Prime Minister Lee

I have a new found admiration for our Prime Minister Lee Hsien Long. I never realised he was such a man of stature until I met him in person today. He was tall and very articulate, and left a deeper impression in me than his father did. Maybe because I wasn't born yet during his father's best years. He looked like a jolly man who isn't all too comfortable in his skin. Maybe cos' he's taller than most people and he has the tendency to hunch. He didn't come across as someone intimidating or overbearing. He seemed very people-oriented.

Yes, I was very captivated by this man. I didn't catch him on television during his National Day Rally Speech, but I recalled having heard bits of it and I don't know what is it about his voice or his intonation, that made me just want to sit and hear what he has to say. I didn't think he used to speak so well before he became the Prime Minister, and he sounded quite muffled back then. But today in NTU, as I hear him over the live feed during his opening address for NTU 50th anniversary celebrations, I was amazed at how he just held my attention with what is typically boring speech. I wasn't paying attention so much to the content I must admit, but the way he was enunciating and emphasising words. It was easily comprehensible and very pleasant to the ear.

Maybe there are many Singaporean men who can speak like him. I just haven't had the privilege of knowing them yet, but I really think we could do with more local men, commanding their presence and leaving an impression through their confident yet not arrogant articulation (PM Lee's a perfect example).

Yea yea, I guess I have a thing for the "arts" man, someone who is literate. And by "literate" I'm referring to one of the definitions offered by Minister in the Prime Minister's Office and Second Minister for Finance and Foreign Affairs, Mr Raymond Lim, where he was referring to a well-read society. Bring that definition and apply it to man, I would associate him as someone who can also speak and write fluently, which really is a killer combination.

Back to PM Lee. I'm sure he is a cut above the rest, because he is after all, the Prime Minister. But that doesn't mean men out there can't acquire his stature just because they're not a politician. I don't think any man is going to idolise our Prime Minister the way they would Lance Armstrong or Tiger Woods but there's no harm knowing that it is possible to command respect and exude confidence through good articulation without being loud, obnoxious and condescending.

Which is exactly what our Prime Minister demonstrated tonight.

Copious Space

As I sit here, it feels like a waste of time typing my blog instead of reading up on Copyright or even studying for my mid-year exam coming up after the September break. Or in fact, the time could be better spent researching on top 10 beach resorts for an assignment or maybe even just grab my S3 pro, head out and do some snapping. Yet my body is wilting with lethargy, my mind atrophying. I look at my calendar for the week and for the first time since a long time, I feel completely wiped out. Defeated. I pride myself for time management, for looking on the bright side even when a matrix of conundrum surfaces but today, I can't bring myself to do anything except sit and wait.

I haven't felt like giving up for a long time, it just doesn't seem like me to and I'm ashamed I'm thinking so cowardly. Who cares? In my head, all i want to do now is to run away, where no one knows who I am and what I do. Do whatever I want, whenever I want until the consternation wears off. And I'll return to the real world and face the music.

Perhaps too much has happened in the past months. I thought I could bury myself up in school and work but at the end of the day, when I'm tired of working at the computer, of putting on the smiles and makeup, there's a capacious void, that nothing seems to fill.

Someone told me I have everything, from career to degree to money to love, and yet I choose to walk this ardous journey alone. Why won't I let someone take my hand, ease my fatigue or pick me up when I fall?

I laughed. Which girl doesn't want someone to lean on? Who doesn't want to just let go of the responsibilities, expectations, commitments once in a while and have someone at the other end to confide and seek solace from?

Not that I don't want to, but I guess I'm just not sure, that the person who wants to walk with me, is the person I want to have by my side. Sure, I have friends, but there are some tender spots in the heart that friendship cannot enrich. Maybe that's where it hollows out. For now since I've chosen to embark on this solo expedition, I know I got to pick myself up and keep going.

The meadows and daisy gardens are best left to be embraced in my dreams.

Garden of Rembrance

This note written by a daughter to her deceased father really tugged at my heartstrings. The innocence and somewhat lack of understanding death and the pain it entails just screams at me in this simple handwritten note. On the facing side is a simple 2-D picture which had the text "I draw this picture for you".

After taking a walk at the Garden of Rembrance, which is a Christian Columbarium, and reading several handwritten notes, all I could think of was to come home and love my parents and appreciate them for being there for me all these years. One note from a son to his father said, "every night I wish this was not true and that you would just walk through the door carrying Giant shopping bags..." My heart cringed and I had to swallow tears. I must confess a bizarre excursion like this can be rather therapeutic and I highly recommend to all those who at some point of time, are at odds with someone you love.

Hutongs in Beijing

On a recent trip to Beijing, a friend of mine brought me to what was called “Hutongs”. All he said was there are many “hutongs” in Beijing, and I had absolutely no idea if Hutongs refer to the name of a place, a street name, like “Jurong” for instance, or what?

As I turned away from the hustle and bustle of the city in search of “Hutongs” I was greeted with quiet pavements and high walls on one side of the road. Occasionally, I’ll find a small entrance into civilization, but most of the time, the pavements were deserted and the owners of shops opposite the road were standing around chatting to one another.

