#14 - Winnie the Gay Pooh (He's happy, all right..)

How many of us have been enthralled by Winnie the Pooh’s adorable appearance, with the fitted red tee and protruding tummy? What about his gentle, optimistic and cheerful character that captivated the hearts of so many children? Most importantly, his beautiful name ‘Winnie’ that simply endears him to us! But why is he called Winnie?

Winnie the Pooh is given a male voice-over all along in the cartoon shows. He is constantly portrayed as a male bear that people refer to as a ‘he’. Winnie is intended to be a male persona, yet he bears the female name ‘Winnie’.

‘Winnie’ is a shorter version of the female name ‘Winifred’, an Anglicized form of ‘Gwenfrewi’. The latter is derived from the Welsh elements gwen, which means "white, fair and blessed", and frewi referring to "reconciliation and peace". This was originally the name of a 7th-century Welsh saint and martyr, who happened to be a woman. Therefore, ‘Winnie’ is indeed a female name unbefitting of a male bear like Pooh.

Could Pooh bear be caught amidst gender indiscrimination and an identity-crisis? Will his gender confusion have adverse effects on children who adore 'Winnie' the Pooh? Is it right that such a popular cartoon character that is targeted at children of tender ages should appear to cultivate a gender-hybrid image?

Perhaps, the ever cheerful Winnie is gay, in definitely more ways than one.

#13 - Love In Ancient Greece

Love is a highly complex word which can hardly be defined accurately, for it has far and deep connotations spread across various cultures. Throughout time in history, philosophers and writers, scholars and celebrities have attempted to define and categorize love within different contexts. Stumbling upon fascinating facts on ancient Greece and their interpretation of life, I was very much intrigued by their understanding of Love.

The Greeks of ancient civilization recognized and distinguished several versions of love. They strongly believed in love’s existence in many dimensions amongst all kinds of inter-personal relationships. Ancient Greeks coined the terms Xenia, Philia, Storge, Eros and Agape to represent different kinds of love one feels for another.

Foremost, Xenia was the basic concept of love that was of great importance to the Greeks who valued friendship between a host and his guest, both of whom may be complete strangers beforehand. Greeks emphasized on gracious sharing for hosts toward the guests and demanded an almost ritualized friendship between the two. Hence, Xenia is the basic arm of extension to practically everybody and anybody one may encounter in life. Homer’s Odyssey is an excellent example of how Xenia is integrated into the Greek culture.

Philia was a theory developed by Greek philosopher, Aristotle. It refers to a dispassionate virtuous love shared by friends, family, and community. Philia requires loyalty, virtue, equality and familiarity in order to be functional as it is a mutual emotion between two people who are on close terms. Differing from Philia is Storge, which is a natural affection specifically, shared between family members or relatives with blood ties. For instance, parents naturally feel for their children and these emotions are classified as Storge.

Charged with passion, sensual desire and longing, Eros is defined by Plato to be the initial affections felt for a person romantically (usually of the opposite sex). He then refined his concept by adding that the initial affections become an appreciation of the beauty within that person, and slowly evolves into the appreciation of beauty itself. Eros is a tool in seeking the true meaning of beauty and learning how to appreciate the beauty of a fellow human.

Lastly, Agape is selfless altruistic love. It often appears in descriptions of the love God has for mankind in the Bible and absolutely unconditional. Apparently the greatest and noblest kind of love as defined by the Ancient Greeks, Agape is cherished above all others.

So many dimensions within just the Greek culture, yet love continue to mystify most of us. There are many more interpretations of love and how one defines this abstraction will have to be left up to one’s own discretion.

#12 - "SingapoLians!"

An unusual phenomenon that is uniquely Singapore: girls clad in pink from head to toe, preferably with plenty of glitter and cute, flashy accessories. They sport fair complexions with heavy foundation, handphones with miniature disco lights, and are effectively bilingual in two languages – Singlish and Hokkien. These are our very own SingapoLians (pronounced as SING-AH-POR-LEE-ANS).

