Dott SG

When Dinosaurs met Cats

2011-07-26T11:40:00.001+08:00

Another home video ... its been a year since I've posted something here ...

When Cats become Cows

2010-07-26T14:38:00.005+08:00

It started off by accident. I had bought some corn cobs intending to steam them as a late nite snack. I had forgotten about the last one and it remained shriveled at the back for the fridge for a week or two.

Deciding that it was better not to eat it, I pulled off some of the seeds and threw it in a pot with some soil.

I had really doubted that it could grow and a week or so later grow it did and much to my surprise, the cats loved the fresh young shoots.

And so I grew more and this is now it a fav snack treat.

Of course you can get too much of a good thing like this ...

I'll stand by you

2010-06-11T12:21:00.003+08:00

And so the World Cup competition rolls around yet again and we stand divided by the teams we support.

Going by reactions from friends and family, my support of Team England puts me firmly in the minority but no matter. I know their chances are slim at best, but that's really not the point.

You support a team because you identify with them ... for me ... since childhood. You don't support just the favourites of Spain, Italy or Brazil and keep switching loyalty with each competition ... where is the sportsmanship in that?

You remain a team supporter in good times and in bad. You take a deep breath and stand tall when you look at the fixtures. Even though at the back of your mind you know it's gonna be a hard fight, you never lose the faith.

But that's a lesson in life too ... you have to believe in yourself and in your people who work under you. No matter how daunting the task seems, you steamroll ahead never doubting that you have what it takes to get the job done. When you push you team onwards, your faith in them has to be larger than life so that they too will believe and with that, conquer.

Barring hope beyond belief, Team England will get blasted out but I will still cheer them on. I won't waste time reading the post match reports with all their recriminations and the 'I-told-you-so' finger-waggings of journalists - armchair critics who probably haven't kicked a ball in years.

England will still be my team well beyond that final whistle.

Cat versus Catfish

2010-05-19T17:48:00.004+08:00

Strange cat - hates the catfish

My sweetie, Dasher

2010-04-15T19:51:00.005+08:00

And the memories remain ...

Really ... you were the first friendly face we saw when we moved into Woodlands in December 1999. You greeted us everytime we walked past the void deck with a friendly rub and waiting for a pat. You showed us your family. With your little "waak" your kittens would suddenly appear from drains or behind discarded furniture, whereever you had set up temporary home.

We tried to bring you up once, but you wouldn't have it. Perhaps there were more kittens you had to look after and so you stayed by the door, till we let you go free once again.

Evening feeds at the void deck became our ritual, a little packet of fish, a rub on the leg, one pat and you were satisfied... content. That's why we called you Sweetie at first for that was what you are ...

But life wasn't safe for you out there. Most of your kittens never made it but still you tried. We were only able to rescue one - Blitzen. Her brother left you a few days before and we are glad to see that at least he still survives, prowling the neighbourhood. Jet black and handsome, you would be so proud of him for he followed in your footsteps.

And so we took you up and gave you a home on April 1 2003. There would be no more babies for you to worry about - your job has been done well. When we had you fixed, the vet said it was lucky we got you in when we did. Your womb was so distended by the many births, you would not have survived much longer.

While you made yourself at home indoors, it was still life on your terms. You kept to yourself but you were never short of offering affection. You still had a wandering streak that refused to be tamed. You would migrate from one part of the house to another, staking your claim to one sleeping spot and soon to move on to another. You were always dashing around and so we christened you Dasher.

Remember that brushing stint we went through some time back? It took you a while to get used to it and then you started to enjoy it ... pity I was too lazy and that stopped. I am sorry ...

I bathed you two weeks ago remember ... that very quick shower 'cos we all know how you hate to get wet. And last night I gave you your last meal ... your favourite fish ... none of that dry food you never liked. But you were already weak and your time was coming.

Sitting beside you when you left this afternoon was tough. You looked at me and you knew ... You never closed your eyes even when u left but it was still a parting well made.

Tequila-land where you now rest will never be the same ... the rain today washed away tears. A bow around your neck and an old Christmas ornament you played with remain with you as the memories remain with me ...

Rest well sweet Dasher ... we will surely meet again soon

The Passion of Sleep ...

2010-04-11T12:20:00.003+08:00

Envy the cat ... for sleep comes easy

Big yawn ... fangs and all

Brothers make good pillows ...

A full laundry basket maketh a good bed ... with a kid brother as a bolster

Sometimes it's a tight squeeze just to get comfy

When there is no one to hug, a couch will just have to do

And did we mention, yawning is contagious?

Fantasies of the Unconscious

2010-04-08T22:12:00.003+08:00

Fantasies of the Unconscious ...

2010-04-06T19:01:00.009+08:00

the road is long ... with many a winding turn ...

and so i seek out a new path -
bigger beyond the consciousness of the present
one larger than i can possibly fathom ...

for if the dream were to die ...
the soul would soon follow and i
would be no better than the ignorant masses,
mere noise in the background ...

aspire no more to lead
but to stand alone ...
eyes fixed firmly on a goal
just beyond the grasp ...

He understands ...

2010-04-02T12:20:00.000+08:00

"God understands our prayers even when we can't find the words to say to him."

Love the dog's expression!!
Source: http://wendisecretstolife.blogspot.com

okay ... so I can't paint ...

2010-04-01T18:02:00.013+08:00

or draw or colour or sketch .... sigh!

drew this today while on gmail chat with a friend ... strange thing ... it started off to be a dinosaur ... then I discovered how to make ... well ... splotches. Yup, life is full of surprises
...

then in a mood on April 3, ... it changed to this ... which did not get any good reviews either .... probably because of the dark text ...

and so that made way for some greenery ...

... and on a dreary Easter Sunday ... this is about as done as it is ever going to get. That's me facing the rising sun ... standing alone ... content ...

Hundreds protest global warning in Canada

2010-02-07T19:38:00.002+08:00

Sent by a friend ...

Guys don't shop - we just buy things

2010-01-10T14:29:00.018+08:00

The other half should have known this by now ... certainly after all these years ...

It's simple really - if you want us to help with the groceries - beyond the manual, unpaid, unappreciated hard labour of physically carrying the hundred-odd bags to the car - fine but be clear in what you ask of us.

"Grab a carton of eggs" = I will take the first carton I see. No that's always the wrong one. If you want a specific brand or type - then you have to tell us 'cos all eggs look pretty much alike to us mortal men.

"Don't you know we always use the low-cholesterol ones?" Huh were these chickens on a diet or something? To me, all eggs look and taste the same - really - when fried and served on a plate - with bacon - the more the better. That kinda makes all this "low cholesterol" crap kinda redundant ya?

Vegetables to us are just decorative pieces, part of the scenery on the plate. Yeah we may occasionally wolf down that sprig of celery you threw in but its not for the taste or alleged nutritional value - we are just too lazy to move it out of the way.

Who knew there are over 100 types of cereal and of these, only one is "our regular brand". I didn't even know we had a regular brand as me and breakfast don't get along. A cup of coffee in the morning - now that's breakfast. Don't ask me what brand I take - guys are simple creatures - we take whatever is there - whatever is easier to make - that's our brand and yes they all taste the same - whether it comes from South America or Asia - coffee is coffee and we are fine with that - really!

Guys don't shop - okay let me clarify this - REAL guys don't shop and I'm not talking of the prissy sort with their Chinky faces trying to pull off a dyed-burgundy hair or those oh-so-fake manicured eyebrows on faces that don't even seem old enough to shave - no - real guys - MEN (we barely comb our hair) - don't shop. If we need something, we go out and buy it. We don't need lists. Anything more than three items will fall out of our heads.

We - men - are not by nature, creatures primed to work on impulse. We don't need to browse and pick up every single item we see, read the label - comment on the nice packaging and then replace it cos it's not on "special" or it simply ain't our brand or 'cos we had absolutely no intension of buying it in the first place!. I think women browse mindlessly on purpose - just to irritate us guys as forward punishment for some silly thoughtless act we will certainly commit later in the day.

And speaking of thoughtlessness, why can't supermarkets have seats - for those of us poor souls who were dragged along if only to avoid the nagging.

For guys - brands at least for groceries and such - don't really exist. We are simple creatures of habit - Soap is soap - our brand is the brand you bought whatever that is - it comes in a white bottle but that is as far as we can recall.

Don't ask me to buy raw pasta. They all look the same to me. When I order pasta at a restaurant I just point at the picture - I don't need to know its name or pedigree - life is short - introductions aren't necessary. If there are no pictures we just order by the numbers since we can't figure out what we are ordering much less pronounce those fancy names.

Everything tastes fine to a guy. You don't need to ask. And no ... please don't spoil a meal with conversation. We are military-trained - which means we can eat in three minutes flat, take a bath in five (cos we wash only the body parts that which we can see assuming we were paying attention in the first place), dress in two minutes - we usually remember to zip up the fly but in a rush, that's optional - and be at the TV in one - just in time for our game to start.

Now is all this too difficult to remember ... maybe I should make you a list ...

Fantasies of the Unconscious - The Art of Appreciation

2009-12-27T19:30:00.008+08:00

I admit it - it used to bother me that I didn’t understand much about Art - especially the newer more "contemporary" forms.

To me “real” art was always these scenes of old - oils on canvas capturing a moment of intense human interaction - be it a man dying on a cross, a scene in an Italian marketplace, well-decked virgins dancing in fields of flowers or my favourite - the hand of God reaching out through the clouds to touch some naked guy (Yes, yes - I know its Adam).

You always knew what you were looking at and the main message was clear. If you take a closer look, you would probably be able to uncover more - some of the messages lying just beneath the surface which the artist had in mind.

Christian-themed paintings always had lots of hidden messages, be it a gesture with the hands, the play of light and shadows or the juxtaposition of the characters. Now that was Art - done by grand masters - powerful and timeless - created to inspire generations yet unborn.

Looking at some of the “art” displayed in Singapore's museums today … well it is not quite the same by any stretch of the imagination.

I don’t get a lot of it - and I’m sure there are a lot of people in the same boat - maybe they just don’t admit it. I’ve stood and watched people in museums looking at art. It’s all in their faces. Some show an almost instant connection with a bunch of metal pipes welded together and placed on a pedestal.

Others were more my kind of people … we look… we move around to change the angles … we read the little sign (dat’s no help!), we look again, we step back and quietly check out the other people with a “What the …. am I supposed to be looking at” look on our faces. We seek out similar lost souls with the same blank expressions and we exchange silent, knowing nods to mean “Yeah I don’t get it too. Think we can get a refund?”

Art shouldn’t be for just the connected crowd - those people who can make (or sometimes I think just fake) that leap of understanding and are able to derive some deeper ethereal meaning from some shapes on paper.

In my school art classes decades ago (which I failed miserably) it was called simply “Drawing Patterns” and the end products were probably a waste of paint and not all of it landed up on paper (ahh such fond memories).

But now someone draws squares and its called cubism which according to Wikipedia means “a 20th century avant-garde art movement, pioneered by Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque”.

Okay so it’s got a nice-sounding name but to me it’s still just a bunch of squares with other random shapes thrown in for good measure - perhaps it will make nice-looking wrapping paper. I would need a cereal box decoder ring to try and fathom how this could possibly relate to the eternal battle of good versus evil or something like that that the artist was trying to convey.

But I’m learning slowing to appreciate art in all its forms - thanks in part to my patient art critic on one of our rare trips to the museums in which she takes great pains (quite literally) to try and explain what we are looking at and ignore that you-got-to-be-kidding-me look on my face.

I suppose therein lies the rub … art is one of those rare subjects that one can learn to appreciate its form and colour without necessarily understanding its intended meaning. As my little critic says … “Listen to what it speaks to you”. We may look at the same thing but each will come away with a different take on it. Once you “get it” - that there is no right or wrong in appreciating art, then novices like me can begin to relax and just soak it in.

I think a little light just went on in my head … so that’s why they call art “conversational pieces” cos no one really gets it or perhaps more accurately … different people will see it in different ways …

Maybe I should try and take up painting again … someone out there may be able to decipher some deeper meaning to my random blotches of colour … but then again, maybe not!

The Christmas gift of hope

2009-12-23T12:36:00.004+08:00

By Susan Leonard

When I recall precious Christmas memories, I think of a very special story, one which represents the magic and glory of the season. This is a true story, as told to me by my husband -- a professional Santa Claus -- of a real Christmas miracle which he experienced. A story that I think will cause YOU to believe ...

Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see my Santa at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl.

"Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling. "Your friend? Your sister?"

"Yes, Santa," he replied. "My sister, Sarah, who is very sick," he said sadly. Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

"She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!" the child exclaimed. "She misses you," he added softly.

Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy's face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas. When they finished their visit, the Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted.

"What is it?" Santa asked warmly.

"Well, I know it's really too much to ask you, Santa, but ...." the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa's elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors. "The girl in the photograph ... my granddaughter ... well, you see ... she has leukemia and isn't expected to make it even through the holidays," she said through tear-filled eyes. "Is there any way, Santa ... any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That's all she's asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa."

Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do.

Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he had to do. "What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying," he thought with a sinking heart, "this is the least I can do."

When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked the assistant location manager how to get to Children's Hospital. "Why?" Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face. Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah's grandmother earlier that day.

"C'mon .... I'll take you there," Rick said softly.

Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa. They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale Rick said he would wait out in the hall.

Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw little Sarah on the bed. The room was full of what appeared to be her family; there was the Grandmother and the girl's brother he had met earlier that day. A woman whom he guessed was Sarah's mother stood by the bed, gently pushing Sarah's thin hair off her forehead. And another woman who he discovered later was Sarah's aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with a weary, sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah.

Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, "Ho, ho, ho!"

"Santa!" shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to escape her bed to run to him, IV tubes intact.

Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug. A child the tender age of his own son -- 9 years old -- gazed up at him with wonder and excitement. Her skin was pale and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of huge, blue eyes.

His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears. Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah's face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room. As he and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the bedside one by one, squeezing Santa's shoulder or his hand gratefully, whispering "thank you" as they gazed sincerely at him with shining eyes.

Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she'd been a very good girl that year. As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl's mother. She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah's bed, holding hands.

Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed in angels. "Oh, yes, Santa ... I do!" she exclaimed.

"Well, I'm going to ask that angels watch over you," he said.

Laying one hand on the child's head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed. He asked that God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease. He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing softly, "Silent Night, Holy Night ... all is calm, all is bright." The family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all.

When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah's frail, small hands in his own. "Now, Sarah," he said authoritatively, "you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair Mall this time next year!"

He knew it was risky proclaiming that, to this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he had to. He had to give her the greatest gift he could -- not dolls or games or toys -- but the gift of HOPE.

"Yes, Santa!" Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room.

Out in the hall, the minute Santa's eyes met Rick's, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed. Sarah's mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed to Santa's side to thank him. "My only child is the same age as Sarah," he explained quietly. "This is the least I could do." They nodded with understanding and hugged him.

One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in Milwaukee for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do. Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap. "Hi, Santa! Remember me?!"

"Of course, I do," Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down at her. After all, the secret to being a *good* Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the only child in the world at that moment.

"You came to see me in the hospital last year!"

Santa's jaw dropped. Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest. "Sarah!" he exclaimed. He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks were rosy -- much different from the little girl he had visited just a year before.

He looked over and saw Sarah's mother and grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.

That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus. He had witnessed -- and been blessed to be instrumental in bringing about -- this miracle of hope.

This precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered,

"Thank you, Father. 'Tis a very, merry Christmas!"

