Feeling kind of awkward

about having to begin school again in several days time. Not being one who loves the hustle and bustle of being busy (or at least the external fidgeting that is often mistaken for work) I have put myself up to being busy in terms of reading books and watching movies. Brought a whole load of DVDs and Videos back from Australia - stuff you can't get here, or stuff that was cheaper there - and have been watching like two videos a day and reading. Books? Yup I only managed to bring back one - with Borders and Kino and Amazon - there's practically nothing you can't get here that you can get in Australia (UK bookstores on the otherhand stock much more interesting stuff). So I only managed to return with a "banned-in-Singapore" book - Rushdie's The Satanic Verses which is quite a book I must read for it begins with my namesake - Gabriel - (my name in real life is an Americanism of it apparently - this fact being handed down by my mother, though I have never found corroborating evidence).

So I've been watching movies: watched "Chungking Express" - with the fabulous Faye, "Seven" with the brooding Brad, "The Seven samurai" which Miss Tan objected to for all the grunting and screeching that's supposed to pass for intensity of Japanese emotions and "CentreStage", which is really not bad.

"Chungking Express" was the Wong Kar Wai Movie I wanted to watch before watching anything else he did because of its urban sensibility, mundaneness and hip editing. I'm glad I did too cause now I've got some angle to approach his other work. The edition I got my hands on was also quite good cause it has Quintin(?) Tarantino talking about the movie and other Wong Kar Wai stuff. Will try to watch "Days of being Wild" and "Ashes of Time" next.

LOTR - watched it twice in two days and have been re-reading parts of the novel. Love the names - wouldn't mind naming my kid Arwen - so exotic and can be used for both Hes and Shes. Nice long opening vowel sound rounded by the "w" and the softer second vowel. Can sound Chinese enough also (Ah1 Wen3) if the need arises.

Books - Just finished a Delany book - Stars in my pocket like grains of sand (SPGS)- which was intellectually very demanding (perhaps the my brain is turning flabby). Delany is perhaps the most difficult sci-Fi writer around(along with Neal Stephenson?), being very insistent on consciously weaving Lit Crit theory into his novels. For eg, he had factions in SPGS named "the Sygn" and "the Family". It isn't obvious but the references to structuralism and Freud are in-built in those namings. Further, he really pushes the boundaries of what is culturally acceptable in his Sci Fi. In SPGS, he has humans living with evelmi (which are, to put it crudely a kind of scientient flying lizard), and having relations (yes, sexual as well). From tasting tongues to speaking with multiple tongues (at the same time) to all sorts of strange sexual couplings, Delany writes a dense and complex fable of DIFFERENCE. Even gender is broken down for in Delany's world, everyone is called a WOMAN/SHE and you become MALE or FEMALE only in a specific cultural situation. So some pretty mind boggling stuff.

Question is how far does one go reading this without becoming perverse, distorted or arbitrary? At least there is the distancing glass of Theory.

Haven't been productive in writing lately. Maybe it's being overwelmed by all that has gone before. Ironically, reading a good book is the worst way to be inspired to write. You realise that so many words have gone on before you have even conceived of thought, so much more precise and vivid than you could ever think of ... and the fact is many of those words will never see the light of day.

The solution: Read a bad book.

Visiting the wilderness

Just got back from Tasmania and Sydney. Liked tasmania a lot more. The highlight of the trip was "walking" around Cradle Mountain.

Walking is a term we who live in city-state use to refer to short visits to the toilet, strolling down a shopping mall or that hurried spurt to catch a bus. The "walks" at Cradle Mountain were not quite walks in that sense ... more like hikes and treks I think. Anyway I was already mentally prepared for this as I had learnt on my honeymoon last year that a "walk" isn't "a walk" (I had said to Ms Tan early one morning at the Lake District - Let's go for a walk - and we ending up "walking" for five hours, scrambling up rocks and navigating streams etc ...)

So on the first night we were there (Ms Tan, my mom, a friend and myself) we went for a "walk" around Dove lake which sits at the foot of Cradle Mountain. It's supposed to be one of the most famous and beautiful walks in the world and was thoroughly enjoyable. The vegetation was unique and at every point of the walk you would just catch a spetacular view of the lake. It was drizzling and about 7 pm so the mist was coming in as well, enhancing the whole atmosphere. The walk was a leisurely 6km circuit round the lake so peaceful and scenic you felt you didn't need to think a lot more about running in the rat race.

The next day we went back to Cradle Mountain and attempted a more challenging "walk". This one involved some pretty demanding rock climbing ... yes we did scramble on all fours at points. But my mom who turned 60 on that day amazingly completed the walk and made it to this high point called Marion's Lookout (they have names fro everything ...) Going down was less tiring but really quite treacherous. Being a sun filled day we got an excellent view of Cradle Mountain and the Lake. We walked for four hours plus so it was quite a good workout as well. Would have liked to negotiate Cradle Mountain itself - a 7 hour trek - but didn't have the time or right company.

Was highly impressed by all these middle aged - old people (all Caucasian) trekking with camp equipment and REALLY HEAVY packs. They were planning to walk for several days in the mountains. Really admire their daring.

Anyway - left really thinking about how the beauty of the landscape transforms an individual's view of life. If you live amongst the immenisty of nature - you'll see things in a very different perspective. The pace of life slows down - how fast you walk doesn't really matter cause the immensity of the landscape swallows up speed. Maybe I'll try to study at the U of Tasmania ... sometime in the receding future ...

Re-visiting the last thing

you wrote ...

"The row of people diminishes when I try to picture you. I find mirrored in my mind the tension of sky sand and the expanse that consumes words. You've moved apart, an image white sheeted on the bleached sand. Even skimming rocks on the surface of the sea is a foiled attempt at attention for they sink faster than they skip."

You re-write

Breaking out of their strict rows, the people on the beach now fan out according to their willingness to engage the surf. It rolls in inconsistently, sometimes surprising the beach combers with its knee high lurches. Like scavengers, we take what we can of seashells, assorted pieces of broken coral and broken glass made smooth, only to scatter up the beach when the surf washes in. But the sun is ever consistent, heat beating down without respite. I find mirrored in my mind the tension of sea sky sand and the expansive heat that consumes words. Moving apart, you become an image white sheeted on the bleached sand. In the distance I make out your hazy outline and for a moment I think you a mirage. As waves of heat blur your outline, I grasp at making the picture of you stay in my mind. But there I only find the contradictions of sea sky and sand, of depths, surfaces and infiniteness.

Even skimming rocks on the surface of the sea is a foiled attempt at attention for the rocks sink faster than they skip. Momentarily distracted by the vividness of physical activity, I hardly notice that you've drifted back and now stand beside me. You laugh as the rock plops again into the surf but I do not catch exact the moment when your grin becomes a smile.

Am Currently Listening to

"Urban Hymns" by the Verve. And am taking a cue from the guitar sounds: how do you translate them into writing?
"Nick McCabe's playing relied heavily on delay and chorus doubling effects to build up a formidable wall of sound."

So how does one write a "formidable wall of words?" I take a cue from Dylan Thomas - that Welsh poet who spun out language madly ... and was madly in love with words ...

In Country Sleep

Never and never, my girl riding far and near
In the land of the hearthstone tales, and spelled asleep,
Fear or believe that the wolf in a sheepwhite hood
Loping and bleating roughly and blithely shall leap,
My dear, my dear,
Out of a lair in the flocked leaves in the dew dipped year
To eat your heart in the house in the rosy wood.

