Ah yes here I am, back again from another couple of aggravating months of having to do my dues in the national service. Dressing in green just seems so horrid nowadays having spent my many months in the colours of the forest. Yes, it is now time once again to sit down and write and pour out my deepest discontents so that perhaps one day i might not run away with a rifle and thirty rounds in my pockets from the airport. oh yes the Taser with four rounds too....did i mention that?
Anyhooo, As i have mentioned in my earlier posts, it is truly a fact that we as Singaporeans are living under the constant illusion that we are in some ways, "free." Oh god go here we go again, another long and uninteresting speech about human rights and freedom. Perhaps if that is the magnitude your brain then perhaps you should stop reading lest your medulla explodes with the sheer capacity of the overload of information.
Freedom perhaps comes in many sorts. I'm not talking about the right to buy houses or living under the constant tyranny. Now theres an interesting word and so debatable in the context of this tiny island here. Why though, you ask, are we not all free? Are we not living a comfortable life on a first world technological hub with first world people? If you are perhaps once more you should stop reading once more before i find men with big guns come smashing thru my windows and pinning me down american style. There again i hope that none of these men have watched one too many jean claude van damme movies or steven segal ones too or i might find myself in a rather excrutiating headlock with my lap top quickly bundled into a ziplock bag before being marked evidence. Ok i need a breath there. Saying all those did take a bit out of me.
The freedom that I speak of involves the simplest of things. I would like to take the car out to our wonderful neighbouring country and be allowed to enter with a box of cigarettes which i have bought over there only because it is so much cheaper. Yes! I would like to be able to modify my car because simply i am a whore for power and no sometimes i think your engines sound like a brick in a grinder. Yes! I would like to be able to sit at a cafe with a cigarette in my hand and for once NOT be in a bleeding yellow box because it makes me look like a bloody target for people to throw pies at me. Yes! Simple matters such as these are perhaps the most basic and tragic points that we as Singaporeans must endure.
Another thing about us being in the illusion of freedom are the certain landmarks perhaps established for us to be "free." Let us talk about the speakers corner, ahh, a landmark perhaps of truth and daring where people need not fear the fact that what they say might be too viulgar or perhaps too overly zealous. Yes, perhaps this is a fair point but perhaps there is that overly noticeable fact that there is no one there at any point in time. The place has become a dropping collection point for the birds. Oh right of course, let us not point out that perhaps barely a hundred metres within that same vicinity is a police station. Mm, very interesting, now we wonder why we are harbouring the delusion that we might be... free.
With a tone of finality although this isnt a fun thing to talk about, it might be fun to think about. Singapore hardly has any demonstrations of any kind whatsoever and yes that might be a good thing but it does show what ideas in singapore become. They become quelled and everyone who had and has something to say has to stuff their ideas under the bed with the rest of the pornographic magazines. Oh dear did I say that out loud? Also, should there be a demonstration larger than a size of an army platoon, which there hardly is due to the laws passed against demonstrations, the government quickly moves to accomodate the demonstration by saying "Please go inside and demonstrate so it wouldnt be so unsightly." Oh unless of course the demonstration is done by homophobic catholics, (no offence to catholics by the way, and i love your rules of non contraception. Way to fly.) where i was hoping to see trucks of gays and lesbians moon the demonstrators. Then again once more, i digress. No, I'm not gay, I just see them as any other person would. As people, not a leper colony. The government would do everything in their power from arrests to "gentle reminders" about the peace in Singapore. Seriously, demonstrators in Thailand must have laughed so hard they swallowed their molotov cocktails.
Alright, i shall sign off here, and yes i will be back. Cheerio.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Excuse me for not being a patriot (Part 1)
Well, the title does say everything does it?
I just have the feeling that right now, every single keystroke i am making is being closely monitored by that of the Government and at any moment, men with guns and black bag are going to smash meladromatically right through my windows and black bag my head for spreading material that isnt quite supportive of the Government.
