Ralf, the sweet guy I'm dating, speaks in a mixture of Singlish and Sindarin. It's a local patois that I find quite intriguing and very grassroots/blue collar. He's teaching me some Hokkien tht I hope to use for comic effect one day.
Sometimes I use English words that he's not entirely familiar with. He's always wanting to know what I mean, so will keep bugging me until I explain it in a way he understands. The other day I wrote on my facebook that I was "feeling ironic". He wanted to know what "ironic" meant. He said that he thought it meant "something a bit strange." So I tried explaining it, "It's like when something happens that you don't expect and it takes you in an unexpected direction."
He asked for clarification. I struggled to find an explanation for "irony". Perhaps I could draw something from literature, or modern poetry.
"It's like rain, on your wedding day," I ventured. What other examples could there be, I wondered.
"It's like a free-ride, when you've already paid," the words sprung to my mind brazenly.
"It's like good advice, that you just didn't take." Oh yeah, these were good examples. "And who would have thought, it figures," I finished.
I looked around cautiously, in case the literary gods would strike me down.
He seemed to understand the examples though.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Tattoos
I went to a tattoo exhibition a few months ago. This had photos of various Singaporeans showing their tattoos and a brief story about them. The whole exhibit was about the stories behind the tattoos; why they got them, what they meant (if anything). Through the tattoo, you got an insight into their lives.
Several of the people shown had their tattoos done purely for decorative reasons. They liked the designs, or created them themselves. It was art for arts sake. The most moving photo was of an old man showing some blurry blue-black lines on his shoulder. You'd almost miss them if they weren't pointed out.
He grew up during the Japanese occupation of Singapore and his brother tattooed their initials on each other so that their family could identify their bodies should they be killed or mutilated. I was stopped in my tracks by this story - I remembered my grandmother's and aunt's stories about living during the occupation; huddling under the bed in a corner while the soldiers swept under with their bayonets glinting in the dim light, their father making a false wall so they could hide behind when they came looking for women, my aunt losing her only treasured photo of her childhood because the Japanese soldier threw the frame on the ground, broke the glass and urinated over it.
There's a bartender with heavily tattooed arms, full sleeves Japanese-style but with more Chinese motifs. He talks about getting out of prison and his tattoo for enduring/tolerance: the Chinese character made up of a knife above a heart.
A mother tells of recovering from a bad marriage breakup and she sought to express her inner emotional pain through the physical pain of a tattoo. She chose her starsign Libra watching over her son's Leon. A father tells of a raging sun on his deltoid as his light-of-his-life, the son that died in childhood.
A young girl with a whole scene from a storybook on her left arm and shoulder describes the inner world that she escapes to. She's talking to a cat in a fantasy landscape as she prefers animals to people.
Then there is the guy who wanted a bar code tattoo because he thought it was "unique". He wasn't sure what number to get, I guess he didn't want to accidentally set off the supermarket scanners with "Bananas $1.99". So, he chose his girlfriends NRIC (Identity Card) number. She paid for it for their anniversary; how 'romantic'.
I wonder if he'll ever realise the irony in doing what he did in a country like Singapore? It's a militaristic one-party state that fortunately has a reasonably benevolent ruling family in charge. Nevertheless, it's highly monitored and everything is cross-linked to your identification number. I heard that all you need to apply for a mortgage is your NRIC - they can pull up your entire credit history, asset listing, etc. with just that.
My tattoos also tell stories. Most of them complicated and interwoven with previous and past events in my life. There's more detail to what I'm about to describe, but in the interest of keeping things interesting, I'll tell them to you in person.
Here's a brief description anyway. My koi (Japanese carp) is about serenity, peace and quieting the mind. It swims up because it strives to do better. Carp swim up-river to spawn. There is also the Chinese legend of how dragons are born when a carp swims up river and jumps through the Pearl Gate. Perhaps one day my carp (me) will reach the gate and jump through and I will finally be the dragon I could be. In case you don't know, I was born in the year of the dragon and my surname is the character 'dragon'.
The bamboo was suggested by my artist after a visit to a tattoo convention in Sibu. I thought it was cool as I wanted something big and long to show off a bit. This signifies for me growth and flexibility; to be able to bend and flex, adapt to change but keep still keep growing.
To pre-empt questions:
Yes, it hurt. It's like small needles scratching your skin until it bleeds. But he knows when to lift off so you get about 2 seconds to catch your breath before he continues. The pain is proportional to the sensitivity of the skin in that part of the body.
