Mr Lee: how old are you now?

Ms Sim: I’m 27 this year.

Mr Lee: You are…?

Ms Sim: 27.

Mr Lee: Are you married? [audience laughs] You’re doing a PhD?

Ms Sim: Yes.

Mr Lee: And when will you finish your PhD?

Ms Sim: In another two years. [laughter from audience]

Mr Lee: Are you married?

Ms Sim: [shakes head]

Mr Lee: have you got a boyfriend? [laughter and clapping from audience]

Ms Sim: No. [laughter from audience]

Mr Lee: Childbearing years are until 35. After 35, the dangers of having mongoloid children, Down’s Syndrome, in other words, a dull person, rises. So, my advice is, please don’t waste time. It’s more important and more satisfying than your PhD. Good luck to you, I hope you get your PhD and your boyfriend.

The exchange occurred after Ms Sim asked Mr Lee about Singapore’s social cohesiveness given that a large number of foreign immigrants had been accepted. The latter replied that Singapore needs to accept a sizeable number of immigrants to counter her ageing population and low birth rate, and started to quiz her about her personal life.

Singapore’s newspapers portrayed it as a humorous exchange.

The Straits Times wrote: “Mr Lee then turned the tables on Ms Sim and started gently quizzing her about her personal life, to the surprise and amusement of the audience.”

TODAY described Mr Lee’s comment as a ‘quip’, saying that “…Mr Lee quipped to rapturous applause…”

What the newspapers failed to include, apart from the ‘rapturous applause’ was the raucous laughter of the audience present at the dialogue, both male and female.

At that point in time, as I was surrounded by my fellow university undergraduates laughing and clapping about a highly educated and intelligent woman being interrogated in public about her personal and reproductive life, I felt disillusioned and strangely disconnected from them.

I could not understand why people would find the exchange entertaining, much less express their amusement in such blatant ways. The whole incident left a bad taste in my mouth and made me think about the value of education here in Singapore.

How could such obvious sexist undertones of Mr Lee’s comments slip by, undetected, among the supposedly more educated, independent and intelligent citizens in Singapore?

To make sure I wasn’t being oversensitive, I consulted Assistant Professor Emma Jane, whom agreed that Ms Sim had been treated unfairly.

The 35-year-old, who teaches gender history in NTU, said: “The fact that so many people laughed suggests that there is a lack of awareness to the problem of sexual discrimination.

“The demeaning reduction of a woman to her reproductive status is a classic technique of disempowerment, one that has frequently been used to socialize women into believing that ability to reproduce constitutes her most important function for society.”

Likewise, in a letter to the Straits Times Forum, AWARE president Nicole Tan stated: “Implying that marriage and motherhood are more important than education and work belittles the choices and contributions of women who prefer to be single or childless.”

Unfortunately, race and religious issues are landmines in Singapore while sexism remains an uncharted territory.

Students are conditioned to exercise caution when handling racial and religious issues, but since sexism has never been mentioned explicitly by the government and our moral education textbooks in secondary school, we are almost running blind in the uncharted territory of sexism.

Therefore, I wouldn’t say that the people who laughed at the dialogue are sexist but they are most certainly ignorant and insensitive.

Adding on the pressure to reproduce is our local newspapers’ extensive coverage on our ageing population, which seems to point the finger at women putting off marriage or choosing not to have children.

It does not help that respected figures like Mr Lee are making statements that may seem pragmatic at first glance but actually have the negative effect of perpetuating sexism in Singapore.

To all intelligent and confident Singaporean women out there: Do you think that getting married and having children are more important than your education?

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Singapore goes to the polling stations on Saturday, yet many of my peers are still undecided on which Tan to vote for.

Few of my peers are scrambling to read up on the latest news, leaving most of them woefully inadequate with regards to knowledge about the upcoming election.

From my gut feel, the prevailing mood among youths here is that of disinterest.

What happened to the election fever that caught Singapore’s previously apathetic youths a few months back? The heady feeling that actually made us pick up a newspaper, listen to news and discuss politics? What happened to the pretentious, pseudo-intellectual political discussions that replaced conversations on the Great Singapore Sale?

Sadly, the political storm whipped up by the General Elections (GE) has since died down into an eddy.

One answer may be the perception that the Presidential Election is not worth investing one’s time in. For young people, it lacks the ‘cool factor’ that the GE offered.

During the GE, it was uncool to be apathetic, cool to have a point of view and absolutely necessary to be politically aware. The social media, arguably the arena of the youths, was inundated with comments, status updates, and links to political articles.

Being young is also about being seen at the right places, doing the right things. Young people wanted to be seen at rallies during the GE, directly participating in the political process.

The herd mentality had played a big part in prompting many of Singapore’s young people to jump onto the political bandwagon. As such, it comes as no surprise that when the GE ended, interest in Singapore politics simply evaporated.

To the mind of the fickle young, the value of politics has plummeted.

Of course, the duration for campaigning was probably too short for the electorate to make an informed choice, which might have a net effect of pushing many undecided young voters to judge based on first impressions.