If you call that spreading.
Well bad news for your Mr-I-want-to-smash-thru-the-windows because those particular windows, though mere glass, is coupled with solid steel grilles behind them. So tantamount to smashing yourself thru my delightful green tinted windows, and into some very uncomfortable steel bars, i should ask you to knock on my door and perhaps we could have tea.
Well, why wouldnt I say I am a patriot?
Perhaps its only because almost none of us are, whether subconsciously or perhaps as blatant as I am. I am not a patriot because, well,
- I hate the idea of conscription (even though thats where I am now)
- This country runs on an illusion of freedom
- We have no real roots. Even as a young country.
First off. Ah yes, the bane of every single young man who does live in Singapore. At the age of 18, where we have finally come about the legal age of the ability to poison our livers with alcohol, watch a show where actual skin is showed and of course confidently walk up to a counter at 7-11 and buy a packet of cigarettes without having to fumble and come up with weak excuses for not having a valid ID. I say, quite a sentence there. But then again, I digress.
It almost seems as though the Government wants to keep the guys alive a bit longer by restricting freedom at such a tender age. Yes, yes I do know Women live longer than Men but there really is no need for such extremity.
Shaved bald, shoved off to a second rate housing on a desert island with food that could kill you before you actually bite into it. There we endure a minimum of 8 weeks of basic military training, at the same time, roleplaying a dog where our actions corresponds to the whims of superiors. Yes of course I'll crawl across the scorching hot granite parade square on my belly. Oh yes of course I'll run up and down the stairs till my muscles tear just for your amusement. Oh barky barky.
Perhaps i shan't go further into the elaboration of Basic Military Training. After all, whats inevitable will be inevitable, and everyone has heard too much of the stories and of course the older population of males who have been relieved of duty probably could care less for another session of whining on the lives of army by young men who have yet to serve their two years. Yet, they forget, years ago it was them who experienced the same thing and watched in envy as their peers churned out four figure salaries, partied every weekend and woke up only when the sun rose already.
I myself am rather distraught at the decomposition of my persona, my language and even my own physcial outlook. I have toughened over my year odd stay in the army so far, to the extent of coolness and unfeeling, have reached the very heart of my family. "Mean" and "Cold" are perhaps the two core words Dear Mother has used on me. My language was perhaps the next to go. Ahhh, English, perhaps my most proficient language and to me, a linguistic fare. A language so delicious and so old. A language that evolves with modern day speech and yet should the language fashion of perhaps a hundred years ago be used again on this very day, it would still be beautiful. Perhaps in the army, something went quite astray somewhere.
We were lead by British many years ago, the capitol of English and yet today, men in the army can hardly form a single sentence without butchering or decapitating vocabulary or grammar. Words like "Irregardless." and sentences like "I make the entrie theatre laughed." are perhaps the tip of a very deep iceberg. One that would have put the thing that sunk the Titanic to a huge shame. There, people who actually speak good English are classified as the Rich, the Educated, the Show-offs. Yes, having a good command of English actually means that you are the brunt of the many many jokes and sniggers, how odd is that! I suppose none of them has actually seen My Fair Lady. Eliza Doolittle spoke with an accent far more arousing and a grammar far more perfect and she was already laughed at. Oh, there we go, I'm being laughed at for having watched such a show as "My Fair Lady."
As for my physical outlook, thanks to the meagre chances for hygiene upkeep, and the deplorable sleeping conditions in the army, my complexion suffers, my hair has to be crew cut at all times and the freedom of having a little stylish goatee just to look a little scruffy for the ladies is taken away too. Somehow, we wonder why people want to run from Singapore the moment they hear the word "Conscription." Oh... look! Darn, another half a dozen scholars just fled the country.
Cheerio!
I just have the feeling that right now, every single keystroke i am making is being closely monitored by that of the Government and at any moment, men with guns and black bag are going to smash meladromatically right through my windows and black bag my head for spreading material that isnt quite supportive of the Government.
