Yes, you need a degree

Society needs university graduates. People need degrees. But not in the way the Singaporean government has made it out to be.

A university education should be about learning. Not blind pragmatism. It's true that school should be about skills for the work place, but the definition of those skills should not be limited to the same narrow field as the occupation.

It has been said that only 10% of what we learn in school is applicable in the work place. University takes up only four of 16 years in a typical JC student's study path. Then wouldn't the government's syllabus for the first 12 years be largely useless? Of course not! It is up to the individual to apply, however, whenever, whatever. Mathematics principles can be used in communication, geography cases in algorithm, history in strategy.

The classification of knowledge was never cast in stone firstly: computer, I.T., maths, physics, sociology, communication for example.

University opens minds. It puts you on the shoulders of giants. It illuminates the dance of ideas between the heads of many. It opens your eyes to see that thing you see every day differently. All before the brains of a typical undergraduate matures.

And for that, those who cannot bother with learning, should not bother with university.

Running and motivation

 

I succumbed. I ran my first 8km (4x2km) in 10 years today. The familiar scents of the rubber track and freshly cut grass juxtaposed with the consciousness I'm no longer running as a student. Through the humdrum of pounding feet, a few thoughts dropped in:

 

1. Without an end, the same task gets dreadful

2. The nearer to the end, the further it looks

3. Focus on the task, the process, the environment, the end, the goal, anything but yourself. Being self-centred gives up hope, and welcomes negativity

4. Breaks, work. But too many breaks pull you back.

5. Know yourself to be able to achieve more.

6. Negotiate and compromise, but never give up hope.

 

I am ready for my first speaking engagement!

Flood

In that instant, so many things rushed through my mind.

I really want to, but are you that person to?

That, is my great uncle

He has eight children and 13 grandchildren, together with their partners, and his wife of 60 years, all by his bedside on the morning of 11 May 2014. 30 people, including the domestic help, crowded into the upgraded three-room flat, all holding him the center of their world those two days.

He has awesome grandchildren, awesome children, an amazing wife, a beautiful family. They gave him a leg rub when he groaned, the children crowded around to tell him it was Chinese New Year and he must be happy, they told each other to do stuff for him, and they did. No complaints, no whining, no fear, no resistance.

The adults talk to anyone and everyone. They talk to the children, they talk to their mother, they talk to friends. They laugh at each other, with each other and for each other.

The children jump on top of each other and play. The boy with the smirk and swagger and bleached blonde hair eagerly brings out a set of chess to play with ah boy. They all joke and jab at each other. Then scramble over to pick up their things and head over to the coffin to wave goodbye before following their parents home.

Familiar, comfortable and naturally so. This is family.

He has a beautiful family.

That is my granduncle.

Shoes

Beautiful red shoes. Lovely cherry red. Centre of attention. Object of envy.

Alas, a pebble. Bites, nibbles, grinds, scratches, claws.

Endurance, ever possible. What's more, comfortable supporting cushions, beautiful assuring mother.

Endurance, starts dwindling. Cushions harden, protecting pebble. Still, beautiful assuring mother.

Stop, check. Bleeding, blistering feet. Pain, exhaustion, weariness.

Yet, beautiful red shoes, lovely cherry red.

原来我们比彼此意识的还要相同

我们，都固执。
坚持自己的想法，坚持自己的作风，坚持自己的理念，坚持自己爱的方式。
只是成长的环境不同，所以经历的事情不一样。结果，处事方式和看法不一。
原来我们比彼此意识的还要相同

白天不做亏心事

为了半夜不怕鬼敲门，小明就索性地把家里所有的门给拆了。

可是，鬼却觉得奇怪。它们明明都敲不了门。。

Silence

Such is when I enjoy the privacy of the two-wheeler.

What a beautiful sight. And I wish that the sun will be the only fireball all the children in the world will ever see.

Please stop fighting, Syria.

