A church elder’s passing on recently got me thinking.

He used to serve with my dad, as a lay worker in the Peranakan Assembly. They would, after office hours and on weekends, visit and pray for the sick, bring the bread and wine for Holy Communion to those who were unable to come to church and visit those who had been absent from church. Over and above ministering and administering the needs of the assembly.

Theirs was a small and warm and caring assembly, where absence is noticed. Very comforting in a world where we are nothing but digits.

I was just writing to a friend that these are extraordinary ordinary lives. They serve others not for any personal gain but out of love for a fellow human being and this becomes their legacy. They didn’t set out with any intent to leave such a legacy but how they lived ensured they will be remembered such.

But death sets me thinking (more than new life actually, is that morbid? I don’t know). Are people, at death, more dear than when they were alive? Do their virtues gleam brighter at death? Would we say the same of the person while he or she is living?

In an East Asian country, there is a trend catching on. People hold their memorial services before they leave this world. This helps to bring them closure, especially for those terminally ill. Eulogies are given to the living dead, literally. And they say their goodbyes and thank yous before they go.

So do we love better only in death? Fulfilling last wishes is not difficult. You know the age-old belief about fulfilling a person’s last wish if you do not want to be “visited” on er… later In fact, to the world, it paints a picture of filial piety.

My grandpa left his last wishes with me. Among the “To Do” list was to throw his ashes in the sea. His contention was if love and filial piety are to be expressed or demonstrated, then it’s better upon the living than the dead. “I can’t rise from my ashes,” he said, “to see who’s visiting me.” That’s my grandpa.

But he has a point. Looking after the aged sick is more difficult than keeping his or her ashes in a niche or at home.

Visiting and providing for another person’s well being instead of only focusing on ours and simply appreciating them is better done while they are alive than dead.

All good things take time and effort. Even if just sitting to spend time with someone. We glean a lot about a person. My grandpa had a wealth of stories, anecdotes that I loved to hear… Of his childhood, walking miles to and from school everyday (did I mention my great grandpa had a car and driver at home? ) and sqautting by the roadside pumps to drink water when he got tired and thirsty, getting rides from a kind bullock cart man sometimes, until a rich aunt decided to be his patron and took him in to live with her, how he grew up during the pre-war days, going through two world wars and surviving!, his early dalliances with love, how he was matchmade to grandma etc… etc..

They were folks of humble background (they lost everything during the Japanese occupation). They do not leave a legacy in wealth or any written word (although I would have liked to have paid more attention to the whats and hows when I helped my grandma, at six years old, to make her special herbs and ointments for wellness, bloatedness and sprains) but if anyone had cared to spend time with them, the treasure is them.

Don’t get me wrong. I know him warts and all. Heck, we even know of a skeleton in grandpa’s closet. He was also a reformed alcoholic and chain smoker (I have proof – the ash from his cigarette burned me above my belly button while he was carrying me as a child (the folds of fats now, might have erased the mark but not the memory of it) It was only later in life that he gave these up after converting to Christianity but he hid nothing about his life. He taught me the good and the bad and how to choose well. He is not on any pedestal but his life touched mine in a very precious way.

So too others who have left this unpredictable world. They are not perfect, but I remember them because in some way, their lives resonated with mine.

I ask myself what epitaph I might want (although there will be nothing to engrave it on as I don’t intend to be buried or my ashes kept in a niche. I want my ashes to be thrown in the sea) ….

I think how we live is how we will be remembered. It will not be a perfect life but hopefully, we won’t have been too busy to stop to say a kind word to someone during a time of need, extend help in kind or time, be there for someone even if sitting in silence to listen, to cry with them … be it to stranger or friend. To have strength of character and the moral courage of our convictions to stand when others sway … to treat human beings with dignity no matter their station…. The acid test? – extending this same charity to loved ones at home as well (that’s the hardest, cos we hurt those we love the most).

