Was invited to a kindergarten concert by a 6 year old girl, and it was hilarious, yet at the same time I saw gender socialisation at work/manifest
1. The gym item (involving tumbling, jumping, cartwheeling) had 2 girls and 6 boys.
2. For most items where the kids were not in animal costumes or dressed as a flower etc, girls were in pink and boys were in blue.
3. Boys carry guitars but brandish them as if they were machine guns.
4. Girls cannot be trusted to keep their skirts on, yet they have an immense sense of responsibility. A case in point would be the pre-nursery girl who burst into tears when she saw the audience, but continued dancing her flower dance while bawling her eyes out. Very task-oriented indeed. Not to mention a good multi-tasker.
More impressive were the parents and grandparents of those kids who turned up to support their kids. They swamped the front rows, stood on the benches, all just to make sure that even if their digital camera didn't have 12x optical zoom, they would still be able to capture their kid in action. (even if their kid did something embarrassing like dropping her skirt.)
I'm sure the girl in question would really like to have a permanent reminder of her childhood mishaps.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Thursday, October 27, 2005
open book
I think it's the number of essays I've had to write recently that put me off blogging because it reminds me too much of work.
Anyway, when I was loitering around Meidi-Ya at Liang Court, I was trailed by an Indian security guard for a while. He followed me around for a while, and then asked if we could "be friends".
It sounds all nice and innocuous, but apart from the implications of that phrase, is the presupposition that everyone wants to have friends. But there are friends and there are friends.
There are those whom you meet all the time, for various reasons, but never out of a genuine want to meet them, there are those you see in school and say hi and bye to; some you laugh about things together and never transgress the boundaries into the uncomfortable, and there are those you hardly meet whom you can't live without. Broad definitions these are, though there are those who fall by the wayside and have managed to evade being placed into one of the above categories.
I don't understand why I'm drawing up these not-very-generalisable yet not-specific-enough categories. Someone come analyse my psyche. I've been doing enough analysing for other people already.
Anyway, when I was loitering around Meidi-Ya at Liang Court, I was trailed by an Indian security guard for a while. He followed me around for a while, and then asked if we could "be friends".
It sounds all nice and innocuous, but apart from the implications of that phrase, is the presupposition that everyone wants to have friends. But there are friends and there are friends.
There are those whom you meet all the time, for various reasons, but never out of a genuine want to meet them, there are those you see in school and say hi and bye to; some you laugh about things together and never transgress the boundaries into the uncomfortable, and there are those you hardly meet whom you can't live without. Broad definitions these are, though there are those who fall by the wayside and have managed to evade being placed into one of the above categories.
I don't understand why I'm drawing up these not-very-generalisable yet not-specific-enough categories. Someone come analyse my psyche. I've been doing enough analysing for other people already.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
pinpricks of light
I looked up and realised that there aren't any stars tonight, because of the clouds, and the rain. The last time I recall seeing stars in the 50-100-stars range was when I was in Uban. There, the street lamps are few and your eyes get used to the dark very fast. Here, there are too many lights, and people take for granted they can't see stars anyway, so they don't bother to look. Ok I know I really shouldn't generalise here, but no one really notices stars, do they?
Anyway what really I wanted to say is, I realised that stars only appear to those who look out for them. The one who casts a cursory glance at the sky will probably end up not seeing any stars, as opposed to the one who can't see anything but still keeps on looking, (or rather, spacing out at the sky) util he/she realises not one, but many pinpricks of light in the sky. Granted that we might not see as many stars how bright the sky is, yet I think they are waiting for people to need them (unlike us who have all the light in the world, except maybe the One who really matters). Stars don't appear to those who have no need of them, contrary to popular belief that nature treats everyone fairly. Equal opportunities for all, or so people attempt to enforce. The less man made light around, the brighter and more numerous the stars, because they know that people on the ground have not much else to guide their way. Unlike us, where every corner we turn, we see light: the orange street lamps, the blinding headlights, the flickering fluorescent lamps at HDB void decks that attract scores of flying insects that scorch themselves gratituitously on them.
