Sinfonia da Vita, Op. 1
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Dear Readers,
I'm so sorry I haven't been able to blog consistently these days, because I have been busy with the house moving and my preparation for NS... also I apologise for not being able to provide new posts for at least two weeks or so until I end my confinement period - or perhaps a week, if they do let us out for Good Friday (well they had better, because it's a PUBLIC HOLIDAY).
Well everyone, stay happy and cheerful!
Regards
August aka Ah Gong Shostakovich, Grand Patriarch, Order of the Russian Empire (okay, I got the spelling right this time :P) ¶ 3/30/2004 10:59:00 pm 0 comments
I'm so sorry I haven't been able to blog consistently these days, because I have been busy with the house moving and my preparation for NS... also I apologise for not being able to provide new posts for at least two weeks or so until I end my confinement period - or perhaps a week, if they do let us out for Good Friday (well they had better, because it's a PUBLIC HOLIDAY).
Well everyone, stay happy and cheerful!
Regards
August aka Ah Gong Shostakovich, Grand Patriarch, Order of the Russian Empire (okay, I got the spelling right this time :P) ¶ 3/30/2004 10:59:00 pm 0 comments
TODAY
Monday, March 29, 2004
THE NUDGE THAT MATTERS
By LOH CHEE KONG
… “The reason why I didn’t join the PAP is because of their style. Even now, it is an elitist party,” he said.
“I think it was the 1984 election, during one the rallies at Fullerton, when Lee Kuan Yew asked, ‘Who is this Chiam See Tong? We looked up his record and he has only got six Cs in his school certificate.’
“This sums up the PAP thinking. Do you think I want to join a party that runs down people like that? I would never.
“The most important thing is that you have to respect an individual – whether he’s a rain surgeon or a dustman. I think we should give him the same respect. If you don’t give respect to your own citizens, I think you condemn them forever.” …
* * *
Mr Chiam See Tong has been the stronghold of the Opposition for decades. I think Lee Kuan Yew has done a very wrong by personally stigmatising Mr Chiam at the elections. So what if Mr Lee is a Cambridge student who was in Raffles College? Yes, he was a bright kid, and afterwards a bright man who led his country to the way it is today.
Yet it is very wrong to look down on people who do not do as well. Precisely this trend has been prevalent in many Singaporean families. Children are compared. They are pushed to get A’s. They are forced to choose subjects that will help them get into industries that are making a lot of money in Singapore, even though they have their interests elsewhere in areas which are quite grossly-neglected but getting a fair deal of attention now. Do you really think that a top student is fantastically good? Look at my recent post about this scholar who got accepted for a scholarship but was not happy with it. If we are going to create this kind of fuckers, Singapore will soon be finished. Think of it: this kind of shit who runs our government, they lack the human touch at all, and will create a gap between those at the top and those at the bottom.
I don’t really care how Mr Chiam fared in school. He has done a lot for the people in Potong Pasir. I don’t live there, but I have visited the estate and found it a very pleasant , well-kept place. Mr Chiam is a revered politician, and I respect him very much. At the same time, I beg all those people out there, please do not look solely at one level of results, but one’s overall achievement.
* * *
What’s all this talk about a nanny state? It’s not that we cannot speak up for ourselves, but just that the majority of Singaporeans speak up among their gossips, which we all don’t know. There are the few who voice out their concerns to the newspapers and to the authorities. But with regards to the latter, their pleas are almost ignored. The government and authorities always stand firm to their policy and will try very hard to explain why they are correct. Or if a customer complains, they will “investigate” or “look into the matter”.
It’s about saving one’s skin. Face.
The elitist culture has caught on everywhere. In school, students try to outdo one another to vie for the top institutions at every stage of their education. They want the prestige at the end, and they want a comfortable life for themselves. Sadly, this has given rise to blatant discrimination. Weaker students are picked on – admit it, whether the lower classes have EM3 or some other name, the students will still feel the stigma attached, because they are all grouped together and theirs is a small group compared to the others. The arts and humanities are still leap-frog by the maths and sciences, even if the government does something about the state of the arts in Singapore. Sports is still not viewed as a stable career unlike other countries, where sports personalities are widely respected and revered. Singaporeans are still very pragmatic. And the government carries this mindset around with them.
Well, look at the issue of the casino. Fine, poor people should not be allowed to go to the local casino at all because they would throw themselves into the pit of financial collapse. So they should just stick to 4D and Toto. But isn’t it the same? Some people can keep playing 4D and Toto until they bankrupt themselves. And there are cruise ships and the nearby Genting Highlands, or even Macau to entertain gamblers of all classes. Wouldn’t Singapore’s plan backfire? The casino might not even be built at all to save all these problems.
Even the new arts school… parents are complaining that it is another elitist scheme, because it only accepts students who at least make it to the express stream. Those who fail to will have their admission reviewed on a case-by-case basis. They’re focussing on academics again, because they are gearing their students for an IB diploma. Why is it always with academics? If academics should be the main concern, there shouldn’t be any sports or arts school at all. One parent even commented that she had friends who were interested in the arts, but in the end chose professions such as accountancy and business and science and engineering. She thinks that it is a waste of taxpayers’ money to fund a school whose students do not opt for a career in the arts/sports (in the case of the sports school) but in some profession that could have been coached from a mainstream school.
Whatever it is, the people at the top always seem to get the most attention. Sure, people are our only resources, but we should make sure those below the top can do well too, rather than focusing on the small, elite group. ¶ 3/30/2004 10:56:00 pm 0 comments
Monday, March 29, 2004
THE NUDGE THAT MATTERS
By LOH CHEE KONG
… “The reason why I didn’t join the PAP is because of their style. Even now, it is an elitist party,” he said.
“I think it was the 1984 election, during one the rallies at Fullerton, when Lee Kuan Yew asked, ‘Who is this Chiam See Tong? We looked up his record and he has only got six Cs in his school certificate.’
“This sums up the PAP thinking. Do you think I want to join a party that runs down people like that? I would never.
“The most important thing is that you have to respect an individual – whether he’s a rain surgeon or a dustman. I think we should give him the same respect. If you don’t give respect to your own citizens, I think you condemn them forever.” …
* * *
Mr Chiam See Tong has been the stronghold of the Opposition for decades. I think Lee Kuan Yew has done a very wrong by personally stigmatising Mr Chiam at the elections. So what if Mr Lee is a Cambridge student who was in Raffles College? Yes, he was a bright kid, and afterwards a bright man who led his country to the way it is today.
Yet it is very wrong to look down on people who do not do as well. Precisely this trend has been prevalent in many Singaporean families. Children are compared. They are pushed to get A’s. They are forced to choose subjects that will help them get into industries that are making a lot of money in Singapore, even though they have their interests elsewhere in areas which are quite grossly-neglected but getting a fair deal of attention now. Do you really think that a top student is fantastically good? Look at my recent post about this scholar who got accepted for a scholarship but was not happy with it. If we are going to create this kind of fuckers, Singapore will soon be finished. Think of it: this kind of shit who runs our government, they lack the human touch at all, and will create a gap between those at the top and those at the bottom.
I don’t really care how Mr Chiam fared in school. He has done a lot for the people in Potong Pasir. I don’t live there, but I have visited the estate and found it a very pleasant , well-kept place. Mr Chiam is a revered politician, and I respect him very much. At the same time, I beg all those people out there, please do not look solely at one level of results, but one’s overall achievement.
* * *
What’s all this talk about a nanny state? It’s not that we cannot speak up for ourselves, but just that the majority of Singaporeans speak up among their gossips, which we all don’t know. There are the few who voice out their concerns to the newspapers and to the authorities. But with regards to the latter, their pleas are almost ignored. The government and authorities always stand firm to their policy and will try very hard to explain why they are correct. Or if a customer complains, they will “investigate” or “look into the matter”.
It’s about saving one’s skin. Face.
The elitist culture has caught on everywhere. In school, students try to outdo one another to vie for the top institutions at every stage of their education. They want the prestige at the end, and they want a comfortable life for themselves. Sadly, this has given rise to blatant discrimination. Weaker students are picked on – admit it, whether the lower classes have EM3 or some other name, the students will still feel the stigma attached, because they are all grouped together and theirs is a small group compared to the others. The arts and humanities are still leap-frog by the maths and sciences, even if the government does something about the state of the arts in Singapore. Sports is still not viewed as a stable career unlike other countries, where sports personalities are widely respected and revered. Singaporeans are still very pragmatic. And the government carries this mindset around with them.
Well, look at the issue of the casino. Fine, poor people should not be allowed to go to the local casino at all because they would throw themselves into the pit of financial collapse. So they should just stick to 4D and Toto. But isn’t it the same? Some people can keep playing 4D and Toto until they bankrupt themselves. And there are cruise ships and the nearby Genting Highlands, or even Macau to entertain gamblers of all classes. Wouldn’t Singapore’s plan backfire? The casino might not even be built at all to save all these problems.
Even the new arts school… parents are complaining that it is another elitist scheme, because it only accepts students who at least make it to the express stream. Those who fail to will have their admission reviewed on a case-by-case basis. They’re focussing on academics again, because they are gearing their students for an IB diploma. Why is it always with academics? If academics should be the main concern, there shouldn’t be any sports or arts school at all. One parent even commented that she had friends who were interested in the arts, but in the end chose professions such as accountancy and business and science and engineering. She thinks that it is a waste of taxpayers’ money to fund a school whose students do not opt for a career in the arts/sports (in the case of the sports school) but in some profession that could have been coached from a mainstream school.
Whatever it is, the people at the top always seem to get the most attention. Sure, people are our only resources, but we should make sure those below the top can do well too, rather than focusing on the small, elite group. ¶ 3/30/2004 10:56:00 pm 0 comments
Sunday, March 28, 2004
The ARTivities performance kicks off with a crisis in the morning.
Miss Chew messages me that the music stands were forgotten.
We meet up in school so that I can help her carry the stands, and thereafter at Suntec I can help her to carry the easel and the stool, which have been left in her car from the previous day.
The performance area is at the stage close to Marche, flanked by two escalators that lead down to the car park in the basement. The quartet meets in the holding area to rehearse – due to the difficulties of time the members haven’t been able to meet and practice, since two Wednesdays ago.
Shimei (first violin) is not yet here, so the rest of the quartet try to do without her part and just count and play theirs. Some difficulties arise when we come to the section “A Slight Drizzle Begins to Fall”. Yiyuan (cello) seems to be playing the wrong notes.
Here’s the second crisis.
It was discovered that three bars were missing. I thought it strange: who would delete three bars from the part score, which had been directly extracted from the full score?
Further playing reveals that she was reading the OLD version – I see the 5/8 section of “Song of Praise” and straightaway know it is wrong, because in the newer version I deleted that particular time signature.
Die.
Miss Chew and Wei Xuan do damage control: they cut up the cello part from the full score and paste them, strip by strip, onto a sheet of blank paper. Thank goodness the second half of her score is okay.
Sound test. After setting up the quartet, I discover that the stage is actually DAMN small. The quartet takes up almost two-thirds of it, while Wei Xuan and her easel occupy the other one-third. I overestimated the size of the stage, and still thought I would have time to walk about.
Shimei arrives; we go outside Marche to do a proper run-through while Pasir Ris Crest Secondary School begin their performance. Someone suggests that we practice in Marche itself, then people will plonk coins in support for our art. Meanwhile, halfway through I run back to the holding area to get my coat. When I return, the secondary school has finished and the quartet is on stage.
Shit. I haven’t dress myself properly yet. My shirt sleeve and collar are still unbuttoned; I look like a mess. And I haven’t – or rather, didn’t – bother to read through my script or memorise some bits of it.
Heck, I just have to crap.
I put on the microphone – it’s a headset mike with a transmitter to be put into the pocket – and go on stage. To hell with whatever goes wrong. Just talk cock on the stage to everybody and make sure you tell lame jokes to make them laugh. I dash up the stage and greet them heartily.
Thank goodness when I visited Suntec the previous week I saw this magician performing at the Tropics Atrium and so had some idea of how I can appeal to the crowd.
The crapped “script” goes something like this:
“Good afternoon, every one! My name is August and I’m from TJC. I’m here to present to you my music. With me are my friends…
(Gesture to the quartet)
“…Shimei, who plays first violins; Poh Ning, second violins; Shiyun, viola; Yiyuan, cello. And over here…
(Gesture to Wei Xuan)
“…We have Wei Xuan, our talented artist, who will paint pictures of… FLOWERS. Now, why am I talking to you about flowers when I’m here to talk about and perform music? Well, my piece has something to do with flowers. Now, listen to this song and tell me if you find it familiar…”
I unfold my script which I haven’t been using at all, because I’ve copied the lyrics of “Mo Li Hua” onto it. And then I SING… yes, I sing the whole song, unaccompanied… perhaps the karaoke session about a week back trained me up a bit. When I finish, there’s a round of applause. I add jokingly: “So you’ll see me in Singapore Idol next time?”
There’s some laughter. Thank goodness.
“So, do you all know what song is this? Quick, shout out the answer!”
Some people chorus: “Mo Li Hua!”
Thank goodness again. Otherwise it’ll have been embarrassing.
I continue talking cock for like about another five more minutes. Somehow I’m torn between wanting to continue talking on the stage… the applause for my singing seems to have set me going. One of the MOE people said that I got high without alcohol. Indeed I nearly couldn’t stop myself from talking. I touch on how I got inspired, how I wrote the piece and how the programme runs.
Anyway finally I shut up and walk off the stage, and the string quartet begins to play. We’ve only played this piece together for like… 6 or 7 times? They rehearsed on Wednesday, 11 March 2004… and then the piece was never touched until today, outside Marche, when the quartet rehearses it again.
Wei Xuan does a very beautiful painting of 2 jasmine flowers, using the medium of spray paint and brush strokes… all within the span of five minutes! And she does two of these pictures, one for each performance. We are all absolutely impressed by her talent and skill. In fact, MOE wanted one of the paintings to take back to headquarters and display it. It was a glorious moment for her, signing her name and brushing in: “ARTivities 2004” while being filmed.
Lunchtime: we (Shiyun, Yiyuan, Poh Ning, Miss Chew and I) settle on Marche. Miss Chew promises to treat us for our work in this performance; she subsidises five dollars per person. I go for pasta – ever since I started working out at the gym I have been obsessed with gaining carbohydrates, and have been going to Pasta Mania almost after every gym session. Damn, I am wearing white… all the tomato sauce spits onto the shirt, peppering it with a few red marks.
After lunch, we prepare for the final performance. My talk is worse than the first. But at least the audience is still responsive. Bee comes to watch the second performance. Obviously as the pianist premiering the original piano solo version (she helped me record the work for my A levels) she cannot miss it – in fact the two versions are different in many ways. For instance the string quartet does not have the glissando over black keys with a cloth – instead the first violin takes a solo part that is almost reminiscent to those writings for solo Chinese instruments, such as the dizi and erhu. Still she likes the “sighing” part of the piece – the ultra-Impressionistic part.
On the way home I discover that Yiyuan actually lives two blocks away from my new house! So we head home together. When I reach home, my paternal grandmother is here for a visit. In private, I coax her – with a smattering of Cantonese and Chinese – not to follow me to Tekong on enlistment day. It’s not that I don’t want her to be there, but it’s the consequences that follow her presence. My fourth uncle will tag along… then my maternal grandmother, upon hearing her relatives going, will want to go… then there will be a huge big crowd to see me off, which, to me, is pretty embarrassing. It would just be suffice that only my parents go. The last time I went on holiday to Melbourne alone as part of a prize, almost ten people came to see me off, including the maid (when we still employed a maid then). The others only had, at the very most, three or four people – i.e. their immediate family members. It was all very embarrassing for me. Furthermore the elderly tend to fuss over our well-being – sometimes when it’s overdone it can get pretty irritating, because you have to coax them, “I’ll be fine. Really, I can take care of myself.”
An hour later, I meet CBW at the gym. Halfway we go for a soccer game at the field just behind the sports hall. My god, we are playing against CHILDREN. There are KIDS who are in Primary School and we teenagers and adults are playing against THEM. What the hell is this sort of game? I don’t even dare to tackle people, otherwise if those kids fall and hurt themselves I’m going to get into serious trouble. For people of our age nobody gives a shit if we fall and hurt ourselves, but for those little critters… some of them when they hurt themselves they turn into babies.
BW was also extremely pissed with the game. There was too much violence – it was more of rough-and-tackle than a soccer match. One of the critters from the opposing team nearly DELIBERATELY rammed his knees, which could have crippled him. What do those kids know about soccer – in the name of abuse and rough-play? Hell, this is wrestling, not soccer! You want to kill people is it? Also BW comments that the players, even those in our team, are very individualistic. They tend to keep the ball for themselves. After the game he swears that he will not play with them again. ¶ 3/28/2004 05:51:00 pm 0 comments
Miss Chew messages me that the music stands were forgotten.
We meet up in school so that I can help her carry the stands, and thereafter at Suntec I can help her to carry the easel and the stool, which have been left in her car from the previous day.
The performance area is at the stage close to Marche, flanked by two escalators that lead down to the car park in the basement. The quartet meets in the holding area to rehearse – due to the difficulties of time the members haven’t been able to meet and practice, since two Wednesdays ago.
Shimei (first violin) is not yet here, so the rest of the quartet try to do without her part and just count and play theirs. Some difficulties arise when we come to the section “A Slight Drizzle Begins to Fall”. Yiyuan (cello) seems to be playing the wrong notes.
Here’s the second crisis.
It was discovered that three bars were missing. I thought it strange: who would delete three bars from the part score, which had been directly extracted from the full score?
Further playing reveals that she was reading the OLD version – I see the 5/8 section of “Song of Praise” and straightaway know it is wrong, because in the newer version I deleted that particular time signature.
Die.
Miss Chew and Wei Xuan do damage control: they cut up the cello part from the full score and paste them, strip by strip, onto a sheet of blank paper. Thank goodness the second half of her score is okay.
Sound test. After setting up the quartet, I discover that the stage is actually DAMN small. The quartet takes up almost two-thirds of it, while Wei Xuan and her easel occupy the other one-third. I overestimated the size of the stage, and still thought I would have time to walk about.
Shimei arrives; we go outside Marche to do a proper run-through while Pasir Ris Crest Secondary School begin their performance. Someone suggests that we practice in Marche itself, then people will plonk coins in support for our art. Meanwhile, halfway through I run back to the holding area to get my coat. When I return, the secondary school has finished and the quartet is on stage.
Shit. I haven’t dress myself properly yet. My shirt sleeve and collar are still unbuttoned; I look like a mess. And I haven’t – or rather, didn’t – bother to read through my script or memorise some bits of it.
Heck, I just have to crap.
I put on the microphone – it’s a headset mike with a transmitter to be put into the pocket – and go on stage. To hell with whatever goes wrong. Just talk cock on the stage to everybody and make sure you tell lame jokes to make them laugh. I dash up the stage and greet them heartily.
Thank goodness when I visited Suntec the previous week I saw this magician performing at the Tropics Atrium and so had some idea of how I can appeal to the crowd.
The crapped “script” goes something like this:
“Good afternoon, every one! My name is August and I’m from TJC. I’m here to present to you my music. With me are my friends…
(Gesture to the quartet)
“…Shimei, who plays first violins; Poh Ning, second violins; Shiyun, viola; Yiyuan, cello. And over here…
(Gesture to Wei Xuan)
“…We have Wei Xuan, our talented artist, who will paint pictures of… FLOWERS. Now, why am I talking to you about flowers when I’m here to talk about and perform music? Well, my piece has something to do with flowers. Now, listen to this song and tell me if you find it familiar…”
I unfold my script which I haven’t been using at all, because I’ve copied the lyrics of “Mo Li Hua” onto it. And then I SING… yes, I sing the whole song, unaccompanied… perhaps the karaoke session about a week back trained me up a bit. When I finish, there’s a round of applause. I add jokingly: “So you’ll see me in Singapore Idol next time?”
