Schools and People: Before and Now

  Disclaimer: This is in no way a political analysis, merely a philosophical inquiry. Most would have seen, if not heard of Charles Yeo’s delivery of a rally speech in Mandarin. With his awkwardness and discomfort, it emerged as a comedic sketch amidst the political campaigning. Naturally, the memes and clips began to spawn and circulate. Quite recently, Ho Ching posted a short Facebook message defending Charles Yeo and lauded his bravery for daring to deliver the speech. This case-study will simply be an anchoring point for which the rest of my inquiry shall follow and the primary question that will be addressed is as follows: Is it possible to laugh at someone and yet respect that individual? Intuitively, the answer seems to be no. There would be some that maintain that the act of laughing at someone automatically negates or cancels any respect attributed to that person. It is a deformed or mutated respect that cannot qualify as respect. If I laughed at someone for their race or ...

  I stand on the stage A performance of one to an audience of none. Garbled soliloquies disguised as poetic aestheticism. Theatrical mess masquerading as pseudo-intellectualism. Introducing the headlines! “A genealogical investigation From a cultural solipsism Into a collective nihilism.” “The spiral of introspective uncertainty Into a state of meta-cognitive anxiety.” “An unironic satirization Of stream-of-consciousness poeticism” Whimsical. Profound. 0/0 Lights fade. Words on a page. Slow clap. Modest bow. Brevity the style. Yea.

  “Alright Mr Pickles Sir, please hand over the money.” It was a crisis. The shop’s money had been stolen. It was coming close to 7 o’clock in the evening, the sun had begun to set and I was preparing to close the shop. And now this happens. This was not a great way to end the day. And in front of me, crouching down, was the only suspect possible of carrying out such a heist: Mr Pickles. “Mr Pickles, I do not wish to repeat myself twice. Please hand over the money you stole or things are about to get really nasty.” I’ve watched quite a few interrogation scenes online so believe me when I say I know a few handy torture methods. But Mr Pickles was a tough cookie and he looked at me unfazed with bored, uninterested eyes. That, and Mr Pickles was a dog. That’s right. Mr Pickles was a 6 year old Beagle owned by my boss, the owner of the shop. He was allowed to roam free without a leash as he was deemed to be rather tame and unadventurous. Now it might seem terribly surprising that I ...

  A very rough, unedited piece of work. Playing with some character development and conversation. His name is Kenny. I’ve recognised him now and then as we attend the same modules in University. Occasionally, we do end up in the same tutorial group. However, other than a few cursory conversations about workload and essays and standard perfunctory talk, our conversations with one another have never progressed past the superficial. Yet, it’s not difficult to see Kenny as a bit of an oddball. It comes off quite distinctly in the way and the things that he says during classroom discussions. He will sporadically throw up a new interpretation or observation about a particular topic that we are studying. And for some reason, even though the general populace would never mine that same piece of knowledge, he seems to make sense. Kenny gives fresh insight and meaning into the material and I suppose its an acquired taste but I’ve gradually come to appreciate the things that he says. I would...

  My skull is so dense, It has caused a space-time rift. So now there is a black hole, Where my brain used to exist I am an epistemological vacuum. All I do is consume and consume. My skull is so dense, nothing penetrates. Yet my black hole brain, lets nothing escape. Some say I know something (It is a black hole yes?) Some say I know nothing (It is a black hole yes?) What does my black hole brain say? Abs-hole-lutely nomething. (That’s tmesis by the way) I guess at the end of this long day, There’s one thing left to convey. This is just metaphorical babble, Of a condition astronomical. The beauty of parody is that no matter how terrible the work is, it still achieves it's effect.

  Brilliant meta narrative works which a Mr Lee Jin Wee and I shall co author someplace some time in some alternate reality. 1. The Homer Genre: Epic (naturally) Synopsis: An epic about homer writing his two epics. After much existential frustration and angst on how epicly mundane his life was, Homer decides to escape into a fantasy of his own workings, detailing out in its totality, the histories of the two, now immortalized archetypes of martial and nostos heroism. Opening line: Sing in me muse and tell me me of the man skilled in all ways of writing 2. Cancel Genre: stream-of-consciousness, solipsistic novel of absolute verbiage Synopsis: A man is trying to write a novel and the words simply flow forth from his brain and onto the computer but for some reason, he simply cannot backspace whatever he has written. This novel chronicles the absurd thought adventures of an aspiring writer condemned to never being able to retract his words. Opening line: Hii. Woah why's there an extra ...