In this case, the labels placed on our presidential hopefuls play a much more important role than their credentials and the contents of their speeches.

Nonetheless, a spillover effect from the GE lingers. For youths, it has always been ‘cool’ to be anti-establishment. Thus, some youths eschew Dr Tony Tan for his close links with the People’s Action Party (PAP), and may be inclined towards the outspoken Mr Tan Jee Say for his more confrontational attitude towards the PAP.

In our one-man, one-vote system, an educated vote is worth as much as an uneducated vote. It does not benefit our society to have young people, inheritors of our nation’s future, simply voting for the sake of voting.

The hypocritical, inconsistent ‘interest’ of our youth in politics make us seem like people who go with the flow, like faceless soldiers marching mindlessly to a vague future.

But voting is a right and a privilege. What we need is a nation of well informed voters. While I am not qualified to vote this year, but you can be sure that when it comes to the next elections I will play the role of a well informed voter.

Only then can we have real confidence for the future.

As Singapore’s Presidential candidates wrap up their election campaign, Ng Kaijie argues that information is the lifeblood of the election process and without it, we only vote at our own expense.

Democracy never monopolized the affection of the Western world. Indeed, some statesmen even treated the system with disdain. Winston Churchill once astutely remarked, “The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.”

It seems that 50 years later, in an ex-colony faced with an impending Presidential Elections, we have not grown any wiser.

The stage has been set. This election would probably be decided by how voters construe the President’s role under the Constitution. However, with only one Presidential Election under the electorate’s belt, can we be trusted to understand the President’s complex undertakings? The gloves are already off in this interpretation free-for-all. Mainstream media has carried editorials warning against liberal readings of the role. Forums (both online and off) have also attempted to define the limits of the President according to arguably biased perspectives.

Tony Tan Keng-Yam, Deputy Chairman and Executive Director, Government of Singapore Investment Corporation (GIC), Singapore, during the session 'Scenarios for the Future of the Global Financial System' at the Annual Meeting 2009 of the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, January 30, 2009. Photo: World Economic Forum

Even the presidential candidates themselves acknowledge that this crucial issue would be a tipping point. Dr. Tony Tan (above), in a thinly veiled poke at his election rivals, commented that “the candidates should be running for the Office that exists, and not the Office the one they wish to have.” Dr. Tan Cheng Bock have also tried to distance himself from what he perceived to be “day-to-day politics.”

Yet, the other two candidates who propose a relatively activist role remain wholly unrepentant. They bank on the principle of a moral authority from the people, which, they argue, affords a certain flexibility in the President’s role. This would compel him to take the necessary action, even if it crosses the (as of yet) undefined line between legal and unlawful exercise of the President’s powers.

The conflict over the Constitution’s interpretation has also drawn political observers into the fray. Professor Eugene Tan, in his frequent guest appearances on Channel Newsasia’s election specials and on The Online Citizen Face-to-Face 2 Presidential Election special, harped on the danger of “overpromising”. He said that the law does not allow for such a liberal exercise of the President’s authority. Such caution is well-advised. When one rides into power with promises that he can’t cash, the disconnect between expectations and reality must necessitate a backlash and a disillusionment with the institution.

Yet, despite such widespread bemoaning regarding the faulty understanding of the President’s role, no one has set the record straight, except the Law Minister K. Shanmugam. His interpretation of the Constitution drew criticism for being overly narrow (see here and here). Perceptions of him being an interested party was also a baggage that was difficult to shed. Moreover, the judiciary rules on these vagaries in the Constitution, so his interpretation is of little practical consequence. While Mr. Shanmugam clarified his remarks later, a chilling effect seems to have descended on the issue. No one is keen to stand out and offer an authoritative view of the Constitution.

Unfortunately, the whole “you-think-I-think” saga acts out on parallel spectrums. Naysayers are all too willing to frame any whiff of activism as inclinations to exercise explicit power, even when such inclinations could be behind-the-scenes exertion of influence. No one is willing to address such hypothetical circumstances, when in fact one believes that the President would engage in private acts of influence very frequently. Even President Nathan has indicated his many interactions with the establishment despite his constraints from the oath of confidentiality.

There is nothing wrong with political posturing from the candidates when they accuse each other of irresponsibility – after all, it’s just politics. But when neutral experts or institutions get caught up in the “me-too!” fray and merely react to such bluster instead of correcting perceptions, how can one expect voters to vote “right”?

All this campaigning has obscured the crux of the issue; that Singapore lacks an independent institution who will willingly step up when the traditional ones are found wanting. While news media lament the cavalier attitudes of certain candidates, they shy away from enlightening their readers or even directing them to Singapore’s statues freely available online to address the possible influence the President can possess. Given their enormous powers at setting the public agenda, it seems puzzling when they would rather sow the seeds of the social panic that they report. This is especially since they are adequately equipped with the expertise and reach to rectify such a problem.

Singapore’s nascent civil society also fails in this regard. It is not surprising given the clear demarcation between the political and civil locally. Yet, civil society is the one best served if it can push towards a clarification of the President’s powers. Given the President’s role for the community, civil society needs to understand the extent of his influence and thus the limits of their organizations in lobbying for certain initiatives.