There’s some laughter. Thank goodness.
“So, do you all know what song is this? Quick, shout out the answer!”
Some people chorus: “Mo Li Hua!”
Thank goodness again. Otherwise it’ll have been embarrassing.
I continue talking cock for like about another five more minutes. Somehow I’m torn between wanting to continue talking on the stage… the applause for my singing seems to have set me going. One of the MOE people said that I got high without alcohol. Indeed I nearly couldn’t stop myself from talking. I touch on how I got inspired, how I wrote the piece and how the programme runs.
Anyway finally I shut up and walk off the stage, and the string quartet begins to play. We’ve only played this piece together for like… 6 or 7 times? They rehearsed on Wednesday, 11 March 2004… and then the piece was never touched until today, outside Marche, when the quartet rehearses it again.
Wei Xuan does a very beautiful painting of 2 jasmine flowers, using the medium of spray paint and brush strokes… all within the span of five minutes! And she does two of these pictures, one for each performance. We are all absolutely impressed by her talent and skill. In fact, MOE wanted one of the paintings to take back to headquarters and display it. It was a glorious moment for her, signing her name and brushing in: “ARTivities 2004” while being filmed.
Lunchtime: we (Shiyun, Yiyuan, Poh Ning, Miss Chew and I) settle on Marche. Miss Chew promises to treat us for our work in this performance; she subsidises five dollars per person. I go for pasta – ever since I started working out at the gym I have been obsessed with gaining carbohydrates, and have been going to Pasta Mania almost after every gym session. Damn, I am wearing white… all the tomato sauce spits onto the shirt, peppering it with a few red marks.
After lunch, we prepare for the final performance. My talk is worse than the first. But at least the audience is still responsive. Bee comes to watch the second performance. Obviously as the pianist premiering the original piano solo version (she helped me record the work for my A levels) she cannot miss it – in fact the two versions are different in many ways. For instance the string quartet does not have the glissando over black keys with a cloth – instead the first violin takes a solo part that is almost reminiscent to those writings for solo Chinese instruments, such as the dizi and erhu. Still she likes the “sighing” part of the piece – the ultra-Impressionistic part.
On the way home I discover that Yiyuan actually lives two blocks away from my new house! So we head home together. When I reach home, my paternal grandmother is here for a visit. In private, I coax her – with a smattering of Cantonese and Chinese – not to follow me to Tekong on enlistment day. It’s not that I don’t want her to be there, but it’s the consequences that follow her presence. My fourth uncle will tag along… then my maternal grandmother, upon hearing her relatives going, will want to go… then there will be a huge big crowd to see me off, which, to me, is pretty embarrassing. It would just be suffice that only my parents go. The last time I went on holiday to Melbourne alone as part of a prize, almost ten people came to see me off, including the maid (when we still employed a maid then). The others only had, at the very most, three or four people – i.e. their immediate family members. It was all very embarrassing for me. Furthermore the elderly tend to fuss over our well-being – sometimes when it’s overdone it can get pretty irritating, because you have to coax them, “I’ll be fine. Really, I can take care of myself.”
An hour later, I meet CBW at the gym. Halfway we go for a soccer game at the field just behind the sports hall. My god, we are playing against CHILDREN. There are KIDS who are in Primary School and we teenagers and adults are playing against THEM. What the hell is this sort of game? I don’t even dare to tackle people, otherwise if those kids fall and hurt themselves I’m going to get into serious trouble. For people of our age nobody gives a shit if we fall and hurt ourselves, but for those little critters… some of them when they hurt themselves they turn into babies.
BW was also extremely pissed with the game. There was too much violence – it was more of rough-and-tackle than a soccer match. One of the critters from the opposing team nearly DELIBERATELY rammed his knees, which could have crippled him. What do those kids know about soccer – in the name of abuse and rough-play? Hell, this is wrestling, not soccer! You want to kill people is it? Also BW comments that the players, even those in our team, are very individualistic. They tend to keep the ball for themselves. After the game he swears that he will not play with them again. ¶ 3/28/2004 05:51:00 pm 0 comments
Saturday, March 27, 2004
5 more days to NS and counting…
RED-THREADED HEARTS the Musical
*Premiere*
8:00pm
TJC Auditorium
Tickets at S$7.50
CREATIVE TEAM
Book MEGAN CHIA
Songs MEGAN CHIA, WILFRED CHUA, AUGUST LUM
Orchestrations and score AUGUST LUM
PRODUCTION TEAM
Directors MEGAN CHIA, VELLACHI
Producers MEGAN CHIA, VELLACHI
Music Director AUGUST LUM
AV/Technical VELLACHI
Logistics VELLACHI
Art and Design JEREMY TAY, JANE WONG
THE CAST (in order of appearance)
Johnson CHEONG ENG TAT
Anusha SARITA MISIR
Lucy MELISSA TAN
Fabius ROHAIZATUL
Funeral Directress MEGAN CHIA
Rodney LIN WEIDONG
Nana SIM SUE ANN
Drunk Custs 1, 2, 3 MR MICHAEL THOMPSON, MR STEVEN HUNTER, MR CHARLES ELWIN
Lee Yean DEBBIE
Pallbearers
THE ORCHESTRA
Flute HUANG YUANLING
Oboe LUIS TEO
Clarinet HOWARD TONG
Alto Saxophone GOH-MAH LU THER
Bassoon TAN BAOWEN
Trumpet CHONG LOO KIT
Percussion DERRICK LIM, JESSICA CHOI
Guitar AARON QUEK
Keyboard GERALD LIM
Violin I AMY SEE, CHEN HUIWEN
Violin II LEE PEIYING, ESTHER OGAWA
Viola REBECCA LEE, KWEK SHIYUN
Violoncello WONG YUSHAN, CLEMENT QUEK, PEISHAN
Double bass EMILY KOH
* * *
This wouldn’t have been on the web, but some sheet of paper that you are clutching, and as you look up, you see the orchestra below the stage. On the stage, a coffin – a funeral in progress, with Ruhan’s face staring back at you from the coffin’s photograph. To your left: the coffeeshop, where Nana serves up the beer and sings songs to entertain the customers. You laugh at some joke. You tap your feet to the songs.
It will never happen today.
All of us have dreams, but there will be factors/people who will try to end it. We’ve just gone through such an experience. We quit the show ourselves, not because we’re giving up in the face of difficulties, but we are very unhappy with the way the upper administration of the school – particularly the OM – has been treating us as we go about putting up the show.
When Megan called me recently, she mentioned that the Principal had spoken to her and asked her to submit our script and score, and she would get the students from the various PDPs to perform it for us. No way. We want to be there to supervise, and we want the show our own way, not under the hands of some rogue director/producer/music director who simply lacks the conception we have dreamed up of. And anyway the school is not worthy of holding the premiere of our musical. We’ll take it somewhere else. I can get back the same people, but to perform in the college, no-no. Perhaps we’ll take it to the University Cultural Centre, like what the creators of “Judah Ben-Hur” did. Of course the Esplanade is too far-fetched. Nevertheless there is quite an abundance of venues for our usage. As long as we have the money, and as long as the venue does not create trouble for us, or try to hamper our plans, we’ll take it.
Red-Threaded Hearts will not die. We shall rekindle the flame.
I’m revising the score now. Megan is revising the script. The 200_ version of Red-Threaded Hearts will find its way to some auditorium, and we’ll soon see the funeral and coffee shop on stage. We’ll experience the woes of love; the merry gossiping; the outrageous dance sequences…
“I don’t wanna
Talk about it
How it broke my heart…” ¶ 3/27/2004 05:49:00 pm 0 comments
RED-THREADED HEARTS the Musical
*Premiere*
8:00pm
TJC Auditorium
Tickets at S$7.50
CREATIVE TEAM
Book MEGAN CHIA
Songs MEGAN CHIA, WILFRED CHUA, AUGUST LUM
Orchestrations and score AUGUST LUM
PRODUCTION TEAM
Directors MEGAN CHIA, VELLACHI
Producers MEGAN CHIA, VELLACHI
Music Director AUGUST LUM
AV/Technical VELLACHI
Logistics VELLACHI
Art and Design JEREMY TAY, JANE WONG
THE CAST (in order of appearance)
Johnson CHEONG ENG TAT
Anusha SARITA MISIR
Lucy MELISSA TAN
Fabius ROHAIZATUL
Funeral Directress MEGAN CHIA
Rodney LIN WEIDONG
Nana SIM SUE ANN
Drunk Custs 1, 2, 3 MR MICHAEL THOMPSON, MR STEVEN HUNTER, MR CHARLES ELWIN
Lee Yean DEBBIE
Pallbearers
THE ORCHESTRA
Flute HUANG YUANLING
Oboe LUIS TEO
Clarinet HOWARD TONG
Alto Saxophone GOH-MAH LU THER
Bassoon TAN BAOWEN
Trumpet CHONG LOO KIT
Percussion DERRICK LIM, JESSICA CHOI
Guitar AARON QUEK
Keyboard GERALD LIM
Violin I AMY SEE, CHEN HUIWEN
Violin II LEE PEIYING, ESTHER OGAWA
Viola REBECCA LEE, KWEK SHIYUN
Violoncello WONG YUSHAN, CLEMENT QUEK, PEISHAN
Double bass EMILY KOH
* * *
This wouldn’t have been on the web, but some sheet of paper that you are clutching, and as you look up, you see the orchestra below the stage. On the stage, a coffin – a funeral in progress, with Ruhan’s face staring back at you from the coffin’s photograph. To your left: the coffeeshop, where Nana serves up the beer and sings songs to entertain the customers. You laugh at some joke. You tap your feet to the songs.
It will never happen today.
All of us have dreams, but there will be factors/people who will try to end it. We’ve just gone through such an experience. We quit the show ourselves, not because we’re giving up in the face of difficulties, but we are very unhappy with the way the upper administration of the school – particularly the OM – has been treating us as we go about putting up the show.
When Megan called me recently, she mentioned that the Principal had spoken to her and asked her to submit our script and score, and she would get the students from the various PDPs to perform it for us. No way. We want to be there to supervise, and we want the show our own way, not under the hands of some rogue director/producer/music director who simply lacks the conception we have dreamed up of. And anyway the school is not worthy of holding the premiere of our musical. We’ll take it somewhere else. I can get back the same people, but to perform in the college, no-no. Perhaps we’ll take it to the University Cultural Centre, like what the creators of “Judah Ben-Hur” did. Of course the Esplanade is too far-fetched. Nevertheless there is quite an abundance of venues for our usage. As long as we have the money, and as long as the venue does not create trouble for us, or try to hamper our plans, we’ll take it.
Red-Threaded Hearts will not die. We shall rekindle the flame.
I’m revising the score now. Megan is revising the script. The 200_ version of Red-Threaded Hearts will find its way to some auditorium, and we’ll soon see the funeral and coffee shop on stage. We’ll experience the woes of love; the merry gossiping; the outrageous dance sequences…
“I don’t wanna
Talk about it
How it broke my heart…” ¶ 3/27/2004 05:49:00 pm 0 comments
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Exactly a week to NS and counting...
As I have mentioned somewhere in this score, I blog on MS Word before transferring the journals onto Blogger for publication. Therefore I tend to blog erratically, not according to chronological order. I've now decided to compile the dates of new posts whenever I put a bunch of journals onto the net.
NEW UPDATES (as of 24 March 2004)
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Friday, February 20, 2004
Tuesday, December 2, 2003
** HISTORY OF THE PIPILANDERS
To be on the serious side, before the name "Pipiland" even came about, the situation was like this:
The Chancellor wanted to unite all the anti-muggers together in one clique, and together stand against the muggers. By the end of 2002 (our first year in JC) the true colours of most people were beginning to show. It was culture shock at first to see how some people went to great lengths to mug - not study - for their examinations, first accounted by their prolonged disappearance from school almost a month prior to the Promotional examinations.
Therefore, the clique was formed with members coming from previous cliques. The entire clique system in 35/02 changed drastically by February 2003. Although each of us were from a different clique, nevertheless we are bonded by the common hatred for muggers, and a love for fun and enjoyment to brighten up our otherwise boring and mundane everyday school life.
Long live Pipilanders! :) ¶ 3/24/2004 08:22:00 pm 0 comments
As I have mentioned somewhere in this score, I blog on MS Word before transferring the journals onto Blogger for publication. Therefore I tend to blog erratically, not according to chronological order. I've now decided to compile the dates of new posts whenever I put a bunch of journals onto the net.
NEW UPDATES (as of 24 March 2004)
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Friday, February 20, 2004
Tuesday, December 2, 2003
** HISTORY OF THE PIPILANDERS
To be on the serious side, before the name "Pipiland" even came about, the situation was like this:
The Chancellor wanted to unite all the anti-muggers together in one clique, and together stand against the muggers. By the end of 2002 (our first year in JC) the true colours of most people were beginning to show. It was culture shock at first to see how some people went to great lengths to mug - not study - for their examinations, first accounted by their prolonged disappearance from school almost a month prior to the Promotional examinations.
Therefore, the clique was formed with members coming from previous cliques. The entire clique system in 35/02 changed drastically by February 2003. Although each of us were from a different clique, nevertheless we are bonded by the common hatred for muggers, and a love for fun and enjoyment to brighten up our otherwise boring and mundane everyday school life.
Long live Pipilanders! :) ¶ 3/24/2004 08:22:00 pm 0 comments
THE STRAITS TIMES: FORUM
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 24, 2004
“THANKS FOR THE SCHOLARSHIP, NOW TO TRY FOR A BETTER ONE”
I would like to narrate an incident which left me in consternation, and which cast doubt on the efficacy of the scholarship selection process, the values our youth are being inculcated with and Singapore’s future.
The following is a conversation at a dinner party, where I was conversing with a former student of my junior-college teacher friend.
Me: Doing your national service? What are your pans after that?
Youth: I’ll be studying in France on a scholarship. But I’m still applying fro others.
Me: Even though you’ve already got a scholarship? What happens o the current one then?
Youth: Oh, I’ll drop it. It’s only $1,000.
Me: Someone else (more deserving) will be deprived of the scholarship then?
Youth (with a shrug): It’s a competitive world.
Me: Let’s say you don’t get another scholarship; when you graduate, would you be serving Singapore with devotion?
Youth: Probably.
Me: Not good enough.
It made me wonder what was going through the young man’s mind as he revealed these disturbing thoughts to me, almost a stranger, and with such nonchalance. Let’s hope that such sentiments are not widespread.
It may be good to be pragmatic, but surely qualities like honesty and integrity are important?
Perhaps an emphasis on the humanities might serve Singapore better.
A couple of questions arise: How did he manage to convince the scholarship committee of his sincerity in serving the bond Is the selection process so porous, or is Singapore so lacking in talented youth?
If the people filling top positions in the public service possess such a mentality, it does not augur well for the future.
Surely $1,000 is still a rather substantial sum in these times to be dismissed so carelessly? More importantly, the responsibility and privilege of a scholarship should not be taken so lightly. Scholarships would have lost their meaning and purpose if this were so.
It is ironic that scholarships are awarded to those who can afford the expense of tertiary education – those who would have least need for them.
DANIEL CHUA CHIA HOE
* * *
If I were to ever meet that selfish multi-scholarship bastard I would probably give him the finger and tell him to fuck off. I won’t beat him up as yet as his cronies who think he deserves welfare, being a “scholar”, will come to his protection. I bet he is damn fucking rich to say that a thousand dollars is no big deal. At least you got your scholarship, asshole. Why don’t you shut up and take it? Or you shouldn’t have applied for it in the first place, because you didn’t like the money they give you. So just let somebody who really needs the scholarship more than you take it.
I can’t believe that us taxpayers are paying for this kind of shit to go and further their studies and when they come back, they act even more shit and give us a hard time. And on the part of the scholarship selection committee, what kind of sweet stories did they hear, or did they think this guy is great because he scored A’s for all his subjects so he ought to get the scholarship.
Has the world gone mad?
Not too long ago this young lady who scored A, B and C for her A levels wrote in and lamented that the scholarship review committee that received her application threw hers out of the window within 24 hours. Someone else wrote a response with the implication that “scholarships should be for the best of the best” and that taxpayers should not pay for people who didn’t scored all A’s, because the all-A’s people deserve the money for their academic achievement.
See, it all boils back down to academics again. Let’s stop all the bullshit about considering other factors. Face it, academics is still the big fish. No all-A’s and no S papers, forget about the scholarship. It’s as good as cruelly denying people a chance to complete their education.
Talking about the PEARLS system in the JCs… It is a damn screwed-up system, whereby there is rigidity about what is to be counted and what is not to be counted. Don’t expect to participate in as many activities as you want and doing well for them, because not all are going to make it into your PEARLS record. You must strategise your participation in order to gain the maximum number of points possible. Isn’t it ironic? You are judged by your shrewdness and not your active support. You’ll only see people learning to scheme against one another, trying to backstab one another so that they’ll get the top committee post they are vying for and the poor soul loses his chance to gain points. Yeah, to quote that asshole, it’s a competitive world. But the dog-eating-dog habit has seriously gotten out of hand. Singapore looks like a harmonious, multi-cultural society, but in the workplace, ethics are forgotten and you will likely to see multiple faces. There will be the true loyalists; there will be the Iagos; there will be those who don’t care for anything in the world except themselves and will go all out, without reserve, to ensure that they get their gains.
“Let’s hope that such sentiments are not widespread…”
Wrong, Mr Chua. It happens in my college. And talking about studying humanities, I’ve seen it first hand in my arts class. These people study the humanities as well. They don’t seem to pick up any lessons.
These people, we call them the muggers. Sure, there are two cliques of muggers (the third, last and non-mugger clique is our Pipiland). The TK Gang and the Chick Clique, so-called because its members carrying a fluffy chicken soft toy on their pencil cases. In fact, these cliques broke up towards the end of the year, after the Prelims and close to the A levels. There was also intense rivalry between these two. There was a case of defection (one clique member leaving to join the other side, despite the fact that the two cliques were once involved in a heated dispute with the others), and even within one of the cliques the group split into two factions (think of the Russian Communists, where there were the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks). Obviously these cliques didn’t come together on the basis of friendship, but the need to feed on someone smarter and of high calibre in order to obtain their ill-gotten gains.
And these cliques show no integrity and responsibility. Often, weeks (almost a month) before a major exam, these people will excuse themselves from school. Our class’ row is often a pathetic one at morning assembly, with mostly half present at any one time (mostly from the Pipilanders, because we always come to school, no matter what, unless disabled by illness). The other arts classes don’t face such a problem; in fact our immediate neighbours are almost often in full attendance.
There was once when Pipiland decided to skip a lecture because, with almost half of the class gone from school, no one was interested in sitting in the lecture theatre to make up for the absentees. It made us very disgusted that we had to be their proxies. The whole clique just refused to go to the lecture theatre when the time came, and hid in the library instead in an angry debate about what we should do. We were so frustrated that we decided to skip half the day’s lessons the next day. There was an economics test, which the rest of the class would come (they only came for tests), and so would become our proxies instead. The Pipilanders were prepared to forgo their economics test.
But already for this day we got into trouble with our civics tutor, because the Literature lecturer was angry that only three members of our class turned up, and went to complain to the former. We were asked to come up with individual explanations to justify our absence. This made us dislike the muggers even more. I’m not using the word hate, because I’m reserving that for the incident the next day:
Our clique went ahead with the plan to skip classes. Unfortunately we made our absence too obvious by disappearing as a clique in its entirety, raising the suspicions of our civics tutor (she is aware of the clique situation in the class). The calls started coming through to our cell phones while we waited at McDonald’s at the Bedok Interchange, discussing plans for the day. It marred our wonderful gathering and outing together. A plan was hatched: some of us would return to school with the excuse we made, while the others would go home and play sick. It was all very discouraging. Us guys returned back to school angry and betrayed. Duchess would join us later on the pretext of illness that forced her to attend school late.
