone gives his seat up for her on the bus, just as warmly as she smiles when she gives her own seat up for others. Yes, she does that, when she has the full privilege of having the seat for herself.

"So are you saying that making others happy is the key to our own happiness and possibly the meaning of our lives?" I pressed.

Nothing new. We hear crazed evangelists advocating this as often as they proclaim all who do not follow Christ burn in hell.

"Isn't it? Doesn't your heart warm when you see someone happy because of what you did?"

Maybe. Maybe the answer was there all along. We just cannot conceive how our lives can be made by making others'. Maybe when we've been down the path of 'living for myself' for too long and still contentment evades us, it's time for a change.

a bit of pre-conclusive depression.

So I was the last victim of the seniors' ponding spree and it happened right after I walked out from my bath!! But it's okay, I kicked their balls, literally, and clawed them (their arms, not their balls).

I'm supposed to write a piece that best expresses myself but I am so stuck. But check this out, my brainchild:

1. We get your mind off safety, and on pleasure.

2. For your pleasure, we take care of the safety aspect.

Ad slogans. Guess what product? Actually it's a no-brainer.


I'm actually a bit depressed thinking about my future (not only career wise). Sometimes, liking (or loving) a person doesn't make things right or help them work out. But it is so effortless to make do with the status quo. Zero risk and all. Why are you like that?

Besides the really immature lyrics, I actually rather enjoy Potential Breakup Song.

to speak or not to speak.

little val has been taught a very important lesson for her naivete:

to repress judgment.

Road Trip Malaysia 2007

'All our Malaysian friends make it sound like if we stepped foot on the streets of Malaysia, we would surely be robbed, raped, or murdered,' said Joyce. And who was the one who told me there were snipers on every rooftop? DEAN.

KLCC was a picture of peace last night. People were coming off work, teenagers were taking photos and chatting on the steps in front of the pretty fountain. I would like to say there was a group of 11 terrorists, but no, a group of 11 Block C Shearites were creating a ruckus, behaving like Singaporean sua-kus, taking photos of their faces with the twin towers in the background (and they somehow all look photoshop-ed). Then they took videos of their goodbyes to the magnificently lit Petronas Towers and proceeded to film their The Amazing Race inspired sprint to the bus station to catch the 2230 Transnational transport back to Singapore, because nothing major happened that day and Potato is convinced that that means we are going to miss our bus back (put into the context that we girls spent about an hour past the agreed time to leave in Mango, and that some horror happens every day of our trip).

But seriously, I thought the Petronas was exquisite. I couldn't stop exclaiming, until I saw it at night, and then I just couldn't exclaim anymore. Because it looked beyond pretty and I ran out of adjectives for it. But isn't it a waste of electricity if they turn on the lights every night? And my dad said it has low occupancy.

I can't believe I saw Mr Foo there, when I never ever ran into him in Singapore.

Let me start from the very beginning.

At Lavender MRT station at 0930 (plus plus), we started our walk towards the bus company to catch the 1000 bus. At this point, we realised we didn't really know our way there. But it's okay, let's get some Mr Bean pancakes first.

And then, wait! Where's the 12th person in the group? And... Who is he?? (Daniel)

Thankfully, we eventually made it on the bus. (We thought the roadtrip would end at Lavender Station!) I have to mention there was some obsession about handsoap between Emily and I (about us not being able to wash our hands clean after using the toilet).

The bus was a bit smelly. But we played Scumbag Daidee (Joyce refuses to use the word 'asshole' and scumbag sounds more classy) and slept a little.

Kane met us at the bus station in KL and took us to our hostel by the monorail. As usual, Chris got off after one stop and went back in saying 'I thought only one stop?!'

Thank you Kane for the Bak Kut Teh dinner that was out of this world! In a restaurant with walls plastered with photos of the owners and Hong Kong celebrities. Emily and I obsessed over the yam rice that wasn't available anymore and we had to eat white rice. I still want the yam rice.

Horror #2: Emily went missing and we only found that out 2 hours later. Guess what the clever girl did in the 2 hours? She bought 10 pairs of earrings and found her way back asking directions by showing people the photos she took on the way out. Ingenuity.

We settled in a French pub beside the hostel for beer and 'I have never...' (after Joyce and I spent an hour odd at the posher Irish pub eating calamari and onion rings, looking out for Emily, and evading the waitress' requests to take our drink orders. How puerile! I'm glad we won't be back.) After 4 jugs, revealing confessions, and shocking admissions that rocked the foundations of our beliefs (ahem!), we headed back.

Horror #3 of our trip happened early in the morning, even before we got on the highway towards Cameron Highlands, in fact, just before! Our rented Toyota SUV crashed into our also rented Proton when Kenneth tried to do an illegal reverse into the lane towards the highway. The bonnet of the Proton crumbled while we, in the Toyota, only felt a slight impact. Turning around, to our horror, we saw smoke rising from the front of the car. Only when the smoke cleared did we see the priceless expression on Chris' face, mouth slightly agape. And then, the occupants of the Proton jumped out for fear the engine might explode. I quote the victims of the accident: 'So many things went through my head,' said Chris. And Daniel, from the front passenger seat, said: 'Our lives flashed in front of us.' Okay, how dramatic can we get? But really, we are now having to pay a few thousand for the damage of the Proton. (Realise my emphasis.) The Toyota also sports a slightly dented bumper now. Thank God for Chui Fen's kind auntie though, because there were quite some complications (with the highway police and the car rental company) and she was really helpful and nice about the trouble we put her through.

