Obviously Ready Message

After 2 years in this place, it has somehow been established that I’m the weird guy. That is not too far from the truth. After enlisting, the whole bunch of my friends who have access to computers created a mailing list. It’s called “A Typical Work Day”. So what exactly is a typical day at work?

I wake up at 6.00am. I have a normal bed, a normal bedsheet and a normal blanket. But they are weird, because I am weird. I have a weird breakfast of eggs. I watch some weird and gay news on Channel News Asia, brush up then shower. then I put on my uniform. Now my uniform is not weird at all because it is the same one that everyone else here wears. Hence it is definitely not weird.

I take the train that everyone else takes. Now people don’t really like standing near me. Sometimes I wonder why. Perhaps it is the Vogue magazine that I like to flip through or the Wilde play that I adore. After all, these are weird things. A man, much less a soldiering man, should not like fahsion nor read. These are weird things best left to girls and pussies. They are testosterone kryptonite. I love kryptonite, hence I’m weird.

I reach work, tap in and start the day by reading the papers. I skip breakfast because I like my breakfast early at home. Now surely that is weird. How come this guy doesn’t like waiting on other people for 20min, then queueing together for another 15min before eating breakfast? He’s weird.

I do work in a weird way too. I don’t spend much time on them. I get htem done sufficiently, but still I don’t spend much time on them. Since I don’t spend much time on them, I wouldn’t have put in much effort. Although we know in elementary classical physics that the integral for work done does not involve time (and even if it is involved in the middle portion, it cancels out in the end), theory is bullshit. That’s right. Theory is weird. I once had a chat with a Walrus Odobenus and he insisted that theory is rubbish. All that matters is the practical. Theory is “write on paper only no use”. So theory is weird. And not spending much time on work and getting it done is weird. One must definitely spend a lot of time on work. Efficiency? Na. That’s best left to the two compulsory projects proposing time and cost savings every year that we must submit. Besides, in order to be efficient we must make a lot of noise and exasperate incessantly.

Then when the top guys visit, I address them by their name. That’s right. How can I do that? Of course I shouldn’t address another person by his name. That is NOT what his name is for. Instead his, his name should be abbreviated to only Sir. Addressing another person by the name he has is weird, gay and disrespectful. Instead, we shall only call people Sir. It makes them feel important, loved and dignified. Oh yes! Our generals and ministers need that token of dignity from us. Hence I’m weird.

It is normal to stick to SOPs without variance nor exceptions. After all, what is the point of making a rule if you don’t follow it? Yes the rule might not make sense. But still, a rule is a rule. It is weird to examine why a rule makes sense. It is weird to even try, because eventually that rule will be justified by another one that makes just as much sense. It is normal to enforce arriving at 8am and leaving only after 5.30pm more strictly than ensuring that one works purposefully and effectively. Na. The latter doesn’t matter much. We are all equal, so the lazy and the efficient ones must be treated alike. Oh wait. What efficiency? So long as I spend 9.5 hours at work, I must definitely produce something.

One must always take what one’s superior says to be the law. Because a grouping of a certain specie of crustacean is bigger than teh law. What law? Only SOPs. What logic? Only procedures.

Then again, I’m weird. And I’m out.

Cajon

i feel like building a cajon. Got to go somewhere and hunt for proper wooden boards and the power tools that a boy like me should have had years ago.

Remember music lessons in primary school? The teachers taught you to play recorders, sing auld lang syne (and everyone pronounces it like or lang shit). I had a remarkable music teacher in P3 called Ms Christina. She introduced The Carpenters to me. I can never forget the tune Top of the World. However I also remember another music / art teacher I had (in primary school your science teacher may very well be your PE teacher).

She gave an interesting assignment – create your own instrument. She told the class to use the weekend to create a novel instrument created out of anything found anywhere. So on Monday, my classmates showed up with beautiful masterpieces crafted by their parents. Tissue boxes with rubber bands strung over them. Tissue boxes with a hole dug open and rubber bands strung over them. Tissue boxes with even more rubber bands strung over them. Half filled water bottles. Quarter filled water bottles. Rather creative. You can always tell the ones made by the parents. Somehow they just seem to have insipid tastes – simple colors brushed neatly over the instruments, entirely incompatible with the instrument bearer’s ADHD behavior.

