Outside

Hey, Mr Curiosity
is it true what they've been saying about you,
Are you killing me? You took care of the cat already...

I learnt almost all that I know outside the classroom. So perhaps it was a good thing that me being sent out of class was a frequent occurrence during my days of formal education. Anyway, the view outside is always better. How can a classroom ever contain the world? Now that my formal education has ceased, I am still learning. The subject's the same and I still find myself, outside.

Home

Round the bend, the leaning postbox and that little sign.
Homesick, cause I no longer know, where home is.

Doll

Just another.

We never learn do we. Which is why everything always appears to be Cyclical; an euphemism for saying that we repeat our mistakes. Imprisoned by concepts and restricted by classifications, we are unable to see beyond our perceptions; to distinguish the tangible truth from the transient.

"We need to be able to imagine ourselves not in a Third World and a First World but in one world in which our duties to the poor are shared. We need to imagine a world in which the needless deaths of nearly 10 million children a year are an abomination that cannot be tolerated"
~ Cardinal Oscar Rodriguez Maradiaga.

Escape

还记得你说家是唯一的城堡
随著稻香河流继续奔跑
微微笑小时候的梦我知道
不要哭让萤火虫带著你逃跑
乡间的歌谣永远的依靠
回家吧回到最初的美好

WMD

Not this week's news, but take note.

As the capitalist world grapples to find the true value of assets, spending trillions in the process, perhaps the rest of us should also occupy ourselves with a valuation exercise too. Lets start with the value of a human life. But you say a human life is not quite an asset? True, an asset is often more valued. XDRTB

Money

Modern Messiah, Motorised Mule; lead the Masses.

The events of the past few days have seen over a trillion dollars pledged to save the world from what could possibly be the worst financial disaster since the Great Depression. The money came forth freely and I suppose, rightfully so in light of the fact that we are after all trying to avert a disaster. Ironically, the people pledging the trillions are the same group of people who balk whenever money is required for aid, disaster relief and humanitarian intervention; disasters of a different genre. The same people who casually ignore the real weapons of mass destruction such as starvation, disease and poverty whilst spending billions on a war that has yielded no WMD of the radioactive kind.

The UN's millennium goal is to eradicate poverty by 2015 and the campaign carries an inspiring slogan, "We are the generation that can end poverty". Judging by the trillion dollars raised in a couple of weeks, I don't doubt our capacity to do so or the truth in the slogan; a trillion dollars could easily end poverty overnight. I think the issue is whether we will choose to do so and not whether we can. Unfortunately, from the reaction of world leaders, it appears that poverty is not a disaster worth averting even though it has and will continue to claim many more lives than are expected to be lost to this financial disaster. Yet such a situation is not surprising given the fact that there are no poor countries that are members to the exclusive club that calls the shots; of course, how can the poor afford the elusive membership fees? Like a sheep without a shepherd, they are an ignored mass without a voice.

Classroom

Back to the drawing board, to rethink thinking.

There is a constant need to rethink the way we think; not what we think about but how we think. The classification of thoughts and ideas needs to be frequently revisited. Our education should be like an interrogator's lamp, squeezing out every drop of sweat that has soaked into our thoughts and ideas; showing us the true taxonomical arrangement of the suspect before us. But our education often sheds a different light and we are far too easily distracted by other more attractive lights. Lights will guide you home, only if you find the right one.

Sunday

In the Garden of Earthly Delights.

I love Sunday mornings. But only if its a sunny morning. Start the day off with a morning jaunt with Liz followed by breakfast with the family. Everyone is fed, the car is washed and the garden tended to. We all help out, in our own special way. At times, some might seem to want out, but nobody leaves. Modern society may be blamed for the gradual erosion of the family; the elusive work life balance. But hasn't it also equipped us to cope with the change? Yes Yes, its all about change, and keeping pace with it. But for now, I'll just keep my Sunday mornings.

Angel

Praying for Time

Always ready to judge,
concluding too willingly
Only time will tell if
hearts harden hastily.

Muse

Estragon, Vladimir, Lucky, Pozzo, a boy and me.

I see with my eyes,
and perceive with the mind.
For reality can be boring,
and imagination overwhelming.

Acceptance

Silent workers, the symphony of harmony.