Cheong Chun Yin's family kneeling before the Istana, Singapore's presidential palace, on 27 April 2011. Cheong was arrested in Singapore in 2008, and charged with trafficking in approximately 2.7kg of heroin from Burma. To the family, a Presidential pardon is one their remaining options left. Photos: Kirsten Han

Even the judiciary is strangely silent on the issue when their views are probably the most authoritative. Perhaps they do not comment on speculation. Without the real transgression taking place, such a thought experiment is merely a meaningless exercise. Moreover, the merits of the case would be to take into account the context of the individual situations. But as a result of this, we only have disorganized experts offering idiosyncratic takes on the provisions for the President. These are like reading tea leaves; interesting to the interested individual, but of no value to larger society.

One can understand why experts are loathe to offer an explicit interpretation of the law and the many possibilities of how the President would or would not contravene it; no one wants to end up with intellectual cream pie on their face. The interpretation of the law is still human and allows for some flexibility.

However, leaving the account wide open serves no favours either. An irresponsible President can drum up unrealistic expectations. On the other hand, the lack of a clear idea about the Presidency forces the electorate to be unnecessarily cautious and to seek out the most conservative figurehead available. What if the President is actually capable of so much more? Without the dimensions of a room, we would probably equip it with the stingiest furniture available, however ill-fitting it might be.

Perhaps not many voters would recognize the political theory behind the mandate. However, they do implicitly acknowledge the weight of their own vote. A vote is sacred. It is a responsibility and above all, it is empowering. The government recognizes this when it asks the electorate to vote rationally and objectively. Populism, to them, is the anti-thesis of rationality. Yet, without complete information, a voter is disenfranchised. He cannot be expected to vote rationally his preferred candidate that fits the terms of the office.

That would in fact destroy the sanctity of the voting process when voters instead rely on heuristics, plumping for any likeable candidate regardless of other conditions. The very real fear is that the by-election effect would follow, turning this into a General Election Part 2. Starving voters of neutral information would ironically herald the rise of the irresponsible voter, the very same kind the elected presidency was supposed to check.

Believe it or not. China, like Singapore, has curry too.

In fact, the ‘curry dispute’ between a Chinese immigrant family and its Singaporean Indian neighbours reminded me of a memorable dish from Xinjiang, China called da pan ji (大盘鸡).

It is a spicy stew of capsicums and potatoes, combining Uyghur spices with chicken as the main ingredient, a Han Chinese culinary influence.

Mr Ali Tash, a Uyghur tour operator who helped me on my solo trip to China’s far-west, brought me to a local Uyghur restaurant after I told him that I have been sustaining on hard boiled eggs and noodles in the Muslim region where mutton and beef are staples.

Besides da pan ji, I could get shou zhua fan (手抓饭) which is similar to Singapore’s Nasi Briyani. Both offered a ‘taste of home’ after my five-month exchange in Beijing without a single spoonful of curry.

Whenever fellow travelers ask me about my thoughts and experiences about Xinjiang, the first thing that comes to my mind is how reminiscent the multicultural province was of Singapore, compared to any other Chinese city.

Many mainland Chinese also liken Singapore to any Chinese city as we have a large percentage of Chinese in our population. But this is a superficial comparison. Looking closer, I can see some differences that make Singapore unique.

Non-Han Chinese ethnic groups in China are classified as ‘ethnic minorities’. The official term used is shaoshu minzu (少数民族) which literally suggests that people belonging to these ethnic groups exist in smaller numbers compared to the dominant Han-Chinese population.

This is in stark contrast to Singapore’s emphasis on its identity as a multicultural nation where the term ‘ethnic minorities’ is never used in any public statement, occasion or in a day-to-day conversation.

While Singapore’s younger generation (especially those born in the 1980s and 1990s) is colour blind, this is not the case in China. Some Han Chinese still view ‘minorities’ such as Tibetans and Uyghurs in a different light, and misconceptions are formed partly due to the large geographical and cultural distance between ethnic groups.

The geographical distribution of minority groups in China is mostly confined to its border provinces, such as that of Yunnan, Inner Mongolia and Xinjiang. Given the vast size of China, these areas are remote to the average urban dweller and are more commonly regarded as tourism hubs, still a more positive reputation than what the ancient Han Chinese used to know them as — ‘the land of the barbarians’.

Minority cultures are being stereotyped to have exotic food, tribal costumes and music, and in some instances, regarded to be less civilised as they come from rural societies. Such skewed perceptions are limited to textbook and classroom knowledge without any concrete interaction between the different ethnic groups, let alone the concept of mutual understanding and social integration.

Some minorities who feel that their livelihood is being threatened by the dominant presence of Han Chinese amongst their midst tend to feel xenophobic toward the Chinese.

The government is now wooing the minorities over, with financially beneficial social policies. Efforts to better engage and integrate the minority races are ongoing, such as the construction of houses in rural areas in accordance to traditional designs and the consolidation of public schools for villages in the same district.