Sleep, good, for ever, slow and deep, spelled rare and wise,
My girl ranging the night in the rose and shire
Of the hobnail tales: no gooseherd or swine will turn
Into a homestall king or hamlet of fire
And prince of ice
To court the honeyed heart from your side before sunrise
In a spinney of ringed boys and ganders, spike and burn,

Nor the innocent lie in the rooting dingle wooed
And staved, and riven among plumes my rider weep.
From the broomed witch's spume you are shielded by fern
And flower of country sleep and the greenwood keep.
Lie fast and soothed,
Safe be and smooth from the bellows of the rushy brood.
Never, my girl, until tolled to sleep by the stern

Bell believe or fear that the rustic shade or spell
Shall harrow and snow the blood while you ride wide and near,
For who unmanningly haunts the mountain ravened eaves
Or skulks in the dell moon but moonshine echoing clear
From the starred well?
A hill touches an angel. Out of a saint's cell
The nightbird lauds through nunneries and domes of leaves

Her robin breasted tree, three Marys in the rays.
Sanctum sanctorum the animal eye of the wood
In the rain telling its beads, and the gravest ghost
The owl at its knelling. Fox and holt kneel before blood.
Now the tales praise
The star rise at pasture and nightlong the fables graze
On the lord's-table of the bowing grass. Fear most

For ever of all not the wolf in his baaing hood
Nor the tusked prince, in the ruttish farm, at the rind
And mire of love, but the Thief as meek as the dew.
The country is holy: O bide in that country kind,
Know the green good,
Under the prayer wheeling moon in the rosy wood
Be shielded by chant and flower and gay may you

Lie in grace. Sleep spelled at rest in the lowly house
In the squirrel nimble grove, under linen and thatch
And star: held and blessed, though you scour the high four
Winds, from the dousing shade and the roarer at the latch,
Cool in your vows.
Yet out of the beaked, web dark and the pouncing boughs
Be you sure the Thief will seek a way sly and sure

And sly as snow and meek as dew blown to the thorn,
This night and each vast night until the stern bell talks
In the tower and tolls to sleep over the stalls
Of the hearthstone tales my own, lost love; and the soul walks
The waters shorn.
This night and each night since the falling star you were born,
Ever and ever he finds a way, as the snow falls,

As the rain falls, hail on the fleece, as the vale mist rides
Through the haygold stalls, as the dew falls on the wind-
Milled dust of the apple tree and the pounded islands
Of the morning leaves, as the star falls, as the winged
Apple seed glides,
And falls, and flowers in the yawning wound at our sides,
As the world falls, silent as the cyclone of silence.

Dylan Thomas

And if you read that out loud - the formidable wall of words!

Then you read what you wrote and try

to find some shape. Try it on for size. Write in personality. This is the crafting?

The wind-tossed dune beach is dry and the seagulls have turned into albatrosses across the stony ground. But up close they still scavange for food in the the discarded cans and cups and shrouded paper bags and pink plastic strings and pick on open eyed insects breaking into view. Looking hard, they peck at the insects, sending them scurrying. We carefully laugh at the seabirds trying to keep ourselves decorous in front of each other.

The breakwater on which we sit is worn . The slime from the algae ushers in the waves that ride relentless on its rock surface. Here, there is no respite from the unforgiving sun and the flat rocks reflect the heat like a glass. Made from the ocean's spray, chiselled by the forces of god, the rock surfaces stall the inevitable eroding when water meets land.

I try to keep you amused by claiming that it takes skill in choosing rocks flat enough to skim.

"They skim well even on the waves."

The row of people diminishes when I try to picture you. I find mirrored in my mind the tension of sky sand and the expanse that consumes words. You've moved apart, an image white sheeted on the bleached sand. Even skimming rocks on the surface of the sea is a foiled attempt at attention for they sink faster than they skip.

And so I try to make sense of each skimming now sinking rock. I tell myself that they speak of a lost moment that once launched, tries for words becoming almost meaningful. But unlike rocks, these words thrown out in the breeze will not sink. They catch the wind like flaunted flags strung out in embarrassing silence.

"Look here, this one skips."

Your grin almost becomes a smile but I never get to see it.

Held out in the sun, words lose they fluidity becoming baked, like mud accumulating at the foot of the breakwater. When the tide is low, the slime hardens, thickens and sets. The glances of emotion become fossilised and there is no longer the ambiguity of misread signals.

But by the sea every slight gesture and utterance is a moment not yet set. Before you turn around, before you exchange your grin for a smile, before the hours lengthen into days: by the sea, I imagine rocks skim the surf.

Just type and strings of words will out

from your belly flow like an unending torrent that seeks its way in a parched and barren land. Old men say that quiet seeks quiet and the only refuge for the broken man is the shelter from the shade of the unforgiving sun. But the aged speak from experience. From loss of love and life, from disappointment and disllusionment. Just write and from the flicking of your wrists and fingers you will find the stream of consciousness starts to define itself - organising strings from streams, links from modes, modules from chunks and areas from spaces. Only stop when you need to break the flow that grows too meanancing for your fingers to control. Only pause when you need to fulfil the physiological needs of the flesh and the body and the whims of ordinary living. But them just write and find the voices within rise within, rise from whence they once found hidden meaning. From the innermost belly - forth comes - comes forth, what froths other than milk than has been churned up and bubbled up and screamed up in a long tall Cup?

Instead of pen and paper - just write - electronic specks a multitude of calculations turning thought into alogrithmic pulse - making thought permanent, reducible, binary. Zero One Zero is the choice of the age when nothing else is the colour but a shading of black and white. I use the backspace too much. I should just let aqll the weroors stand in nakedn unabshement - how difficult then would translated thought be to read. Just write. The first draft is alsways written from the heart then youy go through it with the mercilessness of the pen to erase that which you are too afraid will show your inadequacies and trnaspeacrnesies ot thought. Tjust Write and see twhan will appeare on the screen as an experiencementi nthe free forme space out speed tyrping and all that beomes liquisd turns solid agains as you pause to try to gains some sense of where all this ois oging.

The ultimate novel of our times - is written in the thoughtlessnessof the machine. the faster it moves the more the pages get written. Written in the thoughtless ness of speed and movement. Writtten in the imponderables that evade even the spirit. What remains is translating that novel into space into language into constested ground. No novel should exist beyond the reach of argument of critique of evaluation.

Sometimes when I gather ideas about you I find a sob choke in the throat. UNable to continue with more than one thought at a time I blind myself from thought I specialise in the art of staring blankly. In sleep, I no longer dream for the imaginative life has been crowded out by the repetition of cautiousness. In life, I am crowded out by flab and physical exhaustion. When I gather ideas about you I find it impossible to coutn as my muse your image in my minds eye. All the moments that we've talked about art and life and what it's all about seems to diminish when I try to replace the vague sense of your presence. Does art merely come from the flesh - the tingling when you are near? Are artist able with that strange premonition to cultivate a senselessness so that the moment of creation becomes the sense rather than merely mapping the sense? All the ailments associated with the deranged must finally accumulate in a recepticle - and that may be the artist. Was Jackson Pollack mad or a Genius? Drip Drip Drip paint over the sheet - invention 2 in gradiant schemes - titles longer and more eventful than spolches or paint. Who will eat with me? Who will drink a glass of coke? Who will persist no matter what? Who will read read and read again?

And the surfs' up and beach is dry and the seagulls have turned into albatrosses across the stony ground. Nothing takes root save the discarded cans and cups and shrouded paper bags and pink plastic strings and jaded open eyed insects breaking into view. Rocks are flat on sides. Made from the ocean's spray, chiselled by the forces of god - they skim well even in the tide. The row of people diminishes when I try to picture you. But even skimming rocks on the surface is a foiled attempt for they bounce off. And so each skimming rock speaks of a lost moment that launched out into a potential moment of words nearly becoming meaningful. Merely translates into a failed attempt at disclosure. Conversations that lead on are supposed to tell more and no hide away. But being led on by emotion first it becomes impossible to speak your mind isn't it? For how much do you dare to break out into the open? Unlike the rockss, these missle launches will not sink but float like flaunted flags to catch the breeze and hang stagnant in the air. Like rocks skimming the surf - turbulence not the glassy sea - roar - skim shot through with foam and the impossiblity of the attempt amuses all. One solitary mudskipper is all that on a rock tried to launch himself into the sun. He ran awhile on the dryness before the algae and slippery surfaces tempted him too high up. Apart from the sea, he could no longer with gleeful skip make himself master of the muddy domain. Strayed awhile from the sea, into the domain of the sun, he become positioned for the sun's rays. When mud is baked dry all emotion is solidified and there is no longer the fluidity, the space, the ambiguity,for the wrong signals to be productive. But by the sea- every wrong signal ramifies in meaning - expands in significance, affords emotional investment that is never worth it. By the sea - all things are.