I wouldn’t hold a memorial service before I go. These are for the living to cope with the loss. But I would want at least one eulogy from my family. What they say will be the acid test of how well I’ve lived and loved. Or not….

It’s getting close to Christmas.

It seems like only yesterday that I was part of the manic trail of shopping dust for Christmas presents. Driving down Orchard Road to review (no, no not in any official capacity, just one of the cars falling, happily, behind a road hog causing slow moving traffic ) the light-up with my family. Going to someone’s house to hear the kids’ carolling. Enjoying pre-Christmas celebrations. Dusting off my choir robes. Having traditional Christmas family dinner cooked by eldest sis.

The only thing I didn’t do was to put up the Christmas tree. I love Christmas trees, not that it has any religious significance, (Jesus was after all born in a manger and not found below a Christmas tree, gift to mankind notwithstanding). But allergic rhinitis always causes sneezing fits and most times, I will be lying flat on the floor with the kids running a ring around me instead of the tree.

But I love Christmas trees. It just adds to the festivities and lights up any celebration. Even if a quiet night at home, the blinking fairy lights add a sense of magic, warmth and nostalgia. It brings me back to the white Christmas tree and home of my childhood and the bustle to prepare to welcome the carollers, where Green Spot and sandwiches would be the apt finale. (The only time my sisters and I get to drink anything other than warm water ). It also brings back beautiful memories of people whom I love who have left this earth but not my heart. My grandparents, my maternal aunty, my black and white nanny, my adopted grandma and grandpa, my grandaunts (grandpa’s sister and sister-in-law)….

It just seems to cancel out terrible days. Rotten people. Difficult experiences. Bad friendships.

The memories seem stuck at when I was five years old. Being two years apart, my sisters would have been seven and nine respectively. We would have been on good behaviour to make sure we didn’t miss the high point of our very simple lives. Putting up the Christmas tree. A plastic white with green, blue, red ornaments, tinsel and blinking white (as in light yellow) fairy lights. Of course, we were more of a hindrance than a help. Rushing to put up the ornaments, before my mum could finish twining the lights around the tree, but it was a special time.

The trees these days do not necessarily have a star topping the apex but ours always had. I loved that moment best. The piece de resistance. When my mum took a high stool to fix the star to the top of the tree. Sigh….

Words fail me now but I just loved the moment….

Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.

I do wish that… even now. But as I got older, another star that led the shepherds and Magi to the manger, has me making another wish as well.

Not world peace but for peace in our hearts.

Star light… star bright… May you have your wish tonight.

Everyone has a price. That means everyone can be bought? That’s disturbing.

Is there anything noble to a price tag? Admittedly, we have to make a buck and work for a living. So that’s a price tag on us, right? That helps us put food on the table to feed the family, pay for medical bills, send children to school, pay for little luxuries. Hopefully, it also helps us open up our fists to extend help to others in need as well.

So getting paid for a good, hard day’s work, is good.

On the other side of the fence, the people who put the price tag on us, also make a noble contribution, eh? They tag us to to help us make an honest living. So that’s noble too, right?

When does it stop being noble? I guess this is not new. But it didn’t hit me as much until the last few years. My environment ensured that. Money and job status and security is associated not merely with loyalty but blind loyalty. Absolute blind trust (strange … these are the very same people who say they don’t believe in anything or anyone but themselves and their self-ability), here they are blindly trusting. The more blind you are, the better. And it’s not the blind justice with balanced scales. It’s being blind to bad decisions of the power that be and attendant eunuchs. Blind to unfair treatment of professional (albeit deemed “disloyal” by virtue of the fact that they are not “yes” man) and loyal employees who want the best for the organisation. Blind to breaking people’s rice bowls. Blind to injustice. Blind to everything and everyone, except those who sign your pay cheque.

Everything becomes a pure transaction. A mere contract. Take the pay. Zip up and throw away the key to everything else except what your paymasters say and ask you to say and do. You get your money. You get your status. You get your security.

