Teacher's Day . Remembering the deed.

Today is Teacher's Day !!!. To those special soul out there that has shaped my life and had painted me when I was just a piece of white cloth, a very big thank you from me from the bottom of my heart.

Teacher's Day in Singapore has always been celebrated with a concert put together and performed by the students followed by the showering of flowers and chocolates. Since then and now, the festivity of the day has changed nothing much when I was still in school back in the 80s except for the price of the gifts, the cost of the flowers and maybe the elaborateness of the show however the intent and the purpose remains unchanged.

What is so significant about Teacher's Day that we showered them with gifts and flowers? I doubt so that anyone of them actually had the least amount of expectation to receive any thing from their students. I doubt so that there is any manual or Standard Operating Procedure on what to do and expect during Teacher's Day when they were undergoing training. But still we g o all out during Teacher's Day to show our appreciation to them by giving out cards and flowers. I supposed it is the realisation of how special they are in our life.

There has been several teachers in my life that had really touched my life and shaped me to be what I am now. I remembered when I was in Secondary school, my form teacher was Mr Tan, a quiet bespectacled Chinese man who I have never seen loosed his temper before a feat I supposed considering how notorious we were back then. I was in Siglap Secondary School, a neighbourhood school tucked away in a quiet corner of Cheviot Hill before it moves to the current spanking new complex. Back then the school is sprawled over a large compound with the school block being a two storey building with some 20 classes on each floor.

I remembered that it was Maths lessons and how my friend and I hated the lessons. Our Maths teacher was late for class and we had taken the opportunity to make a gracious exit out of the school as per normal. Not wanting to walk out from the front door so as not to compromise our truancy attempt and school break, my friend and I, about 6 of us decided to make our exit from the rear window of the classroom. Though our classroom is on the second floor of the block, it was however facing the slope. We all decided to jump off from the window over to the slope and under the man made hole in the fencing that had been our usual escape route. As we walked away from the school, feeling jubilant over our victorious escape, our ecstasy was short lived when just a few meters away, stood Mr Tan standing quietly under a tree looking and waiting for us. When we all saw him, half of us wanted to run away whilst the other half of us stood rooted to the ground in pure shock. Mr Tan approached us and without saying much asked all of us to follow him back to school Through out the whole journey back to school, "Detention" "Punishment" "Scolding" kept floating across our mind. However to our surprise he brought us back to classroom, apologised to the Math teacher and told her that he had delayed us in an assignment and walked away. It really surprises me. Not a scolding from him, but instead he apologise for us for our mischievous act.

I must admit that I am no angel when I was in school. If I could remember correctly, I would think that I spent more time trying to play truant rather than studying. I remembered how we used to play hide and seek with Mr Azman my Discipline Master and our Chemistry teacher, a burly big man with hairy hands. I remembered how intimidated we all were whenever he walks around the school in his school beat with a cane on his right hand and a black detention book on the other. There were once where my friend and I had tried to 'hijack' the detention book from him but end up serving detention for a week when our act was caught.

Teachers play an important role in educating our next generation. Some even go beyond the call of duty and do more for their students. I salute them for their dedication. As the world becomes our classroom today, teachers have a more challenging task. Students today are far more exposed to the world, whether through cyberspace or travels. They are more questioning; so are their parents. However, the teacher’s role as a moral compass in guiding their students and imparting in them strong values should not be under-estimated. It is not just what the teachers teach in subject contents, but what they teach about life, and how they live it out by personal examples which will make the strongest impact on the impressionistic young minds. I learn a lot more from such teachers. I also know that teaching is not a bed of roses. But at the end of the day, I know that the only satisfaction that the teacher's derived is the knowledge that they have done their job well when we leave school and become graduates When your former students meet you years later and come up to pay their respects to you, you feel gratified.

To all my teachers, mentors and guidance of life, once again a very big thank you from me, without your patience and perseverance I doubt that I will be who I am now. Happy Teacher's Day to all of you.