I wanted to say that the behaviour of stars is rather like that of God, who seems to only appear if you look hard enough. But I'm wrong, obviously, because we cannnot look for God by ourselves. And sometimes even when we don't look, He's there, waiting to surprise us in the most unexpected ways.
Anyway what really I wanted to say is, I realised that stars only appear to those who look out for them. The one who casts a cursory glance at the sky will probably end up not seeing any stars, as opposed to the one who can't see anything but still keeps on looking, (or rather, spacing out at the sky) util he/she realises not one, but many pinpricks of light in the sky. Granted that we might not see as many stars how bright the sky is, yet I think they are waiting for people to need them (unlike us who have all the light in the world, except maybe the One who really matters). Stars don't appear to those who have no need of them, contrary to popular belief that nature treats everyone fairly. Equal opportunities for all, or so people attempt to enforce. The less man made light around, the brighter and more numerous the stars, because they know that people on the ground have not much else to guide their way. Unlike us, where every corner we turn, we see light: the orange street lamps, the blinding headlights, the flickering fluorescent lamps at HDB void decks that attract scores of flying insects that scorch themselves gratituitously on them.
I wanted to say that the behaviour of stars is rather like that of God, who seems to only appear if you look hard enough. But I'm wrong, obviously, because we cannnot look for God by ourselves. And sometimes even when we don't look, He's there, waiting to surprise us in the most unexpected ways.
Monday, October 10, 2005
To what extent
Finally got my social work visit at the Institute of Mental Health over and done with. It was a mightily depressing place, despite being painted in pink and blue (read: colour of my flat), surrounded by barbed wire at the back, with police vans lined at the car park.
There's the esssay to write, but after a mind numbing 5000 word research paper, I'm not thinking about it just yet.
What struck me most was how authorities can just put people on remand as potentially mentally unsound patients based on unruly behaviour, even when their actions may have just been propelled by the fact that they are humans, with actual emotions. Who defines madness anyway, but people in authority who need a criteria by which they determine their own sanity?
I think we all are mad in certain ways, are even if we aren't, (or so we think) there is an attraction in madness - the total lack of responsibility that comes with it, the lack of the need to conform to a prescribed standard of behaviour.
Even if you're drugged out of your mind, all you have to do is walk around in a mindless haze, which arguably is less painful than living every day with knowledge of the pain that is around you, that people carry everyday behind a smile. Clinical depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia - the list of mental illness gets longer by the day and I think that in itself is comforting, to know that even if you don't belong anywhere, you still have your pigeonhole together with the rest of the other mental patients.
There's the esssay to write, but after a mind numbing 5000 word research paper, I'm not thinking about it just yet.
What struck me most was how authorities can just put people on remand as potentially mentally unsound patients based on unruly behaviour, even when their actions may have just been propelled by the fact that they are humans, with actual emotions. Who defines madness anyway, but people in authority who need a criteria by which they determine their own sanity?
I think we all are mad in certain ways, are even if we aren't, (or so we think) there is an attraction in madness - the total lack of responsibility that comes with it, the lack of the need to conform to a prescribed standard of behaviour.
Even if you're drugged out of your mind, all you have to do is walk around in a mindless haze, which arguably is less painful than living every day with knowledge of the pain that is around you, that people carry everyday behind a smile. Clinical depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia - the list of mental illness gets longer by the day and I think that in itself is comforting, to know that even if you don't belong anywhere, you still have your pigeonhole together with the rest of the other mental patients.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
slacker wannabe
This week being officially known to me as Sick Week, I declared it free from work (i.e. profit making activity) and cello. I soon found myself with a large amount of time on hand, something that hasn't happened for so long I forgot how it felt to have the luxury of 30 whole minutes of stoning/carrying on an internal monologue. And I actually finished watching all my unwatched episodes of Lost (Season 2), The OC (Season 3), Arrested Development (Season 3), Six Feet Under (Season 5) and CSI (Season 6), after which the slack-oholic in me was irreversibly unleashed. Or so I thought.
