Agitato

I went down to Specialists’ Shopping Centre for the walk-in-interview for the job at John Little’s Warehouse Sale. The sale is to be on from 15-18 January at the Singapore Expo, and John Little is contracting people for the job.

According to the newspaper article, the interview starts at 10am. However, given the kiasu mentality of people, it’s better to be there early. Anyway queuing is a national sport; what better than to spend a fine Tuesday morning engaged in a healthy activity?

So I arrived there 9:30am with my mother who had to accompany me because of the dental appointment in the afternoon. There was already a queue that snaked an L-shape around the corner leading to the John Little office. I only tolerated riding an SBS Transit bus only because I got a new CD/MP3/VCD player, which shut out the irritating TV Mobile that always irritates commuters but the top people at SBS don’t seem to realise because they have their own cars and don’t have to suffer like us poor souls, who also need to pay more money every time to ride public transport. I had Sibelius’ Symphony No. 2 (managed to listen to the first two movements on the bus) to accompany me on my trip.

At 10am they divided us into two groups: the adults went into another line: my contemporaries and I were brought into a seminar room, where we were quickly briefed and asked to choose the positions that we wanted to take up. Then we went to sign up. I was called back for an orientation session on Friday, 2pm, same place.

Half an hour and it was finished. But there was a horrifically long queue outside after that: the line ran all the way to the lifts and the car park. I think people were still joining the queue at the ground floor.

Since I was finished early, we decided to rush down to the National Dental Centre for my appointment. I got my appointment time with Dr Tang wrong and we rushed there like mad, running up the hill to the building with my mother panting away. There was a delay again at the lobby where we had to sign the SARS form and wait for the counter staff to verify… then it’s another mad rush to the lift and to the fourth floor clinic. The only goal was to arrive there before the appointment time and ask Dr Tang if it were okay to see her then. I took out the card, flipped it open… 11:30am.

So we were 25 minutes early.

Better early than never

Today Dr Tang took out the rubber separators; one of them had broken, possibly because I gnawed on it too much yesterday. In replacement metal rings were slipped in on the lower teeth. It was much more painful, because the rubber separators had been more flexible. Now the metal compressed onto the tooth and squeezed the life out of it. I asked, “Is wearing braces like that?” “Every tooth will feel like that.” Terrible!

I was to go for lunch before the tooth extraction, otherwise my whole mouth would be so bloody that I couldn’t possible eat anything. We went to Chinatown for pork porridge. The porridge was easy to eat; first time I ever ate it without chewing, but it slid down my throat like the flume ride at the theme park. The pork was harder to chew: my teeth were sore from the pressure exerted by the metal rings against the tooth. Mince pork was easier to handle, but provided a metallic taste… it just didn’t look like mince pork.

Lunch over, I hurried back to the NDC to brush my teeth before the extraction. My mother was fussing about me like a kid… asking me if I was ready for it… terribly disgusting… thanks very much, the doctor reiterated, “Oh, don’t worry, he’s a brave boy.” I’m eighteen going on nineteen, not seven going on eight.

“Okay, there’s four jabs. I’m going to inject into the gums…” In the needle went… “I need you to concentrate on your breathing…” I breathed in, breathed out… very quickly… “Good! Good! Keep it up…” I threw the feeling of pain out of my mind.

“Now, the second jab is going to more painful, but very, very quickly.” In the needle went. A flame shot into my brain. Then it was finished.

The doctor massaged my gum area to let the anaesthesia flow through. There was a bitter sensation. “Doc… it feels bitter…” “Yes it does; you can wash it later.” He let me wash.

“Now, I’m going to pull your teeth now. You’ll feel pressure, not pain.” I nodded, too excited and nervous to speak.

Then there was this hard, yanking sensation. My tooth was being tugged at with a lot of force. My head was tossed left, right, left, right… then the doctor held up a bloodied fang… “There, it’s out.”

I was shocked to see my tooth.

He finished off with the lower tooth. Finally it was over.

“You want to keep your tooth?” a nurse asked me. I nodded my approval.

The part of the mouth where the drug had bee injected felt puffy and light, as if someone inflated it with a pump. The doctor asked me to wash; the water was infused with blood. He stuffed a piece of gauze over the wound to absorb the blood was trickling like a fountain. “Change the gauze every thirty minutes” was the instruction as he handed me two packets of gauze. The nurse gave me my two extracted tooth, in a plastic bag.

