My Army Daze. Si Beh Siong ahhh .....

FOR HONOUR??
Training in the BMT was tough - both mentally and physically. I was never a strong kid, in the physical sense. In school, I wasn't really into sports. And didn't bother to train up prior to my enlistment. In short, I was one of those physically unfit soldiers Chun See mentioned in his blog and whom he's resolved his son would never become.

And so it was I flunked my IPPT and the SOC test during my BMT. I managed only two chin-ups and failed my running. It was not a big deal. The weak ones were made to train doubly hard than the others. I didn't feel "humiliated" for having failed the physical test. When you are a recruit, you soon realise that dignity is hard to come by. And everyone got humiliated, one way or the other.

The SOC was really tough, and I was all worn out just trying to clear the first obstacle, the low wall. Then there was the bayonet fighting. It looks easy, but the thrusting and the shoving of the rifle soon wore many of us out.

I'm sure any soldier worths his salt would know the term extra-drill. This word is really a misnomer. We greenhorn recruits had thought it meant extended drill lessons. But we soon sensed something amiss when we noticed a medic on standby by the side of the parade square. In truth, extra-drill is drill executed in double quick time. We found it quite funny when we first performed the act. It made us look quite "cartoon". That made our OC to comment,"You can laugh. I see later you cry or laugh." True to his words, ten minutes into the extra-drill, some of my fellow recruits started to vomit and one of them even passed out.

Among all the training I had in BMT, I like log PT the best. See, this exercise entails the recruits in rows to manoeuvre a huge log at the command of the PTI. So if the PTI shouted, “Up”, we recruits would hold the log and lift it up over our heads in unison. The problem was, I was never able to reach for the log above me. I don't have to get into the specifics, but the PTI thought I was trying to “keng”! But to me, log PT was really effortless! Tall people like Victor, dig this!! Heh.

Well, if you're fit to be enlisted, you're fit no matter if you failed your IPPT. So, despite managing only two chin-ups, I was posted to SAFTI to take up a course on becoming a section leader.

This is where I had the best part of my NS life. I was posted to Echo company, and met some wonderful instructors. I was sort of the blue-eye boy to my RSM. He became my personal trainer of sort, making me got up earlier than the others, and helping me train in the gym to build up my strength and muscles. He was particular kind towards me, excusing me from fatigue duties, even offering me extra night snacks. Needless to say, I was the envy of the rest of my platoon mates. But such is life. Sometimes, you meet people that help you when you're at the "lowest ebb" of your life. No... no...… I wasn't getting suicidal. Life at SAFTI, as I said, was wonderful, and at the end of my SAFTI stint, I managed ten chin-ups and passed my IPPT with flying colours. I remember my platoon mates applauding for me when I did the chin-up!

SSG Chua should be so proud.

Category: Yesteryear

I know what you did last summer

I don't mean to unnerve you. You may not realise it, but if you'd just pause and think for a minute, you'll realise that you've inadvertently revealed a lot of private information about yourself (and your family) to the world in your blog space.

You don't think so? Okay, let's play PI (Private Investigator) on fellow bloggers whom I've met in the Net. Let's start with Victor.

Victor

Okay, Victor is a good pal of mine, who happened to be a colleague sitting in the cubicle next to me in the office. Let's pretend we've never met. Victor may be surprised to learn that I know a fair bit of details about him, not through our daily interaction in the office, but from his blog.

For a start, Victor just crossed the half-century mark, which reveals his Chinese zodiac sign as a Monkey. He's a wordsmith, extremely witty in his play of words.

He worked as a bank clerk in a foreign bank in the 1970s, and according to comments left by Chris (yours truly) in Victor's blog, he is now a consultant in the Civil Service.

At a towering 6 ft tall, Victor exudes confidence and charm wherever he goes (that's according to Chris again). He's courteous and has very little tolerance for sales-people with poor service standard. He has no qualms writing to establishment such as SingNet to grouse about the contractual dispute he suffered at their hands.

Speaking of hands, Victor is quite good with his hands, showing off his hand-made kite and the Mech Sumo Robot in his blog.

He first car was a Mini Clubman he owned in the 70s. He now drives a Renault Scenic which he purchased in November 05.

He has two boys, the elder of whom is studying in RI. Very "silent" on his wife - suspected both at loggerheads :O

Victor is obsessed with the "vanishing scenes" of Singapore. He moans about the loss of our national heritage such as the National Library and the National Theatre. It is something he has in common with another fellow blogger he met in the Net, Lam Chun See (who's next on my PI list, followed by Evan and ....). He's also passionate about antiques, especially old office equipment such as the Adding Machine.

He was a cheeky boy who grew into a cheeko pek. Victor describes himself as a "sex liberal" and likes to blog about SEX, the figure 69 and the Condom. He wrote that these are his "healthy hobby".

Victor, did I just make you piss on your pants? Okay, easy now ... just calm down, there is no reason to be hysterical.... Let's turn our attention to our friend, Chun See.…

Lam Chun See

At age 54, which makes him a Dragon, Chun See is a self-made man (possibly a self-made millionaire), having started a firm in 1977 called Hoshin Consulting specialising in Japanese-style productivity techniques like 5S and suggestion scheme.

He lives in District 10 with his wife and three kids, whom he called his "three joys"....

Oh dear, did I just freak you guys out and set your alarm bells ringing? Okay, I've made my point, I think I'll just stop this nonsensical irritation. Trust me, these information were ripped off your blogs. And I've not doubt that you could come up with a profile for Chris.

The point I'm trying to make is that sometimes, we do get carried away in writing our blog and unknowingly ended up offering private and confidential information about our families in the net to total strangers.

