Harry Potter (before and after)

Compare:

Above:
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001).

Below:
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007).

They change like soooo fast can.

Growing up is bittersweet. But when they spend so much time on a set playing someone else, will they remember their youth? They were 12 when they were filming in 2001. 6 years later, they’re 18.

Have they missed anything?

Or have they traded memories and a normal life with fame and money? I guess there are memories made on the set, but their youth was not the same.

Child acting isn’t good. Although sometimes movies and TV need younger actors, these guys are paying a much-heavy price for their fame.

And it isn’t good.

Fame can go either way. It’s never good to go after fame.

Scared

First day of school, and not all that good. All the teachers were back, and back with a vengeance. Everything was so rushed, and it all came back, the nightmares of project work and rushing out deadlines. I’m strangely looking forward to these next 10 weeks, where I will once again have something to occupy myself with.

Schoolwork. Yes. Laugh at me. I guess we all have some inner homework-loving beast within us, just like Bailey Graffman said, “There’s a bit of loser in all of us.”

I’m on the topic of death here. For those of you who’ve read or watched The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants, Bailey Graffman is this girl with leukaemia who made friends with Amber Tamblyn’s character of Tibby and taught her that there’s nothing to be scared of in life. Then she died.

Life is scary. But death is not any less scary.

I bow my head in prayer whenever something tragic happens. Something tragic or unexpected. I don’t know him personally, but I read the news, and the news of Thaddeus Cheong was sad. Fit guy, athletic and all, but he collapsed after a race and was gone.

Makes it so ironic that someone who is so fit dies earlier than someone who is fat and has obesity and organ problems and sits around on a couch all day long.

And then earlier in the day, something happened with this Sec 3 guy that was found on the SR block ground floor grass patch outside.

I have no idea if it was unintentional or not, but the speculations are aplenty. And I have no absolute wish to add on to those rumours and gossips.

What I want to say is, I’m really afraid of dying.

Call me a coward, kia-see or whatever, but aren’t we all? I had another post like this earlier on the blog (you gotta check my archives) and I mentioned that the only time when people are not scared of death is when they have done all they need to in life, and has no more regrets. (Gleamed from a quote by Morrie from Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays with Morrie)

So what happenes if the death happens young? How scared would they be, knowing that it was the end of the road, and it was going to be all over, and at the same time, the start of a new life?

Bailey Graffman said it best.

“I’m not scared of leaving. I’m… I’m just scared of what I’ll miss.”

Yeah. Aren’t we all? I would miss my friends. My parents. My Mp3 player, my television, my computer, my emails, my radio DJing, my CDs, my DVDs, my friends, my parents, my books, my teachers, my comics…

Material stuff, you may say. And yet if you can willingly leave them all behind, I’d be shocked.

That’s why I’m semi-amazed at people who commit suicide (Disclaimer: NO speculations here). I’m amazed at how they’re willing to just leave it all behind, their life, their world, all that they’ve come to know, just because of something that they have not seen the way out of yet.

How can people find the guts, the will, to commit suicide?

Wrist-slashing. How, HOW, can someone find the guts to slash his own wrist and slowly bleed away?

Jumping off. How, HOW, can someone find the strength to leap off the building into the ground below, with no safety net, just falling? I’m scared of heights, and that’s because I don’t have a wish to end up as splattered bits and pieces.

Pill-taking. How, HOW, can someone find the will to take all those pills down? When I take pills, I take just the right amount. How can someone do something so subtle, yet something they know would kill them slowly?

If they have so much guts and will and strength, why not just use that to ‘cheng zhu’, and hold on till the end of their crisis?

There we have it again. Another of life’s little ironies.
The one that wants to live, and fight, and win his way to competitions, and soar, is shot down prematurely. Whereas the one who doesn’t want to live, and doesn’t want to fight, gets that shot, that chance, to live, but they decide to waste it in their own hands.

For those who die involuntarily, before their time, what are they thinking? Those last few moments, when life is draining away, what goes through their mind?

I hope I won’t find out anytime soon.

In the meantime, my condolences and prayers go out to all those who have been affected.

Yes, I’m scared of death. But don’t judge me. I haven’t lived enough yet.

Singapore’s Got Talent? Sure or not!

