Someday

Overall, I guess you could say that these few days at work have been busy. But I am still not sure as to whether they have been significant. As I've always been saying, my lack of the skills and knowledge (or rather, experience) that makes a planner effective limits the contributions I can make to the office. And I've said before that interns are the grease of the bureaucratic machinery, easing things along by helping wherever we can, doing whatever we can.

And certainly, the task of grease isn't really glamorous. I don't expect to be making decisions about land zoning and densities. However, it doesn't alleviate the frustration at not being able to contribute materially to the work I see around me. I come from the sixteen weeks at CHS, where I could practically fabricate half a year's syllabus from scratch, and from the long wait in the Army, where, though faced with a bureaucracy that is as formidable as they come, I still felt I could change things in real ways that would affect real lives. Compared to all that, the work that I do now is nothing. Negligible. And I'm not even talking about being challenged. I'm talking about being useful. As it is, sometimes I feel like I'm being run around in circles for want of better things to do.

But of course, I appreciate that it's unreasonable to expect anything more at this stage. And patience and, well, humility are what I need. Still, I want to be doing something useful. To be actively engaged again. To feel like I'm in the thick of things.

*

To some extent, this has also fed, I think, a certain growing sense of misgiving on my part over the impending signing of the deed for the scholarship. Over the last few days, I've discussed this at length, and it seems clear to me that there are two issues in question here. The first: questions over the job that I have every intention to sign up for, at this moment. The public face of URA, as seen in the Masterplan Exhibit and the frequent news releases, makes it seem quite glamorous and high-flying, but the nature of the work that planners actually do is really mundane. It involves a lot of legwork and detail, and though it is intriguing to be challenged to consider a question of land use from every conceivable perspective (the land-owner, the prospective buyer, and random passers-by, to name a few), it does get tedious after a point. I mean, from what I can see, it involves a lot of paper-pushing, just to double-check other agencies to ensure that they've done their job and thought of all that they're supposed to be thinking of.

But like I said before, I don't have any serious problems with the job. Realistically speaking, I'd be hard pressed to find any position that lets me shape the urban landscape so deeply. And such tedium is by no means an exclusive feature of URA. And if it comes down to whether I want to do the job I am offered now, I still have to say that yes, for the most part, I am still able to look forward to it.

The second point, though, is more tricky: the issue of giving up future life options for present access to considerable funding for something that I want to do. I have to reiterate, at this point, I still think that we both meet each other's interests nicely; to put it in a crude, mercenary way, I need the money to take up the place I want in New York, and URA needs the skills that I will learn there. So it's not like I'm making a Faustian bargain. What irks me the most is not what I will be doing in four years' time. It is the notion that I am obligating myself to that future, now. It is the thought that, four years from now, when my contemporaries are contemplating possible careers and debating about the way forward, I will only have to consider the path that I chose for myself four years ago. Simply put, it irks me that current opportunities (as will become available in August) must come at the cost of future opportunities (which may hold untold twists, some of which are bound to be beneficial beyond my wildest expectations).

I am not selling my soul; but what I am selling is my time and my choices. Call it opportunity cost if you like. But the idea is to sell it as dearly as possible, like a good, rational economic being. I think I've gotten a good deal so far, but it is also clear that URA's terms are not as student-friendly as some other scholarships'. And that's not even considering the possibilities offered by the private sector. There has been some concern, over the last few days, that I am being hoodwinked in some way, shortchanged, becoming a victim of a fast one. It is suspicion I am experiencing, a subtle but pervasive suspicion. It is deeply, deeply disturbing.

But what Joel said last night, and what my mother said tonight, sticks with me; that I shouldn't compare with what others have gotten. If I think it is worthwhile, if I feel that I want this, then that should be sufficient motivation to stick to my decision. The decision definitely calls for commitment. There will be no space to renege. But there will still be space for regret, brought on by second-guessing and second thoughts. And that, I think, is the root of the problem: a fear of regret.

However, like most problems, it seems clear to me that this is a matter of perspective. If you don't want to worry about how green other people's grass is, then don't look at their grass. You make a salve out of contentment with your own status quo, and apply it to any bitterness or regret you may encounter in the course of your life. And, barring the most major of disasters and scandals, I don't think I will be compelled to seriously regret my decision. I should not be worrying about some possibility that seems so remote.

But the truth is, I still do. I guess it is inevitable. We must all stare into the abyss sometime, we who are committing so much at such a young age.

I will, however, hold out the hope that some things will not change, and that these things can form those all-important islands of familiarity that can anchor me in even the most troubled of times. Things like hanging out with great friends over a tall, frosty beer, at ease and chatting into the night. Or things like plates of wanton noodles, freshly tossed and fragrant, with a light broth on the side. I gloss over things like these in one sentence, but let me make this clear; the brevity of their expression is not because I have nothing to say, but because I cannot find a way to say what I have, that would do justice to what these mean to me.

Capturing the Mood

Just a quick note before I turn in tonight.

At work, things are really starting to get interesting. While I still enjoy bringing people around the Masterplan exhibit (and there really are more visitors than I had initially expected - and if you haven't come down to see it yourself, do yourself that favour!), there are only so many times you can reread a panel before familiarity breeds impatience. And the theme songs of the various videos are starting to grate on the nerves.

And so, it is with the considerable relief that greets any change in routine that I approach the next few tasks: more research (which I think may actually have some strategic implications, and thus cannot be divulged here) and some actual planning cases. Of course, I am quite far away from having any authority to make any real decisions, and the purpose of this involvement is really just for me to read the case material so as to better observe how the actual planners make the actual decisions. But it is still refreshing and intriguing to get a glimpse of my mentor's real work.

It immediately strikes you, the need for balance in any decision. As a planner, you need to take a wider view, to try to understand as many perspectives on the decision as possible; the ideal is to take all stakeholders' concerns and opinions into account. This, of course, is rather difficult for an individual planner to achieve, but given the constraints, I do think the planners manage quite a good job. They think about issues and details that would not even have occurred to me, showing what experience can do to your perspective in this business. And they do put in a lot of effort to consider every conceivable factor, in an effort to attain that most difficult of balances, which lies between human interest and adherance to established rules.

*

Also met up with YS for dinner tonight at Bugis. It turns out my old flightmate is on the brink of yet another trip, this time on a mission to Vietnam to spread awareness in rural areas regarding environmental issues. Unfortunately her flight time clashes with work, but all the same, I send my hope this trip will be more fulfilling and enriching than she expects.

It has been a long time, and it was good to be able to sit and talk once again. We chatted a lot about life in the US, because she is studying there this year on exchange from ANU. Hearing anecdotes and dispatches from the US was, of course, tantalising; and to hear the immediacy in the first-hand accounts that she related really brought into focus my own impending departure to New York. We also chatted at length about work-related concerns; a lot of philosophical and principle discussions. After all, it's likely that in the course of our work we'll actually encounter each other again through our respective agencies. And for her, the prospect of serving her bond is much more immediate, and to get a glimpse of what it is like to stand at that juncture was also helpful.

But of course, quite apart from what we talked about, it was once again refreshing to recapture the way that we talked. Electing to ride a bus home instead of joining the jostle in the trains, the slow progress of the vehicle reflected the luxurious and unhurried nature of our talking. There was no rush, no pressure, and, I feel, nothing that was off-limits. It was as direct a meeting of minds as I could ask for. Here is one of the very few relationships whose default state is one of connection.

It may seem that all me and my friends do is talk all the time. And I have to say that that is, by and large, true. And why shouldn't it be? I find that in talking, I am able to approach them the closest. Physical presence, of course, has something to do with it; nothing beats a face-to-face conversation. And a certain expressiveness (not necessarily eloquence, mind you) is necessary. But face-to-face conversation, I find, is the most effective mode of communication because it de-emphasises the mode of communication, and rightly focuses attention on what is being said. You listen properly when you can look someone in the eye, and the connection goes beyond a fixation of being in the same place and using nice words with each other, to capitalise on the ideas and the meanings that are being transmitted between the two parties.

Exhibition

I had been intending to write a word about the Draft Masterplan exhibit for some time now, but up till now, I've been repeatedly foiled by two factors: the information embargo that was in place before it opened officially last Friday, and surprises that have popped up nearly every day since last Friday. So, in expectation of some new surprise coming up tomorrow, I thought it wise to take this chance to do a short spiel on the exhibit.