I find this all rather unsettling and scary. Not too long ago, I read an article about the danger of uploading our kids’ photographs in the Internet, where pedophiles and perverts are known to be lurking. Photographs of our kids perhaps in their pajamas smiling happily at the camera, but we didn't realise that there was a landmark on the background of that photo....That gives the perverts an idea of where we're living... Then there's the fear of kidnapping if you're a millionaire or super rich or stay in district 10 ....

Be afraid. Be very afraid....

Category: Musings

Ooouucccchhh !!!

I've got a toothache and it's due to a tooth decay on my left molar. The pain comes and goes when I least expected it. Each time, I numb the pain with pain killer. But tonight's been really awful. The pain has become more intense and the pain killer did not seem to work any more. I was almost moaning in pain. If you've been through a toothache, you would know that the pain has the potential to create havoc in your life - you can't concentrate on what you're doing, you get cranky and annoyed easily, barking and yelling at the kids (and sometimes the spouse) at the slightest irritation. You wear a perpetual frown on your face, and the only way to make you smile is to turn your face up-side down.

The Slim Lady tried to convince me that the only way to nip the problem in the bud (no pun intended) is to have the offending tooth extracted. Well, so did the dentist. This is an option that I've weighed several times, only to have lost my nerve at the 11th hour and opted for the pain killer instead. Yes, I'm afraid of going to the dentist! Go away!

But I guess I shan't procrastinate much longer. I do worry what would happen if the pain were to strike while I'm in the middle of an important meeting. Or when I'm overseas. Or what if I frown and bark at he Slim Lady at the wrong time? Oh... never underestimate the fury of a woman frowned.... Yes, a man's got to do what he's got to do. I'll book that appointment to see the dentist (yet again). Soon. I hope.

Category: Health

Time to Mini Size Me .....

I love my office. It never fails to remind me just how fat (and ugly) and unhealthy I am. To promote healthy and clean (as in non-toxic) living to its staff (not that we drink and be merry all day in the office, mind you), my office devoted a week from 28 Aug - 1 Sep to what it called the "Body Wellness Week". A host of programmes were lined up to make us workers more aware of what healthy and clean living is all about.

To start off, there was the health-screening by NKF. The screening was pretty basic because it was free (the sales pitch would come later). But it's detailed enough to make me realise just how out of shape I was. Never mind that I've always thought I was in shape, like everyone else - just that my shape is round. But I've learned that I'm at least 5 kg overweight, my body has an excess of 9% fat, and the darnest of all, that my total cholesterol level was on the high side. Well, can't say that I'm really surprised, all thanks to the company of BAGUS, my love for oily and fried food and the lack of sexercise.

Then, there was a talk on SinCity Toxicity by the experts on factors contributing to the toxicity in our daily lives and ways of eliminating the toxins in our bodies. Sorry I was just too lethargic to attend this talk, probably due to the high toxin content in my body. But retail therapy is a different story all together, in the form of a Body Wellness Bazaar right at the glass atrium. Items on sales included organic wheat and barley grass powder, herbal tea and honey, and assortment of nuts that the shop claimed contained no sugar, oil and salt. What they didn't advertise was that they also tasted rather BLAND.

Then I catch the movie "Super Size Me" during lunch time at the auditorium, about a burger bugger who very foolishly decided to abuse his body by subjecting it to a McDonald's binge for a month - yes, nothing but 3 McDonald’s meals a day - just to prove that fast food is really the food from hell, and that when we patronise McDonald's, or any of the fast food chains for that matter, we don't just pay with our wallets, but with our health as well. The movie was sobering, entertaining and at times hilarious. But I don't quite agree with what the chap (his name is Morgan Spurlock - the actor, director and producer all rolled into one) was doing in the film. I mean anyone would get fat like him just gorging on hamburgers and fries all day. On the local context, I guess a 3-meal Char Kway Teow per day for a month would do the same "magic". Still, there's no deny what too much of a "good thing" would do to our health. Go rent the movie if you haven't seen it. Save your kids, and save yourself. It already saved mine! Time to detox and Mini Size Me. Serious.



Category: Health

Five things to eat before my time is up

Gee... I must be so out of touch with the young people of today. Evan tagged me for a "meme". What on earth was that? I googled and deduced that when someone "tags" you for a "meme" with a particular theme, you blog about the theme (and perhaps your are expected to tag others to continue the meme??) Thank God for the Internet - I could pretend to be young and keep up with the young. :P

So, what's the five "die-die-must-eat" food before I go? Though I'm a foodie, I have simple taste... and not very sophisticated one at that.

1. Hainanese Chicken Rice. Yes, like Evan, this is on the top of my list. For me, the secret in tasty Chicken Rice lies in the chillie. I don't have a particular favourite stall, but I do know the stalls to avoid. The one at Banquet in East Point serves pretty decent Hainanese Chicken Rice. So does a stall at Holland Village which I just patronised with Victor and a colleague last week. Can't remember the unit number, but if you'd buy me a plate, I could point out the stall to you :P

2. Pumpkin Noodle. One of my mum's specialty. It's cheap and simple to prepared - pumpkin, dried shrimps, fish cakes and lots of Chye-Sim. I like my pumpkin noodle with lots of cut chillie padi and fried shallots. It always makes me sweat and crave for more. I usually eat two bowls - BIG bowls that we usually use to serve soup.

3. The 合记五香贯肠 at Maxwell Road Food Centre 01-97. I practically grew up eating the ngor hiang and the guan chang from this stall which was originally located at China Street, a stone's throw away from Club Street where I grew up. I particularly like the crispy fried egg slices - tasty, crunchy and not too oily. And the sweet chilli sauce is simply fabulous! Don't quite fancy the egg-white sauce, though.

4. Char Kway Teow - The one at Hill Street used to be my favourite. But alas, it has shifted and I can't remember where. A close second is the stall at Ghim Moh Food Centre. At $3, it is served with a generous among of cockles, hmmmm... my favourite!

