Sacrifice of dignity

Combined schools dinner time again. Every year our family of schools gather to congratulate each other over a formal Chinese dinner and sit through the evening's entertainment. This year, the Big Wee Man himself presided over the festivities and came over personally to offer a toast to each table. That's an honour we don't get every day.

Very proud of our newbies. Every year (apart from a couple of notable exceptions) it's the obligation of the new blood to offer an item for the showcase of performances. Consider this sacrifice of dignity as their initiation ceremony into their new place of occupation.

Our noobs delivered a double-bill, the first inspired by Stomp ('live' percussion performance group, not official Singaporean tattletale/complaints website) and the second a dance number to 'Bad Romance' which was a hoot-and-a-half. Coordinated zombie jerky movements choreographed to bad, loud music. Can't fail! Really looking forward to their encore performance in Tuesday's concert back on campus. The kids deserve to end their special day on a high.

Trapped for months

I'm not one to make light of a bad situation, but being trapped in a collapsed mine for four months waiting for rescue sounds like a great way to take a vacation off work. Especially when my rescuers are taking care of my nutrition, entertainment and potty needs -- i.e., everything they can to keep my morale up so that I wouldn't develop claustrophobic bonkers syndrome and kill all my fellow survivors around me. Books, video games and all the antidepressants I can eat for four months. Tempting.

Mom's green thumbs

The frangipani stem June and I brought back from Hawaii as a souvenir for Mom finally bloomed. We're talking about a trip that even pre-dates this blog, so yeah, it was worth a photo.

Pix taken by Mom and sent via Bluetooth in a cell phone to cell phone transfer. First time for Mom, and she's quite proud of herself about it.

In a sad coincidence Mom's minor celebrity neighbour sold his house recently, and the new owner chopped down the beautiful frangipani tree growing in the garden. It and a couple of other large plants were in pieces on the sidewalk waiting for the next garbage pick-up. Why can't the new owners just move in to the existing premises without uprooting the other residents who have just as much right to be there?

Mom picked up a promising couple of branches off the sidewalk, hoping to regrow them in her garden. If our twig transplanted from Hawaii could thrive till today, these have a fighting chance to live on. We're counting on Mom's green thumbs to work that miracle.

Shy beauty

In commemoration of today's special event, it had to be nothing less than a first class slab of beef done by people who understand the meaning of 'rare'.

This gorgeous hunk of fillet mignon was demure and fairly trembling with anticipation in my presence. As she opened up to my advances, a delightful blush of pink rose to meet my gaze; so warm and tender as she met my mouth again and again. Yes, a truly 'rare' carnal experience with such a pretty filly. She didn't come cheap either, but there was reason to celebrate tonight.

Location: Stuart Anderson's Black Angus Steakhouse, NUS Bukit Timah Campus. A touch of nostalgia too because this was my campus for  year when it was NIE, NTU, before NUS took it back. There's a smart casual dress code though we didn't see it strictly enforced.

Fire! Fire!

On the pretext that there were important papers to be signed in the staff lounge, dNYel had me charging straight in, wondering why there was so much fuss over such a minor issue. Once inside, they sprang a real fire for me to fight. The flames were huge and I couldn't even approach without first donning a protective fire-retardant suit and arming myself with a high-pressure hose.

Fortunately, my fire-fighting skills were as sharp as ever. When the flames finally died down, we celebrated with cake while keeping our tootsies warm in the dying embers of the sudden blaze. Toasted marshmallows would have been a nice touch to follow up.

Thanks for igniting the flames, my friends! The warmth will stay with us long after we've moseyed off into the sunset.

Service or slavery

Poor YOG volunteers. Such terrible working conditions, bad food, unappreciated servitude. I can almost feel for this forlorn complainant slogging it out at the Olympic Village. Almost.

