the sylvian sulcus

overheard from a premed: "biology is not science"

2012-01-25T22:33:00.000-08:00

I felt excellent Thursday afternoon-- such a bright outlook on life! Thanks swimming, for the endorphin and endogeneous painkillers--

this evening while picking out a DVD in Clemons I overheard a conversation, and I realised how much premeds really annoy me. ugh. The same girl who was shocked that their tutor for real analysis was a graduate student studying 8000+ level courses made comments like "I'm majoring in biochemistry....I can't do biology....it's not science". It's a rather haughty preconception that I think she's referring to, that biology is a soft major -- and I myself major in biochemistry. Has she witnessed 25 nm x 75 nm gold nanorods, tagged with all sorts of chemical probes, and being taken up by cells under a supersharp Nikon DIC microscope, and being sent across to other cells in what are possibly cytoneme structures exploited by HIV? And think folks like these are entering the medical field.

What annoys me about most premeds is that they see research as a means to their future career...they are not interested in research as a career. Neurology must somehow more suited for medical school than biology or ecology; then this girl will go on to med school complacent and smug that that the evolutionary dynamics of cancer could never be modelled by genetic ecology, amirite?

This would all be OK, if they didn't give you the stinkeye during classes because you're asking reasonable questions and all they want is to sit there and take notes.

but anyway, rant aside, all that matters is that life is looking brighter.

the anagram

2012-01-24T22:57:00.000-08:00

oh an anagram we shall build
let us think!
and pick thoughts from each other
then put them back together
.          oh young apprentice--
.          it is indeed a cold winter
.    and so the mind must surely wander
so fleeting, fleeting-- are the thoughts
that seep out of the decaying rots
.       of teeming dendrites in the rain--

la silence d'hiver

2012-01-17T02:08:00.001-08:00

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

-- Robert Frost

why winter is depressing

quarter-life pints

2012-01-13T19:50:00.000-08:00

life, life burning fast and bright
must surely make its impression on the Universe?
oh so they told--

catecholamine receptors can give
such a delirious illusion of immortality--

so buy me
into that illusion delusion
yes please
I will have no more
of Qin Shihuang's despair

je pense, donc...

2012-01-09T11:09:00.001-08:00

I dunno. I like thinking. It may because I am human -- perhaps the Queen Bee cannot conceive any other more pleasurable existence than laying her own weight in eggs everyday -- but oh-- it is simply the laws of probability that stun me.

The Universe is over 13-15 billion years old, and I was placed into this current era as brief as a human lifespan-- and one must think-- how did it come that I be awake in /this/ era, and not say, the Middle Ages or 40,000 years ago? And then my candle will go out, I will not be able to experience any of the human history that comes after it.

I'm not complaining (okay maybe I am, a little) but it is with puzzlement and wonder that I imagine the freakiness of being alive.

new england is new again

2011-11-28T03:10:00.000-08:00

On the 22nd we packed the car, the five of us, and left Charlottesville at 5:30 am, and did not beat the Northern Virginia rush hour traffic...and did not beat the DC Beltway traffic either. (Deirdre you Illinois transfer student, how could you be so optimistic when the Washington metro begins its peak of the peak fare at 7:30 am.) So we talked about New York City, Chicago, Ireland, college sports, in particular lacrosse, and Southern mannerisms.

Southerners warm, northerners cold, they say. Northerners don't know what to do when Southerners chat them up at retail stores and so on and so forth. But then the next day I'm shopping with my sister in Maine and this cashier randomly transfers her conversation with her coworker to us. "I have a date with Tom tonight," she says ecstatically with a rather Carolinian smile, as though to explain her flurry of conversation; and then she and my sister strike up a conversation along that thread, interwoven with discussion of Thanksgiving and turkeys.

And then I remember-- this was always the norm; because even in Cape Elizabeth random adults would always do that sort of New England cordiality thing to you as a child and you the Singaporean would always be at loss for words and maybe it was all fake but hey they're warm memories and New England suddenly feels like home. In Virginia the store clerks almost never strike up a spontaneous conversation with you, and you can feel the wants of life badly pressing upon them; you almost took pity at their condition, as though as it was a Southern version of watching "Save the Children" except replace starving African children with minimum wage store clerks. Iowa is even worse. New England? Home? It's been a long time since I felt this unalienated.

And so I rediscover houses are all so cute close together surrounded by blankets of snow and forest-- a remarkable thing given Maine's vast abundance of land. Urban sprawl was such an utter shock to me in the beginning as a first year in Virginia, staring up that winter the endless box stores that lined Rt. 29 for miles and miles. As the years passed and my friends and I discussed various urban transportation projects to deal with the urban sprawl that I had come to perceive as the norm, the thought would come to me repeatedly. Mottainai -- what a waste! And so I must admire New England values too.

Northern Virginia is so ugly, Rina says. And she lives there. I still think it could be pretty nice to live in Northern Virginia. All those livingsocial deals on fine Indian restaurants? And the Korean supermarts. And the Washington Metro is so relaxing, even as Congressional staffers and lobbyists crowd the train during peak hours. The New York Subway puts you on edge, from the Lexington Avenue train to 7 to sometimes even the Williamsburg L-line (judged the "most romantic" subway line -- but the hipster pretension -- the bad kind -- can really get to you). Ugh. I mean, maybe New England's newfound quaintness will run out for me sometime, but I'm leaving this afternoon. Here's to romanticising.

I be that man on the moon

2011-11-21T00:04:00.000-08:00

there's nothing wrong with uniqueness, says the doctor. it would be a boring world if everyone were to conform to orthodoxy. we all have that within us; everyone has it-- to an extent, it is normal. It is human; and I nod, knowing that familiar feeling oh so in touch with your mortality and human unreliability tempest in a teacup flood of neurotransmitters and flowing, flowing thought; oh wait-- what were we talking about again?

He smiles. It's soft, decidedly not medical, though the hallways outside have that faint smell of alcohol they like to rub all over their sterilised surfaces.

we can't figure it out, we can't figure out, you present a puzzling case (it doesn't fit the DSM-IV) but well, what do you mean I'm sure people have people get that all the time wouldn't you say oh don't they imagine too oh say I'm not alone

But my mind is all crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy...
They got me thinkin' I ain't human,
Like I came in from above, above, above, above...
Feelin' like an airplane in the sky
But then they say I'm crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy...
They got me thinkin I ain't human,
Like I came in from above, above, above, above...
Feelin' like a bird sittin high

softly the muses stop speaking, and they slowly drift away.

motivation

2011-11-20T20:56:00.001-08:00

that football game

2011-11-20T00:15:00.001-08:00

in the past I've watched those who watch the games; they come in droves and drove from hundred miles of away to take our parking spots and set out their tailgates in our backyards with their Mitt Romney bumper stickers. Go Hoos Go. Wahoowa. Ray ray, ray, UVA, UVA. ugh. why is this such a big American pasttime? surely there are better ways to pass time.

and so time passed and the seasons passed and the semesters passed with them and I passed classes but not the players, they make bad passes or something; well I am sure they pass classes but pass games they do not. and remember that one time in second year when USC flew past our asses and laughed at our 7-32 margin, and some week after I was passing by the stadium and it took two hours to pass halftime and the clock kept stopping and the ball wasn't going anywhere. and so I gave the game a pass.

but not if you want to be sociable; they dress up guys in ties and girls in pearls and each home game Sunday the crowds would pass by our residences and the facebook feeds would explode with photos of friends in amazing clothes in crazy crowds of tens of thousands.

but not if you want to be sociable: be a man, man. nighttalk consists of bartalk, and bartalk either has pickup lines, or whether the Redskins will pick up that title or whether the Pats will pick up their failing dynasty and though in a bar they may go on and on and on about players' statistics, don't you go all otaku about indie film, science or art, because that would just be dorky.

in Iowa the summer sun shone high and I grew tan and the prairie grass ran yellow and the World Cup played in South Africa and someone told me they couldn't care much for [international] football, because [real] American football's like chess. oh really? I wouldn't have guessed because I play chess, and it doesn't have heavy brutes in armor and athletes in university busses behaving like there's no one else on them but as time passed I could see how you could appreciate stopped clocks and devious plays and maybe the American pasttime is some sort of celebrated chessboxing

but I could never care for the football games until around this time in November where I ate my fifth helping of mashed potatoes, chicken adobo, ginger-roasted turkey and sticky rice and we sang to four guitars and the Virginia - Florida State game was on and I cared because I liked people and I cared towards the end when we rose up to cheer ensemble or hold our hearts in our mouths collectively agape and we made that touchdown 14-13 oh with a minute to spare but oh Florida still threw devious plays of provoked fouls and incomplete passes and two field goal attempts but oh we won we won-- screaming screaming the room is crazy we hold hands and sing the Good Ole Song. Go Hoos Go. Wahoowa. Ray ray ray, UVA UVA.

under the spreading pages of history, the nation’s smithy stands.