Trying to Leave

What happens where - 11/12/2001
you get emotionally blackmailed by the most unlikely of people?
Today I broke the news of my request to teach in a JC to my HOD. She was quiet about it and looked very pensive. When we did talk there were many awkward silences and dead-end remarks. It wasn't a conversation - more like a silent grappling with "how could you spring this on us?"
The thrust of what she said was that in FINDING a place in a JC and then bringing it up to the school I had betrayed the trust of the school admin - most specifically the P and VP. Apparently they have gone out of the way to clear my name after the last GEP fiasco and now it appears that I'm being an ingrate.
The problem is that people take things too personally.
I took time to explain that it was the opportunity that was good, not the fact that I wanted to leave because of bad conditions in the school. I kept trying to show the focus as GOING to somewhere, rather than LEAVING the current place.
But it didn't work.
The other argument brought up was that I seem to be acting in a very selfish manner and was not thinking to the department or the school as a whole.
I countered that with the view that I am still in the business of education and still can be effective.
I almost feel as if I'm not understanding some subtle patronage game. As in, we your superiors have given you opportunities and training, you ought to be grateful and serve the school.
I am grateful. I have served the school. I never meant leaving as a "hate-the-school-campaign". The irony is - and here's a classic "Catch-22" (which is a philosophical conundrum made famous by the book by Jospeh Heller of the same name)-
a. if I respected all the admin has done for me, I should have surfaced this request for transfer internally
b. ironically - if I did that, ie request to leave without having secured a place to go - it precisely proves what the school doesn't want - that I want to LEAVE the school (leave for leaving's sake - just wanna get out mentality) rather than want to GO to somewhere else.
Why is this not a philosophical dead end to the school? Because any request made internally - can be kept internal - can be suppressed from within.
Anyway - need to see VP tomorrow. Next round of answering questions - don't know what approach she'll take. Will wait and see. And after that round - maybe I'll get an "audience" with the old man.

The way things turn out - 11/14/2001
is often better than we expect. When I spoke with VP about the whole transfer deal she was very matter of fact about it, stating that the school can't release me until July. I expected that so that was fine. But I suppose I was thrown off balance by her bits "now I'm speaking to you not as someone who is your VP but someone who is older and knows the system" that she threw in later. She suggested that I don't go on with the JC and wait for another year and reapply for a better JC.
OK - so I've found a place in Pioneer JC. From the notes and mails and SMSes I've got on this subject no one has mentioned Pioneer. It's either RJ, AC or SA - along those lines. So I guess VP also had the same thought that going to a new JC where the intake isn't "so good" would be very difficult for me and a waste of time, especially if my stated purpose is to focus on higher level lit. This kind of threw me off because of some details she furnished.
With a plethora of subtlties, it becomes difficult to see a clear picture. I know that going to a new JC is difficult - but at the same time there are pluses:
Can "help mould" the culture - while this seems idealistic - I guess it's possible
Can start with a clean sheet
Anyway - I decided that I would not consider other options and stick with PJ because options sometimes confuse and lead to nowhere. Happened the last time when I had 3 options bouncing around and none materialised - even when people say they're very sorry it didn't work out, the fact is, it didn't work out.
So I guess I've just got to be focused about this one.

APolitical

Apolitical - 11/2/2001
Tommorrow I get to vote - for the first time in my life - given that the last time my ward was uncontested and before that I wasn't 21 yet.
In spite of all the mud-slinging the ruling party has done to discredit certain members of the opposition, I maintain that an opposition is important for the future of civil society, not merely as a check and balance but as a necessary tool to stimulate political consciousness amongst a citizenry that has grown unthinking about nationhood and identity.
We often refer to Singapore's physical size in terms of a small red dot on the map, a full-stop at the end of the Malayan Peninsula. But in terms of chronological time, we are equally a small dot on the surface of history. Independant since 1965 - only makes 30 odd years - in terms of empires, we're a footnote. And so how can we even begin to phantom the future and what it brings; how can we be assured that we indeed have a future unless we participate in its unveiling? It's hubris - most obscene and unaware - that believes one manifesto, one ideology, one fount of ideas can preserve a sense of nationhood. That's were an opposition comes in. For discussion, for awareness. A course in Combined Humanities (Social Studies) isn't going to make us aware.
Going to a rally at Yishun the other day, I realised some things ...
Public transport signs of a developed nation - a wish list:
1. People reading on the bus/ mrt - people in Singapore don't read - it's an achievement when they read the Straits Times - but there's so much more - More than the adverts on the train - people have to read ...
2. People waiting for other commuters to GET OFF before BOARDING. This is one thing I'll never figure out - WHY DO SINGAPOREANS RUSH ONTO AN MRT Train WHEN PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET OUT? It's (one) plain rude - and the hypocrisy of calling opposition leaders RUDE - (two) illogical: people have to get out before you get in. It's not even a KIASU thing because the train's full already. I suspect it's a herd mentality at the fullest and most irrational expression.
3. People talking softly on their handphones. It still spooks me when I'm on a MRT and people start shouting into their handphones. I still turn around and wonder if they're talking to me. Worse if they're using a hands-free set - then it seems that they are talking to themselves ... a new kind of madness is born.
4. And the great SIN - WHY DON'T KIDS STAND UP FOR OLDER PEOPLE. When I was a kid and didn't want the inconvenience of giving up my seat - I would just stand throughout. I suppose civil society doesn't work in Singapore because we're too shy and afraid to do stuff like that cause we'd be drawing attention to ourselves. I get peeved when school kids don't give up their seats then there are blatantly older people there. Sometimes I feel it's because we haven't been good role models - we aren't nice to kids and so kids can't be bothered in return. And all this is sad.
LKY as a student in London in the late 40s was impressed by the fact that newspapers could be left in vending machines, free for anyone to take, and yet people would pay for them and only take one copy. Here, we don't clear our trays after eating at a fast food restraunt, don't say thank you to the people that serve us, skulk around shopping malls for freebies (taking more than one when we can), sneak into toilets which we have to pay for if we can ...
Just the other day my mum said to buy a flat. Since I've been married that has been the tone of parental advice - "buy a flat". I respond that I am blessed to live under my mother's roof and do not need to buy a flat. "It's an investment. It's the government's gift to married couples". Why do I need a flat? "Don't need to live in it - just buy it and then sell it later and make money ..."
I will not buy a flat - I will not deprive another person of a place to stay just to make money, even if that deprivation is only a place in the queue. I will not queue up just because there's a queue there. I will not own a house and not live in it. I will not commit myself to a financial obligation that ties me down to a regular job for the next 20 years.
"But everybody's doing it."
We have a mindset that desperately wants to get ahead in life - even ahead if it saves us one dollar, or ten cents - a mindset, that more convincing than any kind of social stability or economic progress, tells us we are still third world.
An Obsession - 11/2/2001
Today's Straits Times - in a rare reference to the past, and in a moment of nostalgia quotes SM Lee as likening the 2001 elections to the 1968 one, where the PAP secured 87 % of the vote, where 51 seats were uncontested.
What SM Lee doesn't mention is WHY so many seats were uncontested - but that's ok - it's his perogative as a politician. But the Straits Times as well, omits the reason. The reason: the Barisan Socialis, the party that had broken away from the PAP several years earlier on the issue of Merger (they were right in the end), boycotted the elections. Why did they do so?
I've tried to find stuff to find out - but it's not easily available on the web - but here's a telling anecdote that helps explain things:
On Friday, November 27, 1998, the Straits Times reported that the government of Singapore has lifted all restrictions on Chia Thye Poh. Chia had been first jailed, then his movements and political rights restricted, under the Internal Security Act since 1966, thirty-two years ago. He has never been tried in a court of law.
From 1963-1966, Chia Thye Poh, then a physics lecturer in a university, was a Member of Parliament from the Barisan Socialis Party, which came into being when the more leftist MPs of the ruling People's Action Party split from it. The Barisan had considerable popular following, and those were the days when Singapore had a robust political opposition.
Stan Sesser quoted Chia in his book, The Lands of Charm and Cruelty:
Chia said, "We fought for genuine parliamentary democracy, not rule by one or two ministers. The PAP branded this as toeing the line of the Communist Party of Malaya. After the 1963 elections, three opposition MPs were arrested, and two more in 1966. There were hundreds of arrests over those years, because many people went out to demonstrate. The government used all means to try to suppress the opposition. In October of 1966, the Barisan MPs resigned because of government harassment. Important issues like Singapore's withdrawal from the federation [of Malaysia] were never debated in Parliament, since Parliament had become a rubber stamp."
Three weeks after resigning from Parliament, Chia was arrested under the Internal Security Act, which allows indefinite detention at the discretion of the Minister for Home Affairs. There is no obligation to bring the detainee to trial. Singapore does not permit judicial review of such detentions.
The same section of the book continues,
"I was never charged, never brought to trial, never convicted of anything," Chia told me. Only nineteen years later, in 1985, did the government give its first official explanation for his arrest: the minister of home affairs, in an address to Parliament, accused Chia of having infiltrated the Barisan Socialis to destabilize the government through "Communist united-front activities." Chia told me, "They released no sort of documents. I have never been a member of any Communist Party; I was just performing my duties as an MP. My activities were all legal, peaceful and constitutional. I have never advocated violence, and have never been charged with any offence of violence, let alone convicted."
Chia, unlike most other political detainees in Singapore, resisted all attempts to extract a confession. "They tried very hard to break prisoners, to extract confessions from them, to have them confess on television," Chia said. "They made me pay a very high price for not kowtowing to them. In 1966, they put me in a dark cell and said some people had gone insane under such conditions. Sometimes you could hear people kicking the doors as if they had gone insane. I went from one prison to another and was in solitary confinement several times. Sometimes I was deprived of reading materials for months at a stretch. They said that there's no end to this, that it will go on year after year if I don't confess, that even if I'm made of steel, they have means to break me. I told them that I had nothing to confess, and if the government had evidence it should try me in open court, where I could see the evidence against me and defend myself. There were day-long interrogations in a freezing-cold room. They pressured my family. But I always thought, No matter how long they keep me this way, someday they will have to release me, because I'm innocent and I have support. It's part of the broad struggle for democracy all over the world…
Upon his release, the Ministry of Home Affairs issued a statement which said, inter alia, "The Government has always adopted a measured and cautious approach to Chia Thye Poh's case."
As reported by the Straits Times, in 1982, after spending 16 years in prison, he was moved to government halfway houses, though the detention conditions still applied. In May 1989, he was moved to Sentosa Island, and finally in 1992, his detention was relaxed somewhat and he was allowed to live on mainland Singapore. However, he still needed the written approval of the Director of the Internal Security Department before he could make public statements, address public meetings or take part in any political activity. One could imagine that such permission would not have been liberally granted. It appears with the latest announcement that these restrictions have now been lifted.
Chia Thye Poh is now 57 years old. He was 25 when he was detained.
-http://www.geocities.com/yawning_bread/yax-116.htm
Yes we want economic viability, we want to survive in a world that is increasingly dangerous, we want security and stability. But in spite of all these, certain human rights that make it worthwhile being human, that make us human - need to be preserved.