SingapoLians are very fond of the colour pink. Pink tops, pink jeans, pink shoes, pink bags, pink shades, pink earrings, pink belts, pink handphone covers, pink bracelets – you name the accessory, they’re bound to own it in pink. Every shade of the feminine colour appeals to them, but they especially adore hot pink that screams louder than a banshee.

Their motto reads “got cash, must flash!” Therefore, SingapoLians hanker after branded goods with humongous logos and obvious designs, such as Louis Vuitton and Fendi. Style and design do not matter to them, so long as the style equates into sure signs of the cost for the branded possessions they acquired – the bigger the logo, the more popular it is with SingapoLians.

Their excellent grasp of local colloquialisms, as demonstrated in the fluent Hokkien and perfect Singlish they speak, is the most important attribute because it makes them so much a part of the Singapore culture. Even though many may cringe at the sound of their language, the myriad of ‘lah!’, ‘meh?’ and ‘lor!’ thrown in actually endears these girls to the heartlanders’ way of life.

SingapoLians are a special group of girls representing Singapore in a different light, in a different local setting. Some Singaporeans may feel embarrassed by their mannerisms and fashion style, but I personally beg to differ.

I am not ashamed of them, but are you?

#11 - Dandyism

Metrosexuality is an increasingly popular phenomenon in the modern society. Men with an apparent narcissistic edge can be found preening themselves meticulously and taking great pains to look well-groomed. Oscar Wilde, the author of The Importance of Being Earnest and one of my all-time favourite writers, was a metrosexual (he was a homosexual as well, but I digress). In fact, he was more than just a metrosexual - he was a full-fledged dandy.

According to Merriam-Webster online, Dandyism is a literary and artistic style of the latter part of the 19th century, marked by artificiality and excessive refinement. The dandy, a man under the influence of Dandyism, is simply a pioneering metrosexual from the yore. The word dandy is of unknown origin, only recognized to be a vogue word during the Napoleonic Wars. George Bryan "Beau" Brummell (1778-1840), an associate of the Prince Regent was the earliest dandy. He always appeared immaculately bathed and shaved, dressed in a plain dark blue coat that was perfectly brushed and of perfect fit. An early celebrity from the mid-1790s, he was widely known for his laconic wit.

The poet Charles Baudelaire wrote that an aspiring dandy must have "no profession other than elegance... no other status but that of cultivating the idea of beauty in their own persons.... The dandy must aspire to be sublime without interruption; he must live and sleep before a mirror." A dandy gives exaggerated attention to personal appearance, and delights in elegance and accessories such as white gloves, etc. Many of the dandies in the 19th century even wore girdles to achieve slim waists akin to that of the Victorian women.

In addition to physical appearance, a dandy takes to the refinement of his language and cultivation of leisurely hobbies. Their lifestyles were imitations of the noble blood of the royals, although they themselves usually had little or no connection to the aristocracy. Dandies developed refined speech and haughty manners to reinforce their outward aristocratic appearance; they picked up leisure activities like playing billiards, writing poetry, fine wining and dining, etc.

Dandyism plagues men who have inherited enormous wealth, therefore enabling a lifestyle of lavish refinement yet facing unemployment at the same time. Very often, their decadent ways eventually ended up in bankruptcy as they squander their initial wealth away through sky-high expenditures on clothes and fine dining while having zilch income. Many renowned dandies were reduced to running away from creditors or in asylums as they could not tear themselves apart from the artificial world they had been living in.

Oscar Wilde is always remembered as the satirist playwright with long hair, who carries a lily around town, and is always immaculately dressed. He was a successful dandy who failed to escape the fate of poverty too. Nevertheless, he proved dandies (and homosexuals) to be of intellectual substance and although dandyism has passed out of vogue, the legacy ensues in metrosexuality today.