Sorry. Whatever he may call himself, his heart and mind are not those of a volunteer. He sees himself as an indentured slave; and so he is, compelled to labour under his own sense of injustice at the drastic, if temporary, upheaval in his usual day-to-day routines.

But he is a slave with a great deal of miscarried authority. Mr Hall Supervisor is frustrated that his co-workers "are working WITH, not under" him (emphasis his), suggesting he wants to be the Big Man In-Charge. He lets this attitude carry over into his dealings with his guests! Like a tiny tinpot tyrant he tells his guests off for smoking and sitting on railings. In his sheltered world, he doesn't realise that in many countries there are far worse dangers to fear, and that the police are a source of ridicule and disrespect, or otherwise a source of terror and violence. Being a policeman to people from so many different political systems and social backgrounds is just asking to be derided at the very least. Fortunately, he hasn't been beaten up, though that may yet come in time.

Mr Hall Supervisor is more a martyr to his own cause than he is a volunteer to a cause greater than himself. He complains about unfulfilled compensation, as if compensation is a volunteer's due. Whomever plans the bigger picture can only see the bigger picture. Every specific need on the ground cannot be catered to every individual volunteer's convenience. So, yes, there will be snafus galore, but dealing with problems on the ground either shows class and personal initiative or there-I-fixed-it, happy now?

Every setback is an opportunity. Packed buses and long waits at the bus stop are really lonely when there is no one to talk to. Here the volunteers are literally rubbing shoulders with the cream of international athletics -- young, vibrant, exciting people (some might even be girls!) anxious to discover what they can about their host country -- and Mr Hall Supervisor just wants to sulk in his corner, bristling and prickling with leave-me-alone. Sigh. Such opportunities going a-begging.

We read a lot about how unnecessary the YOG was. How the money could have been better spent on ourselves instead of entertaining all these foreigners. Let's put this view in perspective. What is Singapore's core business? We'd like it to be shuffling paper in a predictable 9-to-5 air-conditioned office job, wouldn't we? That's what we exert so much energy studying to get into university for. But if Singapore is really going to survive, our place in the world is to be able to throw the biggest parties that keep international party-goers coming back for more! Realistically, there isn't much else we can offer. We have to learn to be hosts of the best hospitality and highest standards of professional, friendly service and here at the YOG , unfortunately we see some of our service staff just not being able to fit the bill. (BTW, it's his future core business as well, being a current student from **ATEC).

As a nameless events coordinator once said, 'we let you work with the stars for a WHOLE fortnight, and you still want money?!' I don't doubt that the volunteers are working hard. Long hours, blood, sweat and tears I understand. My problem is that Mr Hall Supervisor has no clue whom he is working for. Poor fellow is literally his own boss and is suffering for it.

Kid, in your own self-importance you are viewing the task as being more important than the experience. Turn it around! Time to climb out of your ostrich hole and cast you eyes towards a bigger horizon and a bigger world than you have ever imagined. Learn the difference between service attitude and servitude. And do try to get a life.

NYeDC goes Bohemian

A bad week with lots of deadlines to meet and the grading, oh, the grading! Training temporarily on the shelf.

Most exciting thing happening, though, is the Drama Club's concert item that we're currently auteuring. It would make more sense if the staff we hope will participate can make rehearsal time, but failing which the kids will have to play teacher characters on their behalf.

Basic blocking is done, enough anyway to get us past our audition... just barely. Today we work on character interactions, scene transitions, entrances and exits, and activity specific individual movement -- all for an item just under five minutes' duration. Already lost a couple of afternoons on it, expect to lose a few more.

Hope it'll be worth it!

Paternal instinct

Said too much at lunch. We were gossipping about new dNYel staff Elim's beau whom we had seen on campus on a previous occasion. As we updated Lucy on this juicy tidbit, I intimated that as a group we did not approve of him.

First impressions, right? Compared to Ellie's immaculate, professional, confident demeanour, beau looked like an unkempt neanderthal adorned in mismatching 'zebra and leopard prints'. Not impressive at all. Tut, tut. *shakes head in despair.

