Stardust the turn of the hour

Standing on the cusp of the universe, the wanderer looks forward and back- from the honeyed memories of what has past to the trembling anticipation of the uncertain future.

Stardust falls, tears of the sky.
Weeping for those who have passed,
Lives which will never pass.

Moonbeams smile, looking from on high.
Hoping for those who have dreams,
Lives young and still full of questions.

Rainclouds mull, hesitant and weary.
Holding their cargo, in trust for those below.
Lives parched blessing rain, lives drowned cursing flood.

Sea birds soar, their compass in their blood.
Worried for their next meal, dreaming bird dreams.
Lives destroyed by man's child, Progress.

Zenith and Nadir, light and dark.
Humanity will pass in a heartbeat of the Universe.
Is industry not the fear of death disguised,
Just as progress be a cloak for vanity?

Perhaps. And therein lies the best answer of our ten millenia.

Erratic, psychotic, neurotic.

**Depressed**

Am I addicted to industry?

I did 'nothing' today and felt so unhappy. 'Nothing' has been an unhappy part of my routine of late. Drowsy, I took a catnap from 5-6pm and felt distinctly unsatisfied, with the nagging doubt that i should be doing something more productive with the minutes of my life.

Why do we struggle each day? To put food on the table, to seek affirmation, to better ourselves, to work for the Great Cause of advancing human civilisation? Filling in one Form 13B at a time.

Many times in the last few days I was pondering something along these lines and just before dinner, I decided to look up one of my favourite poems by Yeats which I used to read aloud to myself on quiet evenings during NS. Maybe i'm a soppy romantic, but I really felt better after reading it aloud... there's something mystically theraputic about hearing and reading beautiful verse.

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

No law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

So often I have looked behind, to lament or reminisce.
Of late I have feared to look forward, oft not cherishing the prospects of the 'morrow.
Where did my outlook go, that I became so dark and gloomy? To live in the moment was something I thought I could do. As I watch the seconds of my life trickle by, I ask myself whether i'm spending my youth chasing success only to risk later forsaking the fruits of success in futile pursuit of youth and paradise lost.

Odd mood today.

Randomness on adrenaline

Went to receive my sis from the airport at 1am this morning. Compensated for the unearthly landing time with some Burger King therapy... onion rings at midnight make a special treat.

This is supposed to be a map of the countries in the world i have visited after rigourous interrogation by a series of tick-boxes.



create your own visited country map
or check our Venice travel guide

Pity about the middle east right now... would be nice to see that part of the Ancient World.

I am hungry.

MRT Thoughts

Sent the car in for servicing recently and found myself travelling on the MRT train at 12pm for lunch with Dad.

As I sat comfortably in the centre middle seat of the carriage (the one where you can rest your head against the vertical window bar), I noticed a caucasian boy, probably no older than 10 by his height, standing in the middle of the cabin. The kid at first appeared unexceptional- typical attire and look of the child of an expatriat. Then I noticed something which gave me much food for thought.

The kid was carrying his own gear. A musical instrument in a hard case was slung back-pack style across his pack; my money says its a violin. In addition to that, he had a fair sized sling bag containing whatever accoutrements violin-playing kids of his age carry with them while travelling on the MRT. The thing was... he was CARRYING them himself while his Mum sat in a seat slightly further down the cabin.

Now maybe i'm guilty of rose-tinted glasses, but I seem to remember too many occasions observing 'local' parents and their children of similar age on the MRT and Bus.... few in my memory involved the kid carrying their own things and none had the kids looking so straight backed as this chap. I've seen mothers towing huge shopping bags containing toys while their precious little darling skipped ahead to annoy random passengers with their hyperactivity. I've seen little angels-turned-demons throw tantrums when their grandma gets a seat and they dont. This lad was a soldier who carried his own gear and he bore it without complaint, nor expectation of help from the adult.

Singaporeans (especially of the "Auntie" and pensive-26-year-old-variety) often lament why our kids are going soft, why our young lack willpower and drive, why every generation seems less in this or that way than the ones before. I have no sage answer for that, since I'm no doubt partly a product of this weakening bloodline myself; but this boy on the train had clearly been taught from a young age to take some responsibility for his own gear and burdens. He stood like a minature "Digger" (a World War One icon of a long-suffering and self-dependent soldier) at all of his 4 ft in height, proud to bear his burdens but seemingly most proud that he didn't have to trouble his mum to carry his things for him.

