From the Net: Understanding The Lion City - Singapore

HyperFocal SG

Source: http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/04-03/understanding-the-lion-city-singapore.html

Understanding The Lion City - Singapore
By: Susan Bowers
Understanding The Lion City

Singapore

The enigma of Singapore astonishes me. It is an ordered hubbub. I am able to streak through the airport in record time, find a machine that spews what to me seems an arbitrary amount of money - the amount, I discover later, is more than I would withdraw at any North American ATM.

No one interacts with me until I reach the long taxi queue. Even then it scurries along at a pace that discourages human interaction - a Chaplinesque assembly line. Humans are bits and bytes, pluses and minuses, bodies and space as they progress forward in one of the most efficient transit systems on earth.

I offer a wry grin when the man at the door sweeps me into a whirlwind pocket of passengers as the third of three. The three taxis careen with practiced precision, slide into their allocated spots long enough to receive us and our luggage. Then we are off at subway speed on a straight track, whizzing along with taxis and motorcycles that whip past us.

The CB radio in the cab spurts a repeated pattern of static-voice-static, a staccato mix of English, Malay and Mandarin. It is the perfect rhythm to the soundtrack of the brightly lit high rises that blur past the windows. Then an irksome silence creeps in, disconcerting, like the cocoon of freefall or zero gravity. The CB erupts again and things get back on track. The Suntec City building, whose name and reputation bring to mind Hollywood's Century City (think Die Hard), stands out in the center outdoing all other high rises by outlining itself with lights.

More than the city, it is the Singaporeans who astonish me. Singapore is the only place I know where the locals walk faster than the expatriates.

How did this country develop such cleanliness, efficiency, order, speed and discipline in a hot, humid and geographically sparse place? It is a civilization run by money, by business. Surrounded by Malaysia and Indonesia, it is an anomaly amidst poverty stricken and mismanaged governments. Chinese influence perhaps? Most of the economy is run and owned by Chinese immigrants. Is this what cities in China would have been like if communism had been replaced by the freedom of enterprise?

This is what I gathered from the hotel info channel. Despite what seems a Chinese monopoly, the city is only 17% Chinese. Its exotic history began in 1819 when Sir Raffles "founded" the city. Before then it served as a strategic base for England in southeast Asia during Britain's expansion of its empire. During W.W.II it was a bastion of strength in the area. Later it became a hub for travel and trade. It made independence in 1965, and is now home to Indians, Pakistanis, Sri Lankans, Indonesians and others. I do not know what constitutes a true Singaporean. The culture is an amalgamation of each of its groups of immigrants which covers 5000 years of history.

Inarguably, Singapore is a gem in that part of the world. It is an economic giant - clean, safe and prosperous. It offers state-of-the-art medical facilities that I have experienced on many occasions, including the birth of my first child. It is also seen as a dictatorship, or as someone once called it, the "Cuba of Asia," albeit more economically sound.

No doubt Lee Kuan Yew's leadership of over 40 years has made a difference in the region. But there is a conflict that simmers beneath the surface, that appears in teens who struggle for an identity in an arena of conformity, who have the wisdom to bemoan their super consumerism and strive for more meaningful relationships. It appears in unhappy citizens who hand out flyers in the market that criticize the government, who risk punishment for dissent and defamation.

The disharmony appears in a tenuous attempt at a "Speaker's Corner" - a joke as it is hard to obtain permits that are monitored by police who can use the information expressed against its citizens at the whim of the government.

At what cost is Singapore successful? I believe it is a soulless place. It functions the way it does because everyone thinks they must work harder, faster, more efficiently for the machine to run well oiled. Like a shark, if it stops, it will die. And so this artificially created culture feeds on itself, cannibalistic if you will.

To stop and reflect means to fall behind, to see the emptiness. This is observed in the teenagers who gather en masse in the streets Saturday night, on the internet, on MTV Asia interactive. The Teenage Textbook Movie - a clever but barely audible motion picture made in Singapore that was a hit last year - and MTV Asia tell us the youth of Singapore endure the same heartaches and social upbringing as any cosmopolitan city. On their minds are identity, money, friendship, possessions, grades.

Last year as the MTV hostess was asking for New Year's resolutions, teens who responded mentioned wanting to be less materialistic, less stressed by grades, more in the moment, enjoying life and their friends. Perhaps I'm wrong but I know I can take it for two days and no more. It is overwhelmingly modern and breathtaking - then I need to get out.

It is a mere 35 days till Christmas. The main artery of the city is the focus for celebration, particularly this year. Red, white and blue is the theme. Lights and decorations lather each of the buildings. It is an odd dichotomy of images, not only in the tropical surroundings, but in a country where only a small percentage is Christian. It smacks of economic exploitation that makes me uncomfortable - but only after soaking in the carols piped into the department stores and sipping a Starbuck's cappuccino.

ndmmxiaomayi SG

Quite well written...

But to see emptiness is not a bad idea. Somehow... to keep moving is a bad idea. You fail to see what's wrong.

HyperFocal SG

http://www.bconnex.net/~kidworld/oct23.htm

Life in the Pressure Cooker

This is the perceptual diary of a typical Singaporean teenager:

Enormous beads of perspiration trickled slowly down my now oily forehead, onto my abnormally dry lips. My usually cool cheeks felt flushed and hot. My tired eyes were moist and glistening, brimming with tears, preparing to spill -- over this test that I was about to flunk -- yet again I licked my chapped lips, involuntarily taking in the salty drops of moisture resting on them. My mouth tasted funny, strange, and unfamiliar.