We rejoined the class during our civics tutor’s lesson. Instead of teaching, she made us sit directly in front of her - a face-to-face, hammer-it-all-out talk.
“Why do you all hate each other so much?” came the sharp enquiry. I cannot recall if it was the exact question, but it was something along this line.
There was silence for a moment, then someone from the mugger clique spoke up. The Pipilanders who were present kept quiet throughout the entire interrogation.
Then came the question of: “Why do you all not come to school for lessons?”
Here’s the disgusting part. We were hot and angry by the end of the session, because the muggers told a whole lot of bullshit, and worse still, blackmailed some of our teachers. They said they felt that lessons were a waste of time, and some of our teachers couldn’t teach as well as their own mugger clique friend could. We were very, very angry upon hearing such statements. And when our civics tutor asked for feedback about her lessons, they sucked up to her and praised them for being useful and enjoyable. Most probably they think otherwise deep down inside, and when out of her sight. I remember each one of us Pipilanders refused to be pacified that very day.
Why am I telling you all this? Because these people without a sense of morality are the very ones who know how to get their own gains. They want a scholarship, they want a foreign university education, they want their career and to retire rich. In the process of doing so, they don’t spare a thought for other people. They can tell the scholarship selection committee a whole pack of tall stories, and when they do actually finish their education, they become a menace to society despite their talents and knowledge because they lack good values. They will continue to backstab and worm their way through the “competitive world”, and those who are not shrewd enough will be replaced by these bastards. I do not know why we should actually be helping them with their future financially. Honestly, some of them are very rich. Their parents drive big cars; some even own cars and afford a driving license. The scholarship is for the prestige, not necessarily the money to help them tide over economic difficulties which arise from further studies.
Of course, there are those who are really very down-to-earth, despite the achievements that they have. These people earn my respect and admiration. We really have too few of these people who balance achievements with principles. They are the ones who deserve a scholarship, not some fucker who takes taxpayers’ money and in return, snobs at them when they finish their higher education. Talk about giving back to society. ¶ 3/24/2004 08:20:00 pm 0 comments
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 24, 2004
“THANKS FOR THE SCHOLARSHIP, NOW TO TRY FOR A BETTER ONE”
I would like to narrate an incident which left me in consternation, and which cast doubt on the efficacy of the scholarship selection process, the values our youth are being inculcated with and Singapore’s future.
The following is a conversation at a dinner party, where I was conversing with a former student of my junior-college teacher friend.
Me: Doing your national service? What are your pans after that?
Youth: I’ll be studying in France on a scholarship. But I’m still applying fro others.
Me: Even though you’ve already got a scholarship? What happens o the current one then?
Youth: Oh, I’ll drop it. It’s only $1,000.
Me: Someone else (more deserving) will be deprived of the scholarship then?
Youth (with a shrug): It’s a competitive world.
Me: Let’s say you don’t get another scholarship; when you graduate, would you be serving Singapore with devotion?
Youth: Probably.
Me: Not good enough.
It made me wonder what was going through the young man’s mind as he revealed these disturbing thoughts to me, almost a stranger, and with such nonchalance. Let’s hope that such sentiments are not widespread.
It may be good to be pragmatic, but surely qualities like honesty and integrity are important?
Perhaps an emphasis on the humanities might serve Singapore better.
A couple of questions arise: How did he manage to convince the scholarship committee of his sincerity in serving the bond Is the selection process so porous, or is Singapore so lacking in talented youth?
If the people filling top positions in the public service possess such a mentality, it does not augur well for the future.
Surely $1,000 is still a rather substantial sum in these times to be dismissed so carelessly? More importantly, the responsibility and privilege of a scholarship should not be taken so lightly. Scholarships would have lost their meaning and purpose if this were so.
It is ironic that scholarships are awarded to those who can afford the expense of tertiary education – those who would have least need for them.
DANIEL CHUA CHIA HOE
* * *
If I were to ever meet that selfish multi-scholarship bastard I would probably give him the finger and tell him to fuck off. I won’t beat him up as yet as his cronies who think he deserves welfare, being a “scholar”, will come to his protection. I bet he is damn fucking rich to say that a thousand dollars is no big deal. At least you got your scholarship, asshole. Why don’t you shut up and take it? Or you shouldn’t have applied for it in the first place, because you didn’t like the money they give you. So just let somebody who really needs the scholarship more than you take it.
I can’t believe that us taxpayers are paying for this kind of shit to go and further their studies and when they come back, they act even more shit and give us a hard time. And on the part of the scholarship selection committee, what kind of sweet stories did they hear, or did they think this guy is great because he scored A’s for all his subjects so he ought to get the scholarship.
Has the world gone mad?
Not too long ago this young lady who scored A, B and C for her A levels wrote in and lamented that the scholarship review committee that received her application threw hers out of the window within 24 hours. Someone else wrote a response with the implication that “scholarships should be for the best of the best” and that taxpayers should not pay for people who didn’t scored all A’s, because the all-A’s people deserve the money for their academic achievement.
See, it all boils back down to academics again. Let’s stop all the bullshit about considering other factors. Face it, academics is still the big fish. No all-A’s and no S papers, forget about the scholarship. It’s as good as cruelly denying people a chance to complete their education.
Talking about the PEARLS system in the JCs… It is a damn screwed-up system, whereby there is rigidity about what is to be counted and what is not to be counted. Don’t expect to participate in as many activities as you want and doing well for them, because not all are going to make it into your PEARLS record. You must strategise your participation in order to gain the maximum number of points possible. Isn’t it ironic? You are judged by your shrewdness and not your active support. You’ll only see people learning to scheme against one another, trying to backstab one another so that they’ll get the top committee post they are vying for and the poor soul loses his chance to gain points. Yeah, to quote that asshole, it’s a competitive world. But the dog-eating-dog habit has seriously gotten out of hand. Singapore looks like a harmonious, multi-cultural society, but in the workplace, ethics are forgotten and you will likely to see multiple faces. There will be the true loyalists; there will be the Iagos; there will be those who don’t care for anything in the world except themselves and will go all out, without reserve, to ensure that they get their gains.
“Let’s hope that such sentiments are not widespread…”
Wrong, Mr Chua. It happens in my college. And talking about studying humanities, I’ve seen it first hand in my arts class. These people study the humanities as well. They don’t seem to pick up any lessons.
These people, we call them the muggers. Sure, there are two cliques of muggers (the third, last and non-mugger clique is our Pipiland). The TK Gang and the Chick Clique, so-called because its members carrying a fluffy chicken soft toy on their pencil cases. In fact, these cliques broke up towards the end of the year, after the Prelims and close to the A levels. There was also intense rivalry between these two. There was a case of defection (one clique member leaving to join the other side, despite the fact that the two cliques were once involved in a heated dispute with the others), and even within one of the cliques the group split into two factions (think of the Russian Communists, where there were the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks). Obviously these cliques didn’t come together on the basis of friendship, but the need to feed on someone smarter and of high calibre in order to obtain their ill-gotten gains.
And these cliques show no integrity and responsibility. Often, weeks (almost a month) before a major exam, these people will excuse themselves from school. Our class’ row is often a pathetic one at morning assembly, with mostly half present at any one time (mostly from the Pipilanders, because we always come to school, no matter what, unless disabled by illness). The other arts classes don’t face such a problem; in fact our immediate neighbours are almost often in full attendance.
There was once when Pipiland decided to skip a lecture because, with almost half of the class gone from school, no one was interested in sitting in the lecture theatre to make up for the absentees. It made us very disgusted that we had to be their proxies. The whole clique just refused to go to the lecture theatre when the time came, and hid in the library instead in an angry debate about what we should do. We were so frustrated that we decided to skip half the day’s lessons the next day. There was an economics test, which the rest of the class would come (they only came for tests), and so would become our proxies instead. The Pipilanders were prepared to forgo their economics test.
But already for this day we got into trouble with our civics tutor, because the Literature lecturer was angry that only three members of our class turned up, and went to complain to the former. We were asked to come up with individual explanations to justify our absence. This made us dislike the muggers even more. I’m not using the word hate, because I’m reserving that for the incident the next day:
Our clique went ahead with the plan to skip classes. Unfortunately we made our absence too obvious by disappearing as a clique in its entirety, raising the suspicions of our civics tutor (she is aware of the clique situation in the class). The calls started coming through to our cell phones while we waited at McDonald’s at the Bedok Interchange, discussing plans for the day. It marred our wonderful gathering and outing together. A plan was hatched: some of us would return to school with the excuse we made, while the others would go home and play sick. It was all very discouraging. Us guys returned back to school angry and betrayed. Duchess would join us later on the pretext of illness that forced her to attend school late.
We rejoined the class during our civics tutor’s lesson. Instead of teaching, she made us sit directly in front of her - a face-to-face, hammer-it-all-out talk.
“Why do you all hate each other so much?” came the sharp enquiry. I cannot recall if it was the exact question, but it was something along this line.
There was silence for a moment, then someone from the mugger clique spoke up. The Pipilanders who were present kept quiet throughout the entire interrogation.
Then came the question of: “Why do you all not come to school for lessons?”
Here’s the disgusting part. We were hot and angry by the end of the session, because the muggers told a whole lot of bullshit, and worse still, blackmailed some of our teachers. They said they felt that lessons were a waste of time, and some of our teachers couldn’t teach as well as their own mugger clique friend could. We were very, very angry upon hearing such statements. And when our civics tutor asked for feedback about her lessons, they sucked up to her and praised them for being useful and enjoyable. Most probably they think otherwise deep down inside, and when out of her sight. I remember each one of us Pipilanders refused to be pacified that very day.
Why am I telling you all this? Because these people without a sense of morality are the very ones who know how to get their own gains. They want a scholarship, they want a foreign university education, they want their career and to retire rich. In the process of doing so, they don’t spare a thought for other people. They can tell the scholarship selection committee a whole pack of tall stories, and when they do actually finish their education, they become a menace to society despite their talents and knowledge because they lack good values. They will continue to backstab and worm their way through the “competitive world”, and those who are not shrewd enough will be replaced by these bastards. I do not know why we should actually be helping them with their future financially. Honestly, some of them are very rich. Their parents drive big cars; some even own cars and afford a driving license. The scholarship is for the prestige, not necessarily the money to help them tide over economic difficulties which arise from further studies.
Of course, there are those who are really very down-to-earth, despite the achievements that they have. These people earn my respect and admiration. We really have too few of these people who balance achievements with principles. They are the ones who deserve a scholarship, not some fucker who takes taxpayers’ money and in return, snobs at them when they finish their higher education. Talk about giving back to society. ¶ 3/24/2004 08:20:00 pm 0 comments
Monday, March 22, 2004
9 days to NS and counting…
My father got a summons by the URA while parking for five minutes outside the Dunman Road Food Centre in order to buy lunch.
He hadn’t parked illegally, but when he returned, he saw a ticket on his windscreen.
He came home, and irritably complained, adding that the “government is too much”.
Yeah, the government is too much. Everything they do, they go by the book. When people try to give suggestions to the various authorities make their lives more convenient, they politely brush the idea aside and paternalistically reply that it would not be feasible to do so. A little flexibility will kill their pathetically humdrum lives. Forgive me for calling the authorities “humdrum” – they really cannot “let go a bit” and make exceptions. Because once they deviate from the rule book, chaos will ensue. It doesn’t make my day to think of that. It sucks to think that law and order equates black and white. So a person who kills another in self-defence should be given the death sentence right? Because he TOOK A LIFE. Taking a life means that one must die for his deed. Why do we need lawyers? Why do we need a justice system? Everyone who commits a crime can just fuck off and get their just desserts.
What the hell is creative thinking? Why bother implementing them in schools when you produce people who eventually think only about the book? If their superiors call them to jump the cliff I think they will say, “Yes sir” and just do it (pardon the pun).
* * *
THE STRAITS TIMES: LIFE
“ORCHESTRATING RESCUE EFFORTS”
By TAN SHZR EE
…There is also the issue of dropping attendances at SSO concerts – sometimes to half-house levels…
This is partly caused by the wearing off of the honeymoon novelty enjoyed by the orchestra after it moved to the fabulous but unforgiving acoustics of the Esplanade’s year-old Concert Hall last January.
“Generally, the SSO has never been playing better,” he says. “But to do this week after week, at every concert, putting in 101 per cent, is not easy.”
Classical music fans have also been feeding to excess on gourmet fare, with the recent visits by the London Symphony and Vienna Philharmonic Orchestras.
While heavyweight programmes like Mahler get the orchestra’s dedication and spirit, regular subscription concerts, depending on the conductors, tend to suffer from sloppy and disengaged playing.
Mr Chng wants to rectify the situation, not through drastic measures, but by gently re-aligning the commitment of his musicians and staff to the institution.
He says: “Perhaps what we need is soul connection; an emotional push. And these things don’t happen overnight.”…
Finally, they have the truth to admit that, yes, the SSO hasn’t been playing very well, like the disastrous Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony last November, and the Brahms Piano First Piano Concerto in the same month. There has got to be others that they played to horrified acclaim.
But really, perhaps the phrase “But to do this week after week, at every concert, putting in 101 per cent, is not easy” does not stand in for an excuse to play poorly. How would this compare to the top orchestras in Europe and America? Or I would rather that SSO play a concert twice a week but put in a good job.
With regards to the choice of programme, I do not really see anything rather exciting… every year there has to be the “Butterfly Lovers’ Violin Concerto”, the Beethoven Piano Concertos and Symphonies… for God’s sake can’t we have something that we’ve never heard before? What about the modernists? Sure I don’t really like atonal music, but I think I would rather pierce my head with such stuff in the concert hall than bore myself programmes that are repeated year after year. Look at the “Butterfly Lovers”… it’s been played EVERY YEAR. This year there’s Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3 again, despite the Beethoven Piano Cycle performed by Mikhail Pletnev at last year’s Arts Festival. Please, please, give these works a rest and bring in other fare. You may shock audiences or drive them away, but it makes them a better lot of arts appreciators, because they know what they will like and what they will not like. Undoubtedly the idea for art to live is to have debates over issues like performance and works.
* * *
I was asked to call my mother to determine a location where my father could pick her up. I picked up the phone, and hesitated… I seemed to have forgotten her cell phone number. Out of nowhere it just came back to me… I keyed into the phone and waited for her to pick it up.
For some time there was no response. Suddenly, my own cell phone, sitting at my desk, began to ring. I was in a dilemma as to continue holding the house phone, or to pick up my cell phone. I had earlier placed an SMS to Wee Sheung, who was to paint pictures alongside my music at the ARTivitiy Seminar this coming Sunday, in order to discuss with her my plans for the event, so I thought she had called me. Well, if Mother hadn’t answered the phone, I would call her back later. I put down the receiver and went to pick up the cell phone.
I said, “Hello?” Immediately there was a click and the cell phone died. I muttered irritably, “Who’s that idiot…”
Then I realised the “idiot” was I: I had dialled 9001 2808 on the phone, which is my number, having mixed it up with my mother’s number, of which I used to own before I switched SIM cards with her. ¶ 3/22/2004 11:45:00 am 0 comments
My father got a summons by the URA while parking for five minutes outside the Dunman Road Food Centre in order to buy lunch.
He hadn’t parked illegally, but when he returned, he saw a ticket on his windscreen.
He came home, and irritably complained, adding that the “government is too much”.
Yeah, the government is too much. Everything they do, they go by the book. When people try to give suggestions to the various authorities make their lives more convenient, they politely brush the idea aside and paternalistically reply that it would not be feasible to do so. A little flexibility will kill their pathetically humdrum lives. Forgive me for calling the authorities “humdrum” – they really cannot “let go a bit” and make exceptions. Because once they deviate from the rule book, chaos will ensue. It doesn’t make my day to think of that. It sucks to think that law and order equates black and white. So a person who kills another in self-defence should be given the death sentence right? Because he TOOK A LIFE. Taking a life means that one must die for his deed. Why do we need lawyers? Why do we need a justice system? Everyone who commits a crime can just fuck off and get their just desserts.
What the hell is creative thinking? Why bother implementing them in schools when you produce people who eventually think only about the book? If their superiors call them to jump the cliff I think they will say, “Yes sir” and just do it (pardon the pun).
* * *
THE STRAITS TIMES: LIFE
“ORCHESTRATING RESCUE EFFORTS”
By TAN SHZR EE
…There is also the issue of dropping attendances at SSO concerts – sometimes to half-house levels…
This is partly caused by the wearing off of the honeymoon novelty enjoyed by the orchestra after it moved to the fabulous but unforgiving acoustics of the Esplanade’s year-old Concert Hall last January.
“Generally, the SSO has never been playing better,” he says. “But to do this week after week, at every concert, putting in 101 per cent, is not easy.”
Classical music fans have also been feeding to excess on gourmet fare, with the recent visits by the London Symphony and Vienna Philharmonic Orchestras.
While heavyweight programmes like Mahler get the orchestra’s dedication and spirit, regular subscription concerts, depending on the conductors, tend to suffer from sloppy and disengaged playing.
Mr Chng wants to rectify the situation, not through drastic measures, but by gently re-aligning the commitment of his musicians and staff to the institution.
He says: “Perhaps what we need is soul connection; an emotional push. And these things don’t happen overnight.”…
Finally, they have the truth to admit that, yes, the SSO hasn’t been playing very well, like the disastrous Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony last November, and the Brahms Piano First Piano Concerto in the same month. There has got to be others that they played to horrified acclaim.
But really, perhaps the phrase “But to do this week after week, at every concert, putting in 101 per cent, is not easy” does not stand in for an excuse to play poorly. How would this compare to the top orchestras in Europe and America? Or I would rather that SSO play a concert twice a week but put in a good job.
With regards to the choice of programme, I do not really see anything rather exciting… every year there has to be the “Butterfly Lovers’ Violin Concerto”, the Beethoven Piano Concertos and Symphonies… for God’s sake can’t we have something that we’ve never heard before? What about the modernists? Sure I don’t really like atonal music, but I think I would rather pierce my head with such stuff in the concert hall than bore myself programmes that are repeated year after year. Look at the “Butterfly Lovers”… it’s been played EVERY YEAR. This year there’s Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 3 again, despite the Beethoven Piano Cycle performed by Mikhail Pletnev at last year’s Arts Festival. Please, please, give these works a rest and bring in other fare. You may shock audiences or drive them away, but it makes them a better lot of arts appreciators, because they know what they will like and what they will not like. Undoubtedly the idea for art to live is to have debates over issues like performance and works.
* * *
I was asked to call my mother to determine a location where my father could pick her up. I picked up the phone, and hesitated… I seemed to have forgotten her cell phone number. Out of nowhere it just came back to me… I keyed into the phone and waited for her to pick it up.
For some time there was no response. Suddenly, my own cell phone, sitting at my desk, began to ring. I was in a dilemma as to continue holding the house phone, or to pick up my cell phone. I had earlier placed an SMS to Wee Sheung, who was to paint pictures alongside my music at the ARTivitiy Seminar this coming Sunday, in order to discuss with her my plans for the event, so I thought she had called me. Well, if Mother hadn’t answered the phone, I would call her back later. I put down the receiver and went to pick up the cell phone.
I said, “Hello?” Immediately there was a click and the cell phone died. I muttered irritably, “Who’s that idiot…”
Then I realised the “idiot” was I: I had dialled 9001 2808 on the phone, which is my number, having mixed it up with my mother’s number, of which I used to own before I switched SIM cards with her. ¶ 3/22/2004 11:45:00 am 0 comments
Sunday, March 21, 2004
11 days to NS and counting…
* * *
What the hell… Chen Shui Bian won the Taiwan elections…
This spells a lot of trouble. We’ll probably get another war when that ass continues to anger China with its bid for independence. How the hell can they vote some foolhardy shit for their President? He’s going to send the Far East into total chaos. When that day comes… God knows what will happen to those people who have businesses in China and Taiwan…
I can understand why China must keep Taiwan in check. If Taiwan goes independent, what if it acquires arms from one of its closest allies, the USA, and goes on a showdown against China? There definitely has to be some strong hand upon Taiwan to stop it from getting up to some form of mischief.