41 years on, we still got a long way to go Singapore.

Turtle invasion

I have never been a fan of the late Steve Irwin, the croc hunter. Best that i declare that now. Yet, i find myself moved by the outpouring of compassion among the denizens of my online MSN list.

Was listening to the BBC World Service in the car, driving home this evening when i learnt of Irwin's passing at the hands of a stingray (apparently stung in the chest, which must account at least partially for the fatality). I didn't think alot of it at the time; famous people die every day... Nellie Connally, the last surviving passenger of JFK's final car journey and the American western star Glenn Ford karked it this week too. (BBC is good for this kind of news it seems).

Anyhow, when i logged onto MSN I saw half my contact list inundated with little green turtle emoticons, in respectful (though not always sombre) memory of Irwin's passing. Despite his quirky, often suicidal, brand of pro-conservation animal encounters, it seems that the Croc Hunter had endeared himself to a fair number of people. The mean part of me wants to scream out "He had it coming, going about kissing flesh eating wombats and all that", but I have to admit that he has a courage to go about doing that which I don't think I have myself.

There is an old Australian compliment to describe someone who sticks through hardship and difficulty, striving to succeed through industry in compensation for difficult personal/financial/socio-economic circumstances. They are called "Battlers". While I feel fairly confident that Irwin, by the time of his passing, was never short of lunch money, I still think he lived a life along the path-less-travelled according to his passion, which in my book gets a salute.

For one who waltzed with death for the entertainment of children and adults alike (every week...), I (in my skepticism) don't believe his final passing was as peaceful as the media release claimed. What are the final thoughts of such a man, who has lived life on the knife edge, even if it was in showmanship? We may never know.

Back to the Future

Yes, been away long long time.

Yes, been bugged to update many many time.

Yes, am glad to be back... watch this space.

Hail and well met

Ho ho ho.... almost a month since i was last on, but with this one token post i get the avoid missing 'october' in my blog archives.

Gee, feels like my maths homework undone... had so many things happen this month.

Ok, no space or energy for a blow-by-blow account, but here's basically what happened:


7-9th October and 14-16 October.
LLTC "B" and LLTC "Z" for St Joseph's and St Patrick's respectively.

Two weekends of camp, but boy were they fun. I got to teach the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People during one camp, that was good for learning names and getting to know people better. Tested some secretariat methods, learnt some new tricks and generally had a wonderful time with the Facilitators on the Organising Team. LLTC Z was rather... unique... Despite being a one-off smaller scale affair, it yeilded some very good insights which we must learn from and put into action for future operations. Good learning, left unreflected and unacted upon, will be wasted.

Most of October I was down really bad with something called a Micoplasma chest infection. Sounds pretty profound, but what it really did was render me horribly incapacitated and wracking with fever on the bed for more than a few days. Have been on no less than three different (and progressively powerful) courses of anti-biotics and only just (yesterday) finished my final course.

Needless to say, i feel *much* better now but am 1) totally out of condition from all the sitting on my butt (i get a little puffed when climbing more than 5 stories of stairs) and 2) getting pale and fair enough to qualify for the gu niang club again.

NIE exams and assessment month is also a flavour of October, so with deadlines rushing to meet me like a train approaching in a tunnel, i plod on.

I had something more cranial to blog tonight, but after two slices of ice-cream cake from Swensons earlier this evening (all your fault Zhao Jia!!!), i'm not in a state to discuss the intricacies of "Patriotism and nationalism in Singapore in the context of an increasingly globalized era". Perhaps another day...

My prayers of thanks are for Sec 3E1, 2E1 and 2E2 of BPSS who cleared their exams well. (and the sec 2s seemed to have come out of the level camp alive).

Prayers of hope are for the Sec 4s of SJI and SPS who sit for their Os in the near future.

~Ora et Labora~
~Potest qui vult~
~Reach and Excel~

Tuesday@NIE: Rant Warning!!