Publisher's Note:: This story has circulated widely on the Internet over the last 3 years with "Author Unknown" in the byline. That was how I originally received the story and published it. With a sense of relief and gratitude I can now give credit where credit is due. The story was told by Mark R. Leonard, a professional Santa Claus and written by his wife, Susan Leonard, a.k.a "Mrs. Claus:"
No copyright infringement was or is intended.

When the Star of David goes critical ...

2009-12-08T22:41:00.034+08:00

Israel’s formidable nuclear arsenal is a fact acknowledged quietly but never publicly and this tiny Jewish state is just about the only nation on earth that can sidestep the prying eyes of the world’s nuclear watchdog.

Attempts by its Arab/Muslim neighbours to go down the same route, to acquire the ultimate weapon even in its crudest forms, have been met with mistrust, fear and condemnation.

Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) – the nuclear equilavent of "Do onto others as you would have them do onto you", has appeared to work well in halting ambitions and egoes in other theatres of potential conflict.

But the Middle East has never been a geopolitical crucible where pragmatic reason rules. History, religion and the delicate dynamics of the players involved, has necessitated such a special exception to be made for Israel and its nuclear programme.

Israel’s search for nuclear weapons can be traced back to its very inception in 1948. The horrors of the Holocaust clearly demonstrated that as a people, they have been marked and continue to be singled out for elimination. And therefore having the means to inflict a modern Holocaust even as a last ditch move for self-preservation, remains possibly its only insurance against the legacy of Auschwich being revisited.

As early as 1948, Israeli scientists actively explored the Negev Desert for uranium deposits on orders from the Israeli Defence Ministry of Defense. By 1950, they found low-grade deposits near Beersheba and Sidon and worked on a low power method of heavy water production needed for its reactors.

To reward Israel for its participation in the Suez Crisis of 1956, France provided nuclear expertise and constructed a reactor complex for Israel at Dimona (left). Disguised originally as a textile plant, the largely underground complex was capable of large-scale plutonium production and reprocessing.

The United States in its U-2 surveillance flights, soon discovered the facility and by 1958 it was a subject of much discussion between American presidents and Israeli prime ministers. Israel used delay and deception to at first keep the United States at bay.

Two years later Israeli leader David Ben-Gurion went public in December 1960 declaring that Dimona complex was a nuclear research centre built for "peaceful purposes". Since then, Israel continued to use the nuclear option as a soft bargaining chip to secure ever more sophisticated conventional arms from the US for its defence again a growing Arab/Muslim threat.

After French disengagement in the early 1960s, Israel’s nuclear programme continued to march forward. Before the 1967 Six-Day War, Israel felt its still-venerable nuclear facility could be threatened and began assembling its first atomic weapons. Though originally modest in yield, several atomic devices were thought to have been produced along with short- to medium-range delivery systems.

In early 1968, the CIA issued a report concluding that Israel had successfully started production of nuclear weapons. CIA estimates of the Israeli arsenal's size did not improve with time. In 1974, it was estimated that Israel had between 10 and 20 nuclear weapons. The actual size and composition of Israel's nuclear stockpile remains to this day, a subject of speculation.

It is widely reported that Israel had two bombs in 1967, and that then-Prime Minister Eshkol ordered them armed in Israel's first nuclear alert during the Six-Day War. It is also reported that, fearing defeat in the October 1973 Yom Kippur War, the Israelis assembled 13 twenty-kiloton atomic bombs. This now sophisticated nuclear arsenal was deployed and ready for use should the continued existence of the State and its people be threatened with annihilation.

The opposing Arab states had limited their war aims because of their knowledge of the Israeli first-strike nuclear capabilities and the stark reality that the Star of David could and would go critical should the tide of war change in favour or the Crescent Moon.

But Israel’s conventional forces triumphed and the tactical nuclear weapons headed back to storage until the next time. The balance of power, however fragile, had been restored but the future remains uncertain.

By the late 1990s the U.S. Intelligence community estimated that Israel possessed between 75 and 130 weapons, based on production estimates of fissionable material. The stockpile included warheads for mobile Jericho I and Jericho II missiles, as well as bombs for Israeli aircraft, and may include other tactical nuclear weapons of various types.

The Jericho II (left) is a road-mobile, two-stage, solid-propellant missile with an approximate range of 1500 kilometers and a reported payload of 1000 kilograms. It is generally believed that the missile has been designated a nuclear mission given its payload and flight profile. Its dramatically increased range and accuracy over the Jericho I puts most Arab capitals and the southern areas of the former Soviet Union within its deadly crosshairs.

Some published estimates have speculated that Israel might have had as many as 400 nuclear weapons by the late 1990s. This estimate is widely believed to be heavily exaggerated, and that Israel's nuclear weapons inventory may include less than 100 nuclear weapons. Stockpiled plutonium could be used to arm additional weapons quickly should the need ever arise again.

Israel has shown a willingness to go it alone to prevent The Bomb from being acquired by its Muslim neighbours.

On June 7, 1981 Israeli warplanes struck the Osirak nuclear facility near Baghdad. This "unprovoked" action by Israel was a pre-emptive first strike to deny Iraq the capability of producing nuclear weapons, weapons Israeli intelligence believed were in the works. Iraqi defenses were taken by surprise and opened fire too late. In one minute and twenty seconds, the reactor lay in ruins. The IAF planes returned to base without losses.

Immediately following the raid, Israel announced: “Under no circumstances will we allow an enemy to develop weapons of mass destruction against our people” – a bold and not uncharacteristic warning from a nation which is paranoid to the extreme when it comes to defence.

Israel's September 6 2007 attack on Syria's al-Kibar nuclear facility surprised the world — Syria most of all. The operation, executed by the Israeli Air Force, was reminiscent of Israel's 1981 attack on Iraq's Osirak reactor, but with two noticeable differences. First, Israel remained silent following the al-Kibar bombing, while in 1981 it boasted publicly about the Iraq strike even before the pilots had returned. Second, whereas the international community knew of Saddam Hussein's nuclear plans in 1981, few were aware of the extent of Syria's nuclear program in 2007.

Still the question remains how long can this fragile balance of power be maintained. It appears to be only a matter of time before an Arab nation joins the nuclear fraternity - admittedly by the back door. And when present speculation of that day becomes cold hard fact, would Israel strike first?

The absence of alternatives makes pushing that launch button, an almost foregone conclusion. Perhaps such an end would be fitting, fulfilling the prophesy outlined in the Bible's Book of Revelations that the end of the world would come to pass on a dusty Israeli plain called of Har Megiddo (Hebrew: הר מגידו), meaning "Mountain of Megiddo" or as its it better known today - Armageddon.

And you are never too old ....

2009-11-30T13:20:00.002+08:00

I'm older than the hills or so it seems at times and yet I never feel that I am too old to learn new stuff.

It had bothered me for weeks and try as I did, no amount of gingerness on my part seemed to help ... my shoes from squeaking.

So who knew that a healthy dose of talcum baby powder would do the trick and keep your feet dry and smelling well ... social at the same time.

The things one can learn from the Internet never fails to amaze ...

Why does God allow pain ...

2009-11-21T22:52:00.005+08:00

A conversation between a man and a priest:

Man: I don't understand the omnipotent-benevolent thing.

Priest: You are confused because the bible describes God as an ominipotent and benevolent diety.

Man: Exactly.

Priest: Omnipotent-benevolent simply means God is all-powerful and well-meaning.

Man: I understnd the concept. It's just ... there seems to be a contradiction.

Priest: Yes. The contradiction is pain. Man's starvation, war, sickness ...

Man: Exactly! Terrible things happen in this world. Human tragedy seems like proof that God could not possibly be both all-powerful and well-meaning. If He loves us and has the power to change our situation, He would prevent our pain, wouldn't He?

Priest: Would He?

Man: Well if God loves us and He can protect us, He would have to. It seems He is either omnipotent and uncaring or benevolent and powerless to help.

Priest: Do you have children?

Man: No ...

Priest: Imagine you had an eight-year-old son. Would you love him?

Man: Of course.

Priest: Would you do everything in your power to prevent pain in his life?

Man: Of course.

Priest: Would you let him skateboard?

Man: Yeah, I guess... Sure I'd let him skateboard but I will tell him to be careful.

Priest: So as this child's father, you would give him some advice, good advice, and then you let him go off and make his own mistakes?

Man: I wouldn't run behind him and mollycoddle him if that's what you mean.

Priest: But what if he fell and skinned his knee.

Man: He would learn to be more careful.

Priest: So although you have the power to interfere and prevent your child's pain, you would choose to show your love by letting him learn his own lessons?

Man: Of course. Pain is part of growing up. It's how we learn.

Priest: Exactly.

Extract from Angels & Demons - By Dan Brown - Page 400

Fantasies of the Unconscious - A Rumour of War

2009-11-08T23:15:00.007+08:00

It's been over for more than half a century - gone and forgotten ... consigned to the history books. A handful of memorials still stand but we pass them by without a second glance. War-centric museums? Sure we have them but they are mainly for tourists - quaint, quirky and sometimes painful reminders of those dark three and a half years of bloody subjugation.

Apart from the mandatory school trips, how many Singaporeans would actually head for Memories at Old Ford Factory or Reflections at Bukit Chandu or the Changi Museum?
Perhaps that is the way it should be for the world has moved on. Even the threats facing countries today have evolved far beyond the simple black and white world of the 1940s when egos of emperors ventured forth to build empires.

The enemy of today wears no uniform, there are no front lines, land to be conquered nor borders to be shifted. No today we are faced with misplaced ideologies and perversions of faith.

So are the lessons learnt from the Great War still relevant today? I pondered this recently on a trip back in time through the doors of our museums. As museums go, they lived up to expectations. The images were graphic as one would expect, but they were ghosts from an era lost in time such that the atrocities they portrayed may just have well have happened in some other country not right here in Bukit Timah, Chinatown, Changi ...

No, there was something missing that would bridge that gap of consciousness from a page of history to 2009. Pictures, artefacts, videos, audio testimony ... our museums like others, have them all and yet I remained unconnected, ambivalant at best, to the stories on display for that's all they were to me .... stories from a foggy past.

Perhaps the reason is this - that war was and still is, the ultimate human experience. You had to be there or at least talk to the people who had experienced it firsthand, to begin to understand its sheer abject horror and the hopelessness of conflict. Perhaps nothing else will suffice...

Of Faith from Within

2009-11-07T22:35:00.009+08:00

"Faith is universal. Our specific methods of understanding it are arbitrary. Some of us pray to Jesus, some of us go to Mecca, some of us study subatomic particles. In the end we are all just searching for truth, that which is greater than ourselves."

- Dan Brown, Angels & Demons (Page 134)

Does His name really matter? I think not. Call Him what you will. Religion of choice, faith or destiny is there merely to point the way.

We can't all be saints but at least we should resolve to live life by principles - of loyalty and hard work. If you have gone all out to help those you could, and you took the time to cherish the falling raindrops, then let the chips fall where they may ... a difference of one - is still a life well lived...

Because I'm a man

2009-11-01T22:46:00.012+08:00

Truth found on the Internet ...

Because I'm a man, when the car isn't running very well, I will pop the hood and stare at the engine as if I know what I'm looking at. If another man shows up, one of us will say to the other, "I used to be able to fix these things, but now with all these computers and everything, I wouldn't know where to start.

Because I'm a man, when I catch a cold, I need someone to bring me soup and take care of me while I lie in bed and moan. You're a woman. You never get as sick as I do, so for you this isn't a problem.

Because I'm a man, I can be relied upon to purchase basic groceries at the store, like milk or bread. I cannot be expected to find exotic items like "cumin" or "tofu." For all I know, these are the same thing. And never, under any circumstances, expect me to pick up anything for! which "feminine hygiene product" is a euphemism. ( F.Y.I. guys cumin is a spice and not a bodily function)

Because I'm a man, when one of our appliances stops working, I will insist on taking it apart, despite evidence that this will just cost me twice as much, once the repair person gets here and has to put it back together.

Because I'm a man, I must hold the television remote control in my hand while I watch TV. If the thing has been misplaced, I may miss a whole show looking for it (though one time I was able to survive by holding a calculator)...applies to engineers mainly.

Because I'm a man, there is no need to ask me what I'm thinking about. The answer is always either sex, cars or football. I have to make up something else when you ask, so don't ask.

Because I'm a man, I do not want to visit your mother, or have your mother come visit us, or talk to her when she calls, or think about her any more than I have to. Whatever you got her for Mother's Day is okay; I don't need to see it. And don't forget to pick up something for my mother too.

Because I'm a man, you don't have to ask me if I liked the movie. Chances are, if you're crying at the end of it, I didn't.... and if you are feeling amorous afterwards...then I will certainly at least remember the name and recommend it to others.

Because I'm a man, I think what you're wearing is fine. I thought what you were wearing five minutes ago was fine, too. Either pair of shoes is fine. With the belt or without it, looks fine. Your hair is fine. You look fine. Can we just go now?

Because I'm a man, and this is, after all, the year 2009, I will share equally in the housework. You just do the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, the vacuuming, and the dishes, and I'll do the rest... like looking for my socks, or like wandering around in the garden with a beer wondering what to do.

Lookin for love ...

2009-10-22T10:16:00.013+08:00

She's not exactly young by any standards. Sometimes her make-up at night when she's expecting visitors, is gaudy. She sits there waiting expectantly. Just like women everywhere, you can look but you can't touch. For a few dollars, she promises you a good time. But still, young men shun her - been there - done that - even her "special offers" fail to entice. Entering her, she's cold, frigid, empty. Some say she moans softly at night but to most she's just ... well disdainfully lumpy - with many dark and sometimes hairy corners that even the brave nary to venture. She remains hungry ... never giving up hope in her search for love.

Yeah I'm talking about museums of course - the National Museum in particular - what did you think?
So how does one get people to fall in love with museums when life is full of so many more pleasant distractions?

If museums are frumpy - what is needed is an alter-ego - enter Viviane - tall, young, sexy - by her own admission, and legs that go on forever ... smouldering with youth, her voice husky and yet almost child-like, in her soon-to-be-released videos, she ventures into museums alone, seeking love of a different kind ...

And here's the video ...

Fantasies of the Unconscious - Fire in the Sky

2009-10-19T18:45:00.025+08:00

I’m sure I had been told the story before … probably years ago but it was since forgotten. The subject came up purely by chance a few weeks back during one of my long-overdue visits to my mother’s place.

“I’m going next week to the Kranji War Memorial,” I announced. Well up to that point it was a rather dull conversation so even an intended visit to a graveyard had an edge of uplifting excitement.

“Don’t forget to visit your grandfather” she intoned.

“Huh?” was my reply.

Mum rolls her eyes to heaven (yeah sarcasm runs deep in the family) … and so the story was retold.

My maternal grandfather Arthur Henry Nunes had died many years before I was born … during the war - that's World War II (No Viviane, I’m old but not that ancient!).

It was just before the Japanese invasion of Singapore. The word had gone out in late 1941 asking for civilian volunteers. Help was needed for civil defence – to direct people to air-raid shelters, and putting out the fires from the aerial bombs that everyone knew was surely to come. Others were asked to join the Local Defence Corps – essentially to help out with the military defence of the island.

The latter was considered more dangerous but also prestigious – probably because you were armed with a rifle and would soon be in the thick of the action. So being a young man in his 30s, he went to the military.

My mother, who would have been about six or seven at the time I guess, couldn’t quite remember the details apart from the fact that her father was a rather eccentric individual with a bad temper (traits I was destined to inherit).

Seeing the Japanese planes bombing Singapore at will without a thought for innocent civilians killed and maimed, must have ignited that anger which apparently knew no bounds.

“He used to run around pointing his rifle in the sky, taking potshots at the planes” she said.