2011-11-19T08:35:00.001-08:00

a demigod graces – us – in the hallways;
his face still shines
like a stone in the sunlight
his face, shines still
in the textbooks they tell of golden charm
that united an opposition against force of arms
by stainless steel will
how he sewed together the fabric of a broken nation
with fine acuity, and forty bullets from his Mosin-Nageant
and an architect’s inspired skill–
in the textbooks they tell of his emboldened heart
for every man a Plan; for every fam a hearth!
I ask thee, dearest countryman:
who among us should ever desire him to part?
all grace and lenience, almost inhuman, yet humane;
everyone seeks his audience; yet everyone he entertains
loved and feared, a demigod graces us in the hallways.

but you see, the fading jewel of a sagely ancient sits
with forlorn laugh and proud despair
in the seat of youth.
the years of office hang
from the tangles of his fading hair.
the toil never became easier; neither the truth,
that, the problems never cease
there are always jealous enemies
and even allies must be appeased–
with eyeglassed eyes he reviews
petitions he might choose to approve;
with forlorn laugh and proud despair
he cries, “a little ridiculous! they never improve–”
and smiles a war-torn smile never repaired
“What then should our action be–” the nobles entreat him.
“Should we treat these rogues seriously?”
and with sagely expression he listens to their questions
like a good leader must–
and with sagely wisdom, they follow the eternal rhythm
asking poison darts, painting over the nation’s sanguine rust

honestly

2011-11-19T00:48:00.000-08:00

to be honest is often, to be naked;
thus to be fashionable and chic we must dress up our words and play for public prestige
and conceal the intimate and private
it is tempting I must say

I shall keep them
I shall keep them here
where they will be read
when today is yesteryear

We outgrow love, like other things
And put it in the Drawer -
Till it an Antique fashion shows -
Like Costumes Grandsires wore.

(Emily Dickinson, #887)

farewell.
(I don't know why I say goodbye when you say hello)

everything has a beginning.

2011-11-19T00:04:00.000-08:00

I feel myself growing old. slowly is the rust--
cold. cold. I was bold. now you
see
me.
go from dust to dust.

things that begin. must end
so things may begin again.
don't be jealous
oh
be
rebellious
space is renewed
once more

happy pills

2011-11-17T21:51:00.000-08:00

the warden you don't know her

she guards she guards; you pace

that song doesn't work on her anymore

nor this one

don't hold your breath

here it comes

fucknowhatthehellwhydidyoucomeback

don't hold your breath

don't hold--

oh it's just a passing blip

anti-tempest in a teacup

drink them down with soy milk and Arizona tea

a hiccup, some failed stick-up

the warden you don't see her

for now

meritocracy.

2011-10-20T03:57:00.000-07:00

So the 12th Parliament of Singapore just opened, and Opposition MPs are talking about further improvements to the education system. (Finland was brought up as a model.)

In any case, I do have memories of Singaporean education that makes me exactly understand this cartoon.

Teach for America application deadlines are coming up. I am not sure if I have time to apply, or a chance even if I did apply. I grew up a low-income kid myself, and I have this fantasy of a system that would exploit both the strengths of Western and Asian education, while having none of their weaknesses.

"2 am and she calls me cuz I'm still awake"

2011-09-26T23:48:00.000-07:00

fragment of some poem not yet written

this American life is perfect, the way it’s meant to be.
this American life is perfect, the way it’s meant to be.
the only trait it lacked
was Immortality.

---
there are redneck conservatives, and then there's Asians who buy into the damn idea. Asian parents (luckily not mine!) can be more conservative than Confederate-flag wavers from Alabama.

and so the cycle repeats--

2011-08-08T17:56:00.000-07:00

Augusttime brings august clouds;
hawkers loud that pour water down
shallow drains, lingering like the August air
that wraps its shroud of august rains
around our callow locks of hair.

I cannot help gazing out the windowblinds.

in the Daily Nurture
I cut out five little Stars and a Crescent
painstakingly traced, though never cut perfectly;
my fingers are stuck together from glue.
"you are Singaporean."
she tells us with knowing eyes
and the stature of high-heeled shoes

and this — I kept in my heart.

Decembertime brings tempered skies—
jumper suits and winter boots
that clamour into teeming hallways, never dry;
with coffee-coloured hair, and hazel eyes
she told me: “Why don’t you go back to China?”

and this – I kept in my heart.

but even the land of nationality
no longer feels completely like home
when you retain elements
which distinguish you from your own
who cry, with black-coloured hair
and heightened, irritated airs:
"hey Slanger. why do you slang?"
"can you stop speaking in your fake accent?"

and this – I kept in my heart.

Augusttime brings august crowds;
blond-hairs loud that pour into trains downtown
their august voices pouring like rain upon shallow drains;
ignorant of our stares.

August brings nationally-themed singing
to music class— and talk of keys and registers
and I mocked, “and our flag was still there,” with irreverence
to a classmate with combed blond hair;
but to my surprise, with fell complexion
and crying blue eyes
he ran away with the sob:
"you are so racist!"

and it was a sob that I could not quell
because it was true.

and this: I keep the most in my heart.

I dislike this new populistic opposition

2011-05-10T19:32:00.000-07:00

I definitely still support all opposition parties, but the rise in populism and xenophobia on opposition forums now start to scare me. Parliament -- if you investigate videos and transcripts -- intriguingly, isn't quite a rubber stamp. Or maybe it is. Fine arguments are still made. (Although Harry sometimes shuts things down out of "omg getreal" anti-idealism).

Lee Hsien Loong says proportional representation isn't "the right system for Singapore" because it leads to fractured, polemicised, racialised politics. And I agree -- Singapore's legislature has largely avoided the problems of many western legislatures where these issues dominate needlessly. Yet at the same time he does not seem to address the issue of why religious conservatives are allowed to dominate policy!

If the PAP respected individual liberty and freedom of speech and repealed 377A, among implementing other various reforms, I would be content, rather than side with the strengthening opposition that increasingly shows its growing power. But it doesn't. So Opp I go.

a tale of a child

2011-05-09T03:55:00.000-07:00

my first chinese post. yay.
---

孩子长大的时候，不再孩子，可能思考自己，青他的爸爸可以不可以做这些给他幸福的事？

爸爸说： “什么?! 文艺？艺术? 调查我们世界有神么意思？你为什么要这些不带国泰民安的事？癫狂！” 他把孩子达到到涕泣为止。

可是孩子长大了，不再孩子，可能以为自己，所以想想很多。叛乱很严重，可是他只有这个选。

爸爸说： “没感恩！你带混乱！”

可是他看不懂他的孩子长大了。孩子现在是成人，可以找到自己幸福，国泰民安。怎么有感恩？爸爸不让他有感恩，只要监管。

two groups

2011-04-27T22:11:00.000-07:00

they talk past each other
unaware
they really have the same goals
unaware
of friendship

everything's not lost

nothing pleases me anymore

2011-04-27T01:23:00.000-07:00

well that's an exaggeration isn't it? It's not quite nothing, just the routine humdrum of everyday life. I mean if you took me skydiving right now I would probably be grinning ear to ear and my face would look like I just had an orgasm.