Children as young as seven years old enjoy free education, in addition to food and lodging at boarding schools, and only get to go home on weekends.

On the other hand, the Han Chinese in China seem more likely to have xenophobic sentiments towards the minorities. In fact, I have never come across any individual born and brought up in China who is as colour blind as youths in Singapore. Most of the Chinese see the minorities as the “others”.

I attended a lesson on minority cultures at one of southwest China’s renowned universities. The relatively young teacher gave a simplistic overview and description of each culture, perhaps due to the short span of time for the lesson. However, from the way she spoke about certain regions, I cannot deny that it gives me the impression that there is much more to be done about social awareness in this area.

Undoubtedly the Han Chinese government has to maintain a certain form of dominance when it comes to dealing with multicultural issues in China as majority of the population, the Han Chinese urban dwellers are generally not ready to accept being placed on the same pedestal as the ‘minorities’.

Lured by the incentive for a better life, generations of Han Chinese have adapted to the process of relocating and setting up homes away from their ancestral province, a similar phenomenon exemplified by the global Chinese diaspora. Internally, China uses a ‘soft invasion’ approach on its border provinces since the Han Chinese population never stops growing.

In Xinjiang, Han Chinese dominate the northern areas with holiday spots at ice glaciers, industrial plants in several cities and the commercialization of natural attractions. The Uyghurs mainly originate from the southern enclave of Kashgar and prefer to live in the southern regions such as Aksu, or Kuche and Korla, which are more central, although most institutes of higher learning are located in the capital of Urumqi.

Businessmen and developers from as far as the eastern coastal province of Jiangxi are flocking to areas in Xinjiang such as Tashkorgan, an autonomous Tajik county, as they hope to tap into the vast natural resources of Central Asia.

Here at home, Singapore remains a top destination of choice for Mainland Chinese parents and students since China’s public education system does not directly give its students access to worldwide college entrance admissions.

It is my opinion that Chinese students in Singapore do not show as much xenophobia as their counterparts in China. It could be the Singaporean education and society which they have been immersed in which influenced them to be less colour blind.

Perhaps Singaporeans can give the Chinese immigrants in Singapore some credit for cooking excellent soup dishes such as ban mian and fish soups at our hawker centres.

I love being Singaporean for it has shaped me to be a person who values diversity in relationships and food. The outpour of nationalistic pride over the ‘curry incident’ is heartening.Besides sharing the wide variety of local fare with our foreign friends, Singaporeans are also in good stead to teach anyone about appreciating diversity.

I love my curry, and would definitely not wince at trying the Eurasian Devil’s Curry, or joining my Malay neighbour for a meal of kari ayam.

As for our foreign friends in Singapore, we welcome them to join us too.

The writer is an NTU student who traveled to Xinjiang and Yunnan after spending two semesters in Beijing and Chengdu. She wrote for Gochengdoo.com which is managed by a sambal-loving German.

After more than half a year away from the Yunnan Garden campus, I returned to NTU for a new semester, only to feel like a complete stranger in this familiar land.

I hardly knew anyone—nobody greeted me and my peers were not in school either. Recognisable faces in the form of seniors were gone. In fact, I could easily be mistaken as a freshman who skipped the school’s orientation camp.

Except I’m no freshman. I’m already in my final year and feeling detached from school is actually normal. After several months of internship at another company, I felt some difficulty in reconnecting with the school I belonged to.

Most final year students, if not all, would probably share similar sentiments. But it might not be so bad. Some might be looking forward to graduation, a thrilling trip overseas or a satisfying job opportunity ahead. Some are relieved that the worst days were over, only with the final year project ahead. Others had found love.

The problem is, I’m starting to feel like a stranger in my own country too.

In a recent poll by Channel NewsAsia (above), 81 percent of respondents said they would not fly the national flag to celebrate Singapore’s birthday on August 9.

Mr Toh Chin Chye, one of the two surviving founding fathers of modern Singapore, will be sad to hear this. After all, he chaired the committee to design the national flag back in the 1950s.

But I’m not surprised. Despite anger from many voters at the May 7 General Elections, the biggest problems in Singapore would take time to solve. Reforms in the areas of public housing, transport and the economy could not be done overnight.

Singapore faces a dilemma for its economy was built with heavy reliance on cheap foreign labour. In addition, the country is also struggling with a low birthrate. As we try to replace Singaporeans by bringing in new citizens, we risk replacing Singapore completely.

With its character eroded and its people losing a common sense of destiny, Singaporeans may eventually find that they have nothing to celebrate for on National Day.

Unlike a school, company or factory, a nation cannot afford a come-and-go culture where most people stay for a few years and disappear for greener pastures.

I feel that Singapore is slowly falling victim to that phenomenon, home to a growing financial sector which has brought an influx of globally mobile professionals.

The sudden flood of immigrants have also created large, self-interactive communities centred around a country of origin. Ethnic enclaves which the People’s Action Party had worked so hard to dissolve back in the 1960s could resurface today.

Given the large number of new citizens and the slow-growing local-born population, its unlikely that the proportion of local-borns will return to the levels seen a decade ago. In many ways, the demographic character of this country has been permanently altered.