Instead of notes ... an entry - 11/1/2001
the notes are a clear example of how successful the ruling party's domination of the media and ability to de-politicise have been. the ruling party has managed to effectively re-write the hisotry of a nation to cause it to believe that it was its efforts, its talent and its ideas alone that have brought economic success. Nothing can be further from the truth as any absolute claim inherently erases alternatives. For example we like to believe that the ruling party is responsible for the economic development of the country - no doubt the GKS policies played an important role - but it is not the complete story. historical circumstance, geographical fortune, an industrious people etc ... all factors that are beyond any kind of governmental direction, played crucial roles as well further, the achievements of the past cannot replace the developments of the future. the pragmatism of our society may very well prove to be its downfall. what worked for 30 years may not continue to ... and unless we dare to find alternative voices, we will be subsumed. the fear we have is that having an opposition for the sake of an oppostion is erronous - ironically that is how our minds work. We can never fully push ourselves to work out alternatives and ideas unless there's an opposition. The spoon feeding (intellectually) that we are used to, leads to sterility. Unless we are forced to rigourously defend out ideas and policies in full view of public scrutiny, we will never mature our evaluative senses. We will be blind to the use (and abuse) of power and remain - apolitical the media portrayal of CSJ is a media portrayal. He is sadly - a man of ideas and very high ideals. We think of his actions as gangsterish because we are unfamiliar with agresssive debate - we hide things under the carpet. when a man is thumbed down and pushed into a corner the way CSJ is, there will be moments where he slips.
In 1963, just before merger with malaya, a certain political figure allowed the arrest of more than 100 key political figures, as a condition for merger (these figures were either against merger or deemed dangerous by the Malayan government). after merger failed, these individuals were not freed, although there was every perogative to free them, only though these people had once been comrades - even founding members - of the ruling party. Some of these detainees were kept without trial for many many many years (up to 20 over years ...)
that man who benefitted from these arrests and did not do anything in the name of justice or friendship- is still around, still dictating the policies of the nature - and has effectively erased the memory of these other founding fathers of singapore.
The ultimate pragmatist - a "democracy" founded on secret arrests ...

What I did Today

what i did today - 10/30/2001
Diary entries tend to be mundane when they chronologically list down what a person does in a day - at least that's what I think ... so i've never tried an entry that works chronologically - but here's an attempt:
0530 - Ring - alarm - shoot I have a stupid neck ache.
0545 - wake Ms Tan up after I'm done changing - she's actually been up since 0245 because of the rain. I potter downstairs first ...
0550 - Horrors. The floor of the dining room and kitchen is flooded. There are actually puddles of water that I have to swish through. The last time something like this happened, I was in secondary school and the house wasn't renovated yet ...
0600 - after ten minutes of ineffectually swishing water around (it's even gotten into the weights room), Ma comes down and exclaims at the sight "Wah so wet ..."
0601 - lift up the weights to clear out the carpet that is thoroughly soaked to the back ... make a mental note to exercise because the weights feel much heavier than when I last lifted them ...
0615 - race bus number 105 (in Ma's car) so that Ms Tan can get on it. Quite exciting - neck and neck at the red light but smaller bodies accelerate faster and we sneak into the bus bay before it ...
0625 - arrive in school - to see DL solitary in the carpark and still in his car.
0630 - sit down at my desk
0632 - Mr C maintains his record of being the first person to say hello to me everyday. Start reading book.
0640 - Mr C gives me an extra copy of the Hammer that he bought from a WP rally
0715 - Mrs K informs me that 14 Nov is Depavali and we can't hold the writing workshop on that day ... and that the 15 & 16, my alternate dates are possibly no good bec. of SEM meetings. Says she will check with VP about me being around during SEM meetings ...
0720 - Slouch outside to sing Marikita - don't sing because too disillusioned by singapore politics
0730 - Slouch back into the staffroom...
0735 - Mrs K says it's no good - I need to be around bec I'm in the SEM Comm. I make a weak protest that everyone won't be able to meet the deadline anyway and so the meeting will probably be pushed back ... even Mrs K objects to how lousy an argument it is ... I am pissed (slightly ...) because now need to make major readjustments of the workshop date.
0740 - after frantic SMSing and calls, A says Cat High is ok with the new dates (21 -22 Nov) and all systems are go !!!
0745 - determined to be busy so go into the TRC to type stuff. Inform Mrs K that the new dates are 21-22 Nov and ask her to tell the lower sec during their lifeskills ...
Manage to
a) write an email to a supplier of CD ROMs to come to school to do a preview
b)find out who the email addresses of the HODs of PJC and RJC
c)unsuccesfully try to log on to the Commenwealth Sec School site
d)key in 120 names for the sec 1s who gained distinctions for Intl com for Schools ...
d)type a letter to P of Cat High about Writing workshop ...
Brings me up to about 0920
0921 - Scout around staff room for someone to have a drink with - OTC just got back so she's out ... decide it can wait ...
0930 - try to mark extra compre and compo - which I now realise that I haven't finished and haven't put in my pigeon hole and that the kid will want it tomorrow after his pract - hiya - now i'll need to go in early to finish it before invigilation ...
1000 - punch holes and file away duplicates of results while looking at PSLE scores at the same time ...
1030 - go to canteen and ta bao two soon kueh - eat and read book
1040 - go to Com Lab 2 with OTC to prove that the online survey really works. Manage to complete one and submit without any probs ... WHY DOESN'T IT WORK WHEN THE KIDS DO IT - maybe too many at one time is the suggestion - them the kids should be allowed to do it at home ... apparently we can't trust them ...
1100 - finally decide to edit the WITs project for Oral English - only two teachers from the department have handed in although they were due yesterday (make a mental note that none of the senior teachers have handed in ...) and go into TRC to sort out the passages. Essentially we're writing out model "pix description" passages and trying to identify certain things to help the kids ... give an overview of the submitted passages ... and decide I better start on my own. Manage to finish one in about 15 mins - and reflect on how ridiculous it is given that the kids are supposed to prepare in less than 10 minutes ... but explain it away by telling myself that the effort is in making it relevant and appropriate to the level of the kids ... the dumbing down takes time ...
1120 - so finally start editing the submissions - sigh - too cheem and too simple - should I just leave it or should I make the changes ... I toy around with the font and highlights ... finally make some changes ... WHY DID I VOLUNTEER TO COLLATE?