5. The "Buddha Jumps Over the Wall" at the Prima Tower Revolving Restaurant. At $10000 per pot (for a table of 8, I think), woa.... I've yet to try, but die die also must get the money - rob or steal or kill - to try before I go! And yes, the Peking duck in the same restaurant looks saliva-dripping good too. What? Oh... that's SIX food I want to try before I go hah? Hmmmm...

Category: Food

Two's company, but EIGHT ???

Give that man, and the woman behind the man, a medal. I'm referring to an article in today's ST about a couple with eight kids, of course. Incidentally, the blessed man, Joseph Kwok, happened to be the brother of a former colleague.

The Slim Lady and I decided to "close factory" and stop at two, after the arrival of Junior in 1992. We have a host of reasons for doing so. Financial is one; the fear of parenting and the responsibility that comes with it is another. And yes, admittedly, we took that decision for a selfish reason too, for having kids would surely take away a lot of our personal time.

But I do like a big family! Well, maybe not eight, but at least four. There would be challenges - bickering kids, complaints on unfairness and the danger of turning the house topsy-turvy. But they make for a family that's bustling with life, laughter and joy, not to mention headache, of course. But the headache pales in comparision with the family-togetherness brought about by the kids. I realise, through the years and as I mellow in age, that perhaps my perception has changed. Yes, I do long for a big family. I can't turn back the clock and this is something that I much regret.

Let's turn the focus on the Kwok's family. See how happy and contented Joseph's family is. Just look at their photos - the kids are all smile, the parents, too. They are happy kids, the youngest being four and the oldest 20. All appear to be well-adjusted and sensible. They may not have the latest toys or gadgets, nor do they dine out very often. But what is not lacking is the love that prevails in the family. The family of 10 survives on Joseph's monthly take-home pay of $3200, no mean feat considering today's standard of living. How I admire the couple.

The "hardware" in the factory may have become rusty and act a little quirky, but I've no doubt that the Slim Lady and I could still father a child or two. But being eight years shy of crossing the half-century mark (my wife's two years younger), I do worry about people mistaking us as grandparents. I guess it's too little too late for us, not that the Slim Lady is willing anyway. It's all wishful thinking on my part. And I may have to take her forcefully, if I have too :P

But I've done my maths. The youngest child, Antoine, is just four. And if Mrs Kwok was reported to be 45, that means she had the boy when she was 42. My wife is relative younger. Besides, it's not as if I'm 50, or 54 :P There's hope yet.

Years ago, another colleague of mine was also featured on TV with her day-to-day life as a mother of five. Again, it evoked that feeling in me, the feeling of joy in having a big and boisterous family.


Category: Family

My Army Daze. The day after .....

Long as it was, my enlistment day had to end somewhere. That was at about 2359H, when the instructors told us to "light-off". That was their way of telling us, "Recruits, now you can sleep!" I don't think it was just me; but as soon as our botak heads hit our beds, we were sleeping like babies. We had never been so shag and exhausted in our life! Of course, we had no idea then that life in the army would only get worse.

Then, as I lay asleep in the squeaky bed, deep in my dreamland, I heard, as did many of my platoon-mates, a voice that went "Golf company, wake up! Golf company, wake up!" It was only 5 am. Huh? Time to wake up? And I thought I only caught a wink! The voice went on for a good 5 minutes, between intervals. If I tried hard enough, I could still hear that deep and loud voice, which belonged to a fella recruit named Jeffrey Ong. I remember how on the ball (an army lingo - more on that in subsequent post) Jeffrey was. He was always the first to rise in the morning, the first to cross the finishing line during the IPPT, and if given a chance, I suspect he would be the first to be in the front line to fight for our country. Basically, he was all that I wasn't. But he also became the platoon's "human" alarm clock (self-appointed). LOL.

We were always sleep-deprived. And I missed the sun badly. The moon? It was shining when we light-off at 2359H, and shining still when we rose at 0500H, sometimes earlier at 0430H if we had a shooting range exercise. I hated the moon!

Many of us had never shared much personal time and space with others the way we did during the BMT. Imagine having to do so with recruits of different shapes and sizes, the fit and the weak, the meek and the garang, the bright and the sotong. This is communal living quite unlike those we have with our neighbors, friends and relatives. And like a husband and wife team, it's important that we get along, or life would have been one living hell.

Happily, got along we did. We had no choice. If someone blunders up, the whole platoon got punished. So we were forced to help one another, to complete a task in a specific time as instructed by the instructors.

My fellow recruits-in-suffering

I have vague memories of my fella recruits. Other than Jeffrey, there was lanky Gilbert Leong whom I had caught on TV once talking about, if my memories serve, some sort of investment in a TV programme. He was really tall, and was the one who was always humming songs like "Tie a yellow-ribbon round the old oak tree" in the bunk, especially during book-out time. He was also a bit of a drama king. Once we were told to go fight a bush fire (don't ask me why, but since when had recruits become firemen?), I lost my footing and fell on a rocky ground. Gilbert started shouting, "Casualty! Casualty! Someone fell! Casualty!" Damn drama, man!

There was the very courteous Wee Tee (can't recall his surname). I remembered him because he was scolded by the OC for his good-manners. You see, the instructors and the OC would tell us recruits to "drop down 20" at their every whim and fancy. This is the army lingo to tell us to do 20 push-ups as a form of punishment. Once we had done so, we must ask permission to stand up; so we went, "permission to recover, Sir?!". The instructors or the OC would usually respond, "carry on" unless they want to tekan (another lingo) us. So in this instance, when our OC said, "carry on", our friend Wee Tee quipped chirppily, "thank you, sir", to which our OC shouted, "Don't be a cartoon! When I say RECOVER, don't thank me! There's no Thank You in the army!!" How's that for friendly forces? Hee.