What should I do? I cant afford to fail! I asked myself in desperation. The reply came almost immediately. The words Cheat cheat rang eerily in my ears.
My clammy hands trembled violently as I cautiously reached for the History text under my untidy desk, keeping both my eyes steadily on Miss George, who was still peacefully marking her students assignments. Despite my nervousness, I located the page I was searching for with just two experienced flips, then fought hard to stop the shaking pen I was grasping in my cold sweaty palms.
The old school bell rang out loud and clear all of a sudden, causing me to jump up with a start. The sudden movement jostled my cluttered desk and my History text fell to the ground with a clatter. Miss Andrews looked up instantaneously and with amazing agility, got out of her seat and started towards me. My heart thumped madly against my ribs as I avoided her staring eyes that bore like gimlets into me. The tears I had succeeded in holding back all this while spilled down my now scarlet cheeks and I began to sob uncontrollably.

Argh! I could hardly stand it any longer! I had to have the ultimate torture of silently watching the entire caning process before actually experiencing it!
I gave another grimace and a groan of agony as the principal, Mister Kew, swished his thin cane high up in the air. I shut my eyes tight only to hear him bring it down again mercilessly and yet another loud whack. My best buddy, Lees bloodcurdling scream of pain and distress unsettled me -- he, too, had tried the same tactic during his test and both of us, of course, ended up in the same boat.

Kill me, his loud scream told me, Kill me and end my suffering Hot tears welled up as before in my eyes and I desperately tried to blink them back. My wobbly knees shook involuntarily, knocking against each other and my normally wavy hair stood straight on their ends. Please Lord! Save me and I promise I will believe this time!
The rusty fire alarm sounded all of a sudden.

My heart had yet to fail me; it still pounded wildly as the well-known school bully advanced menacingly step by step. I squinted hard against the rude glare of the burning afternoon sun peeping in through the shaft to focus better at Wilson who was swaggering along, looking absolutely fit and muscular. Then I looked down at myself, self-conscious all of a sudden; what thin legs with knobbly knees I had, what a soft and flabby tummy I had, what a scrawny little shrimp I was Wilson sneered at me as if reading my thoughts, Oh hi there, aint that dear old Copycat Jeremy?

I could feel the warm blood gushing rapidly up my head; I backed off, only to come to a dead end against the cool cubicle wall of the schools boys toilet. What ought I to do? Could I possibly slip in between his legs? I sighed inwardly, almost resigned to fate as we came face to face. Wilson continued his childish taunts one after another; while I could only look on at the tightening of his handsome, well shaped jaws and listen to the cracking of his knuckles as he clenched his powerful fists tight.

I felt a single hard punch in my weak stomach as Wilson gave a sudden frown of deep concentration. I was practically sent flying to the ground. I could hear the dull crunch of my new black rimmed glasses as Wilson stomped on them. I could smell the strong disinfectant on the toilet floor. My head reeled. I just managed to suppress my moan as Wilson, warming up, had gained confidence and began bashing my head against the clean and newly whitewashed walls.
A lone teacher strolled leisurely down the deserted corridor outside the toilet, oblivious.

They say a man would go through a flashback of his entire life just moments before his death. And as I felt my mind breakdown, an antique scroll with old Latin-like fonts was displayed, in a split second, before my very eyes. When an unfamiliar voice read it out loud and clear, I gradually came to realise that it was another one of the essays I had been working on recently for the school project. I was hard pressed for time and the assignment was long overdue, there were too many things to be done and too little time to complete them, in other words, I was all stressed up. I could feel my sensitive eardrums vibrating as the words echoed softly around me

The large spacious room stood cold, gloomy and dimly lit. The fire was slowly but surely going out. The silence was overwhelming, so much so that the occasional crackling of the dying flames and the uneven scratching of pen against paper were magnified. The sudden rush of cool air from the open window against Jenny's cheeks brought about her goosebumps. The atmosphere was tense... and eerie... Somewhere in the house, an old grandfather's clock chimed. Once, twice, three times... twelve times. Jenny jumped violently from the essay she had been working on. "It's only the clock," she thought, as she returned to her ghost story only to spot, from the corner of her eye, a ghostly figure near the door. Her spine stiffened and her blood ran cold as she lifted her bent head to take a better look at her unexpected visitor. A cloud of cold mist surrounded him. He seemed translucent, Jenny could see and hear the antique oak door creaking shut behind him. Outside in the dark woods nearby, a full moon shone brightly above a howling wolf as a mysterious figure lurked among the shadows of the tall pine trees...

My usually clear vision was distinctly blurred, my sharp hearing was now a mixture of deafening noises roaring in my ears and my world was swirling ceaselessly around me as my brain screamed out loud,

Argh yes! The Singapore way of life IS a rat race the Singapore education system IS a pressure cooker! Certificates, degrees, honours the list goes on is it ever ending? Do they ever cease do we ever stop climbing? Is this what a fifteen year old ought to be doing in the prime of youth? Is this what they call good planning, preparing for one's old age? Am I really willing to slog my way till the end? Is this the way I want to complete my life? No, no, no, no, no, no! I will survive, somehow I will but the question is, do I really want to!

Yes, I was in the midst of the examinations, busy cramming an empty mind, burning the midnight oil, just before I unintentionally fell into a deep and troubled sleep

Name: Magdalene
Age: 15

Doubletalk SG

A soulless clinical city, perhaps?

phil30k SG

Life imitating art?

Art imitating life?

Art dictating life?

Art connects us. It is speech without language. It is language without words. It is words without meaning. Yet we understand.

Allowing art to influence your logical process conditions you to become more accepting of propoganda.

Art has a place in our lives.

Know where that place should be.