Writing with the blinkers on.

An AFP report as read off ST dated May 7:

Palm oil wiping out key orang utan habitat

INDONESIA - ONE of the biggest populations of wild orang utans on Borneo will be extinct in three years without drastic measures to stop the expansion of palm oil plantations, conservationists said Wednesday.

I guess I am disappointed there was no mention of the rather obvious link to biofuels, the illegal logging industry, and the fact that just two weeks ago Greenpeace activists dressed as orang utans scaled the Unilever building in London to address this point. I mean, this has been talked about as far back as two years ago off Mongabay.com (and a year ago off the Times and Guardian).

Why is oil palm replacing tropical rainforests?
Why are biofuels fueling deforestation?
April 25, 2006

Recently much has been made about the conversion of Asia’s biodiverse rainforests for oil-palm cultivation. Environmental organizations have warned that by eating foods that use palm oil as an ingredient, Western consumers are directly fueling the destruction of orangutan habitat and sensitive ecosystems.

I know I speak presumptuously because, hey, what the hell do I know about the work processes in a wire agency. But if they can always throw in a line in (most) Singapore-related articles about her nanny-state tendencies, couldn't hurt to have a standard line for such things too, yeah?

Has It Come Down To This?

I have a love/hate relationship with ST's Forum pages because sometimes the letters they print make me go a bit crazy with anger, and somehow seeing it PRINTED makes it worse because its real and validated.

May I treat you, my lovely friends who do not read this particular section of ST, to the wise musings of a certain Ellouisa Chen:

It's Singapore, serve us in English first, please

WHY IS it these days that whenever I step into a retail boutique, I am greeted by the sales assistants in Mandarin instead of English?

They then follow me around the shop, promoting their products to me in Mandarin.

I find this shocking in Singapore, a country where we are trying to emphasise world-class service standards.

This is not to say that speaking in Mandarin equals mediocre service.

But it seems to me that gone are the days when storekeepers would converse with customers in English in Singapore, a cosmopolitan country with many foreigners who live, work or visit.

Sales staff recruited from overseas should be given to understand that they must serve customers in English first for two reasons. Firstly, because it's more professional. Secondly, not all customers understand Mandarin and sales staff should not assume that Chinese customers are as eloquent in Mandarin as they are.

Retailers should look into this problem and ensure that their frontline staff master at least the rudiments of English.

Singapore is gearing to host top international events like the world's first Formula One night race and the first Youth Olympics.

Surely, we should not subject visitors to a mediocre level of service or allow them to think that our level of communication is so limited.

Ellouisa Chen (Miss)

I wouldn't recommend reading through the following 350++ comments this post received, nothing really very constuctive, but some stuff was funny (someone called her "Lousy Chen" and another wrote. "greet also complaint, never greet also complaint, greet in Chinese also complaint."

Losing Perspective

The last two weeks have been utter hell for me.

I just needed to say that and get it off my chest. The worst thing about feeling this way in a country like Bangladesh is that you are constantly reminded about how pathetic your sorrows are in comparison to others. You feel bad? Oh poor foreigner with a roof over her head. You don't know bad.

Yes, I have had to cope with more shit in the last two weeks than I have ever had to deal with in my entire life. Is Jess exaggerating again? No, i am not. Yes, I am having that alcohol craving again. Yes, I am back on sleeping pills. So what?

Two weeks ago, I waited for a friend outside a spanking new supermarket. A woman and her son was walking around the perimeter of the entrance. She had just been told by the security guard to please stay behind this line, do not come in and harass our customers.

She had her hand on his shoulder, a boy not older than 12. There was something very wrong with his right eye, and it looked like he was going blind. I can't imagine he could see anything out of that eye. He looked exhausted, but still quietly stood in front of his mother as she went round talking to people.

They were not beggars.

She came up to me, and pointed at her son, and I had heard this routine before. She needed money to pay his medical bills. I gave her some money and reassured the security guard that had gallantly come forward to rescue me from this pestering woman.

I tried to speak to her, but I could barely make out what she was saying. She was not tired at all, even though I suspect she has been doing this all day. Desperation can be such a source of energy.