And I wonder that no matter where you go in life, what job you have or what you have accomplished, it all won't fucking matter because you know what? we're human. we have amygdalas. no matter how progressive we are, the basic pattern of our circuits was laid out thousands and millions of years ago.

miles to go before I sleep
miles to go before I sleep

when life is a drag

2011-04-27T00:13:00.000-07:00

make instant noodles. with stir fried black mushrooms and ginger.

Secrecy cannot love Forever

2011-04-26T20:42:00.000-07:00

your cunning Tongue! and impassioned Hands—
rub into my soul like no others can.
well, hyperbole. if others tried
would anyone rival you in Luxury ?
“No .” comes my tender whisper. a Lie—
for which my conscience lingers. you would be—
the perfect one for Me
if not for social—mores;
Acceptability—

Secrecy cannot love
Forever.
Romeo and Juliet was
Tragedy—

hello. it is good to see your sunny face.

2011-04-26T07:04:00.000-07:00

five years later it is 10:05 am and oh dear blogging, I have fallen back into your arms. I didn't realise how much I missed this. I mean I guess I thought it was childish and that I had outgrown you... but really you were waiting for me all along. I'm a different person now, yet still the same. The same themes still remain.

-- I really shouldn't be making out with you at this moment in time stuck between six donuts I bought at 4:30 am and 11 am zhongwen class, but I love you. I love you like demonstrators love paving stones that sit on urban beaches. (sous les pavés le plage. je t'aime je t'aime je t'aime)

I guess I snubbed you for that snotty girl facebook, whose face I must still see daily, but you my dear, you have soul. here there are no false appearances, no fronts, no careful cultivation of an image, untaggings and careful considerations. freedom. ziyou. I mean I remember 2003 and 2004 where blogging was like the hip thing to do and my sister did it.

:: checking what remains of my blogroll, which I have no time to fix

oh hey she's still blogging. and Fabriz. and John Foo but he moved and everyone else is gone. but I'm excited. youuu make me happy. do you realise? I did not realise that it was in front of me.

see, I wrote, but I wrote for others, and was constrained. I wrote for me, sometimes. but here I write to you. it's a little different. I mean I'm going to use the little things I've learnt over physics lab this past year to put an analogy: facebook notes are like zero impedance. writing to yourself is like infinite impedance. here making love to you has characteristic impedance and some essence seems to drift forever, timelessly.

I must redress you of course. you look a little shabby. a little worn. a little retro. you have charm. I shall love you again. In semi-public. If we are discovered that is part of the excitement. If we are not, we have us.

--

I remembered you when I discovered the internet archive of the blog of Singapore's new favourite Opposition minister, Nicole Seah. An ironically it was through a comment of a PAP supporter who for some reason thought that such strong, emotional writing did not portray a strong-willed, talented human being who as a student had many endeavours and conflicts that would surely lay a strong foundation for thinking critically and empathising with her constituency. Well I do. And that makes Ms. Nicole more endearing. Seeing her love of writing, made me remember you.

hello. my name is john riemann soong, aka Evariste, avec l'aspiration d'etre d'une unique sorte de fille. if you remember. I don't think I told you before, but now I don't hold back. I am preparing to write a forceful argument in zhongwen for my 8-minute presentation that will sweep everyone away. just you watch. I have to study for a likely biochemistry quiz though. and do shamefully abysmally late lab reports. new subjects, old tricks, my love.

NQR-7-ACE Clementi

2011-02-28T08:21:00.000-08:00

it snows above the A-train express
but it was always
. winter below
she smiles to me a bygone street
that once led from the Apollo;
remember once—
she was that bygone kid of that bygone suite
waving from the ninth floor of Toa Payoh
June rains upon a soul aboard the A-train express
from 125 St to Ang Mo Kio
and
; maybe
. there might be
. a stop for your door.

oh the piano is playing its faraways—
and the elevator streams with those
on their way to places they will be sure
of what they are looking for
but this schoolkid
. always hesitates.
maybe
; one day
. he might find once more
. your floor.

it’s a warm midsummer night, strolling
down this street, with all its crowds
tabled. standing. loitering. smoking.
and walking
down to the bus stop
it ambushes with wafting breeze
a ten-year-old heart
that sits amidst lungs that make
twenty-year-old sighs;
the cab driver on Rector St picks me out
and honks to say,
“Where would you like to go tonight?”
and if only I could reply
“Do you know the way
to Telok Blangah Heights?”
where I cried those last goodbyes
before I took that fateful flight
how was I supposed to know?
they never told
of how I would be forever haunted by every set of lights
from Fairfax Metro to Chicago
hoping your face might appear in the windows.

it snows above the A-train express
and past the rattan door the candles glow;
the jacket and suit is probably telling
the evening dress and pearls
his latest exploits in the Orient
ordering those childhood memories from long ago
to go with red wine in polished glasses
while squandering hor fun from Ipoh
oh it’s a strange and familiar feeling
to be on the outside looking in
to know the thing they call exotic
is a place known as
home.

my old Dover Road Estate

autumn changes

2010-07-25T23:15:00.000-07:00

the old man sits in his studio
sunlight pouring in from that high window
singing of Yellow Submarines and Yesterdays
sometimes turning to his piano
to play chords of faraways
occasionally remembering me.

and when he does, I creak out
that half-hopeful
half-fearful
smile.

the engineer works in his laboratory
"Please don't touch; please don't disturb."
But it's OK -- all men must be busy sometime
so I and my sister build our own in the room across
out of legos, blankets, books and barbie dolls.
and once in a while, he remembers his apprentice
and he teaches me his secret alchemies.

but apprentices -- ambitious ones especially --
err occasionally, you see
by discovering too far.
it's still /his/ house,
even if mom did build it;
so the sheriff stares the suspect down
and sends the intruder off
to a prison of a cellar.

the furious bartender serves himself another
amidst the broken glass and plates;
and when he leaves, the old man looks at me
as if to ask, "Why did you betray me?"

but this ten-year-old never betrayed his father
for you see, he never had one.

He looks away; and climbs into a Ford Windstar
riding off into the fall sunset.

une personne, qu'est-ce qu'elle est?

2009-08-10T11:21:00.000-07:00

My new roommate is Iraqi, who has pretty good listening comprehension for 2 years of immersion. He's in a native-level writing class, but I've discovered that ESL classes often do a pretty poor job at reinforcing spoken language foundations (pretty important as the spoken language IS the language). One thing that wasn't emphasised in class was the pretty important phenomenon of English stress.... in fact it's not covered in non-ESL classrooms either, excepting linguistic classrooms.

Sometimes I feel that the pedagogy of English language classes are still stuck in the era before the Great Vowel Shift of the 17th century ... in the high school classroom there's no discussion of diphthongs, vowel quality versus historic vowel length. I bet the long/short vowel distinction confuses the hell out of native speaker children too. HEY look guys -- English doesn't have five vowels. It has at least thirteen vowel phonemes (some dialects have as many as seventeen). It has five vowel LETTERS to represent the vowel phonemes with. If you analyse the "long vowels" as combinations of two vowels or a vowel + semivowel, then you could theoretically reduce the English phonetic vowel inventory to eight vowels. (And then only if you make a lot of mergers ... like if you think "plus" and "the" have the same vowel quality, after ignoring stress.)

So anyway .... there's an Iraqi refugee community here in Charlottesville, but they're pretty invisible to the public. One thing I've found to be potentially quite useful for both teaching English writing and having something of mutual interest to talk about is Riverbend's blog on the war ... as a very good (and sometimes biting) English writer and an Iraqi refugee, she makes useful talking points, even though she hasn't written a new post in almost two years.