Of course he never hit anything. The Japanese fighters and even the bombers were probably flying too high and too fast but I guess he wanted to make a statement – that we – or at least he – would not go down without a fight.

He survived the invasion but died during the Occupation due malnutrition and illness at the age of just 38.

And so when I finally made it to the Kranji War Memorial a week later, I headed straight to locate the memorial to a man I owe my life to (in a way) but never knew ‘cept in some old faded pictures.

Among the many columns dedicated to Allied soldiers who gave their all for Singapore, I found the wall listing the names of our local volunteers. And there two-thirds of the way down was his name – “Nunes A. H.”

I stood there for several minutes waiting to feel well … something.

I had envisioned that it would be a special, humbling moment of sorts … stretching across time and space to be reunited for a moment with a family member long gone.

And so I waited as sweat trickled down my face.

Damn … nothing happened. I felt a little cheated.

It should have been something grand, unforgettable. But all I felt was the heat of the noon-day sun. I took a photograph just to show I was there, turned and walked away.

I still did not know him any better. It was just another name on a wall, one name among thousands, nothing more.

As I headed down the gently sloping grounds to the bus, a group of people were laying a wreath of poppies. I stopped in respect and watched as a styrofoam wreath covered with tacky plastic poppies was placed against a Christian cross.

As at this point I wasn’t looking to feel anything, I wasn’t disappointed.

As I passed row upon row of white tombstones, the futility of the place sank in. So and so aged 23 – Dead, So and so aged 19 – Dead, Unknown soldier – Dead. Was it worth it? Singapore had been billed as the impenetrable fortress and yet we didn’t even put up much of a fight, surrendering in about a week.

So maybe that crazy guy who pointed his rifle at the devils of the rising sun as they flew on towards the city to unleash yet another load of wanton destruction and fired round after round until his magazine clicked empty, wasn’t all that mad after all.

When all seems lost and hope has run cold, in a time of madness maybe the only sane thing left to do, when you are pissed and have your back against the wall, is to fire your weapon into the sky in one last act of defiance for freedom, for country … and for family.

Rest well A. H. Nunes ... I still don’t know you but I'm walking away with a sense of pride ... I think I’m beginning to understand...

The Walrus and the Carpenter

2009-10-16T13:44:00.007+08:00

The Walrus and The Carpenter
Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

silly isn't it how rhymes of the past suddenly take a meaning anew. To walk so far and trust only to be betrayed by friends who were not ... I would rather walk alone

The Kiss

2009-09-19T12:37:00.009+08:00

She was pregnant.

He had just saved her from a fire in her house - rescuing her by carrying her out into the front yard as he returned to fight the blaze.

When he finally got done putting the fire out, he sat down to catch his breath.

A photographer noticed her in the distance looking at the fireman.

He saw her walking straight to the fireman and wondered what she would do.

He raised his camera as she walked up to the tired man who had just saved her and the lives of her unborn babies. She kissed him just as the photographer snapped this photograph.

Fantasies of the Unconscious – One giant leap for mankind … really?

2009-07-19T18:46:00.010+08:00

It’s hard to believe that 40 years have passed.

July 20 1969 -I still remember that day vividly. My father took me by the hand, pointed to the full moon in the darkening evening sky and asked if I could see the man there.

Neil Armstrong had, just hours before, freed mankind from his earthly bonds by setting foot on another celestial body with those immortal words “One small step for man - One giant leap for mankind”.

It seemed only natural for that generation to assume space tourism was in the offing and a permanent moon colony … well that would be just a few years away surely.

And us kids? … we all wanted to be astronauts and yes we were going to live on the moon or on some far flung planet of our choosing (but only if I could take my dog Sasha along). It all seemed like a logical progression, a literal universe of possibilities lay at our feet and there was no stopping us from venturing into the unknown of space.

But sadly temporal concerns - that conflict in Vietnam, the escalating Cold War that kept us in fear of nuclear Armageddon, the Oil Crisis, currency meltdowns, the advent of the Information Age, terrorism and more recently, climate change kept our heads and hearts firmly chained to the ground. That pure hope - that child-like ability to wonder about the heavens, to go to infinity and beyond, seemed to have slipped through our fingers.

That small step that could have, should have, been a giant leap into manned missions to the other planets

Think about it … when was the last time you spent a moment gazing at the lights in the night sky and pondered when … or if … we will ever get there?

Technology has increased a googlefold or so it seems. NASA’s engineers accomplished a moon landing four decades ago with ridiculously basic computers compared to what we have today.

In 40 years, all of just 12 men have set foot on the lunar surface. So much more could have been done to keep the momentum going but plans to colonise “outer space” remained a dream unfulfilled.

Who knows … maybe a Singaporean may have been among the chosen to leave behind footprints on the lunar landscape.

Instead the two space nations at the time - the US and former Soviet Union were content to stick to a low earth orbit with ventures like Skylab, Mir and the International Space Station hovering just some 300km above our heads. Okay, okay … the two rovers on Mars have done us proud but putting machines on the planet and getting people there and back are two very different proposals. And so now, finally, as we turn our attention to a possible manned mission to Mars, the moon has suddenly come back into focus as the only training ground we have for a long duration stay on the red planet.

The last human to kick moondust did so way back in 1972. Conspiracy theorists abound with reasons why the moon lay abandoned for so long. According to one group, we never even got there in the first place - that it was all an elaborate hoax filmed in a movie studio. Read this for more.

But how then did we get our hands on all those lunar rocks? I remember going down years later to the National Museum (I think) and peering at the speck of moon rock on display.

Then comes my favourite conspiracy - aliens were already on the moon and warned us to stay away. Yup Armstrong had the shock of his life when he was observed by creatures peering out from some lunar craters … or so the story goes. Read this for more.

Yeah it is always fun reading tales of shadowy government cover-ups, alien alliances, Men in Black. And you don’t have to look very hard as there are a bunch on the Internet for just about every major event you can think of and them some.

And so today we salute a momentous achievement in human history - not the conquest of the moon - that is still far off - but our first visit to the heavens.

There is a song which I haven’t heard for years. I won’t mention its name nor that of the singer - it probably won’t ring a bell anyway since it was way back into the 70s. But he captured the significance of the moon landing better than I ever could …

River’s getting dirty
The wind in getting bad
War and hate are killing off
The only earth we have
But the whole world stopped to watch it
On that July afternoon
Watched a man named Armstrong
Walk upon the moon

And I wonder if a long time ago
Somewhere in the universe
They watched a man named Adam
Walk upon the earth

So do yourself a favour - spend 30 seconds tonight staring in wonder at the moon and the twinkling stars of the heavens above. Be a kid again, if only for a moment …I know Sasha is up there somewhere … wagging her tail

Happy Moon Day everyone!

Fantasies of the Unconscious - If buildings could speak

2009-06-23T11:27:00.009+08:00

If buildings could speak ... what would the iconic Saint Joseph's Institution in Bras Basah Road say ...

My sons ... many have moved on and grown old. Young, eager faces take their place and time marches on. They no longer call me home. A new building far away has replaced me. I too have changed. I too have grown old but my memories are many.

I remember the sounds of laughter that used to echo through my halls, boys in white eager to learn, more eager still to play. How we crammed more than a 1000 into a courtyard for morning assembly back then, I will never know. Everything looked so much bigger when you are younger.

The Brothers stayed in their quarters on the school grounds just above the tuckshop. It was their sacred domain where one had to tread with care when you ventured into that block.

I smiled often when I looked upon the faces of the newly-initiated as they walked through my doors for the first time. Those young boys in their still-white shorts. They stood in awe of the Brothers with their flowing robes and hankies discreetly stuffed up their sleeves. They were not only the keepers of knowledge, they led us in prayer at the start of each new day. In time some would call them mentor, maybe even friend.

But education was very different back then. A man of the cloth wouldn't think twice to whip out the cane for indiscretions which today would seem so trivial. But there was a code back then that children should be seen not heard and rich or poor, there were no free rides. Discipline was held sacred. Step out of line and there will be pain.

The teachers sometimes came across as little a tinge smug - so secure in the knowledge that the pain they inflicted would soon fade but the lesson imparted would last a lifetime. And they were right.

I know this way of teaching - be it in school or at home - has fallen out of fashion today but for many years, it had worked well in building the character of a man. Maybe that's what went wrong in bringing up the youth of today. Rods were never spared and children never spoilt - how things have changed. I dearly miss those days.

I cringed each time I heard that whack during assembly. That mini sonic boom seemed to reverberate off my walls. Someone was being "caned in public" which was of course, the more harsh punishment to being "caned in private". Was it for flinging ink from a fountain pen on someone's white shirt, perhaps it was for cheating during a test, or fighting behind the dank school loo where oddly toilet paper could never be found or maybe it was for stealing a smoke at the sarabat stalls along Waterloo Street after a football game?

The lads, with eyes downcast, always took their punishment in stony silence. They would boast about it later - that it never really hurt and their friends would nod knowingly and let the lie go unchallenged. Still no one held ill will towards the teachers. You may not have liked them, they may not always have been fair, but teachers were a breed apart and respect was never compromised - never questioned. It was the SJI way - that chipping away of human imperfections leaving behind a young man with a burning can-do spirit.

I remember the school band playing merrily to mark my birth each year - Founder's Day. The music, it has really changed little over the decades.

Those military marches - always to a steady drumbeat, still brimmed with pride as young boys walked out into a man's world.

But I also remember the sorrow when the fury of war engulfed a country and hope was the first to die.

Many turned to me for refuge and sadly I failed them. Within my walls capped off with shards of broken bottles, hundreds flocked, hoping in vain that their sheer numbers and my sturdy brick could shield them from a world gone mad.

Legends would be written of those dark days and retold with suitable embellishments in years to come. One recounts how my hall, situated just below the chapel, was used as an impromptu hospital for the wounded as angry bombs rained from the sky.

A classroom became a silent morgue where mortal battered bodies were laid to rest as the unsettled spirits were released. Blood splashed on my corridors would remain for years (or so the legends go) as a unspoken memorial to innocence snuffed out in a heartbeat.

While I am a school no more, knowledge still pervades my land. No longer is this on corporeal paper but now it lies in oils, splashed on canvass, as works of art destined to remain immortal. My noisy classrooms are now temperature-controlled art galleries. The laughter of carefree youth has been replaced by hushed tones of those who come to understand and appreciate that which lies beyond mere words.

As a school I've lived a long and fulfilled life. As a museum, I am immortal for as long as history and memories continue to be made under my crown of a silver dome.

Fantasies of the Unconscious - Creatures of the dappled light

2009-06-14T11:03:00.006+08:00

: There's much to see at the Raffles Museum

It was a pleasant surprise reading the newspapers of late with all the calls for the setting up of a Natural History Museum here in Singapore.

Being a skeptic at heart, I wondered more than once if this was the work of a small vocal lobby group trying to rally public opinion to further an isolated cause or did it really represent a new-found national consciousness to bring back into the spotlight, some long-forgotten gems of our natural history.

For me, visiting the old National Museum in Stamford Road as a kid was such a treat. An animal lover at heart, walking along those corridors, standing in awe in the presence of creatures of the dappled light, certainly fired the imagination of a young mind.

I stood eyeball to eyeball with a tiger and tried to fathom the last thoughts that went through her head when she met her fate probably from the business end of a gun. Were there some cubs waiting for her back in a den somewhere? Was she distressed that her forest home was being invaded by those thoughtless animals that walked on two legs?

It bothered me then and still does today that many of the exhibits that we now seek to remember and cherish as part of our natural history were trapped, shot, euthanised ... slaughtered just so they could be mounted in a museum. I guess I have the same issues with keeping animals in cages at the zoo or in a bird park.

I remember this past week at work - horrible and sadly disappointing though it was - one uplifting moment was watching a hawk (I call her Hillary after the indomitable spirit of her Clinton namesake) soaring with the thermals high over Hill Street. She may have been hunting for her next meal - a struggle to keep body and soul together for another day - but I couldn't help feeling that her aerial display was a celebration of freedom ... of life as it was meant to be - a living example of our national heritage in its full glory.

What was missing from the National Museum of old? It certainly wasn't a lack of things to see. It offered much. No, it was the people. The museum was always empty and I could never understand why. It wasn't that the building was tucked away in some ulu part of Singapore or that it was expensive.

The sad conclusion was that there just wasn't enough of public interest.

As the country moved on and turned its attention on other things, so too did the National Museum. The history of the Singapore people went on show and the animal specimens were packed up and soon to be forgotten. Eventually they found their home at the Raffles Museum of Biodiversity Research (RMBR) - tucked away in the National University of Singapore. It was like moving from a palace into a HDB flat. But for those who took the trouble to visit, the museum - tiny though it was - still held that quaint, honest charm without the bells and whistles of our modern museums with their touch-screens, surround sounds and artistic lighting.

: Killing to preserve

But at RMBR - the stories were still there - some full of wonder, others incredibly sad.

And so here we are today, waking up with calls from The Sunday Times to create a Museum of Natural History big enough to showcase the many wonders we have kept in storage for far too long and housed in a place easily accessible to everyone.

Personally I hope this does happen ... again. But the skeptic in me is less than confident that it would be as successful and alluring as the pundits make it out to be. When all the chest thumping purists have moved on to champion other causes, will the Museum of Natural History resonate with the common Singaporean? Or is going to go the way of my exercise bike - great to have one - should be used more often - but there it sits gathering dust supporting my chipped coffee mug.

I wonder what Hillary would say to such a debate. It probably wouldn't bother her one way or the other. If you want to celebrate our natural history, take a walk around Bukit Timah Hill and experience the wonders of nature for yourself. Go bring your kids to catch some longkang fish, climb a tree and feel nature or look up to the skies for Hillary and her kind.

For if none of this moves your spirit, having a big ole empty building filled with old remnants of nature extinguished, wouldn't made a damn difference. Those halls would surely remain empty - devoid of people and history would have repeated itself.

It just breaks your heart ...

2009-03-21T11:35:00.010+08:00

Love and Sorrow...Felt By All God's Creatures

This is the sort of email I hate getting cos it just gets me upset. But I'm glad I took the time to read it - absorb the emotion even tho it effected me long after I closed the page ...

She was hit by a car as she swooped low across the road.

Here he brought her food and attended to her with love and compassion.

He brought her food again but was shocked to find her dead.
He tried to move her....a rarely-seen effort for swallows!

Aware that his sweetheart is dead and will never come back to him again,
He cries with adoring love.

He stood beside her, saddened of her death.

Finally aware that she would never return to him, he
stood beside her body with sadness and sorrow..

Millions of people cried after watching this picture in
America and Europe and even in India . It is said that the
Photographer sold these pictures for a nominal fee to the
Most famous newspaper in France All copies of that
Newspaper were sold out on the day these pictures were published.
And many people think animals don't have a brain or feelings?????
Think again.....

Making television history … on a wing and a prayer

2009-02-11T08:58:00.016+08:00

When I first suggested coming up with Heritage TV (HTV) for the National heritage Board’s revamped Internet portal (http://yesterday.sg), the idea sounded simple enough.

Produce three-minute video clips focusing on different aspects of Singapore’s art, history, culture and heritage. We would keep it very YouTube-like – raw, edgy and well… home-made (not to mention cheap). Now how hard could that be, right?

But the devil as they say is in the details. ..

The first trial run on the Singapore Stone at the National Museum of Singapore was to be done on the fly without a script and just a vague idea of how we envisioned it to flow.

And since we had no equipment at all, we had to rely on ourselves to pull it off. I contributed an old, dusty camera and some blank tapes I remembered I had lying around the home. Kimberly Shen (pictured above), the conscripted host and my co-conspirator in crime, gamely offered her well-worn tripod and swiped the family’s sole surviving karaoke microphone when no one was looking. The cable was ridiculously short but we had to make do.