Be thankful for all those in your life who have taken the time to share their gifts and knowledge.

I once had a teacher who taught me to read

and how to spell words that I someday would need.

How could she have known where that someday would lead

when she shared her gift with me?

I once had a teacher who taught me to sing.

A song in your heart is a wonderful thing.

I wonder if she knew how much joy that would bring

when she shared her gift with me?

I once had a teacher who taught me to draw.

She opened my eyes to the beauty I saw.

She taught me to see there is beauty in us all

when she shared her gift with me.

I once had a teacher who taught me to play

as part of a team - not always my way.

He taught me a lesson on sharing that day

when he shared his gift with me.

All of these teachers shared gifts that were free.

What I do with these lessons is all up to me.

If I share them with others how thankful they will be

that they shared their gifts with me.

Our Social Gracious ? A Test of our Society

How long has it been since we had the courtesy campaign launched in Singapore all in the effort to promote a more gracious society?

I remembered when I was still in primary school we used to have this kindness movement activities being held in school where there is this weird looking yellow bear that goes around giving out pencils. I was one of those curious ones amongst hundreds others that would actually made the effort to skip lunch or recess time to just have the opportunity to shake its hand. I have never really understood what the event is all about, all we cared was the opportunity to collect the pencils that were being handed out.

Fast forward more than 20 years, I got wiser and more aware of what is going on. I began to appreciate national campaigns but one of those campaigns that never failed to amuse me is the courtesy campaign.

How far are we towards achieving a gracious society from the many decades of courtesy campaigns? Year in and year out and many campaigns after have we become a more evolved society? My two cents worth is that we are still far far away from reaching the same standards of graciousness that our neighbors far north, the Thais have without having to spend millions in campaigns, posters and advertisement.

The Private Lavatory

I took a ride up the escalator to my friend's house during the festive visit in a newly upgraded block. The walk along the pavement was an enjoyable with rows of plants being planted along side the kerb and the beautifully lit gardens. Waiting at the elevator lobby, I pressed the call button and read the posters being displayed at the notice boards. As the elevator door opens a familiar smell hit my nose, the same smell that you would expect when you visit a coffeeshop or the old hawker stores public toilets. Right at the corner of the lift where the buttons panel were, a pool of urine stained the floor and the side of the lift walls. It really boils me !! Why can't this idiot hold their bladder and just do it at home instead of a public elevator. I wonder how would they feel if I were to urinate in front of their doorstep I am sure they will be perturbed by it. If they really have problem holding on to their bladder may I suggest bringing along a rubber band for them to tie their freaking "dick" with. Rubber band is free for god sake.

Morning Madness

I supposed one of the other reasons why I have given up on public transport was that I hate the experience of taking the MRTs during peak hours. I would rather be burden by the cost of fuel rather then having to endure the attitude of many Singaporeans whenever they are taking public trains. The last time I took the train was about a month ago when I had to attend a course at city. Thinking that going public may be a good idea vis-a-vis having to pay the never ending gantries along the expressway I decided to immerse myself with the experience of going public again. When I was at the platform waiting for the train several other commuters were already waiting looking anxiously. A lady with a baby troller was amongst many commuters waiting for the train. As the train arrives, everyone rushes in, into the train without having any regard to the lady. She had to wait for everyone to alight and enter before making her way in. I followed behind her noticing the disgusted look of many other commuters who apparently was unhappy having to make way for the trolley. For god sake, what is their problem? Cant they just shift their asshole and heavy feet a few inches to make way for her. I wouldn't want to even start commenting on the ever pretenders in the train who had the opportunity to sit. There will be those who will close their eyes in an apparent attempt to sleep but would miraculously be awake when their stop approached. They will be another group who would shifts their eyes all over the place apparently reading every posters and notices that their eyes could set on. In that particular moment even the instructions on how to stop the train during emergency seems like an interesting reading materials. Then there would be those would just pretend to not see anything and acts like as if their seat as their right and the asshole is glued to it. I have had to push my way out of the train when my stop arrives. Don's Singaporean ever learned how to queue and wait for the passengers to alight first. I would have think that if there are anything that Singaporeans are good at they are the masters of queuing up.