First things first:

Simon Cowell needs to really loosen up. He’s such a, in British language, tightarse. I mean, a Granny who can rap! Someone needs to see that SHE has talent!

Secondly:
I was surfing the channels one day, and I saw the ‘auditions’ for Live the Dream, YET-ANOTHER talent show from our very ‘creative’, and ‘unique management’ over at Mediacorp.

Let’s make this clear first. I have no gripes against talent shows. Reality television, in fact, are one of my favorite things to watch.

Survivor, The Amazing Race, Apprentice, etc…

Talent shows, let’s make it clear, are NOT reality TV.

American ones, so be it, have some semblance of good quality. American Idol, for example, have produced tons of good singers throughout its 6 seasons.

Mediacorp should just stop trying to import US shows.

I do mean it.

We have to just understand, at one point, that Singapore’s talent pool is waaay too small to fuel a long-running show such as Singapore Idol, or Singapore’s Got Talent, or something.

Cause Singapore doesn’t have talent.

Don’t get me wrong. Some singers rock my socks. Stephanie Sun, Shirlyn Tan, Taufik Batisah are all great and everything.

But how many seasons can Singapore Idol run for until the talent pool is plain exhausted?

Live The Dream, in other words, is Singapore Idol, only under a different name, with older people, but still containing the wannabes, and still mediocrely-produced as the other talent shows.

Let’s just face it.

For all the ‘talent’ we say we’re looking for, the eventual ‘talent contest’ winner still can’t match the talent in half of Fantasia Barrino’s lips.

I’ll bet you’ll start saying I have no faith in our Singaporeans, and that I don’t believe in our people.

Let’s not be delusional and fool ourselves here.

Singapore lacks talent, at least in the entertainment industry. Even so, the talent is stifled between pages and pages of algebra and calculus.

No parent in her right mind would allow her child to pursue a career in singing. No way. It’d be as good as suicide. Might as well do something better like prep for SATs. More job security that way.

And what happens from THAT outcome?

That poor child doesn’t get there anyway, because when she grows up, she realizes that what companies want are, FOREIGN TALENT.

No way are they gonna hire some Singaporean for a HIGH level job.

No, no, that’s all up to the Americans.

So she moves to the US, hoping to find a job as ‘foreign talent’. But look! Everyone’s becoming a singer, or entertainer. In US, the high-paying jobs are much different than Singapore’s, and that’s when the poor girl (or woman, now) realizes that she should have just followed up on her singing.

How far can a singer go in Singapore?

Again, I’m not lambasting our country here, but with all the talent shows we’re doing, it only serves to prove that we have NO talent, if it needs lacklustre TV to source out good singers, but not the BEST.

Besides, we’re kinda small. Again, not being un-patriotic, but American can squash us flat in terms of land mass.

How many rounds of talent can we find from the same dot? In the end the people who try out for Live the Dream are almost the same who tried out for Singapore Idol.

In fact, if I’m not wrong, there are some familiar faces from LTD that I saw on SI.

And the quality of the programme doesn’t help either. In the end, we’re still going to see the same stage that was used for The Dance Floor and SI, being used for Live the Dream.

The same boring, lacklustre hosts. No spunk like Seacrest.

The same judges. Dick Lee and Ken Lim, who can only insult contestants so much.

If anyone, ANYONE, at all, can find a Grandma who can rap like the video above, I’ll be surprised. Shocked. Pleasantly horrified. I would in fact, be so astounded that such people exist in Singapore, CONSERVATIVE, SAFE SINGAPORE, that I will just pay that fellow something.

Hey, but don’t take my word for it.

After all, you gotta find such a person first.

And this IS Singapore.

P.S JAPAN PHOTOS Part II coming up! The Disneyland part!

P.P.S School’s starting again! Summer hols are over! Bye bye June, come hither, July!

Recommended Book

A Recommended Book of the Month

A Summer of Kings
- Han Nolan

When it comes down to books, I’m very particular, more so than music. Music can be artistic, selectively-creative, or breaking new grounds, like Battles, or Feist.

Books, however, are harder to define.

A good book needs to be able to enrapture the reader’s attention from Page One, and doing so with good gusto such that it sets tone, and doesn’t let down any of the action from there onwards.

It also needs to have a good concept, a good theme, and marvelous writing style and flair, from descriptive language right down to character development.