Oscar Wilde would be glad to hear that.

#10 - Say It With Colours

We often use the phrases "green with envy" and "seeing red". The English language connotes colours with emotions intensified so vividly, that we never doubt the use of such connotations. An intriguing array of colours lay in wait for our uncovering of their origins and accuracy of use.

Green, the colour of nature and life, was oddly enough to be connoted with ill-health in the past, hence the saying of "pale as a green grape." It then gradually became predominantly associated with envy, one of the seven deadly sins, with its debut in Shakespeare's Othello. Iago allegedly warned Othello, "O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock..." Shakespeare personified the feelings of envy and jealousy into a monster with alleged green eyes, and the connotation stuck ever since.

Red is a synonym of love, romantic or carnal, as demonstrated by the phrases "red valentine" and "red-light district". It is also frequently seen associated with feelings of rage and anger, in which the phrase "seeing red" happens to be an excellent example. Such connotations probably attribute to the primitive association of the colour with blood, and since blood rushes to your head when you are screaming in rage, one's face turns rather red in tides if anger, indeed.

Blue loosely refers to melancholy and despondency since the sixteenth century. It is derived from 'blue devils', imaginary demons popularly thought to have caused depression and sadness back then. "Feeling blue" and the more infamous "Monday blues" are adaptations of this colour connotation. Even the musical genre blues got its name from having mournful lyrics and haunting melodies that resembled the colour connotations.

White is closely related to fear, with reasons akin to that of red and rage. The phrase "went white with fear" came about because fear apparently causes your blood to drain from your face. Another metaphorical saying, "raise the white flag" is used to describe surrendering in fear.

Colours play an important in linguistics and in our everyday lives. Who says we cannot be artists of our own fashion?

#9 - Penniless Art

“Lousy”
They say
Sheepishly I scamper away
Snide glances piercing me
As my portfolio most conspicuously sway

Deluge of remorse rain down
Pearls of grief course into my heart
In their raging torrents, I drown
Self-reproach arrive as a thousand darts
Why didn’t I make a sound
To counter them and do my part?

***

I deviated from the ‘orthodox’ path
To pledge allegiance to my true desire
To find myself incurring society’s wrath
Just because I chose to fuel the arts fire
In terms of status, I took a bath
Ending up ensnared in a mire

“No future
No prospects…”
They sounded so sure
(for it’s a fact!)
Isn’t there anyone to reassure?
Or, for my sake, cease the throbbing impacts?

I began to ruminate
If society had been right
Whether their words were accurate
That up ahead, there would be no light
Could there be a twist of Fate
To deliver me from this wretched plight?

Yet it had been my very own choice
To abandon conventions and pursue my like
No matter what objections many may voice
I would hold fast, persevering in my artistic hike
Why couldn’t there, in society, be a poise
And give me my fair chance to hold the mike?

***

When will society correct their myopic stands?
When will they realise that it’s okay to take a bend?
When will someone actually raise a hand
To silence the crowd and oppose the trend?
When will this revelation descend upon this land?
When will the tirade ever, ever end?

The realisation dawned upon me when I was speaking to Harie who commented on the foregone probability of us awaiting for our A level results upon completing two gruelling years of college - my passion for the Arts diminished under the immense pressure from society, friends and most importantly, family. I fell prey to the Singaporean societal standards of Artistry myopia.

My 'obsession' with the Arts began in secondary education. I was seen as an adaptation of Don Quixote since I abandoned my triple Science combination in secondary school, Dunman High School, which compelled all students to take double Math and at least double Sciences. I took the high risk and swung into the draining act of juggling eleven subjects, including triple Sciences, double Math and Art. Many thought me to be mad in taking a pure Science combination yet pursuing Art academically. I never enjoyed Science, save for Biology which intrigued me very much, and I totally abhored Mathmatics. However, what really kept me going back to school, day after day, was Art. I strongly believed Fine Arts was going to be my lifelong direction, then.