Our paper microphone cone proudly proclaiming HTV to the world was made at home by Kim who has a background in the fine arts which I assumed meant she’s quite deft with a blunt pair of scissors. The cone which it looks professional enough on TV, is actually clinging to life with love and a lot of sticky tape, but it has served us well.

As a test, the Singapore Stone episode was uploaded onto YouTube and in a couple of weeks, it chalked up a few hundred views (cool!) but garnered just one miserable comment – “Very Hot Host!” said someone who signed off as ZuluDelta217. Sigh … isn’t that always the case – it’s always the pretty faces in front of the camera that get all the applause. Everyone tends to forget guys like me – the sweaty geniuses behind the lens.

Looking back at the raw footage, I was actually quite impressed that we could pull it off. There was of course, much room for improvement. We were amateurs after all, and this was our first foray into the brave new world of Internet television.

I learnt many things about Kim – most of them good. But she had some unusual Idiosyncrasies. For instance, she loves to preface her sentences with “Actually …” or more intriguingly, “In actual fact …” even though these were not in the script. But personal quirks aside, she’s been a great sport taking all my ribbing and nagging in her stride.

And to be fair, I’ve had my share of goof-ups as well. Like the time I discovered the joys of playing with the zoom function and the end result was something out of the Blair Witch Project which gave us all a headache watching the raw footage. Then there was the incident when I forgot to test that the microphone was connected properly and we ended up with closing scene offering nothing but deafening silence.

In the weeks that followed, filming of HTV got better with each new episode. We had learnt our lessons well. We realized the importance of having a proper script complete with large fonts as it can also double up as our off-camera cue card. We planned camera angles, cut-aways, reverse shots, fillers and voice-overs. Yeah we were even starting to throw in some TV jargon just to get into the spirit of things!

Filming just one episode takes about two hours or more even with a careful preparation.

Said Kim: “Having to remember to stand up straight, smile on cue, speak slowly, gesture at the right time, move my head ever so slightly so no one realizes I’m really trying to squint and read the script held beside the camera … and doing all this with my producer’s eyes bearing down on me … that’s a lot to ask.

“But all things considered, being part of the HTV team – just a two-person team at that – is fun ‘cos we each contribute ideas and suggestions to making it all happen.”

Our trusty paper bag of equipment now included a new High Definition camera, spare batteries and tapes, Kim’s super heavy-duty eye-liner pencil (plus a spare for emergencies), a bottle of water (filming is hot work), tissue paper and the official HTV fan made up of old scripts (to keep the host cool ‘cos she’s forbidden to sweat on camera).

The post-production editing like everything else associated with HTV, is done in-house by Kim and her trusty Mac which has seen many better days.

“When I’m editing, it’s really weird seeing yourself in just about every clip. Then it’s David’s voice in the background encouraging me along: ‘Great job Kim but let’s do it one more time!’ Sigh.

“Splicing each scene together with music, voice-overs and what not takes a lot of patience and practice and I’m still getting into the hang of things.”

The idea behind HTV is to motive Singaporeans to take a greater interest in our museums and heritage. We’ll seek out interesting places, people and exhibitions. In just three minutes or so, we hope to provide just a little peek of what’s on offer and present it in a light-hearted and unassuming manner which we hope will resonate with the general public.

Along the way, Kim and I learnt a lot about Singapore’s heritage. I didn’t know that the tombstone of Agnes Joaquim the woman who created our national flower Vanda Miss Jocquim, lay in the ground of the Armenian Church just a stone’s throw away from NHB’s office in Hill Street.

Before we visited the Raffles Museum of Biodiversity Research located within the grounds of the National University of Singapore, I had never heard that Singapore was once home to the Indo-Chinese leopard and some of its smaller cousins could still be around today lurking in the shadows of our forested reserves. Wow – talk about rediscovering our natural heritage!

And that is really the whole point of Heritage TV – to educate, inform, inspire and intrigue Singaporeans on all things heritage-related.

To view HTV log on to http://yesterday.sg Please be kind with your comments now that you know most of it was all put together by just two people, still amateurs but brimming with a whole lot of passion!

The Other Side of Midnight

2009-01-14T13:21:00.013+08:00

Yeah it's bad ... a compulsive habit that if we try 'n rationalise it - it doesn't make sense and yet we faithful few - the self-styled Keepers of the Flame - still indulge in a pastime which brings us some distraction and relief (some say it's an addiction for which the benefits are only in your mind ... hmmmm maybe).

In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm talking about smoking - yes that socially taboo exercise of literally burning your money, killing yourself (and those around you), alienating yourself from the rest of humanity and you'll end up looking (and sometimes feeling) like a social leper.

Well at least that's the image the "righteous" among us would like to paint and the gullible, believe.

And so as of January 1 the screws are tightened once again.

It's tough being "a smoker" these days - that label itself has such negative social connotations - thanks to the Singapore Government which is determined to stub it out from the lives of its children who are so easily swayed by public opinion, the media and the powers that be.

Will all the new measures work? Sure ... in part. Will the numbers dip? Maybe ... With rising cigarette prices, the young and the less affluent may find it a squeeze forking out S$10 at a go. But prices have been rising steadily and the faithful (or stubborn or simply addicted according to your point of view) will take it in their stride.

So what then is the point of this exercise, really? To protect the non-smoking majority - the young, the desperate, the easily-swayed? Okay ... let's go with that...

In this rigid socially-controlled country aren't there bigger issues to deal with? I've never heard of any marriages/families/ relationships being torn apart cos of a smoker in the midst. I've known of many lives shattered because of gambling, hard drinking or whoring and yet somehow, these fly under the radar clouded by a lot of talk of " government safeguards" to protect the society.

The Government has loosened it controls on gambling. Two casinos are set to open, 4D outlets are just about everywhere you look complete with long lines of of hopefuls rushing to throw their money away on a million-to-one shot. Ain't they just burning their hard-earned money for no good reason. I wonder what socially-upright message this sends the young, the desperate and the easily swayed? ... Hmm why does that line sound so familiar?
Do people smoke because of choice, habit or compulsion? I guess that's up to each one of ponder. It's probably a little bit of all three.

Take a walk on a Friday night to Orchard Road, Boat Quay and such places and you'll see how many kids are out there drinking hard. Policing by night clubs, by the police? That's just for show. Is this a growing social problem? I guess not. But let's ban smoking in these places - that always helps! Yup - taking it out on smokers always seems to be the easy way out.

Prostitution in Singapore - it's a bigger issue than anyone cares to admit. It's not just in the backlanes of Geylang or in some seedy coffeshops. And let's not point the finger at the foreign girls that come to earn an "honest (?)" buck. Go surf the Net and you'll be amazed at what some of our sweet young things here would do for a handful of dollars or just some attention. But I guess this pales in comparison on the social taboo list when compared to the hellish vice of smoking.

At the end of the day, smokers are a resilent bunch. You hide their ashtrays, push them to the social fringe, stagmatise them, redicule them but they will prevail - quietly in corners where they have been ostracised - patiently enjoying a simple pleasure. Maybe the best our righteous society can hope for is that the cohort is a dying breed but I for one wouldn't hold my breath on that (yes the silly puns are intended)!!

Why all this Israel-bashing?

2009-01-10T08:59:00.018+08:00

People it seems are so easily swayed by what they see, hear and want to believe. The graphic images of kids injured in hospital, shrouded bodies being pulled out of collapsed buildings, gun-camera footages and street rallies decrying the bullying tactics of the aggressor hellbent on destruction. It then becomes a knee-jerk reaction and the "bad guy" is all too painfully obvious.

Israel has always been the focus of much public anger. Its close association with the US has kept it firmly in the crosshairs of world public opinion and rarely has this been positive.

The Israeli offensive into Gaza is just the latest in a series of action which has turned much public opinion against this tiny Jewish state.

But is Israel really to blame?

Israel is not unlike Singapore in many respects. It is small, surrounded by much larger neighbours. Religion and history has always been against it. Its neighbours would rather it be wiped off the face of the earth.

In its short history of some 60 years Israel has already fought a number of wars for its very survival. The fact that it has prevailed in such a spectacular fashion against the military might of much larger countries, has sadly not found it much friends.

It has occupied and retained the West Bank and Gaza for its self-protection for more than four decades. It is seen as a snub against its Muslim neighbours and little Israel will remain a festering thorn in the side of the Arab/Muslim world.

But let's be rational for a moment and look at what triggered this latest action.

For several years now, Israeli citizens have come under rocket attacks launched out of Gaza. One estimate put it at 6,464 rocket/motar attacks launched from Gaza in the past three years - with Hamas deliberately placeing its weapons in and near the homes of its own people. to maximize civilian injury when the inevitable Jewish response comes. Hundreds of innocent Israeli citizens were killed or wounded, building destroyed, lives shattered in these rocket attacks. Where was the world public opinion then in decrying these terrorist acts of aggression?

When Israel moved into the Gaza to put a stop to things once and for all, only then did the world react - against the victim - Israel. Yes this country has a sledge-hammer approach in dealing with aggressors. F16s are clearly no match for your cowardly Hamas fighters who use their own people as human shields.

But did Israel deliberately target civilians? No. Quite the opposite. Israel is so scrupulous about civilian life that, risking the element of surprise, it contacts enemy non combatants in advance to warn them of approaching danger. Just before the Israeli air offensive in late December 2008, thousands of Gazans received Arabic-language handfone SMSes from the Israeli military, urging them to leave homes where militants might have stashed weapons.

Its pilots, argubly among the best in the world, took great pains to avoid collateral damage knowing full well that one stray missle - however unavoidable - would only add to the already mounting press propaganda.

This is a country defending itself - fighting for its national right to survive. It seeks neither friends nor foes. All it wants is to be left alone but that's never going to happen.

What the world needs to remember is that when backed in a corner, when the lives of your family are at stake, when you have nothing left to lose, the 300 or so tactical nuclear weapons each bearing the proud Star of David - however unthinkable - becomes the last option - the Six Day War brought us close to the dawn of Armageddon ... will history repeat itself? ... perhaps the Final Solution isn't really all that far off ...

How many roads must a Man walk down before he admits he’s Lost?

2008-12-15T17:05:00.034+08:00

I do find it humbling, frustrating even.

The year is coming to an end and you are supposed to find some time to step back and look over all that you had accomplished or in my case... what I didn't.

With that little Blue Bird of Happiness sitting on your shoulder it's easy in January, to think ahead at all that you are setting out to achieve over the next 12 months.

Then come December, with the Vulture of Desperation crapping in your lap, that inescapable thought hits you. "WTF! Where did the time go?".

Then you realise that it would appear you have fallen far short of the mark.

I had resolved to be a better person (Resolution One). Okay ... better is a relative term, so by stretching the imagination and the bounds of logic some, I guess I can safely put a tick beside that one.

I am better because ... I drink less coffee... I drink more green tea (that's healthy). I haven't killed anyone in quite a long while (even though I've discovered a great place to dump some bodies) and I adopted two new cats giving them the gift of life at the expense of some sanity.

Smoke less (Resolution Two). Okay I don't but I keep smokin' with a person who says "I smoke in moderation" all the time complete with the head shake of her head and the nose in the air. So since I don't smoke all that much more than this nameless Penguin ... I guess that qualifies as half a tick for sheer effort.

Exercise more (Resolution Three). I did go jogging three times this year... each for about 15 minutes then the pseudo chest pains set in, the world started spinning , my legs feel like boneless chicken wings and people were giving me strange looks ... so it wasn't really all my fault cos the spirit was willing - the legs just had other plans.

And after an absence of many years, I returned to the pool this year and did five laps in under an hour (with a short smoke break in between). Yup - Resolution Three - another half a tick.

Get back to doing some serious writing (Resolution Four). I suppose this blog counts. Okay this isn't mainstream journalism where the stuff I used to write which was read by hundreds if not thousands of people (or so we liked to believe). Well this is back to basics but at least it is a start at writing if for no one else then just for myself and the poor sods who happen to read this.

In my blog, I do talk about serious things, things that matter (to me at least) ... well sort of ... you can't take life too seriously anyways. Besides it has some cool comic strips (all shamelessly stolen from the Internet) so that's a new addition to the writing. Yup another half tick.

Get a real job (Resolution Five). Okay I've left the "social services" sector. Was just too disillusioned at how bad it was and how little real help was offered to those who needed it most by sheer incompetence despite the huge sums of money donors had invested.

So I now have a "real job" in corporate communications. Am not too thrilled with it but ... well there may be something in the wings (which comes with a better money but a whole different load of shit ... but that's another story) .

So maybe, all things considered, I haven't done all that badly in 2008.

In the final analysis, achievement is all a matter of perspective. I guess if you are happy with life, with what you have done or not done, if you strive to accept that which you cannot change, if you can see people for whom they are and not what you would like them to be (So what if they pronounce water as wader), and you like the disheveled man in the mirror staring back at you in the mirror each morning, you can't really be all that far off the mark!

The Anatomy of Nothingness

2008-12-11T15:58:00.023+08:00

Why is it that on those rare occasions, having nothing to do in the office is almost always accompanied by an inescapable sense of guilt?

Shit I work as hard as everyone else – in fact – heck a lot more than quite a few others in the office. I come in early unlike most people. I work thru’ lunch on many a day and when it calls for it – I take work home at night and over weekends.

Then every now and then you catch a bone and realize that WTF – I’m all done. There is really nothing else to tend to in my In Box, my emails are all cleared filed or deleted, My desk – well it’s as clean as it is ever gonna get. So that’s it.

You check the time – Fuck! – it’s 2.20pm.

Okay the boss is not around today. Shit – boss is on leave and I’m supposed to be in charge … Now I get to look dictatorial. Cool! Hang on he's a director so I guess I have to look directorial. Bleeaah! I rather look dictatorial. I already have a hairstyle reminiscent of Hitler on a bad hair day. Okay okay will settle to look directorial... Hmmm does that mean I can leave early? Damn why is there never a meeting in sight when you need one?

Time 2.35pm … I’ve already looked thru' just about very website I could think of. Trying to look busy for more than 10 minutes is really hard work.

Damn now it’s starting to drizzle … typical Christmas weather! Wish I were in bed sleeping … Who you trying to kid? If I were in bed.. I wouldn’t be sleeping … Nah the TV would be on to the History Channel on the development of rockets or some documentary on evolution. Well that’s still better than sitting here.

Ah good someone’s come to ask me something …. Okay look busy and irritated with the interruption … Shit all he wanted was a yes. That’s not even a four-letter word.

Discreet check on the watch – damn damn – 2.47… this day is never going to end …

Wish I had a proper office rather than a cubicle. You can cocoon yourself with a door. In an open office – that’s kinda hard to do.

Read a Gary Larson comic strip about cows ruling the earth … stop smiling .. you are supposed to be busy.

Ahh a peal of thunder … wonder which idiot thought of that – peal of thunder – quite a mismatch – peal sounding so flower-like and thunder – the male phlegm-induced voice of God … now I’m getting philosophical. Shit … automatic spell correction … takes all the guesswork out of life and my ever dubious spelling.

Type, type, type … half a page done. Am I good or what … I look busy. My forced frowning is starting to hurt. Stop smiling … you are supposed to be pissed, maybe I should hit the keys harder. Maybe I should type using all 10 fingers … Nah let’s not kill yourself.

Take a walk … walk fast and look busy muttering to yourself .. that always clears people out of my path.

