Ruffie the Desolate
A chat buddy and budding
briskwalker sent me this post about Ruffie, her favorite stuffed-toy and squeeze.
Ruffie has not been getting his share of cuddles lately and is feeling somewhat neglected. Is she too busy with work or just too distracted by other things? Poor Ruffie sounds as melancholiac as he smells mouldy. He needs a good bath, girl!
When he's not busy writing about the world, you can find Ruffie at swimming complexes observing humans as they jump into, wade around and lap in man-made holes. Read his story and hear him roar like the cute and cuddly bear he is:
"Tis the season to be mouldy...
Fa lalalala...lalalala...
Yes, tis the rainy season again. Thru months of being groped around by sweaty, smelly and unwashed human contact fresh from of work, has taken its toll on the fur bag. Bacteria, mould etc has manifested themselves in the once glowing, smooth and glossy pride and joy that defines me as a being. But now, this pride of mine has been reduced to a dull mop, a stale carpet found in a desolated nightclub. Alas, there is no sun as tis the monsoon season. Thus, I'm banished to a corner of the room where my stench does not permeate the dwelling of my keeper. Tis the fate of a loyal and uncomplaining playmate now soiled because of its keeper's neglect. Now abandoned, I seek redress which I know is impossible. The only vessel in which I can turn to for solace is a digital realm. A traditional relic seeking refuge in the new technology which would replace it one day.
Ah... life, I experience you.
Ruffie the Desolate"
Poverty Chooses
Fed up with elitism, nepotism and rampant corruption within the ruling Iranian elite, there is a likely chance that the poor and oppressed masses will elect a hardliner for the Iranian presidency.
Iranian voters will have only two options to choose from when the nation goes to the polls tomorrow. Whatever anyone says about the legality, or the lack of, about the election, the country will know soon which of two choices its voters will have made.
For one, the re-invented moderate and former president,
Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, 70, espouses privatisation, cautious liberal reforms, negotiations over the nuclear program and overtures to the United States. The other is a hardline conservative,
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, 49, the Mayor of Tehran, ex-military serviceman and son of a blacksmith. He advocates a state-controlled economy with subsidies and handouts, a reverse of cultural reforms, the continuation of Iran's nuclear program and being tough with the Americans.
Mr. Ahmadinejad sent his adversaries scrambling when he blasted out of nowhere to claim second place in the first round of the presidential run-offs last week. His skillful video campaign captured the imagination of Iran's lower class, or just about anyone who has become disenfranchised with the level of corruption and ineptitude of the ruling elite.
Mr. Ahmadinejad presents himself as a working class man. Video footage of him in his modest office, conducting his affairs just like any other guy constrasts with the high-handed and non-accountable methods of the Iran's ruling elite. A large majority of people buy into Mr. Ahmadeinejad, whom they hope would bring social justice and restore the true meaning of the Iranian revolution by exalting the poor and oppressed.
In the other camp, confidence in the favourite, Mr Rafsanjani, was shattered last week when the initial round of voting returned just a sliver of an edge against Mr. Ahmadinejad. For all his moderate expositions, Mr. Rafsanjani is unfortunately tainted by his membership in the Iranian Revolutionary Council and by his personal wealth, whom many see as another crony of the country's all-powerful hardline elite. The outcome should be clear to all that this vote reflects not so much the support for Mr. Ahmadinejad's religious conservatism or his isolationist foreign policy, but rather for his social status, humility and honesty.
Currently, Iran's burgeoning working class derive little or no benefit from Iran's oil assets. Currently trading at USD59 a barrel, proceeds from oil sales disappear into corruption and mismanagement, widening the divide between the small urban and political elite with the majority poor.
It is this very divide that the first revolution was supposed to have addressed. However, as with all autocratic governments, the divide has only become wider. With a generation of young people coming of age to a retro-stagnant future, Iranian society stands on the brink of an implosion unless economic and social reforms are implemented. This would be hard to do, as outgoing President
Mohammed Khatami found to his disappointment, especially when the hardline religious council, headed by
Grand Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has the final say in everything.
With the first-round result looking tenuous, it is unlikely that many would come out in support of Mr. Rafsanjani when most legible voters stayed away the first time. While it is true that most of these voters are reform-minded, it will take more than their misplaced disappointment with outgoing President Khatami to bring them the reforms and freedom they so deperately desire.
Singapore Party Gripe?
Lately the local media has been going through another round of belly-aching about a Singaporean blogger who posted artistic nudes of herself. Enter
Sarong Party Girl,
Isabella Chen blogs about her life and relationships.
This should not raise any more eye-brows than sweat trickling down your forehead and most of the time I would have just ignored the negative criticism and kept on reading. But what an office colleague said to me today clearly demonstrates that good old Singaporean conservatism, though much alive and well, has been complemented by a new phenomenon. Double standards.
Colleague: Hey did you read about Sarong Party Girl in the news?
Me: Yes. I've been reading her blog for a while now. Why?
Colleague: You've been reading? She's so daring.
Me: What? That's nothing new.
Colleague: But she's putting her life on display for everyone to see.
Me: Why should this be a wonder? She writes very well and is clearly enjoying her life.