Under pressure from the little voice which reminded me I still have four essay deadlines looming in the not-too-distant future, I decided to take photographs of gender advertisments for my essay's appendix. Unfortunately, this wee bit of effort in taking 50 shots of females in "Come hither" (to quote my brother) poses triggered a fresh state of euphoria, i.e. the "Whee I finally have something to do" adrenaline rush, which resulted in me doing more readings and rewriting my essay drafts.
So much for a self declared break.
Under pressure from the little voice which reminded me I still have four essay deadlines looming in the not-too-distant future, I decided to take photographs of gender advertisments for my essay's appendix. Unfortunately, this wee bit of effort in taking 50 shots of females in "Come hither" (to quote my brother) poses triggered a fresh state of euphoria, i.e. the "Whee I finally have something to do" adrenaline rush, which resulted in me doing more readings and rewriting my essay drafts.
So much for a self declared break.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Ulu Uban
The sun was really hot, apparently, but I didn't feel a thing. On the speedboat on the way to the island, it felt like we were being fumigated by petroleum fumes, yet you had no choice but to breathe harder because there was so little oxygen to begin with.
Dry ground, unevenly comforting. The streets are flanked by drains filled with black oily water, clogged by plastic bottles and all sorts of rubbish. The makeshift rubbish bins (oil drums sawed in half) are filled with with rotting vegetables and rats, scavenging boldly in broad daylight. Huge. There are no birds, maybe because there is llittle to sing about.
Wait. There are roosters wandering around, crowing, eating garbage, blissfully oblivious to their impending death.
The male children are surprisingly quiet, shy, coy even. They look at you out of their liquid eyes, and whisper and giggle to themselves. The baby dressed head to toe in pink is a boy, and not because the parents are trying not to be gender biased, but because the child before this one is a female and they are recycling her clothes.
A boy that looks undoubtedly Malay speaks Teochew and Bahasa, yet replies to neither as long as the question is asked by a stranger. I learn his name; his name is Ahn, and some one follows up with the revelation that
"He's adopted". Or more accurately, "jian3 hui2 lai2 de4" (in Chinese). Maybe the person who said that meant the latter, which I won't doubt, given the general state of neglect of the place. I'm not surprised that people will abandon babies on other people's doorsteps. At least it's better than Singaporeans who throw babies down rubbish chutes.
Around his hands, neck and ankles are rubber rings, very much like the black rubber bracelets that used to be a fashion statement. In reacting to what people say, he turns to look at me first, as if seeking for cues of an appropriate response, but in a flu-y state I manage nothing but a weak and (what i perceive as) encouraging smile. He teaches me how to say goodbye in Bahasa, and I think that maybe he won't come back to the church on Sunday, but he does, surprisingly.
Weird are the things you remember when you're sick.
First Aceh, then the oil price hike, then now the Bali bombings - Indonesians are really having it bad now, and who are we to complain about high living costs in comparison? Singaporeans are, really, a fortunate bunch.
Dry ground, unevenly comforting. The streets are flanked by drains filled with black oily water, clogged by plastic bottles and all sorts of rubbish. The makeshift rubbish bins (oil drums sawed in half) are filled with with rotting vegetables and rats, scavenging boldly in broad daylight. Huge. There are no birds, maybe because there is llittle to sing about.
Wait. There are roosters wandering around, crowing, eating garbage, blissfully oblivious to their impending death.
The male children are surprisingly quiet, shy, coy even. They look at you out of their liquid eyes, and whisper and giggle to themselves. The baby dressed head to toe in pink is a boy, and not because the parents are trying not to be gender biased, but because the child before this one is a female and they are recycling her clothes.
