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.

i am not emo! (today)

Religion is man-made right? But I've always considered myself to be spiritual. The difference is that I believe in a God without all the fluff established religions try to force on us. And anyway Buddhism is more of a philosophy.

Recently though, I've experienced some sort of a religious/spiritual crisis. And now, I've become an agnostic atheist. Yes, in answer to that passage from Angels and Demons, I do believe we just picked the right card out of an infinite deck. And I do not think we are destroying our self-worth as human beings by believing ourselves to be a cosmic accident. By the way, I've always found the passage a powerful argument for people from the religious camp:

"Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God! You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather that our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God's hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have we become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in a mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us?"
-Dan Brown

I don't know about mathematical impossibilities but I believe it makes more sense that the all the complexities of the world came about from the multiplication (or whatever) of all the possible permutations, no? I find it hard to believe a supreme being, no matter how powerful, can be painstakingly synchronizing all our little whims and fancies, making them to fit in this huge abstract design we call predestination. In short, I believe everything that happens happens by chance.

And I've never believed in the afterlife or anything that remotely suggests we are anything other than void after our deaths. No souls, nothing. Pardon me, but I think that's a kind of mental insurance for the weak. Why are we so afraid to be nothing when we're dead? Cos we don't want regrets. Afterlife is always something to fall back on; in our afterlife, we can repent. 

I hate thinking about these stuff. It makes me wanna stop studying. Then I'll be spending a few hours fighting with myself about schoolwork. Like, what's the point? I might as well go eat and get fat and make myself happy because when I'm gone, none of this will matter. But of course, it still matters. It matters the next few decades I'm here whether I'll be reaping the fruits of my academic labor or suffering in my mental tussle.

For my own reference (later), collective referrals to me being part of a great human entity always disturb me. Like the ending in The Starlight Crystal, my second most favourite fiction, how Paige Christian became part of "the Creation". I remember how Pike described it as like a wave rising in the ocean. For that moment, it appears to be separate, but always it is part of the ocean. I suppose that's how humanity looks from an external perspective but it disturbs me like mad. I am separate. I am individual! Always! So I was struggling to explain to Tong that day how it doesn't matter that all our pursuits look absurd to an external observer, as long as we're happy. Because soon we'll be nothing and we won't feel or think anything. What matters is the period we're actually feeling something. So to heck with all the rest. Absurdism doesn't bother me. I know our existence is pointless. As long as I'm happy, my existence can be pointless for all I care. But I'm still depressed. So… I'm gonna pretend to be happy. Lalala.

P.S. The writing's a complete mess because I'm just trying to get everything out of my head into writing before I forget anything. And it's too abstract. I've got enough mindfuck thinking about my complicated interactive story all week.

Oh right, I think getting over someone is more a matter of wanting to let go? I think I still don't want to because I'm so stubborn but it's ok. I'll take my time. Mostly, it's the idea of the person I don't wanna let go of because I know it's not the person anymore. Yuck.

for a better world.

I have this crazy idea to be a prostitute in Amsterdam. But only in Amsterdam cos they really respect their prostitutes there. All of you are laughing right now right? But I have it that statistically speaking, being a prostitute forms a large part of the average woman's fantasies. (The other common fantasy is getting raped.)

I own erotica about the private lives of high class call girls and some years ago, I used to be a fan of a blog written by one such call girl in London. Maybe I've got some of you frowning with distaste now but what is wrong about being a call girl? To them, it is a job and most of them have work ethics that will put the lot of us to shame. You think it's just 'wham bam thank you ma'am'? Or they just lie there, grit their teeth and be a piece of ass to barbaric men who abuse them? Ok, well, maybe sometimes, when they are forced to service barbarians due to circumstances. But they usually have the right to reject an assignment. And many of these girls are educated, articulate and imaginative. They do more than fuck horny men. They also provide interesting companionship to intelligent, lonely men in need of attention and stimulation. Sometimes, that's all they have to provide. And these girls are actually talented. Sex is an art. Sexual fantasies require finesse to play out. Not everyone can perfect these professionally.

Prostitution balances every society. It's integral. Think about it.

The only gripe I have about it is that it continues to undermine the status of women in society. Women subjected to the sexual whims of men. It encourages the notion of our subservience.