This time round, besides the usual information on Marina Bay and the five regional plans (North, North-east, East, Central and West), there is a sizable section on the newly unveiled Leisure Plan, and the new development hotspots in Jurong, Paya Lebar and Kallang. I was primarily involved in the Leisure Plan, specifically in the panels concerning the Lim Chu Kang area, and even more specifically in the QC and spellchecking of the copy. But towards the actual opening day, I was more engaged in the massive effort to get the islandwide model ready. The pre-exhibit build-up represents one of the few periods during which people are allowed to step onto the precious model, and so we had planners, technical officers, interns, architects, modelmakers and all manner of random help clambering, Godzilla-like, over the miniature Singapore, tiptoeing gingerly between housing estates, parks and hills.

So the sum total of my material contribution to the exhibit amounts to several phrases and captions on the Lim Chu Kang panels, and several hundred individual pins, figurines and signs planted painstakingly on the islandwide model, and several hundred more pins placed meticulously on a large wall-mounted map, tracing out the route of the new coast-hugging route. But these were done intricately and with real effort, and it is gratifying to see visitors appreciating the work that went into all these materials.

The models are the real crowd-pleasers among all the exhibits, though. Of course, there is the large islandwide model, on which you can see every building in Singapore (unless it's military or otherwise classified). Then there is the Paya Lebar model, and the Jurong Lake one (above), which is placed inside a fountain with water plants scattered around the border (which I thought was a really nice touch).

But far and away the most awesome model is the Marina Bay one, on which is displayed the current and future developments in the extended financial district. The level of detail on the buildings is breathtaking; the intricacy of the model itself is enough to draw one in. It is practically hypnotic. And, quite beyond the amazing attention to detail, the proposed architecture of the buildings are also spectacular. Here, in condensed form, the audacity of the architects' and planners' vision is reproduced. And to many people, myself included, it is mesmerising because it is not only fantastic; it is also realisable.

When I'm at the exhibit on guide duty, however, I spend my time around the Leisure Plan or the islandwide model instead, so I don't get to see much of the Marina Bay miniature. But it is also heartening to see visitors poring over the panels, and especially over the islandwide model. Especially kids: they are positively entranced by the tiny and fragile buildings that represent what looks so solid and immovable in real life. And everyone gets a kick from locating their home or workplace precisely on the model; and then proceeding to point it out to companions by bringing their fingers perilously close to the model itself. Heh, I guess they also get a kick out of the thrill of the risk of causing catastrophic damage to something so intricate.

I find that I do enjoy guiding visitors around the exhibit. It reminds me of those long walks through the city liberally peppered with anecdotes that I used to take with visiting exchange students. Revealing factoids and trivia still has an allure for me, although the guiding is now on a smaller scale (the attractions being conveniently shrunken down to a scale which can be accommodated in a single eyespan). And it also surprises me how many of the visitors actually know what they're talking about. I guess only people with at least a rudimentary understanding of city planning will bother making the trip all the way to the URA Centre to see the exhibit, and then subsequently bother to engage the staff in conversation. But these people impressed me with their discernment. They aren't only concerned with whether there will be new amenities or highways near their homes; they seem genuinely interested in the form that their city will take in the future. And it is heartening, too. Just as it is delightful to see visitors expressing their appreciation over the models, it is also delightful to see them appreciating what URA is trying to do in the real city, on a citywide basis.

*

More and more of my people are making surprise returns to Singapore. Heh, a part of me does feel negligent in not clarifying beforehand when they would make island-fall. But that part is tiny when compared with the rest of me, who is just glad to have them back.

Welcome home, old friends. And so, this is the start of summer.

Singapore Film

When I turned on the news this morning at breakfast, I got a rather nice surprise. I was right in time for the CNN live telecast of the Phoenix Mars lander's final approach. The final approach: not some animated prediction of what was to happen, or a post-event replay. I was watching the live pictures when Mission Control at the Jet Propulsion Labs burst out in celebration, when the data on the screen flashed, in solemn triumph, the confirmation that the probe had arrived safely on the Red Planet. It was gripping, I have to say; it wasn't showy in the way that Mission Control is portrayed in such sterling productions as Apollo 13. But it was touching because it was genuine. Authenticity is to be valued wherever it can be found, unfettered and unself-conscious.

Space exploration has a special place in my heart, and in the psyche of people in general, not so much because of what can be discovered out in the vastness of the void, but what it reveals about our inner motivations and potential. This is what we can do if we all put our minds to it. The marvel is not the fact of the probe on Mars, but that people invested so much time and effort into such a risky venture in the first place. The audacity of it is exhilarating. Stanislaw Lem was right: space exploration is really about looking inward, about exploring ourselves, rather than the heavens.

*

The day at the office was rather quiet. Had another amusing lunch filled with oblique hints and guarded looks regarding whether or not I should sign the bond. But the process is finally ready to start. Gathering the documents to fax over to Columbia to obtain the initial document that would get me a visa interview at the American Embassy. Also spent an inordinate amount of time reading the instructions for applying for an American student visa. The process is daunting not because of the likelihood of failure, but because of the sheer volume of administrative paraphenalia that is involved. There are so many rules, caveats and conditions that you feel claustrophobic reading the instructions; I daresay it may be simpler to be holy than to apply properly for an American visa!

I also realise that it is easy for me to get lost in the details. I was really feeling rather buzzed and dismayed when confronted with the stacks of instructions, but all it took was to go out to lunch to reveal that the issues facing me are actually by no means insurmountable. They are tedious, yes; but they are also trivial. As usual, problems can be simplified by simply changing your perspective. And I am aware of the importance of maintaining a proper sense of perspective. It is just that sometimes it's hard to notice that you've lost your perspective.

*

This evening, went out with some of my old classmates to watch the finalists for the short film competition in the recently concluded Singapore International Film Fest. Originally, I had my doubts about this enterprise, having the impression that Singapore cinema was like Singapore television, or worse, as gimmicky as the Uniquely Singapore campaign. Initial impressions were not promising; the screening took place in Old School, which seems to be an art institute of some sort in a converted and decommissioned school. It smelled like pretentiousness to me.

But I am delighted to report what a pleasant surprise it was. The films were actually worth watching. Sure, the cinematography could have been more refined, the scripts tighter, the direction more self-effacing than self-conscious. But the ideas that were present, though not free from quirkiness and absurdity, were actually quite solid. There were some great moments: the sad comedy of a late father memorialised in the form of an apron-clad skeleton, the halting eloquence of the mother eulogising her love for her dogs that was deeper than that for her family, the flash of shame and accusation that crossed a father's face in reaction to the instinctive suspicion he has towards his delinquent son.

It seems that Singaporean film-makers have really matured past the stage of I Not Stupid, and though I can't really say because I haven't watched the Singapore films of the '50s and '60s, I have the impression that we're on the way to recapturing the acclaim of those days, if not the glamour and prestige of that long-ago industry. These film-makers handled things like death, love and longing with considerable adeptness; although when it came to sex, they couldn't juggle that hot potato effectively. The sex scenes in the various shorts struck me as irredeemably self-conscious, and even hysterical, as if the directors were so concerned with seeming to have good taste that they sacrificed their meaning to it. These were highly stylised scenes; theatrical, and thus unnatural. As such, sex becomes an obstacle rather than a device to aid understanding of the work's themes (but it also occurs to me that the audience, myself included, may also be guilty of reacting overly hysterically to such scenes, and so are as guilty of distorting the significance of these scenes as the directors).

But all the same, it is heartwarming to see how much they can achieve with so little. Singapore cinema has had to return from the dead, more or less, and with limited financial resources and expertise. And with handheld cameras and digital cinematography, with laptops for production studios and friends and acquaintances for actors, they have nonetheless found a way to be sensitive and evocative with their themes. In fact, the rawness and unpolished quality of the productions, and the conspicuous self-consciousness of the direction, also become endearing, in that they are evidence of the passion and effort that went into the pieces. Passion and effort that were so intense that they leaked out from the seams in the work. It is clear to me that, despite everything, they dared to try, and this daring, this audacity, is compelling.

