Paper Tiger Again

The fish and noodle salad tossing, a fave of pollies out and about in the heartland here in their white polos with the lightning bolt insignia and track shoes, might be called lo hei. SPH staff photographed doing their part at a Senior Activity Centre. (Singapore Press Holdings, the conglomerate that owned the entire media in the Republic: print, visual, radio, web lock, stock and barrel.) The former gotong royong community spirit having been mysteriously snuffed out by the concrete, steel and glass piling such programs are widely advertised. All together now, dig in with the sticks, ups-a-daisy. Fun and laughter. Ho-ho-ho. Brewing up a happy storm, oldies stretching unpracticed smiles for the camera.

         Another corrective on the previous page too from the SG Tourist Board (STB) seeking to counter with some pizzazz the recently released survey from Time Out London that ranked Singapore 31 out of 32 “most exciting cities.” A slap in the face after all the try-hard. A couple of years ago they managed to get a gong on the World Heritage Site for the Botanical Gardens to add to the Gardens by the Bay, the iconic skyline down at Marina near the world class casino, Bird Safari, Chinatown &etc. A dash of humour deployed to counter this egregious misconception in London. Pics of luscious gardens, boring? You wanna call this brilliant skyline dull? Michelin-rated hawker food leave you hungry for more does it? For this pundit the inevitable question of course who could possibly have trumped Lion City for the raspberry? Who on earth? (Fifteen thousand people in 32 countries participating.)

Bloody Bloody Nose

You certainly do not stop to read this woeful tosh. The paper addiction remains strong, you have flicked through the usual blather and the eyes fall on suchlike. You are a foreigner, an ignorant foreigner. Curious, conscious of limited input. In the time honoured way the street, individual encounters, eavesdropping &etc. have delivered the best, the richest and most trustworthy of information: delivered the rhythm of life, the telling nuances and particularities. Research has limited value, only the bare minimum can be undertaken; all of that can be left to those other toilers in the field. It was only once in the region that the relevant key and seminal texts were taken up: the Analects, the Gita, a volume of the Hadith. That kind of deeply embedded culture was worth investigating. The newspaper added political shenanigans, the social outlook, commentary and interpretation. But golly! The twaddle with which one was confronted in the process. No complaints. No point. The more artfully turned trash, the complacent guff most places elsewhere had one retching just the same. You could often laugh at some of this here; not quite in the example ahead. This filler arrived from the US Bureau Chief in Washington who will remain nameless. Sub-editor we will blame for the headline: “Concerns mount over possible ‘bloody nose’ strike on North Korea.” A wallop there immediately in itself. Then we had the highlighted excerpt: “One of the biggest dilemmas the US faces in striking, say, a North Korean missile facility, would be whether to evacuate American families from Seoul and other places in South Korea within range of retaliation from North Korea.” Oh yeah, that’d be right. Perhaps that was on the table currently at Trump Tower this very minute, the Bureau Chief intuiting with his sharp, well-honed skills after years of journalistic ferreting and investigation. Isn’t that precisely what any responsible, right-thinking government would have forefront of their mind in such circumstances? Scrupulous concern for their own precious citizens. Might the Chief have noticed the recent displeasure in the US at the warming relations on the peninsular over there, the possibility of a dangerous separate peace breaking out in the wings. Gingerly steps in that direction. But best get real, the trigger button and the various contingencies to consider. Light nuclear options for the Ruskis too to cover that troubling quarter, recently mooted by other strategic specialists and commentators. US citizens over in Poland, Germany and the rest would need consideration.

Monsoon (Jan25)

 

 

In the first instance the guess was a spray from the upstairs window. Who was it in that room directly above? It was not clear. Maybe the Chinese-Indo, whose name would have been difficult had it been first acquaintance. Wahyu. Nice brightly smiling chap, encountered outside the door going through the mail in his striped office shirt. Finest spray last suspicious liquid from a bottle, say, shaken out the window. A minute or two passed before some more descended on that same corner in the left window sash, drifting slightly to the right. Against the grey shutter and facade of the corner house it was visible, and nowhere else. Finest gossamer. In another very brief example minutes later, again, with a few larger drops among the rest. This was not Wahyu now; this was something else. Minutes passing before another repeat. Jeepers. Then the tree against the wall of the Indian’s house directly opposite gave off some droplets from the lower branches, falling onto the patchy grass beneath, a number of leaves bending under the weight. Through the diamonds of the fencing visible. Now the question was whether the large tree on the corner might have been releasing droplets in a stir of breeze like the other and carried over. The distance was about ten metres up to the topmost branches; if that was the source, the spray could only have come from the heights there, collected from rain earlier in the morning, possibly. Minutes again between episodes; five and more in the case of the longer gaps. Numerous passersby in the interim. One older woman with a badly faded dye riding a bicycle first called a name it might have been, followed by, Zhao un. Ni hao, ni hao. Girly tone. Tall, older man footing in the opposite direction carried a furled umbrella at chest level that like a wand appeared to give off a carnival-like tune. Dust motes mixed with faintest droplets drifting by. Shortly after eight o’clock, an earlier breakfast before the window, aircon low. Lightest grey over palest blues upstairs. For the whole half hour none of the passersby could have felt the merest drop, even on naked skin. Finally, one old duck taking the corner from Carpmael proper and turning toward the Haig, carrying her white umbrella unfurled. It would have been good to ask whether it was against the sun, or the moisture in the air she was shielding. First week of February forecast dry and warmer after the afternoon bucketings the last 3 - 4 weeks. Floods in some parts and serious in neighbouring countries.
         This while reading Richard Zenith’s edition of Pessoa’s Lisbon window in The Book of Disquiet, after the poems had been read the month before. Quite uncanny much of that particular writerly consciousness, delivered as if on a platter.