But if I were to look at the situation objectively, that's how most couples look. One makes a great first impression behind which the other tends to languish. It's the same with June and me, no prizes for guessing which is which.

What if we had seen beau appearing like a suave Prince Charming instead? Heck, I'd still disapprove on grounds that such a man is only out to impress, all facade and no substance, or worse, out to cheat an innocent of whatever he can get.

If I was ever a father to a daughter, any interested boy will have to get past my shotgun first before he gets in through my front door. Bah, it's stress I don't need, and I'm thankful I don't have.

From behind the counter

Some dNYel people plus family walked through McD's Open Doors to view the operation from behind the counter. The idea behind giving us this opportunity was to show that there are no conspiracies or hidden agenda, and that the food they serve is indeed as wholesome, clean and fresh as they claim. Considering I am one of McD's best customers, I didn't need a lot of convincing but it was worth a poke around backstage anyway.

To me, McD's is a symbol of independence. When they first opened here, I was already in my teens, mobile and in possession of  moderate teenager allowance. I could blow a week's worth on a Big Mac and Coke, but if I really wanted to, no one could say, 'no!' I'd starve the rest of the week, but that was MY decision to make, so there.

And so we toured a spotless kitchen -- spotless that is until HP dropped her milkshake and whipped cream on the floor of the freezer. Oops. We saw the process of putting together a sandwich from scratch, cooked to order on the spot. They emphasized their policy of only choosing suppliers with socially responsible and environmentally sustainable practices with no record of animal abuse, at least until the point when the animals become meat patties.

The guides fielded all kinds of questions from us quite openly. We asked about specific kitchen practices, crowd control, marketing procedures and employee issues. Above all other indicators, it is the employees themselves who are the best indicators of the worth of the company they work for. They know the ins and outs of the business and they know best when the company is trying to pull sh*t because they are the ones first impacted by it.

In this tour, the employees we met were fully committed to their employer. My last question was, 'who gets to play Ronald McD?' to which our guide instantly shot me a look of utter incomprehension and replied, 'Ronald McD is Ronald McD!' Now THAT is serious buy-in to the company's branding. If the employees believe in it, that's good enough for me.

Now, if only someone could tell me which part of the cow the beef patty comes from. They assured us that it didn't come from a sirloin, rib-eye or T-bone cut, but definitely somewhere much cheaper. But they didn't know exactly where. Oh well, as my advertising elective prof used to say, a cow is a cow is a cow. It's 100% beef, no gluten, no fillers. Any other questions?

Service with a smile

Times must be hard. These 'Friendly' people are busy distributing flyers advertising their services door-to-door around my block. Apart from approving loans, I'll bet Jason will kindly extend his services to home redecoration too.

Need a loan? Pick up the phone! :)

A 'see-you-soon' to Lucy

Time to kick back and focus on good eats with good folks. Here, we're bidding Lucy a great time in Vancouver where she'll be working on her Master's.

'Here' is Buono, Lichfield Road. It's Wednesday night and ladies eat for free (from the 'special' menu). Looking a our table, there seems to be lots of ladies.

Considering what we put away: 3 kinds of antipasti, a hefty serving of pasta for almost each of us and some desserts to share, we ended up paying about $30 a head, really, not bad at all!

National Day eve

Finally, all positive factors converge to give Q-tip the outing she's been waiting weeks for. We're at the Marina Barrage to take in the sights and sounds of the new happenin' place the URA's developing.

Kite flying's a big activity here. The breezes are strong enough to lift kites off easily, even big 'uns with long, trailing tails.

Have to say that despite the stated opening times on the official website, the Gallery Cafe actually opens at 1030 hrs. If you go at 0900, either have brekkie beforehand or bring your own sandwiches. As it turned out, we waited for the cafe to open. Breakfast menu wasn't very exciting, mostly heavier options and salads like for lunch.