Telling immigrants to go home would not work either. In fact, its a form of extreme xenophobia harmful to the country.

Unlike London, Paris and other global cities which Singapore aspires to be, there are no rural heartlands for local-born Singaporeans to move into and preserve the country’s character. Huddled in a small city state with soaring property prices and crowded public transport, Singaporeans feel squeezed out and even under siege.

But on the bright side, being small meant integration could be easier in Singapore.

With the shortage of public housing, there are opportunities to integrate new citizens and local-born Singaporeans through the same methods which the PAP broke up ethnic enclaves in the 1960s.

The Housing Development Board could set ratios for foreign-born Singaporeans vs local-born Singaporeans in new blocks of flats, breaking up enclaves formed by recently arrived immigrants.

New immigrants bring new festivals and customs into Singapore’s cultural landscape. Just as different races had visited one another on festivals such as Hari Raya Pausa and Chinese New Year, new immigrants can invite fellow Singaporeans to their own festivals too.

After all, what made Singapore special was not whether its people are born locally or overseas. A good government that cares for citizens as people instead of merely workers for a commercial enterprise will make the country tick.

With people-centric instead of profit-driven leaders, even a country full of foreign-born immigrants will stay and live peacefully together. A sense of common destiny would blur existing cultural differences.

Singapore has successfully integrated a racially-diverse population in the first 46 years of nationhood. They need to work harder as new immigrants come in. At the same time, the government should not forget an older generation of Singaporeans who had built the country with their tears, sweat and blood.

Whether foreign or local-born, I hope Singaporeans will not feel strangers in their own land. As the school term starts, I also look forward to a homecoming party this Wednesday, meeting up with friends and newcomers at NTU.

Happy National Day, Singapore. Stay true to yourself.

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At first, I felt slightly dizzy, a feeling that I knew was part of an earthquake.

It seemed minor at first, until my shelves and dishes began to rattle violently.

Remembering some half-truth I’ve heard about certain bathrooms in newer Japanese buildings as being earthquake-proof, I quickly moved to the toilet and sat down, waiting for the shaking to stop.

I realized the magnitude of this quake much later. As my friends and I began to walk to the gym for our routine exercise, we saw numerous Japanese people crowding around the designated evacuation sites in parks around Takadanobaba.

My friends and I stocked up on canned goods, water and emergency supplies, based on the hypothetical situation that we would be trapped under rubble. I set out my supplies into a backpack, along with my thickest waterproof jacket and clothes laid out on the limited rack and floor space in my toilet.

Jokingly, I told my friends that it was my ‘fallout shelter’. That done, I left my laptop tuned to the NHK World Service and went to bed, knowing that I needed to stay alert and be at least rested in case I needed to run for safety.

The 'fallout' shelter that Tang took shelter in at the height of the earthquake on March 11 afternoon. Photo: Tang Chee Seng

In retrospect, it was the most surreal sleep I have ever had. The program kept repeating a tsunami warning for all the various areas in Japan. Each message would be delivered in at least five different warnings. As I fell asleep, the voices blurred out into a strange hypnotic litany of impending disaster.

Midway through the night, I awoke to images of an entire town burning due to what I assumed was earthquake damage. The whole event was filmed and broadcasted live via a Japanese Self-Defence Forces helicopter. Lying in a warm bed and staring blearily at what was unfolding live on screen, somehow a part of me just disconnected from what I was seeing and experiencing.

Like images of the Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004, how could we associate the horror of what we saw on TV with the comfortable, safe physical conditions we were living in?

Being so relatively close to the disaster-hit areas, I felt that I ought to feel scared and terrified for my life. I ought to be crying in helplessness in my sorrow for the dead, dying and the barely surviving.

But somehow I couldn’t.

Though I was only around 200 kilometres away from what was happening onscreen, it felt as though it was happening to another country. Does that make me a horrible person?

Six days later, I still didn’t know. All I knew at the time (even up to now) was to ensure that I was rested, alert, and prepared for any contingency.

Call it NS training, call it kiasi-ism, but the logical part of my brain had to be in control. If I gave in to uncontrollable grief, fear and extreme paranoia, I would not be able to deal with any situation. I think that for all that has happened, fear truly is the greatest enemy for all of us. Misinformation and rumour are generating fear when fear is the last thing we need to deal with.

Despite the tragic scenes of destruction and chaos north of Tokyo, the central part of Tokyo City itself was relatively unscathed. Walking along the streets of Takadanobaba, the college district I live in, I found the streets quieter and there are long queues in front of supermarkets, pharmacies and convenience stores.

While there are some unspoken tension and differences in the air, life continues on here. Office workers go to work, and shop assistants still greet you whenever you enter a shop.

Chinese people crowd at a check-in counter at Niigata airport in Niigata to get out of Japan Wednesday, March 16, 2011 in fear of further earthquakes as well as deteriorating nuclear power plant incident following Friday's massive earthquake and tsunami. Photo: AP/Kyodo News

Compare all this measured calm with the scene of near-chaos I encountered on Tuesday at the Tokyo Immigration Office—hundreds, if not thousands of foreigners living in Japan sought to obtain a re-entry permit, causing long queues which snaked around a large compound and even within the building.