Within days in the BMT, one could also tell the sotongs or blur kings from the smart-alecks, the keng kings (one who malingers) from the hardworking. The blur kings are the one who fumble over things, and who couldn't seem to understand simple instructions. There was this chap Low Chin Fie, who asked his mum to sew up the opening of the pockets of his army pants, when the instructions from the instructors were to just sew up the hems of the pockets. It was funny, but the blur kings are usually the one who inadvertently sabo the whole platoon. There were also some who weren't blur but acted blur, very much like the keng kings. The latter are those who malinger to avoid work. I remember a chap called Anthony Liang, who feigned a sprained-ankle just to avoid going on exercise. I knew because I saw him in the toilet walking up-right instead of limping the way he did out in the open, especially in front of the instructors. But I didn't blow the whistle. Don't ask me why.

I remember Ng Fatt Keong, who became a photographer for Pioneer Magazine (I think he signed on as a regular).

Blur kings, keng kings or smarty-pants, we were forced to stick together come hell or high water. We trained together, suffered together, and I'd like to think that we came out of the BMT ordeal a fitter, a more disciplined, and overall, a better person.

Some wonderful friendships were formed out of the camaraderie we experienced during BMT. I've lost touch with my buddy Tan Kian Guan and often wonder the whereabout of him or what has become of him. I'm sorry I can't remember many of the rest of chaps, and even if I were to run into them on the street, I doubt I could even recognise them. Not even the platoon's photo may be of help.....

27th Intake Basic Military Training
Golf Coy Platoon 28
23rd March 83 - 17th June 83

Category: Yesteryear

My Army Daze (Part 2)

Amy talks

The first thing that we recruits have to get used to in the Army was the army lingo and especially the colourful expletives often uttered by the lau cheow on us recruits. It started almost as soon as we stepped onto Tekong. The word lau cheow, by the way, is the army lingo to mean a veteran in Hokkien. In this instance, a reference to the BMT instructors who are mostly NCO, or the CO, the officer in charge of the platoon, or the recurits who have since passed out and obtained their ikan-bilis stripe (a Lance Corporal) before you.

Other lingo:

• Fall in - to get into lines
  
• Double up - to run instead of walk
  
• Standby Bed - and inspection on the tidiness of your bed and cupboard by the NCO or officer
  
• Extra Duty - usually a form of punishment in the form of performing guard duty (to patrol around the came on foot) over the weekends while your lucky camp-mates book out.
  Talk cock
  Tekan
  
• Knock it down 20 - drop down and perform 20 push-ups
  
• Extra Drill - well, this is not really an extra drill, but rather a drill that you have to perform in double quick time, i.e., you kebelakang pusing in double quick time, you march in double quick time. This is really a torture and it requires a medic to standby just in case any of us recruit drop dead or pengsan (faint)
  

Then there are the many expletives uttered by the instructors and NCO alike which is enough to make a soldier, I mean a sailor brush. To a goody-two-shoe like me, it was a shock. And to be sworn at in this fashion, it was total humiliation, well, at least in the early stage. Eventually, everybody got sworn at, and I realised that everybody around me, except the gods in the form of the NCOs and the officer, was an a**hole, everybody was a blur f*ck, and you just don't feel the humiliation any more.

........ next "Let's Get Physical".....

My Army Daze. The enlistment day .....

Chun See's account on his NS days stirred up memories of my own.

I can't recall much of my emotions on the day I entered the army. But it must have been one of apprehension and fear. Unfortunately, this fear was perpetuated by none other than my mum. She was always telling me how skinny and physically weak I was and how I would definitely suffer when I eventually enlisted for my NS.

The Enlistment Day

Well, that day arrived on 23 March 1983. I remembered how long a day it was. We were told to report first to CMPB where my pal Victor, the downgraded soldier, served as a clerk several years prior to my enlistment. From there, we recruit-to-be were then brought, on a 3-tonner - the first time I was ever onboard an army vehicle, to the jetty at Changi to take an RPL to Pulau Tekong camp, our new home for the next 3 months.

When the RPL finally anchored at the jetty some 45 minutes later, some of us guys might be forgiven for thinking that we had landed in Hawaii. It just showed how much in self-denial many of us were. There were the sun, the sand and the sea, not to mention the abundant coconut trees. The only thing missing were the Hawaiian girls welcoming us with garlands and cooing "aloha". Realities were soon to hit us.

We were the 2nd batch of recruits to be trained at Tekong. The first batch had it easy - they only shifted equipment and stuff from SBMT to Tekong and do area-cleaning most of the time, so were we told.

Back then, Tekong was not very well developed. Instead of proper road, we had earth - red earth. The army bunks were like longhouses. From the Tekong jetty, it was another 20 minutes march to the bunk. And by the time we reached the bunk, most of us were literally covered in dust.

I remember lugging along the huge kit bag, commonly known as the Ali Baba bag, all the way to the bunk. The Ali Baba bag was used to store all the issued items like the army boots, No. 4 uniforms and SOP before we transferred these into our cupboards in our bunk.

On arrival at our bunk, we were told that we've been assigned to Golf company; a company we subsequently learned to be one of the most "on the ball" and siong.

To many of us, the BMT was a rude awakening. Life thus far had been sweet and comfy. We were free to do what we want, answerable only to our parents. And many of us had never left home, save for a couple of nights at chalets with friends or family members.

But once we stepped into Tekong, it was as if we were living on the other side of the globe. The moment we put our stuff in the bunk, and changed to our PT kit as instructed, everything moved in double quick time. We were sworn at by the instructors, told to double up (the military term to run) from one point to another. In the army, you don't walk. No you don't, soldier. You double up from the bunk to the training shed, and double up from the training shed to the cookhouse. There was hardly time for us to breathe. And that aweful and dreadful chin-up bar. Yes, we had to do chin-ups before every meal. If there was hell, then this must be it. I found it almost surreal in the beginning. More about the "physical torture" in subsequent post.