Special mention to one particular scene in the short, Keluar Baris. It's a film about this kid who comes back from studying abroad in Spain, because he has to enlist in two days' time. There were quite a few good moments, like his hanging out with his old friend at the condemned Kallang Stadium, and the friend shouting "Keluar Baris" at him from across the stadium, NDP-style. Or his scrolling through his pictures from Barcelona on his laptop. Or how he seems torn between looking out at the skyline outside the bus, and staring at the spectres of the two recruits sitting in front of him. But the most powerful moment, I think, was when he is in the car being driven to the SAF Ferry Terminal, and how he resolutely looks out to sea and away from the barbed wire fence of the airport. And how he gazes up at the planes taking off across the ocean. It was a powerful moment for me. I was telling the others that this film would have been more effective if I had watched it before enlisting myself; but now, after having actually gone through the experience of enlisting myself, I find it impossible to recapture that quality of innocence and terror at an impending great unknown. But I do recall the yearning of those evenings spent at the corridor outside the bunks, sketchbook in hand and eyes turned upwards towards a plane arcing high overhead...

*

And, just now, received an exuberant call from an old classmate confirming what we had suspected all along; that he had gotten the university place that he has been hoping for. It is a great piece of news. He certainly deserves this break. And now, he can begin to move forward again. I still remember that evening, when I was checking my own results from the American universities; how the warm glow of promise and potential suffused my heart as I read those acceptance letters, how the prospect of the future was suddenly blasted wide open to include all manner of unimaginable wonders. This is a heady feeling indeed. And I am happy that yet another of our number has had the occasion to experience it.

Playing With Words

Writing that story about the Sichuan earthquake has turned out to be harder than I expected. It's extremely difficult to write about something that you actually have no idea about, and when writing about the kind of anguish and loss that are a reality to the people of Sichuan today, it is hard to avoid sounding presumptious. I kept finding myself at a loss for the right words, the words that would properly express my desire to sympathise as opposed with my inability to comprehend, while at the same time avoiding any hint of showiness and self-consciousness. It is that moment of sincere sympathy that I want to capture, that moment that exists before the subsequent psychoanalysing of my own motives. But at every attempt, I feel I am being fraudulent, as Mr. Purvis would have said.

Goes to show that for such things to be expressed, time is of the essence. Capturing the feeling while it's fresh reduces the impact of self-consciousness. That's why I travel with a sketchbook and pencil. That's why I passed my nights in the Army with the same sketchbook and pencil. Of course, subsequent editing is also necessary, but for that, you have the luxury of time. The actual capturing of the content of your writing, however, is far more time-sensitive.

Mmm that being said, I've also had the pleasure of reading some rather good writing lately. Have started on a real novel this week, after completing Peer Gynt all the way back in April. Kazuo Ishiguro's The Remains of the Day had originally been recommended by Mr. Purvis, and I picked up this particular handsome hard cover copy in a bookshop in Sydney. Have made rather good progress through the book, on the train journeys to and from work. And so far, it has been a rather engaging read. The use of language is remarkable, in that Ishiguro is able to constantly maintain a sort of tension between what is expressed and what is left unsaid. His protagonist goes out of his way to be precise in the way he expresses himself, and yet, what he expresses is rather circular, in that he rambles from one idea to another seemingly at random. You get the impression that he is avoiding something, some idea that is on the brink of occurring to him, but which he is not ready to acknowledge. And so, you have the feeling that there is no doubt to the meaning of what he is saying, but you also have the sneaking suspicion that what really matters is the meaning of what he is not saying.

I guess I should also mention that the story is about a butler that is taking a very rare holiday to visit an old colleague. Here, of course, you have the idea of a professional whose profession precisely demands that he efface himself, to be of unobtrusive but omnipresent service to someone else. His job requires him to be highly sensitive and responsive to the requirements of his employer, but it also demands that he remains perpetually in the employer's shadow. And there is no doubt that this protagonist is skilful and intelligent; which makes the feeling of waste all the more prevalent. You cannot totally evade the feeling that he has wasted his life and effort away serving someone else; indeed, the butler frequently tries to affirm the worth of his efforts, in repeatedly asserting that his faithful service over the years has actually contributed somewhat to the success of the humanitarian efforts of his employer. But also, you see very clearly the very narrow perspective and scope of experience he has; he tries to make a lot of out his life, but his concerns and reasonings seem to me to be distinctly juvenile, like the issues and debates that we used to have in secondary school and JC about self-responsibility, respect and ambition. It is tragic in that way, that out of his own efforts and loyalty, he has stunted his own experiential growth. And it takes this rare road trip, away from the familiar surroundings of his workplace that breeds complacency in him, to get him thinking and second-guessing himself and his own life's work.

Beyond the world of fiction, however, it was also a nice surprise to come across some high-quality writing in the blogs that fill my online routine. On a very basic level, at least people bother to write in proper grammar; but beyond that, some really good ideas have come up in other people's blogs. I won't subject blog entries to literary criticism, though that idea does have a certain attractive eccentricity to it. But it is refreshing to read intelligent and discerning writing, and to wonder what the next blog may hold in store.

And let me also say that I do read my students' blogs, even though I won't leave comments, because it'd probably disconcert their current readers to know that a teacher, even if only a relief teacher, is reading about their exploits. It does strike me, however, how similar some of their thoughts are to my own, six or seven years ago. It does seem that despite the experiential gap between people, growing up does actually take the form of a pattern that is recognisable to older observers. It does go some way to undermine the distinctly teenage notion that one's problems and experiences are unique; it does undermine the overarching theme of teenage life: individuality. But also, it is clear that some of them are having these thoughts at an accelerated rate. I have to say that they are exposed to more things that I was at their age, and consequently they are maturing faster in their thinking and social side. But this is nevertheless not the same as saying that they will grow up faster, because simultaneously, the increasing complexity of the real world means that the figurative bar that divides grown-ups from growing-ups is also moving higher.

Anyway, it will be interesting to see what they will write as time goes by. Discernment, perceptiveness, sensitivity, sympathy; all these and more are enhanced by that potent catalyst, experience. And under this alchemical process, definitely top-notch thought will arise from the fertile intellects of these young people.

Tying Off

Today has yielded a lot of photographs. Somehow, circumstances just arranged themselves into compelling patterns that simply demanded to be recorded. Some pictures, then, to go along with the previous post:

One last shot of the sunrise over the verdant skyline from the hill on which the school stands. I probably won't be coming across vistas like this very often anymore.

The school tower. As you must have noticed by now, I have a penchant to photograph towers. There is something inherently noble in the audacity to build upwards. From the cathedral spires and pagodas of previous ages, to the sleek skyscrapers sprouting downtown today, looking up at tall buildings has been an enduring pastime for me. And now that I work in the CBD, I do spend a lot of time staring upwards like a fool.

One last view of the cubicle I happily found myself borrowing. This was right in the midst of the final cleanup. Rest assured that I left the place in better shape than this. And it really does strike me: how easily I can efface any evidence of my previous presence from this place. Such an effacement is as it should be; but it is telling, how little of a physical impact you leave behind, even after months of working in one place. Material traces are perishable; one hopes that immaterial traces are more indelible.

And finally, one last look on my way out. So this definitively marks the end of my sixteen-week teaching stint. I brought with me as many artifacts as I could; incidental things that no one will miss, that have been charged with the responsibility of embodying my memories. When so much is lost, even the smallest and faintest remaining traces become significant, and are forced to bear the full load of a sentimentality that sprang from a much wider system of physical and mental structures.

*

Unfortunately, I could not find an opportunity to get a photograph of my Sec 3 class. Perhaps a kind soul would indulge me and snap a picture next term? Anyway, since there have been no violent objections to the posting of their pictures online, I shall break from my previous policy of posting no people's photos in this journal. Just this once. And so, the first identifiable faces to appear in this journal:

These are the people whom I have had the privilege to teach.

Loose Ends

Back in school now, waiting for the administrative office to open so that I can complete the process of leaving, I find myself in a rather strange position. The purpose of the return today was to clean up the remaining loose ends, including the vacating of the cubicle and the tying up of the last administrative and financial matters that still linger on and require my presence. But as it happened, my social ties to this place were neatly tied up at the end of Week 8. I said my farewells and ran through the whole routine. So, coming back today feels odd, because meeting the people I had said farewell to earlier feels self-indulgent.

It's not that meeting my kids and my colleagues again is undesirable; it's just that I had previously tied off the prospect of us meeting again under the professional context. I would, of course, like to maintain ties with them, but no longer as a relief teacher. So, coming back in this capacity, even if it is to tie off the loose ends that my responsibilities have compelled me to leave here, feels to me as if I am basking in the dying glow of my last days teaching here. Clinging to straws. It's an uncomfortable feeling that I can't shake off.