CBW hates him. My father hates him. And I hate him.
Call me cruel, but this is another up-and-rising Adolf Hitler. Honestly with the knowledge that in the world there exist such people who play with fire, I should never be able to sleep in peace.
Anyway Taiwan’s gone haywire, with Lien-Soong supporters flocking the streets, protesting, demanding a recount. So does Lien, who calls the election unfair. Many of the KMT supporters think that the bizarre assassination bid might be a ploy to gain sympathy votes for Chen-Liu’s DPP.
Across the Causeway, Abdullah “Pak Lah” Badawi and his Barisan Nasional has won a landslide victory, giving him a clear mandate to rule Malaysia. Dr Wan Aziz Ismail was defeated as the issue regarding her husband Anwar Ibrahim has more or less died down, so her main root of support is finished. PAS lost very badly, because it nearly showed itself to be some fanatic Muslim party, alienating the non-Muslims and alarming the Muslims themselves.
* * *
Third gym session today. I’ve improved: I can add an extra weight to all the stations that I do. However I still have difficulty doing even two pull-ups. One is a killer enough, taking lots of energy. I cannot forget the technique I used, which saved me from early enlistment. The frustration is that I cannot get the “feeling” of wanting to push myself to do it, to pull myself up, pass the fucking test and save my soul from further physical torture.
I finally realise that buffets are an affair of wasted food at the very end. BW and I go to the Tampines Stadium to try out pull-ups, and on the way back to the gym, chance upon this Family Sports Day organised by the CAAS. They were about to start some lucky-draw thing. At the other end of the spectator stands was a long table with drink dispensers and… food!
BW says it’s okay to eat, but I am not so sure. Anyway we just climb up the steps to the tables and drink the fruit punch like nobody’s business. BW tells me, “Just relax and act naturally… nobody will ask questions.” The drinks are a welcome relief from the strenuous gym session.
Then we help ourselves to the food. BW explains that all these food will be thrown away if not eaten, because the caterers will not carry any food back to their shop. To prove it, I saw a man with a Styrofoam food box scooping as much mini-cakes as the container could contain. Nobody cared about anybody else; everyone just ate like no one’s business. I think some “freeloaders” like us were there munching away too.
How fortunate we are! We have food all the time, yet we don’t treasure it. We can complain when the food is not to our standard. We always seem to forget that there are less fortunate people elsewhere to whom such simple affairs are the equivalent of a luxurious feast. Even a fish ball is a rare treat that they will take every moment to savour.
* * *
I just have to watch the last episode of “Love is Beautiful”. It’s a terrific show, story-wise and value-wise. There are few shows that dare to explore the idea that love is about mutual attraction, not physical attraction. Tonight is the final showdown between Chu Chu/Xiao Tao and the others. Finally the foolish emperor realises his mistake, that he has been trusting the wrong people all the while. Of course the story is “happily-ever-after”: Chu Chu falls off a cliff and dies, after hallucinations of Ling Yun haunt her and in her frenzy, she looses her grip and falls off. Xiao Tao is personally executed by the Emperor. He nearly didn’t die because he claimed that he was the Emperor – before the attempt to change Ling Yun/Chu Chu’s faces Xiao Tao had been wounded by General Wan as he tried to escape. To save him it was necessary that the Emperor gave him three drops of his blood. In other words, the Emperor was now embodied within Xiao Tao. If Xiao Tao died, the Emperor would die as well.
Eventually, it was nearly time for Ling Yun to “disappear” from the world. After her execution, she was granted eighteen years’ grace on earth to take care of Dan-er and make sure he grew up and was well-taught. Now that she had settled her duties it was time for her to leave the mortal world. However, Heaven was touched by her endurance and love that she was allowed to continue living in the mortal world to enjoy a long life and family bliss.
The most unforgettable phrase at the end of the show: “Kindness begets kindness.”
* * *
I type “Pipiland” into my Yahoo! Search engine this evening… shocking! Never would I expect that there’s so many “Pipilands”…
One of them is a gift shop, as from the website: http://www.sam-design.com/pipiland/
“Welcome to Pipiland, a gift store with many chain store from Surabaya to Bali.
We specialize in exclusive and unique items.”
How these people came up with the name Pipiland?
Of course we have our own history behind the clique’s name.
THE HISTORY OF THE PIPILANDERS
Benson the Chancellor has had a fond habit of calling Philip the King “Pip” for short. He likes to holler that abbreviated version of the name repeatedly in rapid sequence, in other words, “Pip, pip, pip…”
So one day, Si Ying comes along, hears the Chancellor’s usual name-calling and comments, “You ‘Pip, pip, pip’ what? ‘Pip pip land” is it?”
And so Pipiland was born, from the name “Pip pip land”
Pipiland is a union of anti-mugger personalities. We share a common destiny of being disgusted by the presence of a majority of muggers inside our class. As the saying goes, “Unity is Strength”: we stick and stand by each other and encourage one another in times of crisis, and we skip lessons (and sometimes school) together. There is nothing we cannot do or won’t do, so as long as we achieve our goal.
* * *
Tomorrow is the Year Two’s March Common Test… all the best, guys. ¶ 3/21/2004 11:47:00 am 0 comments
* * *
What the hell… Chen Shui Bian won the Taiwan elections…
This spells a lot of trouble. We’ll probably get another war when that ass continues to anger China with its bid for independence. How the hell can they vote some foolhardy shit for their President? He’s going to send the Far East into total chaos. When that day comes… God knows what will happen to those people who have businesses in China and Taiwan…
I can understand why China must keep Taiwan in check. If Taiwan goes independent, what if it acquires arms from one of its closest allies, the USA, and goes on a showdown against China? There definitely has to be some strong hand upon Taiwan to stop it from getting up to some form of mischief.
CBW hates him. My father hates him. And I hate him.
Call me cruel, but this is another up-and-rising Adolf Hitler. Honestly with the knowledge that in the world there exist such people who play with fire, I should never be able to sleep in peace.
Anyway Taiwan’s gone haywire, with Lien-Soong supporters flocking the streets, protesting, demanding a recount. So does Lien, who calls the election unfair. Many of the KMT supporters think that the bizarre assassination bid might be a ploy to gain sympathy votes for Chen-Liu’s DPP.
Across the Causeway, Abdullah “Pak Lah” Badawi and his Barisan Nasional has won a landslide victory, giving him a clear mandate to rule Malaysia. Dr Wan Aziz Ismail was defeated as the issue regarding her husband Anwar Ibrahim has more or less died down, so her main root of support is finished. PAS lost very badly, because it nearly showed itself to be some fanatic Muslim party, alienating the non-Muslims and alarming the Muslims themselves.
* * *
Third gym session today. I’ve improved: I can add an extra weight to all the stations that I do. However I still have difficulty doing even two pull-ups. One is a killer enough, taking lots of energy. I cannot forget the technique I used, which saved me from early enlistment. The frustration is that I cannot get the “feeling” of wanting to push myself to do it, to pull myself up, pass the fucking test and save my soul from further physical torture.
I finally realise that buffets are an affair of wasted food at the very end. BW and I go to the Tampines Stadium to try out pull-ups, and on the way back to the gym, chance upon this Family Sports Day organised by the CAAS. They were about to start some lucky-draw thing. At the other end of the spectator stands was a long table with drink dispensers and… food!
BW says it’s okay to eat, but I am not so sure. Anyway we just climb up the steps to the tables and drink the fruit punch like nobody’s business. BW tells me, “Just relax and act naturally… nobody will ask questions.” The drinks are a welcome relief from the strenuous gym session.
Then we help ourselves to the food. BW explains that all these food will be thrown away if not eaten, because the caterers will not carry any food back to their shop. To prove it, I saw a man with a Styrofoam food box scooping as much mini-cakes as the container could contain. Nobody cared about anybody else; everyone just ate like no one’s business. I think some “freeloaders” like us were there munching away too.
How fortunate we are! We have food all the time, yet we don’t treasure it. We can complain when the food is not to our standard. We always seem to forget that there are less fortunate people elsewhere to whom such simple affairs are the equivalent of a luxurious feast. Even a fish ball is a rare treat that they will take every moment to savour.
* * *
I just have to watch the last episode of “Love is Beautiful”. It’s a terrific show, story-wise and value-wise. There are few shows that dare to explore the idea that love is about mutual attraction, not physical attraction. Tonight is the final showdown between Chu Chu/Xiao Tao and the others. Finally the foolish emperor realises his mistake, that he has been trusting the wrong people all the while. Of course the story is “happily-ever-after”: Chu Chu falls off a cliff and dies, after hallucinations of Ling Yun haunt her and in her frenzy, she looses her grip and falls off. Xiao Tao is personally executed by the Emperor. He nearly didn’t die because he claimed that he was the Emperor – before the attempt to change Ling Yun/Chu Chu’s faces Xiao Tao had been wounded by General Wan as he tried to escape. To save him it was necessary that the Emperor gave him three drops of his blood. In other words, the Emperor was now embodied within Xiao Tao. If Xiao Tao died, the Emperor would die as well.
Eventually, it was nearly time for Ling Yun to “disappear” from the world. After her execution, she was granted eighteen years’ grace on earth to take care of Dan-er and make sure he grew up and was well-taught. Now that she had settled her duties it was time for her to leave the mortal world. However, Heaven was touched by her endurance and love that she was allowed to continue living in the mortal world to enjoy a long life and family bliss.
The most unforgettable phrase at the end of the show: “Kindness begets kindness.”
* * *
I type “Pipiland” into my Yahoo! Search engine this evening… shocking! Never would I expect that there’s so many “Pipilands”…
One of them is a gift shop, as from the website: http://www.sam-design.com/pipiland/
“Welcome to Pipiland, a gift store with many chain store from Surabaya to Bali.
We specialize in exclusive and unique items.”
How these people came up with the name Pipiland?
Of course we have our own history behind the clique’s name.
THE HISTORY OF THE PIPILANDERS
Benson the Chancellor has had a fond habit of calling Philip the King “Pip” for short. He likes to holler that abbreviated version of the name repeatedly in rapid sequence, in other words, “Pip, pip, pip…”
So one day, Si Ying comes along, hears the Chancellor’s usual name-calling and comments, “You ‘Pip, pip, pip’ what? ‘Pip pip land” is it?”
And so Pipiland was born, from the name “Pip pip land”
Pipiland is a union of anti-mugger personalities. We share a common destiny of being disgusted by the presence of a majority of muggers inside our class. As the saying goes, “Unity is Strength”: we stick and stand by each other and encourage one another in times of crisis, and we skip lessons (and sometimes school) together. There is nothing we cannot do or won’t do, so as long as we achieve our goal.
* * *
Tomorrow is the Year Two’s March Common Test… all the best, guys. ¶ 3/21/2004 11:47:00 am 0 comments
Saturday, March 20, 2004
12 days to NS and counting…
That idiot brother of mine took my swimming goggles by accident one Wednesday for his swimming session (as a CCA), and of all things lost it at the swimming pool. I’m grousing about it because that pair of goggles has degree vision. Now I’ll have to spend money again and buy another pair, and I have to go down to the sports shop and stay there and try on the goggles until I find one that fits my vision.
It happens that my father has a voucher from his signing-up of the Singapore Biathlon (although with the state of his cough I doubt that he will go for the event tomorrow morning), and we decide to head down to the Royal Sporting House outlet at Suntec City to buy the goggles and a pair of swimming trunks for my brother.
Apparently now the goggles don’t come as a pair; the lenses are sold individually with different degrees. For example, if I have a degree of 700, I have to pick the one labelled -7.00. Yet I am told, I should take something at least 0.5 lesser than my current vision. After choosing the lenses that you want, you take the last box which contains the strap, and either you go home and DIY or you ask the store to do it for you. At least now Speedo has the sense to package their goggles with degrees in this way. Each person’s eyesight requires a custom fit.
I can’t wait to go to the Esplanade library again. I’ve finished watching Waldbuhne 1995 with Sir Simon Rattle conducting, and I’ve fallen in love with Gershwin’s “Porgy and Bess”. I hope to find the DVD to “Porgy and Bess” conducted by Rattle himself, and probably with the same soloists as well. Damn shit, they don’t have it.
Nevertheless I borrow Waldbuhne 2000 “Rhythm and Dance”. Kent Nagano’s programme is somewhat similar to Rattle’s five years down the road, but somewhat after listening later I find that some of Nagano’s interpretations are not really to my favour. He takes the Overture to “Candide” a bit too slowly, and looses some of the excitement. In my opinion, the best version is still the one played by the New York Philharmonic and conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Lenny can be exciting with his tempos. His conducting of the fourth movement of Shos’ Fifth Symphony is fast and furious – the most exciting version of all. However, I think his and Glenn Gould’s performance of Brahms Piano Concerto No. 1 sucks, because the tempo is too slow – and I mean much slower than what Brahms originally wanted.
Anyway back to Nagano… he takes Berliner Luft too slowly. Okay, he didn’t conduct them, but started them off… the tempo he had in mind is a little too slow to bring out the gaiety of the piece. I like Rattle’s and Mehta’s versions – in the words of Goldilocks, they’re “just right”.
Another disc I borrow is Andre Previn’s “A Streetcar Named Desire”. I first got acquainted with it while watching a DVD documentary (also from the same library) about Previn himself, titled “The Kindness of Strangers”. There were footages of the preparations for, and the actual performance of, his first opera, commissioned by the San Francisco Opera. I haven’t really finished watching it, but from the beginning it sounds good. Contemporary music, sometimes almost like an action movie track (thanks to Previn’s days working in Hollywood). It’s still tonal. The atonality doesn’t go overboard. I don’t understand why there are people who criticise Previn over his compositions, stereotyping him because he has once been a film score composer, his music was, well, “cheap” and “cliché”, as what they accuse film music of being. Honestly I think all those film writing effects come to good use in music for the theatre, like this opera.
The last disc I borrow is “Titus”, but I haven’t had time to watch it yet.
* * *
The urge to buy the recording of Korngold’s opera “Die tote Stadt” is overpowering: I don’t care, I’m going down to the HMV at Heeren to buy it. Again, it was the Previn documentary that brought me to “Die tote Stadt”. It was the chapter on Previn’s love life… the music in the background was “Marietta’s Aria”, sung tenderly and touchingly by Kiri Te Kanawa. It was so beautiful that it wanted to make me cry. Last Thursday (18/3/2004) when I was at HMV, I chanced upon a Naxos recording of the opera, but I didn’t consider buying it then because I had my sights on Shos 10. Today, I’m going back to get it, by hook or by crook.
To hell that the CD case was cracked… when I opened it up in the bus on the way home there was a horrible noise, and a plastic piece flew up and nearly went into my eye. It was a double-disc recording; the second flap dislodged and refused to go back into its hinges again. I made a note to transfer the discs and the programme notes into my portable CD carrier case.
Anyway I buy CDs for the music, who cares about what happens to the cover?
* * *
I can’t believe I simply stayed at the fountain at the Heeren and stared at it transfixed for a full fifteen minutes.
Perhaps it was the lights (blue, red, orange, white, which flashed in permutations and combinations and in various sequences). Perhaps it was sound of the water jets, and the programme they follow as to when to spout water and when to stop. Perhaps it was the excitement of waiting for all the white lights inside the fountain to glow and suddenly, WHOOSH, the centre spout shoots a spray of water five-storeys high.
Of course the last feature captivated a lot of people in the shopping mall. ¶ 3/20/2004 11:47:00 am 0 comments
That idiot brother of mine took my swimming goggles by accident one Wednesday for his swimming session (as a CCA), and of all things lost it at the swimming pool. I’m grousing about it because that pair of goggles has degree vision. Now I’ll have to spend money again and buy another pair, and I have to go down to the sports shop and stay there and try on the goggles until I find one that fits my vision.
It happens that my father has a voucher from his signing-up of the Singapore Biathlon (although with the state of his cough I doubt that he will go for the event tomorrow morning), and we decide to head down to the Royal Sporting House outlet at Suntec City to buy the goggles and a pair of swimming trunks for my brother.
Apparently now the goggles don’t come as a pair; the lenses are sold individually with different degrees. For example, if I have a degree of 700, I have to pick the one labelled -7.00. Yet I am told, I should take something at least 0.5 lesser than my current vision. After choosing the lenses that you want, you take the last box which contains the strap, and either you go home and DIY or you ask the store to do it for you. At least now Speedo has the sense to package their goggles with degrees in this way. Each person’s eyesight requires a custom fit.
I can’t wait to go to the Esplanade library again. I’ve finished watching Waldbuhne 1995 with Sir Simon Rattle conducting, and I’ve fallen in love with Gershwin’s “Porgy and Bess”. I hope to find the DVD to “Porgy and Bess” conducted by Rattle himself, and probably with the same soloists as well. Damn shit, they don’t have it.
Nevertheless I borrow Waldbuhne 2000 “Rhythm and Dance”. Kent Nagano’s programme is somewhat similar to Rattle’s five years down the road, but somewhat after listening later I find that some of Nagano’s interpretations are not really to my favour. He takes the Overture to “Candide” a bit too slowly, and looses some of the excitement. In my opinion, the best version is still the one played by the New York Philharmonic and conducted by Leonard Bernstein. Lenny can be exciting with his tempos. His conducting of the fourth movement of Shos’ Fifth Symphony is fast and furious – the most exciting version of all. However, I think his and Glenn Gould’s performance of Brahms Piano Concerto No. 1 sucks, because the tempo is too slow – and I mean much slower than what Brahms originally wanted.
Anyway back to Nagano… he takes Berliner Luft too slowly. Okay, he didn’t conduct them, but started them off… the tempo he had in mind is a little too slow to bring out the gaiety of the piece. I like Rattle’s and Mehta’s versions – in the words of Goldilocks, they’re “just right”.
Another disc I borrow is Andre Previn’s “A Streetcar Named Desire”. I first got acquainted with it while watching a DVD documentary (also from the same library) about Previn himself, titled “The Kindness of Strangers”. There were footages of the preparations for, and the actual performance of, his first opera, commissioned by the San Francisco Opera. I haven’t really finished watching it, but from the beginning it sounds good. Contemporary music, sometimes almost like an action movie track (thanks to Previn’s days working in Hollywood). It’s still tonal. The atonality doesn’t go overboard. I don’t understand why there are people who criticise Previn over his compositions, stereotyping him because he has once been a film score composer, his music was, well, “cheap” and “cliché”, as what they accuse film music of being. Honestly I think all those film writing effects come to good use in music for the theatre, like this opera.
The last disc I borrow is “Titus”, but I haven’t had time to watch it yet.
* * *
The urge to buy the recording of Korngold’s opera “Die tote Stadt” is overpowering: I don’t care, I’m going down to the HMV at Heeren to buy it. Again, it was the Previn documentary that brought me to “Die tote Stadt”. It was the chapter on Previn’s love life… the music in the background was “Marietta’s Aria”, sung tenderly and touchingly by Kiri Te Kanawa. It was so beautiful that it wanted to make me cry. Last Thursday (18/3/2004) when I was at HMV, I chanced upon a Naxos recording of the opera, but I didn’t consider buying it then because I had my sights on Shos 10. Today, I’m going back to get it, by hook or by crook.
To hell that the CD case was cracked… when I opened it up in the bus on the way home there was a horrible noise, and a plastic piece flew up and nearly went into my eye. It was a double-disc recording; the second flap dislodged and refused to go back into its hinges again. I made a note to transfer the discs and the programme notes into my portable CD carrier case.
Anyway I buy CDs for the music, who cares about what happens to the cover?
* * *
I can’t believe I simply stayed at the fountain at the Heeren and stared at it transfixed for a full fifteen minutes.