It's frightening. I have all these suppressed opinions I'm expressing. Age is like a vacuum sucking all the conservatism out of me. Just a moment before I started writing (maybe the reason I started writing), I was seized by this thought that my conventional moral ideas are fast escaping my sensibilities. It's frightening that you think you have all these clear ideas about what is right and moral and because of this, you hold the moral high ground. Sometimes, you mock people who seem to be making a muck of these things. But then, one day, you look around and suddenly you find yourself in the water as well.

But of course, I really don't think I'm any less moral for thinking all these. I've only revised my moral standards. Pluralism, it's for the better.

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.

exiled.

Are we too old for idealism? Or is the world too pragmatic? Why do adults scoff at youthful pursuits of grandiose?

My parents look at me like I'm a nut in dire need of psychiatric help every time I happen to mention something - anything that hints of my dreams or ideologies or philosophies. Any attempt to rationalize things invariably warrants a heated argument about pragmatism and "why can't I be normal like everybody else?"

I happen to like to be weird.

I cannot help but wonder if life would be different were I born to a family of kinks and liberal insouciance. A family where my laughter and my songs will not die in the arid lifelessness of the air.

Even that is not easy to imagine. I've reached a point in my character development where I'm stuck. I'm an in-between. I'm not practical enough to fit into the prosaic and neither am I imaginative enough to thrive in the radical. Here, my fear of mediocrity mounts.

I have grand dreams. But my inadequacy impedes them. And it depresses me to no end. I can drop these dreams, leave them to people more equipped to accomplish great things. If, at the end of my life, I've achieved even a small fraction of my dreams, that would be enough. But I wonder, when the time comes, whether I would still have the courage to set forth. Whether years of monotony have quenched my thirst and subdued my spirit. Do I still have that wanderlust, a voice steadfast enough not only to speak for myself but also for the people who can't themselves, and the hands robust enough to better lives?

But I am selfish. I wonder if because of this, God will not grant me enough strength. All these dreams grow out of a self-serving agenda to bury myself in other people’s problems because my own monsters are too hard to face. My desperate desire to find myself by losing myself first.

I want to leave. Just the primitive flight instinct.

we worship power and money.

I don't have any more patience for this. Supercilious trash talking that makes shit sense.

My friend recently got accused of stealing at the place she interns. Details I will not reveal here but suffice to say, her principles and values are impeccable. Furthermore, she is so stubborn that even the most barefaced temptation cannot make her waver, so there's no chance in hell she'll even come close to taking something that is not hers.

But this got me thinking. And it got me in one of my shit pissed moods about this fucking corrupt world and really, I spent the whole day getting pissed at random strangers who were performing stupid ridiculous antics.

I'll get to my point before Dean gnaws out his fingernails waiting for my drama to start.

There is no fucking justice in the world. Justice is the sort of fairytale they feed us in NE class when we were fucking children. Oh gosh remember Ah Cai the policeman or some shit? (Is that his name?) I used to love reading those. I thought those blue guys were heroes. I adored them.

Okay, but this is not a personal attack.

Just try to imagine if my friend's parents were some top dogs in some hugeass corporation. The same discipline master who was libelously maligning her would be falling all over her whole family's feet, kissing all the way up to their asses and obsequiously apologizing for his oversight and misjudgment. (She's interning at some sort of institute.) By the way, he said things like 'I know you stole it, so admit it before we call the cops and they'll perform a lie detector test on you' and like 'so you study psychology...then you know all the ways to read people's minds and words' and 'I see that you're wearing a very short denim skirt'.

What. The. Fuck. That lie detector can't sense shit right? I'd be scared to death if that thing were assessing my innocence. My mind would be all over the place, wringing itself with thoughts like 'is my heart beating too fast', 'are my pores flaring' and yada yada. I'd probably be the most guilty person alive. And please. You're working in an institute and you don't know what they teach at tertiary psych. Don't walk out and tell people that. Oh, I love his last comment. If I were sitting in that room being questioned, I'd be saying in my head: "Are you thinking I'm sexy? I know, right? This skirt so says I'm a whore who won't pay a cent for something I can take from others." Unfortunately, I don't think I'd be flippant enough to say it out loud in that situation.