Tree

To see a magpie steal the straw from a sparrow's nest.
Just because the sparrow has

我。。们。

因为想念，所以踏出了第一步。
原来，就等我这一步。
原来，就等我。
很高兴我们仍然还是。
很庆幸我们依旧都是。
很开心我们以后也会是。

The pen is mightier than the sword

They say the pen is mightier then the sword. And so it is, with the English language. It cuts through to the heart without shedding a drop of blood. Yet, as it sends you into the thick of the action, it can't quite pack the nuances in human emotions. It is swift, it is concise, it hits the bull's eye.

Perhaps too quickly. It is a stripped down language, hardly bringing with it the burdens of usage. It is like the rolling stone that collects no moss. Easily moving from one place to another without changing too much. It is light, it is unladen, it doesn't stop to carry what else you have to give it. It is carefree.

Or perhaps it is because I have already crafted my writing as such. Sharpening the arrowhead to shoot through any bull's eye that might stand in the way. Knowing not just to hit at the mark, but to pierce through it. And perhaps because of this I made my arrow not to be thick and clumsy. It has to be lean and deft.

Perhaps one too many times of resting the arrow on the crossbow, I have unknowingly left a resting mark that only this arrow fits. Any others, I miss my mark.

Perhaps. Maybe after all, in the English language, this was how it was meant to be.

Flash

I heard something really scary today and suddenly I didn't want to think. My mind darted to and fro, back and forth, refusing to linger for more than a moment, and then suddenly it stopped. Void. Bewildered.

Lord, make no bad happen. And so I proclaim in Jesus' name.

Amen.

One year on

Hey Eggy, guess what? HUGE things happened on Thursday. The lifeblood of the MRT went down. Marina Bay to Braddell in both directions. It was all over the news, every one talked and ranted about it. Only people denying the severity is SMRT.

Then of course, there I was, feverish the whole day, trying to find an opportunity to slip home earlier. But everything had to fall in line nicely right in front of me. When I finally had the go ahead to tap my access card out, our first world country's public transport system crashed.

One year on, both events I had first person encounter in made front page headlines. What a way to remember you.

Just to let you know, which you already do, everyone here at home misses you.

What makes a teacher

I remember ever telling this MP how important it was for secondary school students to like their teacher, and very literally, I saw my words fall flat off her.

It might seem like it's pandering to the immaturity of adolescence, but how many actually realise that secondary school students liking their teacher has nothing to do with superficial popularity. It's simply about being a good teacher.

By the nature of the job, a person is institutionalised as a teacher when he or she is certified to be better versed in the syllabus than the receivers of the education. But it does not mean that the students are innately dependent on you because of that. I myself had deliberately slept through every biology lesson in secondary four, and did the learning independently at home. (But I started the self-studying late and only managed an A2. Bleah.)

Teaching is not just about delivering the syllabus, it is also about being a mentor to the students who have been entrusted to you. It's really not about calling their parents when they didn't do their homework (seriously, this is secondary school), neither is it about yelling and thinking they are hopeless at the slightest issue, nor is it about talking down and expecting to be accorded respect because of your position. Also, it is not about becoming one of them.

It's about being that guiding light they can turn to.

If we were to just pause and reflect on our school days, I think it wouldn't be difficult for us to point out what about that teacher makes us naturally want to sit up and listen.

It's the teacher's genuine heart to nurture you.

Knowing the syllabus is a given; that is what you are trained and paid to do. Being a mentor, is what so many in the teaching profession have neglected.

Sixteen turning seventeen is a chaotic age of curiosity and uncertainty. Students are very quickly moving into a different phase in life, and everything to them is simultaneously possible and unreachable. Can you imagine how much the teacher who sees them more often than their parents can influence! Even more so when you are with at-risk children, how pivotal you can be to stop problems before they take root.

It is true that a lot of this is contingent on the student's own attitude. But even the best student with the most commendable attitude would not choose a mentor who cares only about the textbook. Elitist, authoritarian and downright naive teachers are, needless to say, out of the question.

Conversely, it is also true that there are too many students out there who gave up on their studies because their teachers first gave up on them.