The teacher started the monday lesson the way she usually did – “take out your instruments and put them on the table! Then when I come by you play your instrument.” followed by the usual row by row inspection. Dozens of silent guitars performed Cage’s 433. (They should know that loosely strung guitar strings over tissue boxes don’t really produce loud sounds. Even worse when they hold the tissue on the sides). The water bottles managed to produce some sounds.

She reached my table. It was empty. Not even my pencil box. I had a reputation for being slightly rebellious and lazy in class, so she went “never do again?”. I looked at her, amazed, and said “got got!”. I stood up, shifted my table a little. Then I started slapping the table. Not randomly as a kid does. I did the entire lion dance beats on my table (I happened to be in Chinese orchestra percussion section so we fooled around with that tune quite often) using the center of table top as (sort of) the tom-tom and the outer areas as the rim shots. I finished my repertoire and sat down.

That day I learned that
1. The table is not an instrument because
a. It is already in the classroom
b. I am lazy and I cheat
c. It is too loud (compared to the silent guitars)
2. I am a lazy boy who can’t be bothered to do my work.

Back to drafting plans for my cajon.

Incentives

At the place where I work (for one more month),
Defiance results in punishment.
Incompetence, however, clearly is tolerated.

I shall be incompetent.

First World Romantics

Saw this on a person’s Facebook page.

One day, a rich dad took his son on a trip. Wanted to show him how poor someone can be. They spent time on the farm of a poor family.

On the way home, dad asked, “Did you see how poor they are? What did you learn?”.

Son said, “We have one dog, they have four, we have pool, they have rivers, we have lanterns at night, they have stars, we buy foods, they grow theirs, we have walls to protect us, they have friends, we have encyclopedias, they have Bible.”

Then they headed home, “Thanks dad for showing me how poor we are.”

MORAL LESSON: It’s not about money that make us rich, it’s about simplicity of having God in our lives.

They have dysentery too.

Major Problem

1. Being Chairman does not mean that you arrive at a meeting totally unprepared and wait for the secretary to give you everything you need. Then you’re not a Chairman. You’re a man in a chair. A wheel chair. And even that is an utter insult to Stephen Hawkings.

2. 3 hour long meetings are a waste of time. By this I mean that the previous 6 meetings I was in is a waste of time. People start falling asleep after half an hour if they are not really engaged. The engaged ones fall asleep after an hour because of lethargy.

3. A meeting requires the presence of everyone in the committee. So during a meeting, only issues that require the attention of everyone should be discussed. Leave one to one discussions to emails. Leave small subcommittee discussions to the office. There is no point in a meeting when 70% of the committee is chattering away while you squabble with the person beside you.

4. I coordinate a team thrice as large as this committee for 5 months and I have not held one single meeting yet. Two skype conversations and that’s all. You have held 6 meetings and achieved little more than nothing.

5. Again, come prepared. If you don’t know shit, you don’t know shit. Blaming your secretary does not make you look any better.

6. It is your event. You keep track of your stuff. There is no excuse for you not knowing who is doing what and how he is doing.

7. "Where was I just now" is a stupid question to ask during meetings.

8. Do not waste my time.

Lunch at the 22nd Floor

There’s no cook house at my camp, so during night duties, we send a kind chap out to get some takeaways. After he comes back, I love to take mine to the 22nd floor of the office building behind the guard house. Sometimes I bring my lunch there too. Hundreds of people work there daily. They travel up the escalator at 8am, to their floor, then down again at around 6pm. Few of them go to the top floor, even fewer to the biggest room there. The biggest room in that floor is then aptly named innovation.