Tissue Booking

Then there are those who places their tissue paper at the coffeshop table during lunch time and leaves to order their food. I have had this experience when I was at Adam Road's food centre during lunch time. As the lunch crowd starts to swell, my friends and I managed to locate an available table that was vacant. We sat on the table and my friend noticed a packet of tissue paper on the table. Thinking that it was left behind by the previous patron we happily took slides by slides of the tissue to wipe on the table and our selves. Before long, four Chinese ladies all with food in tray came and rudely told us that the table is theirs. Apparently it seems that the tissue paper that were placed on the table is an indication that the table has been booked by them. I have never realised that there is such a policy of booking table using their tissue and whoever came up with such a dumb ass idea? May I suggest that in future instead of putting their tissue could we instead put handphones or wallets instead? Least I know that the table is occupied provided that the handphone or wallet is still there by the time they returned.

The Dog Walker

Don't get me wrong. I love dogs even though I can't have one. I find them huggable and cute except for those bulldog breed. I am sorry.. just hate how they look. But I couldn't stand those owners that behave like their pet or even worst of. Just yesterday, I had just completed my run around my estate and was warming down at the park stretching myself and giving myself time whilst my breath catches up with me and to check if I had left behind any part of myself whilst running without realising it. :-). Just as I was sitting at the side of the running track a lady was letting loose her dog whilst she was busy talking on the phone. Just then the dog poo in the middle of the track and as if it is suffering from some constipation problem a mere distance later, it poo again. The lady looked at the dog and just walked away leaving the two spots in the middle of the track alone as if expecting that there is gonna be a maid tagging behind her to pick it up after her.

I gave the lady the disgusted looked and asked her if she realised that her dog had poo in the middle of the track. She gave me a quizzical look, (I supposed the only stupid look that she can afford to have) glanced over, said a half hearted sorry and walked away. I asked if she should at least pick it up after her and her look turned from that of quizzical to total bewilderment. (Still believe me she looks stupid). She picked her dog up after her and jog off. I just hope that her dog would poo on her sorry ass instead.

So Are We a Gracious Society?

So tell me? Are we a gracious society. I supposed that we are far from it. AFter many millions spent on campaigns after campaigns, adverts and billboards, Singaporeans by far are no more gracious then we used to be decades ago.

Enough with the Pressing !!

I rushed to Raffles Hotel to attend a luncheon with a dear friend of mine who was visiting Singapore after almost five years. All dressed up and late as usual, I rushed to the posh lobby of the hotel and literally ran towards the lift lobby passed my way through a number of tourists who I wondered may be thinking that the interior of the hotel lobby is the most interesting sight in Singapore.

20 metres away and a marathon dash later I finally reached my destination with a quizzical look from some of the patrons and staff. Wanting to look as compose as possible I could only manage a smile, pressed the lift button and looked intently at the floor numbers as it went up and down.

Not long after another lady came by and stood beside me. She then pressed the lift button again beside it being lighted. Hmmmmm okey, I have already done that I thought to myself. The lift numbers changed slowly, creeping slowly down to the lobby. Apparently it seems that the lift decides to make it a policy for itself to stop on every floor and open its door to see whether there is any person. The journey that it took to reach the lobby seems like an eternity.

Feeling the same exasperation as I do in waiting for the lift, she pressed the lift button again, this time harder. If the button on the lift had not been made out of aluminum I am certain that it would undoubtedly left an indentation on it. Her faced changed to that of sheer disgust as she looked at the lift numbers crawling and creeping to the ground floor. She pressed harder, this time in repetition and with an obvious swearing escaping from her mouth. As the carriage finally arrives and opens it doors, she was the first to rush in into the lift. I bet if there is a lift attendant inside the lift she would have given him the disgusted looked plus a scolding or two.