Perhaps it was the lights (blue, red, orange, white, which flashed in permutations and combinations and in various sequences). Perhaps it was sound of the water jets, and the programme they follow as to when to spout water and when to stop. Perhaps it was the excitement of waiting for all the white lights inside the fountain to glow and suddenly, WHOOSH, the centre spout shoots a spray of water five-storeys high.
Of course the last feature captivated a lot of people in the shopping mall. ¶ 3/20/2004 11:47:00 am 0 comments
Friday, March 19, 2004
Christ... I can trust that old English-Italian online translator... apparently "Stare" is not Italian for "Life". Word Reference. com tells me that "Life" is "Vita". So here's the corrected name: "Sinfonia da Vita, Op. 1"
And I don't know why the inverted commas appear as funny symbols... can't be bothered messing around with the script... my apologies if reading is a headache for you, as I am having a headache while typing this now... ¶ 3/19/2004 06:54:00 pm 0 comments
And I don't know why the inverted commas appear as funny symbols... can't be bothered messing around with the script... my apologies if reading is a headache for you, as I am having a headache while typing this now... ¶ 3/19/2004 06:54:00 pm 0 comments
Alas, the task force on encouraging Singaporeans to get hitched and produce more babies (SDU included) should have grabbed the opportunity and commission the Black-Eyed Peas to rewrite their hit “Where is the Love” for the local campaign. What a waste they didn’t do it! So I’ve come up with an alternative version for the chorus:
…………………..
WHERE IS THE CHILD
(Based on “Where is the Love” by Black-Eyed Peas)
Our population shrinking
Older population greying
Can you marry and have sex
Or be fined and pay more tax
Tolong, tolong, tolong, help us
Our country needs more births
‘Cause we’ve got the gah’men questioning
Where is the child
The child…
The child…
Where is the child, where IS the child?! ¶ 3/19/2004 01:10:00 am 0 comments
…………………..
WHERE IS THE CHILD
(Based on “Where is the Love” by Black-Eyed Peas)
Our population shrinking
Older population greying
Can you marry and have sex
Or be fined and pay more tax
Tolong, tolong, tolong, help us
Our country needs more births
‘Cause we’ve got the gah’men questioning
Where is the child
The child…
The child…
Where is the child, where IS the child?! ¶ 3/19/2004 01:10:00 am 0 comments
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Okay, I'm very sorry... I've changed the template again in less than 24 hours... or is it a little more? Anyway I like this really cool music template - my epitome, so this it shall be. And it's black! No use being too optimistically white (pardon the pun) in Singapore. Come on, I'm not even a minister's son...
¶ 3/18/2004 01:17:00 am 0 comments
I’ve been very shy about my singing voice and do not really like to flaunt it in public. But ever since I showed some of my songs to Mr Leong, and when I was the Musical Director for the musical while it was still functioning (I was involved in coaching the cast how to sing the songs), I felt I just had to heck if my voice was bad or angelic (ahem!) and just SING. Anyway I wasn’t going for a competition, and I am not about to be spit venom at by a Simon Cowell or someone else along his calibre.
So I agree to go karaoke today. There are six of us – me, Wai Khang, Xiang Jun, Peiyee, Ying Ying and Yan Ting (Peiyee’s guy friend) – and we all go down to this nice cosy lounge on the fourth floor of Lucky Chinatown. The price there is very reasonable: $5 per person for 3 hours’ use of the facilities, excluding snacks and beverages. And they’ve got a wide range of songs: Mandarin, English, Cantonese, Hokkien, even Thai and Malay. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they had selections from the musicals.
The rooms are laid out differently from the usual karaoke lounges most people would have been to. There are no sofas or tables. Instead everybody sits on the floor. There are cushions to make one comfortable. A small table supports the remote control, catalogues, ashtray, drinks, food, and yes, a cordless mouse! You pick songs from a computer database – there’s a large monitor next to the television set, of which when confirmed the computer will send the data to the player.
The wonders of technology.
Me, WK and YT dominated the microphones. Individually we chose a particular genre of songs. WK was more for Cantopop stuff; YT Taiwanese and newer Chinese hits; me the English oldies. I discovered WK’s talent in singing: he really has a beautifully strong voice. Think the way Jack Cheung sings and you’ll know how WK sounds like. The closeness is unbelievable. When he took the first song (a Jacky Cheung piece) it was thought that the taped voice had been on to full volume, but it was actually WK singing! YT sang well too; he once took part in a karaoke competition organised by this lounge – his photograph is on the poster alongside with the other contestants along the corridor. I sing in tune, but very coarsely – I don’t know how to sing with the diaphragm. It’s almost like I’m half-talking, half-singing.
* * *
After a late lunch of porridge (yes, the famous Tiong Shan porridge in Chinatown!) we head to The Heeren Shops to visit the HMV outlet there. Thank god they’re having a spring sale (although spring is nearly over). A Naxos recording of Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 10 costs $9.95 – a good buy for me, considering that I am not really fussy about the ensemble that plays the work I wish to listen. I particularly like the fourth movement, with Shos’ initials screaming all over the place.
Surprisingly YT knows Weidong through Friendster; WK, XJ and I run into them while visiting the Annex.
What a small world.
YT had left at 3pm as soon as our karaoke session was over because he had to meet a friend. Never did I expect that this friend is Weidong, and that all would end up meeting one another in the same location again.
* * *
A movie is too late to watch, so we decide to bowl instead. I have to excuse myself from playing as I am wearing sandals and it would cost me extra for socks, which I would have to find some way to deal with after that as, obviously for hygiene purposes, once sold no return.
The three of them play; YY doesn’t want to play either. Halfway she goes off for a long time with the intention of buying food, but only returns after a long time, making us worried. Turns out she went to have dinner.
XJ and PY let their ball slide onto the floor and roll smoothly towards the pins. For WK, he tosses it a little, and lets it fall with a “thump” before it heads for the pins. Noisy though, I find it a better method of ball control compared to smooth-throwing. For the latter, the ball has a danger of sliding or spinning, going off-course as a result. When the ball strikes the floor before rolling, it’s almost as if it’s confirmed its path; there is some degree of friction to it. And WK’s ball never went into the drain once. However, in many rounds the ball strikes towards the right side of the ten-pin formation, causing all but three on the left to topple. It’s always the same three. After noticing the trend, he tries aiming for the exact centre.
All ten pins topple on the first strike.
It happens to the others as well. If they hit a little too off, and not too near to the centre, they will find a few pins left standing on the opposite side.
* * *
WK, XJ and I have dinner at the newly-renovated Fountain Food Terrace. The food is expensive. For a main course, the cheapest is $3 at least. We discuss about food prices. XJ comments that the food in CCHMS has gone cheaper – and the students hungrier. The Western food stall for example, now sells at around $2. But the proportions of meat have become smaller, compared to the previous stallholder, making it not worth all the while. The mixed-vegetable rice stall has improved from the previous tenant, with more varieties and larger helpings. The Muslim food stall remains crazily high, with small proportions. XJ says that one chicken drumstick costs $1.00. That’s crazy for secondary school prices. They’ve become very cautious when choosing dishes from that stall to go with their rice, or else they’ll end up being told to pay up nearly $3, which shocks them all.
Still the dessert is the bonus: $0.80 for a rice-bowl of ice kachang, but then they are generous with the helpings.
* * *
I have been given flowers to bath or wash my face with. For those who don’t know, it’s the mixture of plucked flowers and pomelo leaves that you pour into your bathtub and bathe yourself in. These flowers have been blessed by prayer at a temple, and in turn blesses the person who bathes himself in. The only problem is that it is a horrific mess to clean up after that, because the wet flowers stick almost everywhere and clog the drain.
For the first time I see the Jasmine Flower. I shall enquire how I can get them, for my presentation at Suntec City. ¶ 3/18/2004 01:09:00 am 0 comments
So I agree to go karaoke today. There are six of us – me, Wai Khang, Xiang Jun, Peiyee, Ying Ying and Yan Ting (Peiyee’s guy friend) – and we all go down to this nice cosy lounge on the fourth floor of Lucky Chinatown. The price there is very reasonable: $5 per person for 3 hours’ use of the facilities, excluding snacks and beverages. And they’ve got a wide range of songs: Mandarin, English, Cantonese, Hokkien, even Thai and Malay. I was pleasantly surprised to find that they had selections from the musicals.
The rooms are laid out differently from the usual karaoke lounges most people would have been to. There are no sofas or tables. Instead everybody sits on the floor. There are cushions to make one comfortable. A small table supports the remote control, catalogues, ashtray, drinks, food, and yes, a cordless mouse! You pick songs from a computer database – there’s a large monitor next to the television set, of which when confirmed the computer will send the data to the player.
The wonders of technology.
Me, WK and YT dominated the microphones. Individually we chose a particular genre of songs. WK was more for Cantopop stuff; YT Taiwanese and newer Chinese hits; me the English oldies. I discovered WK’s talent in singing: he really has a beautifully strong voice. Think the way Jack Cheung sings and you’ll know how WK sounds like. The closeness is unbelievable. When he took the first song (a Jacky Cheung piece) it was thought that the taped voice had been on to full volume, but it was actually WK singing! YT sang well too; he once took part in a karaoke competition organised by this lounge – his photograph is on the poster alongside with the other contestants along the corridor. I sing in tune, but very coarsely – I don’t know how to sing with the diaphragm. It’s almost like I’m half-talking, half-singing.
* * *
After a late lunch of porridge (yes, the famous Tiong Shan porridge in Chinatown!) we head to The Heeren Shops to visit the HMV outlet there. Thank god they’re having a spring sale (although spring is nearly over). A Naxos recording of Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 10 costs $9.95 – a good buy for me, considering that I am not really fussy about the ensemble that plays the work I wish to listen. I particularly like the fourth movement, with Shos’ initials screaming all over the place.
Surprisingly YT knows Weidong through Friendster; WK, XJ and I run into them while visiting the Annex.
What a small world.
YT had left at 3pm as soon as our karaoke session was over because he had to meet a friend. Never did I expect that this friend is Weidong, and that all would end up meeting one another in the same location again.
* * *
A movie is too late to watch, so we decide to bowl instead. I have to excuse myself from playing as I am wearing sandals and it would cost me extra for socks, which I would have to find some way to deal with after that as, obviously for hygiene purposes, once sold no return.
The three of them play; YY doesn’t want to play either. Halfway she goes off for a long time with the intention of buying food, but only returns after a long time, making us worried. Turns out she went to have dinner.
XJ and PY let their ball slide onto the floor and roll smoothly towards the pins. For WK, he tosses it a little, and lets it fall with a “thump” before it heads for the pins. Noisy though, I find it a better method of ball control compared to smooth-throwing. For the latter, the ball has a danger of sliding or spinning, going off-course as a result. When the ball strikes the floor before rolling, it’s almost as if it’s confirmed its path; there is some degree of friction to it. And WK’s ball never went into the drain once. However, in many rounds the ball strikes towards the right side of the ten-pin formation, causing all but three on the left to topple. It’s always the same three. After noticing the trend, he tries aiming for the exact centre.
All ten pins topple on the first strike.
It happens to the others as well. If they hit a little too off, and not too near to the centre, they will find a few pins left standing on the opposite side.
* * *
WK, XJ and I have dinner at the newly-renovated Fountain Food Terrace. The food is expensive. For a main course, the cheapest is $3 at least. We discuss about food prices. XJ comments that the food in CCHMS has gone cheaper – and the students hungrier. The Western food stall for example, now sells at around $2. But the proportions of meat have become smaller, compared to the previous stallholder, making it not worth all the while. The mixed-vegetable rice stall has improved from the previous tenant, with more varieties and larger helpings. The Muslim food stall remains crazily high, with small proportions. XJ says that one chicken drumstick costs $1.00. That’s crazy for secondary school prices. They’ve become very cautious when choosing dishes from that stall to go with their rice, or else they’ll end up being told to pay up nearly $3, which shocks them all.
Still the dessert is the bonus: $0.80 for a rice-bowl of ice kachang, but then they are generous with the helpings.
* * *
I have been given flowers to bath or wash my face with. For those who don’t know, it’s the mixture of plucked flowers and pomelo leaves that you pour into your bathtub and bathe yourself in. These flowers have been blessed by prayer at a temple, and in turn blesses the person who bathes himself in. The only problem is that it is a horrific mess to clean up after that, because the wet flowers stick almost everywhere and clog the drain.
For the first time I see the Jasmine Flower. I shall enquire how I can get them, for my presentation at Suntec City. ¶ 3/18/2004 01:09:00 am 0 comments
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Dear readers
I have decided to change the template of my blog... (1) the old one does not provide the avenue for creating links to other people's blogs and other favourite websites (2) I think this new template looks fresher and more contemporary; the old one was a little drab and probably didn't help to bring out my writing (anyway my writing is badly drab as well... I guess it really makes no difference?
Anyway, enjoy
Regards
Aug aka Ah-Gong Shostakovich
Grand Patriach of the Order of the Russian Empire (Communist) ¶ 3/17/2004 12:02:00 am 0 comments
I have decided to change the template of my blog... (1) the old one does not provide the avenue for creating links to other people's blogs and other favourite websites (2) I think this new template looks fresher and more contemporary; the old one was a little drab and probably didn't help to bring out my writing (anyway my writing is badly drab as well... I guess it really makes no difference?
Anyway, enjoy
Regards
Aug aka Ah-Gong Shostakovich
Grand Patriach of the Order of the Russian Empire (Communist) ¶ 3/17/2004 12:02:00 am 0 comments
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Today is my mother’s birthday. Happy 48th birthday, Mum.
I scripted out a piano solo for her, whose theme is based on the first four initials of her name: C.H.A.R. The original name is CHARON, but there are no musical notes to represent O and N, so CHAR it is. I wrote fast and emailed it in MIDI format to her. I wonder if she has listened to it…
I am charged with buying the cake today. It ends up that I walk all the way to Parkway Parade, to the basement level, and to the Four Leaves bakery at the very end of the mall, before I find my choice cake. It is one that is thickly-coated with chocolate. It’s medium-sized and costs $29.00. Just the thing I am looking for. The price of BreadTalk’s cake is crazy: it’s about $30 for a SMALL cake. Sweet Secrets didn’t have much choice left. I couldn’t find Bengawan Solo, although I know there is one in the vicinity.
I request the staff to write the message: “Happy Birthday to Mum and Dad”. My father specifically tells me to write both of them down, because anyway his birthday is one week from now (23rd March) so might as well celebrate together. However, when the staff asks how many candles I want I face a slight difficulty. My mother is 48 years old; my father 50. So I thought, make things easy, round the ages off to 50. “Five large candles, please”.
It was quite a long walk home. And very tiring; I had to be extra cautious with the cake. So far so good, except when I walked along the shop houses of Joo Chiat Road does the package accidentally bump onto the pillar. Back home I quickly do a quality check – thank goodness the cake is alright.
I wonder if cranberries are sour? Because there is this bunch of red fruits on the top of the cake, which nobody but I offers to eat it. Or perhaps they are grapes? Anyway they cool down the fiery taste of the chocolate (chocolate is heaty). ¶ 3/16/2004 11:20:00 pm 0 comments
I scripted out a piano solo for her, whose theme is based on the first four initials of her name: C.H.A.R. The original name is CHARON, but there are no musical notes to represent O and N, so CHAR it is. I wrote fast and emailed it in MIDI format to her. I wonder if she has listened to it…
I am charged with buying the cake today. It ends up that I walk all the way to Parkway Parade, to the basement level, and to the Four Leaves bakery at the very end of the mall, before I find my choice cake. It is one that is thickly-coated with chocolate. It’s medium-sized and costs $29.00. Just the thing I am looking for. The price of BreadTalk’s cake is crazy: it’s about $30 for a SMALL cake. Sweet Secrets didn’t have much choice left. I couldn’t find Bengawan Solo, although I know there is one in the vicinity.
I request the staff to write the message: “Happy Birthday to Mum and Dad”. My father specifically tells me to write both of them down, because anyway his birthday is one week from now (23rd March) so might as well celebrate together. However, when the staff asks how many candles I want I face a slight difficulty. My mother is 48 years old; my father 50. So I thought, make things easy, round the ages off to 50. “Five large candles, please”.
It was quite a long walk home. And very tiring; I had to be extra cautious with the cake. So far so good, except when I walked along the shop houses of Joo Chiat Road does the package accidentally bump onto the pillar. Back home I quickly do a quality check – thank goodness the cake is alright.
I wonder if cranberries are sour? Because there is this bunch of red fruits on the top of the cake, which nobody but I offers to eat it. Or perhaps they are grapes? Anyway they cool down the fiery taste of the chocolate (chocolate is heaty). ¶ 3/16/2004 11:20:00 pm 0 comments
Sunday, March 14, 2004
Due to my very bad cough yesterday, my father bade me to see a doctor to cure my throat problem.
This time we go to a doctor at Old Airport Road, instead of the usual Kai Clinic at Katong. My father told me that we used to go to this Old Airport clinic in the past, when we still lived in that district. Then, it was run by the father. Today, his sons run the clinic.
His clinic is unassuming; there’s a small waiting room with three rows of benches – it takes up half the space of a HDB shop house. The doctor’s office is modest: a simple, aging desk, an ordinary wooden chair. The computer monitor takes a quarter of his rather cluttered desk. He uses those free-gift biros to write his prescriptions. He says that my throat irritation is caused by the presence of phlegm. I still have lots of vile yellow substance stuck in my throat, which I make an effort to clear as much as possible in the mornings when I wake up. The lack of water causes the wall of the organ to itch and coughing is like scratching and relieving the irritation. He gives me medicine, and that’s the end of the visit.
Readers, you must be wondering why I am telling you about this doctor. It’s because I respect him, not only as a profession but as an individual. He doesn’t show that his cause for being in medicine is to earn money and to live a good life. He sees that it is his job to take care of the sick. The layout of his clinic informs us that he is one who is simple, and does not care for a sophisticated, impressive medical office. He is one of two children of the old doctor, and I believe both have bee inspired by their father’s spirit of giving to the sick that they take up medicine. He is none of the kind of people in the Faculty of Medicine that I mentioned about in one of my earlier entries: people who take medicine because they have good grades and think that because of that they want and can treat people with illness, or because their parents think that by becoming a doctor, they would give their parents more pride in that the latter will be able to go around to tea with their friends and show-off: “My son/daughter is a doctor!”.
Next time, I shall not want to be treated by a doctor whose purpose in medicine stems not from a pure passion of helping the sick, but from other issues that are academic, financial and materialistic in nature.
* * *
In the afternoon, I went to Sim Lim Square with a friend; he wanted to look for a new pair of headphones. I carried my brown Espirit sling bag along; it was bulky and swung about constantly because the straps were adjusted long, and the bag had lots of stuff which I was going to return to the Esplanade Library later. So obviously the bag swung around my ankles like a wrecking ball. It made it quite clumsy to walk.
In my right hand I carried my usual blue umbrella, since there were reports of a thunderstorm in the afternoon. Better be safe than sorry.
We were walking on the fourth floor, just past the lift lobby. We turned left down the corridor…
Suddenly there was this tremendous yell of pain.
Both of us jumped. And I mean both of us really JUMPED.
Before any of us had time to recover, we heard this angry Caucasian voice cursing: “Jesus!” It was pure, spitting rage.
I turned, and saw this tall, middle-aged American man, clutching his left arm, which was wrapped in a cast. He was giving me a very angry look. My right arm, protruding a little from my body in order to support my umbrella, had knocked into it. I apologised to him profusely, making short and quick bows of regret, but he only spat “Jesus!” again and again. The red-hot look never left his face for once.
We quickly walked away, fearing trouble. I was badly shaken by the experience. My friend consoled me; that he had been giving that look all along even before we bumped into each other. The look of as if someone had owed him three million dollars.