Fortunately, there is also a selection of local foods on the board. Nasi lemak was ok, served with green rice, a wing, an egg over-easy and a sprinkling of ikan bilis and peanuts. Bit expensive at $5+ a serving.

Evening we met our old friend JH, back from his travels. Originally from S Korea, he's now got the opportunity to work here as a expat.

Dinner was at Por Kee. We always order the same thing: the tofu speciality, Thai-style steamed fish, champagne pork ribs and a veggie dish. Food was excellent as always.

The point was, we wanted to welcome him with some good local food, then we remembered we had brought him here before, the first time he came to visit us. Then he tells us Tiong Bahru is his usual lunchplace since his office is just around the corner.

We take him to dessert at Island Creameries -- and he gets his laundry done here since he lives in the neighbourhood. Guess he's no longer a stranger in our part of town.

Face the wall

Took Q-tip to the beach, given today's half-day. At some point, I chose a picnic table to sit at and watch the sea. As I sat there, I thought of MM's recent suggestion that we should do away with the retirement age. There I was, with time on my hands, doing something pleasurable, and if I were to retire when my time comes I could theoretically do this all day, every day for the rest of my life. Or do all the other things we wish we had time for but are unable to because of our work schedules.

I didn't find the prospect appealing, however. Maybe if I hated my job I'd feel different but I don't. Maybe if I had a job that I slaved away at for a pittance I'd feel different, by my job pays decently enough to live comfortably as long as I don't suddenly crave a luxurious, ostentatious lifestyle. Like MM, I also dread the time when I have to stop work after which "I'll just shrivel up, face the wall and just that".

Yes, MM's quite clearly presenting a false dilemma. But it's the social contact I will miss the most from the working environment. Work gives me a reason to be around people. Apart from work, I don't offer much reason for people to be around me.

Earned privilege

Interesting that in the general meeting with P, he mentioned how past college Principals ran their campuses with less emphasis on extrinsically enforced discipline so that the environment would be more akin to that of the university and away from the secondary school. These days we feel the need to lay down the law as the kids seem to be either lacking in direction or the ability to discipline themselves.

Times have changed. Comparing senior high students of the past with those of the present, the big difference was that "in my time (cough... cough... hack... hack...!)" my contemporaries were proud to be college students. When they wore their uniform, they wore it with dignity because so few others were privileged to wear the crest, those colours. They represented the best and brightest of their cohort, on the cusp of a very privileged level of education that would put them in a social strata above the general population. That meant living up to a higher calling, meeting standards of decorum and courtesy befitting of the upper-class they were destined for. Principals of the past didn't have to worry about behavioural micro-management because the intrinsic motivation to self-manage was already strong in their students.

What has changed since then is the loss of pride in being a college student. No longer a privilege to be studying in a JC, it's now a basic expectation for every secondary school student. The kids here feel that there is nothing special about being here. There is no sense of accomplishment or achievement but rather a perception that it's just a normal part of all the rights and privileges they feel are entitled to them. They're not really here because there is a burning desire in each one to be here; they're here because everyone else is here. A college education is nothing to aspire towards -- it's become common, average and taken for granted.

If junior colleges have discipline problems, the root cause is the loss of earned privilege. At the risk of sounding elitist, we've let the riff-raff invade our campuses and infect us with their common mediocrity. Be that as it may, since they're already here it's up to us to run our campuses not as survival boot camp which further reinforces the competitive dog-eat-dog slave mentality that our current kids have, but rather show them how to live up to the higher standards they are being called to. We teach them to raise their eyes, not drop their chins. We really don't want to become a secondary school. That would be a huge and probably irrevocable step backwards.

Cocktail party with parents

Back from a cocktail party with the kids' parents. The kind in which we're supposed to tell them that judging from their mid-year grades, their kids aren't doing well in this or that subject and with the finals in 90+ days we need to work together and help them do something about it.

