Waste paper

The month of January was largely spent back in the army for reservice. A lot of early-morning commuting from Bukit Batok to Changi, until we shifted to Jurong halfway through the exercise. I also stopped taking classes entirely at O School, partially because I didn't want to waste a whole month's package on a few classes, partially because I felt a little fatigued. I still had alumni rehearsals for Blast though, and so continued to dance a little on the weekends.

A few thoughts regarding reservice. I hate the job. I hate how I am at it. I always forget this after getting caught up in the cogwheels and accustomed to its rhythms and discomforts. Or, when one stint concludes, elation takes over, amnesia sets in, until the next stint looms near. I still do my best. I still am bewildered by the good reviews here and there, which I take with a bucket of salt. The best thing in all these years is still the people. I love-hate people. I'm a humanist, in the secular sense. I believe in the value of people. I got to know awesome people this reservice. They become the only motivation for me sometimes; they give me a sense of ownership. My strangest, most favourite memory this reservice was of the last night of exercise. Everybody gathered at the training shed just before they were dismissed to go home. As I stood in the darkness, suddenly and slowly the faces of those seated before me drifted into view, and I could barely make them out, one after another. All tired, mute, some looking back at me. Previously I had mostly seen the twenty-plus of them in shifts and specific roles, but now in this last moment, the whole lot gathered exposed their individuality. So many people. I was stunned with emotion for a moment.

If there was one change I wish for Singapore a decade from now it would be in its conscription policy, because if I had to sum up my impressions of the system in one word, that word would be waste - not just of money, but more important, of people. Defence is again the top spender in this year's budget with $12.1 billion. I glance down the list to see that the biggest loser is the Ministry of Info, Comms and the Arts at $1 billion, a 20% cut from last year, and immediately think of Mun Wai haha, whom I met in reservice. Out of the $1 billion even, how much goes directly into "the arts"? I think about what he does best. I think about waste. I'm sure there are merits to the aesthetic of the struggling artist, but seriously, there's more than enough to go around.

News month
In the month of February, I started religiously reading the papers sent to our doorstep - The Straits Times and Today. My question after all of it is, who has the time to read the papers? I skim and skip through a lot (the Sports sections entirely), and still take a lot of time. If most people skim and skip even more of it, then that's a great waste of words and writing. Why bother? Here is a summary of the month's news in less than a minute:

Nature: Cyclone Yasi hits Australia. 6.3 earthquake hits Christchurch. Politics: Mubarak resigns. Protests in Algeria, Yemen, Iran, Bahrain, Libya, Iraq. Thai-Cambodian clash at Preah Vihear Temple. Religious violence in Java against Ahmadis and Christians. Local: Budget released. ArtScience museum opens. Electoral map released. Business: Borders files for bankruptcy, closes 200 stores in US. Technology: Nokia adopts Windows Phone. Nintendo 3DS launched.

Welcome to Precambria
Cassandra Chew, "MDA hits pause button on Aware's DVD of 2009 meeting" (what an unnecessarily witty mouthful), The Straits Times, 19 Feb 11, p. B6. MDA blocks the distribution of Aware's EGM DVD, and slaps it with an M18 rating because of its "discussion of homosexuality and Aware's sexuality programme". Just last week, Never Let Me Go was released also with an M18 rating for "Some Sexual Scenes and Nudity". I don't know if the MDA folks are living in the Precambrian era, but I honestly don't remember the sex or nudity in Never Let Me Go, one of the tenderest, purest love stories. I only remember the pale, sick faces, and the sadness. As for the Aware DVD, I suppose they endorse Precambrian education as well, where homosexuality and pre-marital sex are treated like viruses that infect naive, unsuspecting, under-18 minds, and that can be contained by the silent treatment. Oh, please.

It's all about her!
"What's in a surname?", 20 Feb 11, The Sunday Times, Lifestyle, p. 16. Sumiko Tan takes a week to think up what zips through most minds in a second. When my eyes hit the teaser headline "Why I won't take my hubby's name", placed together with her mug at the very top of the front page for The Sunday Times, they instinctively rolled off to the right, so did my head turn also, as if a few seconds more of taking in those words would infect me with their banality like a zombie virus, and lingering on the image of her face would petrify my brain.

For a long time women have protested the tyrannies of old-fashioned patriarchy, and for good reason. Just take a glance at a gallery of current Middle East dictators and have all those despicable men stare right back at you. But consider this: I think we have advanced so far along that it is now possible to be an old-fashioned fussy feminist, someone who champions "a woman of strong and sarcastic opinions", over the "subservient" act of losing her maiden name; someone who is shrill and whiney; someone I just want to swat.

Poor husband. It is declared publicly that his surname "'Quek' sounds too lightweight, unfinished and (let's be honest now), even funny." Prospects of their marriage don't look too rosy, either: "The problem with changing your surname or incorporating his is what happens should the marriage fail? You'll have lots of explaining to do and think of the embarrassment and inconvenience." Splashed across the full height of the article is a towering colour illustration of the writer styled as a pink-haired Mulan bearing a short sword in one hand and hoisting an oversized flag screaming TAN in the other. Imagine the horror if she were in the slightest way as petty and self-absorbed a wife as she is a commentator.

Her last line: "There are more important things in a marriage than getting fussed up over a surname." o_O Whatever regard she holds marriage in, clearly her column, together with her readers' eyes and brains, bears little value, is the dustbin for the less important things.

Early in our courtship, she nearly called everything off when I took her to Stars, then the fanciest restaurant in Singapore, at the newly opened Chijmes. I can still recall the wrinkling of her nose when the waiter served her a steak the size of a chwee kueh, accompanied by three artfully arranged dwarf carrots. She thought the meal was somehow a reflection of me as a person - pretentious and unsubstantial. I immediately went into triage mode and took her to eat claypot rice at Geylang Lorong 33. Dabbing her mouth with approval, she said, "Like this must marry you already".

Contrast the surname rant with Colin Goh's "A Valentine gift with a kick", humbly positioned on the same page. Instead of making it all about him! we get to know his plucky, witty, idiosyncratic wife (and not just her surname). He imagines her reactions to various Valentine's Day gifts: flowers ("must cut lah, water lah, find a vase lah, then a few days later, they die and stink up the place"), a plush bear with a heart on it ("wah, si beh original"), jewellery ("wear for who to see?"), lingerie ("you ready for another baby, is it?"). He finally decides on a month of classes in Krav Maga, an Israeli combat system, which she is thrilled to receive. He professes simply, "I'm happily married to someone I love deeply." I'd say that is a thought more appropriate to the occasion, giving valentines and singles alike a lot more hope than say "what happens should the marriage fail? ...think of the embarrassment and inconvenience." (Is she for real?)

Too good to be true
I feel like I could live off romantic comedies for the rest of the year, but alas, it is probably too good to be true. I've recently watched two good ones, but I'm quite sure the next one I try will stink. I caught Love and Other Drugs just before going back for reservice, and it cheered me up some. I don't fancy Jake Gyllenhaal, but he was dashing enough; I'm not the biggest Anne Hathaway fan, but she was likeable enough. The Rebound was even better, helped no less by the magic of its New York backdrop. I don't admire Catherine Zeta-Jones, but she was believable enough; I loved Justin Bartha in the short-lived TV series Teachers, and he didn't disappoint here. A good romantic comedy balances romance and realism, has a tight plot, and funny dialogue.

A nanny? You're not from Trinidad, you're from the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Did we send you to college for this? [Looking for support:] Harry?

You always said you just wanted me to be happy.

Within reason. This is not how you contribute to the world.

Mom, you worked for Ralph Lauren.

People need clothes.