If you call that spreading.
Well bad news for your Mr-I-want-to-smash-thru-the-windows because those particular windows, though mere glass, is coupled with solid steel grilles behind them. So tantamount to smashing yourself thru my delightful green tinted windows, and into some very uncomfortable steel bars, i should ask you to knock on my door and perhaps we could have tea.
Well, why wouldnt I say I am a patriot?
Perhaps its only because almost none of us are, whether subconsciously or perhaps as blatant as I am. I am not a patriot because, well,
- I hate the idea of conscription (even though thats where I am now)
- This country runs on an illusion of freedom
- We have no real roots. Even as a young country.
First off. Ah yes, the bane of every single young man who does live in Singapore. At the age of 18, where we have finally come about the legal age of the ability to poison our livers with alcohol, watch a show where actual skin is showed and of course confidently walk up to a counter at 7-11 and buy a packet of cigarettes without having to fumble and come up with weak excuses for not having a valid ID. I say, quite a sentence there. But then again, I digress.
It almost seems as though the Government wants to keep the guys alive a bit longer by restricting freedom at such a tender age. Yes, yes I do know Women live longer than Men but there really is no need for such extremity.
Shaved bald, shoved off to a second rate housing on a desert island with food that could kill you before you actually bite into it. There we endure a minimum of 8 weeks of basic military training, at the same time, roleplaying a dog where our actions corresponds to the whims of superiors. Yes of course I'll crawl across the scorching hot granite parade square on my belly. Oh yes of course I'll run up and down the stairs till my muscles tear just for your amusement. Oh barky barky.
Perhaps i shan't go further into the elaboration of Basic Military Training. After all, whats inevitable will be inevitable, and everyone has heard too much of the stories and of course the older population of males who have been relieved of duty probably could care less for another session of whining on the lives of army by young men who have yet to serve their two years. Yet, they forget, years ago it was them who experienced the same thing and watched in envy as their peers churned out four figure salaries, partied every weekend and woke up only when the sun rose already.
I myself am rather distraught at the decomposition of my persona, my language and even my own physcial outlook. I have toughened over my year odd stay in the army so far, to the extent of coolness and unfeeling, have reached the very heart of my family. "Mean" and "Cold" are perhaps the two core words Dear Mother has used on me. My language was perhaps the next to go. Ahhh, English, perhaps my most proficient language and to me, a linguistic fare. A language so delicious and so old. A language that evolves with modern day speech and yet should the language fashion of perhaps a hundred years ago be used again on this very day, it would still be beautiful. Perhaps in the army, something went quite astray somewhere.
We were lead by British many years ago, the capitol of English and yet today, men in the army can hardly form a single sentence without butchering or decapitating vocabulary or grammar. Words like "Irregardless." and sentences like "I make the entrie theatre laughed." are perhaps the tip of a very deep iceberg. One that would have put the thing that sunk the Titanic to a huge shame. There, people who actually speak good English are classified as the Rich, the Educated, the Show-offs. Yes, having a good command of English actually means that you are the brunt of the many many jokes and sniggers, how odd is that! I suppose none of them has actually seen My Fair Lady. Eliza Doolittle spoke with an accent far more arousing and a grammar far more perfect and she was already laughed at. Oh, there we go, I'm being laughed at for having watched such a show as "My Fair Lady."
As for my physical outlook, thanks to the meagre chances for hygiene upkeep, and the deplorable sleeping conditions in the army, my complexion suffers, my hair has to be crew cut at all times and the freedom of having a little stylish goatee just to look a little scruffy for the ladies is taken away too. Somehow, we wonder why people want to run from Singapore the moment they hear the word "Conscription." Oh... look! Darn, another half a dozen scholars just fled the country.
Cheerio!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Introductions
An Introduction to all who have managed to find or discover the contents of this blog. Well, Hello there.