The BMT was also the first time we experienced living with people of other races and of different cultures. Gruelling training aside, it was also a lesson in racial-tolerance and harmonious-living. How often do you get 36 boys - Chinese, Malay, Indian and the Eurasian - all living under the same roof? There were two Sikhs in my group. Have you seen how a Sikh does his turban? Not to sound disrespectful, but it was exactly how my late granny did her ang ku kueh bun. They simply twirled their hair round and round, followed by the turban itself, which is really a piece of long, oblong cloth.

As I said, it was a long day. I remember the hair-cut, or should I say hair-shearing session. All of us were brought to the Hall where the Indian barbers were waiting with their scissors and shearers. It was a dreadful time for most of us, especially those metrosexuals (okay, so that word hadn't been coined yet) with shoulder-length hair. Indeed, it's been said that the inevitable hair-shear is like a rite of passage into NS. But to many, it's a time for them to mourn the loss of their precious locks. As for me, half way through my turn, there was an electricity blackout. I just sat there with my hair looking ridiculously half civy and half army for a good 15-minutes.


Signs of things to come, I remember thinking. And as days turn into nights, and nights turned into weeks, I experienced many aspects of the army I never thought I would. It's not all bad memories; many are bitter sweet.

.......to be continued

Category: Yesteryear

What makes me a Singaporean

Frannxis, a fellow blogger, seems to have problem understanding why people who profess to be proud of being Singaporean find it a bother to display the Singapore flags. He ponders and I quote: "Displaying the flag is just a small way to show our affection. Is it too troublesome? And if a lot of people think this way, then there will be only a few flags hanging out. It will look pathetic", unquote.

Yeah, why not indeed? And for that matter, to the truly patriotic Singaporeans, why not put up the flags the whole year round? Why does it have to be during National Day?

Oh... I almost forgot.... There are rules about displaying our flag here. Firstly, you can't make clothes out of our national flags, like the Americans or the British are prone to do. You have to be mindful to ensure that the stars and the crescent moon on our flags are displayed on the right side, which is, well, on the left side. And oh... you could only display the flag for a certain period after National Day. Displaying your patriotism longer then allowed and you'd get a courtesy call by men appointed by the Gahmen.

I find all these rather amusing. Stand up for Singapore, they said. But hey, you can't stand up indefinitely, even if you want to. Let's not forget how "fine" a city Singapore is.

The STPB is absolutely right when it adopted the slogan "Uniquely Singapore". We Singaporeans are truly unique in our own way. And on this National Day eve, I'd like to reflect on what it truly means to be a Singaporean, or rather, why I think I'm a Singaporean. Well, I call myself a Singaporean because:

• I'm kiasi, kiasu and very sometimes kiabor.
  
  
• My favorite pastime is to queue-up at the 4-D outlet every weekend.
  
  
• I don't know what you are queuing for here; but I'll join in anyway cos I know it will be something not to be missed.
  
  
• I speak Singlish. Cannot meh? My business wat.
  
  
• One of my passions is food and I like Hainanese Chicken Rice, Char Kway Teow and Or Luak - in that order.
  
  
• I "chop" the seat at the "1000-people restaurant" with my tissue paper and that seat belongs to me!
  
  
• I love the gahmen when they gave me my "progress package" but "scolded" (ya, I know it's too mild a word) them when cost of living goes up.
  
  
• I know it's crazy, but I paid big bucks for a small piece of paper we call the COE just to get my four wheels.
  
  
• I "drag" my wheels to avoid the ERP.
  
  
• My the other passion is shopping and I don't usually wait for the Singapore Great Sale to go on a shopping spree.
  

This is by no means an exhaustive list of what I think Singaporeans are. I'm sure Victor or Chun See would have their very own list... And considering how obsessed Victor is with Sex, the figure 69, rubber and all (his healthy hobby, so he says), I won't be the least surprised if Victor writes:

I'm a Singaporean because I'm so sex and porno deprived.

ROTFLVL.

Category: Musings

The American heroes

The Americans are great story-tellers. No, correction - they are great film-makers. And I don't mean that in a sarcastic sort of way.

I've just caught Pearl Harbor on DVD. I'm not into American history, but I enjoyed the show thoroughly, especially the battle and combat scenes. And I love the music score (the current soundtrack on the background of my blog). Pearl Harbor was foremost a movie about war. But like many movies churned out of Tinseltown based on true-life events, Pearl Harbor also tells a love story about two pilots who fell for a nurse. It's a moving love story that leaves me in tears. The Americans have a propensity to mix factual events with fiction, more often than not, love stories, and not everybody is comfortable with that. I can see where they're coming from. The love stories are necessary as subplots, or the movie would have been just another documentary, hardly box-office material that would appeal to the masses.



But let's come back to the American film-makers. These are the guys responsible for the creation of many American heroes, many of them brought back to life from comic strips - the superheroes such as Superman, Batman and Spiderman. Then there are the protagonists from movies such as Die Hard, Independence Day, and yes the hero pilots in Pearl Harbor. These movies are box-office hits, many of them featuring violent and explosive scenes. And when we look at the atrocities committed by the terrorists today, it makes you wonder where these terrorists got their ideas from, doesn't it?

Indeed, when America was attacked during 911, people were known to have quipped: Where have all the heroes gone?

Category: Movies

The Synergy Challenge

S.Y.N.E.R.G.Y.

Whatever it means. It's one of those buzzwords I often hear in my office, along with "INNOVATION".

I couldn't find the word in my pocket Oxford Dictionary. But a search on the on-line Merriam-Webster dictionary defines Synergy as follows:



And I thought it's the name for a brand of engine oil. How ignorant of me. Now I know it's really a name for TEAMWORK, something I've known since I started work more than 20 years ago.

But what exactly is Teamwork? Well, to create Teamwork awareness, my office devoted a week from 3 to 7 July to what it called the SYNERGY WEEK. It organised activities to promote teamwork and to make us workers understand what Synergy is all about. The bottom line? To increase productivity by "connecting" people, I guess.