Han Nolan’s latest offering, A Summer of Kings, gives all that, and more.

What is the more?

A voice. She gives voices.

A Summer of Kings revolves around the 1963 summer holiday of a young fourteen-year-old white girl, Esther Josephine Young, who’s drifted, unfocused, and slightly shallow and confused. Her mother’s best friend’s son, eighteen-year-old King-Roy Johnson has been accused of the murder of a white man. Her mother’s best friend, for her son’s interest, sends him off to the Young house, to stay and tide in until the hoo-hah boils over.

Esther Josephine Young is no ordinary girl. She is the seemingly unspecial one in the family. Her younger sister is a child Broadway star, her brother dances like the flowers in wind, and her father is an acclaimed director of theatre.

She finds that no one understands her, and that she is taken for granted in the family, often insulted and criticized due to her lack of intelligence and performing ability. She is extremely insightful, for her ‘lack of intelligence’ and her words speak lengths about how she feels about King-Roy and the civil rights movement for Negroes.

The book juggles a lot at first, moving from Esther’s personal life, about how she tries to find a voice and tries to find an identity, to the hate King-Roy bears in his heart regarding ‘the white devil’.

At one point, even, the book ends up overly-focusing on Esther’s personal life, mentioning the loss of her best friend Pip, the movement of her father’s directing from theatre to film, and hence causing her to wonder, “Why do things change?”

In the end Nolan manages to successfully tie it all back together with one of Gandhi’s philosophies: “Be the change you want to see in your life.”

‘Change’ is THE big word, the concept, in this novel. The civil rights movement becomes a movement for change, and an action taken to alter the lives of African-Americans. Esther’s life is changing so fast, that she does not recognize it anymore. SHE herself is changing so much, that by the end of the book she nearly becomes a whole new person, her previous shallowness only a hint.

Her character, as narrator, would easily steal the show, but Nolan manages to balance it out with a stellar supporting cast in the form of:

1) King-Roy Johnson, the confused young black man who knows he did not kill a white man, but at the same time thinks that a nonviolent march of freedom and protest will not change anything. He is sad, angry, hateful and spiritual all at the same time, and one cannot help but be impressed by the creation of Nolan. Throughout the book Esther depends on him to find out more about the civil rights movement, and she also relies him at first as a crush and love interest, but at the end a good friend, one who helps her grow and discover.

2) Stewart and Sophia, Esther’s younger siblings, who irk at times and impress at times. Sophia is particularly unlikeable, due to her tantrums and complete brattiness, but it serves well to round up the plot. Stewart as a character is stellar as well, providing constant insight to Esther’s behaviors and actions.

3) Mother and Dad, Esther’s parents, have their own stories to tell, in particularly Mother, who, at the last end of one chapter, reveals to Esther the reason for her being constantly criticized and insulted, which is very real and very heartwarming.

4) Auntie Pie, Beatrice, Monsieur Vichy, are all house guests at the Young mansion, and they grow too. Auntie Pie begins as an untrusting person who is reclusive, while Beatrice begins as an overly-dramatic person who is only concerned with trivial matters, and Monsieur Vichy begins as an extremely unlikeable person who is critical about everything and is pessimistically-annoying. The three grow too, albeit in minor ways, and at the end of the book find their own voices and their own understanding of Esther and what she is fighting for.

The book overall is an excellent one, understanding how to catch a reader in a storyline and hold him in the plot. It is well-written, with very rounded characters, who develop a lot. Everyone gets some limelight, and Nolan uses not only the supporting characters, but many small incidents as well, such as the introduction of Pip’s pen-pal, the trip to Harlem, to convey many messages.

Overall, an amazing novel.

****^ 4 1/2 stars!

The Mature 16 / What Have YOU Done?

Well, another year’s passed.

Another year has so swiftly sped by and my life wasn’t as different as it was 365 days ago.

But people say it is.

It is, after all, the age of 16.

The official ‘teenage’ age. The age where the first restriction, NC16, is beyond and passed.

But I don’t feel any different. And I don’t feel anything unusual or special.

I still havent done anything to change the world, to make life better, to help others, and to discover life’s meaning.

I don’t think I’m any more of a better person than I was last year, and I don’t think that life for me has changed.