When the elevator finally arrives the lady quickly 'hurrumph' herself into the carriage with an obvious disgust, pressed her destination and stood at one end of the carriage seemingly trying very hard to pretend that I was never present at all. Now I am being disgusted. She acts as if the whole elevator shafts revolves around her. Gritting my teeth, holding my breath, I intend to make her stay in the elevator as much as a living hell as I could. And as if the elevator was in total agreement with me a group of obvious tourist came rushing for the lifts, a couple, their four children and an elderly lady with her maid. The couple entered the lift followed with the children, in obvious delight, shouting laughing and jumping around in total defiance of their parents plea to quieten down. Their mother's embarrassing look is nothing in comparison to the look that I am seeing from the lady at the far end.

Seeing that it is obvious that the couple's elderly mother is no olympic medallist and is no hurry to enter the lift, the gentleman suggested to her wife to proceed up first whist he take the second ride. I with full conviction insisted that we will wait and pressed the 'door open' button with my dear life. The walked to the elevator door was taking an eternity and I could swear that every step that she takes the whole world 'wizzed' passed in fast motion. But the sight of the lady in total disgust by my gut to hold the lift door is priceless coupled by the harrowing shout and laughter of their children.

I supposed our fast paced life in pursuit of wealth and success had eliminate our ability to exercise the social graciousness and empathy towards others. We are so 'hard up' with time and commitment that we are no able to appreciate life and all the wonders that it has to offer. So the next time that you are taking the elevator up take time to look all the people taking the elevator with you and stop pressing the button more than once.

What does it mean to be Singaporean?

We celebrated the nation's 43rd birthday a few days ago much to the hype and sensation of fireworks and songs, music and dances. Singaporeans of all walks of life, the entrepreneurs to the housewives, the elderly to the youths, the locals to the foreigners immerse themselves in a night of colourful shows and sensational performances. The atmosphere in the stadium was electric. We were all proud and happy to celebrate our nation's 43rd year of independence. As all the glitter and fun ends with a spectacular fireworks shows that light up the night skies, we all returned back home, feeling exhausted and tired from the long queues at the MRT stations and buses and the long traffic jams on the roads leading away from the stadium.

The next morning we woke up to the sunshine of a brand new day. The experience of yesterday's event still fresh in our memories. As we open up the Sunday's morning news, we read the post articles of yesterday's event, the full colour print and photos that immortalise the day forever.

Two days later, as we are all back to work, bogged down by our daily routines and commitments, the event of August 8 fades away from our mind.

So what is the significants of the National Day to us then? Is it another day for us to break from the norms and spent the day with the family and friends. To some, they may say that it is a day for us to remember the struggle for independence and the ardous journey of nation building. But that sounds cliche.

I am sure that in the thoughts of many people of my generation, the significant of National Day bears the same standing as any other major public holidays. It is just another day where we could all enjoy an unceremonious break from the office, from the mundane routine of daily life. I met with a few of my friends the day after the National event and no one recounted their experience of either watching the event in the television, the event was never discussed at all as if it has never happened at all.

So what does it mean to be a Singaporean if we all lost all the affliation to the meaning. The national day event is just a catalysts, and outlet of national patriotism however affliation to the country should go beyond a national day event. The meaning of being a Singaporean is being proud to be one. It is the unexplainable feeling one has whenever the National Anthem is being played and the flag being flown by. It is the sense of pride that one has whenever we are overseas and the desire to announce to anyone we met that we are from Singapore.

Many would argue that the meaning of being a Singaporean is more to that but for me suffice to begin that we are proud of the achievements that we have attained thus far from our humble beginning to being a cosmopolitan city.