I stopped outside one of those entrances and peered into the narrow and cluttered alleys. It was disorganized, and messy but in a nice kind of way because it seemed untainted by aesthetic or compulsive decision- making. It is a way of life, and this was characterised by the disregard to their rusting bicycles, or dust settling on their windows they can hardly peer out of it.

Perhaps I have a penchant for what is old, ignored, rusty and even what some would consider dirty, because it embodies a certain history that must be rich enough for it to sustain till this present moment. Moreover, having been borne into modern Singapore, I have never seen any part of Singapore that remotely looks like that, so it was enriching.

I entered one of the gates, not sure if I’ve just trespassed into private territory, but the good thing is, you can always pledge innocence being a tourist and since there were no overt signs hanging at the doors that warned me, I figured I’ll think about it only when someone runs out of the house with a knife at me.

I must have walked past where the lavatory is in the house, because the pungent smell needed no introduction. I had my picture taken to signify this was what a living space in a Hutong is like. I saw through one tiny square pane of the window, (because the rest were too dusty) and saw an old woman busying herself in the house. How voyeuristic! Maybe she’s gotten used to strange people posing outside her window, because while she looked hard at me, she showed no attempt to chase me away nor invite me in.

Quaint is the word I would use to describe Hutongs. Ask me exactly what they are, I can only go by the definition offered on websites and in pictorial books. Simply put, Hutongs refers to a small alleyway or lane. These lanes are formed by lines of siheyuan, a compound made up of rooms around a courtyard in which most Beijing residents used to live.

When I came back to Singapore and was toying with some topics for my FYP, I find myself browsing through images of Hutongs online, although I am surprised they were rather limited. At Magnum Photos, I managed to find pictures of the destruction of some Hutongs which is quite a sorry sight considering what was brimming with character and rustic feel is reduced to dust and rubble. In most other pictures I saw, they showcased merely the exteriors of Hutongs and very few of what some of the Beijingers living there do in their free time.

I guess I want to do something different, and something in me tells me I can offer an angle no one else has taken, or rather few people have explored. I’ve seen a couple of picture books on Hutongs, and I find myself glossing over the beautiful black and white pictures the way I would browsing through a property catalogue. They don’t tell me much. All these pictures, and more pictures of front gates and roof tops and screen walls conjure the image of anti-social and unfriendly neighbourhood. Few pictures reveal the interior of a courtyard house including the common areas and the rooms so I don’t know if they actually sleep on beds, on sheets or other surfaces. Few showed Beijingers actually engaging in some household activity. Do they cook their meals? And what do they eat? Do they eat together like how Chinese often would, and do they do that on a proper table, sitting on the floor? How do they cope when winter hits? Do they have fireplaces? Heating systems? It seems almost as if they have no family or that family life is not part of their culture, which is very surprising considering that China supposedly possesses a collectivistic nature. Do they much rather prefer to gather with other people outside of their houses playing cards? I have no doubt the cohesiveness of the Hutong families are delivered through these communal leisure activities, but is that all there is to it? I don’t have enough information to confirm these portrayals. And so I want to embark on my own journey to discover more about Hutong life. For all I know, in 10 years time, or maybe less, Hutongs are no longer going to stand as they give way to modern buildings and apartments. Or worse, some parts of Hutongs are preserved for the sole purpose of tourism, wiping out the authentic way of life. Pretty much like how our Chinatown has transformed itself into what it is today. If you ask me, I rather see creaky windows and battered door frames than the colourful shop houses and rows of shops beckoning tourists. Before Hutongs in Beijing potentially loses its identity and become yet another commercial exploit, I want to leave an identity for them because I didn’t manage to do it for any slum areas of Singapore. Being caught up in this rat race makes these less than contemporary districts and possibly slower pace of life, a good source of introspection. Who are the ones living in Hutongs? Contrary to what most people assume, I heard there are some rich families who are living there. So it’s also interesting to know how are their lives different from the people living in the city itself. Why do they choose to live there? Do their jobs differ? How do they feel about the neighbourhood and what is unique about it? What are their fears, anxieties, and uncertainties of their future living space?

I am so gamed to find out and I can’t wait to share my work with everyone. I just hope it’s good enough. Cross my fingers.

Little India

When I think of Little India, the vicarious images of Hindu temples, with intricate carvings of deities adorning the skyline and throngs of Indian workers plugging the streets immediately comes to mind. My plain ignorance over the years has inculcated certain misconceptions that do no justice to this warm and vibrant quarter of Singapore. My senses were heavily assaulted by the array of food produce, textiles and souvenirs. Yet as I elbowed my way through the narrow pathways, the endless chatter between owners and customers and the Hindi music blasting from shops all began to fade into a murmur. I never felt more alone on this journey of self-discovery. More than just a precinct for Indians and tourists to eat, shop and chill, I saw a kind of lonely desire, lurking in every possible corner…