She pulled out proof, the medical bills tucked away in her son's shirt pocket. I couldn't concentrate at deciphering the scribbles. I kept thinking, do I really want to read this? If I really looked at this, if I really understood what was happening to her, I would not be able to walk away. What are you doing Jess? You are giving her false hope.

And so I didn't read it. I gave the paper back to her. I saw the sum, though. I don't remember the number anymore, but I remembered thinking there was no way she was going to raise that amount by standing outside a supermarket asking exiting customers for loose change.

In my seven months here, I have been taken home by a rickshaw wallah with one leg, and another with only one hand. On both occassions I did not notice the missing limb until I was already seated and moving along the road. They had both found their own ways to manoeuvre through Dhaka's chaotic traffic.

I tried to strike up a conversation with both of them, just to find out what had happened. The one with only one arm lost the other in an electrical accident when he was 8. When we reached my house, I gave him an amount slightly higher than what I usually give. He looked at me with such disdain. I could almost imagine him saying, "You've got to be kidding me." I gave him more.

My colleague recently started a second job selling electrical appliances. The new job starts at 5.30pm, and he ends work in my office at 5pm. He earns based on commission. He can no longer support his family with one job. He has two sets of parents, siblings and a wife to feed. With the price of rice being what it is, he had no other choice. The same amount only buys half of what they used to get. The rent already takes up more than half of his salary.

Poor foreigner, feeling sorry for herself.

Jess Lost Her Voice

Not too sure what happened, but I could feel it creeping up after the second coffee in the middle of Friday's pre-World Press Freedom Day conference.

And after too much mingling and a good solid hour and a half of talking/yelling at students - its now ALL gone. I have a tendency to TALK TOO LOUDLY. Oh, you knew that? Sorry. Just saying.

This means that unless my voice comes back by tomorrow morning, I'm going to have to cancel classes AGAIN. This is incredible. The number of classes I've had to postpone and cancel because of cyclone/twistedfoot/serious flu/mothershiplanded/power failures. I have apologised to my students a million times. I think I'm going to have to give them all As just so they don't give me a shitty evaluation. Joke.

I didn't say a word during the two-day journalism session, but it was just great to be listening to all this again. I didn't even fall asleep once. Miracles happen! I've always enjoyed the company of (most) journalists, even those that made have crossed over into academia.

Check out Cobrapost.com. It's like an Indian version of the Drudge Report. Very interesting. I have a natural aversion to sensational-format television and reports, because of its negative associations with the American versions that tend to create spectacles out of absolutely nothing. The louder the sound, the emptier the story.

But although there's a lot of the same visual elements in Cobrapost.com, their stories almost warrant the trumpeting and fireworks.

I was thinking about something that Shahidul wrote. "To stay neutral is to stay aloof. We stand on the side of the oppressed." Perhaps, objectivity is a luxury that journalists in this country cannot afford.

For The Last Time, I DON'T KNOW.

I have a stiff neck which has only gotten progressively worse over the last two nights. It hurts like FUCK and I suspect it may have cramped up last night but I think in my haze of pain I was to confused to realise it was just a cramp and not a monster inside giving my tendons a good wring.

But I just suddenly imagined Jill singing Ace of Base's Don't Turn Around just to mock me and I laughed till my neck hurt.

Race to Nowhere

It just seems to me, as things get more and more uncertain, the only thing that has remained constant is our continual participation in the marathon of happiness. The reasons for running change, the route becomes slightly complicated and it starts getting really difficult choosing between the forks in the road. Sometimes you stop and think, waaaaaaait a minute I think I took the wrong detour back there.

But still, we keep on pounding on. I'd like to think I'm always headed in the right direction, but hey, who knows about these things. Lately, I suspect I've been running in circles because the sights and scenery looks rather familiar. Didn't I twist my ankle on this stupid rock before? Yeah, I think I've been here.

This whole post is gonna read like a cheap lift off one of those inspirational posters.

And the only reason I thought of the above is because I'm trying desparately to find a source of constancy in a life that's becoming rather "off-track".