A boy that looks undoubtedly Malay speaks Teochew and Bahasa, yet replies to neither as long as the question is asked by a stranger. I learn his name; his name is Ahn, and some one follows up with the revelation that
"He's adopted". Or more accurately, "jian3 hui2 lai2 de4" (in Chinese). Maybe the person who said that meant the latter, which I won't doubt, given the general state of neglect of the place. I'm not surprised that people will abandon babies on other people's doorsteps. At least it's better than Singaporeans who throw babies down rubbish chutes.
Around his hands, neck and ankles are rubber rings, very much like the black rubber bracelets that used to be a fashion statement. In reacting to what people say, he turns to look at me first, as if seeking for cues of an appropriate response, but in a flu-y state I manage nothing but a weak and (what i perceive as) encouraging smile. He teaches me how to say goodbye in Bahasa, and I think that maybe he won't come back to the church on Sunday, but he does, surprisingly.
Weird are the things you remember when you're sick.
First Aceh, then the oil price hike, then now the Bali bombings - Indonesians are really having it bad now, and who are we to complain about high living costs in comparison? Singaporeans are, really, a fortunate bunch.
Monday, October 03, 2005
39.0 deg. Celsius (sick in and out)
Amidst the drugged induced state of a medicine cocktail I suddenly discover why Solitaire is found on almost every computer. And iPod.
Today while I was plagued by the customary insomnia that characterises unresolved issues and lengthy inner monologues, I turned on the iPod and started to play, only to wish that problems could be dealt with like a Solitaire game; that all issues be shuffled away into straight organised rows of cards, and put in their proper place, without the messiness of emotions or words. And if you feel the game is not going to end well, you can just start a new game, without feeling any sense of loss.
Solitaire addiction is as such: It makes you think that you need it to live, to fill those blank moments, to get your mind away from stuff. In those moments when you start the game, it makes you think it's the world. Anything less than total commitment, it doesn't accept, and then you lose. That's what makes Solitaire addiction tiring. Blank moments no longer belong to yourself, because Solitaire is always at the edge of your mind pestering to be let in, tempting you with the prospect of winning the next game.
Then a phone call comes, or an sms, from a world where Solitaire doesn't belong to, (because Solitaire demands solitude/isolation) which puts things into perspective, because you see that things are still happening all around, things still have to be done, people still demand a piece of different parts of you.
And when you finally return back to the game where you left off, you find that it seems to have changed - the cards don't seem to belong in the right place, you no longer understand why you put certain cards at certain places, you forget what your next move is. The game rejects you for leaving it alone, even if it was for that few moments, and there is no option of restart, only the option of starting a new game of reshuffled cards in a totally different combination.
You frown slightly, wondering if it's worth continuing.
And then you turn it off.
Today while I was plagued by the customary insomnia that characterises unresolved issues and lengthy inner monologues, I turned on the iPod and started to play, only to wish that problems could be dealt with like a Solitaire game; that all issues be shuffled away into straight organised rows of cards, and put in their proper place, without the messiness of emotions or words. And if you feel the game is not going to end well, you can just start a new game, without feeling any sense of loss.
Solitaire addiction is as such: It makes you think that you need it to live, to fill those blank moments, to get your mind away from stuff. In those moments when you start the game, it makes you think it's the world. Anything less than total commitment, it doesn't accept, and then you lose. That's what makes Solitaire addiction tiring. Blank moments no longer belong to yourself, because Solitaire is always at the edge of your mind pestering to be let in, tempting you with the prospect of winning the next game.
Then a phone call comes, or an sms, from a world where Solitaire doesn't belong to, (because Solitaire demands solitude/isolation) which puts things into perspective, because you see that things are still happening all around, things still have to be done, people still demand a piece of different parts of you.
And when you finally return back to the game where you left off, you find that it seems to have changed - the cards don't seem to belong in the right place, you no longer understand why you put certain cards at certain places, you forget what your next move is. The game rejects you for leaving it alone, even if it was for that few moments, and there is no option of restart, only the option of starting a new game of reshuffled cards in a totally different combination.
You frown slightly, wondering if it's worth continuing.
And then you turn it off.
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