Yesterday was a somewhat good day. After a curious day out, and enjoying someone else's good cooking, it struck me as I lay down on the couch, looking at my absurdly long legs, how much I've changed. Well okay, duh right?? I mean haven't I written like 20 posts on the idea already? But visiting the homes of some other members of the refugee community I was suddenly reminded of HDB flats and the ambitions and mindset I had when I was 14 and in Singapore. And now I've almost abandoned and given up hope on Singapore, even defending the merits of living in America compared to living in Europe. I've grown up into exactly what I thought I wouldn't be.

du train et de l'enfance

2009-08-01T14:47:00.000-07:00

il court, il s'écoule; les wagons, ils roulent.
le ciel pleure – à quelle heure sera-t-il trop tard?
de revenir, de se souvenir;
quelque part, un coeur coule et déboule;
quelque part, un cerveau s’écarte.

les gares s’envolent. mais tu restes immobile
de Bishan à King's Cross
les minutes s’envolent, comme de l’huile
dans un sablier – et on savait que
l’huile et l’eau ne se mélangent jamais.

tu te souviens? tu te souviens d’elle?
je me souviens. je me souviendrai
des choses belles. des souvenirs mauvais.

tu y reviens? où vas-tu?
je ne sais pas. qui saura?
si la vie est comme le train, la vie continue
mais on se demande: sera-t-elle revenue
en passant devant ces gares de noms familiers.

ground beef curry, for a poor college student's budget

2009-07-02T01:11:00.000-07:00

abstract: I merged two online recipes for this one, and tossed in a little of my own innovation. Good for 8-10 prata or about 3-4 bowls of rice -- which is for me a waking day's meal. At minimal expense and effort, depending on how fast you chop, this meal should be ready in about 30-40 minutes after including preparation time.

reagents:

2 onions, chopped coarsely (into sixteenths)
2 tomatoes, chopped into bite-sized chunks -- keep the juice
red and green chiles^a
2/3 cup ground beef
generous amounts of ginger (I used about 4 tbsp or 1/4 cup)
garlic, coarsely chopped (or smashed to bits with a jam bottle), 4-6 cloves
curry masala powder or any mix with tumeric, but mixes including coriander, cardamom, etc. preferred
spice mix: nutmeg, cinnamon, poultry seasoning -- thyme, rosemary, sage, etc. [not essential]^b
a drop of pandan extract (or a better yet, a pandan leaf, if you have one!) [non-essential]
cooking oil (solvent)
water
milk [can be skipped]
stir fry vegetables [can be skipped]
wine vinegar or regular vinegar (if you like it slightly sour -- most of it evaporates)
salt, sugar

procedure:

1. Put the chopped onions, chiles, ginger and garlic into a blender, along with some salt and a little bit of oil (1-2 tbsp). Blend them until you get a slightly coarse but mostly-smooth paste. I used the icebreaker function for this -- fresh onions are turgid and full of water so they resist for a minute or so before suddenly going smooth.

2. Pour out the paste into a large pan that has been pre-heated to high. Wait for the first bubbles to start forming (because of the water in the paste boiling), then turn heat down to low. Stir the paste about every minute for 15 minutes. Add 1-2 tbsp vinegar at about 12 minutes through.

3. Coat the beef generously with the tumeric/curry powder and the spice mix. If you are feeling especially garlic-y, add in about 1-3 more cloves of minced garlic here. One option is to blend the beef, but I didn't do this. Add the beef to the paste, and cover the beef with the paste. If the beef is still frozen, turn the heat up to medium for about 1 minute until the ice melts or till mild bubbling starts again. After that, return to low for about 10 minutes. Stir occasionally.

4. Most of the aqueous content will have evaporated by now, allowing the temperature to skyrocket. You can tell because the oil starts to gurgle vigourously even on low. Add the tomatoes and any stir-fry vegetables desired, along with any tomato juice saved from the chopping stage. If mild bubbling stops, turn the heat up to medium until mild bubbling starts again, then turn back down to low. Toast for about 1-2 minutes.

5. Add 1 cup mix of water and milk (I used a ratio of 2:1), turn up to medium until mild bubbling starts again, then simmer on low. Add pandan extract and 1 tsp sugar. I used brown sugar, but white sugar will probably work. I simmered here for about 1-2 minutes.

results:

delicious. a sweet and savoury curry with a creamy but coarse texture, a light brown colour with tomatoes softened. Cilantro can be added to garnish. Nose-mouth-reasoning (NMR) spectroscopy confirms presence of an array of various aromatic and arguably pharmacologically-active (high-inducing) organic compounds. Photo of pan after a run with just tomatoes, half-eaten:

discussion/theory:

From my very informal knowledge of curry theory, there's basically 3 stages of curry cooking. First there's the sauteeing / frying, where onions, cumin, garlic, ginger, etc. are toasted at high temperature (125-185 degrees C). I didn't use fresh (non-mix) cumin in this recipe, but it could be included. The aqueous stage (starting with the onset of vinegar, then water) immediately reduces the temperature to around the boiling point of water (or slightly higher, as acetic acid forms a negative azeotrope with water), and then simmering (at about 85-95 deg C), generally the last stage, is used for heat-sensitive ingredients like milk.

This recipe modifies this a little in a way I find interesting. Firstly partially because I was lazy and didn't want to toast the onions first before grinding them into a paste (a hassle -- you risk overcooking and you have to fry them in batches), and because someone appears to have done it successfully with fresh onions (see references), I didn't have a very prominent high-temperature stage. The paste that's used is a mix of some oils and mostly water, and sauteed on low, the water takes 15-20 minutes to evaporate fully though where oil is present the onions probably cook at a higher temperature -- hence the need to stir constantly as to cycle the oil.

Frying fresh onion paste on low makes the paste cook very evenly, and it comes out beautifully with no sign of burning or overcooking, and the paste was still mostly white around 10 minutes and browned only slightly at 15, but with the obvious smell of the significant onset of caramelisation. I think using fried onions to make a paste is the standard procedure, to avoid having so much water at the beginning, but a beginner or careless cook risks overcooking especially since some recipes call for very browned onions. Vinegar is also usually added at the high-temperature stage, way before water, where evaporation occurs very quickly, but the effect of adding it on low near the aqueous stage is something to be explored. In effect the high-temperature stage was shifted into the middle, and then only for a very short time. There was also no real separation of the water and milk stages in this recipe.

footnotes:

a. I used 1 habanero and 1 serrano, but I suspect red works better instead of habanero for more flavor and less heat! Man, 1 habanero can still inflame an entire pan of curry...

b. Use whatever curry-friendly spices you have on hand, feel free to substitute. Use cheap spices -- I got cinnamon, nutmeg and poultry seasoning for pretty a buck each per bottle at the supermarket

references (inspirations):

* http://www.cooks.com/rec/view/0,1627,154184-240193,00.html
* http://www.asianonlinerecipes.com/online_recipes/singaporemalaysia/chicken-with-spicy-coconut-milk-gravy.php

imprinting

2009-06-13T06:47:00.000-07:00

“The Earth is the cradle of the mind, but one cannot stay in the cradle forever.”

-- Konstantin Tsiolkovsky

***

Gexin saw the Old Man’s hands. Venturing forth from his suit, they were tough and sinewy, and their veins gripped his skin like iron chains. Stains of discolouration and lines of creases bore testament to a vigour slowly withering away, but they receded underneath his skin whenever he readjusted his grip on his pen. As the Old Man continued writing, Gexin took occasional glances at the streaks of white on the underside of his arms -- the only hints of tenderness. In some ways, the Old Man’s hands were a perfect extension of his face. But his face occasionally broke out into smiles. His hands never smiled.

The Old Man had finished penning, and there was a momentary stare of silence as the ballpoint ceased its frictions against the surface of the paper.

“Sign here, please.” He sighed as Gexin cautiously took the pen from him. “What happened to you, my dear Gexin? You used to be so well-behaved. Did we fail you? Or is this your hidden nature?”

Gexin remembered this office from years back: its old tomes and ancient cedar; the sunlight that could only peek in; the electric candles that cast many shadows. Once it had seemed so vast – vast in its imposition, vast in its majesty, vast in its ability to induce fear. But now he was a little taller, a little more cynical, and the office seemed a little smaller, a little more suffocating. The awards and distinctions that decorated the office now somehow seemed less monumental, less – what was the word? Less superhuman.

“Perhaps it’s because I grew up sir.”

The Old Man frowned. But the youth’s expression did not waver.