I spent some time thinking about how I handle problems, and the answer is - not well. This has become all too apparent because I've had an opportunity to engage in compare-and-contrast. As a person who's had to deal with very little 'problems', I am really ill-equipped for hardballs. In comparison, a person who's had to deal with being broke and finding a place to sleep on the streets has the tendency to say FUCK IT to most hardballs.

OR it could just be that I'm just really useless and no amount of 'life experience' is able to toughen me up.

And yes, the uncertainties that continue to swirl and there's very little that I can speak about with confidence. Everything I say seems like something I might wanna retract in the future. Well, one thing I think I may have learnt - Don't get too comfortable. There's always some asshole out there that's gonna ruin it for you.

Out on the Town

It just took me two hours to whittle down the number of unread emails from 93 to 16. Not bad. This is what happens when you don't check your email for a day and a half.

Went 'clubbing' last night, a term which I use very loosely because the songs being performed by the in-house Filipino band included songs from Celine Dion and Whitney Houston, and that one about how "sometimes love just ain't enough". I had increasing difficulty stifling my giggles as time went by, because things just get funnier by the beer, doesn't it?

I didn't plan to end up at the hotel's bar, but I suppose I didn't really have much of a choice yesterday as the streets overflowed with the entire population of Dhaka. It was the Bangla New Year, and the jam was horrendous.

So I ended up being the only foreign girl in a bar filled with mostly men - both local and foreign hotel guests - and a smattering of local women. Three of them, to be exact. Were not difficult to miss because they took turns to dance solo, all of which were decked out in gold jewellery and red saris, much to the delight of the audience. But man, those girls had balls. Not just any kind of dancing too, but full-out Hindi movieisque dance moves.

And, as expected, I had to deal with questions. Literally was asking to be picked up, sitting at a bar by myself, and I suppose this is be the only place in the whole world where I would have to fend off men. Women seeking male validation would be very happy in a place like this.

And in the end, I did end up at a table with two of them. It's difficult to explain why I was so much more amenable to this pair. The most shameless reason is because they were the most attractive. Jess was not looking for intelligent debate that day. But also because they were shameless too. There was no attempt to get to know me better, no forced displays of intelligence masked in long-winded and faux philosophical questions ("So really, how did your life bring you here?), or emphasis of wealth ("I have a very nice house in Singapore.") All they said was, "Come and join us! We're trying to get drunk!"

And I did. My judgment proved correct, and I had a fine time with two people who, like me, were only looking for some laughter and frivolity.

I know I already blogged today, but I'm just too exhausted and wanted to spend some minutes up on the rooftop by myself to catch the last few minutes of dusk.

The weather's been quite punishing, which exacerbates the power failures that have been happening with increasing regularity. Haven't been getting enough sleep, and waking up earlier than usual - which is a good thing, and I should be doing this more often - but the end result of the fatigue and heat... well I'm just exhausted.

The Indian visa application was a disaster. It's a long and boring story, but after two failed trips and too much bureaucracy to face, and I decided to give up the attempt. Would normally be feeling guilty for doing so, but in this case, I think I can safely say that I really did try my best.

So this means I have no plans for the upcoming Bangla New Year. The last time I was here, I wore a sari and went out to some park to hang out. I am NOT doing it again this year. I find myself rejecting the notion of beauty as held by the general female population of this country. I haven't yet really thought about this, so it still feels like a knee-jerk reaction on my part.

Objectification of women occurs in all cultures, and some would argue its even worse in the West, but there is a uniformity about it here that unsettles me. Women objectify themselves, that is not something I can deny or argue about coherently, but at the very least, in the West, there is still a form of self expression in that objectification. What 'type' of beauty would you like to assume? Here, the eyeliner is piled on in the same fashion, the jewellery of different design but worn with the same effect, and of course, a sari is a sari.

It's all very futile anyway since regardless of self-expression or no, the end results are the same, but that's the distinction I will offer if I am asked to articulate my uneasiness.

And of course, I would not dare to go further to belittle women here who do conform to this culture's notion of beauty. It doesn't require a rejection of culture to assert your rights, but I suppose there is so physical evidence of this assertion, I end up being too presumptuous about things.


