The Merits Of Routine

As I wrote that title, the vision of an old Indian man, wise and learned and verbose came to mind. One who would simply write advice for the sake of writing advice to pass on to others. Something that had to be done to improve lives. Goodness. I laughed a little too.

Anyway, despite me ageing rapidly and turning uncle before my time (I hope), I must exhort the benefits of routine. Seriously, a lot of our lives would be simpler and better with a fixed set of actions followed. For example, we have always heard of the need to commit to exercise. Often as we get caught up with work, we cast aside the need to sweat it out and get the heart pumping from physical activity rather than stress. If we worked out a short while everyday, just like Oprah's Dr Oz recommends 30 minutes of walking daily, we'd be better off to tackle our work related stresses and combat illness. Fine, maybe not everyday, but something 2-3 times a week is undeniably good for you. Change can only come with consistent effort, not a sudden workout followed by a week of pigging out. Consistency begets results.

Next example, cleaning the house. My sis has a 1400sqft home. She tends to clean it on Saturdays and the end of the afternoon she's bushed and complaining. Then I would say, "why don't do a little everyday?" Try half an hour of cleaning a day to make the Saturday less of a pain. I wash the loo I use often every Sunday morning. It's a habit now of sorts. It's a routine that makes sense to me.

Last example, flossing. I don't floss everyday. I did for period when I followed the Dexter series on cable TV. In the super opening sequence of each episode there are amazing closeups of stuff Dexter does in the morning made to look poignantly murderous. There's him shaving and cutting himself, blood in drops on white porcelain; bacon deftly sliced and seared; coffee beans mercilessly being ground in a slow mo spin; and he flosses. So this ardent fan flossed after breakfast too, for a while. Now I floss once a week on Sundays before bed. I think it is necessarily enough to weed out the week's filth from the teeth.

Last last example (I promise), I take a supplements. I know everyone does. Hossan Leong on the morning radio show on Gold 90FM says he takes 10 pills a day. I think that's mad. I take an Omega 3 pill each day; Glucosamine on Mondays and Thursdays; Centrum multivitamins on Tuesdays and Fridays; Brands essence of chicken, a bottle, on one of the weekend days. That's my programme. It sounds like I'm a hypochondriac, maybe a little but I am sure a little bit each day goes a long way in the end. "Sikit sikit, lama jadi bukit" goes a Malay saying and we tend to forget to apply that to more of life than we imagine. Both positive, like saving cents a day and negative, like not clearing your Inbox (I have 300 emails in that mess).

I know it sounds like nagging but think about it a little before condemning it to the trash can of the mind. There is room to breakout of routine but some things we just gotta keep in steady rhythm. There are cycles all around us - the days and nights; the convulted loop that takes us from home to work to home; the bills we have to pay at the about the same time each month. Routine keeps us sane. And applying that sanity to benefit one's health or time management is doable. Try, it works, says this old man.

The Missing Step

It's funny how we take the simplest things for granted. Maybe that's why we do, because they're simple.

We could take public transport to work and school most days but still expect delays or breakdowns to happen every now and then. Same said for the elevators and even lightbulbs. We reconcile our displeasure when these things don't work by blaming other people, the weather and recognizing there are many parts to the whole device or operation.

So it's hard to come to terms with the simplest things that no longer work. Yesterday the foot pedal dustbin in my kitchen no longer connected to its foot pedal. This was the result of a fall the dustbin had, of an elevated position for drying. So the basic lever operation of step-down and lid-pops-up was dead. We were at a loss. The mishap meant we had to now, heaven forbid, bend down to lift the lid of the bin to make a dirty deposit. Bend?! Shock and horror to the body. All it took was force on the big toe, a natural adjustment of body weight, to flip the top up. Now, fingers and touching, ewwww. Germs, ewwww. All that brainwashing about transmission of bugs and viruses from Dettol and Lifebuoy ads was now rearing its ugly head.

What was one to do if both hands were occupied? How would i peel oranges now?!

I voiced my grave concern at this calamity upon discovery. "Mummy, what do we do now?" "You should have called us the moment it happened so we could buy another bin". My mum went "Aiyah, you lazy. Cannot use your hands ah?"

Yes, it is funny.

Last Desires

I knew it was there, waiting for me. Resting, calm, collected in its icy prison. The frost was necessary for sustenance, my sustenance. It had been a little more than a week when it was whole and perfect. Then piece by piece, sliced up. Carved by different knives in sharp, forced strokes. It looked battered at times by uneven cuts at the persistent hands of the tempted. A sad shadow of its past beauty. These defects I smoothed out at the next opportunity to attack, goodness and all. I could not deny myself.

This evening, I remembered the last odd shape that remained. My mum had thrown away the cardboard box and placed the last few slices of chocolate cake into tupperware. Dinner and fruit over, it was time to partake upon heavenly goodness. I knew it would be dry - that's what happens to cake left in the fridge. I thought of moistening the solid mass with drops of milk in the microwave. Instead, the couch potato, uncaring-of-decorum, gonna-be-watching-TV- by-himself Joe decided to drown the block of cocoa heaven in full cream UHT .

It was a case of ebony and ivory. A deep mahogany, too dense to float, swished about like an island in a sea of white. I was master of the tupperware, a god with a big mouth and yearning tastebuds controlling the destiny of this final portion of a $40 cake. Bruhahahaha, I went as I stabbed the cake. It resisted before giving in, as gushing milk penetrated the crevices and cracks I created with my stainless steel spoon. I thought of an appropriate utensil and a fork, I rationalized, would not do as a scoop to properly deliver the slowly browning milk mixed with overly-moistened cake to my mouth. The sweet tooth had to be satisfied adequately yet impatiently. Magically.

Stab, deliver and experience. Stab, deliver and experience. The chocolate was intense. Just as I remember two Saturdays when I took the virgin bite into its richness. The baker had feared it was too much and advised it was 2 million calories to burn off if eaten whole. Forwarned I was but no sweet tooth could resist the overdose of dark sugary pleasure. The heat of the tongue would melt the outer layer of chocolate around the cake, a soft liquid that spread so gently and smoothly. The rough texture of cake followed, contrasting beautifully. It would be a sin to swallow but the entire mouth would be overexcited if I didn't. And how would I take the next bite? The chemical content would hit the brain soon. Theobromine, caffieine and phenylethylamine would produce numerous highs between the exited neurons and send forth endorphins coursing through my greedy system. Ahhh...chocolate. Food of the Mayan kings and now, my tantalizing post-dinner treat.

The time spent in the fridge however did not bode well for quality. Lightly devoid of water content, the cake was crumbly. But it withstood my jabs with the spoon at first. In fact, I was putting too much strength into the affair and milk splashed back at me. The price of gluttony is very quickly one realizes is filth, the fat comes later.

Like with all dessert before a sugar junkie, it was over too soon. How I Met Your Mother was hardly halfway done but I had prematurely gorged on one of the best chocolate cakes I had ever eaten. Well, I am biased because a friend baked it but seriously it was damn good. I lay back on the faux leather, spent, dirty about the lips, and some on my t-shirt. It had been a good week.

To Kang Or Not To Kang

Hougang, Sengkang, Yio Chu Kang, Choa Chu Kang, Lim Chu Kang.

Those are the "Kangs" certain people have defined in Singapore. Out of all of them, only Hougang is the least "Sua-kang", the hokkien term for "Mountain river", a reference to a far away place. Far far away. My friends, some of them, have used this term to describe where I lived. When I knew these jokers, I lived in Yishun, already deemed a no-no among the happening types. "It's so far away that the MRT train also take so long to travel from Yio Chu Kang and Khatib.", "It was so long the gap I thought I was lost", and "There were so many trees, I didn't bring my passport." were the sort of remarks made when I announced my address.

Then I moved to Woodlands, as north as north could be on this giant island of ours. (Actually, on the map, Sembawang is more latitudinally north than Woodlands) Anyway, the very name is bad enough. It conjures up images of forest, jungle, animals and wild people roaming about, who hawk VCDs on pavements to lost tourists. In fact, Woodlands is the largest HDB estate in Singapore. All Lego-landed up with apartments to house the landless. The only is up in Singapore, so the HDB estates have had to replace the kampungs and compartmentalise the peasants into blocks of concrete. In the largest of the estates, I lived near Admiralty. I was outcast as the worst heartlander, worthy of treasonous collusion with Malaysians because of my geography. No rides home for you. "Do you know how much patrol it takes to drive up north?" I think I heard once. Being stingy, I usually took the NightRider bus service home. $3.50 got me to bed, as long as I didn't miss my bus stop, which was easy to do after dancing and drinks and being sleepy in a cold bus at 4am.

Now I live in Hougang. Praise the Lord, came the cry from these friends. He has come down to the Earth and closer to the Equator. It used to cost $23 after midnight in a taxi to get home in Woodlands. Now it's $15. Whoopee. The advantage of living closer to the city and its drinking holes. The boring bit is the ride in the KPE, Singapore's most mind-numbing underground expressway. With speeds dictated at a mere 70km/h, taxi drivers are forced to restrain their F1 passions till they exit close to Tampines Road and gun the engine for all its pent-up worth.