I continued the pursuit in St' Andrews Junior College with a pure Arts course consisting of Art, Divinity, English Literature and Higher Chinese. It was a dream come true for me to expel mathematics from my education under the Ministry of Education and divert all attention unto the subjects I love, despite family objection and friendly cajoling. The possibilities in my future were seemingly endless then - I aspired to be a writer, a sculptor or artist, even a theologian! I was willing to travel all the way from Bedok to Harbourfront every single day simply because that was the only college that could offer me such a flexible Arts course, and I thought I could hold out despite objections and snide comments which attacked by the dozens. Alas, no matter how hard I tried to excel academically, the fact I was an Arts student disqualified me from society's elite.

Science faculties are always esteemed over the Arts, for reasons based on stereotypes and social myopia. People in the Arts industry are perpetually portrayed and thought of as idealistic people with lofty ambitions who end up struggling to make ends meet. For instance, In Singaporean context, to pursue the Arts equals to taking the dirt road to poverty - artists are seen as street painters, musicians are just little better than roadside baskers and performance artistes like dramatists and dancers are just academically inept. Circumstances turned sour as the future suddenly turned bleak with the revelation that I can never make Art my life without leaving the country, my roots, my identity and my family. A constant struggle with school, family and myself left me physically and mentally jaded, culminating in my leaving of the college for 'greener pastures' in the form of Mass Communications in Ngee Ann Polytechnic.

I allowed myself to be swept away by societal currents. Still, Mass Comm was not a favourable course according to my parents initially, as comapared to Accountancy or BioScience. It was after much arguments on my part and deliberation on theirs that I could happily enroll. After all, Mass Comm is the closest course to Arts that I can find in polytechnics - perhaps in ten years' time, I can even influence the media to cast Arts in a better light. I lie if I were to say I had absolutely no regrets in heeding the majority's advice. Sometimes, the majority should not win because they are not always right.

#8 - The Woman's Book of Superlatives

You held out your hand for an egg and fate pits into it a scorpion.
Show no consternation:
close your fingers firmly upon the gift; let it sting through your palm.
Never mind; in time, after your hand and arm have swelled and quivered long with torture,
the squeezed scorpion will die, and you will have learned a great lesson:
how to endure without a sob.

- Catherine Lim, The Woman's Book of Superlatives

I first read this book when I was eleven, the time when innocence and naiveness could not fully grasp the essence of Catherine Lim's stories within this treasure trove of women's fate. Spread across many different cultures and centuries lies the crux of female equainimity amidst suffering.

The Chinese girl screams and sobs as her feet are bound tightly to keep them from growing beyond the desired three inches. She is forcibly made to understand men of that society delighted in tiny feet that are significant of the female demureness and lack of power, which invokes masculine gallantry. The bones in her feet are crushed as the strips of cloth are wound tighter and tighter with each passing day. Her deformed toes will soon develop gangrene and fall off, but all in the name of beauty. She has to endure the life-long agony to please any prospective husbands.

There is the Victorian lady in a corset so tight, she feels faint. The Victorian society appreciated the hourglass form of the female body, so she does not have a choice but to contend with the restrictive garb. Prolonged attempts at cinching her waistline resulted in a disastrous distortion of her ribcage. She is deprived of the ability to breathe normally, much less the joy of breathing deeply, because her lungs have been majorly constricted by the lace. Her life is centered upon measuring up to the beauty standards set by men who lusted after women with tiny waists.

Rampant infibulation hits the African girl as she is compelled to undergo genital mutilation. Her virginity is ensured by stitching her genital lips, then the horrible procedure ensues even after she is married off to preserve the exclusive rights to her sexuality. Her husband solely will have the pleasure of bursting into her time and again, regardless of the anguish she goes through - a sick cycle that repeats itself whenever he leaves for a faraway place. Her life remains rooted to the carousel of painful chastity.