But the company “owns” you.

The question is at what point do you walk away and say no amount of money is worth the moral dilemma? And when you do get to walk away, will you come back for even more money and higher status? Is it worth it? What’s your price? What will you sell? Who will you sell out? Why will you do it?

I believe we have lines we do not cross. Well, at least for those whose choices are black or white. Right or wrong. Yes or no. I am not certain for those whose line shifts within shades of grey. I guess shifting lines imply there are no absolutes. Everything is relative for them. And for those who have totally crossed the line, they have gone to the dark side. Where wrong becomes their right.

What conditions some to be happily blindsided by money and status? Perhaps those who do not have blood on their hands. They just take orders and pass it on to others to execute. Literally. They just write papers and surprise, surprise, leave others to implement their “projects” within their stipulated, unrealistic expectations and timelines. Perhaps, they believe only in themselves and the present. Therefore, they are amoral with no conscience? It is just what’s good for you for the here and now. So others be damned. For the now at least. Or perhaps, they are just above the law. They work with and for the law or they are the law. Or those who see the system for what it is and milk it for whatever it’s worth.

What’s their price? I’m afraid in that situation, the price will never be right. I’m sure someone’s price could be another’s poison. Is there a limit? I’m just bummed that people I think I know keeps raising the ante on their price, while continuing to criticise others pretty much like them and the organisation that they continue to fleece.

Being blindsided is more common than I thought. Even with people you think you know.

I totally believe that a good sense of humour is essential to good mental health. It’s a good de-stress mechanism. But it has to be supported by something funny in the first place. It is not just laughing for the sake of laughing. Sorry. That means the likes of a laughter club doesn’t quite cut it for me. It’s somewhat disconcerting – forced laughter. So yeah… there needs to be something funny to laugh at.

Laugh at our own bloopers or when somebody jokes about something we said or did. Laugh for the same reason, at and hopefully (if the person has a sense of humour :p), with others. Laugh at syntax errors. Laugh at antics. Laugh watching a comedy. A spoof. A Bollywood tragedy… sorry, it’s so “drama” that it tickles my funny bone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not laughing at the people or culture, just the situation, the plot and genre of flim-making…

Like how many fatal blows (see there’s a problem right there), does it take to kill someone. Like this guy was shot. Kicked at by ALL his attackers. Brain battered with a bat. “Blood” oozing.. no, no, wait..gushing, from every possible opening in the body…… Cut to commercial and the next scene shows him on a hospital bed!!! Merely with a bandaged head, full head of hair.. hahaha.. It’s a miracle! He’s alive!!!

My mum and aunt are hilarious. They went shopping one day to the Ladies’ Department of a well-known department store. While browsing for a blouse, my aunt was fingering all the sleeves of the blouses to have a feel of the material. The blouses were either on hangers hung on racks or on mannequins. Thank God it was just the sleeves. So lost was she in the rapture of material touching she had the shock of her life when her “mannequin” moved!!! She jumped letting out a string of unmentionables. Noooo… it’s not a scene from the Little House of Horrors. She had touched a real, living, breathing human’s blouse! And “we were not amused”. Obviously doesn’t enjoy good mental health. :p Anyway, she must have been a block of wood for my aunt to have mistaken her for a mannequin!

My mum coming towards my aunt saw this and laughed at my aunt (who was by then, hysterically laughing too). My mum laughed and laughed and laughed until she bumped into someone. She apologised profusely to the woman, who also didn’t seem to respond. Then she looked up and saw her own reflection! She had bumped into a mirror. That started the histrionics all over again.

