Rambling Thoughts

Sometimes, being tied into a situation when one experiences nothing but a series of small events, one loses sight of the more important big picture. What is required then is the ability to pull oneself out from the flux of small things and to take a breather through viewing the situation anew from a higher vantage point.

Recently, I was caught up in a series of events, some of which I consider to be fortunate while others tend to be of the unfortunate kind. When a good outcome rolled in, I was ecstatic. Otherwise, I would be wondering if there were something wrong with the situation that I was in or worse, could I have done anything that might have changed the outcome to a favorable one. It isn’t normal for me to second guess myself but recently, I’ve been doing a lot of that.

It is not as if I was forced to hike through a dense and uncharted jungle in the middle of the night, though sometimes it does feel like this. Furthermore, it would really help too if I knew where it is I am supposed to go as I do not have a clear sign of where the destination is. I’m still waiting for clear signs from a higher power to let me know if I should take left or right turns. Sometimes when the signs are clearer, traversing the arduous jungle paths is as pleasurable as strolls in the park. Otherwise, I’ll be groping in the dark.

For the past 2 days. I’ve neglected to take a pause to smell the roses along the way and to enjoy the journey. A wise zen master said (or some other type of wise man, but suffice to say, that man- or woman- who said it was wise) that sometimes the journey itself is worth more than the destination.

I wish I could be more specific in sharing what I have gone through but I can’t. It’s a little bit delicate and I still have some strong feelings towards the whole incident. But I can say this- if I do somehow emerge unscathed from the journey, the destination itself will worth more than anything that I could have ever wanted.

Honestly, I’ve always thought that the Malay name for Singapore, Singapura, meant “Pretending Lion”. After all, Singa means lion while Pura means pretend. It wasn’t until I related this story to a foreign friend of mine that Rachel reminded me that Pura in the context of Singapura meant city. The root word was borrowed from a Majapahit word meaning, well, “city” or “town”.

(Of course, if I had scored higher in my Malay language paper I would have spared myself 20 years of ignorance and realize that there is no such word as pura in Malay. The word for pretend is pura-pura)

Perplexed, my view of Singapore was from that point onwards was shattered. I’ve always had an impression that the founding fathers of Singapore had the foresight to see that Singapore’s only destiny is to become a big, well oiled, amusement park- ie. full of manufactured thrills but lacking in authenticity or soul. I have always thought that it was an inside joke that Singapore retained their name because it describes them the best: pretenders.

But after I’ve been corrected, I would have to change my view of this city state. But to what?

This requires a rethink.

Singapore is Strange.
Firstly, there is always something not quite right when it comes to Singapore itself. I’m not speaking about the people per se, as they are pretty awfully nice, like you and me. But the invisible force that holds Singaporean society, LRT schedules and Moses Lim together seemed unnatural. There is no way any country could be this organized or for that matter of fact, clean. I took a walk in the middle of the night with my friends to a place for supper and we saw HDB flats which are well lit, parking bays without even one single broken lamp, elevators that worked and things too perfect to be normal. A city full of Chinese people can never be this clean.

Singaporeans are Strange.
Secondly, Singaporeans think that they are better than Malaysians, in terms of dressing, living standards, education and health care. With declining birth rates among real Singaporeans (taken to mean people and their descendants who had been living citizens before Singapore’s independence from Malaysia), Malaysians will make up a large portion of the Singaporean society soon. Sadly, this does not prohibit the ugly Singaporean to rear his or her head once in a while in public. If I had said in the previous point that the people pretty awfully nice, what I really meant is that they are nicely pretty awful. Public servants have a fake “government-issued” smile, retailers are rude, and nearly all Singaporean breasts are augmented up by Wonderbra.

(Perhaps the Wonderbra bit isn’t quite that nasty but again, like all things artificial, Singaporean women are portraying themselves to be larger than what they actually are).

Singaporean food is Strange.

Imagine this, sweetened char koay teow, frozen roti canai and thick black soya sauce with half-boil eggs. I really do not know where to start on this point except to say that Singaporean food is horrible. Perhaps it is their hypochondriac cleanliness that destroys the taste of the food that they consume. But then again, Sydney’s clean too but I enjoyed the food thoroughly there. Also, what’s with the queue? I can’t remember a lunch or dinner in any restaurant in Singapore where we did not have to take a number. It reminded me of a scene in various prison movies where inmates were shepherded into cantinas that served stingy globs of tasteless goo. It is like this in Singapore- except that the inmates are better dressed.

After the rethinking process, I have come to a conclusion.

I choose to forget that Pura is a Majapahit word for city. Instead I choose the Malay definition because I am a Malaysian. But for my Singaporean friends who are reading this, you know that I am writing all these in jest. After all, Singapore is a fine city 😉

Ever looked at a caged bird? It’s desire to break free from the entrapment that we think of as its home is a natural predisposition to its species. Over the millions of years, it has evolved wings to allow it to fly. And fly away is what the bird will do when you open the doors of the menagerie.

For some of us, the fear of uncertainty is overpowering our courage to fly away. We cling on to our cages and look forward to our scheduled bird seed meals. As a result, the bird in the cage increasingly becomes complacent and dependent on the paltry meal consisting of broken seeds and discarded husks.

For those who dare, no longer will the restraints of bondage clip their wings. They are free to soar high above the clouds. Or they can chose to go the nearest tree. But most will go to another cage as a Pavlovian response, hopeful that this one will serve better seeds. After all, in a twist to the saying, familiarity breeds content

But those who really dare must also realize that being in captivity too long dulls one’s senses and sharpens one’s cynicism. The real test now is to see if we dare to discard the confining bearings of the cage of which we are used to and fly wherever the winds take us.

Only then will we be truly free.