Anyway, my point is this. If you have power and bathe in shitloads of money, you win. If you're poor and helpless, you go to jail, bad boy!

the shove into adulthood.

At Jian Kuan's Commencement last night, Adeline and I were questioning the use of the word commencement for this ceremony. "Don't they usually call it Convocation?" she said. I certainly think convocation sounds more prestigious.

Yet, commencement is aptly used here. Other than 'a ceremony at which academic degrees and diplomas are conferred', commencement means 'A beginning; a start'.

Last night, I saw hundreds of fresh graduates in their gowns at the UCC. The University probably tires of this. Rounds and rounds of graduation ceremonies year after year. And it's sad because to each of these graduates, this day holds so much anticipation and trepidation. The defining moment that we have been working towards all our young life, the culmination of our academic pursuits. Everything boils down to the day we receive our scrolls. And nobody else actually cares enough.

Society may have its own markers for adulthood. We might have at times, made bravado attempts to take on our world as tough-speaking adults and perhaps also just as frequently, have cowered back behind the shields of our status as students. But the day we're being handed our scrolls, we would no longer have that privilege of pleading ignorance. Henceforth, we would be judged to possess the faculty of reason; we would have to take full responsibility for our deeds. We would be adults and no one will take any excuse from us.

If we're poor, it would be our own fault. If we're suffering, it would be our own fault. And if we fall, no one's going to coddle us and say, "stand up, child, be brave".

On that day, we're on our own. On that day, the rest of our life would commence.

P.S. It's such an anti-climax to that chilling conclusion but I wanna add that girls look way better than guys in that gown! 'Cos we get to show just a bit of ankles on that sexy pair of stilettoes! So hot!

resounding gongs and clanging symbols.

This morning, I woke up to this text:
"(...) Do you believe that you only really love once? (...)"

Haha I feel like Sophie except my food for thought doesn't come in small white envelopes.

But isn't that interesting? We're always thinking about love. If there's anything as mystifying as life, it would be love.

No, I don't believe we only really love once. And anyway, feelings are not static. But love should be mutual (all the time or at least at some point). Love comes in different forms. It might be the flaming passion that this person ignites in you or a mellow steady kind of love that comes from years of stability. I like the second kind of love; it grows on you and it feels more sincere. The flaming passion seems like it will fizzle and die out, like a supernova. And of course, it may just be lust. But the best kind of love is a combination of both.

Actually, this is so half-hearted. I don't want to be talking about love right now. Only people who are blooming in love and romping in the sea of passion want to talk about love. I'm bored with this. I wanna be serious and prim and career-minded. Please go away, love, and leave me alone. Knock on my door when I'm ready...someday.

I'd rather be talking about stilettoes.

when they're pushing up daisies.

What good are sweet gestures when the receiver is no longer alive?

Why is it that we never see the people in our lives until they're no longer around? Why do we try to ease our conscience by being extra nice and generous to them at their graves? All your flowers and tears and apologies are in vain. Why do we do this? Why is it that we never learn these things until it's too late and then we make that same mistake with another person?

We're all selfish bastards. We are the centres of our universe, so puffed up and arrogant and self-important. Until our worlds come crashing down and we get buried in the debris of our damn regret. And then we realize we're all so small and we need our pillars of support and they went, not knowing how much they meant to us.

Some time later, we return to being selfish bastards.

I reckon we'll give an arm and a leg to bring our loved ones back and we're still not going to learn how to cherish them when they are. We're almost certainly going to fall into that same narcissistic routine and cry all over again when they're gone. Again.

Why don't we save those remorseful tears, apologetic flowers and desperate promises? Get a better bargain. All they need now is a bit of uninterrupted companionship, an occasional whispered 'I love you' and you, just being you, beside them, with your mind, heart and soul.

Oh but we'll never get it. I know I won't. And all these words, I'm using them against me. One day, when my parents are no more, I'll scream and wail for them to be back and beat myself up for never letting them know how much they mean to me. But for today, and many more days to come, I'll continue snapping at them. Why do I do this to myself?

i'm sorry i can't be perfect.

Do you believe people with perfect lives? Evan and Debra vehemently rejects the idea. They're convinced that people who impose stories of their perfect lives on the world are secretly suffering from an inferiority complex and seek validation for their activities.