I was regretfully gung-ho enough to still go shopping; we were going to Sim Lim Square, and I needed a new pair of earphones for my player. It was terribly difficult walking around with a piece of gauze in the mouth. I couldn’t talk properly: I handed a few incomprehensible murmurs that only I could understand because I was the one who thought up the words anyway.

At Sim Lim I changed the first gauze. It was so saturated that when I squeezed it blood actually dripped. Twice the blood accumulated in my mouth and threatened to spill over the lips and onto the floor. The problem was I couldn’t tell when the blood spilt because the affected part of my mouth was neutralised by the anaesthesia. Anyway I was happy acquiring a pair of Koss earphones, which I listened to Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony with great glee while my parents shopped at OG and the great praise of communism effectively wiped out the Chinese New Year muzak. So much for Sino-Soviet splits.

When I got home I went straight to bed. It was too antagonising having to compose with blood dripping onto the computer. Woke up for a quick dinner of white rice porridge with marmite; the only thing I could handle then with my teeth effectively out of action. I slept quite fitfully that night.

Next morning I found a pool of blood on my pillow and that part of the mattress where my head lay upon.

And if that’s not grotesque enough, tune in to the Addams family.  ¶ 12/31/2003 03:07:00 pm 0 comments

  Andante: Cycling to Sentosa

I am a long-distance cyclist; every few days, especially during these holidays when I’m quite free (and stuck up with my father at home) I take my bicycle for a spin around town. I alternate my directions: if I go up east (towards Pasir Ris and Changi) one week, the next I’ll go to the Central Business District; following that I head for Toa Payoh and Bishan (there’s a short cut via the park connector at the edge of Potong Pasir).

Anyway this would be a three-person riding trip: my father, my brother and me. And it was to be conducted at snail’s pace (in my opinion, because I’m a fast cyclist), a sort of leisurely Sunday cycle. We’d cycle to Sentosa via the coast after a good breakfast at Tanjong Rhu. To spare the agony of listening to my old wives’ tale of route-spinning, I’ll put it very simply in short form, and describe some of the interesting features of selected places:

Tanjong Rhu hawker centre, where we had breakfast

Tanjong Rhu Road, followed by the crossing of the Suspension Bridge just outside the Indoor Stadium

Merdaka Bridge, after which we descended via the stairway to Marina Promenade; I took the chance to train myself for National Service by carrying my bicycle followed by my brothers’… quite pathetic.

Marina Promenade, which led us to the Esplanade-Theatres on the Bay

From here, we crossed the Esplanade bridge to the Merlion Park. McDonald’s has kindly sponsored the installation of artistic benches at the Park: obviously the slogan “I’m lovin’ it” gives it away. Most interesting was a pair of toilet bowls with their openings sealed up and people can sit on it and pose for candid shots without getting their arses stuck in the bowl. Well, unless One Fullerton is happy to pay its security guards an added bonus for pulling its visitors out of the toilet bowl. Or it could earn extra profits by devising a game: “Break the Toilet Bowl!” where somebody sits on the bowl, gets stuck in it, and like what the Asean leaders did at the recent gathering in Japan, grab a hammer and give the china a double whammy. And the Johor Piping Company, which has to be credited for its bowls, will be the Official Supplier of Toilet Bowls for Merlion Park.

Anyway we followed the Singapore River; it’s a smooth ride up till the Alexander Canal where the pavement hits the road. Interesting how Singapore River and Alexander Canal are actually the same two things altogether. Just that the tourists don’t see the Alexander Canal because it’s a man-made thing that can’t be seen from the moon like the Great Wall of China so it’s no business listing it in the tourism guide to cheat people. So you can guess how equally polluted the Singapore River is, if people continually dirty up the Canal – well, about a month ago when I scooted by the Singapore River I thought I’d mistaken it for the Yellow River – of course the water was yellow. I wonder if the picture of the father and son fishing by the River in my Chemistry textbook was a fraud and a pro-government campaign. Come on, it’s to be endorsed by the Ministry of Education, so obviously it has to look good right?