This permit was highly sought after because it would allow them to leave and return to Japan without negating their visas.

All was reasonably orderly and calm until officials began to return the processed passports in the main atrium. Masses of foreigners urgently pressed up against a small island of officials desperately trying to maintain order and carry out their duties, all the while maintaining their standards of service politeness.

It was not until a Caucasian man began shouting at the crowd in Japanese to quieten down and move back away from the officials, did any semblance of order could be restored.

While waiting with me, a Filipino lady asked me if the impending ‘radioactive cloud’ coming towards Tokyo, as reported by the BBC early on Tuesday, would melt buildings. Smiling, I reassured her that it would not, and that the best thing to do would be to trust the authorities right now, even if their track record was not exactly spotless.

Hearing groundless rumours being spread with impunity among the foreign community in Japan, and seeing the heedless panic of the crowd, I wondered who the insane ones in this crisis were. The people staying or the people leaving?

For further reading, here’s another piece by Cassandra Eng, written 34 hours after the earthquake.

A story about loving via the internet. By Terence Lee and his non-tech significant other.

I KNEW something was wrong with me when my girlfriend prefers to fondle her iPhone rather than my stubbled chin.

In truth, our relationship had lost much of its previous flair: We started off by chatting two to three hours a day on MSN Messenger, especially when I was in lectures – which, by the way, totally explained my pathetic 3.3 GPA in my first semester of school. Phone conversations were an afterthought.

Nowadays, we’ve become too lazy to even talk on a dedicated chat software, preferring instead Gmail’s chat function, which meant I could type an email to my boring university lecturer and talk to my girlfriend at the same time.

Remember those cute little cards filled with cut-out hearts that you would make for your boyfriend as an expression of your unyielding love? We’ve ditched them, preferring instead to send free, animated e-cards to one another because we’re lazy and cheap.

Gone also are the days of calling my girlfriend to plan the time and place for our next date. We share our Google Calendars and sync them to our smartphones just so we can keep tabs on one another – which means she’ll question me endlessly if she finds a blank slot.

We also share a Google Doc where we create a list of places and restaurants we’d like to visit next. Most of them are culled from hungrygowhere.com, a good place to find out about the latest food joints without needing to ask a single person.

So what happens when we want to go somewhere but find ourselves lost? Well, Google Maps takes care of that. You can even key in your destination and Google will take you there, listing out three to four alternatives just for fun. There is no more approaching strangers who might point you in the wrong direction. To be honest, I was happy with this state of affairs for a while.

But here’s the problem: All that spontaneity is lost. We’ve become a two-person tour group, where every date is a planned programme.

We’ve surrendered all elements of surprise to the meticulousness of our clever phones, and gave up on the notion of exploring the urban jungle like a modern Tarzan and Jane, who may just happen to stumble upon an obscure ramen store in Bugis or an old-school comic book store in Chinatown.

I read once about a journalist who outsourced his life to a personal assistant in India: He even got the assistant to apologise to his wife for an offense – via email.

I did one better: By relying on the omnipresent Google, I did not have to pay a single cent. I let slave machines do the thinking, instead of a foreign assistant dividing her time between work and boyfriend.

So this brings us back to my girlfriend’s love affair with her shiny iPhone – which she named Finna, by the way. Finna was always by her side, whereas she would be lucky to get a two-hour audience from me all week. Which was why I faded into irrelevance.

Faced with this crisis, I decided many weeks ago to set in motion a devious plan that would win her back, a plan concocted in Germany by one Klaus Teuber.

Sounds familiar? Maybe not. He’s the inventor of Settlers of Catan, a rather popular board game that has sold 15 million copies worldwide. So I recently bought the game for my girlfriend.

Yes, a board game made of actual cardboard paper and plastic game pieces, not some pixelated crap invented by a geeky software engineer in Silicon Valley. Settlers is a game created in love; Klaus mentioned that his main aim of inventing board games is to amuse his bored wife.

The plan worked like a charm. We played Settlers with my mum and brother when she came to my place. We yelped in amusement whenever someone was penalised or on the verge of victory. What would have been a sleepy Sunday afternoon turned into a time of genuine bonding.

And most importantly, I snatched her from the likes of tech kingpins like Mark Zuckerberg and Eric Schmidt, who obviously prefer that the world interact behind a computer screen, like their anti-social selves.

So friends, here’s a secret to rekindling your pathetic, dying relationships: Play a board game together. You won’t get that from any romance guru.

This story was first published on 8 March on the New Nation, a general interest multimedia online magazine for young adults. Reproduced with permission.

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Is the new Edventure system (above) more of a hindrance than help? Headaches outweigh expected benefits in the upgraded university e-learning system.

I have a confession to make: despite being in my final year, I am still not a very hardworking student.

With multiple involvements such as the final year project, dabbling with freelance writing and sub-editing for this website, ploughing through readings is the last thing on my mind—unless of course, a quiz is coming up.