Partly, I think, it is also the sense that coming back to linger here is a tacit acknowledgement of the notion that my time here was transient, and that my impact here is already fading away. I would like to think this is not the case, but coming back, now, it feels like I'm trying to guard my work here, trying to assess the loss and compel others to sustain my work in my stead. How can I put it - coming back here at this time is like an acknowledgement of something that I don't think is the case, something that I feel isn't the case.

Packing up in the cubicle, it is remarkable to me how little impact sixteen weeks of work has actually left here in terms of physical changes. Of course, the sense that I am only borrowing this cubicle temporarily kept me from making more permanent modifications, but within an hour, everything was tidied up. My lesson materials only amounted to a compilation in two ring files (most of which was photocopied from the school's resource files anyway and thus was not original), and the waste and left-over paper amounted to another ring-file's worth. With rustling and the faint scent of old paper floating all around, I was nevertheless struck by how little there is to clear. Now, all the shelves have been straightened out, and inventories of their contents are neatly tagged on them, in the same way that we prepared our posts for handover at the end of Army. The waste paper made a satisfying thump in the recycling bin. And all that's left now is to wait. And then, to go, for my time is now required elsewhere.

So, in a few hours more I'll return to URA to continue the working day there. We're opening a major exhibition on the Draft Masterplan today, though I'll actually miss the ribbon-cutting. Have spent the previous week preparing the materials for this exhibit, though my material contributions remain necessarily restricted, coming in as I did at the end of a two-year process. Some exhibit panels spell-checked, a feedback form vetted, and some miniature cutout figures and labels created. I did spend a considerable amount of time climbing all over the great islandwide model, tracing and marking out routes and features. Another big project was the tracing out of the 150km shore-hugging park connector route (I don't like the current designation of "Round-Island Route", because the island isn't round, and it's hard to fit "around" into that title) on the big leisure plan. But like I said, most of the contribution was only cosmetic.

Nonetheless, it is an awesome exhibition, with sleek presentation panels, plasma screens galore and innovative installations. The most impressive features are the scale models. I had the privilege to work in the model studio (unfortunately, all our models are wooden or plastic) for some time, and saw the intricate buildings and features emerging from amidst clouds of sawdust and fine perspex particles. The most amazing model, though, was one that I had no part in, unfortunately; if you had time only to see one thing at the exhibit, then examine the Marina Bay model. I could happily spend hours staring at it from every angle.

Anyway, the exhibit is open for a month from today, and if you have time, I invite you to visit. I won't be manning the exhibit much, considering that I hardly have enough knowledge to answer any public queries. But it is deeply educational, and as a resident and stakeholder of this city, it is good to familiarise yourself with the direction in which it is going, if not to help to shape that direction, then at least to prepare yourself for it.

*

Also, to my surprise, YS is back from Virginia! Out of the blue, while I was leaning over the model of Sungei Buloh yesterday, a message came in from her on my phone. Will be meeting her for lunch. This is a novel situation; normally I would be very careful to sort out the dates of my people's return home. It is a pleasant surprise indeed; and I wonder what stories she will bring back this time?

First Return

The plaza above Tanjong Pagar Station at sunset, looking towards Capital Tower, DBS Tower One and the CPF Buliding. See - Sydney again. Incidentally, I'm only using a camera phone. 3.2 megapixels. But the pictures that come out are quite good because, firstly, it's a CyberShot phone, and secondly, I edit the pictures with the Gimp. There is no magic here - just technique.

Anyway, was going to write about how the weekend was blessedly aimless. This was supposed to be a post about how long it has been since I last experienced such a total control of my own time, in which I could do anything I liked, with few or no reprecussions for my subsequent days. I was intending to describe how I was able to watch a lot of TV, including two documentaries on astronomy and astrophysics, which were my first loves, and how I even took the time to watch the extended version of HP5 (it made a lot more sense than the one I saw in theatres, but of course, it still can't compare to the experience of actually reading the book. 5 still stands as my favourite HP instalment; it's good fun). The post would have ended with a reflection on how nice it was to return to a sort of child-state, in which actions had no reactions, and no harm could come to anyone around you.

But then, two things happened today. The first was that I saw a really long clip on the Sichuan earthquake on CNN in the morning. Somehow, the network had managed to get footage shot during the earthquake, not by an amateur, but by a television crew who happened to be in the area. It was harrowing, and painfully graphic. And to see an entire nation bowed for three minutes of mourning, with sirens and horns wailing and wailing - there are few images as powerful as that.

I had been aware that the earthquake had happened. Last week, during the RJGE reunion, one of my friends had said that her own brother had been in China when that quake struck, but had slept through it. I replied that his having slept through it was a good thing. But though that second-hand connection to a peripheral quake victim via my friend was more direct than the connection afforded by the TV screen, it was the images on TV that really drove home the magnitude of the disaster. As I had said to my kids in school before, news makes you sympathise with things that have nothing to do with you, sometimes fallaciously, so you end up supporting a faction in the Palestinian issue, for example, without understanding the dynamics behind it fully. But now and again, the news puts out images that use that emotive power sensitively, like in that piece on the earthquake. The victims of such a tragedy should receive our sympathy. We should feel something when we see those dust-covered and broken bodies. It would be inhuman to dismiss them offhand.

And so, the Sichuan earthquake has been on my mind since morning. I had a strong urge to write something on the earthquake, but that idea quickly died because it was rightly identified as being too presumptious, like me trying to write about starving to death. Then I wanted to write a poem on the experience of watching that clip, and it isn't often at all that I want to write a poem. But that died quickly too, since I realised that my poetry abilities were too raw and insufficient to portray the meanings I wanted to portray. So, another short story will probably come out of this. But it will, of course, take time.

The second thing was that the first reunion of this summer took place over dinner today. The first of my people overseas have started to return, and managed to hook up with one of them tonight. Over Turkish fare, we let our conversations wander across recent experience, across the work we find ourselves doing now, what we were doing just before, and what our present work portends for our future careers. We also talked about literature: books, plays, films, the lot, one proceeding the other in free association. It's not that I don't often get the chance to talk literature; definitely, Joel, JY, Conan and Ihui are more than up to that task. But these conversations at reunions, tempered by months of distance, have a certain urgency and intensity that is hard to replicate in any other situation.

Last year, the meetings with my people returning from overseas were also largely similar: long, slow, intense conversations spanning any and all subjects that we can think of. Partly it's because we hadn't had the chance to talk face to face for a long while; and partly, it's also because of the awareness that we were also talking to make up for the coming absence. We were talking as if talking were a form of deposit into the account of our friendship, to tide us through the subsequent and iminent months of want.

Seeing my people again is, to me, of utmost importance. There are many relationships here that I want to try my best to maintain. Even if the auxiliary and superficial material that gave our relationships their texture were to be lost, the core connection must be maintained; the extra baggage originates from the core, and can be reconstructed in new, interesting forms. But once the core is lost, it is very hard to recapture the circumstances that can give birth to it again, because memory gets in the way.

But talking to them, simply talking like that again, is delightful in and of itself. It is an unfettering of experiences; not only do they tell me about life elsewhere and thus afford me something of a glimpse into the future after August, but I increasingly find that I also have things to contribute to their experience. Two years ago, on the verge of their departures, I had thought that I would be passing through a period of experiential drought, for what could I experience here, left behind as I was, that could rival the new and wonderful things that awaited them in the wider world? But it has since turned out that, for one, the wider world resembles Singapore more than I imagined (thankfully, as well as disturbingly), and also that Singapore, being part of the wider world, necessarily imbibes and provides some of the wider world's charms and allure. So the disparity between our experiences becomes an asset to exploit rather than a mark of inferiority on my part. My experience was different, but not necessarily worse, than theirs. And I find myself happily a party to this celebration of differences, based on a common link, rather than just being a listener thirsting for any respite, however temporary, from this dearth of experiences.

The long wait ended with the Army experience. These eight months of 2008 then constitute a sort of short wait. I am still waiting to begin, but the wait is no longer fearsome or a source of despair.

You Have to Listen to This

David Mamet's The Shawl was broadcast last week on BBC World Service as part of the World Drama series. This dramatisation was recorded by LA Theatre Works. I really, really encourage you to listen to it. Not only if you happen to have some free time. If you can carve out one hour even despite a busy schedule, this is something that you will find worthwhile to spend that hour on.

