Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
So I had this horrid sub-letting experience. I returned to the house being in a complete mess, uncleaned cluttered and strewn with stuff that had been left behind by the subletters.
How is it that people can live with such little consideration and self-respect?
Looking around at the mess, I concluded that in Southeast Asia, no one would be caught dead living in such conditions. Dirt there is structural, not personal. If they had a choice, they would put Mr Clean to shame, and they do the best they can with what they have. The cleanest toilet I've been to was in a little village in Laos amongst the pigs and monkeys.
But here. I just don't understand how people can allow themselves to stoop to such levels that I have never seen before. It's really embarrassing. The first thought that came to my mind was Kolkata, and you know that that's really really bad.
This is Vancouver.
How is it that people can live with such little consideration and self-respect?
Looking around at the mess, I concluded that in Southeast Asia, no one would be caught dead living in such conditions. Dirt there is structural, not personal. If they had a choice, they would put Mr Clean to shame, and they do the best they can with what they have. The cleanest toilet I've been to was in a little village in Laos amongst the pigs and monkeys.
But here. I just don't understand how people can allow themselves to stoop to such levels that I have never seen before. It's really embarrassing. The first thought that came to my mind was Kolkata, and you know that that's really really bad.
This is Vancouver.
Monday, August 25, 2008
I want to be sure, and to act with decisiveness.
Just because you're strong and loud and mainstream, does not mean that you are right.
What is truth? What does rightness mean?
It would be pointless to search for the right answer (or approach) I guess. I've seen too many opinions and experiences. What encapsulates us and makes us one? If we can find that, maybe we can find 'truth'. And no, don't give me that humanity/human race we are all one shit. That's like saying we're all united by carbon - all hail carbon. Carbon is the answer. If you get too big and vague, there can be no meaningful application.
So, I can't/won't find any answer. But I want to be decisive. I don't want to waffle, and I don't want to bend to whatever people say. I also don't want to be arrogant, closed-minded, stubborn and myopic about my stance, simply because, it cannot be fully right. When the latter happens, people no longer have conversations, they just talk - loudly, without listening. Why? Because being wrong hurts. Not only is it painful admitting that you're wrong, but there's a pretty high chance that you've built a bit of your identity around the position that you've adopted. So being wrong means having your identity shaken.
I just want to be gracious while being strong. To understand and empathize, even if I disagree. To understand that there is a person behind the opinion - it doesn't mean that I must patronize and agree, but it should lead me to be gentle in the presentation of my ideas.
I don't know. I've got a stake in this bubble called truth too, and it could hurt me. I am water. I take the path of least resistance, but I still am. And I absorb stuff along the way.
Just because you're strong and loud and mainstream, does not mean that you are right.
What is truth? What does rightness mean?
It would be pointless to search for the right answer (or approach) I guess. I've seen too many opinions and experiences. What encapsulates us and makes us one? If we can find that, maybe we can find 'truth'. And no, don't give me that humanity/human race we are all one shit. That's like saying we're all united by carbon - all hail carbon. Carbon is the answer. If you get too big and vague, there can be no meaningful application.
So, I can't/won't find any answer. But I want to be decisive. I don't want to waffle, and I don't want to bend to whatever people say. I also don't want to be arrogant, closed-minded, stubborn and myopic about my stance, simply because, it cannot be fully right. When the latter happens, people no longer have conversations, they just talk - loudly, without listening. Why? Because being wrong hurts. Not only is it painful admitting that you're wrong, but there's a pretty high chance that you've built a bit of your identity around the position that you've adopted. So being wrong means having your identity shaken.
I just want to be gracious while being strong. To understand and empathize, even if I disagree. To understand that there is a person behind the opinion - it doesn't mean that I must patronize and agree, but it should lead me to be gentle in the presentation of my ideas.
I don't know. I've got a stake in this bubble called truth too, and it could hurt me. I am water. I take the path of least resistance, but I still am. And I absorb stuff along the way.
I already miss my brother terribly.