And so, after an exciting morning, and a really uncalled for delay due to the wait at the highway and the trip to the police station that presented us with a fine (for getting into an accident with our own cars?! Nope, actually for the illegal reverse.), we continued our journey to the highlands. Oh, we got another Proton too (:

Oh oh! I forgot! We also did a 'Whoosh' in the middle of a huge carpark that houses damaged vehicles that are way beyond help. Looks like a wasteland. Yep.

On our way down from the top of the world the next morning, we fulfilled Kenneth's dream to sip tea and eat scones from a place with mountain view. We pretended to be rich English aristocrats but were plagued by unwelcomed flies that were definitely not part of our vision.

Further down, we stopped at a Strawberry Farm that sold the freshest and most beautiful vegetables I've ever seen! Gerberas too! (But I wasn't going to bring them home, they're one of my favourite flowers by the way, though they're rather cheap flowers.) Oh my gosh! Pardon my housewifeyness. But the vegetables looked so fresh that they looked artificial. Red, green, yellow capsicums, carrots, brinjals, long beans! And many many more! And so cheap! I had to buy them home. So we did (Emily and I) and we even asked the nice auntie who was selling them for a carton to put our fresh vegetables in. Happy happy. (By the way, to prove all the guys wrong, they're still fresh and pretty! In my refrigerator now. They actually survived all the manhandling and the hot Penang sun in the warmed up back seat of the vehicle. I'm so proud of my vegetables!)

We crossed the Penang bridge that afternoon. Lots of hype, from the people in the car. A whole 10 minutes of excitement through the bridge that continued into the crazy traffic of Penang, as we INCHED our way into George Town. (G-Town, yo!) Our own drivers actually rose up to the challenge of the native Ah Beng drivers there. Oh, and the sneaky Robert (Hum Ji Hao) actually reached a record speed of 140kph on the highway when we were all snoozing. So much for the nervousness and not wanting to drive, huh.

Penang is a vision of likeness to Singapore. Certain parts probably an outdated likeness but in general, the old colonial shophouses are so nostalgic. I think theirs are more authentic though.

I have a half baked theory about something. Drawing from my 6 week experience in some parts of Thailand, I saw some form of resemblance in the structure (economic, social and otherwise) of their capital cities and other cities. I couldn't help thinking that KL and Bangkok are quite similar in the sense that these two capitals have huge segregations, huge rich-poor divides that are very starkly visible in their proximity. For example, the slums in Bangkok that are right smack in the middle of an affluent district. And I think most people can see that the obvious and predominant reason for this is rural-urban migration. A huge amount of that. Not surprising for a capital city where opportunities are seen to be rampant. People just fail to recognise that land (physical space) is a limiting factor in this equation and that is sad. I think for countries that are big enough to face a problem like this, the onus is on the government to control the flow of migrants, because if they do not, they are going to have a pressing problem in the hands. With the overpopulation and all, how are they going to effectively develop and organise the city? A capital city. Where the world is going to judge them on. Of course, I do see that that's easier said than done. And so, I think capitals are overrated. I much prefer the unpretentious charm of another regular city in the country. In the case of Thailand, Chiangmai; and in Malaysia, Penang. Maybe I am still being a little uppish in my perception (I try not to be), but I feel that such cities are surprisingly developed. As we coursed through George Town, it is so difficult to ignore the evidence of Westernization. Just by looking at the names of the shops and private residences, they are so different from those seen in other parts of Malaysia (that I've seen on this trip, my opinion could be invalid due to the fact that my experience is narrow). Names like Belle Vue, Bayshore and stuff (I cannot for the life of me remember the most important example that I kept reminding myself to remember!). In fact, the amount of Malay used in the streets of George Town is just a bit more than that used in Singapore.

Anyway, we went jetskiing! It was fun. A lot more fun than my fuzzy first memory of it, riding behind my dad, I was about 9, can't remember much about it. Wish I did parasailing as well. But I am now suffering from the effects. Muscle cramps and sore thighs. I swear all I did on this trip was eat, sleep and pee at the pit stops along the highways. Almost all our time was spent in the car anyway.

We ran into waves at the beach after that. Sounds stupid and only a lot of fun if you're doing it yourself. Trust me, that's true. We managed to entertain ourselves quite hilariously. I kept falling and getting drowned in the waves though. And Joyce apparently rolled 10 meters after being caught off guard by a huge tide and Kenneth couldn't stop laughing about that while telling everyone else.

Horror #4 isn't really horror, just unfortunate. Chris got his first summon. 'I don't even get summons in Singapore!' A lot of virgin experiences on this road trip.

The next morning, we drove out to get Tau Sar Piahs and a really stupid thing happened. Daniel somehow managed to lose his slippers. In the car. In the driver's seat. Oh gosh. And so we have yet another of our many Quotes of the Day: '(by Kenneth) Big things can be lost in the smallest of enclosed places.'

Today is also the day, after constantly getting 'Holland-ed' (and it's pronounced Hall-Lahnd, I don't really understand why but I'm told it means lost because Holland is apparently always the place you end up in after getting lost) and not being able to find 'Jalan Sehala' on the map even though we see the sign everywhere on the roads, that we finally found out that Jalan Sehala means 'one-way street'. Yay. This is hilarious if you hear what our navigator said all the time the past few days: 'Where is this Jalan Sehala?? It is everywhere and nowhere. It must be a really huge street! But I can't find it on the map!'

We did not get to eat our Penang Laksa! But we did attempt to eat everything else. And at least we got the A&W that See Mun and Emily raved about throughout the trip. For our very last meal.

And the last irony: the coldest part of our trip wasn't Cameron Highlands, but the bus journey back to Singapore.

I will never forget the countless AWAS signs we saw everywhere. Just like our Malaysian friends, they eagerly warn us of a danger that we never really encountered.