Originally, I had heard it on the bus, travelling from town to Parkway for a family dinner. Back then, there had only been time to listen to the first twenty minutes of the play, but just before I reached the restaurant, I seriously considered just wandering around outside, or finding somewhere to just sit down, so that I could finish listening to it. It was captivating; it was powerful enough to have my spine tingling. But there was no time. And luckily, I was able to find it online at the BBC website tonight, and listened to it in entirety.

And it was spectacular. The play is able to draw you in against your will, hijacking your skepticism and turning it against your own inexorable anticipation and curiosity, to create a very complex tension. It's finding yourself needing to know something that you definitely do not want to know. And when the ending arrives, you feel the twist is all the more ingenious precisely because you can see it coming.

It did something for me that I haven't felt in a long, long time: awakening a delight in the use of language and observing the interaction between the ideas that it awakens. This is drama of the highest order, not only using language beautifully, but also using language to deftly handle amazingly complex ideas. And being able to only hear it, rather than to watch it live, makes each word all the more sensorily significant. I can't really describe it: I can only say that the words become tactile. It's a fascinating effect, how the pacing, tone, volume, and supplementary sound effects can sketch out in one's mind such a detailed and surprising landscape. It is really breathtaking.

Anyway, the play is about, apparently, one of Mamet's main fascinations. It deals with the nature of magic and the mystical, toying with the idea that what seems like magic is really just an elaborate trick, while deftly contrasting this with the curiosity and desire to believe in mystical forces that most people feel, almost involuntarily. The play leaves one dumbfounded at the seeming clairvoyance of the psychic, then causes one to marvel at the ingenuity of his techniques, and at the end, still manages to maintain just that little bit of credulity in one to allow the idea that he really is, somehow, supernaturally gifted. At the end of the play, despite the evidence of trickery, we still find in ourselves enough room to entertain the prospect that he is, in fact, psychic; to seriously consider the notion that his assertion that he is nothing more than a conman is the real con. Therein lies the ingenuity of the play; it highlights our inalienable desire to believe in something supernatural, despite our own wariness and skepticism. It shows how being duped answers a part of our desires, and how we are more interested, at the end of the day, in the satisfaction of that desire than how exactly that desire is satisfied.

Some nuggets that merit further consideration: firstly, John the clairvoyant mentions that a seance is about "truth, not belief". He challenges his client to put his powers to the test, and presents her what looks like incontrovertible evidence. On a meta-level, he presents the audience evidence of his trickery technique. But, just like the client, the audience finds itself in the uncomfortable position of having to settle for belief, rather than truth, for what looks like proof may really just be another sleight of hand. And that raises an interesting point: that what we take for granted as true may actually just be a belief, and at the end of the day, what we perceive as reality is really just built on a collective consent to believe some things over others. Fact and opinion are thus indistinguishable.

Secondly, John says that the job of the psychic is not to deliver truth that is unavailable to the senses (either from beyond the grave or in the depths of another's mind), but to create an environment in which the client's own mind will make the connections that it needs to find a solution to his problem. He uses an interesting phrase: the mind is "freed by magic". I don't think he means that he says a spell over the mind and thus liberates it from its sensory limits; rather, the idea that magic does exist and can give one extrasensory powers legitimises mental connections that, in other settings, would only seem ludicrous or occult. The idea of magic, then, is a lens through which one can perceive the world differently, and from there, one is permitted to make connnections that one would not otherwise perceive or consider as realistic. Magic's power then lies in it being a viewpoint rather than a technique, a perspective rather than a procedure.

Listen to the play: then tell me what you think. Also, if you have time to spare after that, do consider listening to the other plays as well. The BBC will run a play every week; and if you can't catch it live on 88.9FM, then listen to the podcast. Given present circumstances, I daresay there really are very few more rewarding ways to spend an hour of your weekend!

This Place

Been doing a bit of research over the last week regarding how planners elsewhere provision parks and community facilities for their populations. It's a type of benchmarking, and as a society, Singapore does a lot of that kind of stuff, to make sure that we're measuring up against our competitors. This is a way to continually adjust our standards to ensure that they remain relevant to the global situation. But, as many have pointed out before, this has given rise to some oddities, not the least of which is that Singapore's skyline starts to look like other places.

The new stretch of the CBD, the seed of the new and much-vaunted Marina Bay financial district, looks like Hong Kong, and I found that a photo I took on impulse of a familiar landmark right outside URA's offices reminded me strongly of Sydney.

Of course, it's not really fair to say that Singapore has plagiarised other cities' skylines. I guess there could even be a case arguing that actually, Hong Kong and Sydney reminds one of Singapore, or that people spontaneously making the connection between these cities is precisely the kind of name recognition that we've been trying to achieve with our nation-branding. It could also be a symptom of architects' whims, as they build new buildings in the vein of whatever style happens to be in vogue at the moment. The thing is that in Singapore, most buildings are new, and so these transborder architectural echoes sound much louder in our city. This will definitely pass with time: history brings a distinct character with it. But in the meantime, the softer schizophrenia of the Singaporean consciousness is expressed in its physical landscape as well.

So much of this place is under construction, until there is a real risk, I think, that we start to think that we can construct anything. In the offices, listening in on interminable meetings, discussions and presentations, I notice how easy it is for planners to slip into the imperative form. Plans are not guidelines; they are diktat. And while zoning and land-use rules may need to be declared and enforced from the top (here, bring in the usual land-scarcity argument - honestly, Singapore does have a bit of a complex over its lack of land), this language leaks into other areas as well, and we end up advocating the planning of some rather odd things, like how and where people can have fun. The notion that you can plan this is, needless to say, ludicrous. And I don't honestly think that URA consciously wants to programme the Singaporean software to an extent that smacks of social engineering. But the language they use does skew their motivations towards that. And no matter what we in the organisation might think, at the end of the day city-building is a people thing, and thus it's what the people think that counts.

*

Watched this year's HCELDDFS production, How the Other Half Loves, on Friday, on the invitation of an old colleague from CHS. It was a very high-energy play; and I must say, JY's brother was really good as a slick, chauvinist pig (complete with the last word emblazoned in lipstick across his naked torso - ah, a missed Facebook photo, that). But I didn't really enjoy it much. Firstly, there was the rather confusing overlap of two storylines, and it took me a while to figure out that the one set on the stage was supposed to represent two different apartments, and that's why the two families just talk past the other without acknowledging the other's presence. That could have been a clever theatrical device - but unfortunately I didn't find it very meaningful. It was rather annoyingly confusing and quirky, but didn't really serve an artistic purpose.

The second thing was that I watched last year's play. And the previous one. And the one before that, in a series of faithful yearly attendances back to J1. And every year, HCELDDFS puts on a slapstick comedy. The most enjoyable one was the first time I watched a HCELDDFS production. I was really impressed by the energy and the sharpness of the dialogue. But then, year after year, you realise that in effect, HCELDDFS is basically performing the same play, just that each year it's written by a different person. It's like watching Channel 8 drama serials; the plots are predictable and remarkably parallelled each year, up to the point when I was keeping count of all the jokes I predicted on Friday evening.

Oh well...here's another thing to put behind me I guess. This will be the last HCELDDFS show I'll be watching in a while, for better or worse. Hopefully, Columbia's offerings will be more refreshing. I did, however, have a nostalgic moment, clambering over the steps onto the stage to look for JY's brother to express my appreciation for his performance. Stole a bit of the limelight, intruded onto their stage, and enjoyed the view of the drama centre from there. I know - it isn't my stage anymore, and it's a bit unfair for me to usurp even a little bit of their limelight. But what the heck, eh? It was my stage once, and I worked with it for four years, and I want something to remember it by.

*

Also ran into Ms. Ong at the show. Something that she said that night struck me. She was talking about her recent return from HK, and remarked that in the world's great cities (London, NY, HK in particular), you always have something to do in your free time. And the range of things to do and places in which to do them is generous and maybe even overwhelming. But in Singapore, your range of leisure options is quite limited, even though you may choose to cycle or jog or have a reunion over dinner at many places. That variety and range of activities makes the city attractive and tantalising.

