July 2002

Wu SHu - 7/4/2002







New experience being a teacher in a proper CCA. I think it's a little awkward given that I like informal arrangements and working with small groups of people. Anyway ... Followed the WuShu people to MOE for a short presentation. It was one of thoses MOE Campaigns and as it turns out it was merely a small scale thing for the staff of the MOE building. The Auditorium was nice though. Anyway, the WuShu pple did a fine job. NOt that O'd know but from an untrained eye they looked somewhat impressive - though there were moments where the co-ord was a little wonky - but I guess it was deliberate ... ?

Anyway ... I guess it'll take some time to find out more about WuShu ... I mean it's a world apart from what I'm normally interested in and I guess that adds to the learning process. But it's very much self-run. The kids have lots of initiative I guess and teachers just need to help out with some arrangements etc ...

Ah well - almost two weeks in the new place. And I've already gotten news od the power struggles, the dangerous people, the in-fighting, the clamouring, the insider reporting ... sigh ... what's new ...









2 Ceremonies - 7/6/2002







Had to attend a wedding just yesterday. Quite the standard fare I suppose with all the usual things said. Except that this couple had had a tremendously tumulteous relationship and even in the weeks leading up to the wedding there was much talk about calling the whole thing off, dramatic scenes of crying in the rain and pounding on doors and begging for forgiveness. Sigh, all this from highly intelligent and educated individuals who are deemed success stories of the system. So in the end in spite of all the sticky situations the ceremony goes through and one wonders if it's really a matter of saving face cause all the invites have been sent out and the arrangements have been made. This brings the phrase "marriage of convenience" to a new low. Sigh.

Anyway - played piano for a song item during the ceremony so I guess I'm implicated in ratifying the marriage that shouldn't be.

And after that I had to haul myself down to the National Stadium for the SYF opening ceremony! Which was a joke because I was in long sleeves etc and had to sit in the balzing sun. It was also a joke because there wasn't much taking care of the kids to do anyway. But I got the arrow late on Thurs and wasn't given a choice. I'm sure the person that arrowed me was acting on instructions from the higher ups so I decided not to make things difficult and since he said I could go for the wedding and then turn up later at the Stadium (emphasising ironically how silly the whole affair was) I decided that I shouldn't wriggle out of this one.

Anyway I think my cynicism about the System is reaching a new low. I actually took advantage of my knowledge of how poorly organised these affairs are to get in without queueing. When I got there, it was major crowded and I knew it would take me a really long time to get into the stadium if I followed the route allocated to schools and teachers accompanying. So I was naughty and went to the gate for VIPs and ticket holders and pretended that I was from "one of the Ministries", and that I had been given a ticket but had forgotten to bring it. I suppose the long sleeves and proper English helped my cover. Luckily I managed to catch a glimpse of some of the real tickets and got the colour right as well ... ("yes, I was given a purple ticket. No, not the orange ones" ... Those were for the VIPs and they actually had a name list that they could check through ... another spot as I was strategising my storming of the gate). Then I had to appear nonchalent about the whole thing. "If it's too much of a hassle for you to check I'll just go off ..." Anyway, the NPCC Cadets were nice enough to get their supervisor (who just seemed to be an older NPCC person ...) who let me in anyhow. He even showed me the way. I suppose they rationalised that no one in his right mind would actually want to sneak into the SYF Opening Ceremony (given how silly the whole affair was) and that I HAD to be there and wasn't really enthusiastic about it and so ...

After that I managed to locate where the college kids were sitting, made sure the other teachers saw my face and knew that I had arrived, and sat in the sweltering heat for several hours.

Good thing there were some people I knew. Esp. SW! Poor thing had to listen to me grouse about stuff for two hours ... Anyway some of the boys were very sweet and even offered me "Keropok" ... ho hum ... easily pacified.

Anyway, right at the end, everyone was leaving early so as to avoid the crowd. We were just moving off when the band struck up the National Anthem. And I was caught. For all my cynical blabbering, I didn't have the guts to just walk out of the Stadium at the msot opportune moment, when everyone else was standing still. Ah well - still a creature bound by social norms I guess.

Anyway - then had to rush down for wedding dinner. At a table where I didn't really know anyone (all Ms Tan's JC classmates - many doctors ... Did manage to eavesdrop about the Slim Ten controversy, how political postings for specialisations are though ... ) Drank many glasses of white wine ... and was decent enough not to mark Blcok Test scripts.









Could you read my mind - 7/12/2002







A Fortune teller once told me
that the cards are cards of trickery
That once the Queen of Spades is broken
No future will ever get spoken-

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?

A Soldier of Fortune once insisted
that money was all that persisted
Once you're dead and counted lost
Buying memory is the cost.

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?

A Maid of Honour tried to hint
at the subtle but inextricable link
between man and wife, wife and man
a veritable sleight of hand -

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?

I remember a poet of note
Once of a Bridge he wrote
A myth fractured and broken
A story left unspoken.