It rained along the route, when we were approaching Lower Delta Road; my brother finally got a chance to rest his arse of which he has been complaining of pains having sat on the bicycle seat for too long – I wonder at the word “long” when we only left the Zion Road food centre just fifteen minutes ago, where we sat for half and hour and sipped drinks, al-fresco by the river… oops, canal.

Okay, I’ll spare the details… we continued down Lower Delta Road and made our way to Telok Blangah Road via Kampong Bahru Road. Sounds confusing? Go check the Street Directory. Fast forward, and we’re at the Sentosa Gateway. They’re preparing to build the new monorail, so there’s lots of obstacles about the road and we have to keep making detours along the bridge. Along the way we stop for photographs. It’s a pretty clear day after the rain. Superstar Virgo sits at its berth at the Singapore Cruise Centre. But the waterway’s rather quiet now, since the ferry service from the mainland to Sentosa was withdrawn.

The ticketing counter for pedestrians and cyclists (remember that cyclists are not pedestrians… the police said that cyclists are to display public-spiritedness keep their arses off the pavements or be slapped by a fine ticket or possibly an old auntie you’ve narrowly missed) is… well… a hole. Just a little window with a rear-view mirror sticking out to make sure no cheapskate tries to get into their resort for free. We pay our money, get a map of the island and go in.

First thing first: lunch. We wanted hawker fare, so obviously the Sentosa Food Centre. The place was like what you saw in Mexico when people went for their siesta. Hawkers and customers were lazing around; there was this fountain in the middle of the courtyard that must have been spoilt for ages and nobody bothered to fix it. But the water’s formed a stagnant pool and it’s now a hazardous mosquito-breeding ground. Compare it to the fountains outside the Ferry Terminal: it’s a good thing the tourists don’t see this.

Obviously the look of the place didn’t whet our appetite for its food, no matter how diverse the variety: Thai, Seafood, Chicken Rice, Western et cetera. Burger King looked like the play-safe method: nothing can go wrong with Burger King, except pricing and the possibility of mad-cow disease and having to be quarantined and face the wrath of a 5% increase in hospital bills when you can’t get out by the New Year. Anyway Burger King’s prices would send us mad before any old cow could, so we ended up scrimping on one set meal for all three of us.

We decided to follow the northern coastline of the island first, taking in the view of the Keppel Harbour. You don’t get this kind of cycling route everyday: with the forest to your left and the water just to your right. Harbour Front doesn’t look the same anymore. The drab grey Cable Car Towers has now been transformed into a metallic blue skyscraper with two other towers flanking its sides, and it has been bestowed with a much more classy and glorious title of “Harbour Front Tower II” instead of the equally drab “Cable Car Towers”. The old maritime museum and exhibition halls have all been torn down. In front of Mount Faber is the ugly yet useful flyover that quickens travel time from one end to the other of Telok Blangah Road.

We cycled to the beachfront: the place looked horribly artificial, as if Hollywood (or Bollywood, for that matter) came here, shot a love scene on the beach and decided to donate their sets for our city rats to roam on a Sunday. The sand was too white to be true (look at how horrifically dirty East Coast beach is – and speaking of “dirty”, Changi Beach too). Next we’ll see the adoption of the Hawaiian national dress (I don’t know what’s that called) as the official dress code for the patronisation of Sentosa beaches.

The company’s building lots of new stuff, so there are construction sites everywhere. The largest fenced perimeter is the new Palawan monorail station, which helps to bring in Feng Shui for Merlion Walk because they created such a big gap from the Walk to the sea. And they made us suffer by having to navigate a detour.

Palawan Beach is extremely crowded; there’s an animal show here, so my brother and father go watch it while I take the chance to cycle around and explore the place on my own. I cycle further up east towards Tanjong Beach, where The Nation’s Countdown to 2004 will be held on the night of 31 December 2003. The place looked horrifically dead. I was shocked to see a wasteland of tall, wild grass to my right; as if I was in some undeveloped area in Punggol. Further down was the beach itself, shut to the public for the technical preparations. While I was there, men were busy fixing the audio equipment.