Which is true; I know what she's talking about. But would the lack of this variety be reason enough to leave a city? That I'm not so sure about. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't tempted to just stay in NY forever. Or, if I can't really say that because I haven't been there yet, I have been tempted to stay in HK or Taipei forever. But in the end, I am sure that this place, this island, where I live now, is my home. For better or worse. It's not that I don't mind the boredom and the predictability of life here. I do feel the stifled environment, the restrictions and the narrowed horizons. The difficulties of living here are clear to be seen to anyone, although one can effectively insulate oneself with wealth and the right connections. But, despite all its faults, or because of all its faults, I consciously choose, time and time again, to come back. It's not about what this place, this city, can offer me; but about how much of a difference I can make to this place. Beyond appreciating a place, I feel that I need to contribute to it. And from what I can see so far, the place where I can contribute most is, rather than the cosmopolitan and brave new worlds of the world's greatest cities, this place.

Citylights

So on my second day at URA, I was taken up to the conference room at the top of the building to sit in on a briefing that my mentor was giving. Its contents are totally classified, and it was rather posh; when you enter a pastel-coloured room with a large wood tabletop layered with nametags, paper, pencils and glasses of water, you can feel the atmosphere shifting. While I can't discuss what was said, I can at least reflect that this was an illuminating insight into the art of information control in Singapore.

All this, of course, was part of a build-up to an even bigger event that is about to be unveiled. I don't know whether I can talk about that either...I reckon it'll be harmless, since it's general public knowledge, but I still feel rather vulnerable because I haven't signed any legally binding documents with URA yet. So indulge me while I err on the side of caution. But rest assured that you will know all about it soon enough.

After work, made a quick jump to Lavender to join the old RJGE gang for a reunion over pizza, chips, root beer floats and far too much soft drink. But meeting them again (for the first time this year, no less) was a real breath of fresh air. The night started with a hilarious round of Kboxing to Jay Chou's insane raps (which I refrained from participating in lest I caused a commotion among the neighbours) and a retrospective on Michael Jackson's music videos, from back when he was still human.

The conversation quickly turned to more serious things, however: medical housemanships, professors at the university, foreign exchange programmes, waiting to matriculate. Those of us who have yet to start university were raring to go, while those who were in the midst of their courses were cautioning us to take it easy while we still can. And we remarked on the change in perspective, and how this has influenced our conversations. Four years ago, as part of the ExCo, we would have been worrying about booking the venues for the following week's practice, ensuring full attendance, sourcing for scores and enforcing practice regimes. The biggest worries we had were in the run-ups to performances like SYF and our yearly public concerts. And now, we were talking about degree programmes, job prospects, exchange rates. It's a far cry indeed. And, for better or worse, it's a sign of the times.

(I like what my phone camera can do...especially at night!)

At any rate, at least these shifts in perspective and conversation topics are occurring against a backdrop of connections that have remained largely constant. Though the mode and content of conversation may change, the motivation behind the conversation, that desire to get to know more of another person and to be amiable in the way that we have grown used to, still remains. And you realise that over the years, as old friends take divergent paths, if the previous foundation is good enough, what you have is not a distancing but a purification, a shedding of superfluous and ephemeral quotidian connections to preserve the real core of a relationship: the fellow-feeling.

*

Today, started doing some real work. It wasn't very high-level work, considering that I hardly know enough to participate in actual planning decisions. But it does feel good to be doing something material, to see your effort producing something that contributes to a material end, rather than simply doing something with the painful awareness that its objective is just to pass the time, and nothing else. Over the last few days, I have resolved to make myself useful as far as possible and, above all, not to sit still and waste time. The latter is too easy to slip into, and I don't want to lose the momentum that I've built up over the last five months!

It rained today, with stormclouds so pregnant with rain that they swallowed up the tops of the tallest downtown towers. But I didn't notice it until I stepped out to the lobby on the way to another meeting (once again, just to observe). The building itself insulates you from the outside world, and URA deals with so much theoretical and hypothetical stuff that it's easy to become divorced from the reality of things, I think. You pass your days among artists' impressions, those images that are an uncanny blend of drawing and photography, a collage trying to look realistic, an imaginary scene that is disconcerting not because it is fictitious, but because the perspectives aren't properly synched. Somewhere, something is out of place, or tilted wrongly, or clashing with the context. In this weird arena, your own perception starts to warp, and there is a danger of forgetting that what you are looking at is an image of imagination, and nothing more. Stepping out of the door is thus a disorienting experience, a realignment of your perceptions to the real world.

More questions raised about the wisdom of signing the deed today. I realise that there are many, many scholars in URA, and that most of them are really very young. It shows that the retaining power of URA isn't very high. And most of the people bonded to URA that I've met have cautioned against a hasty decision to sign the bond. This, needless to say, clashes a lot with my original expectations of what this internship would be like. Firstly, after waiting two years to get to this point, I don't think that the decision I have arrived at is hasty any longer, though I do concede that it could have been made prematurely with insufficient data. Secondly, there is a difference between objecting to the bond in principle, and having concrete objections against the kind of work that the bond demands that you do. For most people, I surmise that they are bothered with the surrendering of freedom for six years, rather than with the job itself. And this is rather encouraging. But of course, more observation and discussion is warranted.

At any rate, travelling to and from work is invigorating. I find myself constantly looking upwards, my gaze drawn inexorably towards the lofty tops of the mighty towers all around me. In the morning light, the towers seem to reach upwards in anticipation. In the gathering dusk, the towers gleam in triumph at a day fruitfully concluded. Of course, I am romanticising. But isn't the fact, that this kind of romanticising is even plausible, something worth mentioning? It keeps you looking forward; on the brink of sleep, you anticipate the next morning, and in the hours after lunch, you anticipate the homeward journey.

Recommencement

Did one of those stunts today that makes you feel glad to be young, because you can't imagine always having this much energy. Since URA didn't respond in time, I took the only way left to complete my mission of submitting all the marks on time, and went down to school at 6.30am to mark the last script. Then, after rushing out a marker's report for that last essay assignment, dumped it with a colleague to have the marks entered and blew out of the staff room en route to URA downtown.

On the bus and train ride to Tanjong Pagar, you can palpably feel the shifting of the mood. No longer the urgent and immediate energy of a school, and no more of the intense focus on a clear goal. Rather, you find yourself lost among the mass of people who just seem to be going through the motions of their daily commute. The rush hour is fuelled by habit rather than by passion. And it struck me how easily that energy that I felt in school was sapped away. You feel discernably older; and all that glamour of working at a snazzy office downtown bleeds away to leave you with the cold reality of a long, cramped commute to more of the same. At least, in school, the material isn't repeated day after day.

It's also my first time really working in an office; as in, the whole scope of your work comprises of sitting in an office and manipulating ideas in soft and hard copy. Previously, I may have done work in offices, but I haven't been obliged to stay there all day. Spending seven hours in the same room does strike me as rather unhealthy, at the end of the day. By lunchtime, I was eager to get out, even if just for an hour. And if I could have paced, I would have paced. I am also seriously considering assigning myself periods - one hour on each level of the building - so that at least there is a change in scenery, even if it's just a shift in the perspective on the view outside (which, I do have to say, is a real job perk!).

You find all sorts in an office. I think, partly at least, the lack of a necessity to face people outside of the office context liberates some people to be inconsiderate and disruptive. As Frost said, walls make good neighbours, and the lack of partitions does tend to erode one's efficiency. It's kind of like people taking the liberty to be as brusque as family members, without the common history and understanding that you have in a family that tends to cast these liberties as quaint rather than rude.

But I do have to say that most of the people are very hospitable. I am attached to a scholar who graduated three years back, and he has been flawlessly gracious and considerate thus far. He introduced me around, and it is soon apparent that quite a few, if not most, of the planners in URA are actually returning scholars. They all seem to be a jolly bunch, despite the inevitable ambivalence that someone on a bond has towards his job. It hasn't been much of a view thus far, but if this is what waits for me four years down the road, I really find nothing to complain about.

The trick now, then, is to not only find myself without objections, but actually eager to return to. That would be the task of the next seven weeks.

Anyway, over lunch today, I mentioned that I have yet to sign the deed, and immediately, the tone of the conversation changed. I get the sense that they're trying to save me from myself, the way that they speak graciously before the revelation, and then warningly after it. It's like when you screw up an exam and you console yourself that it really isn't too bad; but then, you see someone on the brink of doing the same thing, and then you stridently try to dissuade him, tearing away the previous delusions. Well. I hope that it's pragmatism rather than pessimism behind their tone. I hope they're telling me to wait and see because this keeps my options open, and not because they expect me to find something that will totally change my mind on URA.