what i did today 2 - 10/30/2001
1200 - decide to go and eat. Scout the canteen and realise it's not people I can have a decent conversation with (older CL teachers and Mrs L) sitting at the blue benches - so make do with sitting near the Muslim stall and eat rice with
a. Yummy drumstick
b.lady's fingers
c. fried egg without sauce
1215 - walk back to staffroom - say "hi" to kids at the benches - apparently some kind of harrassment over a wallet is taking place
1300 - accompany mr C to the canteen for a coffee before the long long long staff meeting. Talk about Chee Soon Juan a while and the PAP machinery. Drink Nescafe.
1330 - get ready for staff meeting
1340 - make sure I bring book for staff meeting
1341 - Have my longest comversation yet with M. She tells me that her kids are coming for the workshop and I state how I am pleasantly surprised by the overwelming response (by my standards, being used to Sec 4s who would never come for something like that - on the pretext of being too busy - ... and would find a new use for the form, 2 minutes after getting it ... "you need rough paper ...?") from the lower Sec. Already 16 out of 32 have indicated they want to come - which is more that I can take in ... and it isn't even the due date yet ...
1400 - staff meeting - read one chapter from the book during long debate about the wordings of the school vision: feel bad but hey - only five people are really interested. As always - the long discussion is just long discussion.
1600 - nearing the end of the meeting - wake up when Mrs K mentions that tomorrow's IRP slot will be used for IRP surveys ... am mildly pissed ... why bother telling me to put the survey on-line? Just because the technology doesn't work then we revert back to paper ... Actually happened already for the sec 3s so am not very surprised. We should just state for the record that the tech support is lousy and not waste time, esp. after converting and re-converting the survey so it would work on-line ... People take it for granted that it's a simple thing to do - but hey - it ain't that easy to figure out and it's labourious when you have to type our "Strongly Agree" "Agree" "Disagree" Strongly Disagree" over and over and over bec. the system is too primitive to do quick duplication ...
1630 - Meeting (finally) ends and apart from some M&Ms and laughs courtesy of LK and SO, nothing productive.
1630 - work on Arts Fest proposal with OTC while she toils away at her budget ... am excited about having a week for busking ... (fingers crossed)
1730 - leave for home
1800 - reach home, bathe and
1930 - have been ODing and emailing for the last hour or so ...
2015 - will leave to pick Ms Tan up from ballet then dinner ...

If All that you leave Behind

If All that you leave Behind

10/26/2001

are memories and "fond" wishes for the future - that what we've behind is merely a wisp, a shadow, a fleeting moment where glances meet.

But all that you've left behind -

We remember "firsts" not only because they were an exciting new experience, but because they opened up a whole new world. I remember the the first time I held somebody's hand in a meaningful way - 'twas on a cold night in a warm theatre in moscow - it was supposed to be some cultural exchange thing - but hey - it was warm and cosy. I remember the first time I kissed Ms Tan - it was at Changi Airport and we were sitting in some sending off area - just hanging out to see someone else off the next morning ...

And I will remember, with the formal graduation of the sec 4s, several firsts.

Will remember 4B as the first class that responded and was enthusiastic about lessons. I think they were the first sec 3 EL class I stepped into and right from the first lesson, they were very enthusiastic. I've never had to really squeeze them for a response and even when they were very tired and bored with Compres, they would try to respond. It was also a class that "got" what I said. You know - could see the recognition in their eyes. So I'll remember them.

Will remember 4C as my "first Lit class". I know that there is 4L, but 4C was really the class that I felt gave some of them gave themselves to the subject and really put in a lot. Glad it ended wonderfully - and not on a note of "i-hate-lit-and-never-want-to-read-a-book-again-even-if-it's-the-road-directory".

Will remember 4L as my first class of miracles. I'll never cease to be amazed by the way some of the kids made such a dramatic turn around in Lit when they came up to Sec 4. By the end of sec 3 I thought that Lit was a wash out for them - but they proved me wrong. Some of them have turned out to be really quite wonderful at Lit and very fun to talk with as well. I think the greatest compliment to 4L (in terms of lit) was the fact that Mrs Blaw was pleasantly surprised at the high-quality of some of the work.

Will remember 4M as my first pai kiah/whole life in trouble/rowdy/often disrespectful/never do homework/never do classwork/always searching bag for work that "I did at home ... just forgot to bring"/let's laugh so that we don't have to listen to him class. All the moanings about the class, all the heartaches about the class. I will remember them as a class that first intimidated then turned out to be quite "fun" and yet really irritating at times. A class where you had to continually think of ways to motivate and educate, where the unpredictable could happen. I think the way some of them have become very sensible in spite of all the fun-lovingness, is heart-warming.

Will finally, remember 4K as my darlings - my first form class. Actually quite sad that we didn't have at least some of sec 3 together. All the horsing around and corny jokes, the Fs for cleanliness, the pseudo uniform checks (I was checking fingernails for colour until our indomitable classchairperson pointed out I should be checking for length) the outbursts of irrelevance, the FOOD, the messing up of my house, the talks in the canteen, the moments of silence, the GUYS, the Girl Power, the Auntys, the individuals.

I will remember SA for her hair that never stays down - and her strange toothy grin and impish look. I will remember LJ for always managing to look sleepy and for somehow still being smart, QY for being so cheapskate and a man of principles no less, GK for his continual self-sacrifice and ability to absorb insults, MF for being so unassuming and responsible and hardworking and sensible, J for talking non-stop and being the first person to always point out something wrong with what I say, MD for being such SNAG, YY for her nonchalance and daring to be different, HL for her wonderfully irrelevant and occassionally insightful comments, XH for being always so proper and polite and accurate, E for chuckling to herslf, writing neatly and being short, WJ for always smiling so sweetly and being so sincere about everything, SY for asking questions quietly, K for asking questions loudly (good thing too ...), QY for the quizzical smile that shades her face, JH for the pats on the shoulder and interesting points of view, D for never speaking loudly but always intelligently, DH for being such a focussed and never say die individual, B for one single conversation next to an ice cream stall one afternoon, SW for her wonderful smile (after a while I always looked to her first whenever i consciously made a joke bec. if she smiles, I know it's not lousy humour), PY for believing in things, K for daring to be different and for having a voice, SW for being so sensible about work and yet so whacky with friends, AL for having bigger pects than me, SY for being such a quiet and consistent worker (and for asking me very direct and focussed questions once in the library), AH for being expressive, MS for being so strong, DL for short hair and being determined, Z for acting blur and never knowing when to stop, QF for saying Hi early in the morning and being cool, WM for making a great comeback and for never being fazed, V for being in Lala land yet always writing so well, F for long talks and for listening, and HY for irrepressible enthusiasm, holding it all together and being so cheery everyday (with "err got two absent ... but later then I tell you who they are ...)

In my ending is my beginning. I know I have become friends with some of the kids. It's not just a teacher-student "can you give me more marks relationship" and now that they're formally done with school, really hope that will continue to be friends and continue to hang around in their lives (not as a spectre, but as ... well ... a friend). So, without manufactured emotion, I say a thank you and goodbye, knowing that while some I will grow to know better even after they've left school, for others, today was the last time I'd see them.

A Kind of Blue

A Kind of Blue

10/25/2001

This alleged 3rd section of my conceptual book of poems (entirely hypothetical and even then unpublished ...) takes its title from a jazz album by Miles Davis. In these pieces, the issue of a loose poetic form and its benefits/constraints is raised. Every poem has a form - whether it's the length of the breath taken to read a line, or the space between words - and it's really how recognisable or "functional" a form is.

Repetition

The difficulties of living in
the moment consumed
her. Squirming on the hard
plastic, she flicked her pen,
twirling through
finger finger finger.

Sitting distracted, she thought
of another fantasy
to sew time up.

Monotone drone.
His voice went on.
"Focus. What are you doing? Why are you taking so long?"

twirling sounds -
"For us, life will be swooning
By, crooning it's song."

His voice insisted.
"half an hour you've only done two?"

a persistent daydream
"april showers will bring me to you?"