Why I am here? It's a beautiful sunny day outside and I'm hiding in the air-conditioned library of NIE after my morning classes. The reason? Because (unlike at Melbourne University) if one started sunbathing on the lawn of your university campus (no matter how beautiful the weather), the head librarian would likely appear like Mother Superior with ants in her habit and tell you to cover up. Actually, sometimes it seems like if you showed so much as the top of your ankle around the library, you'd get raised eyebrows. Besides, it's now winter in Melbourne so I doubt I'd go sunbathing.

Today it’s going to be a rant; everyone put your helmets on because there’s going to be some fire in the hold.

*helmet on*

My quibble today is primarily about the Canadian TV stand-up comedian, Messr Russel Peters.

Lest it be said that I don’t try to give him a fighting chance, here’s a link to his 45-minute video available online on the internet.

http://www.sepiamutiny.com/sepia/archives/000481.html

I should also alert readers to the fact that Mr Peters is wildly popular among his fans (or they wouldn’t be fans now would they?) and, in general, has proven his ability to make people from a wider diversity of English-speaking backgrounds laugh. Laughter per se is not a bad thing, I’m just worried about the subject of the humour.

“Oh Ben, you’re being a stick in the mud, a kill joy and a wet blanket”.

Yea, perhaps I am. But I find it in very poor taste to poke fun at ethnic groups’ peculiarities by exaggerating stereotypes and exploiting the school-yard bully complex. It's encouraging them to laugh at how other people are different from you (and thus become fair subject for ridicule). Is there ever a justified reason to belittle another person or group of people based on their differences from the commentator, even for the 'noble' purpose of humour? It might begin with humour, but when a subject becomes fair game for crude humour, our respect for that subject is diminished. With the lessening of respect for a subject, it gradually becomes more acceptable to progress from poking fun at it, to ridiculing it, to humiliating it, to condemning it. A lack of respect breeds ignorance, which breeds intolerance.

The twentieth century is rich in tragic examples of what intolerance, taken to extremes, can do to communities. That said, intolerance does not need to be taken to such extremes to do harm. The individual who is excluded from the playground game because they have big ears, green eyes, are good at science or who speak with an accent is no less hurt by intolerance than the minority group in any structured place who are subjected to the progressive nomenclature which goes:

“you have no place here, because you are different; because you are different, you are a lesser being; because you are a lesser being, your life is worth *less*; because your life is *worthless*, you [ultimately] do not deserve life”

There are defenses made in favour of Peters’ position. I’m not saying that his actions are indefensible though, no- that is not giving him credit for being humourous to some people. Still, none of the counter-arguments I’ve been able to find have held much water with me.

The ironic equality defence

“He’s equally insulting to every race / group, so it’s okay”.

In my opinion, that makes things even worse!

The premise behind this argument is to hide behind the façade of equality while perpetuating the same injustices to an even greater number of undeserving recipients, potentially encouraging uncritical audiences (especially impressionable ones) to see the world in stereotypes AND regard such stereotypes as acceptable subjects for disrespect.

The pyrric victory defence

“He even pokes fun at himself / his own group / his own race, so it’s okay”

Half a mark here; If someone subject others to a particular treatment but not themselves to that same treatment, we would clearly see the discrimination there.

However, where the treatment is a damaging one, is there virtue in priding the fact that one self-flagellates in the interest of fairness? One premise states that a respect for others first begins with a respect for the self. In romantic, humanistic thought, the individual is worthy of respect and their unique qualities are to be celebrated in the interest of human diversity and progress. Have we fallen so far in this brave new world of Materialism, MTV, MacDonalds and Mobile Phones that we feel that the individual’s sense of self esteem is no longer important? Or is it just that I'm stuck with outdated ideals from a bygone age and will be doomed to a life of bitter cynisicm, still a virgin at age 55 and (still) getting fat eating corn chips while reading Sir Walter Scott in bed? *sobz*

The laugh-doctor defence

“He makes people laugh, laughing is good for the soul, we should let people laugh where they can, cos the world sux. [so it’s okay]”

I’ll concede that we probably don’t laugh enough in our world today. I certainly know I don’t laugh enough myself; I am the one often accused of walking around with a steel rod firmly embedded somewhere in my anatomy. Good as the therapy of laughing may be though, I feel that there is an equal trap of becoming careless, callous and reckless in the topics we allow ourselves to derive humorous pleasure from.