Of greater concern to said friends is my next abode. I am looking for a flat. They are afraid I will give in to financial pressures and surrender to the sua-kangs of the north once more. Truth be told, I wish to not be in debt for the rest of my life and living in Yew Tee (close to Choa Chu Kang if you need to ask) would save plenty of pennies. However, fingers crossed, I find a suitable location in my current neck of the woods. I wouldn't mind Sengkang either but one said friend has nightmares of treading into this black hole, having been lost in its many vale-named nooks and crannies for an hour in a car. It was all too much. She now speaks in hushed tones about Sengkang, like one would speak of a psychological trauma that required months of theraphy and bottles of pills/alcohol.

The quest continues nonetheless. Wish me luck.

Mum And I

Mothers are crazy. Maybe parents in general are. The older we get our relationship with them usually can go two general ways - one of reconciliation for the anguish sustained during the growing up years, based on mutual respect and understanding, and acceptance that both parties are independent adults with their own ideas, thoughts and habits OR haywire.

I think my mum and I are the latter. I am usually driven by logic, not really a risk taker and generally see things for all they simply are. My mum is not really driven by logic, sometimes a whim and fancy person, an emotional rollercoaster (she's a Scorpio) and enjoys testing the boundaries of her imagination and vengeful psyche when things/people don't quite rub her the right way. (No mummy, not everyone is out to get you.)

(I blame Indian dramas for the latter. Those who watch this mix of bad acting, religious fervor, stereotypical behavior and exaggerated reactions in the hope for a little escapism from the mundane can unfortunately expose their cerebral receptors to dangerous seeds of theatrical concepts. When lines are blurred or worse still, when the opportunity to perform arises, the actor in every Indian comes forth to enact scenes of high drama almost subconsciously.)

What's worse, my mum is loud. I think her hearing is going - like those harder of hearing talk louder. So she may not be angry but everything sounds like she wants to pick a fight. It's worse when my logic nerve wants to have a go. So we all end up in kind of heated huff and puff, we don't converse for a while and it's over. In the mean time, my mum complains to my sister, then cooks. Her excellent cooking forestalls my temper and placates all concerned. (She's proud of her cooking. I can't even make an omelette taste like hers after umpteen attempts.)

Today, my mum is trying to convince me that property agents are playing a game to get us to raise my offer for a flat. Yes, they do want to get more money in for the buyer. That's sort of their job. But guess what, there's no one else in the transaction process to trust - the point I was trying to get across, unsuccessfully unfortunately. Sigh. See earlier statement on huff and puff.

As the newer grown up in this relationship, I tell myself to relax and calm down. Sometimes it happens. Usually I go cold shoulder. I shouldn't I know but that's how I work, internalizing the crap. Let it go, let it go, deep breaths in, deep breaths out.

Tomorrow's another day, a better day perhaps. Let's all get some sleep.

Sneaky Budget Airline Tricks

We've all somehow figured out that budget airlines scrimp and save on everything to be profitable. But the worst they can do is scam the customer. I use the word 'scam' because you may never realize their devilish plots for online bookings if you simply ploughed through the booking process in a rush or without testing fare types.

Here's what I found out. I was booking a trip for myself and friends on Jet Star. For a couple of days now, I've been checking out prices for 1 person to make a preferred pair of flights. Let's just say the outbound flight cost $X. When I searched the same outbound flight for 8 people (the size of my group) the fare became $X + 10. I went Hmmmm? too. I did some testing and found that that if I booked for 7 persons, I'd be shown the $X fare but the fare for the 8th booking, when done separately, would cost $X + 10. The jump is probably triggered by some seat volume quota being passed. But the big problem is, JetStar would have charged a $X + 10 fare for all 8 passengers if I didn't bother splitting the booking. That's $70 extra dollars on a fare that's $52. That's 15% more per ticket per person! Bloody hell I went.

Then there's the credit card facilitation fee or convenience fee. Jet Star charges $12, per passenger. Say what?! Yes $12 per passenger not per transaction. I was a more than a little surprised. It didn't make any sense to penalize all traveller for the sake of making an electronic payment, especially when the ticket prices are this low. For a total ticket price of $105, a fee charge like that is bloody more than 10%. It sounds insane! So here's what I did. I picked to pay offline. You can too. Just gotta head on down to a post office and pay with cash or Nets. No extras incurred. I did that because I'm a selfish ass, didn't want everyone paying more because I used a credit card, and there's a SAM on the 2nd floor of my office building.

So think before you click because sometimes budget doesn't always cut it.

Sadly Potter

Just caught the new Harry Potter film and wasn't it positively depressing? In the beginning we had quite a bit of action with the chosen one being sent into hiding and the baddies being sinister all over the place. Then the threesome we grew up with took to the trees and the doom and gloom of open, wintry countryside. It can be pretty and all that but with three teens lost in the wilderness, hormones raging, with the chance of old Voldy-smashed-nose and his henchmen set to appear from behind a leaf, the film went bloody suicidal.

You could see it Harry's face. He was probably thinking 'Fine, that about does it and points his spindly stick at himself and chants "hocus pocus, I'm a jokus out of 'ere". Even i was tearing up, commiserating with the poor boy's fate. But he didn't. Then there was way too many scenes of muted scenery, the kind that freaks kids out and sets us adults thinking there's a spooky apparition in every shadow. Gloomy dusk shots that brought so much darkness to the film. Isn't the bloody thing still for children? All the colour got drained off. It was melancholy and morose. Depressing and devolving. Stark and dark. All that forest and rock and snow, too much to bear. Brrrr, gave me the shivers. I miss the HP of yore. Fun and banter and sparks up the arse. (The 3 brothers animation was awesome by the way).

Maybe it was a metaphor for maturing teen angst. So much bottled up, all that pressure to be alive, so much legacy to honor and recapture, love and hate and love again, so many creeps with bad hair and smells around. Heinous film. All three protagonists need to see a shrink.

And that thing around the neck was so LOTR.

But I still wanna know what happens last. All because we deserve to follow through. In your grasp you got us JK Rowling, in your literary grasp. (I haven't read any of the books though and missed the last two films. Yes, yes, that explains my shock an awe at all the devilish hues and miserable faces. Anyway kids beware of not so pleasant dreams.)

Green Earth Band

The office air was stale and I went around adjusting the nearby vents. One can set the speed and temperature of the flow of out each vent and that got me thinking, how they would be able to do that? Personalization of air would cost a lot and be a resource burden too. The next thought was that we couldn't work without airconditioning in the tropics. Even LKY has credited the air-conditioner as the best thing ever. He likes it as 22 degrees it was reported I think. The next thought that hit me was that mankind should not live in the tropics. As residents of this fragile planet we should congregate about the temperate regions, neat the Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn or higher. Life would be literally cooler and we'd had summers and winters to satisfy our instincts for repetitive annualised change. We could let the tropics simply blossom on their own. Wild and untouched. Let the trees grow back, let the animals run free and settle themselves Darwin style. We'd have a lovely band of green around the centre of the Earth, quite vogue and verdant, and more importantly, ecologically re-balancing our carbon footprint and processing our carbon dioxide into life-giving oxygen. We might pick a few pockets to have super beaches because we all will need a tan, and of course eco-tours to get bitten by snakes and spiders while we ooh and ahh at vegetation unfamiliar. Litterbugs would be fed to tigers, Darwin style. It could work eh.

We just need to get rid of this nasty concept called countries, and passports.

Waiting For Outlook

I haven't been writing much. Hmmm. Thinking too hard about my writing and not just spewing it out. That's why. The artificial rules about blogging. Some of you getting alerts about this odd paragraph going up will be peeved. No meat, just waiting-for-my-computer-to-start-up dribble. As Tracy Jordan said "Blah, blah, blah, you get the point".

Topic to cover next time - how good 30 Rock is.

Oh look, email's up.

Airplane Oxygen Mask Rule For Parenting

Most people I know hardly pay attention to the safety briefings that take place before an airplane takes off. There's usually a few lines in the live demo or video that go: "if cabin pressure drops, an oxygen mask may fall from the ceiling in front of you. Strap it over your face like so. Passengers with children should attend to themselves first before helping others."

That last line should be a lesson to all parents - take care of yourself before you help your kids.

I've seen many parents who don't have a plan. The kids come and they handle it, somehow. I bet most parents from my parents era didn't have a plan and getting by was the norm. They worked hard and hoped for the best - values that work even today. Except that life has got a lot more complicated.

In Singapore, many parents are both forced to work to make ends meet or fulfill their ambitions. Both guy and girl are generally well educated and would like to pursue a career. They want to upgrade from a HDB flat to a condominium apartment. They want to trade in their Toyota for a continental car. When the kid(s) come along, these wants may not change. In most cases, parents work even harder.

Here's one problem that creeps along - they forget about their health. They grow fat and lazy, and are unable to commit any time to exercise and keeping fit. What parents forget is that their health is what enables them to take care of their kids. Once their sick, it's hard to manage the house let alone little persons.

I'm not talking about maintaining butts of steel or Greek god abs. Just weight, tone and cardio. Compromise and make the half an hour three times a week to sweat it out. Be it TV or a shorter lunch. Put in a walk on the park or run up the apartment block staircase. Think small doses for the long term, not mad frantic exercise for the short term only to attempt repetition following another new year resolution party.

Health is just one thing. There are many other things that parents need to sort out and keep in mind before they unleash their hopes and dreams on their little ones.