Another gem for my eldest sister and I was when we were pulling an overnighter with some friends at the beach (all clean fun) and had only one large mat for like a dozen “carcasses” whose spirits were more willing than the bodies, to keep awake. It was quite a squeeze as we had just plonked ourselves width-wise across the mat. Even then, it could not accommodate all. Being the considerate person that she is, my second sister, brain fried… I mean brainwave :p and all, shouted excitedly, “I know! I know! We should all sleep vertically!” hahahaha… Whereupon, the smart aleck in the group jumped to his feet, stood at attention and said, “Great idea, Xx!”, before collapsing into a crumpled heap, laughing till he cried. You’ve heard of “die standing” (which is a literal translation from the Malay language). Here’s one for Wikipedia, “sleep standing”. Try it. Besides creating space, it helps in blood circulation….goes straight to your feet to prevent cramps… hahaha… Anyway, it still solved our problem. All of us laughed so hard that we became wide awake and needed only sitting space. hahaha…

Syntax errors or wrong word usage get my funny bone too. My niece and nephew (actually add mother dear to the fray too) would automatically, in mock horror start “gnawing” at their hands, when their father sometimes slips and says, “Eat yourself”. Not that I am a specialist, but I think it’s syntax of the Hokkien dialect creeping in.

Oxymorons, especially spotted by a then five-year old boy and two-year old girl, can be funny too. A cartoon “Sheep in the City” had a private named Private Public and a general named General Specific. Then add to that very cuuuuuute toddlers laughing gleefully, remarking, “Oxymo[w]on” to each other. That just takes the cake.

Which is why an adult not able to distinguish “tricky” homonyms is a laugh-a-minute. In a work e-mail, someone had written, “Corporate [office] will take up 50% of the cost, so that you will not have to bare all”… ahahahahahaha…. I should hope not!

There’re more where that came from but I should stop. I’m way over my quota. This is my longest post ever. Hopefully you got a kick out of this and not some shuteye. It is for your mental health :p Better yet, if you post your own funny moments.

There are some quarters who say that we should stop picking on and penalising Ris Low. She’s made mistakes. She’s human let her move on.

Well, sure. The only thing is Ms Low needs to want to move on too. If she stops giving media interviews, then perhaps there won’t be too much fodder for dinner conversations. But she continues to be “in your face” and with every interview, she just ups the ante on the intelligence quotient or rather the lack of it.

I guess some day people might get bored or find another controversy to critique on, but meanwhile, you can’t say that your funny bone has not been tickled.

Forget about “Singlish” and the fact that every other Singaporean, Tom, Dick, Harry, Zoe, Fann, Mary speaks the same way. It is not about that. It’s not a debate between “Singlish” and grammatically correct English. It is not a choice. We need to be English literate and competent. Then if we want to add the “lahs” and “lors” and do a literal translation between Hokkien speak into Singlish phrasing, You eat oredi or not?, we can. The difference is knowing the rules and being able to apply them and knowing when we choose to lapse to the less formal, Singlish. There are no two ways about that. If not, we run the risk of having subtitles to translate Singlish to English! Bizarre.

The underlying issue, I think, with Ms Low, is her lack of self awareness and others awareness. By that I don’t mean that it has to be about “me”, “me”, “me”… “I rrrrr care what they think [of me] strurting down Orchard Road wearing a naughty, LOUD, BOOMZ, RAT bigini and jiins. It’s about me. It’s all about how I think… yah.” News flash MS Low, the world is not about you. The world does not revolve around you.

It’s about understanding and correctly reading verbal and non verbal cues and setting correct boundaries knowing what’s expected and what’s acceptable. Even living with apes require adapting to their social environment and behaviour.

Her lack of awareness is almost naive. Is there another adjective to use? It’s so much so that when asked a question, her answers, belie to me, a warped notion that she is being sought for her expert opinion!