Wow, what a mouthful.

I don't know. That's like my mantra these days. But I honestly don't. My world and everything I know about it are all muddled up. I don't know what is right or wrong, good or bad, black or white. I don't even know if that's a good sign, though they say wisdom comes from knowing you don't know.

But definitely, I know my life is far from perfect. It's like the antithesis of perfection. Why else do you think I'm depressed and suicidal and nihilistic? So nihilistic, in fact, that I can't even finish reading Le Mythe de Sisyphe.

Some people have very fixed ideas of how things work out. To them, there are formulas and procedures and a time for everything. Sometimes, I wish I had that clarity. Evan might be one of those. (Am I right?) But then, really, I've seen examples of how some things just don't follow rules. You can do everything right and it turns out wrong or you can do everything wrongly and it turns out right. So, who's to say?

Should I believe in the concept of perfect lives? Possibly. I think I can at least believe the person. Meaning that he truly believes his life is perfection and bliss. But then, I might also fairly decide that the person is delusional.

of life ennui.

Joyce Huang asked me last night what it really means to be jaded. This has got to be one of those hackneyed words thrown around carelessly by tired people, most of whom have probably never given the word its due consideration. I am guilty of that. So, I gave the first answer that came to mind. "For me, it means I've stopped believing in things. 'Cos I've seen some bad stuff."

That's true, though. It's one of those few times I'm grateful for to be able to come up with a prompt and sensible reply. (Not too witty.)

I can't remember when it was that I stopped floating around on the happy clouds, proclaiming "life is beautiful!" (Eww.) But yes, the owner of this depressing blog was once upon a time an optimist. I can't remember when it was that I stopped believing in myself and what I can achieve. Truth is, I'm scared to death of facing my life of mediocrity. God only knows when my laughter stopped reaching my eyes (I can actually feel it not reaching my eyes, I swear) and warming my heart. And please don't forget I'm barely 21. I feel crippled and old in my heart.

I don't have the energy to be around cheerful young girls who still skip merrily around with their shiny bright faces and high voices. In Tong's words, they'll jump in and say "Yay! We're playing poker!" with their cards still left unturned. For us, we'll take a peek at the cards and say "What the fuck" with, you know, that ennui voice (for lack of a better adjective). And so, yeah, we wait until Life comes around and gives them a slap across the face, spectacularly.

We're all so care-worn. When we meet, we never talk about happy stuff anymore. We laugh about things, make cynical quasi-sophisticated jokes, but we're not bright and shiny and wide-eyed anymore. When we talk, we discuss about internships and careers and dysfunctional relationships. We talk about marriage with the passion of a 60-year-old spinster/bachelor; a pragmatic and meaningless stage in life rather than a blessed union of two whatever. It's just that we are so very afraid of loneliness.

Do you still believe in marriage? I don't know. I don't wanna think about it because I don't wanna see so clearly the person I've become. What the fuck, Life? I hate you.

Lamenting Apathy

Perhaps the most lamentable form of emotion a human can feel is apathy. How can I accurately define apathy in a way that illustrates the true gravity of this emotion? Apathy is not ignorance; it is not oblivion. It is, in its true manifestation, a deep-seated doctrine that rejects the essence of being human, a self-imposed anaesthesia, a psychical narcosis.

Incidentally, earlier etymological interpretations of the word led people to understand it as a virtue that will pave the way to enlightenment. This apathy, they view as the detachment from all things physical and transient. Kantian philosophy even champions apathy as a state of freedom from worldly inclinations and desires. It is not wrong to eschew materialism for the practice of looking within oneself for the real and the enduring. But, to pledge adherence to apathy is to give up living itself. It is to stand by and watch life pass us by, to go through the motions of living without activity. It is to denounce beauty.

The most malignant thing about apathy is that it gives rise to mediocrity. Without the ability to feel for anything, what can be our benchmark for excellence? In fact, without the passion to undertake, we are only destitute drones working towards the completion of tasks at hand. Throughout the course of humanity, the breakthroughs we have achieved would never have happened without our fervent strive for answers, our blazing determination and even our daring blunders.