'Good counselor friend' told me that kids learn about how to love from the way their parents express love to each other. How right is that? There was also a promo trailer I remember for a TV show called Parenthood that mentioned that "being a parent makes me want to be a better person". That's right too. Would you want your kid to copy your bad habits or learn to be a better human being?

The questions seem hard but seriously, parenting in the 21st century is hard. Worse still, it's clear that many of the ills we see in society today stem from the way parents teach their kids. The small details affect the big picture. Everything from the value of thrift to the way we treat domestic help will be passed down to our kids. So think before you act. Your kids are watching and learning.

Paper Complaints

On Saturday there was a letter in the Straits Times forum page that listed out the woes of getting a taxi just outside the CBD. Apparently it took the writer 30 mins to flag one off the streets. Article here >>

In today's paper, there's someone berating AirAsia's ticket refund policy. He could get back 40% of his ticket price but only as credits for other flights on the airline within 6 months. Article here >>

Complaints are easy. One gets mad and writes in, hopes to get published and when it does happen, one feels like he/she has changed the world. Like having dropped an A bomb on Hiroshima or discovered cornflakes. Of course there's Facebook to tell everyone that your important complaint had made the press. Ah the charms of brief publicity.

Oh please.

Firstly, Mr Taxi dude sounds like a non-Singaporean, that he's been living elsewhere for a long time. And in that long time, the rest of us have exasperated countless attempts at addressing these taxi troubles, and have given up. The situation is not new. Taxi drivers are coddled into driving for us. The big companies that profit from the madness are keeping mum and the status quo. Nothing's changed.

And the issue is just bubbling under, waiting to blow up in some transport official's face because we're all just quite upset enough. Maybe a complaint from a tourist will do.

Secondly, Mr AirAsia is the typical complaining Singaporean who wants a good deal but fails in any effort to read the fine print. That's how budget airlines work buddy. They sell cheap non-cancelable, non-changeable, non-anything fares. That's why $20 to KL is so appealing, until you can't make the flight because Fifi the cat has a boo-boo. Then it'll cost you an arm and a leg and Fifi's tail to switch flights. Read the fine print and then you'll understand the hazards of flying budget. Nothing's for free man. Same thing with Tiger's recent spate of cancellations. They can do that with nary a hint of compensation.

So seriously, suck it dear consumer. Caveat emptor.

Late Lunch

So here I am at MOS Burger having a late lunch. It's 245pm. Had an Indian sweet and teh halia at 10am, well, not in one go but you get the idea. This after a 730am breakfast of a wheatbix, an Old Chang Kee curry puff, and half a Raffles Hotel champagne and truffle snowskin mooncake. And Milo. Too much? I tend to overboard on days I don't yoga. Is yoga a verb?

Wow, a cover of Bonnie Raitt's I Can't Make You Love Me. Sounds like recently jailed George Michael. Time to pause.

Bloody good song. Respect.

There's a poster for Hokkaido milk desserts at $2.95 a little canister staring back at me with wanton lust. No sweet-tooth I shall resist for you've had way too much sugar today. There's tomorrow. Damn the azuki looks good.


My eyes are feasting on walled imagery. My nose is bombarded by the scent of lemon scented floor wash being spread out in gentle swishes across the beige tiles. It goes stronger as the MOS Worker gets closer. Geddit? Burger, worker? Nevermind. Nauseating sensations threaten to erupt, my masticated fish and fries could find themselves on the counter instead of happily digesting in my tummy. Frenchman in the corner and too-much-makeup woman at the back have yet to succumb. I shall depart, gingerly over the wet surface.

Till we lunch again. There's so much to talk about.

It's Girl From Ipanema now. The last few bars...end. Go.

Hong Kong Again

So I was in Hong Kong for the second time in a year. This time for work. It was also because one afternoon my boss was leaning against my cube wall and said "So you've been quite involved in this thing.." and he scooted of to the department secretary to book my flight and hotel. Funny thing is that I was to attend a 4 hour afternoon meeting followed by a dinner but the flight times made it such that I ended spending two nights in the Conrad. Not a bad deal some might say. Ahem.

The cosmic twist of fate is that when you're not at your desk at work, suddenly the whole world needs something from you. Apart from trying to get to sleep between some TV and showers, I had 2-3 hours to myself. That was it. My mum told me to try to get a toy double decker bus for my nephew but seriously, I had no time to even have a slow paced breakfast.

More pertinently, the hotel was in this posh area called Pacific Place that full of high-end boutiques up to the wazoo. So high end that I never saw a crowd anywhere. But in my roamings to find a cha chaan teng for a spot of nai cha and bo lo yao (which doesn't exist in this posh area) I ended up Starbucking (with a tinge of disgust and disappointment. HK nai cha is way better than anything Starbucks can offer me there) and finding a CD shop. It was with glee I spent 30 plus minutes looking through discs from eccentric dance artists I would hardly come across in Singapore. Reasonably priced stuff too. I ended buying 7 discs for HK600. The only thing I really spend money on is music.

Anyway, the drama goes on. I was booked on a 8am flight back home. I had to struggle with the two alarms I set for 520am, finally leave the soft soft bed at 535am, and ready myself to checkout at 6am. I managed 30ml of coffee so kindly provided by the hotel at a discreet corner for early departing guests such as moi before scooting off into a taxi to the Airport Express stop at Hong Kong station in Central. I missed the first train by 1 min. Sigh.

You can buy a round trip Airport Express ticket for HK$171, a HK$9 discount, online at the MTR website >>

All goes well though. My fear of having to run to the departure gate were unfounded as thankfully, immigration counters for visitors suddenly tripled as I was queueing up (so thoughtful the HK airport immigration is) and the gate was in the Terminal 1 building (unlike past situations where we were running after the plane having had to take the connecting subway between the main terminal and gates for budget carriers). Phew. I actually had time to buy pineapple cakes for colleagues and family.

What I learnt on this trip:
- there's still something magical about Hong Kong, on the island, not Kowloon. The density, the high rises, the even higher hills, the crazy weather (rain, sun then rain all in 4 hours), the low clouds between the peaks and all the greenery still around, the super taxis, how early the sun rises and the nai cha.
- take a taxi when the transport is covered. I braved the MTR to the hotel. Big mistake. I got lost at Pacific Place and kept a colleague waiting for dinner and beer. Taxis and receipts, taxis and receipts.
- work follows you everywhere. So get it done.
- office politics follows the job everywhere. Look out, stay sharp and shut up. Done.
- be friendly whenever, whatever. You never who you'll meet in the hotel lobby.

What A Painful Week

So last weekend I went on an excursion to Jurong and it was precisely because it was far and away I agreed to accompany my sister and nephew on a long journey to the west - an adventure. Any trip outside the flat is fantastic for my nephew. Being cooped up at home with the same adults and same toys and same TV is torturous boredom for the 2 year old. For us, the greater number of adults that join in the trip, the greater the spread of responsibility over the little one. I had to pay my dues. But lo and behold at Outram Park station, I decided to swing my nephew. He loves it, cutting through the air, legs flung helplessly and at the mercy of centrifugal forces and gravity. At swing three, I felt a sharp jab in my lower back. That's it. Instantly I recalled my earlier debilitating experiences with lower back rigidity around the spine. This one was going to be epic. By the time we were in the industrial boondocks, walking was difficult. At my sister's tailor's flat I was bent over my thighs trying to stretch my spine out. To no avail my desperate efforts were. We took a taxi home which I made stop in Ang Mo Kio for me to visit Uncle Tong. Usually a performer of miracles and redeemer of orthopedic sins, his deft hands somehow failed to relieve my of pain. Usually the effects of his bone realignment regime are instantaneous but not this time. Sigh and ow.

The next day, I was hobbling about. Getting up from a seated position was agony. Try putting pants on. Ay caramba. I was popping leftover Anarex from my last doctor's visit for the similar ailment. My sis called the 7-days-a-week clinic to confirm they were open and under much pain and constant nagging, I made my way to Compass Point to said clinic. Surprisingly, many people are sick on the weekend and the one attending doctor seemed determined to try our patience. My number flashed after an hour and a half of consternation. It was worse for my mum who accompanied this stubborn mule, she has little tolerance for waiting. I walked into the doctor's office and did not sit because it would have been too hard to get up. Less than sympathetic, the doc clinically addressed the painkiller options I had. My allergy to aspirin and NSAIDs made it easy for him - Tramadol. He told me the next best thing would be morphine. Bring it on doc! He wasn't allowed to have any. Shame. He gave me a Tramadol injection above my left butt cheek and I got more capsules of the same plus Anarex pills on payment and checkout. Bloody $61 for a Sunday night visit.

Guess what, the combination didn't quite completely relieve me of pain. I was like 'what's going on?'. Has my body become, God forbid, immune to medication? Twinges and twangs of pain accompanied my National Day and the next day of MC. I was high just sometimes.

(Speaking of National Day, what was with our esteemed MPs playing with their phones on live TV, our president once again not singing the anthem, and the umbrellas some contingents were marching with? The colours on TV seemed overly saturated too.)

Going to yoga for the past two years (goodness it's been that long) I was compelled to sort mt body out naturally. I tried bending backwards standing on my knees. Ow ow ow. I kept reminding myself to breathe into it. Then bending forwards (rabbit pose). Ow ow ow. Lastly, spinal twists in both directions. Less ow here.