At the end of the road was a roundabout; to head further would land one at the new Sentosa Cove. Perhaps they should connect the MRT from Harbour Front to Sentosa Cove so that we can waive the entrance fee of $2. Also it will help to ease congestion at the Sentosa Gateway when Mercedes and BMWs and Rolls Royce honk at each other to get to Sentosa Cove. Oh dear, they’d better not fix an ERP gantry at the bridge, otherwise we’ll be flattening our pockets.

Speaking about cars, Sentosa’s roads are a perfect place to get killed, hence the name “Pulau Blakang Mati”, where “Mati” means “death”. They probably changed it to “Sentosa” which means “tranquillity” because it’s the equivalent of “rest in peace and to go peacefully”. Previously they only allowed taxis, which had to go straight to the hotels. The only other vehicles were the company’s shuttle buses. Now they allow tour buses and private cars. What next? Why not build an airbase on the island and make Tony Fernandes happy? Then passengers can make a 30-minute trip across the Causeway instead of a 7-hour one. I nearly got killed by a speedster who thought he was going down memory lane to Devil’s Bend.

About the jungle trail: it’s a beautiful cycling path that leads one into the depths of the Secondary rainforest that makes up Mount Imbiah (where the Sentosa cable car station is located). It’s a bit like trekking through the forests of Bukit Timah hill or MacRitchie Reservoir; however, you may choose to cycle through it. It’s not a muddied, BMX style ride, but rather a nicely-tarred road with the occasional bumps caused by the tree roots penetrating into the pavement.

When I join my kinsmen again, we take the direction of Tanjong Beach but head towards inland through the “Challenge Trail”. This crazy cycling track forces you to go up the steep slope; the adjacent Allanbrooke Road is no better either, but rewards you when you reach the top. The road brings us past the old British buildings that were once used for military purposes, now run-down and waiting to be redeveloped. Some day I should return for a night exploration to search for those “things”. It is likely that the place has paranormal power within, for it probably met with a lot of carnage in the past as a military outpost. Or I should ask my First Uncle; he was located here during his National Service.

This is a self-named trail, called the “Mati” trail. It begins with Sijori Wondergolf, which my spoilt-brat brother wanted to play. Upon arriving at its entrance, we see no ticketing counter, but rather, a restaurant on the ground floor. The whole place resembles a ghost town, with its pools and waterfalls empty, and eerily, nobody is about. Eventually my father coaxes my brother to give it up because “we are on a fruitless search”. We turn to head home: there’s a long ride ahead.

So it’s down the hill, passing the entrance of Volcano Land. It’s a pathetic piece of money-wasting shit that should just die. Fantasy Island and Asian Village died terrible deaths; they were in fact quite good attractions, but bad pricing. Fantasy Island is a carpark now: how bad can it go? Asian Village is still there, picking up the maggots. Only Cinemania is left, offering a cheap thrill for those who go to blazes about their money.

Eight years ago I visited Volcano Land. The main attraction is a walk through an artificial cave. Then you step into a stupid elevator that doesn’t move: you know the guide is cheating you when she tells you to “look up at the ceiling” where there’s a screen showing a false lift shaft. At the end of the ride – hardly a ride considering the cabin never moved – the door on the opposite side of the lift opens and you walk out, on the same level as before, through another series of caves with artificial rocks, and you come into this huge auditorium for a thirty-minute show. At the end of it all, a door on the left opens and you see – of all things – the gift shop. What an anti-climax. And the volcano that’s supposed to erupt: just a burp of smoke. It’s a money-cheating attraction. Strangely it still lives on and continues to con unsuspecting people, especially those tourists with the fat wallets.

Downhill, my bicycle suffers: the front breaks malfunction. Not really malfunction in its truest sense, but the entire mechanism lurches every time I hit the breaks and the rubber pad on the right side will rub against the metal rim of the wheel, making it extremely taxing to cycle. We went to the bicycle rental kiosk just outside the ferry terminal; the owner said he didn’t do repairs. But anyway he lent us his toolbox and we spent a gratifying twenty minutes greasing ourselves up and never able to solve the problem. So I had to cycle with only one working break. Slowly. (I should change the speed to Adagio; better still: Lento).