Teamwork and Productivity. Cliche as these words may sound, I do think that these are two elements a successful office could not do without.

Well, it was SYNERGY galore alright. First, lunch times movies were screened at the auditorium, not just any movies, but movies such as 12 Angry Men and Antz that teach us the importance of working as a Team.

There was the Charity Relay Run, and it was heartening to see colleagues and bosses in every shape and size trying to raise money for the Handicaps Welfare Association (HWA).

Then there was the photography competition to showcase the talents of budding photographers in the office (shucks, I forgot to snap those photos!) The shots with the best depiction of teamwork win handsome prizes.

On top of this, new books related to the topic of Teamwork were made available in the office library, courtesy of the National Library Board.

All very exciting, I must add. So exciting, in fact, that there was no volunteer for the Synergy Challenge segment. The organisers of the Synergy Week had asked for volunteers and when it suddenly hit them that nobody was coming forward, they panic and started to arrow. It was two days before the Challenge. Much time had been wasted. I hate to say that I was one of those arrowed.

Back to the Synergy Challenge. You could say this is the climax of the Synergy Week. Teams from different sections were given an area space of 5x5 tiles at the office Glass Atrium. Our mission? To construct a structure that best depicted the sections' Teamwork Quotients or TQ (yet another fanciful buzzword). The structures should mostly be made of newspaper and magazine and the aim is to get as many people in various sections to participate in building their respective structures as possible. During the competition, a representative from each section would have to tell everyone the theme of their structure, why he thought his team's structure is the best interpretation of Team Spirit and why his team should win.

Many of us were duly impressed by the creative and thoughtful art structures conjured up by the various sections. Who said civil servants are all squares and lack creativity? We could give those sales executives in advertising a run for their money. Take a look at these art works:

The Stadium

Looking at the structure, this team was apparently influenced by the World Cup craze that has left many of his team members looking like zombies. But I must say the idea was brilliant and you could see a lot of hard work and teamwork involved.

A close-up of the Stadium

The footballers, made of handicraft straws

The Spectators

Another creation by another section:

The Rocket
Notice rings of staff holding hands depicting teamwork and unity? It was about the time when North Korea attracted the wrath of the world for having test-fired her missiles, hardly a source of inspiration. But that did not stop this team from creating what I think would appeal to my 8-year-old son.

The bikini girl beckons...
How ingenious? Did you see that? No, not the bikini-clad babe. The dish drainer on top of the rocket.

I like it that the rocket team even made their structure "interactive". Yes, they had prepared cut-outs clothes from magazines to allow participants to pin them onto any of the paper staff on the rocket that caught their fancy. To some, it was sweet revenge. I mean how often do we get to cross-dress our bosses? And with bikini at that. ROTFL.


Here is one called "Pyramid" by another team. If you look closely, you could see namecards, representing individual in unity pasted on the pyramid.


And another, with the handprints showing unity.

Here's the structure by my section. We called it "Our Fortress".



And we adopted the theme "TEAMwork". The boxes in different sizes represent each unique individual in my section. The fortress also bears the handprints of everyone in the section, signifying cohesiveness and unity. The four columns T,E,A,M represent the pillars of strength. Put them together, it's really an acronym for Togther Everyone Acieves More. Neat, huh?

More picture on "Our Fortress":

Together

Everyone

Achieves

More

But we didn't win the Challenge, though many agreed that we had the best structure with an equally good story on why we thought we should win, all eloquently put across by VT. VT is, after all, a man of charisma, with a booming voice and puckish sense of humour to match. Our hopes were high.

We were disappointed. But then winning is really secondary. What's more important is the team spirit that we've witnessed in the process of building the structure, and how we got everyone together to wrap the boxes with newspapers, and how we rally around everyone to get them to have the hand imprinted onto the boxes.

It's one event after another. Hot on the heel of the SYNERGY WEEK is the Inspiration Award event. We're looking for someone in the office who is an inspiration to all, a role model whom we could look up to, someone who is exemplary in everything that he or she does. Nomination is open. I think I have someone in mind. He sounds a lot like Victor. Hmmm.....

Category: Office

Our kids, our priorities

It was the Slim Lady's birthday. As I got up from bed, the first thing I did was to place her present on the breakfast table. I always leave for work before her, and I want to surprise her with the present when she walks into the kitchen.

Told myself I'd get her some roses on the way back in the evening. Had planned to visit Ikea with Victor for the succulent and tasty fried chicken wings for lunch. Then I received a call from my mum at noon, telling me that Junior has swallowed a fish bone. Junior, who was initially calm, told me over the phone that he could feel the bone lodged in his throat. A flurry of calls to my wife and several trips to the men in white later, first to a GP, then the specialist at KK who then referred my boy to CGH, my traumatized and crying baby was all spent and tired, but nevertheless still complaining about the fish bone and pain in his throat. The doctors couldn't see a thing, nor was there anything in the x-ray. I asked my wife if it could be "psychological". The doc said that it's possible what my junior was feeling was the "scarring", having already swallowed the bone.

At about 4pm, the Slim Lady text-messaged me to say that Junior was happily and hungrily chomping on plate of maggie noodle, all pain forgotten. When it was time to knock off, I drove home in double quick time to see my baby. And happily forgot about the flowers, as I did the chickens at Ikea. But guess what? The birthday girl wasn't mad one bit.

Isn't it awesome how our priorities change when it comes to kids?

Category: Family

From a distance ......

"Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace..." - John Lennon, Imagine


"From a disance you look like my friend,
Even though we are at war.
From a distance I just cannot comprehend
what all this fighting is for." - Cliff Richard, From A Distance


"If all the people around the world
They had a mind like yours
We'd have no fighting and no wars
There would be lasting peace on Earth." - MLTR, Sleeping Child

The world's greatest musicians could write moving music pertaining to world peace, and songs about harmony and goodwill among mankind. But alas, their talents are wasted on our world's leaders. We're living in a trying time. It's a world of chaos. A world fraught with suffering and pain.....