Head to the toilet … that’s always a good place to go when you are trying to look pissed. And you can actually do it there... piss I mean. Speaking of piss, it reminds me of a quote I read like five minutes ago while doing "research". It went like this: "Friendship is like peeing on yourself. Everyone can see it but only you gets that warm feeling it brings" ... wow cosmic!

Okay back to my desk. Time check – 3.50pm

Hmmm making progress. Let’s see – quitting time is 6.30pm to that means … wait .. grab calculator .. that’s 160 minutes or .. wait … or 9,600 seconds … I can hold my breath for about a minute before I turn blue .. that’s 60 seconds killed for all time so it will be … wait 9,540 seconds left ….

Damn this is a long day ….

Remembering Pearl

2008-12-07T11:04:00.019+08:00

It was a Sunday morning too back then on December 7 1941 when the world was turned on it's head with the preemptive attack by the Japanese on the US Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbour heralding the official start of World War II.

*The attack sank four U.S. Navy battleships (two of which were raised and returned to service late in the war) and damaged four more. The Japanese also sank or damaged three cruisers, three destroyers, and one minelayer, destroyed 188 aircraft, and caused personnel losses of 2,402 killed and 1,282 wounded. (*Source: Wikipedia)

Since then, the world has seen a number of Pearl Harbours. September 11 in the US, July 7 in the UK and most recently the attacks in Mumbai, India.

All these bear something in common. The signs were all there that something sinister was a-brewing and yet, these were ignored at peril. It is this same lack of consciousness, a misplaced belief in safety taken for granted, that remains with us.

Even in insular Singapore, the harbingers of terror are never far away. The warning signs are all around us which make us a soft target. The cracks, in social cohesion, which we take for granted, are slowly widening - if only we take the effort to notice.

Our time will surely come and our collective response will determine if we can truly stand as one undivided nation "... regardless of race, language or religion..."

In this, I am, sadly, not hopeful ...

Irrepressible Irene!

2008-12-06T19:12:00.016+08:00

I attended a talk today by none other than Irene Ang better known as Rosie from Phua Chu Kang fame.

Her's was to be motivational talk held at the grand National Museum of Singapore - part of the National Heritage's Board current campaign Explore Singapore.

"Motivational talk by Irene Ang? You gotta be kiddin' right?" - yup that was my reaction too. For someone who's TV persona was so frivolous, finding substance behind the character was to take a significant leap of faith. But I'm glad I did.

Yes there was the expected Singlish jokes and the ever-present dash of in-your-face humour. But that aside, her story was still moving.

With unbridled honesty, she related the struggle of her youth. Her father was a smuggler of just about everything. Family tension drove her mother to drugs. She found herself homeless three times. She failed her O levels, and her A levels (twice) and when her little band of friends moved on to further their studies, she found herself alone once again.

(bet ya didn't know that!). So all she ended up with was a cut on her head when she hit a rock in her plunge to meet her fate.

But she picked herself up. Ended up acting (earning just about $900 a month as the lead actress on PCK) and later on when to start her own talent agency Fly Entertainment 'cos she realised that many local entertainers in Singapore were getting a raw deal simply because they had no one to fight for them. And Irene hasn't looked back since.

I can't honestly recall all her Seven Steps to Success (or whatever she called it) but it went something like have faith in yourself, realise that the storm of ill luck will pass and when all else fails, put your trust in the God you believe in knowing that you had done everything humanly possible to help yourself.

Okay these weren't exactly earth-shattering revelations but I do have a lot of admiration for her as a person and in her disarming honestly in telling the world of her ... well "colourful" past. So hearing from someone who's fate dealt her a raw hand and yet was able to claw her way back up, adds to the credibility and her talk about self-belief, is a reminder we can all do with from time to time.

So was the hour-long talk worth it? - you bet!
Determined to succeed (and make more money than her friends), she took on a string of jobs - working for insurance agencies and credit card companies. And when the going got too tough, she even contemplated suicide. But she found that trying to drown herself at the breakwaters off East Coast Parkway wasn't as easy as it seemed. Irene was after all, a competitive swimmer and a SEA Games medalists

Pity the Sardines

2008-12-06T09:25:00.019+08:00

It happens every single day - to thousands of people - they are held hostage without realising it and there is no salvation in sight.

They take your money upfront with the promise "We'll get you there" but that's where the guarantee ends and it's up to you to fend for yourself. You are no treated as a Singaporean - you are just a mere Statistic to be manipulated into glowing reports of atypical corporate efficiency - you are just a Sardine to be crammed into a tin-can - a shipping container on wheels - to be disgorged without ceremony at your destination - assuming you can squeeze past the doors in time. Welcome to Singapore's MRT.

- an ultra-efficient people-moving - cold and calculated to getting the job done.

Commuters were numbers, not really people, so the mantra was cram as many in as you can into each tin can and to hell with the collateral damage of bruised toes, the deafening noise and the offended olfactory senses under siege from the toxic bombardment emitting from thousands of smelly armpits raised in unison.
When the MRT was first proposed, the promises came fast and furious.

Clean, comfortable, fast. Perhaps had we been more astute, we would have read the underlining motives simply for what they really were

The system was and remains purely ingenious.

"We'll make your journey more pleasant" they promised. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were spent installing little TV screens in the tin cans on wheels. "Ahhh entertainment" thought the customers", "Ahhh revenue from advertising thought the train masters". And when advertisers failed to bite ... we are left with screens left blank much like the faces of many commuters.

When commuters grumble that the trains are too crowded, the geniuses behind the system did the easiest thing possible - take out the seats, squeeze in more sardines. Hey you wanted more space right? What do you want us to do - add more trains - that will cut our profits. Stupid sardines!

When commuters grumbled that delays at the station were too long, the geniuses behind the system responded. "We hear your pain. We'll add one more train." Woopie. When the Geniuses realised "Hey there's aren't enough sardines travelling during their lunch time - we'll losing money - look that train can squeeze in at least 10 more sardines," So they went on the offensive. "Travel more during your lunch hour - waiting time two minutes - we promise".

Okay if you can do it during lunch time - bringing down waiting times to just two minutes at lunch, why can't the same promise be made during the peak hours?

That as they say, remains a mystery surrounded in an enigma.

Romancing the fone

2008-11-26T10:15:00.005+08:00

I finally did it - changed my handfone.

The ole Nokia clamshell had served me well these two years but it, like the owner, was showing obvious signs of age. Its battery like mine, wasn’t holding the charge like it used to and the headphone connection was getting increasingly cranky much like The Other Half (but that’s a whole other story).

So I went to a Starhub shop in Toa Payoh for a look-see and to my eternal surprise, found a salesman who actually spoke English not some techno-phone (where-the-fuck-have-you-been-all-these-years) babble.

Ended up getting the Samsung Omnia i900. It looked a little like the legendary iphone that just about everyone and his mother seems to own and rave about. The iphone - while I’m sure is a good piece of equipment, never held my interest. I was never keen on being part of the in-crowd anyway and I sure wasn’t about to start now.

The Omnia had some pretty good reviews and I felt that I should take a break from Nokia. To me a phone is just a phone not an essential body part that I can’t do without. Still, I guess it was time to move on, learn new things and find out what the fuss is all about…

I ported the number over from M1 to Starhub a process which proved to be a surprisingly painless. I had three SMS updates on how the process was going. It was reassuring.

The courtship hasn’t been as blissful as I would have liked. Olivia as she has been christened, feels like a seasoned girlfriend and I for once, was left feelin’ like a virgin (that’s another story too).

It didn’t help that the damn fone doesn’t come with a user’s manual or better still a Dummy’s Guide (but then again, neither do women). I did find one online guide (for the phone lah). Pity it was in Chinese. It might have well been in Russian for all the help it was worth.

So I did it the old-fashioned way - poking around her to see what worked. Let’s just say Olivia wasn’t too pleased with all that fumbling, groping and pressing the wrong buttons (I took a great close-up picture of my big toe) must have sent her mixed signals on our first date last night.

The headfones it came with blew me away. It’s got this off-centre nipple-like thingy which I guess you ram it deep into the ear canal until it starts to bleed or you hear something. Tried that - nope - didn’t quite work. The damn things kept falling out. Shit! this is gonna be embarrassing …

It shouldn’t be this hard. I assume ears have not evolved all that much but then again I know of one little thing who has these cute button-like ears similar to that of a penguin … Maybe these things ain’t built for the 30s and beyond generation. It was time to put Oli to sleep and give her a break.

Still she forgave me and woke me up bight and early with a new message. I had wanted my first real communication to be with someone special but then the boss must SMS me just to say that he was sick … damn it … how to make special memories like this.

Olivia still has lots of secrets to be uncovered and maybe if I’m nice, she’ll clue me in as to what buttons to press. I’m confident our dates will go better and we’ll get alone fine.

But I still can’t figure out the freakin’ headfones!

Memo to self: Check (discreetly) in train tomorrow how the fuck other people are using it.

Leopards in Singapore?

2008-11-23T10:18:00.006+08:00

Back in school, we studied the early history of Singapore and the wildlife that once walked this island.

The most impressive beast by far was the Sumatra Tiger. Then there are the hordes of moneys that are still around, lots of snakes, the odd civet cat and the occasional scaly anteater.

Growing up in Bukit Timah right smack in the nature reserve, we always had our fair share of wildlife encounters - a baby python curled up on a chair, monkeys raiding our Rambutan trees when they were in season and every now and then I would spy a black cobra what lived in a pandan bush. But I never knew Singapore was once home to leopards.

So this was the big discovery I made when I recently visited the Raffles Museum of Biodiversity Research located within the grounds of the National University of Singapore.

Apparently there were a few clouded leopards like this mounted specimen pictured above taking pride of place in this tiny museum gallery. But that was like 100-odd years ago and the leopards have long since gone extinct.

Given the tiny size of the country, I guess peaceful co-habitation was simply out of the question.

But still, smaller cousins may still yet exist to this day.

Two leopard cats were found within the last decade. One was run over by a vehicle along Mandai Road near the Bukit Timah Expressway on 11 June 2001. The other was found on Pulau Ubin in 1997.

Then there was the very sad story behind this forlorn specimen of the banded leaf monkey.

Apparently there are only like 20 surviving in Singapore and this elderly female, probably the leader of the group, was attacked and killed by dogs a few years ago when she climbed down from her tree sanctuary.

As a person very interested in nature and conservation, the visit to this museum was certainly well worth the effort.

It is a pity that this little gem of a museum has received so little attention. They do good work not just in preserving our natural heritage but they are also actively involved in research and conservation.

I hope we can preserve as much as possible of our little natural heritage. We after all, share the planet with plants, bugs, big cats - they have have as much right to life as you or I.

Before I left the museum, I gazed once more into the face of that banded leaf monkey - that look of pain frozen on her tiny weathered face as her little heart surrendered the fight to her killers. I wondered what her world was like. The forest was getting smaller, the colony she loved so much and led so valiantly seemed doomed to perish as their numbers were just too small to remain viable.

The savageness of her own death in her advanced age heralded what must surely be the beginning of the end for her troop. But Nature has surprised us before. Maybe in the depths of our forest reserves, a small band still struggles to survive. They don’t want our help. They don’t need it. All they ask for is to be left alone.

And for this we can only hope …

[The museum had a special workshop on Novermber 20 2008 to get children interested in Singapore's Natural History. This was part of the National Heritage Board's festival - Explore Singapore]

And the bells toll

2008-11-22T10:31:00.001+08:00

There is something quite … well surreal I guess would be the word … about weddings. Even those that start at the unGodly hour of 9am on a Saturday morning when the rest of the world is allowed to sleep in.

That was how I spent this morning - in church bearing witness to an ancient rite of passage for a guy I’ve known all his life.

From his birth as a “blue baby” with a possible hole in the heart complication which thankfully didn’t materialise, to a very happy child with - at least to me - was a very large head!

While I’ve watched him grow up - and I’m sure I’ve changed a nappy or two of his - in many ways, he will also be that quite kid, always in the background, perfectly behaved.

And now he stood beaming in his suit waiting for his bride to arrive. It’s still hard to reconcile that this was the same sweet little guy who was moments away from taking a wife and starting down a new path.

Maybe it’s just me but the brain doesn’t quite comprehend the passing of the years. In many ways I don’t feel all that different from when I was 16. Okay maybe the eyesight has grown progressively worse such that I now need reading glasses, the mid-rift spread has long since happened and the act of sitting down isn’t complete without the age-telling “ahhhh”. But apart from all this - mentally perhaps - I don’t feel any older.

As I watched him take his vows and put the ring on her finger, something clicked in the ole brain … this was all real and time has marched forth for all of us. I’m happy for him… for them … but at the same time there was more than a tinge of sadness in the heart - that while a new chapter has begun, the pages which have gone before are worth embracing … just one last time.

Got the message?

2008-11-19T10:42:00.000+08:00

TOH sent me this email a few days ago … the message is well …less than subtle …

BEFORE MARRIAGE

AFTER MARRIAGE

AFTER DIVORCE

The guilty mind (which is inherent in every red-blooded male of the species) tells me that I’ve probably done many things to deserve this little “reminder” … but just can’t help wondering which little secret she’s on to …

Acting on instinct

2008-11-15T10:54:00.001+08:00

You’re stupid enough to climb over a fence, wade across a moat, get into an enclosure with the largest livings cats on the face of the earth and now you’re dead!

Serves you right you fuckin’ idiot.

If you want to kill yourself there are many ways to do it. If you wanna grab your 15 minutes of fame in the process, well then, you should be happy. You made the front page of many newspapers and you upset some Big Cats who were just acting on instinct.

Animals, not unlike people, are territorial. If you barge into my home, start throwing things at me, irrespective if your pathetic mental state, you are going to pay the consequences.

So what causes a moron to act like this. Maybe the press was right - he flipped out, just lost it. Well too bad for you.

Why get worked up over such inane stupidity? It’s simple. The drama could have ended much differently in seconds. Think of a zoo keeper arriving with a shotgun in hand. He sees the man fighting for his life. He’s got no time to find out what happened minutes before. He wouldn’t know the asshole climbed into the enclosure of his own accord looking for a fight (or something to that effect).

The poor zookeeper is faced with a life-or- death decision - one he has to make in seconds. He has no choice. His finger moves to the trigger.

You can’t fire a warning shot in the air - each round of a shotgun contains many steel pellets sprayed out at a 60 degree angle. When they come down, innocent people may get hurt.

Fire into the moat and hope the sound will scare of the cats? Maybe but you can’t risk it. The “victim” is seconds away from death. Nope - it’s not an option.

You can’t shoot the ground - the spray could injure the tigers making them even more dangerous.

Your only option is to get in close, near point-blank range, put your own life on the line - squeeze and take that kill shot.

The end result? One or more tigers would be laying dead … and for what?

And for the bleedin’ hearts are so quick to blame the tigers for doing what they do to protect themselves from an intruder on their turf, or the Singapore Zoo for not being built to prevent the intrusion … all I can say is WTF people …you’ve got the picture all wrong.

A Date with a Tree

2008-11-15T10:38:00.006+08:00

It's the 15th of November and in my family (okay it's really just me), this is the sacred date for the big Christmas ritual of putting up the tree.

The Nov 15 ritual started back in 1995 when I moved out on my own and had a four-room flat all to myself. I bought the biggest tree I could find - a seven-footer and decorated it - make that over-decorated it. I had always wanted my own tree and trimming it my way. So that was fun.

Since then, Nov 15 was has been decreed as Tree Day. I remember growing up with had this white tree. It was so old, many of the tinsel "leaves" had fallen, the decorations were positively ancient and we had to spread "angel hair" white fiberglass-like cotton-wool like veil over the tree to give it a look of snow. You don't see that anymore (I'm the one being carried at the back in this 1964 picture).