The room is shaped like a quadrant and the arc portion of the walls was completely made of glass. When I stand at the edge and I look down, I’m looking at Singapore from a tall building on a hill. I get a beautiful view. The architect who designed the building is an optimistic fella. Maybe he thought that lots of people will visit that room to be reminded of their purpose in the government. Maybe he thought that people will be innovative there.

Sadly (or perhaps fortunately. I like alone time.), whenever I bring my meals there, no one else is in the innovation room. Few of them go to the top floor. That is quite a sad thing. When I look out of that window, I am reminded of the things I’m protecting. I am reminded that in exchange for my two years, I get to see homes when I look out. I am reminded that when I come back to Singapore, I will be creating jobs for these families.

I was having lunch there one day when a Lieutenant Colonel walked in. We had a chat. I asked him what he thought of his job. He replied “Aiya. Very busy. Got lots of stuff to do. Boss chasing me. Still got meeting after this.” Before he left, I told him, “lots of suicides happening around the office here huh.” He told me he didn’t understand me.

Of course you don’t. You already jumped.

Raison D’etre

I wasn’t really a good kid back in Primary School. Very often, I’d be pulled out of English class, PE class or assembly to the side of the corridor, field or the hall for doing something weird. Perhaps it was one of my enhanced paper bullets that I shot with some super strong rubber band. I did do my research on paper bullets. I folded ones that made people cry whenever it hits. And I hit. I realized I wasn’t really the tough kid type so I balanced my comparative advantages, learned from Mao, did guerrilla warfare and shot bullets from the dark.

I also kicked sand around during PE class. I threw a basketball really hard on the floor to see how high the ball can bounce. I call people names. All sorts of different things.

There’s one thing in common though. The teachers who pulled me aside always started with “you think this very funny ah.” This was followed by a few rhetorical questions that were basically rephrases of the first sentence. I almost thought they were doubting a China kid’s ability to understand simple (broken) English. That was less of an issue than my temptation of answering “YES, YES YES YES” to all their questions.

If it was not funny, why the hell would I have done it.

“the sick perverse chinanese bastards who left the girl alone ought to be hung like punching bags for target practice>:(“

“Yue Yue, the 2-year-old girl who was run over by two vehicles in Foshan,Guangdong province last week, remained close to brain dead as donations poured in for herand her rescuer.”

I pray with all my heart to wish a miracle for Yue Yue. The title of this blog post is taken from my friend’s status update on Facebook. My instinctive response was just like my friend’s – cold, cruel Chinese people. It is bordering on inhumane to leave the girl alone. Yes they ought to be “hung like punching bags”. Yes even more so, the drivers ought to be punished. To do this is beyond that which is becoming of a human being. Xenophobic sentiments aside however, the 18 Chinese people are still undeniably human.

Many of the spectators have children as well. Quoting China Daily, “One of them, a mother of a five-year-old girl, said she felt “regretful, compassionate, painful atheart and guilty,” for seeing Yue Yue but not helping her. I was scared and my daughterwas scared to cry. So we left in a hurry”

Scared? What is frightening about helping someone up? I’m pretty sure it is not the blood nor the panic that seized her at the scene. Perhaps a few frail minded young girls might experience that, but for all 18 of them to feel this? No way. Are they really “sick and perverse” as my friend says?

I advised my friend, “Mark, you’ve got to understand the context.”

There was a news report of an incident a year ago. A young man was out walking when he saw an old man lying on the road. The old man claims that he fell down. The young man did what most men in China would have done – walk by. Why so?
A few years ago in Southern China, there was an old woman who fell down on the road. A worker in a factory was on his way home after work. He saw the old lady crying for help on the pavement. He helped her up. The old woman however started screaming for help. After a crowd has gathered, she screamed “this man pushed me down, injured me and now wants to run away. Don’t let him!”

The young man who walked past the old man quoted this incident when asked by the press to explain his actions. Many others interviewed said the same thing. When the journalist asked them to think from the perspective of the old man, they said “If I were the old man, too bad.” The young man then ended by saying, “The worker’s life is upside down now. His pay is barely enough to pay for his family’s expenses and kid’s education. Now he’s getting sued for 5 times his total savings. I can’t afford that.”