The beauty of human emotion is that despite giving us the handicap of fallibility, it is our teacher. It teaches us morality and holds us in check where ethical dilemmas are presented. Its greatest enemy, apathy, creates a void in which evil festers. Edmund Burke once said, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.’ For any self-respecting, feeling human, the guilt of inaction would be indelible on their conscience.

Postmodern adaptations of the word have associated apathy with unhealthy visions of emotionless killings. To me, apathy carries with it nihilistic undertones. I cannot deny that in today’s complex world, contradiction and ambiguity have driven people to lose faith in their beliefs. Repeated disappointments inflict blows on people more than they care to admit. Gradually, our subconscious mechanism to block distressing information makes us forget we are human.

I would rather be accused of being voracious than unfeeling. And if I die today, I want to go knowing I was devoutly spiritual instead of agnostic, that I was incensed rather than bitter, and that I was euphoric rather than relieved. I want to have fought for human injustices, loved like there was no tomorrow, and ached my heart to pieces.

Curtains Closed

The whole fiasco was a huge and elaborate infatuation.

Nobody deserves to go through this kind of misery twice if they can help it. But it is tough to be a discerning customer of love because it is so easy to surrender to the luxury of feeling in love but we can't be lazy. In fact, I don't think it should take more than one failed relationship to see that real love is worth the wait but life is really unpredictable (it is a hackneyed truism, I insist). And it is true that we learn from our flawed pasts. I believe nobody goes into a relationship seeing its end. We are only blind scavengers searching for the love that will exalt us to saintliness, or fall forever into the abyss without it. Sometimes, we face mirages and scramble towards it in unseeing haste, only to find that it is not the real thing. And we cry. Our hearts break. But the people before and around us will tell us it is only part of life and we learn. Because it is part of life.

But the funny thing is that we never actually learn. We think we learn but we just become more deluded. The next time we see a mirage, we may be cautious but we may still find ourselves tricked. And that is the biggest mystery of life. We never even really know if we have found the real thing. When do we know? When we take our last breaths and find that the person is still with us, and the feeling that remains is still so profound and real. It's like taking an examination and never knowing whether we passed or failed until the very last moment of our lives.

Love is such a profound concept. To people who seek to understand it, the meaning eludes us time and again. Like how we can never comprehend the vastness of the universe. But the elusive Love is such a beauty, nobody can deny they strive for it. Some people’s whole lives are a consecration to it. True love for me is an ideal and cynicism does not stand in my way.

My Take on Politics

My uncle's friend once commented: "I don't care if the opposition is blind, crippled or stupid; I'll still vote for them."

To some, this may sound impertinent but even at the risk of seeming naive, I am not afraid to declare that I share the same sentiments. No personal grudges against our current governing party, I am just unwilling to risk possible bigotry should the day come when Singaporeans show unanimous patronage to one political party. I am relieved, though, judging from my own interactions with the people around me and the local political climate, that such a day has almost zero chances of actualizing.

My mom assumes a very compassionate stance when it comes to elections. Her main concern is for the opposition to not lose the deposit they pledged in order to run. Of course, she also has her personal agenda, that is, fear that opposition parties will no longer dare to step forward after repeated defeats. That is probably where I derived my preoccupation with the bigotry. Although if you ask me, I would prefer to say that I came to that conclusion through my own logical deliberation. But such was my more dominant 'political conditioning'.

My dad, on the other hand, demonstrates steadfast loyalty to the PAP, having seen how they had a hand in moulding Singapore into what she is today. I cannot deny that despite all the prevailing issues we face, Singapore's progress against all odds is a testimony to the competence of the PAP. However, come elections period, debates with him are inevitable and almost customary.

To be honest, I am not particularly fascinated with politics anyway. Ask me what my political views are and I will tell you 'apathetic', just like what my Facebook profile shows.


The author hopes she had been politically correct and sensitive because she still badly needs her degree.

Bullying the Elderly

I was looking through political weblogs for my project and chanced upon a post that so incensed me, I felt it was my civic duty to share with everyone around me.

Some of you may have come across this news about 3 Caucasians (Brits, if I’m not wrong) who took a trishaw ride from an old man and then evaded payment upon reaching their destination.