In later years, the magic of the tree still remains even though it's now a source of tension. Blame that on the cats.

We have 15 of these little buggers. For all of them, the tree with its twinkling lights is like a new toy. Many will just sit and stare, some will sniff and ignore... then there's the rabble Boys from the Hood who will try and claim the tree as their very own turf.

They will climb up the branches, bite bulbs, remove ornaments and hide them under sofas where they are discovered in July ... the list of misdeeds goes on ... (I can certainly relate to this video)

A few years back the tree nearly toppled over on one of their Everest conquests. Since then, I had to take the additional precaution of tying it to the wall with fishline. It helps the tree last the required time until January 6 when it all comes back down.

Ahh the joys of Christmas ... I'm sure the boys are waiting for me to get started ...

Watch that crack!

2008-11-15T10:25:00.002+08:00

It's one of the quaint quirks of my childhood... Someone ... I think it was the Grandmother ... once told me that it's bad luck to step on a pavement crack.

I can't recall the rationalisation. Maybe it has to do with karma. And it always better luck to cross the crack with your right leg first rather than the left - something about wishes coming true if you do.

Yes, yes I know none of this makes any sense but there you are ... dusty folklore handed down through the generations was not something to be trifled with.

So there I was as a little kid ... believing just about anything I was told (hey it was the 60s - we respected elders back then - no questions asked) always walking with my head down looking out for cracks in the pavement, adjusting the pace so I'll cross it with the right foot. It must have been a strange sight indeed.

I'm not that conscious about it now but when I do happen to spy a pavement crack up ahead, some primordial instinct kicks in, the stride is automatically adjusted and it's still right leg first.

Hey why tempt fate! Did any of the wishes some true ... come to think of it they all did ... because the only wish at the time was crossing with my right leg first!!

Glossary - What it all means

2008-11-15T10:22:00.000+08:00

TOH = The Other Half

WTF = What the Fuck!

Why do we have to wait till someone passes on ...

2008-11-02T09:34:00.002+08:00

Today is November 2. My sister SMS-ed me to remind me it is All Souls Day - quite a big deal in the Catholic calendar if I remember correctly (yes it has been a while). It's the day we remember those that have gone before us especially those that have passed on within the past year.

For me that means two people. One was a relative that fought his cancer bravely for two long and obviously painful years. The last time I saw him in January, he was in a hospice. He knew his time was just about up. Still he smiled, we made small talk and pretended that all was well. He didn't bring up the subject of his condition, so neither did I. We shook hands warmly, said I'll visit him soon. He died the next week.

Then there was J, a few years younger than me. We were both senior editors in a publishing company. Hell we were smoking buddies and we never let work get in the way of our sacred retreat no matter how hectic times got. We lost touch for a few years - each going our own way. He gave up smoking a few months before he found that he had cancer. The gang - all ex-staff from that same company - found out about his condition when someone stumbled across his Facebook account in which he gave faithful updates to friends and family.

I saw him in SGH. He looked the same just that he had lost all his hair cos of the chemo. He spoke so candidly about his condition. Said it was fate. He said he didn't think it had anything to do with smoking. I didn't argue the point - it was moot anyway and would be striking to close to home. Told him we'll visit him soon, exchanged handfone numbers, I gave him a pat on the back and said we'll talk again soon - be strong and all the usual macho horseshit guys indulge in at awkward times. Well we never spoke again. He died a few weeks later. I never found out the details. Guess I really didn't want to know.

So I remember them in my thoughts today. More importantly I like to think about those people still around, still around me who have made a difference. If women wear their hearts on their sleeve.. well guys wear a mask of aloofness and soon the heart grows to fit it ... and that's sad.

Think I really should appreciate people more - family, friends, the people at work, the faithful dustbin at my smoking point, my smoking kaki from whom I bum the occasional ciggie, the people in my team, the security guard who keeps giving me the thumbs up for no apparent reason and lots of others. Life would be different without each one and that makes them well ... precious. Will I be any nicer to them tomorrow? - probably not. Well maybe my grunt as I walk by will sound more friendly. Maybe they'll notice ... probably not.

But since this is a blog post I should say a big thank you to my TWO loyal readers - strawberry (what happened to our Halloween date??) and blogolicious (last time I saw u, you were standing with a naked Italian) - I probably spelt both names wrong but you know who you are! Thanks for visiting this blog - don't know why you do - the last time I updated it a couple of months back- I was exceptionally pissed with someone and wanted to make a point - my way.

But all the same - thanks for the faithful visits... GRUNT :-)

For the Greater Good

2008-10-25T09:13:00.002+08:00

This was the headline for a review copy published in The Straits Times today (Oct 25) by Thomas Mooney.

It essentially raises an old argument of morals by individuals and Governments, and how these have or have not been influenced by the uncertain times we live in.

The example cited in copy was simple and yet very real in today's world where the specter of terrorism remains undiminished. The scenario goes like this: a large bomb has been planted set to go off in a few hours. The suspected ringleader has been arrested and refuses to tell where the bomb is. Do nothing and thousands will surely die. Do the authorities use force to get the information before it's too late?

The knee-jerk reaction for many would be is simple - screw the UN resolution against torture, throw the arguments for upholding human rights out of the friggin' window and focus on the bigger picture of saving innocent lives. Pain inflicted on one person who after all is out to make a statement in blood of others, is nothing compared to the innocent lives wiped out by inaction or a misplaced sense of morality.

It is a moral dilemma for sure but countries are often faced with. Publicly no one would admit to the use of backroom tactics but still they happen all the time, justified in the name of "for the greater good". And so perhaps it should be - acts of necessity confined to the shadows. Yes there must be checks and balances to prevent abuse of power and privilege but there must also be a swift and decisive mechanism for action when the countdown to disaster is well underway.

Being seen as politically correct does not mean that decisions made on this soapbox are right or will protect the well being of the community for which was Government was elected. There are laws governing action by the authorities ... and then there are necessities of purpose in which the ends justify the means. Waiting for executive decisions which far too often come too late, means surrendering that tiny window of opportunity to avert what will certainly be a tragedy.

Doing the right thing is never as easy as it sounds. Oftentimes you are damned if you do and damned if you don't. Such is the fickleness of public opinion and the luxury of hindsight. There will always be some who stand on hallowed moral ground furiously touting their only solution that "there must be some other way".

Singapore regularly comes in for foreign abuse every time the subject of human rights, detention without trail, death to drug traffickers and so on, appear on the media radar. But we have stood our ground, reasoned when our critics were willing to reason, and we were tough enough to go it alone when common sense and necessity clashed headlong with the kangaroo court of public opinion.

Torture can often be justified especially when dealing with terrorists and organised crime but publicly trying to define moral principles is often, an exercise in futility.

Seeking out the like-minded

2008-10-23T07:58:00.001+08:00

“Many blogs quickly gel into micro-ecosystems that feed in on themselves, and start to amplify extreme bias if not outright hatred,” said Dr John Seely Brown, one of the leading contemporary thinkers on the influence of technology on modern life, in a recent interview with the Today newspaper in Singapore.

Now that is an interesting observation... It happens because blogs by their very nature and direction tend to draw the like-minded. You subscribe to a blog because you can identify with the writer’s way of thinking and his arguments dovetail with that of your own. In the same way as smokers seek each other out and tend to congregate because of a shared passion, bloggers too tend to group in a shared private corner online. It would be rare for a blogger to subscribe to sites that oppose their fundamental philosophy and interests. Simply put, no one wants to be told that they are wrong in their thinking.

Describing Singapore as being moderately relaxed about bloggers, Dr Seely identified a “spectrum of radicality” among those here, with many blogs that are openly critical.

To say that many blogs are openly critical may be a bit much in the way of sweeping generalisation. There exist, certainly, a fair and perhaps growing number of bloggers who see a need to be radical in their thinking, their views and their blogs simply to set themselves apart from the masses, to be the lone voice of dissent amidst the sea conformity. How true this really rings is anyone's guess. I would suspect that a fair number are out for the hits - the reads, the pat-on-the-back comments for their refreshing and enlightening views. Being different always draws attention and isn't that one of the reasons why some people choose to blog in the first place?

If one does take a detached view of the situation, it quickly becomes apparent that something is missing here. We read to widen our minds, to learn of different opinions, to critically evaluate our own thinking and test if it stands up to public scrutiny.

The "hate blogs" will always be there. They reflect at best, a one-dimensional view-point. In the worst case, gathering the like-minded and shutting out opposing views with valid merits, tends to reinforce perverse, radical and isolationist perceptions and when rational thinking and evaluation is throw out the window, that when things start to get dicey.

If we consciously or otherwise seek out only opinions which reinforce our own mantra, we would certainly be losing out on the great opportunities provided by the Net and the inter-connected spectrum of human interaction available online.

Reading beyond our "comfort zone" give us all fodder for enriching our minds providing thought junctions to stop and reflect - a move which is always uplifting for the mind and soul.

Dogs & Cats - a difference of perspectives

2008-10-12T08:41:00.001+08:00

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG'S DIARY

Day number 180
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

Day number 181
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
9:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
1:00 pm OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!

EXCERPTS FROM A CAT'S DIARY

DAY 752 - My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture...Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.

DAY 761 - Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors,I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair...must try this On their bed.

DAY 765 - Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was... Not working according to plan.

DAY 768 - I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still LODGED between my teeth.

DAY 771 - There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event, however, I could hear the noise and smell the foul odor of the glass tubes they call "beer." More importantly I overheard that my confinement was due to MY power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

DAY 774 - I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and he speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my activities. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...

- Author Unknown Source

I loved this the first time I read it - forwarded via email from another passionate pet person.

Whoever it was that penned those lines above - he certainly understands and appreciates the uniqueness of dogs and cats. Someone once said you can own a dog but you can only take care of a cat. How true this is.

If you own a dog - you are his entire world. Who else but your dog will do the dance of joy just cos you have finally emerged from the toilet and he hasn't seen your face in the last five minutes. Who else but your dog would be by your feet drooling just waiting for a little scrap to be tossed his way.
Who else but your dog can you count on to life your spirits after another crazy day in the office or when the wife throws her daily fit.

Cats on the other hand are literally a different beast altogether.

You may be able to tame a cat to a degree that living together with some semblance of harmony is possible but you can never truly change the nature of a cat. They are much smarter than dogs. They will manipulate you into getting their way. A dog will be willing to wait for its dinner. Keep a cat hungry and you do so at your peril.

A dog while craving attention, will wait for you. Ignore a cat when it's got something to say or when he feels it time you did this or that for him, and the cat will take matters into his own hands.

My cat hates it when I'm at the computer. He can never figure out what is so fascinating with this box. The sound of the keys and fingers flying across the board triggers a chase response. The moment I step away from the computer, my little fuzzball feels a need to add her two cents worth to the blog post. You'll never catch a dog doing this.

It takes a lot out of you to look after a pet - be it a dog, cat, fish, rabbit or whatever. But the rewards are well worth the effort. It is sad indeed that in a country which promotes itself as being a great place to stay, we think so little of animals. They are for many people, no more than a commodity. Brought on impulse, we play with them only when we are in the mood and sadly it is all too easy for some to throw them away after the novelty has worn thin.

This is your pet's prayer ... Treat me kindly, my beloved master, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me.

Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I should lick your hand between the blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me do. Speak to me often, for your voice is the world's sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.

When it is cold and wet, please take me inside, for I am now a domesticated animal, no longer used to bitter elements. And I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth.

Though had you no home, I would rather follow you through ice and snow than rest upon the softest pillow in the warmest home in all the land, for you are my god and I am your devoted worshiper. Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for although I should not reproach you were it dry, I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst.

Feed me clean food, that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side, and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life should your life be in danger.

And, beloved master, should the great Master see fit to deprive me of my health or sight, do not turn me away from you. Rather, hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands grant me the merciful boon of eternal rest - and I will leave you knowing with the last breath I drew, my fate was ever safest in your hands.

-Beth Norman Harris

Corporatising the social media landscape in Singapore

2008-10-11T08:34:00.001+08:00

It's ironic but not totally with precedent – even as social media is taking off in Singapore and bloggers are jostling for a voice and attention, the death kneel is already being sounded at least for companies intent to cash in by riding on the new wave of people-to-people technology wherever it may lead.

A recent report on CNet quoted analyst Adam Sarner who predicted that "over 75 percent of Fortune 1000 companies with websites will have undertaken some kind of online social-networking initiative for marketing or customer relations purposes. But (he) added that 50 percent of those campaigns will be classified as failures."

Sarner explained that this was due mainly to a quintessential lack of "mutual purpose" – essentially the goals of the company tapping on social media were out of sync with the needs and desires of the intended audience.

Citing Facebook as an example, he said that a vast majority of net citizens joined as a means of social interaction while businesses which tried to peddle their wares on this platform, incurred the wrath of many purist users who saw their move as a commercial intrusion in what is essentially a bohemian residential neighbourhood of sorts - one which believes it is laying the foundation for a social renaissance.

While I do see merit in his arguments, I am not totally convinced that it will be all doom and gloom for the survival of some commerce in the social media landscape even in little Singapore.

The corporate perspective
So where then does that leave companies such as Samsung, HP, Nokia and Lenovo all of whom have been very active in engaging bloggers in Singapore as an extension of their market outreach programme.

If you distill blogging (as a means of market sourcing) to its most basic form – it is still just a means of word-of-mouth referrals of little uncovered gems or in some cases, dire warnings to steer clear of advertising hype. The only difference between a literal word-of-mouth spread and the viral multiplicity of public opinion from blogs is that the latter is put on a platform without boundaries in which anyone with access to the Internet, can be so influenced to a greater or lesser degree based on the quality of the posts and the inherent level of susceptibility on the part of the reader.

For companies, herding bloggers to see, touch and try their products is an inexpensive form of publicity. Their reach may not be the same as in traditional media but for the negligible costs involved, it remains an attractive option for now.

But the blogging scene in Singapore is still in it its honeymoon period. The irrelevant, nonsensical, the rumour-based can still survive with hundreds if not thousands of random readers cruising the back alleys of the Internet for whatever catches their fancy. Success is measured in Stat Counters churning out numbers that often give misleading results rather than a true unbiased measurement of converts to a cause.

Some bloggers have made a name of themselves. Some have achieved a degree of fame and celebrity status, others have happily settled for an outlaw brag badge of notoriety – 21st century rebels without a cause gunning down anything and everything in their wanton path of destruction. Both sides have their fans or at least have links to an undecided majority willing to listen. And with the unlimited real estate offered by the Internet, there remains much room for the two to exist.

Championing a cause
Still the question remains how effective will this platform be for companies to extend their reach. It will probably boil down to an issue of balance and credibility in the manner in which they engage bloggers, the integrity of the bloggers themselves and the receptiveness of a wary public well attuned to the many scams in the online realm.

Companies would be wise indeed to tread carefully in the social media landscape. While bloggers may be a dime a dozen, engaging bloggers as influences to further your cause is more an art than a science. It will ultimately involve much homework in identifying the mature ones with sufficient life-experience, writing skills and a balanced approach, to speak the language of the common man.

Should the Singapore Government be engaging bloggers?

2008-10-05T08:31:00.001+08:00

There are certainly merits for the Government to keep close tabs on what is being said in our local blogs. For one, it offers a limited view of the "coffeeshop talk" making its rounds and what a small segment of Singaporeans is thinking aloud. It is also interesting to read the comments, for these provide clues on the general acceptance or rejection of the arguments in question. While blogs are not the social pulse of the nation, they do offer, in some sense, a one-dimensional snapshot of insight or at least opinion.