An Indian Suttee woman, clad in her white widow dress, leaps aboard the flaming funeral pyre of her dead husband. Steeped in customary irony, she is expected to accompany her husband even in death like all other prior examples of widowed women in India, despite all the pleas to be freed. Screams fades into whimpers; sobs into silent tears; resentment into disappointment. Like many others before her, Life to her is life lost in muted injustice.

Are women's lives deemed secondary to the pleasures of men? Do their opinions and rights not matter? The female population have come a long way to pursue an equal status in modern society. India even has a female Prime Minister, yet common folk continue to endure in the shadows of traditions, absurd or otherwise. I, too, must learn to endure, but I will learn to fight as well.

#7 - Being Happy

"

If you're happy and you know it
*execute cheerful action*

If you're happy and you know it
and you really want to show it

if you're happy and you know it
*execute cherrful action*

"

Being happy requires external demonstration to be maximised to full potential. I realised it's a process that should not be hidden within the fortress of my heart. Even such a common nursery song delivers the message so clearly. We certainly have been inculcated with the notions of expressing our joy since young. Then I thought hard about this inference and began wondered if this is why Singaporeans like to flaunt their supposed happiness as measured in superficiality and materialistic worth.

We, as Singaporeans, seem to have a reflex inclination to compare and ideally, to emerge the winner. We probe into everyone's affairs to seek opportunities for comparison. Landed residences and condominiums are esteemed over HDB flats; B&W and Mercedes over Toyota and Honda; SAP schools over neighbourhood ones. Once we know clearly that victory is on our side, we delve into a serious comparison to flaunt our superiority.

For instance, most mothers are proud of their children's academic achievements. PSLE results and secondary school postings are the peak periods to source out who is the most 'hao lian', the Hokkien equivalent of a typical show-off, amidst the stiff competition. One will casually enquire about an acquaintance's child's performance and upon receiving the reply, will weigh the comparison meticulously to pre-empt a loss of face. If victory is ensured, one will linger around in utmost interest and await the recipocral enquiry which will signal the launch of her endless references to how lucky her child has been to do better than that.

In Singapore, we place very much emphasis on materialistic possessions, external beauty and the paper chase. Do we really think these fulfilling the criteria of these three aspects will bring us infinite joy? Are they really symbolic of one's achievements in Life itself, or are they merely our poorly wrought tools to mask our incompetence? Should we be proud to flaunt our weaknesses? In comparisons, there is always the better and the worse. Being the superior party once does not mean an eternity of victory and immediate conferral of supremacy. Humans are never perfect. In commenting on this phenomenon, I am comparing myself against other Singaporeans too.

Perhaps we flaunt to be absorbed in our own make-belief. Desire breeds the impossible. If I want to be happy, I will think really hard that I am indeed happy, and I may very well just become happy! Then I must flaunt the fact that I am happy and you are not.

#6 - Childhood Fears (I)

“Bye bye! Bye bye!” The adults will pretend to run away as the toddlers scamper hurriedly but awkwardly. I cannot bear to hear parents yelling these words, in a gleeful effort to see their kids bawling in helpless self-defence and plea. Commodity jest at the expense of precious, innocent tears is not funny at all. When I was younger, I possessed an inane fear of being left behind - be it accidental negligence, sadistic humour or intended cruelty.

You may laugh now, but it was a huge issue to me then. During grocery shopping trips, usually to Sheng Siong Supermarket, I was put charge of the bags of goodies in a corner.I distinctly recall waiting outside the medical hall just next door, literally being seized by dread and allowing panic to propel my imagination. My worst nightmare being left to wait there forever, laden with bulging bags of groceries, tears brimming in my widened eyes. Likened to a giraffe, I'd crane my neck to witness their return, just so that my mind could be spared another second's agony.