This summer has been about growth and rest, about being weary and yet finding rejuvenation. It was about retreating and moving forward, about letting go and moving on. And even if I can't, at least I know which direction I need to go. I lost of bearings for a while - necessarily - and it cleared my mind from the images that I had painted for myself. They weren't wrong, but they were painted too hastily. As if I were painting what I had heard in the distance instead of what I would actually see. But I think I've taken a step back for a step forward.
Over worship practice I discovered an unapologetic drive for excellence - and I know where to find it. Jeff reminded me that both hate and love lead to hurt, so I must be careful to invest these emotions (state of beings?) wisely - I think I've wasted too much on the Drummer, and sometimes I fear that I've lost too much, and am losing still. I am grateful for being able to actually choose my idea of good, instead of having it been handed to me. The structures of ignorance go deep, but should I let that dim the beauty that I might share? I hold on too tightly to life, forgetting that there is more.
I feel heavy and trance-like, as if I've been spending all my energy rearranging the furniture in my head. I talk to myself, coaxing, calming and cajoling myself to get out and be. I need a lot of affirmation.
This has been a great summer, and this will be a good year. Deeper and quieter. I am yearning for goodness again.
This summer has been about growth and rest, about being weary and yet finding rejuvenation. It was about retreating and moving forward, about letting go and moving on. And even if I can't, at least I know which direction I need to go. I lost of bearings for a while - necessarily - and it cleared my mind from the images that I had painted for myself. They weren't wrong, but they were painted too hastily. As if I were painting what I had heard in the distance instead of what I would actually see. But I think I've taken a step back for a step forward.
Over worship practice I discovered an unapologetic drive for excellence - and I know where to find it. Jeff reminded me that both hate and love lead to hurt, so I must be careful to invest these emotions (state of beings?) wisely - I think I've wasted too much on the Drummer, and sometimes I fear that I've lost too much, and am losing still. I am grateful for being able to actually choose my idea of good, instead of having it been handed to me. The structures of ignorance go deep, but should I let that dim the beauty that I might share? I hold on too tightly to life, forgetting that there is more.
I feel heavy and trance-like, as if I've been spending all my energy rearranging the furniture in my head. I talk to myself, coaxing, calming and cajoling myself to get out and be. I need a lot of affirmation.
This has been a great summer, and this will be a good year. Deeper and quieter. I am yearning for goodness again.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Today was fun. A lot of things happened that were enjoyable, that made me happy and excited.
1. Worship practice in Church with just my brother and I. Just two voices that blend. I rarely get to experience music this way.
2. Going to my brother's 'concert' at Kovan CC, and running into a million and one people, including the poor chap I embarrassed on the MRT on the way home.
GLG: You look familiar. You're the girl I tried to give my seat to on the MRT... I thought you were pregnant... it was the dress.
yay.
3. Deciding to jam with my brother, at the bus stop. Receiving applause from the security guard and other onlookers who had stopped in their tracks to listen. They asked for more. Oh public acceptance is nice.
1. Worship practice in Church with just my brother and I. Just two voices that blend. I rarely get to experience music this way.
2. Going to my brother's 'concert' at Kovan CC, and running into a million and one people, including the poor chap I embarrassed on the MRT on the way home.
GLG: You look familiar. You're the girl I tried to give my seat to on the MRT... I thought you were pregnant... it was the dress.
yay.
3. Deciding to jam with my brother, at the bus stop. Receiving applause from the security guard and other onlookers who had stopped in their tracks to listen. They asked for more. Oh public acceptance is nice.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
RE: Singaporean v. Singapore Citizen.
IT IS time to put forth the argument that being a Singapore citizen is not the same as being Singaporean. One can be born here but one's heart is not. If the only thing linking someone who spends most of his life in another country to his birthplace is his relatives, then there is little meaning behind his national identity. People talk about 'true-blue' Singaporeans but are usually stumped for words when one asks them to define the term.
A feeling of identity is defined and nurtured by one's social affiliations, having immersed in its culture, history and people. I consider myself Singaporean for the following reasons:
- Having friends who suffered with me during national service.
- Having friends who struggled with me under the education system.