I went to work feeling bad. Half groggy and half aching, I dragged myself to the office, dreading the prospect of doing any kind of work. I survived day one. Today was day two. Also another bleh day. More interestingly, I decided not to take any painkillers, a test of endurance and a measure if how far i was coming along. Not very, and a colleague thought it was mad of me to forgo medicine and relief. She perhaps was right as I groaned like an old man getting up from my ergonomic office chair. I came home and repeated the yoga stunts and guess what, I got a pop during the last spinal twists. Yay! I was gonna heal quicker now. Now as I lie on bed I don't feel much agony. Hopefully it's status quo come morning.

Water, Sign Of The Times

There's been a lot of rain lately here in Singapore. Lots and lots of water coming down from the heavens. So much water that in the span of a month we've had 3 times as much rain as the weathermen had normally expected to come down and bless us this time of year. And it was duly unexpected.

The first big mess happened at Orchard Rd where famously now, Liat Towers' basement floor collected a massive pool of brown water over a few hours, drowning out Starbucks, Wendy's, Massimo Dutti and, gasp, the Hermes store. Alerts went out all over the island via all forms of communication that the bags and scarves and other whatnots at Hermes were possibly in ruin or very quickly, going to be wet and on sale. Collectively, fashionistas across the drenched country sighed in relief and some in dismay to learn all was well and good among the $10,000 per item merchandise. Of course, the gahmen had to step in and find the cause of this travesty. A blocked canal was blamed for the backlog of water.

The second incident took place in other parts of the island, though a large pool did form at the Scotts-Orchard-Paterson junction. Roads were knee deep in torrential rain. Cars and produce were lost. Many were wondering why a second flood was happening merely a week after the splish splash along our shopping streets. Even some kindergarten kids had to be rescued from the deluge at their Telok Kurau school by firemen. Awww, so cute.

The third wet affair happened a few days ago when the gods unleashed a tremendous amount of rain over about 4-5 hours in the early hours of the morning. This time it was really bad. Mostly because rich people were affected. There was a stupendous shot in the papers of a car almost completely inundated in a flood of water in a condominium basement carpark in Bukit Timah. So the famous Bukit Timah-Rochor canal failed to deliver the water to its end in the sea and essentially flowed over into the premises of the rich and now furious. Awesome show of force from the Mother to all those who think their Mercedes and BMWs are safe. Insurance companies are probably seething too, along with the folks at the PUB who've been taken to task once too often this month to explain what they can't. The meteorologists said the heavy downpour was the aftermath of a hurricane that was then cutting towards Vietnam. Really? And they couldn't warn us?

We can't explain anything. It's an act of God. In that light, some have likened this to punishment for taking some famous church pastor to task over his organisation's financial habits. Silly but funny no less. Many have put the blame on the Marina Barrage. This mechanical dam was the brainchild of Mr Lee no less with the aim of creating a freshwater reserve in the city for fun and enjoyment, and to prevent low-lying areas from flooding. Well, the past month has really been a true test for the concept and failure is now easily thrust upon that which seems to be holding it all that floodwater in. Well, someone smart alec will be asked to do the math and evaluate the sums of why and what went right and wrong. So far, the public is merely preparing to swim in the next rainstorm if they fail to avoid the rising waters.

I have a odd theory to put forward about the Marina Barrage's role in our floods. Could it be holding back all our negative qi? It is at the end of the Singapore river, and we could holding all the wealth in but also we might not be siphoning out the bad flow. Hmmm.

The World Cup Is Empty, Finally

So the World Cup is over. We can return to our normal lives and recall how crappy the economy is, how bad the BP oil spill is and remember that there are still people with bombs who want to wipe us off the planet so that they can get their cheese.

The final game was a little lacklustre for many. Nothing really happened in the regulation 90 minutes except for the immense number of yellow cards. The ref seems to keep all the action for himself. Someone commented that it was like an S-League game. Personally and many also will agree, the ref made some not so good decisions and seems to show a little bias. Well, it's over and the Dutch cry loser's tears.

The 3rd place playoffs between Germany and Uruguay was scintillating compared to the finals with both teams making great goals and awesome plays. Even the final shot of the match was a cracker Forlan attempt that rattled the crossbar and almost, almost sent the whole game into extra time. What a moment that would have been. And who knew he could play after his poor showing in Man U colours. Maybe it's age. His piece de resistance didn't happen, thank God, and Germany took 3rd spot.

Next, we await Euro 2012 which promises to exciting if Spain, Holland and Germany have anything to do about it.

The next World Cup is in Brazil and promises to be a mess for those in this timezone. Matches at 5am, goodness.

World Cup - The Curse Of Advertising

I have a theory about the World Cup exits we have gone 'oh my god' over, those of the high flying European and South American teams. Teams with players that did TV advertising prior to the World Cup have failed. I have evidence from Pepsi and Nike commercials. Rooney, Cannavaro, Henri, Kaka, Messi, Drogba, Ribery, Lampard, Cristiano Ronaldo, Ronaldinho - all feature in these ads. All are out. Well polished TVCs but the curse of advertising has stolen World Cup glory from the world's "best" players.

Nike Ad


Pepsi Ad


Today I saw a poster in Dhoby Ghaut MRT with David Villa's face for Adizero shoes. Uh-oh.

Germany to win the whole bloody thing!

World Cup 4 - Brazil Beaten

Do not feign a look of equality as your enemy looks you in the eye. You could be no better than they are, or worse, worse than they are but don't know it. Do not assume anything except that anything could happen. Is your ability the only factor that stands between you and success? Is your opponent's ability readily dismissed as inferior? After all, you could have been champ five times and the skills are in your blood. Of course, they'll lose? But nothing is impossible and the proud fall faster than the meek. The humble try harder because the know it's going to be tough battle. They stay positive, and try and try again.

So the Netherlands beat Brazil. I am happy.

My fascination with Dutch soccer stems from the days of Marco Van Basten and Ruud Guillit. They were a pair to be reckoned with. There was an amazing "cross" from Basten, that sliced almost parallel to the goal line before curling in. It was an awesome goal. Unfortunately, the talent in the Dutch football squad never quite managed to unleash its true potential at the right time. They haven't won a thing for a long time. Poor things, till today. (I also had a thing for the colour orange. The sea of orange across a stadium section can only be described as breathtaking. The orange army the fans are called. Also because orange didn't rhyme with anything, haha)

No one messes with Brazil and all too often, fans have come to expect the Samba Kings to sashay their way to the top, their talent unmatched and untamed. Yes, sometimes that is so. But for this World Cup, Brazil almost didn't qualify. And today, their invincibility was shattered. From winning one up, they went two down, had one man sent off for a stupid stomp on an opponent's calf and couldn't produce an equaliser. Perhaps an unfamiliar territory for them but one team had to lose. The Dutch seemed hungrier but slower against the sizzling Brazilians. Nonetheless, they didn't cave in and held on. They could have made it 4-1 but luck and chance didn't quite see them through. Nerves maybe. But a win is a win at the end of 90 minutes.

Thanks for playing Brazil. Now back across the South Atlantic to think about winning at home in 2014. Don't get lazy because of the automatic qualification. Pride comes before a fall. A fall at home, now that would be something for Brazil. Unthinkable? Well, it is the year for the underdogs. Hungrier underdogs.

World Cup 3 - Summing Up The Losers

Well well well. All the big talking countries are out, some defeated even before they got their game on. The biggest embarrassments have been Italy and France, both previous champions, now relegated to the bottom of their groups with seriously unimpressive group performances. Pathetic some might say, others would they had it coming, yet more will conclude they weren't hungry enough.

The latest high flying World Cup departure was England. They limped off losing spectacularly to Germany. Many expected a low-scoring outing or even penalties judging by previous encounters between the two football giants but one proved bigger than the other by more than the proverbial inch. Germany young upstarts shook the world view of boring Teutonic soccer and played like a cohesive commando unit. All together, all for it. To be fair, both teams had their chances but the Lampard curse continued to plague the Chelsea star. He was denied 3 times and worst of all, by the linesman who didn't see the crossbar deflection go into the German net past Neuer the goalie who flicked it away as it bounced out. Amazing what instant replays can do to denounce the words of a man in black by the line with a flag. The whole controversy of video replays being used to assist refs in decision making has come to the fore, with such a gargantuan loss of English spirit leading the charge for its use. Who knows what England might have pulled off if they weren't so unfairly ruled against? Who knows yeah.

My issue is why have instant repllays on TV when the teams can't be subject to the same visual evidence as us at home. Then we'll never know if the linesman got it right or wrong and no one would have a price on his head for screwing up some drug cartel tycoon's bet.

Ok, ok, I am all for video replays in the spirit of fairness in the sport of hooligans.

Japan got kicked out last night. I had a bad feeling about Kamano all night as I watched the dismal tug of war between Japan and Paraguay. It was silly at times - the loss of control, the passes to nowhere, the mistimed kicks. Perhaps embarrassing even. The defender Kamano has some chances to move up to the South American half to assist his fellow men in blue with their attempts at scoring but he didn't really do well with his passing. So that bad feeling rose up when he came to take the spot kick and subsequently hit the ball too high. Was it me and my bad feeling that caused Japan to lose? I dunno, I am not that almighty I think. So the Asian representation is no more and Paraguay also made history by entering the final 8 for the first time. They meet Spain who will trash them but who cares, history has been written.