Fine. We leave Sentosa for the two-hour journey back home. I only feel sad that I didn’t get my monorail ride. Never mind, I’LL BE BACK  ¶ 12/28/2003 12:11:00 pm 0 comments

  I was sitting for my History Three examinations… I was feeling extremely feverish. Mr Bala was the invigilator. I raised my hand, “Please, Sir… I’m very sick… may I be excused…”

“NO! Continue with the test!”

I was struggling. I couldn’t write. I just didn’t have the energy to do so. I couldn’t even think – how do I plan my essay?

And… before the test, I went to this food court. It looked like the one in the basement of Katong Shopping Centre, except… how is it on the fourth floor of the same mall? Someone wanted to order Yong Tau Foo… coaxed me to eat… “No, I am very full…”

Suddenly, I wake up. I’m in my bed, not in the exam hall.

But I’m feeling extremely feverish, and my stomach has that bloated feeling – that sensation of over-eating and feeling extremely full.

Later, when I see the doctor, I’m diagnosed with stomach flu.

I just have a thought: could it have been the over-stuffing of meat on Tuesday?  ¶ 12/06/2003 10:35:00 pm 0 comments

  Welcome to meat heaven.

Here, for a price of one, you are piled up with lots and lots of meat, and you can stay there as long as you like to play cannibal.

This restaurant is Brazil Churrascaria, along the posh Sixth Avenue of the luxurious district of Bukit Timah. As its name suggests, they serve Brazilian-style grilled meat on skewers. The waiters will walk around with this skewer, supported by a bowl underneath to contain the oil and juices that drip down, and they’ll come to your table and ask you if you like this and that. You can tell them the portion you’d like, and with a great carving knife they will take it down onto your plate. There’s all parts of the body of the various domesticated animals (the cow, the pig, the chicken, the sheep, the fish).

Of course when you’re sick of all the meat there’s always the salad bar for a change of taste. They have the usual European salad, as well as local fried vegetables cooked in such a way with the herbs and such that it’s all so tantalising.

Megan, Joshua and Nigel have champagne. I am a die-hard teetotaller (out of no choice because I cannot hold my drink), so I opt for some non-alcoholic mixed-fruit cocktail, which goes down well with my food.

The price may kill the wallet, but hey, who cares? This is a once-in-a-while thing; you don’t do it so often. So what the hell, just spend the money and bring on the food!

* * *

After dinner we head down to Boat Quay for drinks, and possibly the hope of meeting up with 34/02, of whom the majority are at Grad Night at the Ritz Carlton hotel.

The three of us (Joshua is older than us) have decided to skip Grad Night. There are a variety of reasons:

1. We can’t be bothered dressing up nicely for the event, and in the case of Megan, putting on makeup. I’d probably just put on my of my checked short-sleeved shirts, worn tucked-out, with contrasting multi-pocket long pants (from Giordano’s) and my broken-down Diadora black shoe and turn up at the hotel, probably only to be kicked out because I didn’t quite make the dress-code.

2. The programme is ought to be stupid. They’ll get some lame host who will play lame games with the audience. In fact I think everyone will just sit there and talk cock to their table mates and ignore the host. For your information, my prediction was very correct. Wilfred told us that the dinner started late; it took ages to change courses; by the time we leave Boat Quay for home, I think they’re only halfway through the dinner. Thank heavens we didn’t go.

3. The music is not exactly to my taste, and it’ll be torture just to go there. I suffered during the Gamma House Function in February – I didn’t make plans to attend, but was there only on a request to perform. Thank goodness the Chamber Ensemble had its concert on the same day, and I immediately bought a ticket at the door and went in to soothe my nerves.

Back to the four of us. We settled for Jazz at Boat Quay, where they have a live performance at 9:30pm. The band consists of a pianist, bass guitarist and drummer. I pay close attention to the music. Although I don’t know the pieces well, they are intriguing… think of a trio where there is constant dialogue between all the instruments. The music fires my imagination.

I order some strange cocktail which has some fizzy sensation; I was told it was some fruit mixture with Sprite. The others are amused at it. I am given some of the liquor they are drinking and asked to give it a try; it’s quite mild, they tell me. I don’t think I can take it: I take a sip, and there’s this wallowing feeling that makes my mouth sick. The liquid seems reluctant to go down. I just force myself to swallow it.

I am a genuine teetotaller.  ¶ 12/02/2003 11:49:00 am 0 comments