on a soy milk and cheese pancake diet.. yum!

What if you forgot yourself?

Is our identity our memory?

In the run up to the Oscars tomorrow, I thought it would be appropriate to devote Sunday to a little movie duathlon. Managed ‘Away From Her’ and ‘Persepolis’ in the same day.

*****

Recently I’ve noticed something about myself. My memory’s failing. I can’t remember certain descriptive words or if I learnt new ones I couldn’t recall their meaning soon after. And if I watched a movie or read a book I loved, I couldn’t so much as recall the plot or details in time. I can’t remember song titles or lyrics even if I’d looped the same tune over and over. I take a long time to place a face, if at all. I was wondering if all this is caused by smoking (which I’ve quit for 8 months now).

At the back of my head I was thinking if this could already be the first telltale signs of Alzheimer’s Disease or a simple case of plain forgetfulness or disinterest. I can’t remember (no pun intended) when but I told myself that I should keep a diary of sorts, to have a physical record of things now that I’m so forgetful, but you know how things are always put off till you’ve got more time?

*****

And so ‘Away From Her’ struck a powerful chord within me. The knowledge of oneself, fading away, leaves the heart to ache a hundred times more. It’s a thought that has popped up frequently in my conversations with friends. But it has always been laughed off, for 34 years old is just too young eh? So if you forget yourself, who are you then? Who do you become?

In the same vein ‘Persepolis’ deals with the whole identity construct – how relentlessly the memory of that identity comes back to reaffirm or to condemn the self. Now do I really know what I’m talking back there? I may or may not. It could explain the deliberate attempt at filling my CD case with Mando-pop albums before I’d embarked on a 9-week retreat in U.K. And even more recently, with the arrival of a Chinese national as colleague that an age old struggle of mine resurfaced. And made me confront my identity once again, or rather make a comparison. Am I Chinese? Should I become Chinese? How Chinese can I be? Whose Chinese anyway? Will I ever become a Chinese? What if I forgot to be Chinese? Just because, I have no memory of my forefathers.

Now everyone can get a hotel room

I think AirAsia is doing a fabulous job tackling the budget conscious market. Now not only can everyone fly, they can also stay in rather decent accommodation. I haven't actually visited their new budget hotel, but judging by the pictures on its website, Tune Hotels looks good!

There's No Place I'd Rather Be

I HEART SG. There's no denying it. But at the same time it pains to love a country that doesn't love you back. Recently I saw the latest National Day song on TV. Rather early in the day since the actual day of commemoration is Aug 9. Gave me some friendly goosebumps though. Until I figure how to upload videos and song files, you'll have to check out the new song at kitchan.com.



There's No Place I'd Rather Be | Kit Chan
Music&Lyrics | Jimmy Ye

I’ve walked the streets of Cairo & Bombay
I’ve seen the neon signs on old Broadway
I’ve climbed the Eiffel Tower
The Great Wall in one hour
Experienced Sweet and Sour
But that’s okay

Seen Hollywood, the sunsets in LA
The London Bridge, Big Ben, the Thames, UK
I’ve crossed the River Kwai
Yet still I don’t know why
I think of you each night and every day

There’s no place I’d rather be
You’ll always be a part of me
And even though I’ve roamed the world
It’s still my home I long to see
This is where my family
And my friends grew up with me
So I’ll cross the skies and sail the seas
To be where I wanna be

There’s no place I’d rather be
You’ll always be a part of me
And even though I’ve roamed the world
It’s still my home I long to see
This is where my family
And my friends grow old with me
So I’ll cross the skies and sail the seas
To be where I wanna be
Cos there’s no place I’d rather be

Meet me in a restaurant...

Meet me on the top of the world

Marion Nicole Teo Singapore. I remember vividly, the dramatic flourish with which she’d delivered her introduction to the world back in 1987. And I had, with a little guilt, abandoned last minute revisions (it fell right smack in between my sec.2 exams) to catch the Miss Universe pageant held LIVE in Singapore. That was also the only year that Miss Singapore made it to the top ten semi-finalists. I remember loving every detail. I'm nationalistic to the core. From the giant prop of a reclining lion (painted a lighter shade of Shrek) on stage, to the infectious opening song Let’s Go!, to how Marion walked through a curtain of water in the outdoor swimsuit shoot YET emerge miraculously with hair implausibly dry and coiffed still...

But it was the serious search for a national dress (did it start then?) that got me totally excited. In my young mind, the concept of a 3 cultures-in-1 dress to reflect our multi-racial heritage was sheer brilliance. Fast forward to 2007. The part saree, part cheong sam, part baju kurong haberdashery look, as you can observe from the picture below, has survived the ravages of time or taste. The dress remains a garish mythical beast, a Merlion of sorts. Pity that the efforts spearheaded by the late President Ong Teng Cheong in creating a wearable national identity inspired by the orchid-motif died together with his demise.