Spain knocked Portugal out and everyone is upset with Cristiano Ronaldo for not living up to his worth. Well, what to do. Sometimes I think the choice between club and country often falls on the former as that's where the regular fame is. For country, perhaps once in 2 or 4 years to prove one's mettle is too long to wait. Young, pretty and pretty good footballers like Mr Ronaldo lap it up, with the media at their feet and girls at their beck and call. It's about the $ baby. Make as much as one can while one can.

Half the month down, let's the madness continue. Go Germany!

World Cup 2

Where do I begin?

Tonight I witnessed that giants can crumble before the unlikeliest of heroes. Tonight I knew that no matter whatever one had achieved in the past, he could still crumble. Tonight the world realised that legacy was not important but what happens right now that determines our destiny.

Switzerland, the dimunitive team from the mountains, ranked 24 in the world, dismissed as nobodies in the competition that was to be stage of glory for their opponents Spain, took the Iberian bulls by the horns and then the balls to score just one decisive winning goal. That was all it took to shatter the dreams of the team ranked no.2. The Swiss even had a chance to double that margin but were denied by the frame of the goalpost. They had only 8 shots at goal with 3 on target. The Spanish had 24 shots at scoring. But all that mattered was the one goal that separated winners from losers. The watchmakers had the passion and heart to see it through. They weren't as elegant as the Spanish with the likes of Villa, Torres and Inesta making sizzling runs, deft passes and matadorish turns. They weren't as fast either. But it didn't matter because they took chances.

The best thing was the Swiss goal was conjured out of a mess in Spain penalty box. A shot, a miss, a save, a bounce off a player, the ball edges towards the goal, and Fernandes, the Swiss saviour, ran in at the the right time, to fire the salvo that broke Spanish hearts and exalted Swiss spirits beyond their wildest dreams.

I love the underdogs. This competitions has already produced the like the Japan who held off Cameroon 1-0 to take lead of their group at this stage; the mysterious North Koreans who played gallantly to a 1-2 loss to the best team in the world Brazil; New Zealand who managed to eke out a draw with Slovakia; South Korea who showed Greece who's boss with a 2-0 victory; and the USA made a mockery of the English by securing a draw. Brilliant, just brilliant.

I am glad to the watching the small fry beat the big fish. It's about time for hope, and hope which manifests in positive action for victory. If the Swiss can pull off one of the biggest, if not the biggest sporting upsets of all time, why not any other country? Why not Singapore? Keep the dream alive.

World Cup 1

It's half time in the England - USA match and it's been interesting. This is my second live match having seen most of the Argentina - Nigeria match earlier. I oddly couldn't catch a nap between the matches, it being past midnight here in Singaland. I tossed and turned in bed, a myriad of thoughts running through my head. I sort of blame the food I had at the pasar malam a few hours earlier, full of god knows what chemicals and preservatives that toted with body chemistry.

Back to the World Cup. I was disappointed to know that the opening games were dull low scoring games. I remember the awesome opener in Germany in 2006 when the home side did away with Costa Rica 4-2, an amazing six goals in 90 minutes. I hope the Germans play as awesomely this year. Back to the England - USA match, I came into the game thinking te Anericans would somehow pull off a unforseen surprise over the colonial masters of yore. But somehow seeing the familiar faces of the EPL, Gerrard, Heskey, Lampard, Rooney, I somewhat wavered in my neutral position to support England. Maybe because I saw Gerrard and Liverpool not get anywhere this season and felt sorry for him. Then Gerrard scored in the 4th minute and I reaffirmed where my heartfelt loyalties lay. With the red and white flag, no blue. Yes I want England to taste glory, yes.

Ok the 2nd half is about to start.

No, I Cannot LIe

Imagine that you couldn't tell a lie? What would life be like if humans couldn't lie and always told the truth? Interesting eh. I think people wouldn't be so easily upset with one another, not because we knew no one was telling a lie, but because we would innately be more trusting and perhaps kinder to one another. We would perhaps listen more because it was always truthful and hence believable. No one would use "literally" wrongly, haha.

But "how do I look?" might often with a slap or a harsh exchange of words because the truth can be ugly, haha, quite literally. (Hey, a punny use of literally). "Yes, you are fat" but a millenia of telling the truth may just mute the response.

It would make advertising tough, wouldn't it? Remember those early ads which promised the world if you bought this particular brand of soap or flew with this airline. Always the best and the greatest, till they got sued and people got smarter. Well then advertising these days is less about flash and dash and in fact has got downright factual in some cases. Recall Dove's real women campaign. Would we be less creative if we had to tell the truth all the time? Sales people might have a problem.

There would still be crime. More people would own up to their offence though. Criminals would just admit to their wrongdoings more readily when they got caught. "Yes I did it, I stole that typewiter." Okie doke, into the slammer for you. No more mind games though like those we see on TV. Oh yes, truth telling would bloody affect television. Perhaps the whole notion of entertainment would be different. OMG, can actors lie if we were all programmed to tell the truth? Hmmm. We learn a lot from TV, so lying on TV might end up being repeated in real life. The truth tellers would go mad.

There would still be practical jokes. Just that we'll always know who did it pretty quick. But then telling the truth and knowing but not telling is another story. Would surprises be affected? Maybe but then knowing but not telling doesn't mean one is lying. Ahah! Kids might mature quicker because Santa wouldn't exist and the pet goldfish that went belly up didn't go to heaven overnight but was flushed down the toilet. Truth telling makes the case for atheists stronger I think but belief is another matter too.

Not sure why I'm on this track this evening. Maybe after an hour of Frasier did me in.

News this week:

1. Israel pounce on aid ship bound for Gaza. So this whole mess has taken an interesting turn for the better and worse. Better in the sense that the world has come to realise and better appreciate the plight of Gazans. Even almost all of the UN Security Council and the Sec-Gen had harsh words for Israel and their combative tactics against civilians. What made the difference was these civilians were not Palestinians. Individuals from other nationalities got hurt and their governments had to come forward to address the situation. People also protested all over the world, even in Tel Aviv.

This solidarity of support for Gazans and Palestine can only serve to grease the gears of change. It's about time these warring folks seek to find a permanent, viable solution for each other. Yes, many Arabs want Israel's anihilation but seriously, it ain't right. At the same time, Israel's heavy hand has slapped around the Palestinians way too hard and way too often. I have generally been upset that Israel has almost never given the Palestinians a chance to be a nation. So many UN resolutions, so many violations. How can we not expect the Palestinians to be angry and react with violence? It takes a strong, strong man not to lift his hand. The worse bit is that people died. It's unfortunate but not in vain. There's another boat that's been boarded, this time amicably and the Israelis are searching it for weapons. Ok, compromise. Gaza gets aid, just no arms.

2. BP oil spill gets worse. The spill's showing up in Florida and today's news suspects it might latch on to the Gulf Stream and even make it up to New York, Nova Scotia and the North Atlantic. How bad can this get? Well it seems very. The oil might meet up with the puffing Iceland volcano with the tough name, a meeting of the natural whammies. The Americans affected by this are damn pissed. All the fisherman who rely on catch from the Gulf of Mexico want compensation, and unfortunately, New Orleans is now plagued with another disaster. Here's one website that plots the spill over any Google map to give people an idea of the extent of the problem - http://www.ifitwasmyhome.com Cool and shockingly scary. Singapore is slicked out.


Should we stop looking for oil? Some smart people are lobbying for better resources for non-carbon based energy solutions. You know, wind, water, solar, geothermal and nuclear - the Fab Five of clean energy. It's a good point. The more we rely on oil, the more likely accidents like this could happen, and mess up the world around us.

I also got to thinking about why don't nations share electricity generation capabilities. Perhaps neighbouring countries could get their currents from a shared, clean energy resource. Take Asean for example. Could we set up a set of nuclear power stations or geothermal stations somewhere and split the transmissions? Does every country need its own power stations? I don't think so. We could easily share. Engineers gotta figure out to reduce transmission losses though.

3. SG won a world table tennis title. Whooppee some might go but there are many Singaporeans who can't feel any pride at this victory. Locals have a big problem with foreign talent winning sports events in Singapore's name. I generally also feel the same way. Here's why. We've never really had a local-born person in the team and with the team being totally 'imported', it's hard to feel like it's a Singaporean win. Unlike other sports like swimming and football, we have locals and foreign talents competing in the country's name and it seems like a fair representation. We're also a young country and this youth makes the contrast in 'Singaporeanness' more apparent and perhaps severely recognizable. I've never the tennis table team champions speak English. It's a problem. The local TV folks have also been criticised for not transmitting the finals against China live. If Mediacrap can't be bothered, should the population?

Someone I follow on Twitter posted this - ultra_slacker: I don't get this sg ping pong thing. I don't choose not to feel proud; I couldn't even if I wanted to. #somethingsmoneycantbuy

It sums up the sentiments of many Singaporeans. We need a change. Something to wrest this apathy from sinking in and signal the end of local sports representation. But then so many people seem to be running in marathons these days. Why haven't we groomed any local champs yet?

Ego, Eggo And Cheesecake

I had a choice of a slice of cheesecake or an apple post dinner.