She is after all studying…”erm….. (now what was that again)… oh yes …”natural sciences… and horse-pee-ta-ta-telly-tee and tourism”. Really? There’s such a course? That’s why she can strate-te-gise on how to win. How erm…the fashionis… er fashion style dictates that khaki green teamed with leopard and “zibrraaa” “preens” will totally take thrash out of the trashy. Yah…you know. A style so totally hers based on her persona-na-la-la-li-ty. You know, you know… BOOMZ! “My style cos it’s not your style, so it’s my style. Not your style. My style.” So goes the PCK spoof of the infamous Razor TV interview.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UrQfbXPhEI&feature=youtube_gdata

There you have it. A circuitous route to a winning tragedy… I mean, strategy.

I’ve been told I have a special gift. Something that could lead to an alternative career. The clue is Bond and Bourne :p .. Anyway, I can engage in deep conversation with a friend while tuning in to unsolicited, meandering conversation from the next table.

Most times, the conversations are riveting. Er… both.. mine and the conversation at the next table.

Today, it happened again. But with a difference.

As usual, a friend and I were enjoying our conversation, flitting from topic to topic like honey bees to flowers. We covered topics that were philosophical (I wonder if horses prefer carrying burdens on their backs or pulling a burden hitched to a cart .. probably neither); political (better way of managing the jobs credit scheme) and plebian, which won hands down; ranging from food, film, common friends (read gossip ), birthdays, scents etc…

Then I found snippets of conversation from the next table wafting across to me, unsolicited. I can but won’t repeat the conversation. Primarily because it would be rude. Secondarily, it was Blah! Bland. Boring.

Is there such a thing as a boring conversationalist? His companion appeared riveted. Her non-verbal cues certainly showed she was “leaning in” on his droning pinkerton monologue. Her intent clear.

My friend thinks that like-minded people naturally draw each other out. Understand verbal and non-verbal cues, speak on the same wavelength and laugh at similar things. So anyone with a different worldview and mindset could find another person’s brilliant conversationalist, boring.

Hmmm… he has a point? But I wonder if ever found in conversation with the likes of Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King, Mahatma Ghandi, anyone would ever say they were boring conversationalists. And on the homefront of ordinary people, my aunt and sister are interesting conversationalists. They can hold court and entertain with their anecdotes for hours. My late grandparents too.

So are there boring conversationalists?

This brings me back to my undergrad days when a well-intentioned friend set me up on a blind date.

I went against my better judgement! Making another terrible mistake of agreeing to dinner instead of suggesting coffee! And exacerbated it with no plan B! ie: A planned meeting with a friend within 30minutes of the date, should it turn out boring or a psychotic episode. Or a long-suffering friend going home if I were a no show.

So without plan anything, I was stuck! It was excruciating. Maybe I was too much of a SYT then (ok, ok, take away the “S”) polite and thornless and therefore could not extricate myself regardless of the intense pain from boredom. Peeling onions would have been less painful!

The poor sod, with the intention of impressing me, had found out from my friend what courses I was studying and appeared to have homed in on Sociology. He then did what every Singaporean student is good at. Regurgitate everything he had read. Concept after theory!!! Some I hadn’t even heard of! Worse of, when I try to take up the conversation thread that he started, it died of natural causes! No return service. He couldn’t respond and just went to the next topic. Who wants to speak about Marxism on a date, anyway…

I was waning by the third theory, picturing in my mind lopping this cro magnon with the extraordinarily hard rump of steak hoping to crack his cranium to stop the theorising!

I was desperate to finish the meal. Chew and swallow (those who know me know that 32 chews for every mouthful is not a theory but practise) desperately became swallow! Swallow!! I had acute indigestion from python-like eating habits and bad conversation

If he had picked up on my non-verbal cues, I didn’t know but he appeared to change track. He threw out (I could have thrown up!) “read” jokes! “Have you heard this one?” became the irritating refrain for the next few minutes. Seemed like hours! Nothing was spontaneous with this chap. He reads and spews! Not the knight and dragon variety, alas….