Jessica Tan, Miss Singapore Universe 2007
Picture grabbed from www.globalbeauties.com

Indeed not just our dress 'sense', but everything about the pageant has remained static. Take a look at the immutables. USA and Venezuela are guaranteed spots in the top five. The contestant from the host country would invariably be in the top fifteen. Miss Venezuela, with pageant school et al, still cannot speak English after all these years. And with the rise of the Asian Millennium, suddenly China is Miss Congeniality, Philippines is Miss Photogenic, and of course Japan is Miss Universe...

heroes

The faculty of accountability
By Siew Kum Hong | Posted: 30 May 2007 0718 hrs

www.channelnewsasia.com


Anger, disbelief, fear, shock and tears. Those were just some of the reactions to the University of New South Wales (UNSW) Asia's announcement that it was giving up after just one term.

Even as UNSW, the Economic Development Board (EDB), the Ministry of Education (MOE) and other educational institutions (including the three local universities) continue to try to help UNSW students deal with the aftermath, there are other issues that merit debate on a more macro level.

The first concerns the accountability of government agencies.

The MOE had reportedly played an important role in attracting UNSW to Singapore in the first place. Furthermore, all private schools must register with the MOE.

Yet, when students and parents wanted to meet with the latter after UNSW's decision, the MOE's response was that UNSW had ultimate responsibility.

As for the EDB, it had sealed the deal with UNSW and had invested heavily in the project. Yet, it has declined to reveal the losses resulting from UNSW's pullout.

While disclosing the figures could affect the EDB's bargaining position in future negotiations with other universities, the fact remains that this is taxpayers' money. The Financial Times has reported the amount to be as high as $80 million.

The EDB has also not provided information on how the deal was structured. What sort of guarantees and commitments were extracted from UNSW? How could UNSW simply quit after just one term, when construction work on the new campus was already underway, apparently without having to pay compensation?

Did we give away too much to lure UNSW here?

The onus is on the EDB to explain what had happened and give an indication of our losses, while not compromising its ability to negotiate future deals.

Its continued silence does not sit well with Singaporeans, particularly in light of the Public Accounts Committee's recent findings of significant lapses in the EDB's internal controls and governance.

Singaporeans expect greater accountability from ministers and civil servants, given the recent public service pay hike. The handling of this case may not have met the enhanced standards expected by the public.

A more fundamental question concerns the Singapore model, which relies heavily on foreign investments to drive the economy. UNSW's departure demonstrates the risks inherent in playing this game, especially in an increasingly globalised world where competitors are everywhere and funds come and go easily.

Investors are understandably fickle, coming to seek returns and leaving if there are none. As with UNSW and other multinational corporations, when they pull out, Singaporeans have to pick up the pieces, whether they be lost jobs, missed opportunities or dashed dreams.

This could come without warning, such as when there is a management change and hardnosed businessmen such as UNSW vice-chancellor Professor Fred Hilmer disagree with the previous decisions made.

So long as we persist with this economic model, the risk will remain. I am not saying we should abandon this model — it has served us well in the past, and it could continue to work for the future.

But we have to be aware of the inherent risks, make sure our eyes are open to what could happen if things go wrong, and do our best to mitigate the risks.

Just as foreign investments have a multiplier effect on the economy, the negative repercussions of capital outflows will similarly be amplified.

And that brings us back to the EDB's role in attracting investments. Yes, capital should be able to flow in and out of Singapore freely, and we cannot stop an investor from leaving.

But surely it is not too much to ask that where public funds are spent to entice foreign investments, we also extract some assurances and commitments to stay in Singapore. This not only minimises the wastage of taxpayers' money, but also mitigates the risk of lives being disrupted by premature departures.

Ultimately, our model of foreign investments requires us to keep foreign investors happy, to ensure that the business case presented is realistic and justifiable, and to ensure a long-term binding commitment.

But, at the same time, we must not lose sight of the need to grow indigenous players who can compete internationally while retaining local roots.

Otherwise, we will always remain hostage to the whims of foreign investors.


The writer is a Nominated Member of Parliament and a corporate counsel, commenting in his personal capacity.

137, 377, 450

KS. and I, we made a pact to motivate each other to write. The task is to post under a common subject header. And see how the storylines converge or veer way off on a tangent. In this inaugural instalment, our starting point will be “137” for obvious reasons (if it’s not apparent to you, please ask).