As I progressed to greater heights in mental visualization, yet not in intellectual maturity, I began to formulate almost-credible situations in which I could be left behind. Plans were devised in case my fears materialized, and fresh fears arose to conquer my newfound relief. Since I grew taller and stronger over time, I concluded I would slowly walk back home with all the goods, at the very worst. Then the moment of reckoning arrived. The very worst scenario I could ever envision was that my family will be entirely wiped away from the memories of this world. I would try to go home yet I could never reach it. I would be rendered kinless and left to fend for myself, and everyone else will be in a huge conspiracy together against me.

I had absolutely no solution to this self-inflicted trauma. At such a supposedly-innocent age, one could hardly regard this as normal. How can anyone of age ten possibly not be traumatized by such? I used to have repetitive nightmares like these, and I would cry at night because I detested these notions. Then came the refusals to go grocery shopping,due to certain extents of extreme paranoia. So, please do not make kids cry with threats to leave them behind. It is extremely upsetting.

#5 - Come Back, O Christmas Camaraderie!

Envision the perfect Christmas holiday season, where one sips champagne in a totally relaxed mood and the sole worry revolves around getting the perfect gifts for everyone. You are dreaming, because you have been shoved in the midst of an insane school term by default. You cannot choose, you can only dream and perhaps drool a little here - I can excuse you for that. Otherwise, I shall be a sullen kvetch and what may be my only excuse? I happen to be in the same predicament as you, unless you are not facing the dilemma of bothersome schoolwork during the holidays. If so, please kindly slap yourself twice and saunter away.

Pardon me for being so high-strung. My sudden surge of sarcasm stems from the rapidly rising levels of stress and lack of time management. Twenty-four hours in a day is hardly enough to deal with school and the Christmas season. I have to squeeze school lectures, tutorials, workshops, assignments, projects, CCAs and Christmas carolling, shopping, baking, gift-wrapping, card-writing and the like, all into my schedule and yet still breathe? I suppose I can star in The Incredibles 2 already! Maybe not, if I realised I placed my Written Communication dictionary into the oven and brought raw cookie dough in a futile attempt to placate Messrs Wong and Sharpe.

This kind of regime continues for two weeks, whilst the world outside is raving about Christmas by going on shopping sprees and enjoying themselves. People like me have been conveniently forgotten as we slog our guts out as if we were Santa’s elves. Oh, but the elves do get days off. I look at my sisters who are indulging in everything that will improve their complexions for Christmas parties, and they raise their brows at their pathetic younger sister who has the complexion of the moon because she struggles to even get four hours of sleep. Perhaps putting cookie dough on my face will help, I can try that later.

I am three-quarters convinced that my school management is sadistic and warped. They just have to gloat at the students’ deprivation of the Christmas season and add insult to injury by placing a huge, ugly, revolving Christmas tree right smack in the centre of the ever gloomy Atrium. Of course, we as students need constant reminders of how heart-wrenching this holiday season is! The library is teeming with miniature clones of the hideous green monster from the Atrium, haunting students who are reduced to hiding out amongst books instead of being at Orchard Road.

By the time Christmas Eve arrives, I will still be prisoner of my academic pursuit and Christmas obligations. Carolling will begin at one in the afternoon and Radio Production workshop is ending at six in the evening. How things will work out for me, I do not know. All I want to do now is to have a cookie dough facial and spread the icing on my dictionary.

Merry Christmas.

#4 - Fairytale Facade

Cinderella, originally authored by Brothers Grimm and adapted by Walt Disney, is the ideal fantasy of every girl’s heart in either version. Being of great significance in any girl's memories, Cinderella inculcates in us her “happily ever after” notion since we were young. Having fashioned our own dreams about finding Prince Charming after Cinderella’s, we ought to ponder for a moment if her story is all sweet and dandy as it seems.