But at any rate, the start there has been pretty good. Something big is about to happen, which you will undoubtedly read about in the next few days in the papers, and I find myself roped in to help with that. And from what I have seen so far, the planning work in URA is really SimCity writ large. Was rather amused that the computer game actually accurately reflects real planning considerations for real cities; and then realised with a chill that actually, it could equally be the case that real planning considerations for real cities actually accurately reflect a computer game. But at any rate, it is invigorating to be part of a process that creates a compelling image for the rest of the country to follow. It is an empowering experience.

*

And finally, it is summer again, and my people are starting to return for the second time from overseas. I realise that this time round, I have not had the time to really savour the approach of this time; the preceding period has been so busy that May kind of snuck up on me, hidden as it was behind the piles of marking and the plans for lessons. But coming back they are, from all over the world, bringing with them fresh stories and experiences to the table. And to think - the next time, when they leave again, I will be going with them!

And so, the second phase begins.

*

For your viewing pleasure:

Ultimate

I am at a dilemma now. I don't pose pictures of people on my blog, because of the obvious cyber risks. And though technically the copyright for the pictures I take belong to me, when you take a picture with other people then that snapshot is not valuable only to the photographer, isn't it? So, before I reveal the faces of 55 people on my blog, I feel obliged to seek their permission first.

Yep, 55 people...due to unforeseen circumstances and an emergency that cropped up at the last minute, I was unable to do my goodbye routine with L3, which means up till now I still don't have a photograph of them. All I have is that kooky photolist that they give to all the teacher to help them recognise their students. And that also means that, one day after my official last day, I still find myself elbow-deep in marking (this time round, marking expository essays. 16 more to go!). And also, I haven't really moved out of the cubicle yet. All my junk and scraps are still there, and if the real teacher were to come back on Monday, I think she will be rather displeased. And I'm still holding on to my security pass, and HCI is still holding on to my last paycheck. So as you can see, I'm really not ready to go yet.

Have written to URA to beg them to delay the internship for one more day, so that I can go back to school on Monday to properly hand over all the stuff. I would rather not leave things in a mess. Loose ends bug me. And while this 16-week story has its cliffhangers, it shouldn't have loose ends; whatever disjoints that exist should be meaningful rather than arbitrary. So, so much for my "last day". So much for making a clean getaway. I try to wrap things up, and I find all these fragments and unfinished business dogging my every footstep.

*

How did it come to this? How did I find myself teaching four great classes (2F, L, N and L3) in my old school? Just like many of the twists in my recent past, it has a lot to do with luck. An unlikely phone call from my old Chinese teacher (who has since moved on to much bigger things) in between Boxing Day and New Year's last year led to a proposal from my old Math teacher (who has also moved on to bigger things). However, at that point in time I was poised to spend the first two weeks of term time in Borneo, so I turned it down. Then, while I was in Kota Kinabalu wandering up the hill behind the town centre, I got a message from Herbert, who had filled the slot that had been offered to me, asking me to replace him once I came back so that he could teach Chemistry instead. So, in the third week of the first term, I found myself introducing myself to my first three classes.

It could easily have turned out otherwise. If URA had not agreed to delay the internship even further till the middle of May, I would already be there helping out with some plan or another. If I had actually followed through with my original intention of becoming a Duck Tours guide, then going back to school to teach would also have been unattractive. But, as it turned out, I spent the first part of 2008 in Borneo, and came back with a lot of time in my hands. Something in the pattern of the world shifted, and things fell in place; I had the time, and they had the need. And so, I found myself on the cusp of something great.

*

Being in a family of educationalists and hanging out with a circle of friends who have also progressively entered the relief teacher line have given rise to situations where we discuss work life ad nauseum, everything from national policy down to the average marks of individual students (yes, teaching is all-absorbing, totalising and obsessive - students should be warned about this). And lately, the topic has revolved around our respective last lessons and last days, and how we made our respective departures.

I will not list down what I received from my students, from my classes. That would be inexcusably arrogant, I think, and anyway, it is appropriate that this should remain between me and my kids. But I have never seen a farewell of that magnitude before! Even as it was happening, in both the outside world and in school, I had the unshakeable feeling of it being ridiculously conspicuous. There was also what my old teacher used to call a sense of being fraudulent, as if you were receiving some honour that was not meant for you. Teachers are prone to moments of egotism in comparing what they can get their kids to do for them; and what my kids did for me does, I think, take the cake.

I cannot deny that it was deeply satisfying, to receive clear and unequivocal confirmation that my time has made a difference to these people. It was a vindication, a reaffirmation that I had not wasted all their time after all, that they had gained at least something from my time, just as I had gained immeasurably from their time. But it was also deeply humbling; the kind of enthusiasm that they demonstrated in class and on my last day alike bears testament to so much potential waiting to be tapped and catalysed by guidance into real works of art; and, after all, how many people can unleash that? Isn't it saddening that this kind of energy doesn't get tapped all the time, in every class, in every interaction? What they gave me was heartening in itself, but it was also bittersweet in that it reveals what they had not given others. Part of the brilliance of tapped potential is because so much other potential is wasted.

But I will not psychoanalyse their response to death. It is already enough of a privilege and an honour to receive such a sendoff; there is no need to tear it apart in search for a deeper meaning to it. As YS said before, it doesn't do to be so concerned with appreciating every detail of it that you miss the beauty of the pattern and the wider perspective.

*

Today, went back to school to finish inputting the marks for this term. And I am gripped once again by the great insecurity of teachers, I think; the notion that one person has the authority to judge and grade so many other people. I don't know what kind of experience and wisdom you need to be able to legitimately rank people based on their skills, effectiveness and character, but I can safely say that I don't yet possess them. All I am trying to do is to treat everyone as fairly as possible, from my own limited vantage point, and to do what (I think) is right for them. The only thing that guides my grading is, as my old History teacher said, to do right by my kids. There is nothing else fancy to it. So every mark and remark entered is laced with equal parts doubt, that I may be misjudging them and misrepresenting their abilities, and regret, that I have to subject them to such a process at all.

But I can at least say that I have tried my best. Every mark and remark is as carefully considered as I can make it. Anything else that is found wanting is due to my lack of experience and my inappropriate perspective, and I have to apologise for that, because there is nothing I can do about it.

But, after spending most of the afternoon in school, went to St. Joseph's for mass and then joined my family for Mothers' Day dinner at a brilliant Japanese restaurant. Worked very hard to lose myself in, variously, the serene and splendid raiment of the church on this Pentecost Sunday, the surging crowds along Orchard Road, the more chic and laid-back atmosphere at Robertson Quay, and the incredible food and matching conversation at the dinner table. And for a while, the anxiety and the pressing need to finish my work melted away like the smooth monkfish liver in my mouth. No matter what, after all, it is important to keep things in their proper perspective. Even teaching cannot be allowed to consume every one of my faculties and my every last resource.

*

Anyway, as you can see, I have released my journal address to my classes, to better keep in touch with them. They have liberally helped themselves to the shoutbox. And, I guess, there goes my old readership! But don't be too afraid of their antics; they wouldn't do it in real life. And anyway, even if some of them did try to do the standing-on-the-table gag in class, I wouldn't allow it. It's an unhealthy perspective to entertain, both in them and in myself!

So, to my kids: I am glad to have been of service. But always be careful to maintain things in their proper perspective. And to my old readers (whoever and wherever you are!), be nice to my kids! It means a lot to me to have them here.

Penultimate

On the penultimate day of my teaching stint, I come home with a very light bag. Over the last few days, have seen the handover plan going smoothly, and that called for me to do my final filing today. I realise that over the last sixteen weeks, I've amassed quite a lot of material, some provided from the resource file, and others produced on the spur of the moment to bring into class. All told, teaching four different classes has produced enough to fill one of those big ring folders, and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself compiling something akin to a resource file out of the work of these last few months. Everything must go, and everything will find its rightful place, including all the material in the yellow file that I use to keep my survival kit of lesson materials and marking rubrics. That file will probably find another lease of life come August, but it has come to the time to put aside its current burden.

It's not very often that you can see a farewell coming with such clarity, and not in a way that allows you to plan for it and maximise its facility and meaning, while minimising the need to actually improvise on the spot. And so, took the opportunity fully to pre-plan all the administrative stuff and to let it run itself to fruition, so that I can concentrate on the far more important matter of saying my last words to my kids.