The koi took three 2-hour sessions: outline, shading 1 then shading 2. The bamboo was meant to be completed in one 1-hour session but I fussed with the original drawing and he got tired as it was the end of the day, so it took two 2-hour sessions. There's still a touchup session to finish off the koi's eye and perhaps correct some of the leaf detail.
Several of the people shown had their tattoos done purely for decorative reasons. They liked the designs, or created them themselves. It was art for arts sake. The most moving photo was of an old man showing some blurry blue-black lines on his shoulder. You'd almost miss them if they weren't pointed out.
He grew up during the Japanese occupation of Singapore and his brother tattooed their initials on each other so that their family could identify their bodies should they be killed or mutilated. I was stopped in my tracks by this story - I remembered my grandmother's and aunt's stories about living during the occupation; huddling under the bed in a corner while the soldiers swept under with their bayonets glinting in the dim light, their father making a false wall so they could hide behind when they came looking for women, my aunt losing her only treasured photo of her childhood because the Japanese soldier threw the frame on the ground, broke the glass and urinated over it.
There's a bartender with heavily tattooed arms, full sleeves Japanese-style but with more Chinese motifs. He talks about getting out of prison and his tattoo for enduring/tolerance: the Chinese character made up of a knife above a heart.
A mother tells of recovering from a bad marriage breakup and she sought to express her inner emotional pain through the physical pain of a tattoo. She chose her starsign Libra watching over her son's Leon. A father tells of a raging sun on his deltoid as his light-of-his-life, the son that died in childhood.
A young girl with a whole scene from a storybook on her left arm and shoulder describes the inner world that she escapes to. She's talking to a cat in a fantasy landscape as she prefers animals to people.
Then there is the guy who wanted a bar code tattoo because he thought it was "unique". He wasn't sure what number to get, I guess he didn't want to accidentally set off the supermarket scanners with "Bananas $1.99". So, he chose his girlfriends NRIC (Identity Card) number. She paid for it for their anniversary; how 'romantic'.
I wonder if he'll ever realise the irony in doing what he did in a country like Singapore? It's a militaristic one-party state that fortunately has a reasonably benevolent ruling family in charge. Nevertheless, it's highly monitored and everything is cross-linked to your identification number. I heard that all you need to apply for a mortgage is your NRIC - they can pull up your entire credit history, asset listing, etc. with just that.
My tattoos also tell stories. Most of them complicated and interwoven with previous and past events in my life. There's more detail to what I'm about to describe, but in the interest of keeping things interesting, I'll tell them to you in person.
Here's a brief description anyway. My koi (Japanese carp) is about serenity, peace and quieting the mind. It swims up because it strives to do better. Carp swim up-river to spawn. There is also the Chinese legend of how dragons are born when a carp swims up river and jumps through the Pearl Gate. Perhaps one day my carp (me) will reach the gate and jump through and I will finally be the dragon I could be. In case you don't know, I was born in the year of the dragon and my surname is the character 'dragon'.
The bamboo was suggested by my artist after a visit to a tattoo convention in Sibu. I thought it was cool as I wanted something big and long to show off a bit. This signifies for me growth and flexibility; to be able to bend and flex, adapt to change but keep still keep growing.
To pre-empt questions:
Yes, it hurt. It's like small needles scratching your skin until it bleeds. But he knows when to lift off so you get about 2 seconds to catch your breath before he continues. The pain is proportional to the sensitivity of the skin in that part of the body.
The koi took three 2-hour sessions: outline, shading 1 then shading 2. The bamboo was meant to be completed in one 1-hour session but I fussed with the original drawing and he got tired as it was the end of the day, so it took two 2-hour sessions. There's still a touchup session to finish off the koi's eye and perhaps correct some of the leaf detail.
Friday, September 21, 2007
The Statistician
My colleague, TC, is a dour looking statistician. He's quite tall, just over 6ft, with a boyish soft flat-top haircut and glasses. He looks about 40, which is probably accurate, but the boyish haircut just makes him look so academic-young-lecturer.
He's got a really cheeky sense of humour that no one notices underneath the quiet exterior. But I work with him quite closely and I get little peeks into this lighter side of him. We've both been on a leadership course at work; lots of sharing of thoughts, activities and other soft-skill activities. One of the 'penalties' for being late back from breaks is the 'ZOOM'. This is when the late person has to trace the word 'ZOOM' with his butt facing the audience.