We almost ran into the man a few times thereafter. Frightened, I would quickly turn and enter a store on the pretext of looking at some product while he passed by. I didn’t want him to catch me with his good arm, give me a good shake and yell “Jesus” in front of my face again. ¶ 3/14/2004 01:11:00 am 0 comments
This time we go to a doctor at Old Airport Road, instead of the usual Kai Clinic at Katong. My father told me that we used to go to this Old Airport clinic in the past, when we still lived in that district. Then, it was run by the father. Today, his sons run the clinic.
His clinic is unassuming; there’s a small waiting room with three rows of benches – it takes up half the space of a HDB shop house. The doctor’s office is modest: a simple, aging desk, an ordinary wooden chair. The computer monitor takes a quarter of his rather cluttered desk. He uses those free-gift biros to write his prescriptions. He says that my throat irritation is caused by the presence of phlegm. I still have lots of vile yellow substance stuck in my throat, which I make an effort to clear as much as possible in the mornings when I wake up. The lack of water causes the wall of the organ to itch and coughing is like scratching and relieving the irritation. He gives me medicine, and that’s the end of the visit.
Readers, you must be wondering why I am telling you about this doctor. It’s because I respect him, not only as a profession but as an individual. He doesn’t show that his cause for being in medicine is to earn money and to live a good life. He sees that it is his job to take care of the sick. The layout of his clinic informs us that he is one who is simple, and does not care for a sophisticated, impressive medical office. He is one of two children of the old doctor, and I believe both have bee inspired by their father’s spirit of giving to the sick that they take up medicine. He is none of the kind of people in the Faculty of Medicine that I mentioned about in one of my earlier entries: people who take medicine because they have good grades and think that because of that they want and can treat people with illness, or because their parents think that by becoming a doctor, they would give their parents more pride in that the latter will be able to go around to tea with their friends and show-off: “My son/daughter is a doctor!”.
Next time, I shall not want to be treated by a doctor whose purpose in medicine stems not from a pure passion of helping the sick, but from other issues that are academic, financial and materialistic in nature.
* * *
In the afternoon, I went to Sim Lim Square with a friend; he wanted to look for a new pair of headphones. I carried my brown Espirit sling bag along; it was bulky and swung about constantly because the straps were adjusted long, and the bag had lots of stuff which I was going to return to the Esplanade Library later. So obviously the bag swung around my ankles like a wrecking ball. It made it quite clumsy to walk.
In my right hand I carried my usual blue umbrella, since there were reports of a thunderstorm in the afternoon. Better be safe than sorry.
We were walking on the fourth floor, just past the lift lobby. We turned left down the corridor…
Suddenly there was this tremendous yell of pain.
Both of us jumped. And I mean both of us really JUMPED.
Before any of us had time to recover, we heard this angry Caucasian voice cursing: “Jesus!” It was pure, spitting rage.
I turned, and saw this tall, middle-aged American man, clutching his left arm, which was wrapped in a cast. He was giving me a very angry look. My right arm, protruding a little from my body in order to support my umbrella, had knocked into it. I apologised to him profusely, making short and quick bows of regret, but he only spat “Jesus!” again and again. The red-hot look never left his face for once.
We quickly walked away, fearing trouble. I was badly shaken by the experience. My friend consoled me; that he had been giving that look all along even before we bumped into each other. The look of as if someone had owed him three million dollars.
We almost ran into the man a few times thereafter. Frightened, I would quickly turn and enter a store on the pretext of looking at some product while he passed by. I didn’t want him to catch me with his good arm, give me a good shake and yell “Jesus” in front of my face again. ¶ 3/14/2004 01:11:00 am 0 comments
Saturday, March 13, 2004
I go down to NUS today for the open house. Actually my purpose is to attend the Yong Siew Toh Conservatory talk.
I alight at Clementi MRT station, because it was nearer to the location of the talk. I was late, so I hurry to the taxi stand than to wait for a bus. I thought it would be quite empty; probably no one would consider alighting at Clementi; most people got off the train at Buona Vista.
Wrong. There is a horrendously long queue that stretched nearly to the escalator leading to the overhead bridge of the station.
I ponder the possibility of booking a cab, but I notice that the cabs are coming in frequently. Smart taxi drivers; there’s lots of business for them here. So I rejoin the queue.
The NUS roads are clogged and crazy with traffic. Cars, buses, taxis… no wonder they requested the Traffic Police to be present. I have to alight a distance from the Multi-Purpose Sports Hall, where the talk is located.
I am late already… the talk has started. I run… I run like crazy… non-stop until I reach the room where the talk is held…
And what a waste. Dr Ho Chee Kong, the speaker, merely reiterated whatever was on the website, i.e. the admission requirements, the facilities, the attractions of studying with YST…
But the reward: a video of the recent performance of the Bruch Double Piano Concerto. I fall in love with that piece immediately. So strong. So melodious. So passionate. I just melted.
The talk over, I presume there is a guided tour of the campus. Turns out there is none; only from next year, Dr Ho says.
I run into some people I know. Rodney Bay is there. He still calls him by my nickname. Yuanling is there with Yvonne. Yixiang as well, Kenny also. I also catch sign of Wenbin, whom I do not know personally, but apparently he’s quite known within the music schools.
Tour or no tour, I wish to see the interim building myself. I head out and take the free shuttle. Sue Ann and Jingzhong spot me from across the road, and come to join me. So do Leisha and her NUS friend, who is great help in giving us directions. Sue Ann persuades me to revive the musical again. I explain that I would like to give it a rest. I think the cast is really adamant that we put up the show. But I’m really too tired.
The YST interim building is a pleasant and cheerful-looking two-storey building set in a nicely-landscaped area, close to the main road that passes through the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences. It seems to hide the drab grey School of Design and Environment behind it. It’s a nice walk up to the Conservatory building, on a red-bricked road. There seems to be no access; the main reception is protected by a security system that requires a card of some sort to gain entry. Continuing up the red-bricked road I come to a huge cafeteria. I order lunch (I skipped breakfast as I was late), and sit down to plan out my portfolio.
I forget to mention that I made a stop at the YST booth in the exhibition hall to inquire about admission procedures. The portfolio was very important, as everyone says. For the audition component, I would either be asked to play one of my piano compositions, or a short piece on sight, to demonstrate my keyboard proficiency. I consider this aspect while planning my portfolio. I decide that I would include a solo piano composition of which I would play for the auditors at the interview. I plan to submit “Xin Chao” and “Toccata” as they were my A-level compositions and would be strong enough, having helped me obtain my distinction for music. Furthermore, they offered variety: “Xin Chao” is a percussion ensemble composition, while the “Toccata” is composed for string quartet. The main goal of my portfolio is to demonstrate my ability to write for a great variety of genres, and a great variety in musical language. For instance, “Xin Chao” has an Asiatic flavour to it – something along the lines of the Indonesian gamelan. “Toccata” is tonal, but modern, almost like Shostakovich or Khachaturian. I would probably write an Impressionistic piano solo to replace “Impressions of the Jasmine Flower”, because it is an arrangement and arrangements are not allowed to be included in the portfolio. The musical was out; it was not serious music. But it would be mentioned in the catalogue at the front of the portfolio. For the last two I decided upon a Chinese Orchestra ensemble work and one for symphony orchestra, probably a rewrite of “Breakwater Sunrise”. I will produce a strong portfolio that can stand on its own.
But right now I have to go into the army first. YST does not have a policy of “reserving” places, as the other NUS courses do, so I can only apply when I am about to be discharged from NS.
Sucks man. ¶ 3/13/2004 10:28:00 pm 0 comments
I alight at Clementi MRT station, because it was nearer to the location of the talk. I was late, so I hurry to the taxi stand than to wait for a bus. I thought it would be quite empty; probably no one would consider alighting at Clementi; most people got off the train at Buona Vista.
Wrong. There is a horrendously long queue that stretched nearly to the escalator leading to the overhead bridge of the station.
I ponder the possibility of booking a cab, but I notice that the cabs are coming in frequently. Smart taxi drivers; there’s lots of business for them here. So I rejoin the queue.
The NUS roads are clogged and crazy with traffic. Cars, buses, taxis… no wonder they requested the Traffic Police to be present. I have to alight a distance from the Multi-Purpose Sports Hall, where the talk is located.
I am late already… the talk has started. I run… I run like crazy… non-stop until I reach the room where the talk is held…
And what a waste. Dr Ho Chee Kong, the speaker, merely reiterated whatever was on the website, i.e. the admission requirements, the facilities, the attractions of studying with YST…
But the reward: a video of the recent performance of the Bruch Double Piano Concerto. I fall in love with that piece immediately. So strong. So melodious. So passionate. I just melted.
The talk over, I presume there is a guided tour of the campus. Turns out there is none; only from next year, Dr Ho says.
I run into some people I know. Rodney Bay is there. He still calls him by my nickname. Yuanling is there with Yvonne. Yixiang as well, Kenny also. I also catch sign of Wenbin, whom I do not know personally, but apparently he’s quite known within the music schools.
Tour or no tour, I wish to see the interim building myself. I head out and take the free shuttle. Sue Ann and Jingzhong spot me from across the road, and come to join me. So do Leisha and her NUS friend, who is great help in giving us directions. Sue Ann persuades me to revive the musical again. I explain that I would like to give it a rest. I think the cast is really adamant that we put up the show. But I’m really too tired.
The YST interim building is a pleasant and cheerful-looking two-storey building set in a nicely-landscaped area, close to the main road that passes through the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences. It seems to hide the drab grey School of Design and Environment behind it. It’s a nice walk up to the Conservatory building, on a red-bricked road. There seems to be no access; the main reception is protected by a security system that requires a card of some sort to gain entry. Continuing up the red-bricked road I come to a huge cafeteria. I order lunch (I skipped breakfast as I was late), and sit down to plan out my portfolio.
I forget to mention that I made a stop at the YST booth in the exhibition hall to inquire about admission procedures. The portfolio was very important, as everyone says. For the audition component, I would either be asked to play one of my piano compositions, or a short piece on sight, to demonstrate my keyboard proficiency. I consider this aspect while planning my portfolio. I decide that I would include a solo piano composition of which I would play for the auditors at the interview. I plan to submit “Xin Chao” and “Toccata” as they were my A-level compositions and would be strong enough, having helped me obtain my distinction for music. Furthermore, they offered variety: “Xin Chao” is a percussion ensemble composition, while the “Toccata” is composed for string quartet. The main goal of my portfolio is to demonstrate my ability to write for a great variety of genres, and a great variety in musical language. For instance, “Xin Chao” has an Asiatic flavour to it – something along the lines of the Indonesian gamelan. “Toccata” is tonal, but modern, almost like Shostakovich or Khachaturian. I would probably write an Impressionistic piano solo to replace “Impressions of the Jasmine Flower”, because it is an arrangement and arrangements are not allowed to be included in the portfolio. The musical was out; it was not serious music. But it would be mentioned in the catalogue at the front of the portfolio. For the last two I decided upon a Chinese Orchestra ensemble work and one for symphony orchestra, probably a rewrite of “Breakwater Sunrise”. I will produce a strong portfolio that can stand on its own.
But right now I have to go into the army first. YST does not have a policy of “reserving” places, as the other NUS courses do, so I can only apply when I am about to be discharged from NS.
Sucks man. ¶ 3/13/2004 10:28:00 pm 0 comments
Thursday, March 11, 2004
An extremely “eventful” day: two things happened.
In the morning some movers came to ship my piano to my grandma’s house. We were about to move to a temporary four-room flat, which didn’t have the luxury of space for my huge instrument.
I stood beside the movers, watching them eagle-eyed, never leaving more than 2 metres from the piano at all times. I didn’t care if they were professional piano movers or ordinary movers who moved lots of pianos before; I just wanted to watch over my beloved.
They wrapped her up, and carried her out into the garden, down the steps, and onto the trolley at the common pathway. My apartment is on the ground floor, with its own garden leading to a common pathway that leads to the other houses. So imagine a terrace house within an apartment building. They had problems going down the small garden steps, and about thrice they had to put her down and lift her again. I feared that they might damage the mechanism, or scratch her underbelly.
It was problematic again, going up onto the lorry. (1) We were on sloped ground. (2) The lorry had to park with its cargo door alongside the grass patch, as a low concrete barrier blocked the pavement. The castors on the piano ran onto the patch so many times that mud and grass were stuck onto it. I grimaced. On the first attempt at lifting her up, they nearly dropped her as they got their balance wrong. On the second attempt, thank goodness, she was heaved safely onto the truck. Then all of us clambered onto the truck to head for my grandma’s, fortunately not very far away.
Grandma’s was easy. The piano was simply unloaded and wheeled on the trolley straight into the living room, where it occupied the spot where my old M108T once stood. She took up more space though, because she was broader, and taller. Furthermore, we had the homemade sound-absorber (of egg crates) placed behind the piano. So she seemed to have taken up more space.
I gave her a test run. Some keys were a little out of tune, but not too seriously discordant. Anyway it was time for another tuning.
* * *
I had just finished lunch when the phone rang. It was Megan.
“August, we’re calling off the musical.”
CALLING OFF THE MUSICAL. I couldn’t believe. I SIMPLY couldn’t believe it.
“Why?”
“Administrative problems. The school’s not being very cooperative, and this is making it difficult for us to rehearse. We can’t put on a good show for everyone.”
I asked her for alternatives. There was none.
I thought I had listened wrongly. Only this morning Meg had called me again and volunteered to be the Funeral Directress for the show, since we couldn’t get any of the male teachers to be the Funeral Director. And we were starting to sell tickets today.
The confirmation: “Can you tell your orchestra? I’m so sorry…”
I hung up, and immediately massed SMS the orchestra and other people who have been anticipating our show the bad news. Some replied back asking about alternatives. Some suggested talking to the principal.
I called Meg again. “They want us to continue with the show.”
But the circumstances forbid us, she said.
-1-
We need a lot more opportunities to go into the auditorium (our performance venue) to rehearse, so that the singers and the orchestra can get used to the acoustics. The singers, in addition, can try out their stage movements on the actual performing platform. Vellachi could easily discuss the technical stuff since we had an actual view of all the equipment.
However, the OM has flatly denied us frequent entry into the auditorium, even though we begged and cajoled him, and offered not to use the air-conditioning, if the school was really bent on cutting down on electricity bills. Still the OM only restricted us to Saturdays only. Weekdays, even if during the March holidays, was a no-no. Saturday is a very dangerous day, for there might unexpectedly crop up some other activity elsewhere which leaves some members of the cast or orchestra unable to attend the rehearsal, so we wouldn’t be able to practice. Furthermore, two rehearsals in our performing venue are insufficient.
You may ask, how do other performance groups make do with just one or two uses of their actual performing venue before their performance? You can’t compare us with them. They are professionals. So far only Eng Tat is the only person in our team who has experience with drama. Even for the orchestra, this is the first time they get to play in a “pit” - even though it’s not really a pit, but they are playing off the stage for the first time. We really need the venue to get really used to it for our performance.
To make things worse, the school is not helping us by granting us more frequent access to a room with a piano within the school for cast rehearsals. Constantly we are forced to practice in the canteen on Wednesdays, or to carry a portable keyboard in on Saturdays and work in some unworldly place, such as under the lecture theatres. We can hardly use the hall and its piano because there would be PDPs using it during our rehearsal times. We can only rehearse on PDP days in the school because that is when we can leave the school late, by following another PDP out when they finish their activities for the day. Otherwise we would have to scram by 8pm on other days.
-2-
The school wants all our profits. Fine, they can have it. But not when they do not make the effort to help us, and instead constantly try to curb our activities. Especially his Ominous Majesty, who made sure we were not going to get the venues for our practice. We’re doing this musical as a favour for the school, to raise funds to help needy students, but the administration (especially the OM) is not helping us with the logistics to enable us to deliver a good show for the charitable purpose. I cannot help but comment on the OM’s behaviour in particular towards our activities. When Megan called him and talked to him nicely on the phone, the man behaved extremely rudely and haughtily and even slammed the phone down on her at the end. Also, our posters were banned from being put up around the school, even though it has been vetted. Why is there discrimination against former students? Are we a threat to the school’s security? Then why have alumni associations? You might as well tell graduating students: “Okay, you’ve finished studying here, now get the hell out and don’t come back here again.” Or he could have easily said, given his disposition: “Fuck off.”
Why are we talking about fostering entrepreneurship and all that shit in school? Here we are trying to do something on our own, and we do not receive support and backing. Instead, we are constantly thrown with obstacles, not from outside but from the inside. I am not bragging, but how many people would come to together and say, “Hey, let’s put up a performance,” and with their enthusiasm pull other people in to share their interests? It’s all NATO: No Action Talk Only. If we’d pull this through they’d probably say, “Oh, these people have the spirit of entrepreneurship, they’re not afraid of difficulties… and they’ve put in this whole performance on their initiative…” Crap. True we are not afraid of difficulties, but if people are deliberately making things difficult for us, how are we not to feel frustrated and let down constantly?
On the bright side, there have been genuinely supportive and helpful people. The teachers, for example. Miss Chew has been unfailingly generous in loaning us the use of the band room, and in dispensing advice over the use of facilities. Miss Kang graciously allowed me to draw members from the Chamber Ensemble. Mr Tan affirmed the loan of some equipment from the Chinese Orchestra. When we talked to Miss Loong about our project, she even volunteered the teachers to help raise funds for us. Mrs Lau and Mrs Lofthouse were looking forward to our show, and responded enthusiastically whenever we mentioned about the musical, and promised to get their literature students to buy tickets to our show. In fact, through word of mouth, the whole staff room soon knew about this project. The photocopy shop’s aunty and uncle, they gave me a discount when I photocopied the scores for the musical at their outlet.
We cannot forget the cast and orchestra, who still joined and supported us even though this project was a high-risk one, and that there could be no great benefits from it. Most of them took time out of their busy schedules to come for practices and rehearsals, and pigged it out until late at night. I am very impressed and grateful to my orchestra for continuing to play despite the presence of Mardi Gras and tests and all that.
And the friends who took an interest in our show and promised to come and watch, thank you for your support! Apologies that the show had to be aborted; we are extremely disappointed too.
But our creation will live. Megan will revise the script; I will revise the score and possibly create some arrangements of the songs for other ensembles to perform. The spirit of “Red-Threaded Hearts” will not die… ¶ 3/11/2004 10:33:00 pm 0 comments
In the morning some movers came to ship my piano to my grandma’s house. We were about to move to a temporary four-room flat, which didn’t have the luxury of space for my huge instrument.
I stood beside the movers, watching them eagle-eyed, never leaving more than 2 metres from the piano at all times. I didn’t care if they were professional piano movers or ordinary movers who moved lots of pianos before; I just wanted to watch over my beloved.
They wrapped her up, and carried her out into the garden, down the steps, and onto the trolley at the common pathway. My apartment is on the ground floor, with its own garden leading to a common pathway that leads to the other houses. So imagine a terrace house within an apartment building. They had problems going down the small garden steps, and about thrice they had to put her down and lift her again. I feared that they might damage the mechanism, or scratch her underbelly.
It was problematic again, going up onto the lorry. (1) We were on sloped ground. (2) The lorry had to park with its cargo door alongside the grass patch, as a low concrete barrier blocked the pavement. The castors on the piano ran onto the patch so many times that mud and grass were stuck onto it. I grimaced. On the first attempt at lifting her up, they nearly dropped her as they got their balance wrong. On the second attempt, thank goodness, she was heaved safely onto the truck. Then all of us clambered onto the truck to head for my grandma’s, fortunately not very far away.
Grandma’s was easy. The piano was simply unloaded and wheeled on the trolley straight into the living room, where it occupied the spot where my old M108T once stood. She took up more space though, because she was broader, and taller. Furthermore, we had the homemade sound-absorber (of egg crates) placed behind the piano. So she seemed to have taken up more space.
I gave her a test run. Some keys were a little out of tune, but not too seriously discordant. Anyway it was time for another tuning.