But it is also important to keep things in perspective. Bloggers do not, can not and will never be the torch of social consciousness or the souls of the nation. With new blogs being created every day, it is impossible for any Government to read all posts so it will inevitably come down to monitoring what a dozen or two people are saying. Okay this was never intended to be a scientific approach but merely a measure of feedback and for this, keeping tabs on blogs has its merits.

I believe a good many bloggers write simply as a means of expressing themselves - to air an opinion just for the hell of it. Like me, they really care little who reads their posts. For some it's an intellectual exercise. Others, especially those who have an affinity for the written word, indulge in blogging as a means of keeping sharp a rare craft close to their hearts.

Then there are the attention seekers - those with larger-than-life egos who firmly believe that it is up to them to right the wrongs of the world, to keep the Government on its toes, to lash out at every perceived injustice inflicted upon them and their voiceless flock by a Government out of touch with reality or leaders who just don't care or don't care enough.

Having been in the media and communication field for many years I have come across way too many such individuals who simply love hearing the sound and fury of their own voices. For them everything is personal no matter now tenuous the link. In years gone by you'll see their names often enough in The Straits Times Forum Page. Realising that the idiots who run the paper publish only a fraction of their illuminating literary insights (the Government must be behind this move to muzzle public expression or so they believe), many have moved on to the world of blogs - the independent and unrestricted soapbox and a gateway to the world.

It's all part of social evolution following the path of technological development. So is it wrong for people to feel empowered by what the Net can offer? Certainly not. But when bloggers begin to lose touch with reality, when they assume a self-crafted crowns of invincibility and don the sash of "Champions of Social Consciousness" - when they tout themselves as citizen journalists (choke!!) ... that's when things begin to fall apart and what was once deemed as a constructive platform of social engagement degenerates into an US versus THEM confrontation for which few rules, if any, apply.

Should the Singapore Government then ignore bloggers realising (rightly) that this blogging phenomena in Singapore is still in its infancy and there are many kinks to be worked out and a lot of maturing still to come? That would probably not be a wise move. To allow social media to grow without any engagement on the part of the Government would probably lead to the widening of a gulf of mistrust. To stand back and wait to see if blogging dies out and reverts to a stage of fragmented communities self-absorbed in their own thoughts and grievances, will be a risky approach.

No the Singapore Government should be engaging bloggers. That's a given. The question is - how should this be done. Already we have seen the like of the Media Development Authority reaching out to bloggers and seeking their opinions on all things tech. Ditto the National Heritage Board which has hired a person to specialise in Social Media. The Ministry of Information, Communication and The Arts (MICA) also keep track of bloggers. This isn't some black project on a witch-hunt for dissidents but rather a move to keep track on random (and sometimes disjointed) public comment.

Now the question being raised is should the Government be engaging individual bloggers? Does the Government need to reply to every question raised? The answer has to be no. The intentions may be good but it will surely backfire.

A Government response to a private blog will initiate a never-ending public debate from which neither side can claim any victory in persuasion.
Some bloggers will inevitably feel aggrieved that their blogs are being monitored by Big Brother - and do we really need more ammunition in this area! Where does one draw the line when a response is needed and when should the Government let a comment, no mater how frivolous, dumb, stupid or unwarranted, go by unchallenged. What will be the public's reaction and what conclusions will they then draw - that the Government has backed down, that the statement must be right for their was no official rebuttal?

Bloggers can always hide behind a wall of anonymity granted by the Internet (hell any fool can sign up for a gmail account or wordpress blog with a name like dot sg wat!) while the Government stands alone.

Ministers (okay some of them) have blogs. Their (office) email addresses can be found online. So there is access to the top. How successful one can be in engaging our political leaders in a private or public discourse is anyone's guess. But the door is open for anyone who cares to step inside.

Bloggers here have much growing up to do. For all their chest-thumping and demands to be taken seriously, they are still babes in a brave new world in which respect has to be earned. Bloggers need to prove themselves as responsible individuals not out simply to vent frustrations but to offer workable solutions for the benefit of the masses and not just their pet peeves. The Internet has given the people a powerful means to express themselves. How well that power is used remains to be seen. Because only when that day finally dawns can Government engagement be truly productive and there will be benefits for all.

Clear your table

2008-10-04T08:18:00.001+08:00

It is interesting that The Straits Times has taken up this challenge to nudge a change in the social habits of Singaporeans - in this case to get people to clear their food trays after eating in a hawker centre, food court or fast food joint.

There were two schools of thought. One - it's the right thing to do and makes for a more pleasant and civilised dining experience. Two - we have cleaners who are paid to pick up after us so what's the fuss all about? Take it a step further, you may be putting someone out of a job if you start putting away your trays! Yeah ... but there's probably lots they can still do "behind the scene".

In a sense, I suppose both arguments have some degree of merit. It doesn't really bother me if the previous diner left his now-empty bowl of laksa on the table. I can push it aside and be happy I have a seat. I guess when it comes to clearing up after yourself, it's the typical Singapore mentality of "Why bother!". Maybe it's because too many people have maids to pick up after them or their over-protective parents didn't get them to lift a finger around the house - so thinking about the social rightness is simply beyond them.

Still there are bigger irritants here we should be putting in the social crosshairs.

I have three pet peeves:

A) The Hoggers - people who leave packets of tissue to reserve their seats in crowded food centres. The least they can do is to elect some poor soul from the group to stay behind and jagah the seats. Then others would at least know the seats are taken and it's not just a packet of tissue left behind by a careless idiot.

B) The Regurgitators - these are the guys who have to spit out their prawn heads, fish bones and what-have-you directly onto the table. They are usually married to their alter egos - The Prissy Things ... women who simply have a pathological need to leave crumpled lots of tissue paper containing God-only-knows-what behind on the table. These inevitably threaten to fly into the food of the next diner but who cares - right?

C) The Squatters - these are the ones who persist in waiting for that last ice cube to melt so they can have can final sip totally oblivious that the place is packed and many people with food in hand (obviously not hoggers) are waiting for a seat. It's a bloody hawker centre - eat and go.

Compared to these %^&*%$#&, those who leave their plates behind are pretty respectable chaps in my book!

The ethics of paying bloggers

2008-10-04T00:14:00.001+08:00

You see, when blogging took off it was a way for the everyday man to have his small say but on a world stage. Anyone could do it - have your post read by some guy scratching his crotch at the other end of the world - talk about absolute power! Thousands jumped on the bandwagon. To be fair, many blogged just to a close-knit group of friends - it was a public diary to keep the group updated on what was happening in his or her life.

Then there were the others ... wanna-be journalists, many without an original thought in their heads, who started creeping out from the woodwork and basking their their new-found power (hey the written word is powerful ya?).

Bloggers grumbled about everything under the sun as is their God-given right to lead of rest of us imbeciles. The so-called gossip columnists saw their hits soar with every salacious entry (never mind if you got the facts wrong - or didn't have any facts to start off with). They had their legions of fans and as well as their detractors. Still that was fine. Nobody took it very seriously. It was all just good fun.

The dark clouds gathered when the "dedicated" bloggers (probably with too much time on their hands and egos that know no bounds) came onto the scene and started to flex their perceived "muscle". With a few hundred, okay maybe a few thousand hits to their credit (if you keep pressing the reload button often enough the hits will go up on some counters), they were seen as the "A List" of their breed (woopie!).

Still they offered the same fare .... lots of bitching, the odd cat-fight (some of it staged), not much in the way of substance and measured alternatives ... well these were few and far between. But they did have their followers and that was all that mattered. Hell, they were becoming legends in their own minds.

It all started to go downhill when companies got into the act. Hey it was a cheap form of publicity. Grab some bloggers.. invite then for an event ... better still call it a PRESS even (sounds more stylo and inflates the ego) and through them, you spread the word of about your product or service or whatever for the cost of a cheap meal and some freebies (bloggers like to touch things ya?). And for the sponsors, most of the time you got good cheap, cheap publicity. And what's wrong with that ... nothing!

It is one thing offering some freebies in the hope of getting some business exposure on someone's blog. But now we have paid bloggers - people who are willing to sell themselves for a few dollars to write a hyped-up post. Someone at the Social Media Breakfast session today (Oct 4 2008) said this is no different from newspaper journalists. "If they write bad things about us, we will pull out our ads and the editor would get into trouble with the sales director!" said one bright spark. I'm not sure which planet this moron was from but it just shows how naive these pseudo-journalists can be. Newspapers (well in Singapore at least) are not going to be held hostage to such a threat. If you want to dictate editorial, buy some advertorial space and knock yourself out - that's what a real newspaper editor would say... sigh.

I've got no issues with bloggers putting paid adverts on their sites. Everyone knows these are ads. The "editorial" should still be sacrosanct (I hope in vain). But paid bloggers - writing under the guise of an honest opinion? How many I wonder would have the courage to admit that they were essentially receiving kickbacks for their entries?

Isn't this all starting to smell... welcome people to the dark side of "Social" Media.

Social Media in Singapore

2008-10-04T00:06:00.001+08:00

It's really great to see that social media has taken off in Singapore although I suspect that much evolution lies ahead.

Over the last couple of months, I have met a number of bloggers and I've been following the Social Media Breakfast sessions - the last one being earlier today.

While I appreciate the group trying to gain some focus in their direction, there were several issues raised and observed that left me feel unsettled. This one takes the cake ...

Bloggers are journalists?
Huh ... really? Sorry folks, but let's get real here.

Journalists are professionals. They write for a living. It takes years of training in a very tough environment before you can call yourself a true-blue journalist. I'm speaking from many, many years of experience in newspapers, magazines and the online world.

In the newspaper world, in particular every word is scrutinised to ensure accuracy and objectivity. And unless you are doing a review or a commentary copy - you report the news. You don't become the focus of attention where your opinion IS the story.

Very often, much research goes into fleshing out the story even before the first word is written. Each copy goes through several hands to ensure that all the information is there, the angles are spot on and the reader is left feeling that the five minutes they took to read the copy was time well spent.

Do journalists make mistakes? Sure (and they bleed too and laugh and cry and have good days and bad hair days- just like all other mere mortals). But when a journalist makes a mistake and especially when there's a wishbone (that's a What It Should Have Been report) the next day, it's very painful. You need to explain how the hell it happened. In serious cases a warning letter is issued (ie say goodbye to part of your bonus) or it can mean the boot - and yes that does happen. Thankfully not very often. But that's life of a journalist. There is a professional creed that needs to be upheld.

And now we have bloggers in Singapore touting themselves as journalists! Where is the quality control and the accountability? Do they uphold the same standards - and now we have paid bloggers. What does that say about standards of independent and unbiased comment?

Sure there are good ones out there. Intelligent people giving their take this or that. But if you are writing from a personal perspective, can honestly called yourself a journalists? Where is the balance and critique before the copy sees the light of day? Can bloggers really call themselves journalists? I think not. Social commentators ... well that still requires a considerable leap of the imagination, but perhaps, it's a little closer to the truth...

Do you believe in Ghosts?

2008-09-13T09:46:00.002+08:00

I've been asked this many times ... okay actually it was just once by a colleague who I arm-twisted to read this blog – something I'm sure she has since regretted ... right Sylvia?

Short answer to the question ... sure! What's not to believe!

Basically I'm old enough to realise that there are lots of things we don't understand and perhaps never will. (like how according to a certain person who said sometime back, my G2000 shirts and spiffy hairstyle which I've had since I was six, ain't no longer in vogue) but I digress ...

Back to the legions of the netherworld, we've all seen and experienced things we can't explain – a fleeting image from the corner of the eye, that indefinable sense of dread (like the boss is walking by), deja vu, feeling a connectedness to a place you have never visited before, having the hairs at the back of the neck stand for no apparent reason, feeling a presence comforting or otherwise ...

It happens ... okay maybe not very often ... but still when it does, it gives you cause to pause and think if only for a few seconds, that there may be something else out there. Then of course, our rational mind takes control and we scoff at the thought.

Ghosts, spirits, the afterlife – they could exist whether in this realm or another. In every religion and culture, humankind is linked to those who live in another dimension, souls who once walked the earth, who have touched our lives and since departed.

I guess all of us would want to believe that we will one day, in some place not too far away, rejoin family and friends who have gone before us. And if you believe that, then it is not too hard to imagine that for whatever, some of these “souls” (or their energy) choose to remain in this world – presumably their business yet unfinished.

I personally think it is comforting to believe that there is more to life than well ...just this. Would I ever want to come back in spirit form? Sure! At least a brief visit would be great – you can't be sitting on clouds playing the harp (badly) all day. Hell I've already got a long list of people to spook, to slap the back of their heads, to push down a flight of stairs ... yeah that kinda thingy.

So if one day many, many years from now you glimpse out of the corner of your eye someone looking like an extra from That 70's Show , wearing a G2000 shirt from the late 90s, supporting a hairstyle reminiscent of Ronald Reagan, then you’ll know … I’m back!

In Praise of the Ugly Duckling

2008-09-09T09:51:00.001+08:00

Compared to the majestic architecture of the National Museum, the grandeur Singapore Art Museum and the understated opulence of the Asian Civilisations Museum, the tiny Singapore Philatelic Museum must surely be the runt of the litter.

Collecting stamps in Singapore is for all intent and purposes, a fading pursuit surviving only within the hallowed ranks of purist collectors. Housed in what was once a bookstore, I returned this old building on Coleman Street a few months ago after an absence of many years simply because I was passing by and had some time to kill.

I never professed to have any interest in stamps. To me it was nothing more than a bit of printed paper you stuck on the corner of an envelope without a second glance. I had intended my return visit to be a quick one – just poke my head in, see what has become of one of my old stomping grounds and be out the door in 10 minutes.

Then I met Jocelyn – a nice lady who works there. She offered to take me on a tour. Okay – I could be out of there in 15 minutes, I figured. The galleries were small but the tour, with all the details thrown in, seemed like it would never end. Still I was struck by two things.

One, the place didn’t look anything like your typical stuffy museum. Quite unlike the dark corridors of the National Museum where I always fear I’m going to trip over a dead body (see In Search of ...), here there was a comfy sofa, nice soft music and a warm, inviting atmosphere.

The other thing I like about the Philatelic Museum was the passion of its staff. They genuinely believe that every stamp has a story to tell if only we took the time to listen. Thanks Jocelyn, you didn’t exactly make a convert out of me but the next time I’m licking a stamp, I’ll at least pause for a second or two to appreciate the picture – promise!

Never Keep a Coffin Waiting

2008-07-25T09:54:00.001+08:00

Folklore has it that it's bad luck to display an empty coffin. Now most of us would never be faced by this problem but the National Museum of Singapore was when it created an exhibition to showcase Chinese funeral rites.

On display was a real coffin on a real hearse used here in the "old days". Not wanted to tempt fate, the museum filled the coffin with pieces of wood just to be on the safe side.

If you look at the picture above carefully, you may notice several paper umbrellas at the head of the hearse. According to legend (and this was news to me - thanks Angeline ...) if you want to bring a spirit outdoors (for whatever reason), it needs to be protected from the rain! So you need to provide the spirit with an umbrella for it to seek shelter while on the go.

Can you prove spirits don't exist?

2008-07-23T09:56:00.000+08:00

Singapore may be modern country but there are still many people – ordinary, level-headed folk who lead normal lives – and yet, when caught in circumstances beyond their control, they are willing to believe in the supernatural and the effects they can have on the lives of the mortal.

In the early to mid-80s there was a spate of police reports - people said they were cheated out of jewellery worth thousands of dollars and cash by self-professed mediums who claimed that they could see spirits.