Why have I made this? I made this blog to express myself in the form of poetry, an art form, a different way of telling you, dear reader, what I think and how I feel. Perhaps just through these simple words and phrases, can you experience the highs and lows that I wish to share.
Perhaps right now I sound rather impertinent, assuming that everyone would want to feel the way I do.
My extended apologies are due in that case.
Well, in the end, everyone has to admit that we are rather queer creatures aren't we? Inherently we are subconsciously masochistic, in one way or another I guess. In my short time on this Earth where my eyes were actually open and awake, I realised that to quell our life's disappointments and so on, we often seem to do things to aggravate the pain or feelings we already feel.
Take the simple matter of a broken heart for that matter. What is the first thing we do when our fragile hearts are shattered by a charming rogue or a seductive temptress? Yes we get emotional, bawl our heads off and you would think after a night of tears and soggy pillowcases it would be enough and natural for us to stand up and try to get over our swollen eyes and lead life back as it is again.
Unfortunately human nature isnt quite as forgiving as logic. We listen to our favourite love songs, rekindling the feelings of loss and love again. We cut our hands, hoping for a greater pain to distract us from the present. We drink our stomachs out at bars, only to topple over the barstools spewing our stomach fluids from our mouths.
Why do we torment ourselves so? Because we want to forget? Because we want to right the wrongs we did or did not do?
Then know this, if a feeling a sadness is already something you cannot endure, what makes you think, you can cause more pain to yourself that is equal or more to the feeling of depression? "So what do YOU do when youre upset?" You are probably retorting this in indignance right now. I tell you in my calmest voice " I write."
Stories, poems, scripts... anything.
In a sense, after watching a televison show called heroes, I am able to relate to an artist called Isaac Mendez, who's creativity and full artistic talents were only able to surface when he was at the peak or rock bottom of his emotions. He soon learned to control his talents and to was able to use them at anytime he pleased. I hope that one day, I can become Isaac Mendez, where my feelings to create my forms of art are not controlled by the highs and lows of my emotions.
Why have I made this? I made this blog to express myself in the form of poetry, an art form, a different way of telling you, dear reader, what I think and how I feel. Perhaps just through these simple words and phrases, can you experience the highs and lows that I wish to share.
Perhaps right now I sound rather impertinent, assuming that everyone would want to feel the way I do.
My extended apologies are due in that case.
Well, in the end, everyone has to admit that we are rather queer creatures aren't we? Inherently we are subconsciously masochistic, in one way or another I guess. In my short time on this Earth where my eyes were actually open and awake, I realised that to quell our life's disappointments and so on, we often seem to do things to aggravate the pain or feelings we already feel.
Take the simple matter of a broken heart for that matter. What is the first thing we do when our fragile hearts are shattered by a charming rogue or a seductive temptress? Yes we get emotional, bawl our heads off and you would think after a night of tears and soggy pillowcases it would be enough and natural for us to stand up and try to get over our swollen eyes and lead life back as it is again.
Unfortunately human nature isnt quite as forgiving as logic. We listen to our favourite love songs, rekindling the feelings of loss and love again. We cut our hands, hoping for a greater pain to distract us from the present. We drink our stomachs out at bars, only to topple over the barstools spewing our stomach fluids from our mouths.
Why do we torment ourselves so? Because we want to forget? Because we want to right the wrongs we did or did not do?
Then know this, if a feeling a sadness is already something you cannot endure, what makes you think, you can cause more pain to yourself that is equal or more to the feeling of depression? "So what do YOU do when youre upset?" You are probably retorting this in indignance right now. I tell you in my calmest voice " I write."
Stories, poems, scripts... anything.
In a sense, after watching a televison show called heroes, I am able to relate to an artist called Isaac Mendez, who's creativity and full artistic talents were only able to surface when he was at the peak or rock bottom of his emotions. He soon learned to control his talents and to was able to use them at anytime he pleased. I hope that one day, I can become Isaac Mendez, where my feelings to create my forms of art are not controlled by the highs and lows of my emotions.
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