Suffice it to say, I gobbled the main meal (no coffee or dessert thank you), preferring instead to desert him with “my parents don’t allow me to give out my phone number” as we parted. I felt awful but what are parents for, right? :p … ok, ok, I did feel bad about desertion but I was sure he would find someone who loves being spewed at, unknight-like.

Are there boring conversationalists? I’m afraid I have to say I think so. And I don’t think it’s just the function of different mindsets and wavelengths. :p Fess up! I’m sure you had your share of triple B too.

I’ve always loved reunions. Family reunions. As a child, I would lap up every bit of the stories that my grandma and grandpa would regale at dinner. Well, that and itek sionh (my grandma’s specialty), babi pongtay, ayam buah keluak, hee pioh … During my mother’s time they only had meat once a year at Chinese New Year. We were not too far from that, but at least we had fish during the slow months before the New Year My uncle was a deep sea fisherman and after every outing, we would get baskets full of fish, hand-carried to us by his mother. And his salted fish, divine! Not the Hugh Grant variety :p

Anyway, I digress.

A friend was talking recently about having gone to a class reunion. Primary 6 class reunion at that! Isn’t that amazing? I can count, with the fingers on one hand, the number of Primary 6 classmates that I am really in touch with. So a full class, well not all, but still more than the digits on two hands and feet, is quite a feat.

I asked a question that my friend might have found somewhat strange. I didn’t phrase it too well. I asked what the folks were doing these days. What they were working as. A question apparently quite typical of a Singaporean and second in popularity only to, “How much?”.

I didn’t make myself clear even after my friend listed off hand, what some were doing. Some were in law. Some owned their own businesses. The typical management folks (given our not so tender age), teachers, engineers, … etc… You know the drill.

While asking the question and kind of anticipating the answer, I was mulling about the rest of the not so full class turnout. The no-shows.

I wonder who shows up at such reunions. I am sure everyone wants to catch up to see how “well” the other has aged. What everyone’s been up to. How the laughter is still similar, even though the body shape and number of hair on the head has ballooned and thinned out respectively. Some could even be networking above all the other “curiosity” reasons. That’s all great. I love these catch-ups too.

But have we ever wondered, besides living overseas and work commitments, why the no shows, don’t show?

At tertiary level, we can roughly guess at the path ahead of us. So a class reunion, besides throwing up the ones who have grown more prosperous (the more physiological changes), would likely throw out white collar folks. For pre-university and secondary schooers, the outcome of where life leads, is less clear. Primary school, murky at best.

So speaking of a Primary 6 reunion made me wonder, where the no- shows were. Whether life had been kind or fate had dealt a cruel blow. And if we go by the crude measurement of success and happiness that society dictates ie: professional or white collar work, home in a good district, nice car, kids in good schools, etc… whether those without all these trappings, would show at all.

Hawkers make an honest living. So too taxi drivers. Cleaners. Housewives (as opposed to tai tais). Bus captains. Bar tenders Restaurant service staff. Gardeners (not horticulturalists). Clerks. Coffee ladies (why are they only ladies … hmmm…).. factory workers…you get my drift.

If they didn’t show, I wonder if it’s because they CMI in the way society dictates is success. Or because they themselves don’t feel comfortable in such social dos. They have a perception that those who do show might “look down on them” and not make them feel comfortable. Whether that’s in fact, the reality.

Why must reunions only be in hotels or swanky clubs? Would it make a difference if they weren’t? Would those who choose to no show, show?

I don’t know. But we tend to associate (even outside of reunions) with those of the same ilk. I wonder how that came to be? Has it always been this way? Was it my imagination? I thought we (at least the baby boomers) grew up and were friends with people of diverse backgrounds and life was the richer for it. Can’t we remember the village in the metropolis?

Is this a mole hill that I’ve just turned into a mountain? Is the divide the real reason for a no show? Or am I just reading into things that are not there? I don’t know. It’s just a hunch.