But with the parents we're seeing tonight, this kind of kick-'em-in-the-a** advice applies only to a tiny minority of our young charges. These parents tell us that their kids are already working hard, they study, do their homework, revision, so why isn't it translating into better grades? Quite sad, and frustrating to be in that kind of situation for a student, isn't it? All that hard work not paying off?

For this bunch of kids we had to advise them on stress management. They need rest, exercise, and a good night's sleep. They need to learn how to handle their pressure and personal expectations. The parents we talked to were nice, agreeing with us that their kids were too anxious, lacking the confidence they need to handle their exams without panic. And at the same time, not slack off. It's a delicate balancing game: breathe, breathe...

Well, here's another hat we gotta learn to wear. This one's a little less straightforward than the old Drill Sergeant one. Guess we'll just have to keep the latter only for special occasions from now on.

Hair-raising tale

Over the past weekend, a number of us staff independently got haircuts. The two most severe crops belonged to Wayne and me. Upon questioning, Wayne -- in jest -- claimed his crop was to honour Hair for Hope; to which I replied in all seriousness that my cause was Hope for Hair. True story.

Singapore stresses education

...or does education stress Singapore?

This week Sing Poly asks if our education system is too stressful for our kids. They made a video poll featuring the views of their respondents and included a skit about how kids prepare for their tests. Yep, sure enough, the respondents agree that stress levels are too high for kids while the skit features a zombie ploughing through piles of textbooks that reinforce his zombie state in a vicious cycle.

I admit that the stresses are high here, but I doubt the system has as much to do with it as the methodology by which we attempt to survive the system as we perceive it. By way of analogy, the system is like an active volcano that we have chosen to settle beside because of its fabulously fertile soil conditions. But the stress comes because we attempt to appease our irrational, implacable, unpredictable Volcano God by throwing our young people into it. As far as I know young people, they do not appreciate being sacrificed, but what can they do, right? The volcano is more real than their sad, non-existent lives.

If we're to reduce the stress, it's a lot more realistic to fix how we cope with our neighbour, the Volcano, rather than fix the volcano itself. For one thing, it's never going away and for another, we haven't got the resources BP has to fit a cap over it.

We are still using the study methods that our more scholarly ancestors once used. Actually, only one method: sit down with our textbooks and 'mug', a process that transforms pigment-based information into synapse-activated information. Our parents believe in it because it worked for them, our teachers believe in it because it worked for them too. However, today there is so much mediated information available that is constantly morphing, updating, expiring, renewing that our old methods of acquiring information for personal storage can neither cope with the quantity of it all nor keep up with its rate of change. Even the activity of acquiring information for permanent storage may have become irrelevant anyway, since very little of it can be said to be permanent beyond certain basic fundamentals.

If our tried-and-tested study methodology cannot help us, then it has to go. It's premises were selfish and competitive anyway, accumulating information for oneself to be used only in a specific circumstance -- answering exam questions; useless for anything else. In order to deal with the kind of information flow that we have today, we need a study method that eschews competition in favour of collaboration. Information can no longer be a miserly hoarded commodity but managed like a living currency used for buying, selling, exchanging or otherwise transacting more information, always trading upwards.

Without the urge to hoard, we can rid ourselves of compartmentalization. Rather than being separated out of our normal daily experience as 'study' or 'prep' time, our curriculum can become a normal part of our daily conversation and interaction in which we use every opportunity to learn (and share!) something new.

How is this supposed to reduce exam stress? If curriculum can become currency, if content can become conversation, we will see exam questions as just another opportunity to start a discussion thread, a normal part of our daily existence (despite the difference in the medium of expression), and not some alien inevitability that exists to test our survival skills from time to time.

In other words, kids, parents, teachers, I appreciate the dedication you put into studies, but you're doing it wrong. Epic FAIL.