The poem was a result of a long afternoon in the canteen with a student who was supposed to be doing homework. The idea is that the repetition of homework is itself mundane and the student gets distracted, not so much with the happenings in a very noisy canteen but in her mind. The formal idea comes late in the poem: the first voice says something very pragmatic but the student's voice takes that and transforms it into something else while retaining the syllabic and rhythmic structure. This was difficult to do meaningfully and I kind of gave up after two. After you've read this commentary of sorts, the poem makes more sense I think.

Coffee Sips 2

Coffee Sips 2

10/24/2001

This next poem was written after I'd finished reading a book called "Ahab's Wife". It's a take on Moby Dick - that seminal book of America. Reading Moby Dick is supposed to be a defining moment in any Lit student's life and dealing with the after effects takes a lifetime. So here was an attempt to think about America, coffee and haikus: Prologue (moby dick* was often sighted off the coast of Japan sailing to get him wasn't just a matter of coming off the west coast of America cause ships were based in Nantucket, on the east coast. Effectively, you had to get "around" the Americas before you had a chance at moby dick. ) By what means has America crossed (not upon whaler but commerce) itself and ended up this side of the Pacific? place cleverly named after the Puritan who rode as number 2 aboard Pequod's ill fated spars. Leaving Mary: 'Sconset**, poor, alone. No traces here of puritanical insistence "come choose what you want." First mate downs coffee neat : add anything, it's sin. I drink, she drinks; we Drinking the dregs of commerce mixed up in myth: Aye! Ahab^ drinks to that! *-name of the white whale and book - meant to be allusive in all senses **-off Nantucket on the eastern seaboard of the US ^-the faustian "hero" of Moby Dick whose ambition is to kill the white whale Form has a place in poetry. This one tries out the haiku in each stanza. While haiku is merely syllabic and supposed to be self-contained, writing haiku stanzas doesn't force you to make the revelation by the third line and you can stretch it off a little. If heirachy in discovery is important, then the haiku stanza might work with its odd numbered line form rather than the clear call and reponse of the couplet or other interlocking forms. In terms of what the poem says, significant background knowledge is required to understanding the poem. Moby Dick is required, a sense of the US's post WW II interest in the vaibility of Japan (therefore the haiku form) and SEA as a capitalist bastion against communism also helps.

An interlude: Instead of poetry ...

An interlude: Instead of poetry ...

10/23/2001

I shall wonder about politics.

Am only theorectically involved in politics - never really seen myself as ever genuinely involved. It is a dirty and ruthless game and I can't even survive staff-room politics - so how to even be involved in politics? With the General Election and all - surely there is some form of comment? Not when you're in sterile sanitised singapore.

When I was growing up, in the 1980s, I was into politics. From when JBJ won the Anson by-election in 1984 (I was in Pri 4) I was enchanted by eloquence and the kinds of verbal battles that took place in Parliament. Of course in those days I was all for the governing party - I would laugh at the put-downs and the rebuffs by the then PM and marvel at JBJ's sideburns. I was quite into these things in the 1991 elections also, after school I would go listen to the rallies. Remember some very good opposition speakers. Anyway - never doubted that the government was in good hands. It still is - but surely there's an alternative.

I think the alternative is in voices. We live under the illusion that there is only one way to do something and that only one person/party has the right answer. It's a fallacy of history, a constructed fallacy. We have made so many mistakes as a nation but have continued to sweep the mistakes under the carpet. so - even a homogenous ruling party with all the best and the brightest can make mistakes. In the meantime, we've developed a myth that IF we have an opposition, the prosperity of the nation will self-destruct. Wrong. We may take more time to make certain decisions but at least there will be a heightened interest in the decision and in the process. We will think more and evaluation positions more independantly.

I suppose my disenchantment with the system came when I was in NS and found myself marginalised by a system of rules that were mindlessly followed so-that-we-don't-get-into-trouble. I was a model soldier for 8 months - going through BMT and OCS without a squeak. Until an incident that involved a loss of a signal flare (costing $3.90) - which to cut a long story short had been stolen. Anyway - the long and short of it - everyone agreed that the flare had been stolen but someone had to take the punishment - that was me. I was actually quite prepared for it because I had been silly enough to allow the flare to be stolen (yes you must always be suspicious of you own platoon mates ... and mustsn't leave things in their care ...) but on the long RPL ride back out of Temburong (6hrs in the sun) I realised that it wasn't my fault, my choice or even my crime. It was the system that HAD to blame someone. As a result I went AWOL and was diagnosed as "clinically depressed". This was another circus as psychiatrists consistently asked me irritating questions. Angered by this, I guess I've come to realise that even the best and most stringent of systems, in the quest for effficency, cannot accomodate.

So I guess I'm in this strange position. With a PSC bond to finish out - I'm supposed to be part of the ESTABLISHMENT - yet having seen the Woodbridge from the inside, I am highly aware of how a system that seems to be so oiled and perfect has its flaws. Flaws because of a culture of non-dissent, of self-censorship, of a rigid insistence that authority is right always.

The good flip-side of this realisation? 1. I turned to and have become very dependant on God. 2. I suppose I do try to OPEN the eyes of people who I come into contact with by providing alternative viewpoints.

Read the papers - and try to think alternatively. If you are accused of being a radical and of trying to brain-wash others - don't worry - it is precisely because we are already so controlled in the ways we think - that we need a violent mental opposition to regain some sense of balance and perspective. People have commented that I am extreme in some of the opinions I hold about things - I guess personal experience and the lives of friends (who have compromised on their beliefs...)has led me to be vocal - and not always constructive. I recognise this - though I hasten to add that unlike the ruling party I believe that not all criticism has to be constructive ... in fact ... non-constructive, plain critiques have an important role in broadening ideas and options. We live under a myth that everything has to be rationalised and "constructive" (which is usually another word for can be contained within the status quo).

I have often sought refuge in language and literature - but I guess at moments like these - the need to critique spills over.

Pertinent Motivations:

Just started "A Comet in the Sky" - a historical re-assessment of Lim Chin Siong - offers many marginalised perspectives about this founding member of the ruling party - whose dedication and vision for singapore was brutally (spent many years in prison and then in exile as a political enemy) cut short by the ambitions of others ...

Also had a quick read of the newspapers and was appalled by the extreme bias of layout and presentation:
1. Opposition Candidates are NOT placed in colour - vs. the ruling party - this is true of even the header of the page
2. Articles on the Opposition are sandwiched between a.the new faces of the ruling party and b. some important minister refuting what has just been reported about the opposition's policies.
3. The daily here are the new faces of the ruling party is very consistent and provides bulletted summaries and nice quotable quotes
4. The articles on the opposition all occuy one page, without any Adverts (impt) and without clear distinction (in layout) of the various parties. the point on Adverts is important as Adverts create space on a page by providing an alternative kind of genre for eyes to linger on ... also Adverts denote the value of what's on a page ... since it's space that's paid for - ie no one wants to advertise on a page that reports opposition ...

And this is merely stylistic - have not mentioned the journalistic bias ...

I guess politics is a dirty game played by ruthless people - sadly they are also men who have distinguished themselves in society, men who genuinely believe what they are doing is right.

That's why I teach.

Coffee Sips

Coffee Sips

10/22/2001

This comes from a another section of the poems I've been writing. I pretend they actually fall into sections because if ever i put them in a book they'll work this way. Anyway - note the "clever" rhyme (enough of the Lit Poser stuff already ...): "Language Slips" and now "Coffee Sips".

Anyway, this section is based on a desire to write a concrete kind of poetry. Based on experience and observation rather than abstractions and ideas merely. So since I spend lots of time at coffee places, I deceided one evening in June at Starbucks' Orchard Parade Hotel, to write coffee poems. Obviously this immediately belittles the poetry: where is your grand subject? Writing in spite of the repetition and commercialism of coffee places is the challenge.

I was waiting for Ms Tan then and it was hot plus stuffy ...

A Kind of Hipness

A kind of hipness
is found sitting alone -
watching your own
impressions of aproned
baristas spin a yarn
in downtime coffee
world.

in all the concrete
spaces i sit at and
sip, i haven't said hello
to happy people
waiting alone. Cause
that would spoil
the silent mantra
chanted by glassy
eyed gazes.

Satuarated with
coffee gloss, staring
listlessly before our
kind of hipness sets in,
we sing

"the song of
black eyed susie*".