In an unrelated manner, I realized my ego today. Ego is that bit that you don't think about but it drives to do things for yourself, perhaps selfishly. Well mostly in self-interest. It's easy to spot people who are ego-maniacs. Usually loud ones who seems to know everything and perhaps everyone, and in some cases are ridiculously wealthy. I am not any of these things, though I do know quite a bit and bore people with my general knowledge at times. Other times, people sms me to ask how to pronounce 'Tyrwhitt'. Anyway, today I heard an acknowlegdment of my person. It sounds dumb but there it was "gurms from Singapore". And it felt good. Then it didn't anymore. Then it did again, I was smiling to myself. Goodness, I thought and realized it was my ego that made so. It was stroked. Yes, like that puppy getting scratched behind the ear, it felt good. Temporary but good. Yup, ego.

The burst of acknowlegdment made me think about long discussions on existential topics with a friend in Uni and just out of Uni. We talked about ego and how he was affected by what it made him do and what others around did to please their ego. Yes, deep I know but it helps stretch the mind a little when one talks about things that you can't see, touch or feel. The philosophical mind is a powerful one. I remember him repeating what a another friend told him "I have no ego." If you think about it, it's very egoistic for someone to say they have no ego. Go on, think about it. See, makes sense doesn't it. My friend had a habit of knocking the wind of people with his honesty, and he's still at it. Haha, ego checker.

If a person without ego or a diminished sense of personal arrogance really a better person? I dunno. There must be scientists out there who build things to fulfill some internal need for glory. "Haha, I found it! You lose suckers!" I am sure it applies to any profession where one's abilities are tested or there is merit/performance based rewards as the outcome. Does ego make progress? I know greed does. Greed is good for progress/development. But it makes us crazy. Ego plays a part too I guess. Maybe there wouldn't have been so many wars/conflicts or even exploration if early man had his ego checked. Maybe there would be more jungle, 3 billion fewer people, more trees and no Internet. Do winners have big egos? Or do they just play to be? Not to be the best but to just be. Not ego trip but ego trumped. Hmmm.

In yoga, we're asked to not think, just listen and do. It's an attempt not to pre-empt, not to let the ego anticipate. Quieten, listen and do.

Eggo is a brand of waffles I think. Saw the box in NTUC. My nephew told my mum "Let's go NTUC". So cute.

I chose the apple, saving the cheesecake, perhaps half, for breakfast. Oprah says you cna eat anything for breakfast, on a show where she had 1 croissant. One, goodness. Take 3 woman!

Stuck In North Korea

I saw SDP leader Chee Soon Juan outside Clifford Center today. He, and two other persons, were trying to get the attention of passersby with utterances like 'Elections are coming. Help the opposition' and another about democracy in Singapore. Few people gave him the time of day. I sat some meters away, ate my post-lunch fruit and read my copy of TODAY while keeping an eye on this display of public exhortations.

Given he was not having much success, Chee Soon Juan sorely needed to raise his PR profile. The next thought was he should go to the Pitbull concert tonight and hang with the youth, and show them some moves. I laughed in my head but then seriously, it wouldn't do him any harm. He was entitled to attend concerts wasn't he? He should have hung out a sign that read "Singaporeans are bo chup" or "Free tissue paper" - that would have got some attention. Democracy? No way we're keen on talking about from our heads instead of our hearts and wallets.

I also realised that one reason he didn't manage to gather an audience was because Singaporeans really don't care about politics and less so, about a man highly publicised for being at the wrong end of the gahmen's favour time and time again. He's still a bankrupt, yes? I also came to conclude during that quarter of hour in public that Singaporeans are afraid. We are so afraid of even approaching a man who is the gahmen's bad books that we might be guilty or similarly treated as public enemy no.1. We are like a child who's threatened so often with a painful whack on the behind if he didn't behave that we dare not step out of line, whatever that perceived line may be. (In this case, consorting with a opposition party member). Even that painful whack on the behind is a mysterious legend, a story passed down from father to son, neighbour to neighbour, a powerful psychological deterrent handed down through the generations. Everyone who criticises the gahmen over coffeeshop talk ends of their conversations saying "Joke, joke".

This child knows about following the right path to make his parents happy. His parents take care of him with the right sustenance. He does not waiver from this path because he does not want to make his parents unhappy. He does not attempt at creativity because in case he has a bad idea or fails at succeeding, he might make his parents unhappy. He doesn't even talk to strangers. Then the painful whack on the behind. This child is afraid. What happens when the parents leave? Will the child be happy then? What is happiness for this child?

Deep questions but seriously, is that what most of us have become? Afraid? We are surrounded by creature comforts, clean and safe streets, running water at the touch of a tap and yet in our panadol-fed heads and cholesterol-laden hearts, we are perhaps no better than those stuck in North Korea.

Man Vs Nature

It's funny when one takes a step back to comprehend what we humans have done to the planet. Ok, perhaps not funny but sad. But also funny because we try our darndest to control nature and make use of nature for our own end. Ok, that sounds sad but it's also easy to laugh at how hard we try to control things and then complain about it. Ok, dark dry humour there.

Let me explain. Everyone say this out loud: AY-YAH-FYAH-LAH-YOH-KUUL. That's how you pronounce the name of the Icelandic atmospheric terror that spewed this guts out into the breezy Altantic. Eyjafjallajokull is the way the volcano's name is spelt. It also suddenly put Iceland back on the web searches and newspapers. Iceland is borne from volcanic activity. It essentially is the big pimple that burst out from the crack in the skin at the bottom of the Atlantic. Instead of pus, hot magma flowed outwards and upwards and formed islands upon cooling at the surface. Over time, Iceland became the delightful rocky outcrop it is today. Story of the Earth, nature at its best and worst. (Iceland is also famous for some fishing hullaballo in the 70s, Bjork in the 90s, the financial collapse of the government last year and today, the chimney we can't pronounce.)

So back to the nature plot. So the volcano blew and sent smoke up and suddenly we were all in emotional turnout. Planes couldn't fly about and people were stranded. Yes, that's sad but seriously, we can't blame anyone or anything. It's nature acting up on its domain we are privileged to exist on. So when we can't really assign blame on something that can't argue back, we blame each other. Governments for shutting down airspace, the airlines for the lack of plannning, the hotels for not having enough rooms. With fingers pointed and crossed, we waited for the ash cloud to pass.

Imagine if it didn't. What would the hundreds of thousands of stranded do? Scream and shout for sure. Imagine travellers stuck in Changi airport for a month. What could our tourist-centric gahmen do to appease the spending now upset traveller?

Big picture folks. We're nothing compared to nature and sooner or later, we're gonna be taken over as victims of our own success. Global warming, we're still denying or confirming it. The extent of melting ice seems to be up for discussion too. We all know there's too much forest being cut but no one is seriously doing anything about it. (I once proposed that the UN be put in charge of overseeing nothing is done to the forests of the Amazon and Borneo. Overseeing with force. Overseeing for the sake of the planet.) We throw our trash into the sea and wish it away with every passing wave. Bye plastic bottle, don't end up on my shore. We extract oil like nothing and we're all sure of the scramble that's gonna happen when it really starts to run out in my lifetime. Yet we don't seem very concerned, are we? Strange. That BP oil leak in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico isn't alarming as many people as I thought it would. The matter seems were placated by the oil giant that announced quickly it would foot the bill. Try footing nature's bill.

Let's face it, we treat our planet like crap. All for economic gain and the survival of the fittest, we plunder its resources. Who are we to take everything without a care? Why aren't we concerned that our kids are going to behave in the samw way? We're selfish that's why. We are inherently selfish. Ok, that's sad but still funny in a cynical kind of way.

Always Someone Who Wants To Kill You

Imagine if it did happen. One moment the normal sounds of the street in the afternoon - busy, noisy, people peddling their touristy knick knacks, people having conversations walking by shops, walking into shops, people moving through the crowds avoiding others because they're late for a play. A moment as normal as normal could be.

The next moment would have been like a scene from Die Hard. A quick flash of light followed by a giant ever-expanding ball of orange-yellow-crimson fire. Fire that suddenly engulfed everything in a 10 metre radius. There would have been no time to even blink if you were passing by close. One's eyes would be instantly blinded by the heat, mouth and nostrils seared by hot gas. Hands would move up to cover the face next, as protection but it would be meaningless as they would soon lose their first layer of skin. Burnt crisp and irrelevant. Then pain. Hair and clothes on fire, propagating the sheer terror. The brain would have had time to react properly. Reflex would have done as much as it could before the nervous system and sensory receptors connect the dots and suddenly one would realise the unimaginable.

Immediately many around the car would have died, and many more would be hurt by things blowing up, the searing heat, and flying pieces of metal and glass. The shockwave could have caused glass across the street to shard up in mere milliseconds. Sharp, painful slivers of knives. More could be hurt by stampeding crowds trying to escape in any direction. Adjacent buildings could have caught fire pretty quickly and perhaps those trapped within would have been suffocated by choking smoke. Running, screaming, tears. Drama.

That's the first few minutes of reality shattering if the Times Square bomb had gone off. It got me a little freaked. Wow, we are always at war. There's always someone who wants to kill people. Always.