If time were all we had left
and stories were spun in rhyme
would it all be worth it dear
if you could read my mind?









Growing Up Too Quickly - 7/19/2002







The jangling windows urged him forward as he stood cotton tailed on the top deck of the old 154. This bus-route was as old as his memories of his first day at school. "Take the 154 then change to any bus." This jangling was familiar. Only the beeping of the automated fare charge system was different. The cool blue machines, well-positioned guards against every bus passengers right to try to beat the system. He'd been riding this bus since he'd won the right to go to school on own his own. It was just Saturdays at first but gradually, every morning began with a wait for the 154. Not many friends he had on this bus-ride. A very clever boy used to take the bus home with him. But that stopped after Primary Six because the clever boy went to another school.

So all through Secondary school, he rode the bus slone. Sometimes there were the occasionaly short term companions, not in the sense that he actually spoke to any of them, for he was far too shy. But he liked to imagine conversations, especially with the girls whose faces reappeared each day. But no one had ridden the bus for as many years as he had. By the time he was sixteen, he'd taken the route for ten years.

But he changed schools. There was a college on the route, in fact two. But he worked out that loyalty to a bus-route and famliarity with the view was not a good enough reason to go to those schools. So he took a different bus. Sometimes it was the 198 and sometimes it was the 165. But no bus ever replaced the 154.

And so now, returning to that old route, no longer student but teacher, falling asleep after the bend down that stretch before the Poly kids get on, waking up to see the Interchange drift by and walking home alone along that drain: that does bring back memories.







The Name Game - 7/23/2002







If I forget my name
Persuade me of who I am
Lest I live without a life
If I forget my name.

When the flowers finally wither
Taste again with each breath
the scent filled room
when the flowers finally wither.

Once you're far away
Remember nearness and warmth
settling upon our flesh
once you're far away.

When lovesongs lose their tune
Sing out newness
known by you alone
when lovesongs lose their tune.

Once photographs fade
Draw upon my memory
with the lines of my own blood
once photographs fade.

If I forget your name
Remind me of the secret
fears that once I possessed
if I forget your name.

If I forget my name
Remind me of who I live as
In your heart of hearts
if I forget my name.









sigh - 7/24/2002







it's the middle of the week and i'm not looking for ward to the rest of it. sure the end is near and we're already at the middle of term. sure there are things to be happy about and surprised to know about. sure there are blessings to count but

i don't really like doing stuff that's expected of me. it's the same old story. you've got to care forthe kids which means you have to report them when they're late for school and you need to keep bugging them about homework and you need to inform parents when their children have been skipping school. and i can't do it properly. i spend more time worrying about how to do all this, more than i do worrying about lessons and thinking up intelligent things to say. it's a waste of time. but it's supposed to be the care for them so you have to do these things to make them learn. but i don't like it. a perfect world would be if i could sit down with them talk with them then they would get to share their angst and think things out for themselves. then the responsibility would be theirs and the consequences theirs. but every one feels the guilt. so what if a kid decides that school isn't important to him or her? at 17 don't you have the right to choose? can't you flunk out or lose the right to school because you're disinterested? maybe that's the best way? instead of everyone else (parents, teachers, the minstry, schools) feeling guilty that we haven't instilled in them the love for learning and that we don't have very much to offer except pats on the head for conformity. so what. we teach them about fear and what it's like to live differently. system will screw you. a massive transferrance of guilt. it all circulates doesn't it.

we want the best for them. we want them to grow up to be responsible. but what are we? what do we have to offer? are we a sorry excuse for them to take after?

it's the little things that get me i guess. the little things that gnaw at the fringes of my mind like the bangs from the bad haircut i own.

there's so much to discover out there folks why are we allowing the system to get us?

"Life has become the ideology of its own absence." Theodore Adorno







Phases - 7/27/2002







Was nice to return to the ol school and see some familiar faces today. I guess not having to worry about the particularities of a place allows you the luxury of saying "Hello!" excitedly to people you haven't seen for a while. But then again, there was a sense of relief I guess when you saw the worn and sad looks around you. There's always a way out isn't there.

Very proud of all the people that I taught and were awarded prizes. They all looked grown up and confident in their JC uniforms and blazers ... there were notable exceptions of course, some pretending not to know that they should have borrowed a blazer for Speech Day and being too cheap to get a nice pair of formal shoes ... but hey at least there was a sense of occasion! Sadly I think some people that didnt' get awards didn't receive too warm a welcome. Ah well - perhaps they should have been more proper in their decorum? Maybe the sense of (or lack of belonging) stems from that as well. It's the value we place on who people are and not what they seem to be isn't . But this is all cryptic.

Other highlights of the weekend:

Went for lunch with some kids from my new form class. Well I say new cause it's only been 5 weeks. But I must say they're a very interesting and lively bunch with lots of opinions, stories and ideas. The future seems full of promise ...