Other rant on Reality TV

In an age of reality-television and extreme entertainment, do we allow ourselves to chuckle at the orchestrated situations on television, staged for our amusement (and the showbiz benefits to those ‘lucky’ participants) and then let those same paradigms of what is acceptable carry over from reality-television to reality itself?

Viewers hang on with nail-biting tension to the bitching, plotting and scheming of the Survivor series of shows. Were we not celebrating a failure to dialogue? Did the show itself not indicate an attitude that “there can be no mutual victory, it someone must be excluded from this group”. In today's era where the ability to dialogue to resolve disagreements and seeking a common victory is so important, I must question the practice of gleefully anticipating the next chance to see someone deliberately and systematically excluded from a group whose existence and hitherto existence depended on their team work, trust and co-operation. We are telling our children that it is better to get rid of part's that don't work as a first measure rather than to fix our own problems, even [and especially?] when those problems are inter-personal in nature.

Big Brother brought the ugliness of human cohabitation to the public eye and we in society lapped it up, not because we were strangers to domestic disputes or ugly household disagreements, but perhaps because we allowed ourselves to feel better about our own failings in life by consoling ourselves that others had the same problems too; and that made it all ok. No need to solve our problem then, because other people are just like us, and because everyone’s the same, that’s the way the world is, can’t change the world.

American / Singapore / Martian / Geriatric Idol is my pet peeve; we celebrate and fete the victors while ridiculing those who (for various reasons) were not chosen to progress further. Are we sending the message to impressionable viewers that victors should be worshipped while those who fell by the wayside are scum? That’s exactly the message that the scathing and ad hominem commentary from Idol judges sends. Never mind that those who didn’t score first place practiced just as hard as the winners, invested as much personal passion into the process or put their self-esteem on the line any less than those who won. It might well be that some people can’t carry a tune in a bucket (and, to be fair, some really can’t) but that does not and should not grant a judge (a so-called professional in the field) to engage in derogatory, almost insulting deconstruction of a contestant’s performance.

“All in the name of entertainment”, so the saying goes. “No hard feelings [really], it’s just for the TV ratings”

If the ‘standard’ of a civilisation is measured by the kinds of leisure and entertainment activities engaged in by its citizens, then we have all failed. Failed dismally. We aren’t feeding Christians to the Lions and charging $12 a seat for it ($8.50 for student concession and $6 on Tuesday afternoons!), but- call me a stick in the mud if you must- I have to believe that a genteel society is something that we can strive for… and achieve!!

The Smells of Jurong

It’s Monday again, back to NIE.

The long travelling time aside, it’s quite a quaint place.

The faults and flaws of having one’s university campus situated in a place that feels like it’s half-way between Singapore and Kansas have been bandied around by NTU and NIE students like for generations (i.e more than one generation of students).

As I walk out of the house to the bus stop, my closet schizophreniac personality emerges and takes over and I discuss with myself the virtues of having a university campus in the back of beyond. To my surprise (and the surprise of my imaginary friend too!), we can actually find a few.

Allow us to list them.

1) Having spent more time travelling to class than you will actually spend *in* class, one’s motivation to study actually increases; After dragging one’s sorry carcass out of bed at unearthly hours of the morning and then braving the gauntlet of morning rush-hour traffic to get here on time, you’ll be damned if you’re going to have nothing to show for it- so might as well do the work and pay attention.

2) The imposed solitude of commuting to school via public transport, surrounded by strangers that Mummy wouldn’t want you to talk to, has the positive academic effect of ensuring that all your pre-lecture and tutorial reading gets done AND one is even able to finish reading the daily newspapers to catch up on all the things gahmen want you to know. Like not being too frank on blogs.

*queue men in black suits with sunglasses to come and arrest me*

3) It’s like having a rural university campus in the countryside (until 8am at least). When you stand, listen and just be still in the mornings, the silence is refreshing. No car horns, no sound of banter from anyone around you, the distant caw of a crow or the chirp of a morning bird. It’s like taking a holiday; 5 minutes every day of absolute peace where one can be truly away and quiet.

4) Despite it’s remoteness, NIE is actually rather well equipped. Air-conditioned libraries and classrooms, free campus-wide wireless internet (for registered students only, sorry all you Wi-Fi chalkers!!) and canteen food to die for.