* * *
I had just finished lunch when the phone rang. It was Megan.
“August, we’re calling off the musical.”
CALLING OFF THE MUSICAL. I couldn’t believe. I SIMPLY couldn’t believe it.
“Why?”
“Administrative problems. The school’s not being very cooperative, and this is making it difficult for us to rehearse. We can’t put on a good show for everyone.”
I asked her for alternatives. There was none.
I thought I had listened wrongly. Only this morning Meg had called me again and volunteered to be the Funeral Directress for the show, since we couldn’t get any of the male teachers to be the Funeral Director. And we were starting to sell tickets today.
The confirmation: “Can you tell your orchestra? I’m so sorry…”
I hung up, and immediately massed SMS the orchestra and other people who have been anticipating our show the bad news. Some replied back asking about alternatives. Some suggested talking to the principal.
I called Meg again. “They want us to continue with the show.”
But the circumstances forbid us, she said.
-1-
We need a lot more opportunities to go into the auditorium (our performance venue) to rehearse, so that the singers and the orchestra can get used to the acoustics. The singers, in addition, can try out their stage movements on the actual performing platform. Vellachi could easily discuss the technical stuff since we had an actual view of all the equipment.
However, the OM has flatly denied us frequent entry into the auditorium, even though we begged and cajoled him, and offered not to use the air-conditioning, if the school was really bent on cutting down on electricity bills. Still the OM only restricted us to Saturdays only. Weekdays, even if during the March holidays, was a no-no. Saturday is a very dangerous day, for there might unexpectedly crop up some other activity elsewhere which leaves some members of the cast or orchestra unable to attend the rehearsal, so we wouldn’t be able to practice. Furthermore, two rehearsals in our performing venue are insufficient.
You may ask, how do other performance groups make do with just one or two uses of their actual performing venue before their performance? You can’t compare us with them. They are professionals. So far only Eng Tat is the only person in our team who has experience with drama. Even for the orchestra, this is the first time they get to play in a “pit” - even though it’s not really a pit, but they are playing off the stage for the first time. We really need the venue to get really used to it for our performance.
To make things worse, the school is not helping us by granting us more frequent access to a room with a piano within the school for cast rehearsals. Constantly we are forced to practice in the canteen on Wednesdays, or to carry a portable keyboard in on Saturdays and work in some unworldly place, such as under the lecture theatres. We can hardly use the hall and its piano because there would be PDPs using it during our rehearsal times. We can only rehearse on PDP days in the school because that is when we can leave the school late, by following another PDP out when they finish their activities for the day. Otherwise we would have to scram by 8pm on other days.
-2-
The school wants all our profits. Fine, they can have it. But not when they do not make the effort to help us, and instead constantly try to curb our activities. Especially his Ominous Majesty, who made sure we were not going to get the venues for our practice. We’re doing this musical as a favour for the school, to raise funds to help needy students, but the administration (especially the OM) is not helping us with the logistics to enable us to deliver a good show for the charitable purpose. I cannot help but comment on the OM’s behaviour in particular towards our activities. When Megan called him and talked to him nicely on the phone, the man behaved extremely rudely and haughtily and even slammed the phone down on her at the end. Also, our posters were banned from being put up around the school, even though it has been vetted. Why is there discrimination against former students? Are we a threat to the school’s security? Then why have alumni associations? You might as well tell graduating students: “Okay, you’ve finished studying here, now get the hell out and don’t come back here again.” Or he could have easily said, given his disposition: “Fuck off.”
Why are we talking about fostering entrepreneurship and all that shit in school? Here we are trying to do something on our own, and we do not receive support and backing. Instead, we are constantly thrown with obstacles, not from outside but from the inside. I am not bragging, but how many people would come to together and say, “Hey, let’s put up a performance,” and with their enthusiasm pull other people in to share their interests? It’s all NATO: No Action Talk Only. If we’d pull this through they’d probably say, “Oh, these people have the spirit of entrepreneurship, they’re not afraid of difficulties… and they’ve put in this whole performance on their initiative…” Crap. True we are not afraid of difficulties, but if people are deliberately making things difficult for us, how are we not to feel frustrated and let down constantly?
On the bright side, there have been genuinely supportive and helpful people. The teachers, for example. Miss Chew has been unfailingly generous in loaning us the use of the band room, and in dispensing advice over the use of facilities. Miss Kang graciously allowed me to draw members from the Chamber Ensemble. Mr Tan affirmed the loan of some equipment from the Chinese Orchestra. When we talked to Miss Loong about our project, she even volunteered the teachers to help raise funds for us. Mrs Lau and Mrs Lofthouse were looking forward to our show, and responded enthusiastically whenever we mentioned about the musical, and promised to get their literature students to buy tickets to our show. In fact, through word of mouth, the whole staff room soon knew about this project. The photocopy shop’s aunty and uncle, they gave me a discount when I photocopied the scores for the musical at their outlet.
We cannot forget the cast and orchestra, who still joined and supported us even though this project was a high-risk one, and that there could be no great benefits from it. Most of them took time out of their busy schedules to come for practices and rehearsals, and pigged it out until late at night. I am very impressed and grateful to my orchestra for continuing to play despite the presence of Mardi Gras and tests and all that.
And the friends who took an interest in our show and promised to come and watch, thank you for your support! Apologies that the show had to be aborted; we are extremely disappointed too.
But our creation will live. Megan will revise the script; I will revise the score and possibly create some arrangements of the songs for other ensembles to perform. The spirit of “Red-Threaded Hearts” will not die… ¶ 3/11/2004 10:33:00 pm 0 comments
HAPPY EASTER!
Sunday is a super-slack day, because it’s Easter, and most of the officers and sergeants are on leave. So we don’t have much to do – which means a lot of admin time for us. In the morning we are supposed to have a one-to-one interview with the PC, but Sir Law is away. Then the afternoon lecture after lunch is cancelled, because the lecturer (the CO) is not around. Aaron, Qihui and Louis play Chinese chess continuously.
In the afternoon, there are games to play. In actual fact, only two choices: soccer and basketball. I choose soccer as I’m not really that agile enough to jump around and to toss the ball into the hoop.
Whenever I take on a soccer game I always play the defender. I cannot play the goalkeeper: I have a fear of the ball, and will always AVOID it rather than catch it. Which is as good as giving up the defence of my goal and allowing the opponent to gain easy access to it. I fail as a striker: I don’t have the skill of dribbling or passing the ball. Besides, being the defender calls for a slack position that allows you to watch the game in progress, and relax on the field, particularly when the action is all taking place around the opponent’s goal.
That does go to say that I cannot be aggressive. Here are some of the “memorable” (but obviously screwed-up) movements I make:
1. Early in the game I do a handball – Justin comments that it is exactly like the hand block taught in BCCT lesson, and that I’d do well for that subject.
2. I used “psychological warfare” in the game when marking Juffri. I make lighting-swift movements from side to side, at all times making sure that I never move out of Juffri’s line of movement thus allowing him a chance to kick the ball towards our goal. I think he got frustrated in the end and kicked the ball back in the direction of his goal to pass it to someone else.
3. I dived down onto the sandy ground to kick the moving ball in another direction, and got knocked over on the leg. Miraculously I climb up and shout, “Continue game!” Often I would have been left blabbering in pain and shock on the floor – come on, I’m not a sissy, but if the injury is very hard, who wouldn’t be stuck onto the ground calling for help?
It is a good game, very unlike the one I played at Tampines about a week or so ago, when a group of eighteen-year-olds who are about to serve NS, serving NS, or have served NS, playing against KIDS – and I mean those whose ages are ten to twelve. What the hell, if we knock one of the kids down like skittles, we’d have their parents charging after us for child abuse. The other players are very good. Harun is damn strong; he doesn’t tire out running and kicking for a long time without break. Most of them can do beautiful headers, or chest-blows. Junhan defends the goal aggressively, to the extent of sliding down onto the sand to save the ball. But some bastard kicks Qihui’s leg and causes him to hurt his ankle, which is a very serious problem because the next day will be our IPPT categorisation exercise (Qihui passes it). ¶ 3/11/2004 05:53:00 pm 0 comments
Sunday is a super-slack day, because it’s Easter, and most of the officers and sergeants are on leave. So we don’t have much to do – which means a lot of admin time for us. In the morning we are supposed to have a one-to-one interview with the PC, but Sir Law is away. Then the afternoon lecture after lunch is cancelled, because the lecturer (the CO) is not around. Aaron, Qihui and Louis play Chinese chess continuously.
In the afternoon, there are games to play. In actual fact, only two choices: soccer and basketball. I choose soccer as I’m not really that agile enough to jump around and to toss the ball into the hoop.
Whenever I take on a soccer game I always play the defender. I cannot play the goalkeeper: I have a fear of the ball, and will always AVOID it rather than catch it. Which is as good as giving up the defence of my goal and allowing the opponent to gain easy access to it. I fail as a striker: I don’t have the skill of dribbling or passing the ball. Besides, being the defender calls for a slack position that allows you to watch the game in progress, and relax on the field, particularly when the action is all taking place around the opponent’s goal.
That does go to say that I cannot be aggressive. Here are some of the “memorable” (but obviously screwed-up) movements I make:
1. Early in the game I do a handball – Justin comments that it is exactly like the hand block taught in BCCT lesson, and that I’d do well for that subject.
2. I used “psychological warfare” in the game when marking Juffri. I make lighting-swift movements from side to side, at all times making sure that I never move out of Juffri’s line of movement thus allowing him a chance to kick the ball towards our goal. I think he got frustrated in the end and kicked the ball back in the direction of his goal to pass it to someone else.
3. I dived down onto the sandy ground to kick the moving ball in another direction, and got knocked over on the leg. Miraculously I climb up and shout, “Continue game!” Often I would have been left blabbering in pain and shock on the floor – come on, I’m not a sissy, but if the injury is very hard, who wouldn’t be stuck onto the ground calling for help?
It is a good game, very unlike the one I played at Tampines about a week or so ago, when a group of eighteen-year-olds who are about to serve NS, serving NS, or have served NS, playing against KIDS – and I mean those whose ages are ten to twelve. What the hell, if we knock one of the kids down like skittles, we’d have their parents charging after us for child abuse. The other players are very good. Harun is damn strong; he doesn’t tire out running and kicking for a long time without break. Most of them can do beautiful headers, or chest-blows. Junhan defends the goal aggressively, to the extent of sliding down onto the sand to save the ball. But some bastard kicks Qihui’s leg and causes him to hurt his ankle, which is a very serious problem because the next day will be our IPPT categorisation exercise (Qihui passes it). ¶ 3/11/2004 05:53:00 pm 0 comments
Monday, March 08, 2004
I wake up with an extremely bad sore throat. I fear I’m going to develop a fever later, but I don’t want to say it because that means (1) I have to see a doctor, i.e. spend money again (2) I have to be confined to bed; loss of time in re-writing the overture.
I’m to see Dr Tang today to tighten my braces; the second tightening session. I pop a fever pill from my stomach flu days in December (see the post on December 06, 2003) to bring down my temperature, if it should go up. The NDC has not let down its guard, particularly with the Bird Flu rampant now. It still conducts fever checks and if I’m spotted with fever, chances are the consequences would be quite disastrous. The last thing I wanted was to be sent to SGH or worse, the CDC.
After the dental, my father wants me to help him send a letter to his lawyer. The office is in Shenton Way, which presents a problem of parking. So he just wants to wait in the car while I go upstairs, deliver the letter and come down, without the hassle of looking for a parking lot and then walking to the building itself. Parking is not cheap in the CBD.
The office is located on the 23rd floor of this building called The Octagon, along Cecil Street. It is raining extremely heavy – yes, cats and dogs, to date back to primary school days – and even my big, blue Bugis Junction nearly fails to shelter this fever-sick guy. I enter the lobby, tell the guard my business and am allowed to wait for the lift.
I had the opportunity of riding the fireman’s lift. It was quite frightening, really, because the lift was really old (think of those in Specialists’ Shopping Centre, where the buttons protrude from the panel). I couldn’t find the “Door Closing” button; there was only a “Door Open” button; everybody who rode it seemed to press the button showing the floor number they were going to in order to get the doors to shut. There were two strangely-labelled buttons I didn’t dare to touch: I think they were the manual controls for the ascent and descent of the lift. My mind raced back to the Channel U serial “Invisible Journey” where the office lift, for some reason or another, always got stuck. I certainly don’t wish for such a situation to happen. That’s why I like bubble lifts. The glass panels give you a sense of security that, hey, there are people out there. I can see them; they can see me.
Finally I arrived on the 23rd floor. I dropped the letter at the receptionist’s, and I left. Fortunately I got to take one of the normal elevators. Drat, but it stopped on every floor on the way down, because it was lunch time. The journey was incredibly slow, as if it would never end. Eventually, we made it to the ground floor.
My father dropped me off at the MITA building. I wanted to collect the application form and brochure (if any) for the Shell-NAC scholarship. To my dismay I could only apply after National Service. Thanks, Mr Goh Keng Swee. That’s how I can remember him.
The rain was too heavy for me to walk to Raffles Place MRT Station, so I had to take a train from Clarke Quay and transfer at Outram Park. At the interchange stop I decided to pay a visit to the Police Cantonment Complex and help the Chancellor, who was stuck on Tekong, check out the Singapore Police Force scholarship. I was directed to the ground floor “Central Police Headquarters” office. I obtained a queue number and waited.
One of the front-desk officers saw me and asked, “Yes?”
“I’d like to check out the Police Scholarship and if possible, get the application form.” I tried to sound like I wasn’t there about to steal his job away, for he must think that I was the applicant who would then vie for a career with the police department.
I expected a prompt handing over of a brochure and paper, as the staff at MITA had done. Instead, the officer switched into a puzzling mode and had to go around asking his colleagues: “Where is the blue hard-cover book? I need to find the telephone number for the Recruitment Office”.
So much for the government service.
After a futile search by about three officers, all gave up, and the first officer tore a small slip of rough paper and scribbled a telephone number on it. “You call them and ask them for more information.”
End of inquiry.
I thought it rather unceremonious that they would serve people like that. It didn’t even look professional for me to believe that this was a world-class police force. If they couldn’t be trusted with service, how could they with maintaining crime and security?
Damn terok.
* * *
I had a throbbing headache when I arrive at home. I went straight to bed and lied to my father that I was tired out from the day’s activity. I just asked him to bring back dinner from my grandma’s when he went over there.
I slept until nearly nine, when my mother woke me up and asks if I would like dinner. I finally admitted to her that I didn’t feel well. She took my temperature and it turned out to be a whopping 38.9 degrees Celsius! I wondered why I hadn’t gone brain-dead yet. High fever could make a person go crazy.
I popped a Panadol and went back to bed. I wondered how I slept fitfully this night. In the past, whenever I had fever, attempts to sleep would culminate into a terrible experience. ¶ 3/08/2004 02:24:00 pm 0 comments
I’m to see Dr Tang today to tighten my braces; the second tightening session. I pop a fever pill from my stomach flu days in December (see the post on December 06, 2003) to bring down my temperature, if it should go up. The NDC has not let down its guard, particularly with the Bird Flu rampant now. It still conducts fever checks and if I’m spotted with fever, chances are the consequences would be quite disastrous. The last thing I wanted was to be sent to SGH or worse, the CDC.
After the dental, my father wants me to help him send a letter to his lawyer. The office is in Shenton Way, which presents a problem of parking. So he just wants to wait in the car while I go upstairs, deliver the letter and come down, without the hassle of looking for a parking lot and then walking to the building itself. Parking is not cheap in the CBD.
The office is located on the 23rd floor of this building called The Octagon, along Cecil Street. It is raining extremely heavy – yes, cats and dogs, to date back to primary school days – and even my big, blue Bugis Junction nearly fails to shelter this fever-sick guy. I enter the lobby, tell the guard my business and am allowed to wait for the lift.
I had the opportunity of riding the fireman’s lift. It was quite frightening, really, because the lift was really old (think of those in Specialists’ Shopping Centre, where the buttons protrude from the panel). I couldn’t find the “Door Closing” button; there was only a “Door Open” button; everybody who rode it seemed to press the button showing the floor number they were going to in order to get the doors to shut. There were two strangely-labelled buttons I didn’t dare to touch: I think they were the manual controls for the ascent and descent of the lift. My mind raced back to the Channel U serial “Invisible Journey” where the office lift, for some reason or another, always got stuck. I certainly don’t wish for such a situation to happen. That’s why I like bubble lifts. The glass panels give you a sense of security that, hey, there are people out there. I can see them; they can see me.
Finally I arrived on the 23rd floor. I dropped the letter at the receptionist’s, and I left. Fortunately I got to take one of the normal elevators. Drat, but it stopped on every floor on the way down, because it was lunch time. The journey was incredibly slow, as if it would never end. Eventually, we made it to the ground floor.
My father dropped me off at the MITA building. I wanted to collect the application form and brochure (if any) for the Shell-NAC scholarship. To my dismay I could only apply after National Service. Thanks, Mr Goh Keng Swee. That’s how I can remember him.
The rain was too heavy for me to walk to Raffles Place MRT Station, so I had to take a train from Clarke Quay and transfer at Outram Park. At the interchange stop I decided to pay a visit to the Police Cantonment Complex and help the Chancellor, who was stuck on Tekong, check out the Singapore Police Force scholarship. I was directed to the ground floor “Central Police Headquarters” office. I obtained a queue number and waited.
One of the front-desk officers saw me and asked, “Yes?”
“I’d like to check out the Police Scholarship and if possible, get the application form.” I tried to sound like I wasn’t there about to steal his job away, for he must think that I was the applicant who would then vie for a career with the police department.
I expected a prompt handing over of a brochure and paper, as the staff at MITA had done. Instead, the officer switched into a puzzling mode and had to go around asking his colleagues: “Where is the blue hard-cover book? I need to find the telephone number for the Recruitment Office”.
So much for the government service.
After a futile search by about three officers, all gave up, and the first officer tore a small slip of rough paper and scribbled a telephone number on it. “You call them and ask them for more information.”
End of inquiry.
I thought it rather unceremonious that they would serve people like that. It didn’t even look professional for me to believe that this was a world-class police force. If they couldn’t be trusted with service, how could they with maintaining crime and security?
Damn terok.
* * *
I had a throbbing headache when I arrive at home. I went straight to bed and lied to my father that I was tired out from the day’s activity. I just asked him to bring back dinner from my grandma’s when he went over there.
I slept until nearly nine, when my mother woke me up and asks if I would like dinner. I finally admitted to her that I didn’t feel well. She took my temperature and it turned out to be a whopping 38.9 degrees Celsius! I wondered why I hadn’t gone brain-dead yet. High fever could make a person go crazy.
I popped a Panadol and went back to bed. I wondered how I slept fitfully this night. In the past, whenever I had fever, attempts to sleep would culminate into a terrible experience. ¶ 3/08/2004 02:24:00 pm 0 comments
Sunday, March 07, 2004
Today I read an article in Lianhe Zaobao, whereby the reporter interviewed former SSO Music Director Choo Hoey about youngsters showing a lack of love towards music. Even the great Choo Hoey has noted that parents force or cajole their kids to learn music, but not to love it. I was shocked to read one anonymous youngster comment: “When I finish Grade 8 I will SET FIRE TO MY PIANO.”
Not his fault, even if he demonstrates violence towards a musical instrument. Blame the parents.
Choo Hoey laments that parents send their children for music lessons and graded examinations because they will then have something to show off to their friends and relatives. That’s really not surprising. It happens in academics as well. Singaporeans can really be alacritous when it comes to showing off, but they’re real stingy when asked to make donations to charity. What an ugly, shameful scene. I remember my orthodontist told me, “Yah, I learned piano as well. I finished my grade 7 exams, then I decided I had enough.” What a shame.