Managed to finish the bulk of the assignments due next week. Need to do more re-writing. Tremendously stilted prose after not writing academic papers for so long. Anyhow, I can always blame the extensive writing on this page as the cause ...

The MAN is back from Australia! Was talking to him on the phone just a while ago - and even he knew about this page - through a friend and her friends ... wow. Anyway - he's gonna be pragmatic and make money. Sigh - where's the cause for Lit? But I guess deep down he's still committed as ever to words and ideas but has just found a better way to transform those things into cash. But it does make one wonder. If words and ideas are made money, assigned an arbitrary value, are denigrated to the level of "things" , are words and ideas still essentially the same? But then again - I'm being caught in neo-conservatism isn't it ... privileging the Word over the Flesh. Who says that words get degraded when they are monified? It's just a snobbish illusion that I'm clinging onto. Words are things and the measure of thingness in a capitalist world, is that strange world of signs represented by the dollar bill and the credit card. Again, representations of value but at different removes. The bill - has value because it's legislated and symbolically agreed upon. The card - because of an assumption of money potential, the expectation of being paid, the cursive sweep (rather than the block print) of one's signature. Nice talking to him again. Well be hanging out hopefully though he has to finish up NS. Maybe one other person to talk Lit with ... hopefully.

So there. That's the weekend so far. Not bad. And we're already half-way into term.







Prose - 7/29/2002







Sleeping on the Bus today I received a phone call from these on-line florists that I had made an order for Ms Tan with.

"Just checking your order ..."
"Yes ..."
"Your message really so long issit ... cannot cut ?"
"Yes ... it's a poem"
"Ok lor no choice ..."
"Yes"
"Just checking who do you want the TO and FROM to be ..."
"Just leave it blank."
"You sure the other party knows who you are ..."
"Yes"
"Ok thanks."
Click.
"And even if she doesn't ...


Even Romance gets industrialised systemised. Ah - too bad my fault I used the Net.

My resolve is to get Ms Tan a bouquet every week until she leaves ... this week will be the third one. Really burn hole in pocket kinda Ex but hey one of those once in lifetime sequences.

Finally finished the essay. Going to submit it tommorrow and hope it all gets safely to the UK in one week and in one piece. Worried that I've got to re-submit because of lousy standards though. Anyway they'll prob make me re-submit because I went way over the word limit for the long essay. Thought I read 5000 words. Then after writing the thing I check and see 4000 words with a 10% tolerance. Die. 1124 over the limit. And this was with major summary work already. They claim it's academic discipline. But I figure it's just that ang mohs are too lazy to read extra. Ah well - cross my fingers and hope they won't bug me about it.







Homage - 7/31/2002







Maybe it's the morning before the sun up
Walking over the head bridge where
the dusty bus wheels run to a stop and
I beep down steps and stumble up new ones running
circuits through my neurons twitching spine movements
maybe it's the loneliness of ten minutes before air-con breath
greets you again, and you know
that the best minds of your generation
are still asleep with pooh bear in the great
land of nod.
maybe it's the knowledge that somewhere wide world somewhere else
you're out there
perhaps not dreaming but riffing as you would
Perhaps rolling with those meticulous fingers
Ooo not only for poems were they detailed machines
not only for hand=written=spaced=clean
peices that were white white all is white lectures
Oooo those detailed fingers would swiftly roll
paper and weed
the noxious weed
into rough drafts while we spoke.


Perhaps its remembering your lilt by the drooping sun
those afternoons
Curly unkempt you struck a match hair with
the ease of a window wiper falling from grace
opening the glass tank
letting the smoke drift out

And I get vaguely nostalgic about who you were
And try to find you in this damn wide world.
Like a lost connection try to find some trace of you.
Like a fish caught downstream trying to find some silver
stream to catch a glimpse
of you.
so morning comes and
I search the whole damn world
like a chain of links in search of you
I capture your name but there are several more
and still I'm looking for you.

once as a joke they said that
"the truth is adair"
if you got the pun
you didn't bother
because truth is not truth in this land
But you slid down inside your alphabetical shelves
and newspapers and mags and unpublished decisions spewed forth
So all this road is dreaming and
all this road is going
further from 1996 than a ball would roll wouldn't it
Looking for you I find others
translations of A void
Brit film critics
but mottram too
and sub voicive poetry
that I've never heard you read
and I know that the moments
of silent thought
are further now
because in the whole damn world
you live like a mystery out of reach.
One wonders if you even own an
e-mail address
That would certainly breach
your privacy ...

So early mornings are bad in a way
cause I search the whole damn world
for the truth that
you resisted
operated upon
for the breath of the line
that these kids behind me chattering
will never know of
the space-time line
drawing circles
mazy ringlets
Desire finds its own energy.
sacrifice it's own justification.
And in the whole damn world
I can't even get a whisper.

if anyone knows how to contact Dr Gilbert Adair - please let me know ...