when one pays peanuts, one gets monkeys

Warning: Possibly Inflammatory Content

"...when one pays peanuts, one gets monkeys. This has been used as justification to increase the ministers’ pay. What they fail to realize is that the same adage applies to all ranks – even the unskilled worker. Pay them peanuts and you get monkeys. (Or are we being classified monkeys already – I wonder?). So, instead of finding ways to help increase the wages of these unskilled Singaporean workers, so that the Singaporean worker can make a serious decision to take up these jobs, they instead choose to allow employers to use peanuts to attract the unskilled workers from abroad.

The ill-treatment cases aside: I think we have too many foreign monkeys in our land already. It is time for this government to make these jobs more attractive, in terms of better wages, so that we do not have to depend on monkeys – especially those from abroad."

gemami, The Online Citizen

Girlfriend: I walked in and the doctor said...

Boyfriend: How old are you?

Girlfriend: ...'how old are you?' EHHH HOW YOU KNOW?!

so sweet. how i miss being in love.

talk to me

empirical proof we're in a (highly) digital age:

there were 10 ppl in the mrt carriage,

5 of them listening to music from players and phones, with at least 3 ipods visible,

1 using netbook,

1 watching mp4,

1 viewing photos,

1 on the phone.

and i noted down all these on my phone. lol.

one day, the human touch would be gone.

signs

i still believe that night i fell ultra sick - yes ultra is the only apt word - with no apparent reason at aloha changi was because it's haunted. but that's for another day.

anyway i experienced the whole nightmare again a few days back. it reminded me how hellish it is and what it means by you'd rather be dead than alive. of course, for a while i thought my room's haunted. i went to bed okay, but got more and more bloated until i could no longer fall asleep. i was basically lying flat there motionless the whole night until, i remember, 656am.

鬼压床 you know?

i developed fever, headache, nausea, diarrhea, and became dizzy when i got up. i threw up everything i had inside me over the next two hours.

best part? i was alone. in every sense of the word.

roomie jianli's at home. hall's near-empty of people from my batch. i don't have a girlfriend anymore. as i trudged to NTU's medical centre later under the blazing sun in cold sweat, pausing for breathers along the way, coupled with momentary blackouts, the big questions came.

are these signs my time in hall is up? at my weakest, there seemed no one i could turn to.

then things went on the up.

i started bumping into people and they were concerned. news also spread. people all over the hall started sending their regards and helping in any way they could. lingqin and jacq especially. they came once with painkillers, then again when i was asleep to soothe me with fever pads. somehow, uncannily, it sure seemed a bigger deal i fall sick now than when i was a freshie, when i had so many friends around.

on another note, i realised i started my hall 4 life in sickness too: anaemia during my own FOC. and i remember the care showered on me by the seniors then. maybe this is the end, and the end is marked by sickness too. more comfortingly i guess, it was marked by the love of ohmers.

anyway it was stomach flu damn it.

Chris Tse's rap-poem, I'm sorry I'm a Christian

grabbed this off terence's Irreligious blog. it was so freaking good i had goosebumps throughout.

thought-provoking repentence and truth, or blatant insult and blasphemy?

you decide. im going for the former.

I am a Christian. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the way that I come across

So fair and faith friendly and full of myself

Judging your spiritual health by the words that you say

And the way that you dress, and the things that you do

Or maybe just judging you.

I’m sorry for the way that I live my life

So confident of my own beliefs that

I would never even think to think about thinking about yours

I’m sorry for the wars.

Ivory clad Crusaders mounting steeds and drawing swords

With such a spirit that if The Spirit spoke they wouldn’t hear

But you see the sword of The Spirit was not a sword but the Word

And the Word was with God and the Word was God

And they preached this as they marched on the Holy Land

Singing and praying and killing and slaying

And purging and healing and raping and stealing

It’s ironic that they lined their pockets in the name of God

Just like the priests who line their pockets in the name of God

Just like the people that you can’t stand, because they always raise their hand

And spread their faith and hate and judgment in the name of God

I’m sorry that I take God’s name in vain

Or rather I’m sorry that I stain the name of God

Defending my selfish actions as selfless actions pertaining to the will of God

I’m sorry for being intolerant

For trying to talk down to you

For trying to talk over you

For not letting you talk

I’m sorry for not walking the walk

For being a hypocritical critical Christian

Criticising your pagan lifestyle while my lifestyle styles itself

Just like the televangelist’s hair

All slick and sly and slippery

As the silver syllables slide their way into your ear

But see that’s my greatest fear

That the steps I take won’t match the words I speak

So that when I speak all you hear of me

is a weak hypocritical critical Christian

Doing one thing, but saying another

Loving my friend, but hating my brother

It’s a show.

I’m sorry I get drunk on Saturdays

and go to church on Sundays to pray

for my friends who get drunk on Saturdays

And on that note,

I’m sorry for making the church about the pews and the cross

And the walls and the steeple

Because see the building is not the church

The church is the people

I’m sorry that I hate you because you are gay

I’m sorry I condemn you to hell because you are gay

Instead of loving I jump to hatred

Mouth open and tongue preaching

Eyes open but not seeing that you are the same as me

Just a fucking human being

I’m sorry that I only hang out with Christian friends

And we do nice Christian things

Like pot luck dinners and board game nights

While in the night a man beats his girlfriend again

Another homeless man died again

Is this the way that my own crowd has been?

But here I am with the same friends again

But see what I always forget is that Jesus didn’t come

to hang out with the priests and the lords.

No, He hung out with cripples and beggars and whores

Love.

I’m sorry for history

For native tribes wiped out in the name of the church

Lodges burning, stomachs churning and yearning for justice

And mothers screaming and pleading

Pleading for the young ones

As they are dragged away to church schools

Where they were abused

I’m sorry for the way that I refused

To learn your culture

Instead I just came to spread the Gospel

And the plague

I’m sorry that I stand at the front doors of abortion clinics

Screaming at 15-year-old girls as they enter

Instead of waiting at the back door to hug them as they leave

I’m sorry for taking my wars and my faith to your lands

When historically it was on your lands that my faith was born

And in the face of the storm, I realise that

If God is Love and Love is God

Then why are we shooting instead of sharing?

Why are we launching instead of learning?

Why are we warring instead of walking together?

Why are we taking instead of talking together?

Why are we bombing instead of breaking bread together as brothers?

You see I think that God looks down and He’s sad

And from His right hand throne above

Jesus asks where is the Love?

And if it takes will.i.am and Justin Timberlake

Asking that same question for us

To start asking that same question

Then where the fuck are we headed?

So I will take this stage to be my chapel

And this mic my confession booth

And in the presence of God, the few, the proud,

and the blessed I confess, that

I am a Christian. I’m sorry.