In the dead of the night, literally.

In the midst of all the electoral propaganda preceding the long-awaited GE2015 in Singapore, I’ve still been trying to overcome my habitual procrastination and writer’s block; talk about being self-absorbed. I’m lying in bed as I type this, staring blankly into white space – before I return to reading “The Transient Wife” for the millionth time – while Lynette is snoring her exhaustion away. My desire to write grows stronger with each second, but never do I find the motivation nor inspiration to begin.

“Collexperience” is getting nowhere as I waste each day away on pointless anime episodes (Prince of Tennis is honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my preteen days; it’s not a crime to relive my youth) alongside setting up Mummy’s e-commerce site. After a lengthy internal debate on whether Wix or WordPress was a better option to host this travelogue of mine, it was decided that since Wix allowed for that slightest bit of creativity and autonomy in the infancy stage of maintaining a website, Wix it was. I am still dreading the thought of having to pay such a high premium just to be able to store more photos on the site.

It’s currently the month of the Hungry Ghost Festival here. I won’t deny that I’m feeling a little cowardly as of this moment (it’s 0025 now) with all that silence and darkness around. However, as my mother says: “if you haven’t a guilty conscience, you’ve nothing to fear”. 

I guess I’ve relieved some of my writing urges for now. Let’s hope I can get around to completing that very first Wix post soon, preferably before I start work – yes, thank you – after the following week.

Strive on to live our dull lives, my lovelies. For those of you who live dull lives anyway.


The Limits of Memory

Love in the Spaces


You have insufficient memory.

Deadpan.  As if no irony were involved, my computer informed me it had aborted the task of uploading digital pictures.

I don’t ask that much of my computer, but there you have it.

I had amassed more than 1300 photos on my wee camera.  Too many pictures, with nowhere to go.

At first my rapidly antiquating computer flashed a sign that I was low on memory.  Then, having failed to get a reaction from me, it balked like a testy toddler and shut itself down, refusing to even consider loading another picture until I cleared space on my hard drive.

The only way to do this was, at long last, to go through the archives and dispense with the over and under-lit shots, the closed eyes, the needless near-identical extras.  The pictures that simply were not special enough to occupy space in my memory.


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From Great Universities to “Knowledge Factories”: Another American Institution in Decline


Thomas Frank, perhaps best known for What’s the Matter with Kansas?, an examination of America’s new conservatism, has an article in Salon, “The New Republic, the torture report, and the TED talks geniuses who gutted journalism.” Toward the end, he writes this:

The new press lord’s deeds are all made possible by the shrinking significance of everyone else. Compared to the patois of power, the language of journalism is but meaningless babble. Compared to once having been a friend of Zuckerberg, no form of literary genius matters any more. Compared to the puissance and majesty of the CIA, we amount to nothing. We are playthings of the powerful, churned out by the millions every year from the nation’s knowledge factories. We are zeroes to their ones, ready to rationalize monopoly or rectal hydration at a moment’s notice.

We’ve been through all of this before, though Frank doesn’t write…

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On Ferguson – The System Isn’t Broken, It Was Built This Way

The Belle Jar

I have an uncle who was a cop.

His kids, my cousins, were around my age and when we visited our family in Québec every summer I practically lived at their house. As soon as we got to my grandmother’s house, all rumpled and grumpy from our eight hour drive, I would start dialling my cousins’ number on her beige rotary phone. I spent the whole damn school year waiting for summer, and my time with my cousins, to come; we wrote each other letters all through the dreary winter, hatching plans for new summer exploits. Life with my cousins – swimming in their pool, family barbecues, playing hide-and-seek in my grandmother’s mammoth hedge at twilight – was lightyears better than my boring life in Ontario.

Pretty much every summer my uncle would, at some point, take us to visit the police station. He would pretend that we were criminals and…

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The start of something new.

“It’s better to go slow in the right direction than to go fast in the wrong direction.” – Simon Sinek

It’s been a long time since I wrote something – be it an essay, a short story, a blog post or even conversing in full, proper sentences on text and the whatnot. The irrational  (okay, perhaps very much reasonable and plausible) fear of losing my command of the English language has been niggling at the back of my mind since… ever. That’s probably the reason why you’re (read: I’m) skimming Continue reading