* - a black eyed susie is a variety of geberra that has completely white petals but a black centre. I remember this because Ms Tan explicitly wanted these for table decorations for our wedding dinner - but somehow these were not available. The image is of a single shot expresso - concentrated, dark, in a white cup.

A poem about waiting and watching and trying not get involved. The relationships are hung out in restlessness: no one speaks. Except the coffee people who are supposed to be working. Everyone is cued into their own cup of coffee, as a convenient distraction, as a convenient accessory for "a kind of hipness".

Language Slips 2

This poem was written after a long staff meeting with the old man holding forth on why the school cannot "take a break" and must keep working "much more harder". While this is a common langauge slip, the idea of the poem is that the wrong word used actually points at a very narrow way of perceiving success.

"We must work much
more harder so that
we can maintain our
results."
hard harder ...
is there any word
to stand between -er
and -est?
What began as a cynical sneer
at the old man's remarks
transformed itself into a query
good, better, more better
much more better
we learnt -est as a destination
it meant you had finished
and could start a
new series of chants:
small, smaller, smallest
big, bigger, biggest
soft, softer, softest
later, made aware of the
frailties of a small
citystate
we learnt
-est as a destination
that secured survival :
"ours is the busiest port in the world"
"ours is the cleanest & greenest in SouthEastAsia..."
then creeps in,
via anxiety filled analogy
"what if you can't be the best?"
"more better" fills the void
then it becomes strategy:
in a world of misused expressions
why not make some of them useful?
after all
"good better best
never let it rest
let your good be better
and your better best"
if -est is a state of completion
we have no place for it.
So we dream of our more brighter
tommorrows
marvel at our more taller skyscrapers and laugh at more
funnier sitcoms.
We pray a blessing against the curse of contentment:
"Consumatum est?*"
no,never.

* - Latin for the words of Christ on the cross " It is finished" - probably can't put it into a question - but i claim poetic licence.

The poem works through a slip. It also weaves together fragments of memory. I remember the Productivity campaign of the early 80s with Teamy the Bee. Why did a campaign aimed at the adult workforce have such a ridiculous "good better best" song? Why did it have a Bee mascot? Was it really meant for more than just the workforce, was it to generate a sense of continuous achievement in even the young. The poem pretends that the policy of misusing language is deliberate: poking fun at how common the language slip is and the fact that pragmatic Singapore lets it go by unnoticed.

Marmadukems

Lady Marmalade - 10/4/2001
Is more than the title of a song that is hip and naughty. It was to be the name of MY NEW CAT. That's right! Mittens is going to have to live with a little Kitten. Only it's not going to be called Lady Marmalade - because it turns out he is a boy.
He's downstairs now sneaking around underneath the sofa - and he's called Marmaduke.
anyway - Mittens is being a her proud stand offish self and doesn't want to go down to be friendly - I suspect she's gonna be like that for a long time. Well if I had the run of the house for 5 years and suddenly there's this spritely yooung thing running about I'd be pretty upset too. So I must remember to be nice to Mittens - she is after all my three-legged darling.
Marmaduke - is ginger has a lovely pink nose and looks very smart. He's friendly enough, though I think my sister's high pitched voice scared him a bit just now. will go and see if he's come out from under the sofa.

Language Slips 1

Language Slips 1

10/19/2001

I will write for a period in abstraction. For I want to see how much I can say and make known without being overt. The bulk of these entries will be the poems I've written over the course of the last 5-6 months on my PDA.

PDA poetry is significant for me because
1. While I've written for many years, it's often not kept - ie I write on scraps and throw them away.
2. I often write poems in letters and notes to people without retaining a copy for myself.

With the PDA, I've managed to amass a body of work and continually go back to it. Don't ask why I never wrote in a notebook - too lazy or never thought highly enough of the quality of the thought to start a book.

Anyway ... This is a poem that cames from a section called "Language Slips"

keeper of lost obsessions

She dubbed me
"mr lim, the keeper of lost
obsessions"
not quite sure what she meant,
i asked,

"when someone lost something
they come and find you what ..." she said with a shrug

"lost possessions you mean"

but i liked the title
"keeper of lost obsessions" better.
So i squirrelled it away
in a poem
hoping it would lend some
dignity to my writing.

I try after all to chart the
psychic gaps of a society moving
too fast to know itself,
so entrenched
in what it owns
that dreams, fantasies,

obsessions are
merely material.

I try after all to poeticise the
energy and rush
the mundane speaks
(strictly to me )
of failed desire
of a material culture losing
it's SOUL ( capital
OH NO) without knowing it.

I try after all to store the
slips and traces
that you would rather forget
when your tongue races to
squeak of the latest
mobile model

obsessions are
merely material

"so mr lim it should be lost
posessions is it "

"perhaps ...."

The idea for this poem and really thus this whole section "language slips" came from a paper I marked for the Prelims. The phrase "lost obsessions" was a misapplication of "lost possessions" and the poem has fictionalised the rest - how the poet is termed the "keeper of lost obsessions" - a kind of priest-like existence like "the keeper of the keys". The poem however, moves to parody this role: poets take themselves too seriously sometimes. The poem really eats into itself - trying to poeticise the mundane language slip, yet realising that act is buying into a stance that removes poetry from being relevant. I'm still not exactly clear about the different parodies that take place ... it's a poem that keeps moving I guess.

Supposed to be

Supposed to be

10/19/2001

At a prayer meeting tonight but will not make an appearance as I wanted time to be with Ms Tan. Ironically, just spoke with her on her HP and she's still stranded on Pulau Ubin with her colleagues (the things teachers in good schools do when they are free ... can't they go watch a movie like everyone else?)and will not be back till late. So it's just me and the prospect of dinner alone. Not that I mind that much. Just the other day I left school rather early so that I could catch Captain Corelli's Mandolin at 4.15. Watched it alone: and would have really been alone except for another couple in the cinema who I suspect bought tickets for the movie really because they wanted to make out and were sorely disappointed to find that I was an uninvited guest. For some reason, the GUYs handphone kept ringing and he just refused to answer it. As in didn't even cut the call, quickly answer and say "I'm watching a movie - call you back", or just shut it off. He would just let the call ring on and on. After irritated looks from me (I just turned my head in that direction and clicked my tongue very loudly), his girlfriend made him go out of the theatre when the phone rang. Which he did - walkig out of the cinema with the phone ringing all the way. (To the tune of a Christmas Favourite ...) Mobile Phone Mobile Phone Ringing all the way O what fun it is to spoil Somebody else's day ... hey ... Mobile Phone Mobile Phone Ringing all the way It's my right to irritate Because the bills I pay. Dashing to keep it quiet each time my phone rings is not what I will do I will let it sing Do you know how much For this phone I have paid? It's flashing lights* and melodies are never gonna to fade ... *- the guy had the phone in his pants pocket and for some reason, each time it rang, his pants would light up with the twinkling outline of his phone - I think he was wearing ermmm ... translucent trackpants ... So why didn't he just cut the call? 1. He was going for a new world record in phone calls left unanswered 2. There's a new mobile phone scheme where unanswered calls chalk up points because it forces the caller to hit the voice-message - and thus paying for the call, without actually getting through 3. the guy was skipping work to make out with his girlfriend and didn't want to be caught ... 4. the guy was with someone else's girlfriend and didn't want to be caught 5. the guy was getting calls from ANOTHER girl while with his girlfriend and didn't want to be caught ... The possibilities proliferate. The GUY returned after awhile, and promptly fell asleep (I know because he SNORED) The movie was worth watching. If only for the wonderfully scenic shots of the island. Actually for all the hype over Penelope Cruz, I thought she was rather shrivelled looking and has a terrible voice (and worse accent). I was actually waiting, throughout the first third of the movie or so, for some beauteous screen goddess (Ok, I've never paid real attention to what Penelope Cruz looks like...) to invade the screen and then slowly realised that Penelope Cruz was already on screen. Anyway I shall be alone for dinner tonight. Don't know where I'll go yet. Will perhaps bring a book and eat slowly: books are great companions - they don't complain about where you're going to but speak so much. Used to tell Ms Tan: "You love animals, I love books", to which I would receive a shaking of the head ... Well, I think books are more animate than most people credit them to be ...

A Date

A Date

10/18/2001

Today was really relaxing. After a short bout of Bio prac invigilation at TSS (where I watched celery being cut into an assortment of shapes and sizes, while silently praying that no one would cut themselves with the "safety cutter" which hardly looked safe in the trembling hands of many a budding biologist, I went home and slept. Didn't want to go back to school because I knew people would just be asking me to do irelevant stuff. So managed to get quite a lot of marking done in the end.