Colleague: But how can she do this? She's Singaporean! Her family must be so embarrassed!
Me: You mean it's ok for someone else to do this and not Singaporeans?
Colleague: I wouldn't do this.
Well that's your business if you won't. Just don't come saying to me what she can and cannot do. This is her life. Stop griping and get your own.
From all the negative press Ms. Chen has been receiving, there seems no end of the number of disgruntled people out there in need of a reality check. Now I don't blame the media for sensationalizing the whole issue. What better way to drum up circulation than to vilify a daughter of Singapore who happens to post nude pictures of herself and declare her dating preferences. This latest belly-hoo goes beyond the issue of foreigners taking jobs. We now have people griping about foreign talent on issues of sex, dating and relationships.
Now Ms. Chen ought to have known that her pictures and stories would raise hackles. With so much past-baggage vis-a-vis foreign talent, she would be naive to think that it wouldn't. True enough, this stirred up a hornet's nest of loathing from people resentful of the obvious cultural, social, economic and physical disparities. It didn't surprise me that people would comment on her nude photographs, or more likely arraign her for doing so. My colleague being the first example. But what's surprising is the inability of some, even after so much exposure to internet porn, to tell the difference between artistic and erotic photography. Though both feature nudes, they are different in how the body is presented.
The next contentious question is: why Caucasians? People ask me that too. As a man, my preferences in women are not unlike Ms. Chen's in men, albeit for slightly different reasons. Caucasian women are more articulate, opinionated and straight-talking in conversation. I find them more expressive, liberated and hence, interesting. The fact that they also happen to be better looking is a blessing. I'm not saying that local women are not or have none of the above. I've met some Singaporean women whom I would like to date. But having been brought up on a diet of blondes, redheads and brunettes, the appeal and turn-ons aren't quite the same. And yes i do admit, Caucasian women generally have bigger breasts, are real turn-ons in bed and have wider and more varied interests other than the eventually-boring shopping.
Now here is a nineteen-year old girl who is enjoying her life. She has like-minded friends, a bevy of career-successful Caucasian men to date. She is comfortable with her body and celebrates her sexuality. She is also expressively articulate. People need to be quiet and to leave her alone.
If you find yourself linguistically challenged, have trouble finding dates, much less getting the kind of sex that satisfies, unless you make an effort to change your life and your way thinking and looking at the world, ranting and raving about what another person does will not do you any favors. In fact, it makes you look petty and small.
If you feel financially inadequate and physically under-endowed, well that's too bad. Life isn't fair. If you are resentful or even jealous about her life and the choices she makes, then its likely that you've been in denial and sleepwalking through most of yours.
Packed with POMs
What a day!I rushed to the office this morning, rushed to finish most of the work, rushed down town, rushed my lunch, rushed to find a gift for Jon and Kim, rushed to pay and gift-wrap it in pretty looking paper and tie it up with an even prettier ribbon before rushing back to pack.Looking at my wristwatch, I found that two whole hours had passed. It seems somewhat like a timewarp while shopping, when one steps in a store for 'a couple of minutes' to 'grab something', then an hour passes without so much as a blink. So while my taxi sped through traffic, I made a mental note of items and clothing to bring for a warm winter wedding in Brisbane.
Three hours later, I walked towards a sparse check-in counter with half-expectant ticketing attendents. As there was hardly anyone lining up, it looked like another half-booked flight. "Oh goodie!" I thought. That's why I make it a point on checking in earlier than usual.
It's a habit of mine to request an aisle-seat away from everyone. Nothing extraordinary about this other than me wanting space to stretch out, get up, move around without having to cut across someone else. I've been lucky on a few occasions where I've had an entire aisle-wing to sleep on. So turning up early certainly has its advantages.Assurances only go so far though. When time came for me to board, I found to my horror that passengers from another flight were transferred over to mine. The airline I have flown with on many occasions, had decided to pack in as many people as possible. My plan to relax comfortably before sleeping on this overnight flight was literally sucked out the airlock.Planting my ass onto my seat, I was enveloped on both sides by elderly British nationals who were also heading down to the former British colony. As they were travelling as part of a tour, they began talking across me. Yakking about this, that and the peculiar things they'd seen, I nodded my head attempting not to disappear between them. It was only when they talked about "tossing broccoli at one another" that I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
At this, only one of two thing can happen. They could either react by including me in their conversation or make an extra effort at ignoring me. Catching my reaction, the lady on my right burst out laughing when I replied that broccoli could be bounced off the kitchen walls. However that kind of brievity was short-lived and our geriatric ex-colonials were tired from their connecting flight. As such, I had only a little more than two hours worth of conversation before dinner was served.
Turning over and wrapping themselves up in their blankets, I was thankfully left to myself for most of the night. After watching Vin Deasel flex himself in The Protector, I doubted that I would get much sleep with a little over four adjusted hours left till we touched down.
Closing my eyes, I thought of the mundane left after taking off from Changi. I thought of the times when I truely felt free, when I realized that nothing under the heavens could touch me. I also thought of my first lover, who passed away many years earlier. I remembered how my subsequent girlfriends would try living up to her. Imagine that, trying to live up to a memory.
Life wasn't fair then. It still isn't fair now.