I watched them as they worked in their little stall, silent and industrious; traversing the tiny space between them without intruding or obstructing. Like a well oiled and synchronised machine they worked in harmony. What a machine can be programmed in a couple of minutes to do, us humans take years to master. The acceptance of another being, is much harder than just writing the correct interface script. This difficulty, makes us less efficient but more superior, for to feel is something no machine can ever do, be it pain, sorrow, or joy.

"She's all I have. Pa's gone. Did she love him? Did he love her? Does it matter now? What is love? Is it fidelity? The act of staying together till death do us part? In the end, everything must end in death and forgiveness. If not, how do we live?"
~Suchen Christina Lim, The Lies that Build a Marriage

Everyman

Yellow helmets, thats all we remember, no face no name.

Although I am not a resident of Serangoon Gardens, I think the whole foreign worker dormitory issue really raised a few points for consideration. In case you are not in the know, a ruckus was kicked up recently when the government decided to convert a disused school in the heart of a residential estate into a dormitory for foreign workers. I have no comments on the policy aspect of the issue with the exception that the matter could have been handled better and to a certain extent I think it revealed the electoral naivety of our politicians. Until recently, our politicians generally operated in a rather large comfort zone. But with a more vocal, younger electorate this comfort zone is gradually diminishing. Whilst their overseas brethren would have spin-doctors or media advisers counseling on how best to manage the situation, our politicians solicited views from residents and then implemented the policy almost wholesale. Politics is not so much about the policy itself but also about how the policy is implemented, and implementation requires sensitivity and transparency.

Even if you are totally uninterested in policy, one cannot deny that the housing of foreign worker is a pressing problem in Singapore. Being Singaporeans, it is in our nature to want things fast, cheap and good. Singaporean laborers are just too slow and expensive, hence the influx of foreign workers. From a purely economical viewpoint I can understand that having foreign workers for neighbors would cause the price of a property to plummet. From a social standpoint, there will inevitably be social problems that arise not so much from murder, rape or theft but largely from a clash of culture; and for every one murderer, rapist and thief there are a thousand fathers, brothers and sons. But what really shocks me is that there is talk of herding foreign workers into townships or cloistered communities. Townships, the word sends shivers down my spine, being too similar to one of the more famous townships, Soweto which features heavily in apartheid literature. It is not that far a leap from Township to Ghetto. In searching for a solution to the problem we should not forget that the first world city that we inhabit is built on the bent backs of third world laborers.

Books

Instruction & Application

Thanks for the thoughtful Tokyo treat. I love old book stores simply for the possibilities. You never know what you will find. Old books really personify the eternity of knowledge, from Aristotle to Owen.

Smile

Birthday Girl

Life in itself is a miracle.
The fact that it endures,
Makes every passing year,
A present.

Hidden

Infirmity alone makes us take notice and learn, and enables us to analyse processes which we would otherwise know nothing about. A man who falls straight into bed every night, and ceases to live until the moment he wakes and rises, will surely never dream of making, not necessarily great discoveries, but even minor observations about sleep. He scarcely knows that he is asleep. A little insomnia is not without its value in making us appreciate sleep, in throwing a ray of light upon that darkness.
~ Proust

*Thanks Byanyothername

Wake

Walk on by

We are the generation of indifference and ambivalence. When faced with a choice, we simply shrug our shoulders and let someone else decide for us. The time is never right to step up even though it is incumbent on us to do so. Time and again we shy away. Bombarded daily by cliches and advertising, we cede our powers of reasoning and questioning. Perpetually plugged in, we have grown deaf to the cries of humanity. Constantly exposed to flickering screens and city lights, we have become truly myopic, unable to look beyond. But beyond is where the greater good lies. For us, the beyond is over the edge of our square earth. Besides, one's own good is always greater than that of others. And so, as the heroes of old pass on, one cannot help but wonder whether our generation will spawn worthy replacements. Those heroes will most definitely live on as legends. In spite of that, legends can only inspire, they cannot compel.

Postcards

Now I know there is a world beyond,
the small place that I am coming from.

For all the tech and gizmos that surround me, I find the utmost happiness in organic forms of communication. The clinical delivery of bits, bytes and binaries will never replace scrappy postcards and scratchy phone calls. I sometimes wonder whether we are using the wrong indicators to measure happiness.