People kill people. Would we be better off as animals? Settled with teeth and harems. Quick, circle of life kind of means to an end. Bloody miserable isn't it? Pop culture to blame? Are we all too desensitized to death because we see gore and blood all the times in the movies? Yet we make fun of the Amish. We are the joke sometimes - too much brain to get along with one another but with no one really laughing except for the mad men who have seen and expected it all. The failure of humanity to save itself. It's hard to think about but seriously this is what we have become. There are countless examples of our stupidity and there seems no end to our capacity for mutual destruction. What do we do? It's quite likely we'll blow ourselves to bits. Maybe that's why all the kids are partying like it's 1999.

Well, fingers crossed, prayers answered, we get to see the blue sky another day.

Foolish Football

This evening I saw live football on TV because Starhub felt like rewardng everyone for not complaining too much about the channel number changes. Might as well take advantage of the temporary kindheartedness.

The football match to watch was Liverpool versus Chelsea. I am a Liverpool supporter and I dare not apply the word fan because I don't have the sufficient passion to carry on with the Liverpudlian spirit. Yes I keep abreast of the matches, wins and losses via the papers because 50% more for cable TV is too much to watch weekend soccer for. Anyway, before the match began, my brother in law asked if I was supporting Liverpool because an Anfieild win tonight would have dented Chelsea's chances to winning the league and exalted Manchester United's chances instead. THere you go, the enemy Man U would gain at the expense of Liverpool's win. How deplorable. I even found it funny, a sort of Catch-22 for the big picture situation. So in my heart of hearts I wanted Chelsea to win. I am sorry but that was the truth. I couldn't take more smug expressions from Man U fans who somehow being 10,000 miles away feel like they contributed to their club's long and way overdue run at glory.

Tonight's match was going to go my way and did. It was a sad performance from the Reds. Sad. Gerrard back pass to the keeper had Drogba's quick thinking wrapped all around it and Chelsea scored from that boo-boo. The next goal was pretty nice too, from Lampard that one. Liverpool played a little like Singapore when it came to scoring. Awkward shots from far away. Their passing in the penalty area hardly connected. Towards the end of the match the commentator said "the match was over for Liverpool a long time ago". Sigh. Later, he described Liverpool's performance as "insipid" and two other 'l' words I forget. 'Lifeless' I think was one. There was also a shot of a depressed looking Torres on the bench nursing his injuries and shame. They were also booted out of the UEFA cup earlier this week too. A truly miserable end of all. And I fear no one knows how to fix them.

So Man U now have to beat Sunderland and at half time it's one goal for them. Bastards.

Speaking of soccer-related tragedies, it looks like Singapore may not get it's World Cup. Well no one is confirming anything at this juncture, a crucial 5 weeks till it begins. It's really odd that we're one of four countries in the world not having secured any rights for broadcast, the others being Myanmar, Somalia and North Korea. It requires a good stretch of the imagination to put Singapore in that league. We have $ and it seems FIFA wants to milk it. The gahmen is leaving it to the broadcasters to settle the matter. My goodness - do our Radio and TV licence fees not count for anything. There are 800,000 households paying at least $100 a year for these fees and couldn't we porportion some of that dough to free broadcast of the World Cup for all men, women and children on this gleaming island? Imagine if it doesn't happen. Hotels, bars, pubs, cafes and coffeeshops would not be able to make their four year lift in income from beer, nuts and coffee sales. All the ad firms which would do up all the ads for these events would not make that business. There may be political consequences I fear if there is all talk and no action. Well time will tell if Singapore is embarrassed on the world stage and everyone clamours to get booster antennas for RTM1 or RCTI reception.

Space - My 1000 Square Feet

No not the final frontier. I'd like to bring up living space especially since I've been pouring over the weekend classifieds looking for a suitable flat of late. I think I need a 3 bedroom 1000 square foot space. Some would say unnecessary but I'd like it. Space to not clutter the bedroom, space to lounge around in front of the TV, space to keep empty. Waste of money some would say, with the cost of housing jumping over the moon. But therein also lies the advantage. The bigger the piece of the pie you get now the more valuable it will be later. Cash in and retire in Phuket.

The other subplot in bringing up living space is the result of having visited a friend's apartment in Hong Kong in February. It was in a fantastic location - from the living room window one can see across to Hong Kong Island from Kowloon. Awesome. What I couldn't get used to was the fact it was a mere 700 square feet. There was the tiniest kitchen I ever saw plus 3 tiny bedrooms. Amazing. To think that HKers were surviving in living spaces as cramped as these for decades, it blew my mind. In Singapore, we're used to larger space, even if we had our surroundings built vertically. Our 3 room flats, the smallest HDB dwellings for quite some time before the introduction of granny flats, are about 70 square metres and that's larger than the space my friend was living in for a couple of years in Hong Kong!

This was an education for me, a study in constraints and acceptance. What does growing up in a small space do for one's psyche? Does the small space make you long for Australia's or Canada's wide open wilderness? Perhaps not if you were never exposed to mind boggling expanses. Would it limit your ability to think out of the box? Perhaps not. HKers are pretty creative when it comes to getting things done. Are they narrow minded? Maybe some. But they have the freest economy in the world adn that isn't a product of inwardness. Maybe the small space make one develop socially very quickly. There's no running away from other people, no gap to prevent interaction, no barrier to the noise and smells of the city. Everything out there in your face. I bet one grows up pretty fast in a cramped city. The fight for space is also what makes the HK island skyline so fantastic. Vertical giants popping up in the tiniest of corners and rising hundreds of meters in the air, competing for recognition and perhaps survival. The only way there is up.

I don't know if Singapore could handle the minute sizes. We are seeing tiny pigeon hole apartments popping up in the city of late. HK size abodes to cater to the single movers and shakers. It's a change we have to accept and deal with. But here I am looking for a 1000 sq feet to grow old in. Perhaps we are a young country with more vertical transformation in store. But we hold our green space dear. Trees and spaces and sky and sea. We need these things to keep sane. As the gahmen tries to bolster the population to 6.5 million to keep the economy going and Singapore going, some have come to ask if the sacrifice of space is necessary. Yes and no I guess. There a finite piece of land to make babies and miracles in. There's still room to breathe and smell the roses. But finite. Still requires some figuring out.

On Taxis, Or The Lack Thereof

The other night I was working late and it was about 930pm when I was done. As I cruised along the very long escalator to the ground floor, I resolved to take a taxi home. I wanted to get home quick so I could selfishly play with my nephew before his bedtime (I had missed out on nephew-time for a few nights already).

At the taxi stand there was of course a queue. Many taxis with red 'hired' or 'on call' signs zoomed by. Every 5 minutes or so, an available taxi would come around the bend and stop at the stand. I figured that wasn't so bad for a Thursday night, at least the demand was slowly being fed. I should be so lucky.

At the head of the queue, the good flow ended. Even the available taxis were 'changing shift' to venture only to their specific destinations. Many, like myself, were frustrated and some resorted to booking a taxi. I recalled then two experiences: one, working at Shaw Towers years ago, a colleague advised then, I should work till midnight because that's when the taxis come out. And two, a present colleague based in Hong Kong was in town for a meeting, and told other visiting colleagues from Europe that she had given up on flagging down a taxi in Singapore city in the evenings or when it rained.

Sigh.

A regular person's inability to flag a taxi off the streets is a serious matter. It makes ordinary Singaporeans angry, knowing they're at the mercy of a service provider. It makes us angrier that the only feasible solution seems to forking out money to solve the problem. We feel like we're being taken for a ride, by the drivers, the taxi companies and the council that comes up with senseless rules and policies. (Yeah $3 more for being picked up in the city. Aren't there enough passengers there already?) Anger leads to hate, Yoda said, and hate leads to the Dark Side.

This matter speaks of a greedy ill manifesting in monopolies. We're already seeing how crappy things can turn with cable TV. The powers that be think that they can solve/ have solved the problem of supposedly insufficient taxi numbers by introducing more players into the market, under the guidance of some transport council. Unfortunately, they do not understand the real problem, a very human ailment, greed.

Corporations want more profit --> rents out taxis at high cost --> taxi drivers need to make more $ --> taxi drivers wait for bookings in the city from which they make at least $5 more per ride --> taxis scoot around the city waiting for passengers to give in

Sigh. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that we're mostly at the mercy of others.

So solution time. Public fury I think is one way the rulesetters can be made to listen. This is however unlikely in sensible Singapore.

If someone could set up a taxi company that broke the rules and put the paying passenger first, it would send a strong signal to the other companies to 'wake up their ideas'. We need a game changer. Here's what I would do if I ran this company:
1. No dumb charges from city pickups. Only ERP.
2. Call to book at no charge. In fact, I'd give a 10% discount like they do in Hong Kong.
3. No rubbish peak hour charges. No extra charges for airport pickups.
4. Roadside pickups at regular cost but given point 2, who'd wait by the kerb?
5. Ambush queues with instant taxis. Why wait for the competition to show up? How about a fleet of taxis showing up on a schedule? That'll help manage one's overtime, yes?
6. Starting fares at $4. That's the only perceived disadvantage but soon passengers will realise the good deal they're getting and that'll build loyalty.
7. Reward loyalty.

There's surely lots more to figure out but this is where I'd start. Disruption - I learned that from the last place I worked.