Another factor is the obligation for such conformity. A woman who does not conform as such is regarded as a misfit by her own peers. I don't know what the men think, but all negative comments I have ever received regarding my physical appearance all comes from women. This could be, of course, because the men are too polite/shy/conservative to say as much, but it also seems like they don't expect it of me since I am a foreigner. And if they don't, then why do the women?

One Big Chey.

My father asked me last night, via sms, if I knew about "a big protest in dhaka about giving more rights to women?"

I had been devoid of news that day, so No, I did not hear about it.

Imagine my skepticism when he replied in detail about "5,000 male muslims clashed with police after friday prayers."

Waaaaaaaait a minute. Males protesting for women's rights? Was this history in the making? Had I missed out on a historical moment in Bangladesh's woman's rights movement? Wow, these people can certainly surprise you.

Logged on this morning, eager for more.

Ah. Reality, it seems, is a lot less complicated, and a lot less surprising.

Dozens injured in Bangladesh protest of women's rights policy

DHAKA, Bangladesh: Dozens of hard-line Muslims were injured in Bangladesh on Friday in clashes with police during a demonstration against a new policy advocating more rights for women, a police official said.

Emphasis in text totally, completely, my own.

Friday.

Misinformation led me to wander around the streets of Gulshan rather aimlessly at 10am on my one-and-only day off.

Felt slightly helpless, being too far from the house to consider crawling back into bed, but there's a fresh charm on the streets every Friday. When empty, they can be rather enjoyable to walk upon.

Gulshan's considered one of the posher districts in Dhaka, along with Banani and satellite towns Uttara and Baridhara. Should check with my geography about this, but this is how my head understands it as of now.

Nevertheless, I had a difficult time convincing my Mom this was so when she was here. Posher? How so? Admittedly, the buildings are no shinier, the pavements as broken as anywhere else in Dhaka. Its not an Orchard Road in that sense. But if you sit and wait a little longer, you'll see the bigger cars, the foreigners, the beggars who are more insistent and more professional in their insistence. The rickshaw wallahs here are not shy to ask for prices that their Dhanmondi counterparts would baulk at.

And why shouldn't they inflate ten taka to a hundred? The embassies and high commissions are here, filled with diplomats and their private drivers. The car boutiques are here, their shiny glass windows helpless against the onslaught of Dhaka dust. The newfangled restaurants with fancy decor. Of course, most of the wealth is away from the main road and in the backlanes - the private apartments, sprawling bungalows. The roads seem wider here, could it be to accommodate the larger size of cars here?

Still, my Mom was unconvinced.

And so I walked from the Indian High Comm, walking past a KFC, and then a Pizza Hut. Went to check out a bookshop, which didn't have much, and then past an A&W to hit the centre of Gulshan-1. All three fastfood outlets occupy a two-storey building by itself.

Rickshaw ride down to search for another bookshop I recalled seeing (a plan had long since formed in my mind, and it involved newspapers and a cuppa breakfast coffee), got lost for a bit but eventually ended up at Words 'n Pages.

Bought the IHT (135Tk, if anyone's interested) and a Chinese-English dictionary just 'cos i felt like it. Yesterday I couldn't remember how to write 来至, and I wept in shame for an hour.

Then, off to hunt for a place at which to enjoy the paper and an unscheduled breakfast. Failed miserably. There are probably places that do serve breakfast fodder, but I just didn't know where they were. And I don't even have high standards for these things - my favourite breakfast in Singapore takes place at the kopitiam downstairs upon red plastic stools and in front of a bowl of steaming prawn noodles.

So, I debated getting a waffle at A&W, but eventually decided that was compromising too much with my notion of what breakfast should be like.

The two kids followed me for a block. The older sister chanting her demands for money, the little one, who looks like he just learned to walk, chanted after her, gurgling and messing up the phrases, but trying to imitate as best he could. I felt sick.

I am so excited I'm almost giddy.

Would very much like to SHOUT THIS but shall not jinx it. Best to follow TYM's silence-till-success method, since it worked.

AHHH!!!!!

"Oh definitive article, how I've missed you."

Working when no one else is has its perks - enough bandwidth to feed a cow, and enough to start watching The Daily Show online again.