  The Experience of an Idea Every once in a while, I get an idea An idea which I am sure, transcends the boundaries of my finite skull; Most certainly a gift from God And I try to grasp that bright bulb of illuminating knowledge Letting its light suffuse through every crevice of my vacuous mind Casting out all other shadows of malicious ignorance Till there is only Eternal sunshine And when I take hold of the glow And capture the Sun in the bottle of my mind, when I can speak forth the light and echo the words bright, I am rendered speechless And can only watch the hues of beauty fill the page Pseudo-analysis: Tried to capture the process of formulating an idea of which the poem is therefore, almost a self-reflexive, formal manifestation of an idea already in my head. Tried to play on the idea of increasing lyricism which climaxes in the third stanza. Hence the extensive patterning of syntax and attempted use of internal rhymes as opposed to the more disjointed formalism of the pre...

  1. Yes, it was ten years ago, but I could still remember our first kiss: in the back alley of McDonalds with the taste of fried nuggets on his lips. I still savour the taste till this day. 2. Angelina, I could spend an eternity suffering in hell if it only meant that you would be there suffering with me. I love you . Will you marry me? 3. Oh Grace, if your head was mounted upon a spike, I know that men from the seven continents would pay a fortune's worth just to behold the unchanging expression of your mesmerizing beauty.

  A great tragedy has befallen us this day I bid thee goodbye A bag of ages Six years, served faithful and true I bid thee goodbye Storms, Suns, urban hikes Intrepid Traveller's friend I bid thee goodbye Torn, mended, rugged Social Loser's Companion I bid thee goodbye So to the cupboard of used utility With an absurd sentiment of nostalgia I bid thee goodbye Perhaps, one day, your services needed And a phoenix shall rise from the ashes Till then, You bid me goodbye

  See, there's an apparent fascination that women have for lines. Look at how men sculpt their bodies. The product is a physique strewn with hard taut lines and that makes them so much more desirable than the man with the paunch with one defining lump. Clearly the more lines one has on the body, the more attractive they are. Ah....That explains tattoos.   To Toy with Death- As I hang 100m off a cliff with my mere fingers supporting me, I pull myself up.... only to let myself down and try again. What a rush of adrenaline that gives me. That gentlemen, is motivation for pullups.   I always like to imagine myself as a PI living in the shadows of a Gotham type city. And I'll introduce myself, in a distinctively hoarse voice "My name is Danny. That's what my mother called me. But people know me as Dann. Drop the Y. Don't ask questions" Oh yea, that'll be smooth.   Oh I'm squirming from all this heart curdling cheesiness And one day when I'm holding hand...

A very sketchy picture of the maps in my head. Not adequately explained and not clear enough.    The definition of Regret  is a negative conscious and emotional reaction to personal past acts and behaviours. Regret is often expressed by the term " sorry ." Regret is often a feeling of sadness, shame, embarrassment, depression, annoyance, or guilt, after one acts in a manner and later wishes not to have done so.   Or so says Wikipedia, Ad Verbatim.   Now on my journey back home, this concept intrigued me. This whole issue of “Man, I totally regretted doing that”, or threats of “you’re gonna regret this” from overly protective parents and also notably, the rather thought provoking rhetoric “When you die, will you have any regrets?” So I looked at the stimulus for regret. Exactly what triggers this deplorable feeling, this horribly soul-draining sensation?   Well, quite obviously, if a particular situation had turned out favo...

  As I've written in the WhatsApp chat. This idea has been entertaining me for the past two days so here's the cinematic representation of whats happening inside my head.   A short clip- War Games   Start Trailer   Standard Green Screen Prelude “The following preview has been approved for appropriate audiences”   Cue Epic Music followed by black Screen   “From the producers that brought you The Chronicles of Dota: The Tree, the Throne and the Fountain”   Next black screen   “In war”   Switch to scene 1   Character A, an injured soldier (bandages) crawling along the jungle floor in full battle order amongst tall grass. Close up shot of him crawling, face in pain. He gets up and attempts to run/limp to a tree   Black screen   “There will be pain”   Switch to scene 1   Character A while limping is suddenly shot again in the leg. He falls to the ground, clutching his leg and cries in pain.   Black Screen   “Ther...