Met up with one of my good girl friends, V, in the evening. She's declared herself a "free-lance editor/writer" which means she doesn't want to be tied down doing regular/proper/"i-have-to-fill-in-forms"/keep to schedule kind of work. She's writing about Lit education for some magazine and needed some ideas - which I gave - though it did turn into a ranting session after a while... It was very fun though because it's been such a long time since I've seen her and she's still as interesting as before. She's totally capable of being absolutely ditsy one moment and then fantastically insightful and lucid the next ... she was like the top Lit student in Year 1 in NUS ... and then decided to "take life easy". She's really fun to talk to. Like her because she doesn't carry any airs (she writes so densely I'm quite sure tutors sometimes gave her As because they didn't understand ...) and is so candid. Anyway, she's drifting.

If not for V life in NUS would have been totally mundane. Not knowing anyone else then, she was friendly enough to talk with me (same 1st year tutorial group for Lit) and to hang out. I guess it was through her that I got to know some of people in NUS. It was interesting - she would be this like always partying person, ("can we meet at Book Club at Mohd Sultan Road ... you don't know where? Never mind ... MPH ..." who got hit on by men from an assortment of ethnic groups and in the most strange locations. And I was like the nerd side-kick whom she would on occassion share her angst with.

Anyway, while there was a moment in NUS when I thought I was quite "fond" (loaded term)of her, but that idea passed ... she was way too hip and cool to be with someone like me. (ie she thought it was a stupid idea ...)

Anyway - she's a good friend.

A Return

A Return

10/17/2001

I write of returns, not to legislate my past for it is irredemably gone, but to find a thread that runs true. Since I started writing here to think about what I do each day I should return to that.

What I've appreciated most about the classes I teach I think is the opportunity to speak with individuals about their lives, to find out more about who they are, think they are or try to be. I think one of the ways I got to be more at ease with 4K was when I started getting to know them as individuals.

I think some adults have this POV that you've got to talk to children like they're children. I've realised that I'm not very good at that. This sometimes has its drawbacks. I don't give good advice very well. (ie in an objective "Have you thought about the consequences of your actions?" or "Imagine if you were in your parents' shoes?") On the other hand, I'm always very aware of the insufficency of what I know and have experienced and so can only gesture towards solutions rather than place them clearly in front of kids.

I love sitting in the canteen and chatting. Not in a purposeful let's-talk-about-why-you-got-a-B-instead-of-an-A way. Strange you know, cause I'm not a very good chatter with people my age. I suspect people my age are very reserved and cautious about what they'll tell you. It's all very "O how hot it is today" kind of stuff.

I like having serious talks too. Sometimes its important to just give a little space to ourselves to think about intrinsic things I guess. And when an individual is willing to question the basis of indentity and purpose with you, it's a magical moment.

I suppose that's why I'm a small group talker more. In a large group, it's easy to be a clown (used to have a running joke about how I'd be remembered on my gravestone as the FUNNY ONE) Of course, a clown is a clown (literary symbol :the fool/dwarf ...) to hide things or to adopt a less imposing guise lest his critique of reality hits too close to home. It's that wisdom in foolishness idea. You know, when the Caesars of Rome came back from glorious victories, they would when in triumphant procession, have at the back of their chariot, a dwarf murmuring, reminding them that they were mortal like every man. I suppose the dwarf does get serious only one person at a time ... because publically "the show must go on".

Ooo how we've digressed.

If I could start a CCA, I would start the "Philosophical Society", where members would sit around with coffee (or any other serious drink) and TALK. There is something in talking that is generative. We would trade stories. We would concoct theories. We would critique each other's lives.

In other words - why don't we get CCA points for being human? Why do we have to manufacture "activity"?

Was actually very pissed the whole morning with stupid bureacratic rubbish that was essentially a wild goose chase that pandered to the whims of indecision. Leaders should make the tough calls and not be namby pamby "why don't you generate everything to 3 decimal points (again) and then we can see how ... In the end, the rationale and decision remained - just wasted my time, killed a lot of trees and discredited the system even more. In order to be someone in the education service: you must
1. be servile
2. not understand things too quickly so you can be seen to do lots of work that might otherwise have been avoided by a more intelligent person
3. push the buck to someone who doesn't have the authority to make a decision
4. ask at least 5 other people who don't have a right to make a decision for their opinion
5. throw in irrelevant arguments to appear to be considering things from different perspectives
6. NOT keep an eye on the big picture because that would cause matters to be too clearly resolved (and thus making it appear that we're doing work)

Sigh ... at least if I were one of the kids ... I'd be assured that I wouldn't need to be back next year.

Why shoes are important

Why shoes are important

10/15/2001

Today was an interesting day without the sec 4s around. Of course there were a few around, some on the official study timetable:"I-have-to-be-here-because-my-parents-don't-trust-me-to-study-at-home", some because teachers wanted to see them and some ... well, some are always around. Anyway, had to see some PRCs for EL early but after that got to talking to kid from 4B. Was quite an interesting conversation ... but that's not the point of this entry the point is ...

Ok: Background - If Sec 4s want to come to school, they must be in full school uniform (Mrs L - DM)

Kid from 4B was not in "proper school uniform".
She was wearing the "old" PE T-shirt and slippers(!).
Wisely enough, she had, borrowed someone's shoes to walk around school with (from reading room)
I was dumb enough to suggest: "Let's go to the canteen I need a drink".
On passing the back of Audi to go to Canteen I make the quaint observation: Oh everyone (Sec 1-3) is in the Audi for Assembly
Kid from 4B meets person she borrowed shoes from in the canteen, who needs shoes back
despite my violent protests, she takes off shoes and says "it's ok, I can go around barefooted".
I am wrong - not everyone is in the Audi ...
In the middle of saying bye bye ... guess who turns up ...
Yup
Mrs L(to me):"Your student?
Me: Yes ...
Mrs L(gesturing to kid from 4B): "Come here ..."
Me - Feeling really guilty ... can only look on in silence and think "why am I so dumb".

Then I remember - after school I still have to attend a meeting - in close contact with Mrs L ... stress ... must hide behind VP ...

Fortunately, Mrs L was quite blur (she actually thought she didn't need to attend) about the meeting, came late and was still quite blur, and I kept giving suggestions so that there would be no conversational lull for her to ermmm, mention the "events of the day".

So - 1. wear your shoes to school

or - 2. Hide a few extra pairs in the reading room (!!joke!! for the clowns who might take this seriously - irony ... )

Notes on Dreams and Life

Notes on Dreams and Life

10/15/2001

"To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, tehre's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil
Must give us pause" hamlet, WS

"Our revels now are ended. These our actors, ...
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself
Yea all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.We are such stuff
as dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep." Prospero, WS

"But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,
And grows to something of great constancy;
But howsoever,strange, and admirable.

Dreams as a metaphor for life - whether because they are insubstantial, only remembered, fragments, transient, strange, or just a deferral of life itself - were important to the Bard.

A dream is a rememberance of sorts and we do live life through an idea - live life, as we reflect on it, backwards almost. Julius Caesar lives life, trying to move forwards toward a goal - coronation - but it is not merely politics that holds him back, it is dreams. His "dream" (referring to ambition)is not the dream that ultimately matters (Cal's). Maybe Caesar should have been more introspective.

Thought: "The unreflected life is not worth living" -Socrates.
"The life reflected upon, may be unliveable" - ...

Waiting for Rain

Waiting for Rain

10/14/2001

It is a fact of life that it rains on Sunday afternoons. While there may be a scientific or meterological explanation for the fact, I prefer to think that it is a cleansing of sorts, after the messiness of fatigue and hurry throghout the whole week and the languid disordered weekend, the rain on Sunday speaks of new beginnings. So I wait for the rain to come. As I was walking back earlier I noted darkness gathering over the industrial areas in the west: rain comes over this city in parts. Moving first to the areas that are dry, the regions that are thristing. But now, two hours later, there is a strange unyielding -it will not rain. Sunlight still filters through the garish green leaves behind me. I hear thunder in the distance. So I wait for the release, firm in my belief that the rain will come. I can smell the coolness of the earth touched by water, soil softened by life. Perhaps it has begun to rain. Perhaps somewhere else, not here in the west. Because the earth is even more thirsty, elsewhere.