Inspiration Is Perishable

Inspiration is perishable

We all have ideas. Ideas are immortal. They last forever.

What doesn't last forever is inspiration. Inspiration is like fresh fruit or milk: It has an expiration date.

If you want to do something, you've got to do it now. You can't put it on a shelf and wait two months to get around to it. You can't just say you'll do it later. Later, you won't be pumped up about it anymore.

If you're inspired on a Friday, swear off the weekend and dive into the project. When you're high on inspiration, you can get two weeks of work done in twenty-four hours. Inspiration is a time machine in that way.

Inspiration is a magical thing, a productivity multiplier, a motivator. But it won't wait for you. Inspiration is a now thing. If it grabs you, grab it right back and put it to work.

Excerpted from Rework by Jason Fried and David Heinemeier Hansson © 2010 37signals, LLC. Reprinted by permission of Crown Business, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group.

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Before Midnight

The funny thing is that I have no specific topic to blog about on. I have been contemplating several issues and events but somehow they got around to becoming important or massive enough to blog about. A shame really I guess because I really should just put fingers to keyboard and regardless of written length, just pen words to my blog. I have an iPhone and clearly have not utilized it adequately for this purpose, though I have restarted adding content in my other blog, The Pig That Wants To Be Eaten. Did 3 stories in 3 train journeys to work. A productive use of the time.

Let's see, how shall this go on? Randomly seems best.

The Northeast Line trains do not have hand grips above and along the rows of seats. So people don't want to move in to the centre of the car for fear falling over. It's a dumb situation easily fixed with a bit of welding. We're supposed to pack ourselves in at peak hour but some help with stability would be good, dear MRT gods. Some trains on the other SMRT lines have such rows of handgrips but the smart designers removed the handgrips in the middle. So it's sort of back to square one with that one.

Work is gonna get more intense. Greater responsibility has fallen onto these shoulders and, fingers crossed, people will listen to my ideas and there's budget and all goes well.

I've been looking at HDB flats to buy and eventually move into. Each weekend I peruse the classifieds sections of the weekend papers for promising outcomes. I sms agents and most reply with an invitation to view. I think of these as weekend excursions. I bring the family on these semi fun trips to visit other people's homes. My mum will criticise the colour schemes and ask about kitchen cabinets while I usually stare in disbelief at the asking price. Well there is one flat that's got my attention and we've seen it twice. I've also stopped at a bank to ask about loans. I have been in denial this phase of Singaporean life, the lifelong debt bit. At least the girl at the bank was nice.

Ok, midnight, time to sleep. To be continued to some degree.

A Piece Of Mutton, Or Something

The night or two before the biopsy I had trouble sleeping. I thought I'd be cool about it but the subconscious had other concerns. This time there was a repeat of the tossing and turning. I am a little morbid about bad things happening. I guess thinking the worst helps me handle whatever the outcome would be. I blame television.

I got my biopsy results last Friday. Funny thing was that I forgot to get off at my intended train station to switch trains to get to the hospital. I took the path to work, before realising the literal error of my ways at Dhoby Ghaut. When I got off at Novena, I contemplated taking a bus but the SG Buses app told me the only bus I could take would arrive in 7 minutes. I would only need to take it one bus stop away. I didn't wanna sweat in our God-forsaken heat of late, ok.

I ended up walking nonetheless. They took my weight again. I couldn't understand why. The male nurse attending to me told me if I gained weight it would be a good sign. I told him it was the excesses from the Christmas - New Year - Chinese New Year season of overeating.

The doctor said there was no sign of malignancy. That was enough for me. But what was the spongy mass of benign curiosity in my right lung? A granuloma. Web definitions include "Non-cancerous lumps that can form when certain body cells surround foreign material, such as silicone. Like any lump, it should be evaluated to distinguish it from a lump that might be cancerous." "Granuloma is a medical term for a ball-like collection of immune cells which forms when the immune system attempts to wall off substances that it perceives as foreign but is unable to eliminate."

So my friends could be right - a piece of mutton.

The doctor also said it was shrinking. Double woohoos. She showed me Xray scans on her less than adequate monitors on her desk as evidence of her newly announced diagnosis.

So that concludes it. The first 2 months of medical drama for 2010.

My First Hospitalization

Did I mention that there was a sizeable anomaly growing in my right lung?

It's quite a long story as to its discovery but the short version is that multiple xrays in January taken to ascertain whether I had tuberculosis instead led to the finding of a mass in my lower front of the right airbag. No I don't have TB. I sense a sigh of relief among the people I may breathe on and around. (There is a sign at the TB Clinic that read in no uncertain terms "Tuberculosis is a serious infectious airborne disease".)

I also went for a CT Scan where they lay one down on a bed at moves vertically and one direction horizontally through a giant ring. Inside the ring, something spins. It takes images in slices across the vertical plane of whatever's in the ring. That was me was weeks ago when embarassingly my dry left contact lens managed to elicit a tear of relief that promptly exited my then horizontally reclined eye, down my face. The nurse thought I was afraid. Goodness. The only other things I remember from this scanning was that the machine was made by Siemens, the spin frequency was 666Mhz (because there was a display right above where I lay, the sides of the aircon vents on the ceiling looked filthy and the attendants took an ominous pause when they came out of their room to tell me the procedure was over.

When I told some friends about this mass, it got christened "a piece of mutton" and "sponge". At home, the folks expressed their worry and lamented at what a 'suay' the start of the year had been. I was not quite as worried.

The docs were curious though. So they set me up a biopsy to extract some fleshy morsels and run various tests. That happened today, a day surgery at Tan Tock Seng.

I was decked out in hospital patient gear, a fashionable blue set of pajamas and a giant apron that went around my neck and was open at the back. Wheeled down some floors on the hospital bed, I met my good friend CT scan machine again. This time it would the doctor's guide in his quest to fish out some flesh.

And what you saw on House is true. Biopsies hurt! They administered a local anaesthetic and those injections hurt like hell already even before the big needle made its presence felt. Come on, right lung with a rib cage in the way, something's sure gotta hurt. I was of course looking up all the time, at same not-so-pleasant ceiling, with the 7 vertical slits of the CT machine's built-in speaker some 5 inches up and ahead from my face plus a yellow light that kept coming on when the guiding laser was positioned. Yes there was a laser, probably like those laser sights that produce red dots on targets for assasination in the movies. As I was slide into the ring, I read a sticker on the inner side of the ring that read "Class 2 Laser Device. Do not look into the laser directly" - a cause for concern since I was in the spinning ring of image gathering. So the doc came round, introduced himself and got on with the procedure.

He disinfected the area with at least 3 cold fluids and a spray which made my body quivver. Then came the pain relief injections that hurt so bad dispensing their wares. There were other sets of insertions and compressions to my chest and the whammy, I could feel the needle entering the deeper recesses of my chest, into the lung. It hurt. I tensed like any human would, my spine tightening and back sweating. All the while I kept tellingyself to breathe with long, controlled inhales and exhales to relax and not freak out but makes you do dumb things. And guess what? The needle didn't quite hit the spot. So there another poke. This time I knew the doc was fiddling on target because after a bout of insane pain, I could not breathe normally. Yup, he got the lung! Funny that people say you can survive with one lung that it isn't quite the slight difference you expect. With difficulty breathing and a right arm very numb from being propped over the head for eternity, it was a new level of physical agony I was brought to. Wow, I never knew it could hurt so bad. I wanted the doc to stop. I also knew it didn't matter if I did ask him to cease. This pain wasn't gonna go away in an instant.

Having got the stab right, the doc asked me to "breathe in, breathe out slowly". That screwed up my conscious attempt at relaxation and threw my mind and lungs into uncoordinated disarray. I was a little pissed. Was I not calm enough for you suck out spongy samples? At the same my brain rationalized that breathing out slowly gave the doc some control over how to manipulate the extraction. Imagine all this thinking happening as searing pain radiated in my chest.

Slightly traumatized I guess I was, even the operation was over because the pain and laboured breathing didn't end. The blood was returning to my arm as I lay outside along the corridor in the Diagnostic Radiology department staring blankly at the flourescent lighting above. Ow ow ow ow ow! My mouth was too dry to utter anything, my brain was processing my anguish. The doctor came over to ask if all was ok. I can't remember when he explained that the mass kept moving with my breathing and that made the extraction tougher. Oklah.

I was wheeled up to my shared room and progressively the pain subsided. TV provided some relief too although all channels were free-to-air. Then the relief of Milo and biscuits (I had to fast since midnight the night before and it was about 11am when chocolatey goodness was dispensed. Thank you kind nurse) and then lunch. It wasn't bad - I had chappatis (!) and mildly curried chicken and green veg.

By 2pm I was addicted to a TV3 melodrama about a bad son and his undoing/retribution. It wasn't half bad but had to whisked away for another xray to check the lung was fine. My mum filled me in on what transpired on the show when I got back.

All clear was at 430pm. We proceeded to then have a Killiney teh si and then thosais in Little India.

At home, I confirmed the dual vampire punctures from the repeated entry of the big bad biopsy needle with two distinct spots of dried blood remnants on the bandage that I need to keep on till ten the next day.

Now to rest and heal.

Side note, I ran into a friend from JC who's now a doctor (ahem!) in TTSH, and I learned that my body redirects stress to my lower back. That's probably why I suck at some yoga poses.