The steady wireless Internet connection on campus and edveNTUre e-learning system makes things better (or perhaps worse): downloading lecture slides onto my laptop just before the lecture starts had become second nature. After a while, I start to wander off to the likes of Facebook and Twitter like many others do, and switch between windows to type some hurried notes.

The cleanly designed edveNTUre front page and the sprightly orange left sidebar accompanying most course websites were features I took for granted, while checking on course photo galleries had become semestral rituals.

As the saying “familiarity breeds contempt” goes, I have grown so accustomed to this system that I wished for more features, like RSS feeds, so I don’t have to check back in so often. The cross-browser incompatibility gave me headaches when I had to post in discussion boards.

So when news broke late last year that a new system, called edveNTUre 9.1, was to be rolled out on January 1st this year, I looked forward eagerly—only to be quite disappointed.

For one, logging into the new system became more of a chore. Sometimes, clicking that “Login” button does not guarantee me a screen of my list of courses, but throws me back to the login page again. And the cycle repeats. Downloading slides under my lecturer’s nose became a thing of the past. There were a few instances where my lecturer is into his fifth slide, but a harried me is still trying to download the slides.

Exploring the new features became an unwanted adventure, such as trying to figure out where the course documents are placed in. Some of my friends’ lecturers, unaware of the new system’s features, have resorted to uploading slides to other parts of the course website.

Introductory video tutorials of the new features, such as mashups with web content, group tools and assignments, were promising. In particular, I liked the calendar feature (below) where lecturers could set due dates for tasks.

The calendar function in the new edveNTURE website allows tutors to post deadlines

But how many people are actually utilising these features? Most of the time, the due dates would be laid out in the course syllabuses.

With the previous system being in place since 2008, an upgrade is definitely needed. Alpha testing, which pre-tests the software with its future users, should be done before the news system is eagerly rolled out to the masses.

There is no point re-inventing the wheel if these pretests were not rigorous enough. After all, if it isn’t broken, why fix it?

If you like to reminiscence about the former system, you can check it out here. It is there for a limited period only for testing purposes

Like many NTU students, young Charles Darwin slept in lectures. But when he woke up, he remembered his dream and worked to make it come true.

Last Saturday, the world celebrated Charles Darwin’s birthday, even in Singapore.

The man was 202 years old and lived about 11,000 kilometres away from us. He never took a plane, or played Guitar Heroes. Mention ‘Butter Factory’ to him and he would probably picture a place which manufactures slippery slabs of yellow fat.

But he lived a life so congruent to ours – university students in a corner of the globe, struggling to find the meaning of our existence, falling asleep in lectures and wondering if we’re even in the right course in the first place.

As a medical student, Darwin found his lectures dull and surgery distressing. He often neglected his studies for play – collecting beetles, riding and shooting. This drove his father to the end of his tether, withdrawing Darwin from medical school and enrolling him into Cambridge University for a Bachelor of Arts degree, hoping to hone him into a parson.

But his father’s well intentioned, if not unhealthy, attempt on Darwin’s life did not work out. While studying for his Arts degree, Darwin fell in love with natural history and grabbed an opportunity of a lifetime – the chance to journey on the HMS Beagle (below) as a naturalist.

Photo: Internet

It was the watershed event for the 22-year-old’s life. Through a five-year extensive study of life and fossils worldwide, Darwin learnt that natural selection drove the evolutionary process, changing the nature of life into its fascinating, complex form we see today.

The rest is history.

While the world celebrates his contribution to science every year, what should be applauded as well is Darwin’s zest for learning the truth.

This is an attitude that students here would do well to emulate – learning for learning’s sake, not for the sake of their grades or future high-paying jobs.

Thus, they enroll into courses with good prospects, and worship their GPA, all in preparation for a future of rolling around in cash.

However, what’s good for the goose isn’t always good for the gander. It is time students take ownership of their lives and stop choosing courses based on how high their salaries would be in the future.

I have always felt that if given the luxury to choose, people should select their future professions based on passion and interest, not salary.

While the bulk of a bulging wallet feels comforting in the pocket of your jeans, it does not compensate for the dullness of a mundane life.

A friend from National Institute of Education (NIE), studying to be a physical education (PE) teacher, shared her thoughts on teaching with me recently.

“I have always loved sports. That’s why I finding teaching very rewarding because it allows me to do what I like, and I can share that with other people,” she said.

The thought of trying to rein in ‘nethanderal’ secondary school kids at PE lessons every day filled me with a sense of horror, but to each his own, right? I respected my friend’s decision to become a teacher because it was something that she dreamed of, not because it is an “iron-rice bowl” profession in a meandering economy.

So, evolutionary theory aside, the lesson we really should learn from Darwin is: carve out your own niche in life, and you will be happy and successful in doing whatever you do.

Darwin did not have a degree or formal education, but he latched onto his true passion and carved out a niche for himself. A learning spirit and questioning mind, along with the courage to take a step in the right direction, will take us far in life, regardless of our degrees.

Maybe if someone invented courses like SHOP 101 or ZOUK 101 people would pursue their interests more zealously.