We are all wasting our time trying to promote the arts. When the arts groups and the government try so hard to get more Singaporeans interested, these parents kill the dream instead. They literally force their kids at their instruments and exams so much that obviously the kid hates it. Bear in mind that the pieces these young people are exposed to are a minute minority of the entire repertoire of works spanning from the time Western music was first notated. They hate this few, they stereotype music and they come to reject the others. It has happened when I try to introduce, or coax some friends to listen to a “serious” work - something exciting, say, by the Russian Five, only to be rejected because they are afraid of “falling asleep” (as most people would associate serious music), even if the music like that in Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition” is brash and colourful and makes one’s hair stand up when listening to it. Perhaps that is why pop music gains, because they’re just simple and cheap (there are a few worthy pop songs with meaningful lyrics and/or beautifully-crafted tunes) and you don’t have to pay so much attention to them in terms of dynamics and phrasing and articulation. Serious music only seems to be accepted after they are “defaced” by people like Vanessa Mae and Bond. I bet few people know the theme of “Red Hot” is really from the Overture to the Barber of Seville.
Another disgusting fact is that parents would force the kid of learn music at a young age, and when the kid grows to love it, he is discouraged from the subject because, as far as any parent would say, it is almost impossible to make a living out of music in Singapore. To me, yes, I can survive with music, but I won’t live in a condominium or drive a Mercedes. That belongs to the pop stars, like the boy bands in Taiwan and USA. It’s really a matter of being happy, no matter how tough the going gets. And once the kid has the love for music, the parent shouldn’t try to kill it. If they do so, it proves that there was an ulterior motive for learning music in the first place. The motive was to benefit the parent, definitely not the child. The parents never taught the child to love music; either he/she learned it himself/herself, or a teacher generated that love. And I think the love of music is cultivated through the listening of music, than merely playing exam pieces and such. Because the music world is so wide; it is so varied that you may never finish listening to everything in your life.
I think would-be parents should go for music appreciation courses themselves, so they can genuinely teach their children to love music rather than merely playing for the sake of qualifications. ¶ 3/07/2004 04:39:00 pm 0 comments
Not his fault, even if he demonstrates violence towards a musical instrument. Blame the parents.
Choo Hoey laments that parents send their children for music lessons and graded examinations because they will then have something to show off to their friends and relatives. That’s really not surprising. It happens in academics as well. Singaporeans can really be alacritous when it comes to showing off, but they’re real stingy when asked to make donations to charity. What an ugly, shameful scene. I remember my orthodontist told me, “Yah, I learned piano as well. I finished my grade 7 exams, then I decided I had enough.” What a shame.
We are all wasting our time trying to promote the arts. When the arts groups and the government try so hard to get more Singaporeans interested, these parents kill the dream instead. They literally force their kids at their instruments and exams so much that obviously the kid hates it. Bear in mind that the pieces these young people are exposed to are a minute minority of the entire repertoire of works spanning from the time Western music was first notated. They hate this few, they stereotype music and they come to reject the others. It has happened when I try to introduce, or coax some friends to listen to a “serious” work - something exciting, say, by the Russian Five, only to be rejected because they are afraid of “falling asleep” (as most people would associate serious music), even if the music like that in Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition” is brash and colourful and makes one’s hair stand up when listening to it. Perhaps that is why pop music gains, because they’re just simple and cheap (there are a few worthy pop songs with meaningful lyrics and/or beautifully-crafted tunes) and you don’t have to pay so much attention to them in terms of dynamics and phrasing and articulation. Serious music only seems to be accepted after they are “defaced” by people like Vanessa Mae and Bond. I bet few people know the theme of “Red Hot” is really from the Overture to the Barber of Seville.
Another disgusting fact is that parents would force the kid of learn music at a young age, and when the kid grows to love it, he is discouraged from the subject because, as far as any parent would say, it is almost impossible to make a living out of music in Singapore. To me, yes, I can survive with music, but I won’t live in a condominium or drive a Mercedes. That belongs to the pop stars, like the boy bands in Taiwan and USA. It’s really a matter of being happy, no matter how tough the going gets. And once the kid has the love for music, the parent shouldn’t try to kill it. If they do so, it proves that there was an ulterior motive for learning music in the first place. The motive was to benefit the parent, definitely not the child. The parents never taught the child to love music; either he/she learned it himself/herself, or a teacher generated that love. And I think the love of music is cultivated through the listening of music, than merely playing exam pieces and such. Because the music world is so wide; it is so varied that you may never finish listening to everything in your life.
I think would-be parents should go for music appreciation courses themselves, so they can genuinely teach their children to love music rather than merely playing for the sake of qualifications. ¶ 3/07/2004 04:39:00 pm 0 comments
Friday, March 05, 2004
“This is the hour
It’s time again
We feel the tremors
In our shaking hands”
---Adapted from “Miss Saigon – This Is the Hour”---
So the day has finally arrived. Win or lose, live or die.
I am scared shit. Everyone is scared shit. We Pipilanders fear for, at least, the local universities to accept us. The muggers pray hard that they can get their scholarships and scoot off to some Ivy League university that is untouched by us commoners.
It’s a matter of how your dreams will end up.
“One cert to decide them all!” --- quote The Lord of the Rings.
Could the paper even be as powerful as the ring? Yes, it could be, in reality. Never mind that you may use its surface to wipe shit from your buttocks. The more you have them, the more people look up to you as some intellect and future leader.
Strange I choose this day to cut my hair and even stranger I still arrange a rehearsal for the musical in the evening. I just feel these two events give me a sense of comfort and meaning. The haircut: a new start. When I receive my results it would be the start of a new chapter. Of course the new chapter would be interceded by another subplot within a month – National Service. And by going ahead with the rehearsal, I tell myself: Life still goes on, no matter what deep shit I fall into. There’s nothing else I can do. Let’s just face it, the results are printed there in black and white, period. I can only go forward and take things from where they are.
“Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera”
I meet the guys at Bedok Interchange before we trudge the familiar route back to college. Never would I imagine I would be taking this path again, now as an old boy going back. Of course I’ve been on this path the entire three months (December to February) because of my involvement in the musical and Mardi Gras, but today is special. First I’m walking back with the guys. Second it’s a journey marking the end of college life.
We decide not to talk anything about results. Nevertheless the mention of Andy Huang as Top Arts Student crops up. The King remarks in the tone of disgust and cynicism. It is a well-known fact that he doesn’t like Andy – and Andy doesn’t even try to cross his path.
The Chancellor’s phone rings. “Jin Hua is the Top Arts Student,” he reports.
“Well, congratulations.” Our mutterings lack sincerity, but perhaps the slight satisfaction that well, she mugged and she got what she wanted. Oh, well.
The first thing in the hall that Bee told me was that Music received 5 A’s and 2 B’s. Immediately I was relieved. I would have a decent score. I didn’t feel I did very well for my other two subjects: English Literature and History. I think I screwed up my History Three and the Gothic paper. I can feel it in my bones during and after the examinations. If I find myself writing rapidly and furiously and continuously, I know that I am fine with the paper. If I feel very tired, haggard; I write slowly and clumsily – my lines are filled with numerous cancellations – I know I am finished. Given the anxiety it’s as good as saying: you screwed up the entire exam.
We just bear with the Principal while she goes on about how many A’s this particular student scored. Surprisingly the Arts faculty did not have many straight-A’s scorers. It turned out that later we discovered that the faculty did not do very well as expected.
At last, time to receive our results from our civics tutors. I suddenly feel very sick… very sick in the stomach. Thank goodness I never ate a full lunch or I’d probably have belched everything out. I do not join the queue, but mill around the waiting area, talking to some old friends I haven’t seen for a long time. To Wilfred, I open my portfolio and show him the scores to the musical. I am taking a lot of effort to divert my mind on the results. Wilfred is very happy to see his name on the score. “Hey, I go and collect my results…” and that’s the end. Attention back to the results.
Mr Bala is standing near us. He comes up to me. “So how?”
“I don’t know… very scared…”
“Don’t worry, you’re fine.”
“Really?”
“Your subjects are okay. You just missed the A by a little bit…”
Part of the weight seemed to have drop off somewhere beyond my reach.
“Don’t worry.”
I shake his hand.
“Thank you Mr Bala.”
As I stand near the end of the queue formed by my class, the churning of the stomach doesn’t die yet. It gradually strengthens. I should be feeling better now that Mr Bala has given me a hint of how I performed, but still I feel worse as each person turns away.
Just let me die here. A heart attack was about to happen.
Left and right: people crying, hugging their friends, being comforted.
I don’t know what to say. I’m scared shit myself.
The Chancellor takes his results and goes off. It’s the King’s turn. I’m behind turn. I’m so sick now. I just want to die.
Facing Mrs Yong: “Not bad, August!” and she hands me the small slip of paper with a green design on it.
I take one glance. Okay, I’m relieved.
* * *
The next thing to worry about is admission to University, and admission to the courses that we desire. The King and the Chancellor want to do law, but they are not confident of getting in, because there would be a lot of competition from the straight-A’s students. We head to the McDonald’s and just sit there talking, and reading our scholarship guides. Anyway, we tell ourselves, we must give it a try, no matter what.
The King leaves early. To the Chancellor: “See you in law two years later.” To me: “See you in the conservatory two years later.” ¶ 3/05/2004 10:30:00 pm 0 comments
It’s time again
We feel the tremors
In our shaking hands”
---Adapted from “Miss Saigon – This Is the Hour”---
So the day has finally arrived. Win or lose, live or die.
I am scared shit. Everyone is scared shit. We Pipilanders fear for, at least, the local universities to accept us. The muggers pray hard that they can get their scholarships and scoot off to some Ivy League university that is untouched by us commoners.
It’s a matter of how your dreams will end up.
“One cert to decide them all!” --- quote The Lord of the Rings.
Could the paper even be as powerful as the ring? Yes, it could be, in reality. Never mind that you may use its surface to wipe shit from your buttocks. The more you have them, the more people look up to you as some intellect and future leader.
Strange I choose this day to cut my hair and even stranger I still arrange a rehearsal for the musical in the evening. I just feel these two events give me a sense of comfort and meaning. The haircut: a new start. When I receive my results it would be the start of a new chapter. Of course the new chapter would be interceded by another subplot within a month – National Service. And by going ahead with the rehearsal, I tell myself: Life still goes on, no matter what deep shit I fall into. There’s nothing else I can do. Let’s just face it, the results are printed there in black and white, period. I can only go forward and take things from where they are.
“Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que Sera, Sera”
I meet the guys at Bedok Interchange before we trudge the familiar route back to college. Never would I imagine I would be taking this path again, now as an old boy going back. Of course I’ve been on this path the entire three months (December to February) because of my involvement in the musical and Mardi Gras, but today is special. First I’m walking back with the guys. Second it’s a journey marking the end of college life.
We decide not to talk anything about results. Nevertheless the mention of Andy Huang as Top Arts Student crops up. The King remarks in the tone of disgust and cynicism. It is a well-known fact that he doesn’t like Andy – and Andy doesn’t even try to cross his path.
The Chancellor’s phone rings. “Jin Hua is the Top Arts Student,” he reports.
“Well, congratulations.” Our mutterings lack sincerity, but perhaps the slight satisfaction that well, she mugged and she got what she wanted. Oh, well.
The first thing in the hall that Bee told me was that Music received 5 A’s and 2 B’s. Immediately I was relieved. I would have a decent score. I didn’t feel I did very well for my other two subjects: English Literature and History. I think I screwed up my History Three and the Gothic paper. I can feel it in my bones during and after the examinations. If I find myself writing rapidly and furiously and continuously, I know that I am fine with the paper. If I feel very tired, haggard; I write slowly and clumsily – my lines are filled with numerous cancellations – I know I am finished. Given the anxiety it’s as good as saying: you screwed up the entire exam.
We just bear with the Principal while she goes on about how many A’s this particular student scored. Surprisingly the Arts faculty did not have many straight-A’s scorers. It turned out that later we discovered that the faculty did not do very well as expected.
At last, time to receive our results from our civics tutors. I suddenly feel very sick… very sick in the stomach. Thank goodness I never ate a full lunch or I’d probably have belched everything out. I do not join the queue, but mill around the waiting area, talking to some old friends I haven’t seen for a long time. To Wilfred, I open my portfolio and show him the scores to the musical. I am taking a lot of effort to divert my mind on the results. Wilfred is very happy to see his name on the score. “Hey, I go and collect my results…” and that’s the end. Attention back to the results.
Mr Bala is standing near us. He comes up to me. “So how?”
“I don’t know… very scared…”
“Don’t worry, you’re fine.”
“Really?”
“Your subjects are okay. You just missed the A by a little bit…”
Part of the weight seemed to have drop off somewhere beyond my reach.
“Don’t worry.”
I shake his hand.
“Thank you Mr Bala.”
As I stand near the end of the queue formed by my class, the churning of the stomach doesn’t die yet. It gradually strengthens. I should be feeling better now that Mr Bala has given me a hint of how I performed, but still I feel worse as each person turns away.
Just let me die here. A heart attack was about to happen.
Left and right: people crying, hugging their friends, being comforted.
I don’t know what to say. I’m scared shit myself.
The Chancellor takes his results and goes off. It’s the King’s turn. I’m behind turn. I’m so sick now. I just want to die.
Facing Mrs Yong: “Not bad, August!” and she hands me the small slip of paper with a green design on it.
I take one glance. Okay, I’m relieved.
* * *
The next thing to worry about is admission to University, and admission to the courses that we desire. The King and the Chancellor want to do law, but they are not confident of getting in, because there would be a lot of competition from the straight-A’s students. We head to the McDonald’s and just sit there talking, and reading our scholarship guides. Anyway, we tell ourselves, we must give it a try, no matter what.
The King leaves early. To the Chancellor: “See you in law two years later.” To me: “See you in the conservatory two years later.” ¶ 3/05/2004 10:30:00 pm 0 comments
Thursday, March 04, 2004
“IMPOUNDED BUSES NOT AIRASIA’S”
By KHUSHWANT SINGH
He [Mr Tony Fernandes] said: “A Singapore entrepreneur approached us some time ago and offered this service and when we asked, he said that all permits and insurance were in order and all necessary requirements fulfilled.”…
…According to the LTA, the two impounded buses were authorised only to carry tourists between Singapore and Malaysia and were not licensed by LTA to operate scheduled servies or ferry passengers between designated pick-up points.
Last December, LTA had turned down applications from Comfort Bus – a subsidiary of ComfortDelGro – and a Malaysian bus operator to ferry people between Singapore and Senai [whose airport AirAsia flights to KL take off from].
Mr Fernandes said: “Impounding buses Is an over-reaction. It’s a sad day for entrepreneurship.
“Singapore must learn how to deal with entrepreneurs and ideas need to be fostered.”
But irrepressible as ever, he added: “This is just a glitch and entrepreneurs are fighters who will bounce back.”…
* * *
SCREW the authorities. Very clearly they don’t want Changi Airport to loose out, so they scheme all sorts of ways to make sure that passengers are prevented from flying out of the country from their neighbouring country.
Sure, countries have national interests in mind, but protectionist policies would have gone too far in this scenario:
Tony Fernandes was fine with taking his flights from Singapore. He requested the authorities to extend the runway at the seldom-used Seletar airport to accommodate his Boeing 737 planes. The authorities refused and asked him to use Changi Airport. Fernandes didn’t want to use Changi Airport because overheads were high and in return he would have to make passengers pay more. So when the doors were shut, Fernandes opted for the nearby Senai airport.
The clever authorities took a step further and prevented any bus company from providing a direct link from Singapore to Senai airport. Obviously the reason is very clear. Even the Comfort Bus, which belongs to the national bus company, was rejected. The authorities even rejected the Malaysian bus operator. It’s as good as the authorities saying to Fernandes, to put it in crude terms: “If you don’t want to do business with us, then fuck off.” Singapore is being the bully: they want companies to agree to their terms.
With such a situation going on, the entrepreneur who started the last bus service had to lie to Fernandes to get the service off the ground. Unfortunately his plan got busted. This shows how the authorities want to stop any convenient access from Singapore to Senai airport. To them, Senai is the snake pit that must clearly be avoided.
But passengers still know best. Despite the inconvenience, many are still braving the long journey and transfers to fly to KL from Senai, instead of Singapore. You loose, Singapore.
Look at a different picture:
The Pang brothers wanted to film some subway sequences for their new movie “The Eye 2”. The MTR (Hong Kong subway) rejected the request; Singapore “welcomed them with open arms” [quote from the article in TODAY]
Either the Singaporeans are bias shit, or that Raintree Pictures, one of the partners in the film project, was a subsidiary of local broadcaster MediaCorp Studios, and therefore SMRT said “okay” to BOOKING THE ENTIRE TRAIN. Even Shu Qi, the heroine, was allowed to be filmed on the Ang Mo Kio station platform.
When do you ever think the authorities would let you take an entire train and use it for your own purpose during service hours? ¶ 3/04/2004 11:44:00 am 0 comments
By KHUSHWANT SINGH
He [Mr Tony Fernandes] said: “A Singapore entrepreneur approached us some time ago and offered this service and when we asked, he said that all permits and insurance were in order and all necessary requirements fulfilled.”…
…According to the LTA, the two impounded buses were authorised only to carry tourists between Singapore and Malaysia and were not licensed by LTA to operate scheduled servies or ferry passengers between designated pick-up points.
Last December, LTA had turned down applications from Comfort Bus – a subsidiary of ComfortDelGro – and a Malaysian bus operator to ferry people between Singapore and Senai [whose airport AirAsia flights to KL take off from].
Mr Fernandes said: “Impounding buses Is an over-reaction. It’s a sad day for entrepreneurship.
“Singapore must learn how to deal with entrepreneurs and ideas need to be fostered.”
But irrepressible as ever, he added: “This is just a glitch and entrepreneurs are fighters who will bounce back.”…
* * *
SCREW the authorities. Very clearly they don’t want Changi Airport to loose out, so they scheme all sorts of ways to make sure that passengers are prevented from flying out of the country from their neighbouring country.
Sure, countries have national interests in mind, but protectionist policies would have gone too far in this scenario:
Tony Fernandes was fine with taking his flights from Singapore. He requested the authorities to extend the runway at the seldom-used Seletar airport to accommodate his Boeing 737 planes. The authorities refused and asked him to use Changi Airport. Fernandes didn’t want to use Changi Airport because overheads were high and in return he would have to make passengers pay more. So when the doors were shut, Fernandes opted for the nearby Senai airport.
The clever authorities took a step further and prevented any bus company from providing a direct link from Singapore to Senai airport. Obviously the reason is very clear. Even the Comfort Bus, which belongs to the national bus company, was rejected. The authorities even rejected the Malaysian bus operator. It’s as good as the authorities saying to Fernandes, to put it in crude terms: “If you don’t want to do business with us, then fuck off.” Singapore is being the bully: they want companies to agree to their terms.
With such a situation going on, the entrepreneur who started the last bus service had to lie to Fernandes to get the service off the ground. Unfortunately his plan got busted. This shows how the authorities want to stop any convenient access from Singapore to Senai airport. To them, Senai is the snake pit that must clearly be avoided.
But passengers still know best. Despite the inconvenience, many are still braving the long journey and transfers to fly to KL from Senai, instead of Singapore. You loose, Singapore.
Look at a different picture:
The Pang brothers wanted to film some subway sequences for their new movie “The Eye 2”. The MTR (Hong Kong subway) rejected the request; Singapore “welcomed them with open arms” [quote from the article in TODAY]
Either the Singaporeans are bias shit, or that Raintree Pictures, one of the partners in the film project, was a subsidiary of local broadcaster MediaCorp Studios, and therefore SMRT said “okay” to BOOKING THE ENTIRE TRAIN. Even Shu Qi, the heroine, was allowed to be filmed on the Ang Mo Kio station platform.
When do you ever think the authorities would let you take an entire train and use it for your own purpose during service hours? ¶ 3/04/2004 11:44:00 am 0 comments