Category: Musings

Her Daddy, my Mummy

Everything was so lovey-dovey back then. And terms of endearments punctuated our every sentence.

"Honey, dinner is served."

"Darling, could you pass me the towel?"

"You're such a sweetie dear!"

Since the arrival of the first "stork" fourteen years ago, such endearments seem to have all but disappeared.

These days, if it's not "ooi, move aside you're blocking the TV!", than it's more often then not, "Daddy, please fetch your boy to the tournament tomorrow." By the way, if, for some reasons, you haven't got the drift, that's my wife speaking.

I admit it was kinda cute when it first started. But it was meant to be a joke, and supposed to be just a passing phase. We see it on TV all the time - spouses calling each other "Daddy" and "Mummy", more so if we were to use Mandarin - "老爸" (Daddy) and "老妈" (Mummy).

But the cuteness has since worn off many Christmases ago. In fact, I'm beginning to find it downright embarrassing when my wife uses the "D" word on me within the earshot of strangers in public. It's "sick", like the way some folks do when they address their pets as their "baby".

But never mind the pets. Though I've tried to refrain from calling my wife "mummy" and has met with some degree of success, the Slim Lady is finding it quite an uphill chore to stop using the "D" word. After all, old habits, as we know, die hard. What's gonna happen when our kids grow up and have kids of their own? Are we going to address each other as "Ah Kong" (Granddad) and "Ah Mah" (Grandma)? I shudder.

Category: Musings

A world in isolation

When SONY invented its first WALKMAN in 1979, it totally revolutionised the way we listen to music. But something else happened - the way we relate to each other. Almost overnight, you saw people, the young and the not so young, on the streets, on public buses and subways, with their ears hooked firmly onto their WALKMAN, most in total oblivion of their surrounding. Everyone is a stranger living in their own private world, and every stranger seemed to have a WALKMAN in their possession.

At home, you found kids hooking on their music, during mealtime, and study time, much to the consternation of most parents. Everyone was isolated. Accidents on the road went up because people cared more for their music than their lives. There was no hope for the human race.

Twenty-seven years on, the advancement in technology never seems to let up, and we mere mortals seem unable to keep up. There is no question that technology has improved the quality of our lives. We have more gadgets to keep us entertained, and the advancement in medical science has made us live longer.

While it's true that technology "connects" people (think mobile phone), it's also true that walls have been built isolating mankind (think the great "Digital Divide") because of technology. And if what I've read in the news is any indication, we'd better brace ourselves for more isolation.

I'm talking about Mobile-TV, which enable you to watch TV programmes on the go, of course. Already a hit in Japan and South Korea, it was reported recently that the three telcos here are looking into ways to offer their mobile-phone users Mobile-TV subscriptions. Soon, we would see our kids retreating into their room with their Mobile-TV, instead of interacting with family members in the living room. And skivers at work would be able to have a "sneak preview view" of their day time soup opera in the office.

When people get isolated, communications break down. I don't know if it's just me, but have you noticed how the behaviour of our kids degenerated through the years in Singapore? Youngsters of today don't seem to have much respect for the elderly. Yes, this is true even of my kids. And we read about how students, yes even the undergrads refusing to give up their seats to the elderly or the physically disabled. Everyone seems to have become selfish and self-centred. And that very invention - the WALKMAN - is the epitome of selfishness. You could even say that it's anti-social. No? Who else could you share the music with?

Welcome to the world in solitude. But what price technology?

Category: Musings

The One

Every once in a while, my mum would quip that one among her children would take after her passion for cooking. My elder sis is single and staying with mum. My kid brother waits to be served at the dining table. Though my younger sister is married and a housewife, she cooks simply - and horribly (pity my bro-in-law and my niece).

I must be The One :P

I guess it's a matter of personal interest. I've always loved cooking, just don't ask me to wash up. I'm the one who's always asking my mum how she cooks this and that, what ingredient to buy and how to cook it. Yes, you can say I'm the kid with the passion for cooking (and eating), unlike my siblings, whose passion is simply to eat.

Thanks to my mum, I've learned to whip out a mean pot of laksa, curry, pumpkin noodle, and yes simple dishes like sesame oil chicken and fried fish, and more elaborate ones like popiah and steamboat, just to name a few.

Just the other day, the Slim Lady told me that she's not tasted my glutinous for a long time. Yeah, the last I cooked this dish was years ago. And I remembered how my colleagues were raving and ranting about how good it tasted. No, I'm not blowing my trumpet. Just take a look a the pics.





Doesn't it look yummy? You salivating, yet? Hahaha...

Okay, so the pork was a little tough, but the dish really tasted as good as it looked. Generous amount of mushrooms and dried shrimps, topped with fried shallots and spring onion. You would never get this from the foodstalls.

The Slim Lady luurrrves it; but I ate just a little, with enough to spare for my colleagues on Monday (I hope). I can't explain this, but somehow, the cook always has no appetite for the food he/she whips out. Strange but true. My mum used to express the same sentiments...

Anyway, if you wanna try out the dish yourself, here are the ingredients:

Ingredients

• Half kilo of glutinous rice (soaked in water for half hour)
  
• Dried mushrooms (soaked in water for half hour, than cut into shredded size)
  
• Dried Shrimp (soaked in water for half hour)
  
• Pork
  
• Spring onion
  
• Shallot
  
• Dark sauce
  
• Salts
  
• MSG (optional)
  

Method

1. Drain dried shrimps and throw into the wok. Stir until fragrant. Then throw in the mushrooms and stir. Followed by the pork. Stir. Add 2 tablespoon dark sauce. Stir. Dish out and put aside.
   