The typical story went like this ... the medium (for want of a better term) would befriend someone... usually a person down on his luck and eventually gets himself invited to the victim's home. Once there, the medium would claim that the home is haunted or that a spell was cast on the victim which accounted for him losing his job, his failed relationship, losses at the track – basically whatever was ailing the poor man at the time.

Now in the cold light of day when someone tells you your home is haunted or a hex was placed on you, it's easy to say "Nah - I'll never fall for that". But when misfortune tends to lurk at every corner in your life, you begin to wonder if there could be some truth in this. To make his case even more convincing, the medium usually throws in a dose of proof. Sometimes this can be in the form of "magic stones" that change colour when dipped in water (a sure sign of the supernatural at work - claims the medium) or slicing open a fruit only to expose some bloody innards. These are the usual sleight of hand tricks but they work on those who want to believe that some external force is responsible for their run of bad luck. Once in a while, as in a case I had, the victim would actually be shown the spirit in person. How this was done beats me.

So, convinced something was afoot, the victim would hand over valuables or whatever was left of his life's savings in a sad attempt to be rid of the back luck, spirits – whatever you wish to call it. The medium then says some prayers, makes some offerings allegedly bought by what the victim had given him. He later pronounces the home spirit-free. The victim eventually confides in someone else what happened, realises (or thinks) he was conned (or he feels just foolish) and a police report is made.

The cops treat such cases as cheating under Section 420 of the Penal Code. Statements are taken and sometimes someone is caught. I investigated one such case while at Ang Mo Kio Police Division around 1984/85. The suspect was arrested on a warrant late one night (these things always happen at night) and I was called in to question him.

Questioning usually takes a couple of hours at best - you go back and forth, getting him to repeat the story in minute detail looking for inconsistencies. Handcuffed to a chair, this guy looked ordinary enough and he freely admitted everything ... well almost - meeting the victim, going to his home, telling him that the flat was haunted, taking cash to buy some stuff for a cleansing ritual - the whole works. But he stuck to his guns resolutely stating that he indeed saw the spirit, even showed the spirit to the victim (who admitted this) and he got it to leave after saying some prayers.

Okay... fine... describe the spirit, says me. Female, young, long hair (of course!), dressed in white (no surprises there) with long fingernails. I was bored ... so how long were they? "Five feet long" he says in a very matter-of-fact way. Hmmmm - no wonder spirits walk thru' walls - they can't work the door handle with nails like that!

"You don't believe me? I can call her up now - here - in your office!"

Damn - It must have been about 2am, my coffee was cold and I wasn't expecting such a challenge! "Nah, its okay - you'll get your chance to prove it in court." Quite safe an answer I thought.

So I finally get the paperwork done and I charge him in court a few hours later. In keeping with my luck, he claims "not guilty". The case goes through the system and eventually a trial date is set. Now investigators have to discuss up-coming trials with a Deputy Public Prosecutor assigned to the case. Let's just say mine was less than enthusiastic.

You see the difficulty is this... everyone's innocent until proven guilty and the onus of proof lies on the prosecution. To prove his guilt, you need to satisfy the court that there was never a spirit in the house to begin with (and my star witness - the victim - was going to swear under oath that he saw one - damn!!); that the money given by the victim did not go to the intended cause - buying the stuff for the ritual. Unfortunately the victim in his statement said he followed the man to buy whatever it was that was needed for the ritual (I can't remember what these were). The third criteria was that we needed to show beyond a reasonable doubt that the accused knowingly and with premeditation, intended to deceive the victim. Now I had no doubt in my mind that the accused was guilty as hell - just out to make a quick buck at the expense of the gullible but suddenly what seemed to be an open 'n shut case started to fall apart.

“So we need to prove that there wasn’t a spirit? Damn damn!” The case was beginning to look rather -iffy. Nobody likes to lose. On the day of the trial, we had a little discussion with the accused. We reduce the charge to a lesser offence, he pleads guilty and because he had some prior convictions, spends three months in prison. Sometimes things just work out that way.

It was only several weeks later when I happened to be chatting over a beer to the cop who was in charge of the lock-up that night when the guy was arrested, that the rest of the story emerged.

It was a slow night and the cells in the station were empty when I brought the suspect up to my office. According to the cop, just after I left, he heard someone banging on the cell bars and a woman's voice coming from what was supposed to be an empty cell. Why he didn't freak out? - I have no idea - he said he's been "through this before". Great! Anyways the hitting of bars and occasional wailing continued until just before I brought the suspect back to his cell. After that all was quiet.

Folklore has it that some mediums can "keep" spirits to do their bidding says the cop.

Now – years later – I wonder what would have happened if I took the suspect up on his offer and said "Okay prove to me that you can call up a ghost" Well I'm glad I didn't. There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity ...

The "Haunted" Staircase

2008-07-18T09:58:00.000+08:00

Here’s a little more about the infamous spiral staircase at the National Museum of Singapore …

Legend has it that the staircase was originally found in a private residence. The engraved patterns are said to resemble a similar staircase in the Victorian Albert Hall in London.

The staircase at the second level, is reputed to be the most haunted part of the museum. Apparently many sightings have been made at or near the staircase.

The best known spirit reputed to reside in the museum is none other than its last expatriate director Carl Gibson-Hill. He was a keen naturalist and dedicated scientist. Plagued by ill health and personal problems, he was thought to have committed suicide in August 1963. His death was covered in a small front page report in The Straits Times. It said he died of an overdose of sleeping pills in a bathtub at his home in Seton Close. However some believe the man actually hanged himself in his museum office. Why the discrepancy is anyone’s guess. Since Gibson-Hill’s death, many museum staff, according to legend, have seen his spirit in the halls of the museum.

Here’s another take on the haunting of the spiral staircase … rumour has it that someone died after tripping and falling down the staircase. Eye-witnesses have reported seeing a “priest-like” figure roaming the vicinity. People who have tried to climb the staircase said they felt an unseen hand pushing them down – and that’s why it still remains closed off to the public.

Village of the Beautiful

2008-07-09T10:08:00.000+08:00

I grew up in a house in the prime Bukit Timah area. It was a great house - big - huge garden - lots of "wildlife" - snakes, monkeys and such and a dark history to boot.

It was a long way from the main Dunearn Road. To get there you either had to drive or walk along Binjai Park and pass the homes of millionaires or take the other road called Jalan Kampong Chantek.

To me Jalan Kampong Chantek was just a name. The translation from Malay means - Road to the Village of the Beautiful - or something like that (my Malay still stinks). It didn't strike me as anything significant until much later when I began hearing the stories ...

At the very end of Jalan Kampong Chantek is a small Malay village - a kampong with about 200 people staying in atap houses. Our driver Dollah was the local village bomoh/witchdoctor/sharman - whatever you call him - he probably was the one that came out with these stories in the first place.

So anyway - as the story goes - the beautiful people refers to the ever-popular Pontianak - she appears as a beautiful young woman who then changes into a horrible old decrepit lady ghost (like some of my primary school teachers I guess).

Now Jalan Kampong Chantek is a long and winding road - over a mile long much of it cutting through jungle. Hitchhiking was common back then. People didn't think twice to stop their car and offer a lift to some poor soul walking the long road. There is a sharp bend in the road before you get to a hill.

This bend is Pontianak territory. You have to slow down at night - it's almost a 90 degree bend - and that's when - if you are unlucky - you will see a young woman trying to flag down your car (Ghosts like the rest of us probably hate walking too).

So a cute girl - late at nite looking for a lift - okay so you oblige. You stop the car, she gets in. Of course she wants to go to the kampong at the very end of the road. When you get there, you turn to her and she's gone - disappeared. Sometimes there's a sweet sickly smell in the air, sometimes just leaves are left on the seat.

And so you freak out - drive like a bat out of hell and swear never to stop for another hitchhiker no matter how good she looks.

Are these stories true? I have no idea. Taxi drivers avoid the area like the plague. But I did come across a woman at that bend late one night sometime in the mid-80s. I'm not sure if she was thumbing for a lift or just minding her own business as she walked home. Still the sight of her with the instant reply of Pontianak tales in my head, did give me a fright. Of course I didn't stop - my mother didn't raise no fool!

The area has changed now. The jungle is largely gone replaced by bungalows. The name of the road still remains along with that infamous bend - I wonder if the people who live there today are aware of the area's unique ... errm .... history?

Let's Scare The Kids

2008-07-09T10:07:00.000+08:00

Growing up in the 60s and 70s - before computers, the Internet, cable TV and all, people - I mean adults - needed to find inventive ways to have fun... and what better way of doing just that than scaring little kids. It wasn't very much fun when you are on th receiving end. Anyways ... this was one such story I remember... it doesn't make much sense now but they scared the crap out of us back then ...

Don't play hide and seek at night - the momok (that's Malay for some kind of ghost - I don't know why a bunch of Eurasians couldn't just say 'ghost' - maybe the Malay word make it sound more authentic) will get you. That's what all kids my age were told. I guess our parents didn't want us running all over the place when it was time for dinner.

And what would happen if you disobeyed this rule? Well the story went like this...

There was a family living down the road (they always give you a local setting to make the story more convincing). There were two young girls who played hide and seek late one evening (well after the witching hour of course).

The first few rounds of the game were quite normal. Then in one round, the "seeker" couldn't find her sister no matter how hard she looked. Worried, she eventually told her parents. A search party was organised (Notice back then we always did things the proper way. We didn't just run about in panic - we organised a search party - now that's what I call style - okay back to the story...). They searched through the night but came up empty-handed. (Must prolong the suspense you see for all the kids listening in eager anticipation ...).

The next day she was found ... well what was left of her... her body was found squashed into a small milk tin - apparently this was a well-known calling-card of the momok.

Like I said, the story doesn't make much sense now - how a whole human body can be squashed into a condensed milk tin is beyond me.. but for scare tactics on gullible kids, it certainly worked like magic!

The long-term psychological damage all these stories of ghosts, blood, gore and guilt had on us kids (and yet they still wondered why so many of us were afraid of the dark!) probably didn't account for much back then ...

Memories of Times House

2008-07-09T10:05:00.000+08:00

Just about every old building in Singapore has its supernatural history or so it seems.

The old Times House at the junction of Kim Seng Road and River Valley Road was no exception. The area dates back well before World War II. It seems Allied POWs were forced to build part of River Valley Road during World War II.

Staff working at The Straits Times newspaper occupied the lower building while the Tower Block housed most of the other English and the Malay newspapers.

The ghost story goes like this .. if you work late at night - well after the "paper has gone to bed" and everyone has left the building, you will hear some strange noises - like someone banging away on typewriters or keyboards (depending which decade you were in when the story was retold).

Okay so odd noises in an old building are not unusual and can be explained away. Then came the kicker ... be aware of the "Subs area" at the back - where sub-editors worked. "Many people" - I don't know how many - have seen a British soldier walking around in that area. Now apparently this guy is not very people-friendly and literally just walks by you without a glance. He probably has greater things on his mind.

I haven't come across anyone who actually saw this spirit firsthand - it's always "I heard it from someone who saw it" ... but the story is just one of the endearing memories of that old sickly yellow building which sadly, is no longer with us.

I've often wondered what became of that soldier ... I guess he's still on guard somewhere in what is now an overpriced condo.

In Search of ...

2008-07-09T10:02:00.002+08:00

The National Museum in Stamford Road is an imposing building. More than 120 years old - she's certainly the grand old dame of Singapore.

Reopened again in 2006 after extensive renovations - the innards of the museum reflect Modern Singapore - new, sleek, high-tech but it also seems to have lost part of its soul - that old charm that made it special.

Back in the "olden days" for me that was the 70s, a trip to the museum (all our schools were within walking distance from the museum and entry was free) was actually a codeword for "let's go look for ghosts" and a great excuse for some mega goofing off. Nevermind it was 1.30 in the afternoon (when school was over). The National Museum was always dark and ethereal-looking at any time of the day. And it didn't hurt that there were corpses everywhere.

You see the old museum was very into "natural history" so there were lots of stuffed animals and birds in dusty showcases. Hell there was even the skeleton of a whale suspended from the ceiling. And so with death already in the air, what better setting could one ask for when doing a spot of ghost hunting!

Now bear in mind that none of us ever saw anything remotely spooky, no disembodied voices or headless corpses floating by. It really didn't matter. We were there to manufacture our own kind of fun. So when there were no visible ghosts to be had, all you are left with is the imagination. And being kids, ours were always locked into overdrive.

We questioned things that we did not know and since there was never anyone around to tell us different, the more ghostly the answer the better.

I remember there was one of these old winding staircases that leads up to the attic I guess. The entrance was always blocked off. That makes sense - today - you didn't want a bunch of nosey kids trooping all over your attic looking for ghosts. But to us, the reasons were always more X-File-ish, always more sinister - "It's blocked off because someone died there... kids went up and never came down ... a coffin was found there with a body inside. Any reason we had to speculate, must have a some ghoulish explanation. So it was fun making up stories as we went along.

If memory serves me correctly, there was a room filled with body parts stuffed in those bottles you find in science labs. One contained a human fetus floating in some yellowish liquid - probably formaldehyde - Okay maybe it wasn't actually a human fetus - it could have been an animal.

But to an eight-year-old ... wow ... think of the possible stories. Does the baby cry at night when no one was about? Does it climb out of its bottle looking for little children to take its place? You would drive yourself silly thinking up stuff like this and that was exactly what we did - exactly the whole point of the outing.

So is or was the National Museum ever haunted? .... Nah but I would like to think that the spirits of some innocent kids out on an adventure, still live on somewhere within those hallowed halls ...

St John's Island

2008-07-09T10:01:00.000+08:00

Trust the cops to always dish out a good yarn ...

Working in a newspaper in the early 1990s (or thereabouts), I had an assignment once to follow a Police Coast Guard boat out on patrol for a night to see our guys in blue in action again illegal immigrants which was a hot topic at the time.

So with a photographer in tow, we set off for what we hoped would be an eventful night. It didn't quite turn out like that. The seas were calm, the moon was big 'n bright (apparently not a good time for these people smugglers to be out and about) and well... nothing happened.

So to pass the time, we started yakking with the crew on the bridge (I guess you could call it that but it was a pretty small boat ...) about nothing in particular. Of course being stuck on a boat in the middle of well ... nowhere, the conversation eventually drifted to what else ... good ole tales of the supernatural. Okay I was game... I don't remember all the details of the many stories but one stuck in my head all these years.

Now remember that these were the days before a handfone became an essential body-part - at least it was when this "incident" happened. The crew was made up of some young officers I guess. The night-shift must have been another bore and so someone had the notion to give his girlfriend a call.

The boat stopped off at St John's Island at the end of a pier and the guy trotted off to a public fone booth at the end of the dock. Midway through his conversation, he glanced up and saw his crewmates waving frantically for him to come back. Apparently he wasn't too bothered (or he didn't want to waste his 10 cents) and continued with his call. Finally (I guess he ran out of coins) he returned to the boat and it sped off.

Only when they had put some distance between them and the island did they tell the now confused chap what they saw. While he was engrossed in conversation, his mates could see (apparently quite clearly) a woman in white - yes complete with long hair and all, standing next to him ...

Geez thanks guys for sharing that story and scaring the @#$%^& out of us...

Notice once people get on a roll telling ghost stories, it just goes on and on.... I decided to call it quits and grab some shut-eye at my usual seat outside on the open deck near the engines.

Of course they had to wait for me to get nice and comfortable before one of the older officers "advised" me that maybe I shouldn't sit on the starboard (right) side of the boat. The reason ... later on that nite (yes we are now back to the original ghost story) ... they all saw the same lady in white ... sitting there ... looking out to sea.

Now this got me thinking ... since spirits can float - why are they always looking out for free rides from us mere mortals??