My friend’s sister has been working overseas for the longest time after her graduation.  She has a conscience.  Much like most of us.  The only difference is we see injustice and either feel sorry for the victims, walk away or both or not; or try to help in our own little way by parting generously with money (which by the way is the most convenient for us so we don’t need to dirty our hands).

She, however, seeks out positions that allows her to go one step beyond pity.  She offers humanitarian aid by helping women who are unable to defend themselves with free legal aid, or helping earthquake victims through the NGOs, helping the less fortunate by being their voice, etc, etc….. I think that’s noble.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think she, nor do I advocate that all should run now and work with NGOs. But it’s her observation of where we are going, that’s frightened me.

Her path has deviated very much from the normal Singaporean, who count the 5Cs necessary.  Where the material man overtakes the soul of a man.  Where the commercial bent dictates that KPIs and ROIs as the only justified measures of success. 

The Singaporean pre-occupation with success that is aligned only with how much money you have.  How much money you make.  Who you are in the food chain.  Being one up on the Joneses.

Most times, if we are close to something or someone and are exposed to them on a daily basis, change is not evident.  Like my relatives who do not see my dad for a long time would have said he lost weight and those of us who do, will say he’s put on.  Similarly, with attitudes and mindsets, we who live here, do not realise the changes we have undergone.  I guess it creeps up on us.  Driving for better performance is the buzz word - be it good grades instead of a good education or getting a good salary instead of a doing a good job etc… 

We don’t see it.  But my friend’s sister does, on her visits home  It’s not like she means that we should not strive to improve ourselves and to better our lives.  Or she goes around ranting and raving about this to all and sundry.  It’s her observation.  One I found out from my friend. 

I’ve been mulling about this for awhile.  Well now and then in my waking hours, since I heard it.  And sadly, I think she’s right.

We might have or hopefully, are only starting to lose the plot.   We are going the way of the capitalists where everything is measured in dollars and cents for I, me and myself.  

Don’t misunderstand.  I am not a communist either.  I believe in the intrinsic values of hard work, fending for myself and contributing to society.

But I think she has a point.  I think we seem to have strayed from what’s good to what’s right.  I believe we do need to balance between I and we.  The right of the individual and societal good.   Go back to values instead of merely looking at the cost and at what price.

Do you realise that close to our lips is how much and not how well?  Motivations even at the level of the family unit is always about how much and not about the values it inculcates.  Or at school, getting school kids to do volunteer work comes with the carrot of CIP points.  So it goes to the lowest common denominator (but most always the easiest way out, especially for tired, working parents - no tiresome screaming diatribes) – how much is it worth to you for me to do this and that?  Where does it stop? 

It can’t all stop.  Money in exhange of .. I mean.  We still need to get paid for doing a job, hopefully for doing a more than decent job.  So we can pay for goods and services bought.  So the economy keeps spinning.

But there are places, this should not carry across.  Have we crossed the fine line?  If we have, I hope it’s not too late to turn back.  One person, one family at a time.

If we don’t, that’s what we are unleashing into the world – greedy, mini mes.  That’s anarchy.

I think besides a revamped global financial system, what we need is a change of heart.

I have been thinking lately that it matters squat if you are good-looking and well put together superficially, but rotten inside.  It matters squat to me, that is.  

In the law of the jungle though, the “most attractive” is often associated with being the “fittest” and the most likely to survive.  Going by what’s happening in the world of homo sapiens, it is likely we have aped the animal kingdom.  Now that’s progress. according to Darwinism. :p

I wonder why that is.  Why do we allow ourselves to be dictated by that rule?  If the package is good from the outside in, that’s not too bad, I guess.  But most times, it’s more like what the Chinese say, “good to look at, not good to eat”.  Tasteless.

But these somehow get to the top of the heap and so too others like them, get ahead.  And we allow that. So whose fault is it?