Maybe my eyes have changed. Maybe I am different. But I just don’t feel it.

People say growth is gradual.

In Han Nolan’s book, A Summer of Kings, Auntie Pie tells Esther Young, “And you expect to grow up? Just like that?” She asked, snapping her fingers.

Of course not, Esther had replied. She really had no idea what growing up and being mature meant.

Neither do I. Neither does anyone.

We’re all first-timers in our lives. Sure, we may have led past lives, but who remembers? As far as we can recall, we’re living this life for the first time. And we’re far from reaching the end.

My grandfather used to say, that 16 was a fine age to begin learning. 16 was the age that boys grew up to become men. Not just in terms of seeing girls differently and all, but in terms of seeing the world in a whole new light.

He used to say that 16 is THE age to start living and learning. 16 was the age of maturity.

When I was young, and my cousin was told that, I was bewildered. My grandfather used to say that to my grandmother whenever my cousin misbehaved or talked back. 16 was the age that things change, he had said.

I didn’t know what that meant.

But I think now I do.

Life wasn’t that bad in the past. 15 years into it, I felt like life still had good things. Wonderful things still existed. You can read my past posts, when I first started this blog, that life was so different. I was much free, and much ‘looser’.

Now?

I don’t know, exactly.

Life has become this kaleidoscope of emotion.

Shootings. Bombings. Insecurity. Suicide. Shallow emptyness.

How does one find any meaning in all this madness?

16 is the age that we begin to find some meaning. We begin to see the world and its people for who they really are. 16 is the age when we are not fooled by the glamour and wonder of Hollywood. 16 is the age when we do not take others’ words for what they are, and instead question purpose and origin.

16 is the age when we delve deeper into our beliefs and trusts, and do not take what we have, the safety and the protection that we have, for granted.

16 is the age when we do not play freely and forget the world easy, but sit in the corner, watching everything else go by, and slowly find our place in the spinning world.

We could be born in Africa, fighting disease, poverty and famine.

We could be born in Iraq, fighting disease, war, and cold killings on the streets.

We could be born in the slums of Brooklyn, fighting bad influences, drugs, poverty and lack of opportunities.

We could be born in the worst places, and we could be fighting for our lives.

But we are not. We are born elsewhere. We are safe, protected. And we take all of it for granted.

What do we thank? Who do we thank? Where is our place in the world? We’ve been sheltered for so long, we lose track of where we’re supposed to be, or where we’re meant to go to.

I’m disgusted, when I read in the papers about the two sisters, Celeste and whos-her-name, them who between them have over 10,000 friends.

When have we become so shallow?

When have we moved from people with hearts, to people who find solace and security in an Internet networking site?

Do you think people in Iraq and Afghanistan have the luxury of sitting down in front of a computer to add videos of themselves dancing in a skimpy pair of shorts, to earn more hits?

Isn’t it obvious?

The world we are living in, the safe and protected haven, has been taken so much for granted that we lose our sense of place, and have to rely on cyberspace to provide us this sense of being.

I won’t say those girls are immature, because I myself have no perfect definition of what ‘mature’ is, but I certainly won’t say what they are doing is constructive and meaningful.

Rather than doing something more helpful and contributing to society, they prefer to dance in front of a webcam so that people can compliment them on their ‘legs and good dance moves.’

For goodness sakes’, horny idiots, those girls are friggin ugly.

For goodness sakes’, girls, have more dignity and self-respect!

Then, you may ask me, what have I done?

What gives me the right to comment on these girls doing what they do? What have I done at my age of 16?

Honestly, I don’t know, either.

I don’t know what I can do. What I’m supposed to do. Everything is so messed up, so screwed, that I don’t know what I should do.

Study. Of course, study. Everything is study, isn’t it?

Education is important, but it is THE MOST important?

Can books salvage our soul?

We study all the time. As I blog this right now, at least thousands of students out there are studiously putting their heads in pages, mugging endlessly.

Those students will no doubt grow up to be cold, hard beings, incapable of giving to someone else, incapable of letting go of money and time.

They coldly ignore a person in need of help. They watch as a person dies from lack of money for treatments. They would rather spend money in their own hedonistic pleasure than give a few cents so that a fellow human being could have another day to live.