***

X for Congress. Bring change! Take on Washington!

2008-10-03T14:44:00.000-07:00

Ah, behold the Collective, bereft of individuality, subservient to the lowest common denominator, hated by Ayn Rand. It is the "Power" to fight against; the "Man" to stick it to, the "Establishment" that must be disestablished. It is full of antipathy, nonchalance about social ills, myopic self-interest, and entrenched corruption. It is powerful, repressive, monolithic -- the reason why "Government" has a capital G.

Yet, what is the source of the Collective's evil, stubbornness and malice? Who exactly makes up "the political machine"? What is the root entity responsible for the Collective's actions? Is it Bush? Pelosi? Lee Kuan Yew? Why does Iraq proliferate with violence even after Saddam has been long hung?

It is election season in the United States. Everyone is clamouring for change; with the spectacular collapse of some of the biggest financial firms, everyone is collectively applauding the increasing misfortune of everyone on Wall Street. Rightly deserved, those scumbag i-bankers and CEOs! Stick it to the man! Stickkkk ittttt! And in this weeks' debates, if it was not already observed long ago, we see that both Obama and McCain are competing as reformers. Obama will apparently fight for change we can believe in; McCain the Maverick will deal Big Oil (a decidedly evil Collective) a crushing blow in Washington. Governor Palin, mayor, Miss Alaska, and soccer-mom, spent much of yesterday's VP debate stressing how she intends to address the plight of the average middle-class American, tackling the Big Guys (that oh-so-evil Collective) in the political arena.

Then today I saw one of those posters outside Newcomb Dining Hall -- we should apparently cast some vote for a fresh face I've never heard of for Representative in order to take on Washington. There's something romantic about the idea -- romantically quixotic.

But how did it come, do you think, that the capital of a nation, named after its first commander-in-chief, painstakingly-planned and meant to be a prestigious cornerstone, is also used as a symbol of the greed, degeneration, and repression of the evil Collective? Take on Washington, the White House, the Fed. We must take it on, because the majority of people running the country thus far are adversaries to be defeated; we must hand the Collective's ass over to it, subjugate it totally, destroy it. Lenin would be proud, for he advocated that the machinery of the State should be totally suppressed.

The strange thing is, everyone is clamouring to disestablish the Establishment. Everyone wishes to fight the Power. Everyone thinks there is an institutional evil that must be broken. Truly, The Man must be very cunning and insidious, for it prevails even when everyone is against it!

Indeed, the insidious nature of The Man -- the evil Collective -- can be best seen when it prevails in the most unstable times. No matter how many times its secret police ravages the streets, it rules -- even when its own agents fight each other or get purged. Its original founders, who were once vicious and powerful themselves, fall and are removed from power -- but the Party, the epitome of the evil Collective, rumbles on like a tank, its viciousness never ceasing, not even with the death of the power broker Mao Zedong. Perhaps the Party's evil is really due to the Gang of Four? No, because the Party suddenly decides to cease following the orders of the Gang of Four, choosing to arrest them such that Hua Guofeng now rules. But is the Party's power controlled by him? Nay, for Hu Yaobang succeeds him, and then in turn by Zhao Ziyang; and despite all their sweeping reforms as the Collective's leaders, their power too, proves insignificant in the face of the evil Collective.

The agency behind their removal is always omnipotent: they are arrested, deposed, exiled, fallen out of favour; the downfall caused by the same dark Cloud that also hung over that prominent member of the Inner Party that Winston is asked to discredit. Surely then, the true source of the Party's evil must be Deng Xiaoping, who reveals his power behind the throne as he works to oust Zhao Ziyang, his own disciple. But nay, Deng Xiaoping dies -- and the Party continues to rule iron-fisted. The evil Collective insidiously penetrates governments all over the world, for despite the death of Ivan IV the Terrible, despite the removal of the Romanovs, despite the passing of Stalin and Lenin, despite the CCCP's fall -- the corruption and violence of the mobster government that everyone hates persists.

The story really began in the middle sixties, the period of the great purges in which the original leaders of the Revolution were wiped out once and for all. By 1970 none of them was left, except Big Brother himself. All the rest had by that time been exposed as traitors and counter-revolutionaries .... A few had simply disappeared, while the majority had been executed after spectacular public trials at which they made confession of their crimes.

(Nineteen-Eighty-Four, part 1 ch. 7)

Here the omnipotence of the Collective is truly frightening -- it has the ability to transcend and destroy its own architects. How then does it come to pass that an institution can be the adversary of all its members, and yet stand as powerful as ever? Is there something magical about the union of individuals and the social contract they form, that gives rise to a magical hydra-ish organism that thrives as an ethereal entity that haunts all its members, suppressing individualism, silencing dissent and inhibiting independent thought?

Perhaps a better metaphor would be centrifugal force. It is a strange kind of force, for it appears out of nowhere on the whole, even when it doesn't show up on individual free body diagrams. It is almost like a "phantom" force. But those who are familiar with physics know that no law of physics is being violated, for the problem is one of perspective; outside the collective system, one can see how each individual member of the Collective, defending their own self-interest, individually imposes a penalty on everyone, generating a force that pushes the collective towards common suffering; but when the Collective is the reference frame that the observer is in, it appears that a phantom force is causing everyone misery. It is a malevolent form of the invisible hand -- but it has no will of its own; it is merely the sum of the individual wills of others.

And so, we return to take on Washington. In Washington D.C., there are no gun battles, no secret police besides the Secret Service, no purges, coups or hangings. And yet all the candidates treat Washington like a battlefield. Bring change to America -- vote for me and I will fight the cronies in Washington! Yet nearly every Congressman promises that to his or her constituents in one form or other. Perhaps it has not occurred to them that they are all fighting against each other.

There is no question that there is institutional evil, corruption, inefficiency and incompetence. But to try to fight it with an "us versus them" attitude, treating everyone else in the institution as an adversary, only contributes to the institutional forces that appear to commonly repress everyone. The problems of Collectives are not inherent to Collectives themselves. There is nothing inherently bad about a union of individuals. No, they are ultimately due to all the individuals that comprise and participate in them. It only seems that individualism disappears when collectively grouped, and this makes it much easier to attack inhuman collective entities (or certain prominent leaders) as the problem, without having to judge the actions of ourselves and individual peers. Society is a fraud, they say. But aren't you part of it?

à la folie ... pas du tout

2008-07-29T15:46:00.000-07:00

Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, "I find no pleasure in them." (Ecclesiastes, 12:1)

***

Le sablier s'écoule. Il y a tant à faire et tellement peu de temps pour le faire, avant la Mort!

mais t'es toujours jeune ... t'inquiètes pas!
[un sourire réservé]
apprends à apprécier la vie .... vas-y 'mollo'. y'a pas besoin d'aller tellement vite dans la vie.

Mais, je l'apprécie vraiment! C'est tout simplement que je regrette que j'ais perdu tant de temps quand je suis plus jeune. Vous connaissez le sentiment qu'on regarde ses copains et on les envie...

ben -- tu t'es déjà attendu à c'que je le connaisse! tu comprends alors que c'sentiment n'est pas étrange pour tout l'monde!

Etes-vous comme tout le monde?

[un rire, doux mais prolongé]
on est humain -- c'est tout qui est important.

Votre réponse ne m'aide pas beaucoup.

c'est normal qu'un jeune se compare à tout l'monde. c'est même sain ... mais tu vois, t'es pas défini par tes pairs, seulement par toi-même--

Tout le monde dit cela! Cela devient un peu de cliché!

clichés ont souvent des vérités ...

Moi, je les déteste.

Les clichés? Ou les vérités?

... [la silence]

ah tu vois, que je sois vieux n'implique pas que j'ais cessé de jouer!

Jouer, oui, ne pensez pas que j'ais oublié comment jouer!

ben, c'est reciproque.

Ou étais-je? Ah, oui. Le sablier s'écoule...