A friend has been threatening to invent and patent er… stuff… that doesn’t sound very promising. :p  I’m just thinking whether a character scanner that measures “decency” will be a possibility in the near future.  It’s like a lie-detector test of sorts but it measures the flaws in your character by showing up hot spots in the reading. 

Then perhaps we can weed out things that don’t matter and single out the really attractive:

• A good personality above good looks
• Comfortable enough in their own skin to laugh at themselves, together with others
• Those who can exchange witty repartee above set jokes
• Without a loathsome sense of self-importance, humble
• Dealing on all things and with people, with integrity and honesty
• Not having double standards
• Treating people, at every station in life, with respect
• Though that’s pointless if this behaviour doesn’t begin at home first
• Display considerate behaviour
• Persevering, does not give up easily
• Passionate and with good judgement
• Kind and compassionate and secure
• Healthy sense of self-awareness and self-respect, discerning and wise

Can I say cannot have a shrill voice? I think being attractive from inside out is what matters and that carries a person through different relationships from personal to professional.   Of course for the latter, other skills set commensurate with the job is important too.   But good values is core to the individual’s character and knits the fabric of any unit – family, institution, society.

I wonder if organisations will be interested in a character scanner.  :p

Are you?  What’s unattractive to you?

If people could see our thought bubble, what would they see?

If  someone gave me just ONE dollar per thought bubble, I could retire now and live very well.  Perhaps in Barbados or Tuscany.  Or a house in every place I want to live at , around the world.

Would I take the dollar per bubble?  I am not too sure, especially if the reveal is in front of the person “bubbled” about.  The most obvious reason “why not” would be that for me, most of them would have been associated with bad thoughts.  If they were good thoughts, they would not have resided in a bubble, in the first place. :p

If I applied the same meaning of the mantra “if looks could kill” to my thought bubbles, I think the dollar per bubble would then have to go to some legal counsel to get me off the hook.  Or actually, I could represent myself as it would be beholden on the prosecutor to prove beyond reasonable doubt, that I had the bad thought that “killed” and it was pre-meditated.  Tough.  Provided of course, that a thought-ful “murder” gets in the court’s books as a crime in the first place…

… Huh? Ok.  Ok.  That last paragraph was an indulgent digression.

Which thought bubbles would I be loathe to reveal?  Those about my loved ones – family and friends.  People important to me that I hold in high regard.  Begs the question, doesn’t it?  Why would anyone have thought bubbles about those they love.  Or those who are important to them?  I guess it’s to keep peace and to prevent them from getting hurt at my ungenerous thoughts.

Don’t get me wrong, bubbles have burst, my cup runneth over… ie many times.  But just as many were held back after the dangerous first rumblings, to prevent mini wars.  I especially hate to be nagged at…. thought bubble! thought bubble! thought bubble! ………. especially when it’s a ranting on someone else’s issues, thought bubble!… thought bubble!  thought bubble!!……which suddenly gets rolled into my issue.  What the!…. you know the drill.

What else would I not reveal?  Potentially hurtful ones, even on random strangers.  Like my nephew and I saw today, while cycling, a boy who wore tights under his shorts.  What the?…… thought bubble… Or when you see a CPF-withdrawable-age, old man with a young East Asian woman on his arm!  Worse the same man crawling back to his wife or family when his money ran out together with the East Asian woman!  Thought bubble to infinity! 

Hypothetically, there are some thought bubbles that I might consider living well for   These are bubbled moments for those who bully, who have no integrity, who spy, who have no —– (the equipment many a sport would require to play with, including golf and I don’t mean the stick, ok, ok putters and drivers), who have no conscience, no backbone, no principles… you get the drift.  The scum (a very generous description according to a friend) of our earth who do random stuff, just to get ahead in life, keep wealth, keep position, keep status… but obviously, not their souls.

Are your thought bubbles ever innocent?  Or like mine, they are mostly bad.  If bad, and someone gave you a dollar per bubble to reveal the thoughts in front of the person “bubbled” about, would you?