Abyss of lala land

I am roticv

Friday, April 30, 2010

I am FREE

I am FREE. Okay, this declaration comes late as technically my last paper was yesterday, but I procrastinated and didn't write this entry till today. After my last paper, I felt very lost and at the same time glad because I can finally pursue things that interest me. So what did I do today? I spent my morning and afternoon doing mathematics. Yes, I am crazy and I have misplaced priorities.

Now, I must admit that I am obsessed with my CAP. I think my obsession with it is wrong and I think the root of it is because I want to push myself to be the best. Maybe I lack the ability to meet my own expectations. On the other hand, KC wrote on his blog that he is the sort of person who needs poor result to motivate himself further. I was telling people that CAP is not that important because what is important is that you have learned something from your modules. I should really listen to my own words and not get too obsessed with examination results. It should be sufficient as long as I maintain first class. (As a side note, I am still rather upset that I made careless mistakes and wrote wrong proofs even though I know I should have gotten over such things by now as it is holidays after all.)

HELLO MAY.

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Saturday, April 17, 2010

what are your dreams?

Young Superheroes in a Hut by NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF

Why is Africa poor?

Is it a legacy of colonial exploitation? Tropical diseases and parasites? Or is it that local mammals, like the zebra and the African elephant, were difficult to domesticate and harness in agriculture?

There’s truth in each of these explanations. But a visit to Zimbabwe highlights perhaps the main reason: bad governance. The tyrannical, incompetent and corrupt rule of Zimbabwe’s president, Robert Mugabe, has turned one of Africa’s most advanced countries into a shambles.

In a village less than a day’s drive from Victoria Falls, I stumbled across a hut that to me captured the country’s heartbreak — and also its resilience and hope. The only people living in the hut are five children, orphans from two families. The kids, ages 8 to 17, moved in together after their four parents died of AIDS and other causes.

The head of the household is the oldest boy, Abel, a gangly 10th grader with a perpetual grin. He has been in charge since he was 15.

At one time, the two families reflected Zimbabwe’s relative prosperity. One mother was a businesswoman who traveled abroad regularly. A solar panel that she brought back from Zambia lies in the courtyard.

One of the fathers was a soccer coach who named his son Diego Maradona. Diego may have inherited some of his father’s talent, but he has no soccer ball and no soccer shoes — indeed, no shoes at all. And here, as in much of Zimbabwe, a once-impressive system of schools and clinics has pretty much collapsed, along with tourism, agricultural production and the economy itself.

The household stirs to life each morning when Abel rises at 4 and sets off barefoot on a nine-mile hike to the nearest high school. He has no watch or clock, so he judges the time from the sun, knowing that it will take three hours to get to school.

Abel and the other children have no money to pay school fees or buy notebooks. But the teachers allow them to attend class anyway, because they are brilliant students who earn top grades. They’re a reminder that talent is universal, although opportunity is not.

After Abel leaves for school, responsibility shifts to Diego Maradona, who is 11. He wakes the three younger children, feeds them cold cornmeal mush left over from the previous night’s dinner, and walks with them to the elementary school they all attend a few miles away.

When Diego and the younger children return in the afternoon, they gather firewood, fetch water, tend the chickens and sometimes search for edible wild plants. Abel returns by about 7 p.m. and cooks more cornmeal mush for dinner. He dispenses orders and affection, nurses the younger ones when they are sick, comforts them when they miss their parents, spanks them when they are naughty, coaches them with their schoolwork, begs food from neighbors, fixes the thatch roof when it leaks, and rules the household with tenderness and efficiency.

Abel’s goal is to graduate from high school and become a policeman, because the job will provide a steady salary to support his siblings. He does not know how he will come up with the modest fees to take graduation exams.

I asked Abel what he dreams of. “A bicycle,” he said. Then he would be able to get home from school more quickly and manage the household better.

“Life was a lot better when I was younger,” he said, a bit wistfully. “From what my parents used to tell me, life was a lot better under white rule. There was a lot more food and clothes, and you could afford to buy things.” But Abel insisted that he was optimistic that life would eventually get better again.