Et ... et j'ai peur que j'ai passé la période critique pour tant de choses critiques. C'est ma vraie inquiétude. Je m'inquiète précisement parce que la jeunesse ne dure pas long et je vois me fuir chaque jour. Je vois devenir adulte moi et mes amis. Imaginez! Nous ... sommes en train de devenir comme nos parents! Ne riez pas ... cela me fait peur. Pourquoi les adultes cessent de faire la fête? Je sais que je ne peux pas rester innocent à jamais! C'est amusant, être précoce. Mais on ne peut pas rester toujours précoce, car la Nature nous fait grandir... ma peur c'est que je ne pourrai pas m'amuser amplement, et maintenant je crains que ce soit trop tard pour apprécier la compagnie des amis précoces...

...alors, qu'en pensez-vous?

***

en attendant le changement (de régime)

2008-06-03T07:06:00.000-07:00

Let's go.

We can't.

Why not?

We're waiting for Reform.

Ah! What'll we do, what'll we do!

Wait. Hope.

But I can't go on like this! You're sure it was here?

What?

That we were to wait.

They said by the tree. Do you see any others?

What is it?

I don't know. It must be the Tree of Hope.

Where are the leaves?

It must be dead.

No more ambition.

Or perhaps it's not the season.

le voyage de la vie, part YAY

2008-03-31T19:52:00.000-07:00

Avec la garde montante
nous arrivons, nous voilà!
Sonne, trompette éclatante!
Ta ra ta ta ta ra ta ta.
Nous marchons, la tête haute
comme de petits soldats,
marquant, sans faire de faute,
une, deux, marquant le pas.
Les épaules en arrière
et la poitrine en dehors,
les bras de cette manière,
tombant tout le long du corps.
Avec la garde montante
nous arrivons, nous voilà!
Sonne, trompette éclatante!
Ta ra ta ta ta ra ta ta.
Ta ra ta ta ra ta ta
Ta ra ta ta ra ta ta ta

*********

No need for the emergency plan.

I got in!

goodly worst week

2008-01-26T18:21:00.000-08:00

had barely any sleep this last week of second quarter stop determines one of the final things to go on the mid-year report to colleges stop never thought id survive but did stop french phonetics linear algebra classes afterschool so much craziness in schedule stop side note, this format of writing got so much zero-copula hor, so much like singlish leh stop debate scrimmage thursday 2-1 swim meet 9 second and 7 second drop for free and breast respectively stop debate at states got so many elimination rounds knocked out 90% of contestants stop i survived until the final round stop each time was like heng ah stop third place in the state of maine stop in a hurry to finish work drink caffeine hence telegram format end

et elle est arrivée

2008-01-01T02:04:00.000-08:00

One day in 1999, as a fourth grader reading Time, I thought, "They're going to complete the International Space Station in 2008? But that's such a long time away! That's forever!"

But even as a nine-year-old, I knew there was a sense of inevitability to it. It is a strange feeling, to know something unimaginable is going to be inevitable -- sort of like the college applications I am still finishing.

And so it has come.

The ISS is still rather far from complete, though.

ADHD

2007-12-29T14:00:00.000-08:00

I know it's hard dear;
I can only manage a brief sojourn
amongst these seas of stars
My mind is remembering, wandering
softly pondering --
between these two travails
Be not disquieted dear;
my stay may be short
but my absence will be shorter:
How does the respite
press us through the toil!
The race must be finished--

And then I shall return with you
forever.

epiphanies

2007-11-19T02:45:00.000-08:00

Rewatching one of the scenes from I Not Stupid suddenly made me realise that the Terry's parents weren't just overbearing parents... they were an analogy to Singapore's government lol. (Like see this scene.) I don't think I noticed it before. Jack Neo takes two swipes in one scene:

Mom: Where's the angbao (red packet) you got for your birthday, ah?
Girl: That's my money! Why must I give it to you every time?
Mom: I will help you save! Invest ah! Don't worry! I'll give it back to you when you're old enough!
Girl: When will you give it back to us?
Boy: I know! When I'm an old man!
Mom: You think you very funny izzit? Stop talking nonsense!

I just realised it was a reference to CPF.

qui défend les dents

2007-08-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

l'extraction pourquoi?
l'extraction nique sa ....

Okay, let's not go down that road.

I just had my wisdom teeth taken out this morning, general anaesthesia and all. My sister did too, but she had an easier time, as being younger, her roots are less developed. Also, yay for state medical subsidies!

Waking up from general anaesthesia can be a funny thing. Knowing from eye surgery last year, I was prepared and self-conscious of the things you say in your half-conscious, half-drugged state. Anaesthesia is an interesting self-study of consciousness and feeling. I am not sure if I started feeling the dull discomfort while asleep, but as I woke up I was only half-aware of the discomfort. It wasn't like, "boom! Wake up! Owww!" At first, you don't realise you've woken up, but I guess because my eyes weren't blindfolded like they were the last time, you realise it quicker. It's funny, because it was like the discomfort had always been there -- meaning it seems to have been gradually present in my sleep. Yet the procedure seems to have taken place in 2 seconds. A curious thing, anyway.

--
It's also funny how effective ibuprofen can be ... I didn't think it would eliminate 98% of the discomfort. Some of the discomfort is coming back now though, and it's not six hours yet! Well, time for Cossacks and Tropico to try to get myself distracted (and there is the rest of the summer assignment to finish).

rencontrer, deuxieme partie

2006-10-05T05:21:00.000-07:00

I've decided to write this
in a method deviating from the norm
call it stream-of-consciousness / metric / Samuel Cheam style
or whatever
I just felt it would be more poignant
especially since it's more rant and expression
than actual prose-y argument
On the way I might discard
or play around with
grammar too
ah, linguistics.

several things have happened since I last wrote rencontrer
not only comments, but a candidate visit and various other things
and some further reflection
it is the realisation of prevalence, pervasion and the fear
of futility, perhaps
which gives rise to the sentiment of defiance
why are these institutions in place?
screw them! hit them! strike them down!
and the adults would probably comment
ah, so typical of the youth
rebels without a cause

but au contraire, I say
for they caused my grievance
with their arrogance
with their created distance
questions of affordance
and every instance
of segregation
of walls that divide
and yet they still continue the deception
with their self-justification
of a "multiracial" society without the integration
and their continuation
of the discrimination
without admittance
they - be of both sides of the ocean

they created my cause
me, and my generation
the globalism that arose out of
the desire for money
and pulled us along into the whirlwind
and yet they still advise us
be prepared for the uncertain future
in this changing globalised world
(NDP rally speeches anyone)
not comprehending the magnitude of their actions
not realising that there are consequences
beyond their short-sighted concern for money
fuck them, I say (and yes I do reiterate)
give me socialism or give me death!
better death than an empty life
full of ignorance and superficiality, without interaction

it is curious how a song you cannot comprehend
can bring you to such utter tears
sung in a language you once knew, long long ago
or empathy with another
in a language you never knew
to be brought back to a moment
rife with emotion
even as the work does pile up

oh cruel administrations, how blind they can be!
oblivious to the obvious, the need of students
they want to encourage diversity (yeah yeah)
but their ignorance and idiocy extend so
that they do not have the idea of what facilities
it entails
be it one side of the Pacific
or the l'autre.

sometimes you see, school facilities
are more than just a tangible, physical thing
they boast: twelve different computer labs, nine different science labs, fifty different classrooms, just a block away from the MRT station (or instant bus pickup for the Americans), greenhouses, centrifuges, air-conditioning
as though that is all you can improve about a school

so I be talking with several students about the lamentable state of affairs
about the lack of an afterschool culture, and they all agree
would it not be nice to at least bloodingly open the cafeteria afterschool
the administration in their blinding arrogance
doth seem to presume there would be no market
as though students have no need of peer culture
or any sort of interaction outside class
where co-curricular activities last only an hour afterschool
or worse, one session every two weeks
and how doth one expect?
blinding arrogance, they
infidel ignorance
as they do not recognise the value of identity
or the convenience of a gath'ring place
and should they be surprised by low academic standard?