Happy Darwin Day!

CENSUS 2010: Chinese Buddhism and Taoism face an uphill battle to win over Singaporean youth. Can they turn the tide around?

THE 2010 census is out, and the numbers are not good for Buddhists and Taoists here.

On paper, Buddhism had fallen to 33% last year, down from 42.5% in 2000. Taoism, which had declined from 30% in 1980 to 8.5% in 2000, saw a slight revival to 10.9% of Singapore’s population last year.

We must be careful about interpreting these figures – Singaporean Chinese who follow Buddhism and Taoism often use the religious labels interchangeably, accounting for their volatile proportions here.

But Taoist and Buddhist numbers are declining as a whole; from 51% of the Singapore resident population in 2000, to 44% last year, according to the Singapore census.

Most of the believers who left either turn to Christianity or become non-religious.

In their replies to the media, religious leaders and scholars have attributed this trend to the better outreach and sense of community that Christianity offers. They also added that higher education levels and loosening of kinship ties in society made ritualised religions less popular.

Some Buddhists and Taoists remain optimistic, pointing out many Buddhists and Taoists label themselves without a proper understanding of the teachings. Thus, the statistics are inflated with people who are not genuine followers.

They assert that “real” Buddhists and Taoists who seriously understood their religion were even fewer to begin with, but are increasing with more proper religious classes being held.

But the combined statistical decline of Buddhism and Taoism is still troubling to both communities, especially when statistics reveal its weakening appeal among youth.

A Buddhist blog, a handful of leaves, analysed the popularity of Buddhism across different ages.

According to the blog’s analysis of census data, both Taoism and Buddhism appear to be losing its appeal among the youth.

Buddhism is followed by 36.5% of Singaporeans aged 60-64. But when it comes to Singaporeans aged 15-19, the number drops to 27.14%. Taoism fared no better. Only 6.99% of Singaporeans aged 15-19 follow Taoism, compared to 16.57% for Singaporeans aged 60-64.

Such large statistical changes contain a grain of truth – Buddhism and Taoism are not getting much more popular among the younger generation.

The language factor

The falling usage of Chinese dialects, the dominant ritual language of Chinese Buddhism and Taoism for centuries, has taken a toll on these two religions.

While Buddhism originated in India and has a growing community of English-educated followers in Singapore, the majority of Buddhists in Singapore inherited Chinese Buddhism from their ancestors.

Thus, decline in the usage of Chinese dialects could have taken a toll on Buddhist numbers here.

Taoism and Chinese Buddhism, despite its origins in China and Chinese identity, should engage an increasingly English-speaking younger generation to survive, starting a ‘translation revolution’ of religious literature on a much larger scale.

The recently established Taoist College, for example, began offering classes primarily in Mandarin in 2008, the most widely spoken home language of Singapore.

It’s a good start, but more English classes should be held to attract youth from a variety of races in our diverse city state, especially the younger generation.

Translating to English is not difficult. Buddhism and Taoism are already studied by academics in many universities. Many good books and Internet resources on both Buddhism and Taoism are getting more widely available.

Buddhism on its part, has started reaching out the younger English-educated crowd in the 1980s. Youth camps and youth ministries had been started by various temples, and they had seen increasing membership. But as the census suggests, even their efforts had limited success.

With such resources in English, Buddhist and Taoist leaders do actually have the means to reach out to youth through schools, talks and online websites. But why do so many youth in Singapore remain apathetic about it?

Traditions come and go; universal values stay

Religious leaders have noted that ritualised religion was less popular among the younger generation, with the fast-paced lifestyles and desire for convenience.

There would be some who lament that translating to English would cause religious teachings to lose its context and true meaning.

But languages have evolved continuously since the origin of Buddhism and Taoism. Buddhism originated in India and has been translated into so languages like Thai, Burmese, Japanese and Korean.

Even though Taoism is mostly based in China, the Chinese language has evolved into many dialects and forms across the centuries. Many of these older forms of Chinese has faded and evolved into something else.

Consider the amount of Chinese words lost when Qin Shihuang, the first Chinese Emperor, standardised the Chinese script to improve communication across his vast empire.

Consider the traditions lost when Chinese moved away from bronze metallurgy with the increasing use of iron, gave up writing on bamboo strips with the invention of paper, and stopped the Shang dynasty practice of live burials at King’s funerals.

Rituals have changed and evolved, improvised by Chinese families as Taoist and Buddhist institutions weakened periodically during Mongol, Manchu and more recently, Communist rule.

Traditions are merely innovations of an older past, only to be replaced by another innovation. Instead of clinging steadfastly onto ritual traditions, Taoists and Buddhists should understand the universal values within their teachings and pass them on instead.

If Taoists and Buddhists can be flexible in adapting to a changing world, as their pioneers were, they would definitely pull through this crisis, and adapt to a new Singapore. With their insightful teachings and tolerant nature, they will have plenty to contribute to future generations.

This story was first published on 19 January on the New Nation, a general interest multimedia online magazine for young adults. Reproduced with permission.