Sick and perverse or the lack of a good samaritan protection law? The China Daily article ended with “A lawyer association will be set up as part of the Guangdong Law Society, which will study thepractice of refusing to help dying people and push for legislation, said Zhu Yongping, a well-known lawyer at Datong Law Firm in Guangzhou.”

Perhaps it’s trust. I’m glad I live in Singapore.

A few weeks ago I was on my way to my piano lesson. My teacher stays at Kallang Bahru. While waiting at the provision shop in the lobby of the HDB block, I heard an auntie shouting at the top of her voice. She was lying on the floor along the pavement. I ran over and helped her up. She looked terrified. She said “aren’t you the neighbor from the 16 floor?” I laughed.
“No auntie I’m here for piano lesson.” I placed my hand on her shoulder and asked if she was alright. “Sorry auntie eyesight no good. Mistake you. Just now also never see the curb.”

I had 10 minutes to spare before lesson begins. I had a chat with her. She told me she stays around the area. She feeds the cats around the area; the cats know her well and gather around her whenever she comes. Word by word she recited the names of the cats, talking about her favorite ones. I asked how much she spends a month.
“Okay la. Around 200 dollars a month. But sometimes you see the cat ear? Sometimes they never cut properly after they sterilize the cat. Then they go catch the cat. Must go all the way to take it back. Then last time SPCA sterilize free. Now 25 dollars.” “Auntie you’ve got enough to go around? I mean to spend?”
“Aiyo young man. Happy can already la. I 400 dollars a month, see the cats happy can already.”

Time for my lesson. I gave her my name and bade her farewell. She said “I’m Auntie Siow. Next time come talk to me k? You very nice boy.” I smiled and agreed.

I see Auntie Siow every now and then. Sometimes she still mistakes me for her neighbor.

Command and Control

It is amazing how a group of 10 people can decimate Hayek’s teachings in one meeting.

I am at a meeting in the office now. How am I blogging during the meeting? Secretary plus split screen. Yes the pace of the meeting is so slow that I can do this blog post, go back and they will still be squabbling about the same issue.

I am once again reaffirmed that people love fucking themselves in the ass by devising overly complicated plans. Apparently in order to count the number of people in a restaurant, we now need to print coupons with serial numbers, with different people checking different coupons. Some then suggested that the coupons should be of different colors. The coupon system should also account for coupon loss. Excellent. Never knew counting the number of people in a restaurant is so difficult.

To them, control is always good. Whenever there is a problem, place more controls, more regulations, more people to enforce them. They have never considered just stripping all these and the miracles that might follow.

What next? A bayerian algorithm based on fourier transformation that allocates people to tables?

Guess what. They are doing just that.

On Due Diligence

I like reading stories. Poring through blog archives is an excellent way of getting those about people I know.

Life lessons from ice skating:
If you slip and fall and it does not hurt, you are not going fast enough.
Don’t be afraid of crashing into the pros, or of the pros crashing into you. They are too good for that. Learn to stop before you learn to speed.
It is easier to go forward than to go backward.
The beginner who stays near the edge always remains a beginner. You will move in the general direction you are looking at.

I saw this on a friend’s blog. It was posted around half a year ago. It reminded me of my first time ice skating with the EDB bunch. Frankly, it’s the precise few lessons I learnt myself. These were the exact things I thought about.

The only statement I disagree with is the third one: Learn to stop before you learn to speed. I always predict that my life will end the Tony Montana way. Pardon my choice of analogy. Let’s be more classy. A Greek tragedy. A friend of mine always attributes this to my Chinese heritage. He’s right. We don’t learn to stop. We just speed all the way. Taken to the extreme, you get the typical Chinese 暴发户 – a bloke who gets rich suddenly and is generally a uncultured plebeian otherwise. I understand the wisdom in learning to stop before I speed, but I just don’t do it.

There’s an additional line I want to add though:
Let them laugh