If you have not, here is the link to a blog that also provides a video the 3 Caucasians had the gall to film. In fact, whether you have read the news, please check out the website for the video and reader comments.

http://theonlinecitizen.com/2007/11/01/britons-teasing-elderly-singaporean-trishaw-rider/

One guy actually had the heart to condone the behaviour of the 3 men, concurring that $15 was an unreasonable price to pay for a trishaw ride and basically speaking in defense of the 3 perpetrators. Nothing can justify what they did. Their actions were not only dishonest but a trespass on the rights and dignity of another human being. I do not deny that other forms of transportation could have gotten them to their destination without amounting to $15 but they were not forced to take a trishaw. They chose to take a trishaw out of their own free will and had also agreed to the price before the old man took them on board. And may I also add that this is a tourist attraction so they are paying for the gimmick as well.

What really made me blow my top was their insolence in making fun of and laughing at the old trishaw rider, who was already panting in exhaustion from his exertion on the wheels. Have they no heart? I am thoroughly disappointed in the fact that there are people out there who cannot even spare compassion for the elderly.

The comment, I quote, "as a Singaporean, my attention on this piece of news is, why does a trishaw ride cost S$15?", posted by the previously mentioned reader left me wondering if he has really seen the crux of the matter. Does he have the maturity and sense to recognize that it is the behaviour of the men he should be concerned with?

Repeal Section 377A?

Section 377A of our penal code states:

Any male person who, in public or private, commits, or abets the commission of, or procures or attempts to procure the commission by any male person of, any act of gross indecency with another male person, shall be punished with imprisonment for a term which may extend to 2 years.

With the recent commotion surrounding the issue of repealing S377A, and all the websites sprouting up to propound their manifesto, even I have found it hard to suppress my take on this.

I will be upfront about my view. I cannot rise to support this repeal.

First, let me clarify that I am not homophobic. One could say I am nonchalant. But I am an advocater of rights. Everyone should have their rights, yes, even gays or lesbians. Therefore, I have never ever been intolerant of their presence in society. I just do not see the need to remove this law from our legislation.

My concern, though, is with the unfairness of this stated law. The fact that it only applies to males is a double standard in itself. Why are females exempted from this? I am tempted to think this is due to a mysterious male intolerance of gays and gay behaviour. (It doesn't help that somehow many guys have this thing about lesbianism.)

It may seem senseless to some that the government would claim to abide by the blatant inconsistency that they do not actually prosecute offenders under this law, but this is really the reason behind my contest for the retainment of this law. Admittedly, as MP Hri Kumar argued, this could undermine the credibility of our legal system but come on, what is one more inconsistency in the face of the absurdity of Singapore politics? For once, we could actually have an inconsistency that can be argued to make sense. And my case would be that at least having the law there would serve some form of deterrence. I can hear proponents (of the repeal) screaming that the professed lack of prosecution would already make the law invalid anyway but to take the step to remove it from our penal code is an even more significant promulgation of that admitted invalidity.

Not repealing this section does not make us less tolerant of gays. In fact, I feel that many Singaporeans today are liberal enough to respect the sexual orientation of their fellow countrymen. It is true that sometimes sniggers or excited prattle are generated but none so far as to violently discriminate against them (at least, none that I know of). Our dearly valued equality would not come into question here because as NMP Thio Li-Ann proclaimed in parliament, while all humans are of equal worth, not all human actions are. By 'criminalising' (because I do not see it as really criminalising since the law does not even actually prosecute them) these acts, we are attacking the wrongfulness of the act and seperating the actor from the act, not denouncing them.

I cannot deny that there may be undercurrents of prejudice since I am not an insider and may not feel it first hand, but I believe we can work towards sincerely accepting and integrating them into our society without doing away with the law. I admit that not formalizing this acceptance may already imply our insincerity but I would hate to see the endorsement of homosexuality as being a normal alternative lifestyle that our children could lead if they had so wanted. Homosexuality is a form of socialization and one cannot make the mistake of qualifying it as genetic (save for rare medical cases).

A concluding disclaimer must be added that this author is aware of such views being wholly personal and subjective. She welcomes the comments and opinions of readers, even and especially opposing.

The author further adds that this post is outdated, being that it was written for another avenue before she had a blog, but was not published because of its sensitive nature.