Dying Trades, Relive

I was driving into the car park of my home when I saw a tired looking old man holding on to two metallic paraphernalia and hitting both the objects together making a unique 'clinking' sound. Standing by the car park in front of a row of cars and under the blazing hot sun, the presence of the old man did not fail to attract my attention. For one there is something familiar about what he was doing. The metal clinking sound that he generated from the two metallic objects held on his hand and the white looking substance that is inside the aluminium casing which he was seen hitting it with occasionally, catapult me back to the days when I was still in primary school.

He is the seller of a home made sweet flour. A hardened paste mixed with sugar and flour. The scene and sound made, reminds me of my younger days when we used to rush out of school compound just to get a packet of the sweet flour from an old Chinese man who would wait under a big Angsana tree outside our school. Dressed in his usual shorts but with his signature big rattan hat, he will rhythmically knock on his metal apparatus signalling his presence to the hordes of students coming out of the school. Like a scene of the Piped Piper from Hamelin where the children were taken away from the village by the piped piper, the scene

that was played were less dramatic however still nostalgic. We would line up often with our parents in towed to get a packet of the sweet paste. Back then there are no branded sweets or chocolates that is the staples for our young nowadays, the sweet white paste of flour and sugar mixture is our favourite sweet of the day.

Simple flavour without the sophistication of content or the mixture of vanilla, chocolate or strawberry or any other flavour and ingredients that we will find in today's' s sweet, the trade of the old days was simple flour and cane sugar. If we used to see the old seller almost everyday during my younger years or growing days, now the sight is seldom and as rare as an antique beetle. The Sweet Flour seller is one of Singapore's dying trades that is being swallowed by the wave of rapid modernisation.

It is safe to say that the uncle that sold my packet of sweet flour is the last in his family to ever carry out the trade. Undoubtedly his children would never ever want to carry on with his trade.

I did not waste the opportunity to talk to him and asked him how long he has been selling the sweet flour. He relived his younger years where he used to sell the sweet flour along the rustic roads and pathway of old Chinatown. Back then he said children would rushed to the sound of

his clicking metal and the content of his metal plate would be gone in a matter of minutes, hotter then a plate of Laksa. Even the older folks whose teeth have seen their better days would not passed the opportunity of sucking their way into the hardened flour. But now he lamented, to even finish selling the whole plate by the time the sun sets would be a feat. As I sucked my way through my packet of sweet, I bid my farewell to the old man, realising that I may never see him again and that it would be my last packet of sweetened flour that would make my way through my watery mouth.

It is with sad realisation that the old trade of the past is fast disappearing as society is being swept through the rapid pace of modernisation and globalisation. The things and experiences that we used to take for granted is vanishing into the dark chasm of history. Sooner or later many of the trade that we are seeing now would only be seen in museums or through the annals of history.

The gates of the world that used to separate nations from its neighbours, society from other cultures are now groaning wide open. From the marble balconies of someone's home and over the airwaves of local radios, demagogues decry new risks to ancient cultures and traditional values because of globalisation. Satellites, the Internet, and jumbo jets carry

the contagion. To many people, "foreign" has become a synonym for "danger." Many have now cried afoul of how globalisation has slowly eroded our cultural and heritage values. Of course, now the chants of cultural preservation and heritage and anthems of nationalism are gaining voices. Virtually every individual at every level of society can sense the impact of international changes. They can see and hear it in their media, taste it in their food, and sense it in the products that they buy. Even more visceral and threatening to those who fear these changes is how the two waves of modernisation and globalisation is threatening our cultural and heritage values.

More and more our old heritage are gone, blown away by the wind, evaporating like snow capes over a mountain. People like the old chinese uncle who braves the glaring sun to sell his produce are disappearing. Many other scenes like parrot fortune teller, the streets walker shoes mender or even our fame barber shops that cuts our hair for less than 10 dollars are now being replace by hair beauty saloons and Mr Shoeman.

I supposed that we will not be able to stand against the tide of change and moderniation that is sweeping through us. What we can do now is to immerse ourselves with the remaining heritage that is left. For me at lease, I will enjoy my last packet of sweet flour.