Books taught them that. Parents taught them that. The world taught them that.

That we are all to be selfish. We are all to keep our money to ourselves. We are all to dismiss those who cannot help themselves. They are born that way, after all. Not our business.

It’s so messed up and so screwed up.

And yet, what can I do? This is what happens after more than a millenium of growth of modern Man. Globalization. Economic growth. We’ve seen the effects, both positive and negative. And yet, no one can change a thing. Because how can we change who we are?

What can anyone do, to change the world, anymore?

Condolezza Rice. Kofi Annan. Nelson Mandela. Aung San Suu-Kyi. Can’t they see?

They’re fighting a losing battle. They fight so hard, get imprisoned over and over again, but they still didn’t get the message. It’s useless. It’s all set in stone. But they still fight. They still want to change the world?

What can YOU do to change the world?

I ask you this question, as I ask myself. Sometimes when I look around me, at adults, at ‘grown-ups’, I see them working so hard to make more money. I see them preaching the values that have made us heartless.

What have they done?

30 years on Earth. 40. 50. 60.

What have they done?

Earned a million dollars. Bought a Ferrari. Decked their house out in branded furniture and antiques. Decked themselves out in the latest in-season fashions.

But is the world any different? Have they left anything behind?

Have they left a message? A legacy? Something that they had done in their lifetime, when they saw that something needed a change?

My teachers. Tens of them. What are they going to do? What have they done?

The people I’ve spoken to. Met. Understood. What are they doing to do? What have they done?

I’m 16.

People say I have long years ahead of me. This is just the beginning of life.

I am thankful, then, that I have those long years ahead of me.

Some people don’t. 15 year old, fell to her death while trying to climb out a window. People I know, gone early. People in Africa and Iraq, whom I’ve read about, shot or killed. And all younger than 16.

Do they have their long years? Their beginning was also their end.

And here I am, given this chance to move ahead, to go on in life.

Sometimes that makes me feel ashamed, ashamed that I’ve not done anything. I’ve just read books, wrote reports, and failed Maths. I’ve not done anything properly. I’ve not done anything that is BIG, and that I’ve wasted so much time.

And yet… at the same time…

I’m truly thankful.

That on this day, June 17th, I’m 16.

I may not have done anything yet, but I am glad and thankful that I at least have the chance to grow older to find a way, to do something.

Growth is gradual. I see now what that means.

I may not be so-called ‘mature’ yet, but I have changed. I don’t feel different, but I know I have changed.

Gradually, I have become older.

And I think, that’s all that matters.

Time
Chantal Kreviazuk

Time, where did you go?
Why did you leave me here?
Alone?

Wait, don’t go so fast
I’m missing the moments as they pass

Now I’ve looked in the mirror and the world’s getting clearer
So wait for me this…time

I’m down
I’m down on my knees
I’m begging for all your sympathy

But you (I’m just an illusion)
You don’t seem to care (I wish that I could)
You humble people everywhere (I don’t mean to hurt you)

Now I’ve looked in the mirror and the world’s getting clearer
I’ll take what you give me
Please know that I’m learning
So wait for me this…time

I should’ve known better
I shouldn’t have wasted those days
And afternoons and mornings
I threw them all away

Now…
This is my time
I’m going to make this moment mine
(I shouldn’t have wasted those days)

I’ll take what you give me
Please know that I’m learning
I’ve looked in the mirror
My world’s getting clearer
So wait for me this time

This…time
Oh, this time.
This… time.

Heartpuke! (Part One)

Sorry for the lack of posts… no way to blog in Japan, and you know I would if I could… I just LUURVE blogging!!

Anyway, came back with loads of photos, which I’m gonna all put here in this long post at two goes. Since there’s going to be so many photos and such a long post I’ve cut down on the size of some of them and made some of them unclickable, 1) so you can’t see my pimples, 2) so that the post is shorter for your reading pleasure.

P.S I hate uploading photos with Blogger because the photo-uploading function is so sickening. Slow and makes my whole paragraphing and formatting haywire. Blogger staff, pls take note.

Speaking of puke, Yixuan, Jarrell and I came up with a new word that we really like and hope will catch on. =D

DISCLAIMER:
THERE ARE CLOSE TO 30 PHOTOS IN THIS POST, ALL MARVELOUSLY TAKEN! DO NOT read this if you have only 10 minutes to spare!