Yesterday someone was late and the facilitator asked us, "Should we make him do the ZOOM? Or shall we let him off?"
TC, in a loud but directionless voice boomed quietly, "No!" If I weren't sitting next to him I wouldn't have known that the loudest "No" came from him. The hapless late-person traced out the ZOOM and sat down.
"Next time," warned the facilitator, "We'll make you do a longer word, like 'elephant'."
"Hippopotamus," ventured TC quietly. He was obviously tickled by this embarressing show and wanted to see more.
He's got a really cheeky sense of humour that no one notices underneath the quiet exterior. But I work with him quite closely and I get little peeks into this lighter side of him. We've both been on a leadership course at work; lots of sharing of thoughts, activities and other soft-skill activities. One of the 'penalties' for being late back from breaks is the 'ZOOM'. This is when the late person has to trace the word 'ZOOM' with his butt facing the audience.
Yesterday someone was late and the facilitator asked us, "Should we make him do the ZOOM? Or shall we let him off?"
TC, in a loud but directionless voice boomed quietly, "No!" If I weren't sitting next to him I wouldn't have known that the loudest "No" came from him. The hapless late-person traced out the ZOOM and sat down.
"Next time," warned the facilitator, "We'll make you do a longer word, like 'elephant'."
"Hippopotamus," ventured TC quietly. He was obviously tickled by this embarressing show and wanted to see more.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
"How's the weather?" In control.
We all know that the Singaporean government practises social engineering on a massive scale through its subtle propaganda, baby bonus schemes and other nefarious non-detectable devices. But little did I know, it also controls the weather.
Last Thursday was National Day here - I dislike nationalism as I believe in a Global Community - high ideals, I know, from a priviledged upbringing. But the red & white flags hanging on many HDB balconies testified to the pride of this nation (or at least not wanting to be seen not to have pride).
Around 5am, there was a horrendous downpour seemingly out of nowhere. I'd previously checked the forecast and a sunny day seemed in the offering. Nevertheless, it was one of those tropical downpours that came and went quickly.
Then another one at 7am and the rest of the day seemed to promise grey and cool skies.
Our afternoon sunbathing at Sentosa didn't didn't look good.
I find out later from Ralf (the local I'm dating) that the government induce rain before any big parades. It has never rained on any official parade (National Day, Chingay, etc.) in Singapore. Always before, sometimes after, but never during. The cool and cloudy weather also make it comfortable for the crowd to sit and watch the parade - no fainting in harsh sunny climates.
How...modern - and a little bit scary. But practical, yes, dreadfully so.
Last Thursday was National Day here - I dislike nationalism as I believe in a Global Community - high ideals, I know, from a priviledged upbringing. But the red & white flags hanging on many HDB balconies testified to the pride of this nation (or at least not wanting to be seen not to have pride).
Around 5am, there was a horrendous downpour seemingly out of nowhere. I'd previously checked the forecast and a sunny day seemed in the offering. Nevertheless, it was one of those tropical downpours that came and went quickly.
Then another one at 7am and the rest of the day seemed to promise grey and cool skies.
Our afternoon sunbathing at Sentosa didn't didn't look good.
I find out later from Ralf (the local I'm dating) that the government induce rain before any big parades. It has never rained on any official parade (National Day, Chingay, etc.) in Singapore. Always before, sometimes after, but never during. The cool and cloudy weather also make it comfortable for the crowd to sit and watch the parade - no fainting in harsh sunny climates.
How...modern - and a little bit scary. But practical, yes, dreadfully so.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Cute Singaporeanisms
They pronounce 'Ross' as 'Rose' much to the consternation of a guy at work. They pronounce 'Ian' as 'Yen', as in Chinese fang bian. They have difficulty with the 'woo' sound, leading to pronunciations like '...ooden ladders'.
But the most useful native phrase I've encountered is 'free thinker'. As in, "So, are you a Buddhist? Christian?" "No, I'm a Free Thinker" meaning of no particular religion but with an open mind to all practices.
--update--
Ian works at the cafeteria and tried to correct the pronunciation of his name.
Ian: Wo de ming bu shi "Yen", shi "Ian". [My name is not Yen, but Ian.]
Loud Chinese girl: Ee-yen?
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