I’d pondered over the number for a bit. And suddenly two other three-digit numbers popped up. Well I thought… this could prove interesting, maybe not as titillating as 251, but I’ll not go into that infamous tag here. Or I could launch into 532, about the estate I live in (you can catch snippets in my earlier posts).

Allow me to start with 450. About a month ago, the international community has finally reached a grand plan to limit global CO2 emissions from fossil fuels to the range of 450 & 500ppm (parts per million of the atmosphere). According to The Independent, “The last time the planet experienced levels as high as 500ppm was about 20 or 40 million years ago, when sea levels were 100 metres higher than today.” Just imagine that! I can’t. And so the entire world galvanised into action. And here in our little city-state, our first task is to tackle plastic bag usage. Of which I’ve much to be guilty about, by the mere fact that I consume two bags per day, simply by having breakfast and dinner to go. That about translates to 500 of these noisy, resource-depleting and environment-polluting plastic bags. And that’s just me. Perhaps counter staff can slip in these words (if they open their mouths to grunt thank you at all), for example, “Do you need a bag?” And whatever happened to Styrofoam? Perhaps a rethink on take out food packaging might help solve things to a certain extent.

Of course by now, you’ve heard much about the vociferous debate on section 377A of our statutes. The liberals and conservatives are having a field day arguing their sacred points across. When it was first proposed to be repealed, my heart sang a tune. I wonder how my parents would feel when they read commentaries and forum letters in the dailies. For I’m sure they read them, since I’ve come out of the closet. And they had in the past, religiously (for want of a better word) pulled articles about diseases, and paedophilia that made headline news to caution me on the moral slippery slope of being… well, gay! Till this day I wonder which camp they subscribe to. It must be so hard. I know many of my peers won’t give a hoot about decriminalising. Cos really, how many of us are able to see the big picture, or have the tenacity and nerve to maintain a lifelong relationship that involves commitment in sickness and in health, and maybe even adopting a child or two. In other words, till death do us part. Someone related this to me. A gay couple has for the longest time lived their lives together. Then one of them fell very ill. Imagine your loved one lying on his death bed and you’re not allowed to visit or make decisions for him simply because you’re not officially next-of-kin.

I saw 5.47 one fateful evening. He was totally engrossed in his phone, and leaning nonchalantly against the pillar. Oblivious that he has managed to cause someone’s heart to skip a beat. Just who is this delectable specimen? And then there’s 9.00, the one who loiters about the lobby area with great patience, shrouded in the enigmatic cloak of night, shuttling between car and toilet… waiting for (I realised later) an acquaintance of mine to finish work. And then the star-studded cast from CINQ salon (French for 5 and as I learnt to pronounce it later, sounds like sunk)… one just cannot begin to rationalise about the frequency with which celebs visit their hair maestros. Maybe hair grows out quicker under the constant glare of limelight? To the calafares of 137, thank you all for making each working day, that little bit more interesting.

Zapped!!

I-S Magazine is never quite the same (for me at least) ever since Dan Savage’s syndicated column was pulled. Apparently someone made an official complaint about its risqué content or homo-slant. Funny no one seemed to mind its classifieds section black+white, containing content that might raise more than a few eyebrows.

But this week’s issue no.357 had a gem hidden under +film etc. A free screening of Abduction: The Megumi Yokota Story. This is a heart-wrenching and moving documentary about the Yokota family’s crusade to locate their then 13-year-old daughter, believed to have been snatched by North Korean agents some thirty years ago. Their efforts paid off in recent years, when the secretive regime admitted to taking 13 (a figure disputed) and the eventual return of some survivors amongst these. Unfortunately, their daughter was said to have committed suicide. Her ashes were later flown back but controversy surrounds its DNA testing, rendering the results of her death inconclusive. The agony exacerbates with this non-closure of events… and the heart continues to ache.

29231 29232

It’s been a funny week (please forgive me if time references including movie titles are a little confusing). KI. and I went to catch 28 Weeks Later on Tuesday. The interesting bit is, we watched it in the same cineplex as we did 28 Days Later. It must be 3 years plus since, and on our very first date at that! I still remember fondly then. The rush of emotions, overwhelming as I received a bouquet of lily buds precisely twenty-eight days later. Ahh… the promise of a budding relationship.

What’s this emotional ping pong, as the newly-single C. chastises. Over the weekend, we met again in the vicinity of Kelantan Lane. While walking through thieves market, we recalled lending support to a friend peddling wares then. And how he remembered that I left in a cab to meet with my sister. I’d related this series of events to JK. and this is his SMS reply: “I’m tempted to scold and ask what the hell he is doin but since you got nothing better to do and you need thrills, I encourage.” This is also the same dear friend who taught me how to giggle.