——————————————————————–

Back to the trip. Left home at 8.30 pm, but was still late in reaching Changi. Flight was nightime, hence we were supposed to get sleep on the plane, but I got only ONE HOUR OF SLEEP! Next morning FRIGGIN TIRED CAN! =((((

Day 1
There! Narita Airport! Finally arrived.

PSPs were the big choice of entertainment on bus rides. The back row had a lot. As shown. That’s Puhuai, Joshua and Yixuan right there fiddling with Bleach.

There. Bryan and I, camwhoring on the bus.

Japan is really nice. Cannot get enough of its city scenes.

First stop was Ghibli Museum, which had all the cool animation stuff. Watched nice little miniature cartoons, and strangely saw a Goldilocks and Three Bears exhibit which was really kinda scary.

After that went to lunch. Now that meal I will never forget for some time. Stuffed myself silly with food…!!! Yakiniku (which is the photo below) and Sushi ALL YOU CAN EAT! I know if certain people *coughmingzhecough* were there the food would have run out much sooner. XD

Then went to learn all about disaster-prevention. Quite cool really. Japan had smoke simulators and earthquake simulators for us to experience an earthquake which would never really happen in Singapore. Freaking violent and fun!

Rest of the day was dinner and travelling to Kokusai Hostel. So-so place. But I was so friggin tired I knocked off on the bus and didn’t take many photos after that… =(((

Day 2

Early in the morning, Alaric pinched me awake. I thought I would be the last one awake, but not really. I met my match with Jarrell, whom Alaric had to fart in his face for him to wake up. He looks like Sleepy, one of the Seven Dwarfs in this picture.

After box lunch…

… We went for the exchange programme with Shibuya Makuhari Junior High School, which is a lot like our RI. Apparently one of the best high schools in Shibuya. The students were very cool, and we even got to sit into one of their classes. No offense to them or anyone else, but some of the teachers were as boring as some of our own school’s. :S

It was test-giveout time and people were less panicky than us Singaporeans during exam results time. Maybe they view their exam results less frighteningly serious? Since we didnt fully understand Japanese, we just muddled along listening here and there, and for the rest of the lesson drew Pokemon porn (another long looong story).

Back to the Hostel.

Day 3

Imperial Palace was the first place on the stop. I suddenly realized I hadn’t talked much about the tour guide. Well, on Day 3 she stood out. Ms Kazuko Watanabe, this SUPER DUPER UBER nice person with shoulder-length bangs and a whole face full of freckles was our guide to Japan, and she proved herself rather worthy in being able to control 40 of us rowdy little buggers.

She knew her Japanese knowledge very well. There she is with me, in front of Imperial Palace.

We then went to the Metropolitian Government Building. Not too much to see there. Then went SHOPPING (FINALLY!!!) where Alaric and I went mad and bought tons of stuff. Some Samurai Letter Opener and Oishi box sets… YUUM!!!

The night scenery of Japan is marvelous too, by the way.

Daniel, enjoying it all.

Day 4

The second highlight of the trip (besides the shopping of course!)! MOUNT FUJI!!!

The bus ride was darn long. But once we got there… ALL WORTH IT!

Mountain scenery is fantastic. Such wonders of nature. Too bad Singapore doesn’t have much.

Alaric and I, in front of ice caps.

Bryan and I, looking a bit dark, in front of ice caps.

Joel and I, in front of MORE ice caps. Yeah, it was cold.

We went off to another mountain after phototaking, moving to the hot springs. Sulphur smell was friggin strong and it was like living poison! Ms Xu and Ms Huang could apparently handle it.

No there’s nothing wrong with your com. It was THAT foggy, with sulphur.

After that went for lunch! Yummy Tobanyaki set!

Then it was a super duper cool cruise across Lake Ashi to the other side of Shinjuku!

It was amazing to watch the ripples of the sea, and to see the marvelous scenery from a level eye.

The photo above and below are two of my favorite photos of the trip.

Bryan, Captain of the Cruise.

Alaric found his bounty.

And that’s me channeling a classic Tyra Banks over-mah-shoulder look.

A pose in the rain!