Westerners sometimes think that Africa’s problem is a lack of initiative or hard work. Nobody could think that after talking to Abel and Diego Maradona — or so many other Zimbabweans who display a resilience and courage that left me inspired.

I found Zimbabwean superheroes like Abel often in my week of surreptitious reporting in Zimbabwe. (Mr. Mugabe subjects journalists to imprisonment, so it seemed best not to advertise my presence.) Parents sacrifice meals to keep their children in wretched schools (one teacher showed me his two textbooks for a class of 50). And a growing number of Zimbabweans risk crocodiles, drowning and violence to sneak into South Africa in search of work.

So Zimbabwe’s tragedy isn’t its people, but its leader. Likewise, Africa’s failure has been, above all, one of leadership. It is telling that Africa’s greatest success story, Botswana, is adjacent to one of its greatest failures, Zimbabwe. The difference is that for decades Botswana has been exceptionally well and honestly managed, and Zimbabwe pillaged.

I first read the above commentary in International Herald and really loved it. The point I would like to bring up here is that the heroes in our eyes are usually people who are successful. Here the meaning of being successful is debatable. I believe it is appropriate to define being successful in Singapore's context as being wealthy. I would like to say that there are other heroes in our daily lives. (As a side story, my favourite character of Wheel of Time is Matrim Cauthon. He dislikes being a nobleman, but ended up being Prince of Ravens after his marriage to Daughter of Nine Moons)

The media painted a rosy picture that defines the Singaporean Dream to be materialistic in nature. If you recall when we are younger, there was running joke that Singaporeans wish to attain the 5Cs. When we invite people for talks, we always invite people who are "successful" and not any normal Singaporean who is our everyday hero (It will be interesting if one invites a foreign worker to a talk as it is undeniable that foreign workers form the basis of our society, yet the state has this "use and discard" mentality when dealing with them). Throw in the recent endorsement of certain chicken essence brand by top scorers in PSLE, O Levels, A Levels, IB, ... You get what I mean. It is a skewed picture being portrayed.

I feel life is more than just how earning as much money as possible and living up to the materialistic expectation of the society. I think life should be more about following your calling. As such, I admire people who know exactly what they would want to be in the future and follow their dreams.

In today's Straits Times article, it suggested that the youths have materialistic dreams such as being a millionaire by 30 or owning a house. Let us not be shaped by the social conventions and find our own dreams and live these dreams. It is okay to fall down while trying because we can always try to stand up again - like how we did when we first learn how to walk.

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Sunday, April 11, 2010

graffiti from europe

I wanted to write about my anti-government sentiments, but I need more time to craft it out properly, so I will settle for something else. Vandalism has always been part of growing up and I realised that the "fashion" these days is to comment on signs/warnings/notices put up across NUS by writing on them. It almost feel like these students are writing on a wall - like the ones found on facebook. Photos of these comments can be found at the facebook group Overheard at NUS.

All these remind me of graffiti I have seen while I was in Europe. For example, the photos below showed a building that is vandalised by graffiti. These photos were taken at Bratislava (the capital of Slovakia, one of the two nations that formed after the dissolution of Czechoslovakia. The city is just an hour away from Vienna). On first sight, I was wondering what the building was as the whole place was full of graffiti and that includes the road. Cigarette butts were littered all over the place. I asked a local what it was and he replied that it is a university. I was shocked. The guy told me that it is a holiday (either Christmas or Boxing day) and that is why it looked so devoid of people. I really wonder how the place would look like with youths.

The photo below shows another interesting graffiti which I came across while touring the devoid Bratislava's Old Town (thanks to the Boxing day). It reads "No God, No Skills, No Money, The Square one. Here I come". I felt really sad after seeing it.The next two are from various places. The first was on the stairs leading to the Budapest castle and the second was found at a children's playground in Vienna.

I must admit that I've felt sad when traveling across Eastern Europe. They cast a gloomy picture of the entire place. I saw this brand new train which was probably a train from Austria in another country which was vandalised by graffiti. Too bad I didn't have time to whip out my camera and take a photo of it. However, I must admit like those two photos above, graffitis do add colour to our life.

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