The all too familiar tale tells of how beautiful Cinderella goes against all odds to meet her Prince Charming who will eventually marry her and live happily ever after. However, upon closer scrutiny, you will wonder how the two protagonists can fall in love and hastily decide upon marriage after just three dances together (or just one, in Disney’s adaptation). This is an amazing phenomenon, and for the average romance layman, sharing a first dance usually does not earn you a perfect spouse in two weeks’ time.

Racking my brains for possible explanations for the two lovebirds’ hasty marriage, I wonder if Cinderella could have been a typical materialistic girl. For all the readers may know, Cinderella could have been eyeing the Prince’s riches and not his heart. Or perhaps she could have been driven to desperation by her poverty and mistreatment in her step-mother’s care, to be less harsh on the materialism hypothesis. After all, only the Prince could rescue her from her miserable life, then. Under such circumstances, Cinderella may have focussed more on the prospects and benefits of marrying the Prince rather than her feelings for him, if she even had any.

Besides Cinderella’s moment of greed, the Prince might have been quite superficial and be captivated by Cinderella’s charming appearance. As we all know, women’s looks fade away with age and men are generally fickle. Ten years down the road of ‘happily ever after’ life and Cinderella may have grown grossly fat because of the endless deluge of delicacies in the palace. The Prince may then, despise his wife and decide to turn his affections unto another girl. Such a marriage should not be the ideal kind girls all over the world have been dreaming about.

There can be a thousand and one other feasible theories about why Cinderella and her Prince may have committed a mistake in rushing into marriage with each other. Hasty decisions are known to end in tragedy, and it should be no exception for Cinderella and her Prince, I suppose. If their feelings for each other were to last only for a decade after they exchanged vows because they were blinded by a moment of greed or superficiality, this brilliant fairytale will be flawed. We ought to question the practicality of such flawed fairytale fancies, and I presume the answer will be obvious.

Fairytales can be a facade, too.

#3 - Age and maturity.

I woke up to this beautiful Tuesday morning in sheer helplessness; I had unknowingly stepped into the eighteenth year of my life. Age has compelled many to embrace Life’s obligations, whether you like it or not, and I was certain I did not enjoy coercion. The only saving consolation lies with the fact that I believe I am matured enough to handle the looming adulthood which approaches at an alarming rate. Sadly, I cannot say the same for everyone around me.

Being eighteen definitely sets us apart from the average eight year old, since we have long lost the luxury of being spoilt on account of our tender age. With the fresh onslaught of obligations, one would have expected to feel somewhat wiser or at least more matured. Alas, this is often not the case, because coming of age merely introduces one to the responsibilities of being ‘older’. A sixteen year old may be well aware of the need to decide his or her next step in the educational pursuit, but perhaps also lacking the sense to choose according to personal interests instead of following the crowd.

The discrepancy between age and maturity is very much evident in the nitty-gritty of everyday life, too. It has become a common sight for two girls in their late adolescent years to shriek and titter (how they manage both simultaneously is mystifying, indeed) in public as though they were seven year olds. Some would even have hardly condoned such behaviour in seven year olds, much less for these teens. Apparently, being nineteen does not necessarily mean one has grown more conscious of proper manners.

I distinctly recall from my kindergarten days, when friendship bordered on the much feared ‘I don’t friend you!’ phrase that could make or break it. As children, we moved around in droves and craved acceptance from our peers; as late teens, we form seemingly exclusive cliques and continue the ‘I don’t friend you!’ legacy. Is it not amazing how the years do not make us any wiser or sensible, neither did we outgrow the childish ways of yore?

I turned eighteen without a miraculous touch of wisdom from God, and I definitely did not attain enlightenment and decide Life is all about acing modules. In my heart, there lies a child like any others. My favourite phrase remains, “Let me wail like a petulant child and have my way.” I try to curb the childish ways from within, for I have come to accept the fact that being older does not mean I automatically have heightened sensitivity and sensibility.

Age and maturity are two separate entities.