OK, that’s all the photos I can present to you guys for one post before I feel like bashing in Blogger’s creators! Stay tuned for the second half of the post (Days 5 -7) with MORE photos!

COLD, HEARTLESS Bitches

If anyone asks me what is the best (or worst) job you can do to see the true colors of us Singaporeans, I will now reply:

“GO ON THE STREET WITH A DONATION CAN!”

Confirm it is one of the most xiong jobs (yes, I think can rival canoeing or mountainclimbing).

I’ll tell you why sometimes Singaporeans plain piss me off. And this comes especially after I went to Japan and saw their ‘behavior’ in comparison to Singaporeans’.

P.S Blogger once again destroyed the lower half of my Japan photos post. I was gonna make do, but I decided this was more important to be said.

I don’t really care if foreigners read this and see what immensely idiotic, ungiving, cold-hearted bitches of people we are. IT IS ABSOLUTELY THE TRUTH.




So today I went with Alaric, Issac and Leonard to go Lions Home for the Elderly booth set up at Bugis Junction the area. We picked up cans and started to go around asking for coins for them. Mind you, I’ve seen the Lions Home for the Elderly folks. They’re really sad okay, cause the family either a) stupidly deserts them or neglects them in the morning, b) leaves them there because the old folks want someone to talk to. It’s incredibly different from our normal lives.

Now, I hate going around to get money from people. It’s complete begging. 10 cents, 20 cents, blah blah.

Lions Home should really globalize and go approach a corporate sponsor or something. I’m not being heartless, but let’s face it. For ANY charity, going around with a can begging for donations is pathetic, over-humbling and very self-deprecating.




Where does all this self-deprecation come from, you may ask?

From the ugly Singaporeans who think they own the whole universe.

There are 4 kinds of Singaporeans you can possibly meet while doing this sort of thing. If you’re a student, next time when you go around, try looking out for these types. If you’re a foreigner, GOOD! SEE HOW UGLY SINGAPOREANS ARE!

1) The Good, Kind, Generous Singaporean

This is definitely the best kind. They give willingly, approach you even, and even if they have no money they will put in a few cents because they know, somewhere out there, someone is having a worse life. A pavement cleaner donated twenty cents. An auntie manning the cart outside the Si Ma Lu Guan Yin Miao donated 2 dollars. A little girl plucked out 10 cents and donated. Which makes me even more disgusted at the people who don’t donate. More on that later.

The point is, these people rock. And I completely think they will lead a marvelous life. Wealthwise, who cares. They are already great people.

2) The Quick Apology Singaporean

The ones who don’t donate, which is a bit sore, but they have the heart and thought. If not, they at least have the courtesy to utter a quick apology or reason.

“Sorry, in a hurry.”
“No small change, sorry.”
“Sorry.”

Funny how sorry is a big word with them.
But then again, at least they’re courteous enough to say something. I fall under categories 1) and 2).

3) The Whatever-Lah-Pathetic-Loser Singaporean

DISCLAIMER: The following paragraphs continuing onward contain vulgarities. DO NOT proceed if you don’t take well to certain words.

THESE PEOPLE I FUCKING HATE CAN!
They completely ignore you. Not just mutter apology, or feel guilty, or whatever, but they COMPLETELY IGNORE YOU.

When I ask them, they stride past nonchalantly and look as though they have all the right in the world to do that. A couple of men, but a LOT of women.

All decked out in Prada, Gucci, Yves Saint Lauren, and what have you.

Sunglasses, music plugged in, briefcase by their side, wallet in hand.

Oh, but no, they’re just far too busy to put a coin in. That’s okay. At least wave a hand, or turn even, to acknowledge my presence. Oh no. They walk STRAIGHT AHEAD, eyes focused on the cloud far away, and pretend I’m not even there.




FUCK YOU.

Firstly, WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO WALK LIKE I’M NOT THERE?!

I honestly can say that I have never done that in my entire life and it is like a SLAP IN MY FACE. Painful and very rude when a person, supposedly working-class adult, with suits and cars awaiting, ignore a student asking for 20 cents for a charitable old folks’ home.

They walk ahead. Completely ignoring you. Like you’re not even there.

BUT I AM.

And the ironic thing is that they are supposed to be wealthy! They are supposed to have the Dior perfume tucked in their Burberry bag. They are supposed to wear the Calvin Kleins and Goldlions.