Some people may think that a course that can be reduced to one core lesson is too unrigorous an fluffy; after all, doesn't it mean that most of the course has been superfluous elaboration of the same point? But there is a difference, isn't there, between simplicity and being simplistic. And if there does exist a core principle that describes this course, then I think my task is to put it across as clearly as possible at the end, to cut through the urge to embellish and to state the core idea as clearly as possible.

And so, I told them that if there was one thing that I wanted them to remember from these sixteen weeks, it is that English is more than technical mastery of grammar and conventions. Language is communication, is nothing less than communication, and is only communication. And beyond knowing how to string together a functional sentence and formulate an operational paragraph, there is the far more exciting and tricky task of using these abilities wisely and for deliberate effect. And far beyond the image of the poet or the writer self-indulgently scratching his fashionable brow over a blank page, is the quintessentially humanistic mission of actually communicating. You write to be read, and to write with no regard to the reader is to subscribe to overwhelming hubris. To write, then, is to purposely make yourself vulnerable to your readers in a spirit of humility rather than of superior wisdom.

But, ironically, I also recognise that these sixteen weeks have actually been very self-indulgent for me, because I have been given an opportunity to impose my tastes and views on people who are not yet equipped to rebuff them soundly. And I have to admit that I did indulge in a moment of pure self-gratification today by showing them The Return. There is no denying it, of course - why it felt so satisfying over these weeks, and especially today, was not only because I felt like I could really contribute something, but also because there was no realistic threat to my position. So what seems like a feeling derived from altruism has, as usual, one foot in selfish impulses. There is no denying it; or rather, one can delude oneself into thinking otherwise, but I believe there is inherent value in acknowledging this state of affairs.

However, beyond these inward-looking musings, the people I have come into contact with are the real reason why these sixteen weeks have worked out so well. Beyond anything that I could have brought to the classroom, what my kids and my colleagues have given me has helped immensely. I am only, after all, helping along what is already existent; I didn't instill new things, but only developed existing things. And if my kids had not brought so much to the table, it would not have been so fulfilling by a long shot. So I am indebted to their indulgence in me, too.

Didn't have time to say all this today, though. The one period that I had today with each of my Sec 2 classes was over far too soon, and there were many things left unsaid. A part of me feels that this shoud be the case, that a total opening of the self is neither necessary nor useful. That, in maintaining a part of me that is still distinct from this present experience, I am actually saving something that I may offer them in the future, if ever the opportunity should arise again. But rushed farewells don't give you the opportunity to savour the moment; you are too caught up in doing, and doing, and racing with the clock, and you don't have the luxury to appreciate. And when I left those classes, I left with the awareness of bringing with me necessary things that have been left unsaid. Like an apology for sometimes putting my own tastes ahead of the effectiveness of their learning. Like what a great time this has been after all.

But one thing I do remember from today's last lessons, is the feeling at the last greeting. To tell them that I have finished felt markedly different today, the phrase having gained a new significance with the steady passage of time. And I do think that, as far as exits can go, those were good ones, done on the crest of goodwill and well-wishes on both sides, before time and memory could intervene to embellish and distort the actual experience with either nostalgia or bitterness. A part of me does wish very hard to put off the yellowing of this experience into memory; it has been a good run, and it can continue to be a good run. But my time is required elsewhere, and if you do have to quit anyway, isn't it a privilege to be able to quit when you're up?

And so - one more class to go tomorrow, and then I will be done with this phase of 2008. Gentlemen - these sixteen weeks have been a great honour and privilege. Looking forward has become sweeter because of the addition of something good to look back on. And for that, I am deeply grateful to you all.

Teaching

And finally, I've finished marking my last assignment. All that remains is the gradual draw-down of my remaining materials, the returning of the last few assignments, the rounding up of four months of lessons, and a few last words, that have to be chosen well because they are meant to be remembered. Suddenly, my days are dominated by the pleasant and bittersweet housekeeping tasks of handing over responsibility, and my afternoons gape emptily and promisingly free from additional work. I lose my last days of teaching, then, in files and tables, in statistics and lists, and, above all, in enjoying the final lessons that have been made possible by the endless work of the preceding weeks.

I sometimes find myself suddenly stopped in my trains of thought by the enormity of what I have come to find myself in the midst of. I have, over the last few months, thrown myself into a highly complex situation, with no idea of how it will turn out, and, making connection after connection in this morass with eagerness and even recklessness, I have created something here, in my classes and among my people. Or rather, we have created something here. I would not presume to speculate on the lasting effects of these five months, and how they will echo down the ages to come in our disparate lives. I hope it will be a good impact, but I at least can say that there has been a significant impact. It has caused my perspective to grow exponentially in some areas, and it has also afforded me an opportunity to confirm my theories in other areas. It has been a worthwhile run, and I will continue to draw from this long after this Friday.

Once again, I am humbled by the privilege of having taken this journey with these people, a surprising journey that, though by no means smooth, has been pleasant enough to always keep me looking forward. And that is such a precious thing in a self-directed life, isn't it? Something to look forward to, that will give your days their direction and give you a reference point with which to mark your progress. And beyond orientating my life, I have also been given a chance to see tremendous potential, and the opportunity to nurture this potential just a little bit more on its path to full blooming. I am humbled by this - the potential and the power that has been put in my charge. Within them lies great things, and it is the promise of these great things that compels me to put my best into the endeavour of refining them.

And sometimes, I am also incredulous. It strikes me that I am having so much fun that it defies any expectations, even my own. Sometimes, I feel a certain spring in my step, and I look at the things around me from a certain angle, and I marvel at how things have coalesced into this unparalleled situation, and how everything and everyone fits in it with such satisfying symmetry. Here is fulfilment that I had not expected to find; and its surprising appearance makes it all the more precious. I would even go so far as to say, if 2006 and the long wait was the cost of coming to this half of the year, then it was well worth the delay. And for those who have accompanied me remotely or in person through these years, you'll have an idea of the scale suggested by the last statement.

*

Incidentally, was also thinking of the material for my last few lessons with my Sec 3s, on the topic of leadership. Two things immediately occur to me: firstly, that the debate on whether leaders are born or bred is stale and long resolved; the very existence of officer cadet courses testifies to the primacy of breeding over birthright. Secondly, it is somewhat distorting to investigate leadership with a view of becoming a leader yourself in the future. We should be investigating leadership as a social phenomenon in itself, rather than mining our case studies for tips and tricks on how to nurture our own leadership potential. The former approach opens up so many more avenues for examination, and enriches and widens the rather blinkered and narrow leader-centric perspective of the latter.

Anyway, I was thinking: nobody really wants to lead, do they? People don't value leadership in and of itself, just like money intrinsically has no value. It is what you can obtain with it that counts. So leaders either lead for themselves, for individual gain, or lead for others, for collective interests. Typically there will be a mixture of the two. But the bottom line is that leaders lead out of necessity rather than volition. Thus the assertion that the best, most dedicated leaders are those who don't want to be leaders (effectiveness is another issue entirely).

This gives rise to another interesting result: that there should be no more leaders than necessary in an organisation. There should be just enough leaders to maximise the gains from specialisation without incurring diminishing returns of overcrowding. Too many cooks, after all. We extend this to government, and find that the principle is also applicable: a government should not have more leaders than necessary. If one's aim is a successful economy, then a strong monarchical CEO makes sense. But if one thinks that representativeness and stable power transfers are also necessary, then one would go for a committee of leaders, or a parliament in other words. But the key is that there should be as few leaders as possible.

Here's another idea: is politics the result of having too many leaders? Focused, effective teams tend not to indulge in politics; there is just too much to do and not enough time to waste on such games. It is clear how too many leaders can impact focus, and having a surfeit of labour creates idle periods in which politics can be carried out. So politics does not just flourish in environments with unequal distributions of power; they also require a surfeit of time or a shortfall of work. Politics is therefore as irrelevant in a dictatorship as it is in a communist system.

Anyway, the task over the next week would then be to try to redefine the leadership issue beyond the narrow scope of wanting to become a future leader. This, I think, is like an intellectual liberation, and may even be more useful in the actual event that one is really called upon to take up a mantle of leadership. If one is able to examine the tightrope from all angles rather than merely staring down it from the starting platform, one is more able to understand the forces at work and the risks at stake.