Last Friday, did visit thus
Darlene Curley, a candidate for the House of Reps, first district
for Maine (basically Tom Allen's seat lah)
it is quite queer how things turn around!
I do remember when he first visited Cape Elizabeth in first grade
and now ten years later his opponents visit us
while I append a Singlish particle to his name
I shan't elaborate too much about the visit beyond
what is necessary to state here
namely because my assigned reflection
is already written thus
but even she did realise
(unique she was, for she was one of the
rare candidates who seemed to be able to defer
to the common citizen
and appreciate their suggestions
as opposed to the other high-horse candidates)
and on educational policy
did she inquire our sentiments on the tracking system
and I did express how academic performance, streaming
and school culture and interaction are closely intertwined
and some acknowledgement did she give
and I do hope it thus will find some effect on her
and in my expressed lamentation
and recount of Curley's visit yesterday
even my Politics and Government teacher concurred with me

both sides of the Pacific are at fault
but in different areas
I got my memoir assignment back a few days ago
alas, A-minus (93)
it suits me not, and I do be given
oppurtunity for revision; I have to rework nostalgia, resent, emotion
social commentary
into some kind of poignant rhetorical prose
but yet it doth remind me
but my teacher does not seem to get
that the issue of Singapore's deference to the "foreign talents"
was the larger issue I was trying to illustrate
but ah well, I suppose it's my delivery

the issue doth beckon to me so much thus
that I did write my French essay for
mes devoirs
which was based on the debate of the
school tracking (streaming) system
and the various honours systems
and top ten recognitions
that do pursue ensuivant
and did not culture's issue revolve around again!
culture and performance are inseparable
wrote two pages' worth
multitasking the history period before French
such is the strength of my sentiment
and my accusation of the administration's arrogance
that thus I did express
I do wonder curiously her reaction

I be watching the public access channel
yesterday, 'twas it 'bout the South Portland
educational department
a whole list of interesting statistics
failure rates, disciplinary issues,
test performances
(there are many areas in which the school
falls below national and state standard)
surveys of the school culture

did they question thus last year
about our sentiments
from substance abuse
to attitudes about college
and culture it doth be!
but it be a very small part of the bigger atmosphere
of a greater kind of culture
I want interaction
but how can you expect academic excellence
if you do not create an environment that will warrant
students to share their strengths with one another?

be they complaining thus
about trying to improve the school's standing
and scores
and doth come the realisation
that despite the lack of rigid streaming mandated
by the central government - the culture
of permittance, of resignation
to a phased system
doth take up the equivalent role

their faults are no better than Singapore
with their fuss about school ranking and standing
and are they aveugled and blind
I am disgusted with the entire American system
phase 1, phase 2, phase 3, honors-phase-4, advanced-placement
more castes than Singapore, in fact

we have a bulk of students in the lower phases (streams)
what can we do about it?
nothing
is the sentiment
NOTHING
or so they think
so they accept
and acceptance
is the greatest tragedy of all

or they want to resolve it through
an egalitarian, unified system
but it is useless
without the interaction, is it not

why are things this way
doth my inquisition pour forth
the adults seem to set up walls
at the most unnecessary of places
and then they carelessly leave us about
with no concern whatsoever
like it doesn't matter if cliques exist
if such attitudes prevail
that's high school they say
that's life

there, you see! They've rejected diversity
through their very resignation
because apparently the American high school state of affairs
is to be accepted above all else
it's useless to incorporate anything other

such say me, the idealist
say to the world-weary administration
the cynic doth inquire, what's the use
but to resign is the greatest evil of all.
to submit to make the declaration:
i-do-not-speak

I detest the lack of interaction
and these are the limited things I have seen
mind you,
because being in the AP "stream" (phase 5)
excludes me from seeing the average
and especially the worst
state of affairs
so can thus imagine;
there are 1200 students in the school
but rarely do any of them interact beyond their cliques

there is no pride in being "top"
when it means one is cut off from
everybody else
and that others suffer
tugging at the conscience

the ESL teachers complain that their students
are missing out in the classes such as Precalculus
due to the language barier
and they have thus entreated for tutors
but without the appropriate culture few will come forth
especially since the schedule permits not as such
a schedule created by a blind administration

school is primarily for academic education
not socialisation, so they say
but is not cross-culturalism part of education
and does not it shape attitude?
the administration perhaps wants not
any burden of being a place of venue
of a frothing stream of students
long after school has ended

is that not the mindset?
we don't want to be burdened
with the liability
any more than we have to
perhaps they do think
especially since we're Americans
with cars
remember, America got no public transport
we no need no proletarian public transport
cuz we're free to guzzle fossil fuel as much as we want
that's why, that's our culture, hor
afterschool culture, you say?
that's so UnAmerican ... we don't need it here,
especially since the proper way is for parents
to drive them off in the most rapid of circumstances
or for the students to be bussed home ASAP
five minutes after the school bell rings
end of liability, that's that
out of sight, out of mind
the sooner, the better
perhaps that is what they do think

why set up an interacting culture at school
when they can organise their own cliques and games
at home, rather than relying on an encouraging environment to do it
those antisocial brats
they perhaps do think;
what a bloody arrogant administration
for there can be no other reason not to restrict
the afterschool culture, can there not?

oh what irony!
Curley was confronting the problem of youth drinking
and youth substance abuse
and how it's because they have "nothing else to do"
that my friends, are the virtues of American culture
get them home as soon as possible
preferably by an SUV that has an MPG ratio below 15
so they can plop down on the bed and sniff some
and get stoned
ah, the All-American afterschool culture
definitely something you want to partake in

and oh, the administration doth still have the nerve
to complain about delinquent youth
when they refuse to act
with some ineffective student government it doth have
not even making the effort to organise it properly
refusing to sound out their contacts and
engage each representative
Arrogant, greedy, lazy and blind
that is the typical American high school administration for you
and they wonder why
there are so many problems within the school

all money and no play
makes for a very conceited education
and a very unsuccessful one

and Singapore, you are not exempt
this is that thus be asked:
why why why do you carry out your segregation
regardless of race (especially on IC cards), language (native speakers only) or religion
(even though the role model Malay has to be a "good Muslim")
are you not just as blind at times
though I do admit your afterschool culture is a tad superior
your mugging/cramming culture is not

why must the international schools be segregated from the rest of the nation
and though that it be thus admitted that syllabuses be different
does it warrant thus that interactions between schools occur so rarely
unless they be forced?
when already the interactions between normal schools themselves
are so uncommon
ah, Singapore, the place where "special needs" and "special stream" be not
derogatory labels
must need the special needs of the ang moh expats hor
who don't want their ang moh children contaminated
with the commoner filth of Singaporeans, amirite

can they see what an obvious facilitation this is
but such is their lust for money
in this globalised world
that they ignore the alienation they have created
and should they be surprised or angered thus
when their children no longer identify with them
after being lugged about the world?

I am of two worlds
je sommes deux
but here I invoke both experiences into one
for that is my identity.

I am a fish with wings; a bird with fins

2006-08-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

When I discover people in common I tend to become fascinated and suddenly barrage them with inquiries ... in real life that too, except I am more reserved. Well I just discovered while bloghopping this blog (starting at non-TCK Mr. Wang, several expat blogs en route, then this). A lot of them seem to come from Australia. First, there was the TKGS girl who moved to Australia during her childhood then moved back into Singapore upper primary onwards; now here's a Malay Muslim who was raised in Australia but then came to Singapore and established roots there. And I'm trying not to commit any faux pas here, because it might be awkward to read about the words of a stranger talking about you in the third person should they be interested into following my trail left via comments.

But anyhow, it always seems that I only meet people of such common grounds online. There are American-born Asians, but it seems they don't usually feel any childhood ties, only ancestral ones. It's just like I don't have particularly strong attachments to mainland China , even though my grandfather came from there. I'm into Chinese history, cuisine and its peoples, but I don't feel nostalgic visiting China - that is a significant difference.

Speaking of my grandfather, he would be an interesting point of discussion, except I don't speak Mandarin, but he doesn't understand Mandarin anyway. He is a retired police officer of senior rank and I bet he has lots of stories from his younger days, but it's a pity I don't speak Cantonese or Malay because those are his languages. Sometimes, I search for people of kindred spirit in terms of cross-identity, but I ignore my own ancestors. But how do I communicate with my senior relatives when I am faced with a huge language barrier?