And yet, when it comes down to giving to a charitable cause, the roadside cleaner can give 20 cents, and THEY CANNOT.

So what does that say?





Singaporean parents train their children from young, to earn money, to work hard so they can get millions and millions in their fucking bank account.

In the end, they can’t even donate 20 cents out of those millions to old folks who need the money more than they do.

Fuckers you know, those people. So much money spent on branded stuff, for what really? So they can show off to their colleagues? Who still laugh and jeer and backstab behind their backs anyway? When their hearts are black as sin and evil as anything?

Fine, if you don’t donate, it’s okay. Don’t act like I’m not there. Because I am. And it’s extremely annoying when I get ignored by these so-called high-class people.

High-class, MY FOOT. If they are so-called high-class, I’m definitely higher than them.

High-class is not defined by the amount of money you earn or the amount of Guccis you have in your closet. It’s determined by how feeling and humane your heart is.

Hitler is low-class because he lacks that. The Queen of England is high-class because she has that.

I’m not saying all business people suck. One business guy, middle-aged, popped five bucks in with a smile. I’ll bet that felt good for him too.

But the rest? Staring ahead, walking ahead coldly and rather stupidly proud of themselves. Staring at perhaps their bosses’s dicks, so they could perhaps figure out a way to get him into bed and rise higher in their fucked up jobs?




I AM A HUMAN TOO, and I AM DOING A GOOD CAUSE UNLIKE YOU FUCKERS.

What Smile Campaign? What Singapore Smiles? I was out trying to get donations the whole day, and the number of smiles that I received did not total up to three pairs of my hands.

Don’t show smiles to the World Monetary Bank or whatever. Show Smiles to your own Singaporeans first.

It’s hypocritical and extremely naive if you think foreign Bankers are going to remember your smiles and reward you for it. You’re not going to get the promotion. You’re better off smiling at the poor guy on the street, asking for your donations, or to the handicapped beggar who needs it. You get better karma that way.




4) The I’m-Not-Donating-But-I’m-Praying Singaporean

Interesting, really, when Singaporeans do the above-said Ignore-You-Walk-Straight-Ahead-No-Eye-Contact move, but when they pass Si Ma Lu Guan Yin Miao they put down their briefcase, clasp their hands together, and pray for their wishes to come true.

Again, fuck them.

I TRULY, TRULY HOPE THEIR WISHES DON’T COME TRUE.

In fact, I’ll be as evil as to say I hope whatever they were wishing for backfires. A relative to get better? Oh no. The condition will worsen. Promotion? Oh no. Fired.

WHAT CHEEK THEY HAVE TO GO AND PRAY AFTER THEY COLDLY IGNORE ME STANDING THERE?





Buddhists believe in Karma, no? A good turn deserves another. What you give out will come back to you.

Wiccans and Witches believe that the energy you give out, be it good or bad, returns to you three times as much.

After I was coldly ignored like that, you expect Guan Yin to help you? After those so-called ‘devout Christians’ coldly ignore me, you expect God to help you in your time of need?

You expect Heaven to help you grant your wishes? Are you stupid or plain naive?

I think the heavenly beings will probably rig it such that you end up in an old folks’ home rotting away, waiting for the meagre bit of food to touch your lips!

You’ll become one needing the donations, all your earlier-earned money squandered away. Let’s see if you regret not giving a donation when you were younger.

Don’t call me stupid or evil or vengeful for wishing this upon others. They bring it upon themselves, for not being compassionate.




It’s JUST 20 cents! What can 20 cents do for you? But if everyone were to give 20 meagre cents, an old man can be sustained for one week longer!

And yet, out of the ‘kindness’ of their hearts, 20 cents is just too much. Oh yes. Far too much.

I won’t say Let them die a painful and long torturous death, but let’s just say these people need a lesson taught.

I’m very disappointed in Singaporeans. For all the reputation tourists credit us, ‘compassionate and warm citizens’, ‘helpful and graceful people’, there exists some people who are just so fucked up.

Tourists and foreigners need to see the real Singaporean, not the fake and pretentious ‘kind and compassionate’ citizen the government has taught them to be, to hide their real faces.

Wouldn’t the world be a better place without them?

And so it should be.