Which would then mean I'm not really working... but if you knew about the TDS-cold turkey I had to go through , you'd totally understand.

Am doing the coffee-with-news thing, although the morning is almost gone, but, hey, guesmrbs what, I have no qualms about ignoring the clock to suit my routine.

Highlights thus far include hearing Jon say "bet the muthafucking ranch" and "just like Christmas morning, or so I've been told."

Oh Jewish fake newscaster, how I've missed the irreverence.

This morning involved a lot of deep breathing and application of anger management tactics.

Shall shut up and just post pictures.

Confession

I blushed when Ricky Gervais called Jon Stewart 'handsome'.

Item #83475 on List of Things I Did Not Know!

The things you come across when you type the wrong stuff into Google's search bar.

GREY GOO

Grey goo is a hypothetical end-of-the-world scenario involving molecular nanotechnology in which out-of-control self-replicating robots consume all living matter on Earth while building more of themselves.

The term was first used by molecular nanotechnology pioneer Eric Drexler in his book Engines of Creation (1986):

Imagine such a replicator floating in a bottle of chemicals, making copies of itself....the first replicator assembles a copy in one thousand seconds, the two replicators then build two more in the next thousand seconds, the four build another four, and the eight build another eight. At the end of ten hours, there are not thirty-six new replicators, but over 68 billion. In less than a day, they would weigh a ton; in less than two days, they would outweigh the Earth; in another four hours, they would exceed the mass of the Sun and all the planets combined - if the bottle of chemicals hadn't run dry long before.

Awesome.

If you had asked me, I'd have only thought of that flour paste that goes into orh luah. It's the only grey-colured goo I can think of. That and other inappropriately rude items which don't quite deserve elaboration. My sense of intelligence seriously undermined right now. By this episode, and also because I just had to check the dictionary for the spelling of the word 'perseverance'. That's a toughie, that is.

Just wanted to say that I would’ve gladly participated in the uber-Hip Earth Hour if the power companies here weren't already one step ahead of the rest of the world and doing it on our behalves. Plus what’s this joke about doing it for an hour on one day? Where’s the sincerity in that? Every two days, or daily – that’s more like it. And why stop at one hour at night, when you can do it several times in the day too?

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Nora Ephron's latest up on Huffington (calling for Hillary to exit) made my already-perfect morning all the more perfect. Just 'cos it was a pleasure to read.

"But now that we're down to two contenders, it's turned into an unending last episode of Survivor. They're eating rats and they're frying bugs, and they're frying rats and they're eating bugs; no one is ever going to get off the island and I can't take it any more."

For some reason, I like that she used the word 'unending' intead of 'neverending'.

The morning's been perfect because I'm in a really good mood today. Better than I've felt in the last couple of weeks. Not too sure why, though. Probably has something to do with the rejuvenating effect of having a week off all work, and having the mothership dock for a week.

The first night she was here, she proceeded to scrub down the toilet which I had already scrubbed in anticipation of her disapproval. But then, by the end of the week, I was complaining that the room needed a good sweep, and she simply dismissed it with a "Do it after I leave, lah." Now, if that ain't progress, I don't know what is.

Also, the internet is somewhat hooked up at home. The bandwidth and connection speed is terrible, but still, something is better than nothing.

There's something terribly calming and precious about the act of having a cup of coffee in the morning as you slowly scan through the news. This morning, for the first time in half a year, I finally had a chance to savour that serenity. The Things Which Can Calm Jess list is regrettably short, though I believe the sight of a sleeping cat and Valium are items number 2 and 7 respectively.

Ha. Through rambling, I've unearthed the real reason behind my previously inexplicably good mood.

Every so often, I get hit with a mean case of PMS. Hardly worthy blogging fodder, but don't you sometimes just feel like ripping your brain out so you could fix whatever's wrong with it? God knows I've tinkered with ALL my gadgets-gone-wonky this way (usually made it worse, but at least I tried), and this morning I really wish there was a screwdriver for the skull.

Landing of mother ship postponed by a couple of days.

I haven't really said anything about the girls here. This is a gross generalisation, of course, and not representative of the lovely female friends that I have here.