2. Drain rice and throw into wok. Stir fry. Add 2 tablespoon dark sauce. Stir fry.
   
3. Add ingredients No 1 (not all of it; set aside 1/3 for later use). Stir fry. Add salts and MSG (optional). Stir fry. Remove the rice from the wok.
   
4. Divide the rice and place it into two big bowls. Microwave each bowl for 24 minutes (stirring the rice at every 12 minutes interval).
   
5. When cooked, sprinkle the glutinous rice with the 1/3 of ingredients that was placed aside earlier. Then sprinkle fried shallot and spring onion. Ready to serve.
   

Bon Appetite.

Category: Food

Language barrier. Are we barking up the wrong tree?

I once blogged about the language barrier between my mum and the medical staff of a hospital and opined that this barrier is the result of the "No Dialect" policy implemented by our gahmen in the 70s. If you have been following the news lately, you would have heard about the recent case of a doctor at the Polyclinic who caused the death of an elderly woman with a wrong dosage of medication. The doctor apparently speaks no dialect.

The case has open a floodgate of letters to the forum, with many ST readers complaining that their elderly parents and grandparents have had similar problem communicating with non-dialect speaking doctors at the Polyclinic. One of the two public health clusters, the National Healthcare Group (NHG), in its attempt at damage-control, revealed that it conducts regular courses on Mandarin and Malay (to their medical stuff). Mandarin and Malay? How is this addressing the issue, when many of the elders speak no mother-tongues but their own dialects? My mum, like many people her age, can't speak Mandarin. It seems to me that the NHG is barking up the wrong tree. But of course, providing dialect courses (which should be the obvious solution) to the medical staff would be going against the policy of the gahmen's "Speak Mandarin Campaign".

I have problem understanding the "Speaking Mandarin" policy. I'm not quite sure the rationale behind this policy (I was only a child back then). Was it to prepare us to take on the Dragon? Or was it to gel the Chinese of different dialect groups in Singapore. If it's the latter, then perhaps we should take a leaf from the Taiwanese on how they manage their language policy. Predominantly, they are Hokkien. They speak flawless Mandarin, and yet are conversant in their own dialects from kids to 92. And we do not see the various dialect clans breaking up and feuding. What did the Taiwanese do that we didn't?

We're so used to hearing foreign dignitaries and diplomats telling our leaders that "we want to learn from Singapore how you manage this or that". Perhaps it's time we return the compliment?

Category: Policies

Measure of a man

Okay, so I'm not the manliest of men. I cried watching "I Not Stupid, too"; I pants like a dog climbing up all eight floors of my flat; I cringe on my seat, eyes half-closing with fear while watching horror movies. I like to bitch complain about life. And I'm afraid of darkness. Can the Real Man please stand up?

How does one measures manliness? Or "womanliness"?

Does a man who dons pink any less manly then a man who dons black? Does a man who knits and bakes less of a man than one who hikes and mountain-climbs? For that matter, does a woman who wears pants and works at a shipyard any less lady than one who dons a mini-skirt, sitting pretty in the office, all dolled-up?

Is a man a "sissy" if he plays no sport? And during this World Cup season, do you consider a man who does not follow the matches less of a man than one who stays up all night to keep tab of the scores?

I'm a man. I enjoy cooking (but hate the washing up) and baking (though not as often as my blogofriend Evan). I collect Precious Moments figurines, some of which are displayed on my office desk. I don't drink, and I don't smoke. I'm not into sports. Now, am I considered a lesser man than the guy sitting in the next cubicle in the office? Absolutely not.

Stereotyping - we're all guilty of it, and, much as we hate to admit, have been victims of it at one time or the other.

I once went shopping for fighting fish (now, you'd agree that's quite a man thing to do, ya? heheh) and was looking for a container, available in either green or pink to house the fish. When I opted for the pink, my female colleague expressed surprise and equipped "only girls choose pink"! I always find such stereotyped statements exasperating!

Another incident. My former boss, upon seeing the Precious Moments figures on my desk, commented that my cubicle looked kinda "feminine". I joked that I'd better put up some posters of bulldozers and aircraft fighters to better reflect my "masculinity". That would make me a real man, wouldn't it?

This habit of typecasting is not just confined to the guys. Girls I know have also been victims of stereotyping. "For goodness sake! God made you a woman. Why must you cut your hair so short? Even shorter than the guys!" A colleague of mine suffered this humiliation when she arrived at the office one day.

Who decides girls should have long flowing hair and boys shouldn't wear pink anyway? Who says men should not shed tears (any wonder why we men bite the dust earlier then the girls)? And girls should act like princesses? Social norms? Or some unwritten rules by we mere mortals? Sometimes, I'd like to be like Victor, taking a contrarian stance, and be a non-conformist. This is not to say that Vic acts like a princess, nor keep long flowing hair, not that he could. At our age, it's lucky that we've got hair, even if some of us are suffering from a reclining receding hairline. Haha.

We're all God's creatures - big and small, beautiful and not so beautiful. And God made us to be DIFFERENT. People should recognise this fact, and the earlier they do and accept the way some people are, a happier place this earth would be. Period. (Now, that's a woman thing, I know :P)

Category: Musings

Once bitten, never shy

One would have fought shy of entering into any sort of partnership with a business partner who's not trustworthy. Despite the many hiccups we have with our neighbors up north, it seems that talks are underway for a fast train rail link that promises to take us from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur, and vice versa, in just over two hours. Though the venture makes business sense, considering the sheer volume of human traffic traveling between Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, we may well be giving ourselves more headaches if dispute arises. This is especially so when the venture involves land needed for the rail tracks. When we talk about land, it always has something to do with "sovereignty". Dr M has remarked, with reference to Singapore, that there are many ways to "skin a cat". Why give Dr M another opportunity to do so, even if a cat is said to have nine lives?

Category: Gahman