NB. The Book of Disquiet, Fernando Pessoa – ed. & transl. Richard Zenith

Pessoa & Co., Selected Poems - ed. & transl. Richard Zenith

 

 

 

 

 

Keyhole on Singaporean Schooling

Letters page in the paper here this morning includes concern from a Mr. Tan Teck Huat, an experienced speech and voice trainer, who has found many students unaware of the need and importance of good diction and correct pronunciation. Failures and stumblings were common even for words like bread, head and heavy, Tan reports from the field, and for guidance suggests BBC News and a particular radio station, as well as appointing students in the classroom who articulate well as role models.
         The language laboratory here on the equator.

In the Flesh (June26)

 

Heavy, almost fair-haired figure, in almost a Montenegrin cap, sizing up the relief on offer from the fans mounted on the pillar. 

A call out back needed first. 

Here he comes returned, the wonky hand-rail giving some concern. 

The wife had seen his survey and parked herself beneath. (Five metres behind, no word had been exchanged; the old man not deigning to turn.) 

It appeared the man wanted another place, indoors perhaps, where it might be cooler. 

No, the food order. One of them had mouthed something and immediate agreement ensued. 

Out and back once more, this time the other side of the rail, granddad not trusting himself descending with the two plates of tahu goring. (Advertised on the placard by their table, within a jagged capsule—POWER, in bright red. Almost inedibly sweet.) 

Third time too retracing his steps for the teh O. Down from the platform this time and seat assumed opposite the Missus. 

One of the stern, dark looks in their exchange had told the story of their marriage in an instant.

From the beginning the form, the jaw-line and bearing had suggested Granddad Rade, of whom there was never a hint how he had raised such a depth of love in his eldest girl, when like all Montenegrins, it was the son George who was all his hope and joy.

From the 2 - 3 photographs that had come down, a good number of sightings here on the Equator over these years.

...Ni with some time on her hands now in the new placement, remarked yesterday that she would be reading the Qur’an and not thinking too much. Not the first time that impressive settling of mind has been advocated here.

 

 

 

Pharma For Real Bedroom Drama (Feb25)

Osman’s five minutes yesterday centered on his Superman pills that had been trialed twice now by himself. A Malaysian registered pharmaceutical product, suggested Osman initially. After he had showed the 250gm tablet inscribed POWER both sides, and the female counterpart in an individual foil pack, where a hot bikini gal was primed for pleasure, the raised eyebrows opposite brought a retraction. Perhaps not formally approved medication. But then what did formal approval mean in that market? In any event the two episodes had now passed with pleasing results and no ill effects. Why had Osman not taken the advice to begin with a half measure first off? Well, the friend advocating and reassuring had been perfectly confident. Good performance, good strength & energy. Osman reported the only thing was a sharp, penetrating vision that persisted more than an hour after an hour afterward. Not in itself concerning, but noticeable and worth mention. Satisfactory trial; at $2 a pop affordable good gear. Recommended optimum was for the female partner to likewise take her own capsule. Of course the problem there was how to broach. Surreptitious mickey was out of the question; any miscarry an examination would immediately reveal. Not easy. And giving to the wife too a can of worms. As for the Hammer of Thor, only Jamel the masseur had thus far trialed. All good and well on that front too, Jamel reported; discernible thickening in the shaft and all without mishap. Before Osman had begun he had been shown the item in the Insight section of the newspaper telling of the current Thai craze for whitening of the male member, the purpose of which had not immediately occurred to Osman.

Faithful Retainer

Our little Dato here received sizable boost since his old pal has entered the Istana on the coat tails of the reigning President of the Republic. Jolly good show indeed. Just now at the Haig the information passed of his purchase that afternoon in fact of a jacket for.... Well, it had been a wet and cold first half of January, the coldest of the last ten years the newspaper reported that morning. A jacket purchase for the wardrobe on the equator not entirely remarkable just now. Past days quite the deceptive Euro spring evoked at the Al Wadi tables—all manner of windbreakers, scarves atop scarves, jackets and wraps to the fore. But no, in this instance ‘twas “an occasion” upcoming in March that needed attendance….in company of….the dignitary….The President’s husband. Ahha! Oh. I see. Good oh. Three or four weeks previously the same had drawn attention to a fan mounted on a Wadi pillar. The end pillar near where the Dato liked to sit evenings with his “Foreign Minister” good wife. Ahha. Yes. I see... Well, you know. The President (‘s husband) join us evening.... The owner at Al Wadi had been appealed: President gracing the Onan corner never know when he may show. Aduh! Nothing too much trouble, installed in a jiffy. It wasn’t there before if you didn’t know. (Hot days were coming too, and nights.) Once more late morning one Friday not a total out-and-out surprise the man appeared hard against the table in a resplendent dream of white — long jubah stretched over the tummy, haji cap, recent dye, shoes as always, and Ray B’s. Wah! An expensive detergent and bleach. There had never been a maid in Dato’s company—the wife, the “foreign minister,” more than proving her goodness. Because why though? Well, the President (‘s husband) was attending the sermon that day. Dat. swinging by early to tell them at Masjid Khalid to leave a space in front for the limo.

NB. The honourific delivered by a pal one evening must needs be a joke, you thought initially. Dato had run a couple of food stalls at the Haig over the years and 1,2,3 others elsewhere somewhere. A property in a gated community in Johor purchased for cash some years before the ringgit crash; then something—roundabout the tune of RM1.5mil—sunk into 1MDB. But don’t worry, be happy, the mantra Dato continued to maintain. Roy to his mat salleh friends.