But, if you will allow me to make a sweeping statement, why is it I always get the feeling the girls here would do something awful to me if given the chance? There is a look of aggressiveness in their faces, an aggression that perhaps comes from a need to protect oneself? The head-to-toe eyeballing, peering from the corner of the eye, stiff lip and upturned noses. What? What did I do to you?

Yesterday I wore an off-shoulder top - something purchased from Mango more than half a year ago, but somehow I never got around to wearing it even in Singapore.

In office, a middle-aged woman squealed as she caught sight of my bare shoulder, and proceeded to helpfully help me correct my mistake.

I was peeved, if only because it was another female that had done it. My boobs were dutifully covered with the shawl, the shirt was loose enough to hide my ass, and the sleeves were down to my elbows. I suppose, here, even a little is too much.

I have an 8,000 word article to edit, and a ceiling full of dustwebs to clear, four pairs of pants that has to be handwashed, a mid-term paper to set and about 300 photos that need metadata and captions.

But first, to savour that speech Obama made two days ago. I'm off.

How Better To Show Them That We Care?

This story really just summarises the country up so nicely. Malaysia boleh!

M'sia opposition rewards voters by cancelling parking fines

KUALA LUMPUR - MALAYSIA'S opposition coalition is rewarding voters in states where it recently won in general elections by cancelling unpaid parking fines, providing free water and sponsoring a soccer game.

'How better to show them that we care?' said Secretary-General Kamarudin Jaffar of the ethnic-Malay-based Pan Malaysian Islamic party, or PAS.

Maybe Singaporeans should be feeling unloved, comparatively. Free water, soccer games... Well I'm just saying there's nothing a lifetime of free fried chicken can't buy you.

And I find it kinda cute how corruption stories in Singapore are about $200 and driving demerit points.


In other news, the Mother Ship is scheduled to land in approximately three days. My house and room will be, presumptuously speaking, much cleaner by the time Mother Ship departs.

Finally watched Tarantino's Death Proof last night and this may be the first movie in which I loved the ending credits more than the movie itself.

Did not particularly enjoy Rodriguez's Planet Terror, though.

Gmail is such a mind-reader.

我要搬家了。

Too much drama on the domestic front - surprisingly and thankfully not a result of my actions, but unfortunately involving me (to a certain degree) as well.

So while the whirlpool continues to swirl in my abode, I've been thinking about my attitudes towards confrontation. Because I'd always assumed I was more than happy to go about looking for a fight, but recent events have revealed that I am inclined to retreat and ignore. The father (aka lao pei) will not believe this, but it's true. However, it is probably due to two factors:

1. I have no energy to engage in a shouting match and
2. I have no time to engage in a shouting match.

So I guess I'm only an asshole if I've got the energy and time on my hands.

I've said this to a friend, in response to incredulous tales of deceit and deception, blackmail and conspiracies between people here. They've all either been watching way too many soap operas or, (the very likely reason) have too much time to waste.

Like what we say, "Wah, damn free hor?"

Or, "Wah, si bei wu zeng tiam hor?"

Or, "Wah, nothing better to do issit?"

Or, "你很无聊 leh."

Chinese language indulgence a result of recent fantasies of going to Shenyang for photo exhibition. Nevaa gonna happen.

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Sample of email from home:

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In Spore we have the great escape of our most wanted JI prisoner MAS SELAMAT from our "HIGH SECURITY PRISON" News paper reports say that he escaped through the toilet. What a joke.This is the thirteenth day since his escape and police believed he is still in Spore. Very soon stalls will be selling T shirts with MAT SELAMAT'S FACE and with the wordind TOILET BREAK instead of PRISON BREAK.

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Before & After, Past & Present, Then & Now

Every so often, with greater frequency than I'd like, I have dreams about a particular subject which leave me feeling extremely uncomfortable upon waking. Because the implications, oh, the implications, of having this subject in my subconscious is just too difficult to accept.

Last night's dream was even worse. It brought together an regrettable action of my past, the aforementioned subject, and a person from my present. All three have been a part of my life at some point, but not at the same time.

So, to have all three thrown together in a bizarre nightmare mix... very ESOTSM.