Granted, there are many teachers who wholeheartedly want to groom the students in their care, and I give them my most heartfelt salute. And for the few I have had the great fortune to have met, thank you for teaching me what I really need in life.

But having been taught for 18 years, and having accessed the staff room for 3 months, and increasingly knowing more who teach, I am finding myself meeting a majority who misinterpret the teaching vocation. And I really shudder when I look at them and wonder "Will this by the teacher of my kids?"

Perhaps we all need to stop and ask ourselves, are you who you want to teach your children?

What makes the city different?

How is it that if you were to be plucked from where you were and placed somewhere in Singapore, you would instantly know if you were in the city or in the heartlands?

Is it because of the people, the buildings, or the roads?

What makes the city so instantly distinguishable from the suburban heartlands?

Is it the people who are more often dressed in smart collars and shoes? Is it the fast walking pace down the busy streets?

Or maybe it is the buildings that are taller than your eyes can see? Or the glass and steel that make every building shine through the skies?

Could it be the roads that wind into every conceivable space? Or the cars that flow through in an endless stream?

But, do not the people rushing in the city first come from the heartlands? Are not the buildings all climbing higher and higher? Do not the roads grow even thinner, longer and denser as we stretch out into the heartlands?

How could it be that we can immediately identify?

How is it that we just know?

Maybe, it's not any of those.

Maybe, it's us.

Maybe, because we are home.

Self-Help Groups in Singapore

I was trying to finish up "The Fortune at the Bottom of the Pyramid" the past two days, when I came across, again, the story on ICICI Bank's efforts in granting Indian villagers access to micro finance and credit.

Out of the many, well, superfluous, cases the book presented, and the idealistic tone the pages were soaked in, this case stood out to me as something practical and, now that I know the word, sustainable.

I used to think that any efforts in alleviating poverty necessitated donations and compassion. And while I found it a noble calling, I often had a nagging sense that charitable efforts were an end in itself, and from all perspectives, uncertain.

Forgive my naivety, for I was not more than a teenager when those thoughts first took root.

ICICI's story was what made me stop and reflect.

Central to their outreach efforts was this concept of Self-Help Groups (SHG). It is somewhat similar to the neighbourhood tontines Singapore used to have in the 80s, but with the additional backing and oversight of a bank. In these groups of 20, women were pooled together by the bank to contribute regular amounts to a group savings account. They had their own internal systems which pressured members' attendance at their monthly meetings, timely contribution to the savings account, and collectively decided on issues such as the allocation of funds to a certain member for pre-specified emergency needs.

Of course, the process carries much more complexity than the quick summary I have given. The amount of local knowledge needed to select suitable candidates for one is an aspect that cannot be easily captured in quick writing.

What sprung out to me in this endeavor is the bank's initiative to build a culture of saving in rural India. ICICI outlined this in 3 steps:

1. Learn to save.
2. Learn to lend what you have saved (referring to the SHG as a whole).
3. Learn to borrow responsibly.

That, is banking on the right foot.

And I could not help but wonder if I were to bring the SHG idea into Singapore, what would it be?

In our context, I feel that the government's commitment would be key to the success of this idea. So instead of having a bank as the main organiser, it would be a government body supervising the project, with the partnership of a local bank.

Similar to India, the SHGs will be formed based on proximity, that is, an SHG is made up of people from the same neighbourhood, and filled with people who have similar experience in poverty.

Granted, I think most Singaporeans know how to save. But what I like from the SHG is the use of "social collateral" to push for savings, and this social collateral is what I think many of the poor in Singapore could have. With the way it is structured, the SHG becomes somewhat of a support-cum-pressure group, acting as a constant reminder they are not alone and that there are people walking the same road as them.

And I will take this further, and have an insurance company cover these SHGs with Group Health and Group Life Insurance. My aim here, is such that any one member's sudden medical emergency will not adversely affect the group as a whole, and to lower the premiums so that it is cheaper than any individual who buys it alone. Because we are talking about the poorest of the poor here in Singapore, government subsidies must also kick in quickly and efficiently when health emergencies arrive (which is why the state plays a big role in this adaptation).

