Wonder who might be reading this?

Chee Soon Juan gets sued again. If we get a dollar every time that happens, we might collect enough for one week’s worth of ERP expenses. Poor Chee, you have to feel for him, he is like a political rag doll that is flung around by the big boys, yet he comes back with puppy eyes and asks for more. To most Singaporeans, Chee has the political standing of a crippled insect whose place is to make the lives of the big guns just that bit less perfect. He is an annoyance, and much as I am no fan of his, I feel that he has an important role to play.

In Singapore, placing the word ‘opposition’ in the same sentence with the word ‘PAP’ gives a forlorn sense of futileness. Given the stringent rules in the game, there aren’t many ways one can play the devil’s advocate. You can follow the rules, do everything right and perhaps find inconspicuous longevity in the political game as Chiam has. Or be the quiet citizen who may every now and then blog his political view while harbouring a nervous suspicion over who may actually be reading those words. Or the last and least celebrated approach, the soap-box-squealing ex-psychology lecturer who collects summons for defamation suits instead of Christmas cards.

Chee is no fool. He is pushed against the corner with nothing to lose which ironically releases his damaging worst. He cries foul as often as the government gives away money before election, yet he is not just a balloon of hot air. He is Dan Brown when it comes to fabricating conspiracy theories and he uses the old saying ‘there is no smoke without fire’ to good effect. Yet at the same time, his allegations are not completely baseless. Not backed with facts, because if he was able to, he wouldn’t be bankrupted. He listens to the whispers at coffee shops and amplifies them. He suffers the consequences with the hope of becoming a political martyr despite having only his wife, 3 daughters and a few fellow bankruptees who would care enough to celebrate his endeavors.

In Chee’s most recent and strategic outcry, he draws the parallels between the NKF saga and the national governance of Singapore. Just before General Election some more, perfect. Be it a knee-jerk reaction or a traditional practice of fanning the smoke, the Strait Times announces that Chee’s allegation is dignified by a defamation suit. And as predictably as a B-grade chick’s flick, Chee will lose the suit – how do you prove that the government does not operate in transparency? The logic of proving that an allegation is not not correct is quite hopeless; especially when you are trying to say that to Davinder Singh. Chee will sit in a cell with a daily 45mins break to brush his teeth for 7 weeks, but he will do so with a smile. Suddenly, the word nepotism will ring at the back of people’s head – Chee 1, Lee 0. But it will soon be forgotten when the government announces new shares to give away. Chee continues to sit in his cell, but what the heck, you can’t be bankrupted twice.

Bum On My Lounge Floor

It is the 7th April. I really should be sitting in my new office, peering through my window blinds at the lunch hour traffic as I procrastinate my day away in blissful daydreaming. Yet, I still find myself engaging in an extended liaison between my bum cheeks and my lounge carpet because I have to work from home. It has been more than a month and the new office was meant to be ready before the Germans surrendered. They say I’ll be at my new desk next Tuesday, but I know that with a bit of luck, I should be happy if the office was ready before Christmas.

Working from home is not easy. Apart from having to work on the floor, there are the distractions of mid-day TV programmes like Oprah and Judge Judy and self-inflicted commitments such as keeping my PSP company and regular testing of the springs on my Slumberland mattress. There is also Raft the furry white cat. Raft is my neighbour’s cat and I have taken a keen adoration for it. I’m not really cat lover, but since I spend so much time at home nowadays, Raft is my only window for mammal-mammal interaction. He is a really adorable cat with fur soft as erm…. fur, and a face that looks perpetually squished against a glass door. I think I should stop letting it into my house, as I suspect that the owner smells something fishy, and that is not just the tuna and chicken treat I feed Raft when I’m in the mood for feline affection.

Work is also getting increasingly demanding. Despite spending more than 2 years in my research, it only just occurred to me that PhD is actually a difficult ordeal. Most candidates would have figured that out in the first six months, but I say why waste time worrying when you could take it easy and spend time indulging yourself in squandering scholarship money? Being in my final year, the story is quite different now. It is not really the amount of work I have to do, because after living the life of a maltreated cur in the army, hard work doesn’t bother me. It is the stress and frustration of not knowing what to do that drives me up the wall and sometimes through it. It is the feeling of being lost in a forest somewhere in Poland with aid of a needle-less compass. At the end of the day when the frustration gets the better of you, you would turn to the clock in seek of an escape… … the clock reads 6pm, perhaps it is time to take a break – you deserve it. You would then pack up with weary eyes and look forward to….. …. Alas! You realised that you have been rob from the pleasure of going home after work!

I need my office, they better have it by Tuesday. Otherwise we will have one fat cat in the neighbourhood.

a chat with Jameson

It has been a very long week and I’m weary. I would love to say there hasn’t been any entry in this blog for more than a fortnight because I have been too busy living a life. Instead, I have been too busy pondering about one. It is the end of the day and I figured that I’ll pen down a few lines before I turn in for the night. I really don’t have anything in mind which I particularly want to share; there are thoughts in my mind, and they waft across like ink in water – formless, silent yet restless.

My lounge is dimly lid by four burning candles, each releasing a subtle scent; a strange mix of blueberry and ocean breeze. Nora is weeping the blues in her sweetly haunting vocals. Jameson swims in my old English rock glass… … good’O Jameson. I take solace in my introspection… ….

Sometimes I wonder where I am heading, which is probably ironic since everything appears to be so well-planned ahead of me. Maybe paradoxically, it is within these plans that I find restlessness. The problem with a plan is that when doubts creep in, like seeping water of a leaky vessel, faith threatens to fall apart. It is a very dangerous thing to lose, faith is. Not in religious means, as I still stand within an under-defined realm when religion is concerned. Faith that I am heading in the right direction and despite the momentary discomfort, everything will be just fine. I wish that I could find it within myself to find these words but more often than not, I choose the easy way out by seeking reassurance from an external source. Otherwise, I would find myself living within my past glory and completely forgetting about the journey ahead.

Where is the line? The line that differentiates dwelling, if not being engulfed in the past from drawing strength from memories of yesteryears? This wisdom escapes me. I draw a smile when I sometimes take a stroll down memory lane and relive some of the warmest memories that I will always bring with me. Yet the same memories will sadden me when I realise that I will not find them again when tomorrow comes. I wish that life can be simpler sometimes, where you could go to bed with certainty that you would wake with optimism, not doubts.

I wish…. …. I close my eyes and I wish….. …