#2 - Public Display of Affection

Have you ever seen couples who are bundled up, akin to that of the Ikea furniture one can bring home? Or perhaps they were kissing in happy oblivion and made you wonder if you turned invisible for a moment?

Public display of affection, or also known as PDA, always makes me cringe. Indeed, I am a self-proclaimed PDA-nazi. I have little tolerance for couples who assume obligation to openly declare their affection for each other through various acts of groping, fondling and the like in public. Such brazen behaviour is increasingly prominent of late and is a cause for worry in our society.

Whilst our government eagerly promotes our ingenious Romancing Singapore! programme, I am marvelled by their success in making Singaporeans believe the government advocates Public Display of Affection as part of constituting a romantic, civilised society. French-kissing on public buses hardly makes up for the lack of worthy entertainment on TV Mobile, and takes place under extremely different circumstances from that seen in the romantic movies! I suppose most Singaporeans have difficulty differentiating licentiousness from romance.

What can be worse? Witnessing students clad in full uniform, engaging in PDA. It is sheer visual agony to watch two under-aged children reiterating the lustful romance often found in Hollywood movies in public. They not only invite ridicule towards themselves, but bring down their schools’ reputation and society’s moral dignity, too.

Singapore’s land is scarce, and we all know we ought to allocate the said resource carefully. However, I must insist there is no need for these Ikea-modelled couples to go to that extent to save space. Their self-sacrificial efforts are lauded without the need for them to put it into action. Singapore’s land is definitely sufficient to hold its entire population of without having anyone cling to another like a koala to its tree.

Whenever I see couples in PDA, I feel the urge to offer help so they have no excuse to demonstrate their ultimate space-saving solution. I am often tempted to ask, "Are you that cold? I can offer my jacket." Perhaps smile and say, "You feel cramped over there? I'll exchange seats with you!" or even shriek, "Is she fainting? Is she fainting? I'll call the ambulance now!"

So, I am a full fledged PDA-nazi. Join the camp.

#1 - The Acquaintancester

The Friendster rage has swamped me. With a self-proclaimed impressive account of one hundred and eighty-nine friends, most people will think I have a thriving social circle. Yet the truth is I have far more acquaintances than friends. I would be guilty of self-deception if I insist all one hundred and eighty-nine of them are true friends to me. So let us exmaine the issue of friendship against acquaintanceship.

One may argue and ask, what is the difference between friendship and acquaintanceship? I see the former as a rare blossoming of the latter, a nurturing process which requires a unique blend of effort, time and fate. According to Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, a friend means ‘one attached to another by affection or esteem’. One can hardly say the same for a mere stranger acquainted just three minutes ago, or even an old acquaintance who was last contacted during kindergarten years. Acquaintanceship is aplenty, regardless of its age thus far, but is incomparable to friendship.

Meticulousness when separating one’s friends from a sea of acquaintances has its benefits. It is unfair for acquaintances in general if they are expected to do as a friend may, so one can be spared the unpleasant surprise of rejection from an acquaintance. For instance, a friend will not reproach another for calling at two in the morning to gripe about his or her significant other, however, an acquaintance may not be as accommodating. Much disappointment and tears can be saved in friendship if acquaintances are not mistakenly held up to such expectations.

Expectation kills the soul, so I am extremely anal when it comes to differentiating friends from mere acquaintances. Others may think I am weird or plain arrogant, but i beg to differ. The true friends I have can be tallied on two hands, and knowing they are friends for life allows me to cherish them more. Yet I still fall prey to the lure of Friendster because I am but human and I crave attention, too.

The draw of Friendster lies in the human want to be popular and well-liked. Hence, many people will go to the extent of adding mere acquaintances to their accounts to feel more socially apt. The thin line between acquaintanceship and friendship is then, blurred beyond recognition. Acquaintances, especially those in Friendster, have been over-rated. Anyone can be an acquaintance, but not everyone can be a friend.

So, may I propose Acquaintancester?