5) Food; NIE’s got it all:
- food to die for (if you eat Western food every day)
- food that will kill you (if you eat from one particular stall)
- food that will still kill you but you will die happy (most of the rest of the stalls)
- food that will assuage your conscience after eating too much of the previously mentioned food categories (fruit stall)

6) NIE isn’t just about coming to school and learning “stuff” that you then “use on” students upon returning to school. There are friendships forged and fond memories created. Of course, all this is looking back with double rose tinted glasses, while eating Turkish delight and drinking bandung while surrounding yourself with rose pot-pourri. If you started to get all nostalgic and soppy about NIE during some of the most pressurising and brain-crunching periods last semester, you would be asking for a slap!!!

7) I like ice-cream. There is an ice-cream vending machine here. Here is good place.

8) Having raved about the wonders of NIE’s silence earlier, there is also one sound that I rather enjoy hearing (albeit probably not all the time). It’s the roar of fighter jets flying close overhead on their way in and out of the near by RSAF base. When you’re standing in the open and the roar of the turbofan engines thunders through the air, there’s a sense of physical exhilaration as one’s diaphragm and ears tremble with the deep resonating pulse of the engines. Flight is one of man’s greatest scientific achievements. While we are still far from mastering our environment, that our technology and learning has allowed us to go beyond the normal biological, evolutionary confines is both inspiring and terrifying.

9) Another favourite sound, that of small arms fire emanating from the nearby jungles. I am, of course, referring to the military training exercises conducted by the Singapore Armed Forces just on the borders of NIE. Cleverly concealed not 200 meters from the edge of this university campus is a service road used by wheeled military vehicles to commute in and out of the training area. From the popping “put-put” discharge sound of the M16 to the deep and rumbling “ra-da-da-da-da” of a GPMG, the sounds of the military in training are a comfort to poor helpless civilians such as I that the unceasing and underappreciated endeavour of keeping our country safe from fearsome potential enemies as varied as Botswana and the Bogey-man-in-the-cupboard. But actually, all the military hardware is just a secondary measure. Singapore’s REAL ultimate defence is a highly classified state secret but I’ll tell you. (whispers: Captain Planet promised he’d come to save us if we were in trouble).

10) Another reason I personally like this area? It takes me away from home, and the distracting comforts. I love my library, just taking out books to hold them in my hand, to feel the heft of a weighty volume, to run my fingers over the pages, to smell that old paper smell. And read if of course! I don’t just have a physical relationship with my books! (what are you thinking?!) My bedside shelf has my bedtime reading companions, too many to cover in a short entry and my reading wish list grows longer every week or so. I’m not keeping up with my leisure reading, but at least I still have time to read something other than academic papers on history, education and pedagogy, the daily newspapers and whatever other material I can get my hands on (including the odd blog here and there). I’m so… productive when I’m in school. This may be partly attributed to the fact that my laptop is too slow to play any games, but that is of course entirely beside the point!

Oh yes, and then there's my other mistress, Madam Pentium. She is demanding of my attention indeed.

Good night…

Argh where did the time go?

Exactly! Where did that week go? I was so sure that I had only posted the previous entry a few winks ago but before i know it i'm back at Friday.

Maybe I was kidnapped by aliens... who subjected me to experiments and induced halucinations that just happened to resemble my weekly routine from Monday to Friday.

So many times during the week I felt that I had something to write and reflect on... "I must blog this" I can remember telling myself on the bus home, walking down the street, listening to something happening in class, observing a grasshopper land on a leave and devour it while i waited for the bus to arrive... that kind of thought provoking stuff.

Unfortunately, it's almost 5pm on a Friday afternoon. I'm still in NIE, out in the extreme west of Singapore, where the urban creep literally borders the primary forest. The up-side of studying way out here is that there's no Dengue Haemorragic Fever risk here. No Sir, there are no dengue mosquitoes here. Just Malaria ones. So we hide inside our classrooms, cloistered in our libraries, eating processed food and watching the Germans win the "Battle of the Buldge".

Ah! Fang just offered me a ride to the MRT station. Anything to avoid the drudgery of bus 199.

I'm off, I'm off! off to the tea party! Mustn't be late! Mustn't be late!!