The book also mentioned how the women took out uncollaterized loans from ICICI after they have proved their mettle to save to make improvements to their village. Since HDB estates are well-charted for development, there is no much need for such community projects. In that case, my idea for any surplus (meaning any amount left over after adequately covering for all emergencies) would be for small treats to every member's household, such as a top-up to their water and electricity supplies, another fan for each house, or bread and Milo for every family.

The cost of living and cost of business has made the government paramount to any effort to help the poorest group of people in Singapore. We don't have a vast market of untapped bottom of pyramid consumers that allows for an exponential growth of SHGs, something that ICICI has also stated is necessary for profits to be made. And we don't have goods or space that are cheap enough so that a small bank loan is enough to help someone start a small business and thereafter increase his income.

Singapore, has become too rich to afford that.

But now that we know the government's importance in helping the low-income people, can we be sure that the wards that did not vote for white-on-white would get the necessary assistance as well?
(Think: lift upgrading, communal space rental, People's Association, grassroots advisers)

Hebe's concert DVD

Hey people (if there are any out there), I accidentally got Hebe's concert DVD when I wanted to get her CD. Does anyone this perfect, brand new DVD for $20? It's 10% cheaper than what's out there and she did a pretty cool rendition of Jolin's 舞娘 in that concert.

Please please buy from me..

 

Salesgirls that give all things sales a bad name

You know, if there is one thing I seriously detest, it will be salesgirls who make their defective products out to be the very best.

The first (milder) case I met was at this Potpur shop in Wisma, where this girl tried to make me buy everything I glanced at even though I was looking for some office wear and she kept throwing me some ah lian party clothes. When I told her that what I thought she chose wasn't formal enough, I got that standard response of such assholes '不会！很多office girl 都喜欢！他们都讲可以穿去office!"

KNN. I know my office better or you and your oh-so-fake eyelashes and bumpy skin know my office better?

The second, outright cheating, case was by this woman at the shoe shop Pazzion in Marina Square.

I saw a pair of shoes, a very pretty beige in colour with wooden heels. Finally a viable alternative to my boring black heels and a better match to all my black dresses! BUT, strange.. This pair of pretty beige shoes had creases in one of its shoes that no other shoe of the same design had. So I took it to the salesgirl and asked for a new pair.

She cast a look at it and came back to me, saying the shoe is like that. And to prove her point, she wanted to take out a pair of the black version to show it to me. But when she took it out, she very quickly shoved it back into the box, and pretended (or so I interpreted) to be distracted by me saying that I already had the black ones.

So anyway after looking at the creases for moments longer, I decided it was simply unacceptable, and asked for a new pair. She very promptly replied me that there weren't anymore of them. Because they were new arrivals. How much more blatant could that lie be.

Then she very kindly offered to call up other outlets to ask if they had any, and sure enough, 5 minutes of talking on the phone later, assuming she did, she told me other outlets didn't have anymore of those shoes. Disappointed, I decided to take my leave. The crease was simply too eye-catching to me.

Just before I left, I asked her when will new stock arrive, and she told me in a really matter-of-fact way, that any more of the same design will only come in September to October, and that was really the last pair available.

Upon leaving the shop, Alvin googled for other Pazzion outlets in Singapore, and found one in Bugis. We went there, saw the same pair of pretty beige shoes, asked for my size and got one immediately. Perfect, smooth and beautiful.

That bitch seriously deserves to have her face slapped swollen!

The shredder and me

I used to think that I had a sadistic streak in me that I wasn't afraid of showing. I love setting paper on fire, shredding my notes to oblivion, and tearing things up. The coward in me must commence those acts with only legal and legitimate reasons of course.

The other day, when I finally found the office shredder empty enough, I decided to take the liberty to shred away my waste paper for the day. But by the time I put in the second or third piece of ultra-confidential information, watching it quiver helplessly down the mouth of the mechanical shredder, I suddenly felt shy of my delight in episodes of destruction.

In the end, the remaining lot got deposited into the confidential waste bin, whole.