- Eating, celebrating, talking, learning, suffering, serving and being served by Singaporeans around me.
Being Singaporean is knowing how to rebut a foreigner who has nothing but praise or contempt for our nation. Being Singaporean is having the innate knack of recognising and connecting with countrymen in other countries.
It is not merely donning the red and white, being able to recite the Pledge, or attending every National Day Parade. In that sense, someone who was born elsewhere may be more Singaporean than one who was born here but makes his home overseas.
Likewise, one who has been granted fresh citizenship but the only thing connecting him to the country is taking public transport cannot, in my view, be considered a Singaporean, but a Singapore citizen. No one can define how long it takes to develop the Singaporean identity or what the criteria to pass the Singaporean test are. My point is that it's more than just a sense of loyalty or gratitude to the flag. It's more than fighting and competing for national pride. These merely skim the surface of what national identity means. Wearing Singapore colours does not, in my mind, make one any more Singaporean than one who doesn't.
We have every right to celebrate our paddlers' success in the Olympics and they duly deserve it. But despite all the controversy surrounding the origins of our players, one cannot deny that it would have been a more empathic celebration if Singaporeans brought home the medal rather than Singapore citizens.
A common argument in support of incorporating foreign-born talent is that everyone else seems to be doing it. This makes international competition a kind of spiralling arms race where one cannot afford not to field foreign-born competitors. Such an approach to international games makes our country good in a certain sport, but it does not necessarily make us a sporting nation. It would have been more meaningful to recognise the victor as someone's primary schoolmate, or old neighbour, rather than someone recognised and granted citizenship predominantly for his talent and little else.
Mark Wong
Copyright © 2007 Singapore Press Holdings. All rights reserved.
--------
Here is the solution to all my problems!
Vindicated again once more!
IT IS time to put forth the argument that being a Singapore citizen is not the same as being Singaporean. One can be born here but one's heart is not. If the only thing linking someone who spends most of his life in another country to his birthplace is his relatives, then there is little meaning behind his national identity. People talk about 'true-blue' Singaporeans but are usually stumped for words when one asks them to define the term.
A feeling of identity is defined and nurtured by one's social affiliations, having immersed in its culture, history and people. I consider myself Singaporean for the following reasons:
- Having friends who suffered with me during national service.
- Having friends who struggled with me under the education system.
- Eating, celebrating, talking, learning, suffering, serving and being served by Singaporeans around me.
Being Singaporean is knowing how to rebut a foreigner who has nothing but praise or contempt for our nation. Being Singaporean is having the innate knack of recognising and connecting with countrymen in other countries.
It is not merely donning the red and white, being able to recite the Pledge, or attending every National Day Parade. In that sense, someone who was born elsewhere may be more Singaporean than one who was born here but makes his home overseas.
Likewise, one who has been granted fresh citizenship but the only thing connecting him to the country is taking public transport cannot, in my view, be considered a Singaporean, but a Singapore citizen. No one can define how long it takes to develop the Singaporean identity or what the criteria to pass the Singaporean test are. My point is that it's more than just a sense of loyalty or gratitude to the flag. It's more than fighting and competing for national pride. These merely skim the surface of what national identity means. Wearing Singapore colours does not, in my mind, make one any more Singaporean than one who doesn't.
We have every right to celebrate our paddlers' success in the Olympics and they duly deserve it. But despite all the controversy surrounding the origins of our players, one cannot deny that it would have been a more empathic celebration if Singaporeans brought home the medal rather than Singapore citizens.
A common argument in support of incorporating foreign-born talent is that everyone else seems to be doing it. This makes international competition a kind of spiralling arms race where one cannot afford not to field foreign-born competitors. Such an approach to international games makes our country good in a certain sport, but it does not necessarily make us a sporting nation. It would have been more meaningful to recognise the victor as someone's primary schoolmate, or old neighbour, rather than someone recognised and granted citizenship predominantly for his talent and little else.
Mark Wong
Copyright © 2007 Singapore Press Holdings. All rights reserved.
--------
Here is the solution to all my problems!
Vindicated again once more!