The people who can communicate with their grandparents, they are in fact quite lucky. Often, even those ethnic Chinese able to speak in Mandarin (and therefore have a leg up compared to me when communicating with relatives), are not able to converse with their grandparents. This is because of the Speak Mandarin Campaign's emphasis on not speaking dialects - the older generation doesn't pick up Mandarin while the younger generation doesn't pick up dialects. As for me, I can't even write in Chinese to communicate ad tabulum (a neologism I just invented to mean by written form), so even those of my peers who are estranged by the suppression of dialects are luckier in this respect.

At my school there are immigrants from mainland China, Vietnam, Saudi Arabia. The person from Saudi Arabia has a good command of English, so ironically I was able to establish more common ground with him than the immigrants from the East Asian countries. But being an immigrant is different from being a cross-immigrant, a distinction I make. I would say that moving from original country A to country B, and moving back to country A, (and any ensuing moving) with years of residency in both countries during childhood, is more of the criteria. Of course, homeland roots can also be replaced by cultural and religious roots - it is the sentiment of being tied strongly to two places at once. General immigrants are different because they wish to start a new life in a new land; but for TCKs a life in only one land is unbearable. But how does one live in multiple lands at the same time?

I think the children of expatriates have quite similar regards as well, from reading about their experiences online, and changing my previous prejudices about them that I had. (This prejudice is paradoxical, but you can see my archives and this poem I wrote to find out why.) Such prejudices were underscored when a nAmerican girl joined my French class when I studied at the MOELC in Singapore. However she seemed a bit too trite/bimboish for me (by reading fashion magazines in class), so I wasn't especially motivated to inquire anything - but now I think it was my loss. On top of that, I am often too timid to inquire anything at all. They say, "men don't like to ask for directions", but for me, I am not too inclined to ask for directions in my travels not because of pride. Rather it's partly because to maintain the concept of adventure, partly because of timidity.

Mrs. Dulac (third grade teacher) methinks, has a Pond Cove photo of me with the American class, still posted with her other 13 classes she has taught over 14 years. Perhaps I will check in soon. As I am aware from a notice pasted outside a door (with the notice saying that he would be sparsely available for a while), the teachers return even during summer vacation. I probably didn't meet them during my revisitations to the building because I would enter before even the clock struck seven. Hey, blame the daylight: the sun rises at 5:00 am, naturally I go out at 4:30 am.

The students of Pond Cove are like another world, another set of interactions. The Wesley set; the Cape Elizabeth set; the Fairfield set; the ACSI set; the MOELC set; the SPHS set. Six different sets of peers throughout my 11 or so years of education and sixteen years of my life. My dream has always been to merge them all. Even in third grade, a common theme in my dreams was to bring my Wesley friends and my Cape Elizabeth friends together, and there was an unconscious teleportal between my grandmother's house in Telok Blangah and my house in Cape Elizabeth. Imagine, a teleportal! I won't have to be torn apart, with my heart split across the world.

Songs like "Xi shui chang liu" (by Liang Wen Fu) and "Graduation" (by Vitamin C) speak to me, because they talk about friendship in regards to the ravages of time (I understand the Chinese primarily by memorising the translation and correlating the translated words to each character). Yet the writers didn't have six different sets of childhood schoolmates. Now, having a different class each year is different; because one still sees their old class. Compare someone whose residence history is: Singapore; America; Singapore; America. Oh, the peculiarities of cross-immigration!

Being a cross-immigrant is why I have a burning desire to visit Iraq, and meet its people. Reading Riverbend's latest post (which talks about emigration from Iraq) makes me think though that despite how miserable my identity is, there's some luck to it. At least I am a third-culture kid (TCK) with ties to an authoritarian-yet-safe-and-warm Singapore, that I can always return to. This is opposed to having yearning ties to a country torn apart by war and where no one is safe, a yearning even though having emigrated from it seeking a better life. At least travellers to Iraq can always change their mind if the situation is too hot for even Indiana-Jones-type people ... but it's not very easy changing one's native homeland.

Some Singaporeans say that the people who manage to get out of the authoritarian crippled-democracy of Singapore are lucky. They say that there is no use being confined by ties to Singapore to be prevented from achieving one's ambitions, they are world citizens, not confined by geopolitics. I very much concur about the idea of world citizenship. But they do not possibly know how impossible a solution that is for me, and possibly other individuals, just to simply emigrate. I can't just simply emigrate, because I've already migrated to the United States - twice. Besides, Singapore is still a very nice place to live in, even when Chee Soon Juan gets sued for contempt of court because he said there was no judicial independence in Singapore.

I see faults in my country, but I see its merits, and I think it will be easier to correct its faults than it is to try to resurrect its merits in another country such as the US. "Migrate to a better land" is simply not an option. "Going back home" is not such a clear-cut option either. What is home? Singapore is my home. The United States was my home and technically is currently my home for the time being. Jia (家). It's the eternal problem of the grass is greener on the other side. My home is in two different lands.

I call myself a world citizen, but cultural yearnings lead me to Singapore. But then again it is because of cross-immigrant identity that world citizenry appeals to me. I desire for an international cultural human identity that prevails over an identity confined by political boundaries, no more tortured by the concept of having separate sets of friends, different worlds.

All those fiction books about whoa! a portal to another world! Opening a wardrobe and going to another land! Putting toys in a cupboard and having them come alive! Classically: falling down a rabbit hole into a wacked up environment! Well, you see for me, it's not just about exploration and magic, but reconciliation. I think the child that has lived in his or her hometown for his or her lifetime, can very well do without that magic portal to that fairy tale world with the castle. For me in contrast, I need that magic portal between Portland, Maine and Singapore, between the snow and the jungle.

Which is why I yearn for shoestring travel, wanderlust on a bicycle, or perhaps being a private pilot, and yes, cross-country running ... they are all ways to conquer distance, that painful distance in my heart, one I have been ever resenting since childhood. This only hurts when my stamina is really not that good. Why am I passionate about running when I suck at it? (ie. only getting 15:00 for 2.4 km) Well, now you know why.

Which is why I don't like driving. It's traditional. It's too confined. With bicycles, you can go anywhere. With planes, you can go anywhere. Driving between Singapore and Maine is definitely not an option, while bicycle travel speaks of resourcefulness (and maybe raft-travel in between), and planes speak of ultimate freedom. I mean by private plane, mind you. Flying by airline isn't so attractive because of associations with corporate influence.

Everything I am: linguistics - for English, French, Singlish, Chinese (proficiency in that order from most to least), politics (libertarian socialism, anarchism, internationalism, rejection of the SGEM and rejecting the initiatie to "hire native speakers"), taste in music .... I realise all of that is linked to my root cross-identity somehow. My childhood fascination with "secret passages" is probably subconsciously linked with my resentment of distance, along with why I love to take mass transit, or why I love to walk everywhere. The only thing that possibly transcends this is perhaps my religious identity. Why am I an anarchist communist? Because I believe a communalist society is how God ultimately wants us to interact with each other. And my rejection of political boundaries fits quite nicely.

Some people have called me disintegral, as though I am someone who smugly picks up ideologies from the shopping aisle. Perhaps they say this because I hold various views that seem of different worlds, or views that seem mutually exclusive. But don't you see? I am of different worlds, and I want to bring them together. They all ultimately have a root of my personality which I (think that I) have identified. Christianity *is* communist (in the purest original sense of the term, Kropotkin and Goldman my friends, not the bastardised definitions by Marx and Lenin) and that is why I adhere to it. Faith is useless without freedom and that is why I believe liberal democracy is a minimum requirement of any society, if not anarchism.

And just look! I'm a person of Han Chinese ethnicity with an American accent, who uses British spelling, code switches into Singlish, writes in French and indulges in Malay songs, all the while being unable to understand Chinese! Is that not the ultimate cultural mess-up, or what?

That's metacognition pour moi.