Raining on my parade

Poor Q-tip has the worst luck. We had plans to visit the Marina Barrage, someplace new and dog-friendly to go for walkies. But her stupid owner chose to go to work on Saturday when it was gloriously dry and sunny, and today it just raining cats and dogs.

*remains grouchy the rest of the day

Essay leverage

Currently training this batch of kids to be less topic conscious so that if they encounter a list of essay questions that ask about unfamiliar subject matter, they won't panic, talk nonsense and die. I believe that the question provides its own answer, so any question is equally do-able, given a reasonable amount of general (not topical) knowledge.

The strategy is to remove the pressure on the kid to cook up an arbitrary answer to the least scary-looking question, but instead simply work on expanding any question of choice to essay-length, thereby allowing the question to answer itself. I mean, since the question already provides its own energy, it's much more efficient to leverage an answer using that energy rather than having to generate a whole new energy from scratch to come up with an answer by ourselves. And, it's far better for the question to drive the content rather than have the content force itself upon the question -- the latter being the mindset that I'm actively battling since it's the usual way of approaching essays around here.

Have I had any success with this approach? I've had a cursory look at the latest set of essays my tutorial groups have turned in for grading. There doesn't seem to be any particular question that is a common favourite, which usually happens when the kids home in on one or two topically "safe" questions. Instead, I'm looking at a broad range of questions with different topic foci, different question types.

The randomness of distribution tells me the kids are more comfortable in choosing questions. Maybe they're taking greater risks than they have before, but the fact that they are now branching out and no longer bunching up is a sign -- they are taking their first steps towards intellectual freedom.

Mark to reward, not punish

I'm not sure if non-GP tutors can understand this, but I'm irritated that some of my colleagues are requesting sample essay outlines as aids to grading the kids' essays for this week's common test. For the info of non-GP tutors, such outlines contain a list of possible points that a student might raise in response to his or her chosen question. 12 questions on the test paper means 12 separate lists of open possibilities.

I hesitate to provide such a dubious thing because knowing us, we will use it to hunt down points that do not appear in the students' essays and penalize them for their omissions. The more missing points, the more their grade slides until we hit the basement. Another failure. Then we wonder why we have so many casualties and are aghast as we count up the number of kids we need to remedy.

Cambridge tells us that our grading philosophy should be to reward students for what they do offer, and not punish them for what they miss. That means every essay needs to be taken on its own merit without a comparison to an ideal. While we are grading, we are looking out for logical structures, supporting reasons, consistency of argument and, broadly, relevance to the question. When we do see evidence of such argumentative skill, we add to the score until we can add no more

This does not mean that the essay will automatically pass, but it does mean that we are prepared to listen to each student, inasmuch as we want them to listen to us. 'Marking schemes' prejudice us in that students who don't say what we want to hear must be wrong and therefore failed.

I think that on the whole, we really have a misconception of what failure is. We think of the essay as a soccer game. Scoring points is like scoring goals while losing the game means not scoring (assuming that the non-existent opponent has scored more goals and has therefore beaten the essay writer). To us, that translates as win = pass, lose = fail. But in truth, winning and losing are part of the same game. We win some, we lose some, but the important thing is that we continue to play because we can.

Failing a GP essay is possible, but not for the reason of 'losing' the game. Failure is equivalent to being disqualified in a match for infringing the rules. Why kids fail is because they don't know how to play the game. They don't know where the goalposts are. They don't know where the out-of-bounds lines are. They don't know what's a fair play and what isn't. So failure isn't a failure to raise the right points, it means the rules and objectives of the game are not clear to them.

Content may mean the difference between a kick-about between friends and an EPL match. Regardless, the scoreline doesn't really matter as long as everyone plays to the same rules, aims at the right goals, and stays within the agreed-to boundaries. If our kids can do that, they don't deserve to fail. So let's not prejudice ourselves by watching the scoreboard when we should be enjoying the game instead.