I was blog surfing and came across a very thougth provoking peice of reflection on the sad state of Chinese language and the Chinese in Singapore. I really like the points raised, but i feel that I can't quite agree with the generally anguished tone of the (hee Chinese-studies major) student. I think the title of my post is exactly like the current situation in Singapore. For chinese(both the langauge and the ethnic grp) that is.
Yes, we can all see pretty clearly that most young Singaporean Chinese have a problem with speaking, writing, using Chinese. Yes, younger generations have a self-esteem problem regarding their mother tongue. Yes. And the fact taht they are proud of not knowing Chinese is sad and quite twisted. Maybe we should have a national psycho-analysis campaign to find out what is wrong with Singaporean Chinese's psyches. Have we been so terribly traumatized by colonialism and Japanese occupation? The governing choices made by LKY? [Bring in the experts]
But one thing I can not agree with is how the inability to speak chinese well is in fact , or equates to a "How Chinese we are"--culturally, ethnically. This problem is unique to Singaporeans. (ok not unique to, many people around the world have identity crisis) but as a whole, I don;t think there are as many confused people (existing together as a group)as in Singapore. The ministers promoting Chinese have gotten it wrong. Along with almost all of us Singaporean Chinese. the campaign titled (华人讲华语) equates the 2 together. And just looking around, we know that is not true in every sense. The biggest problem is not that we cannot speak/write Chinese well. The problem is we have a serious identity crisis. So much that we have to find prroofs for our Chinese-ness. For one, many Singporeans define being able to speak Chinese well, understanding Chinese as being one evidential proof that " Yes we are Chinese enough."
The fact that the writer is a Chinese-studies major may have coloured his view of Chinese language of the role of that language. I myslef as a history student have a drastically different view on the role of language and the place it stands in relation to societies, cultures, grps of people. No doubt, Chinese language as with all language is an aspect of a culture. It holds that culture together, to so extent it may even be the basis of a culture. But language is also a pragmatic tool of communication. And sometimes, (in today's world) it's practical role have overtaken its cultural role. (and that is something that is happening around the world, not just in Singapore). Language in today's world is more a tool for communication than an embodiment of cultural essence. (they are not mutually exclusive, but one is more emphasized currently). Many Indians, Malays, 'angmohs" speak Chinese. that does not mean that they understand Chinese culture or even feel vaguely Chinese. My Aunt and Uncle grew up in the U.S they can't even understand much Cantonese, let alone write any Chinese, but they are undeniably Chinese, they are American and they are Chinese. (in their own minds). So where is the problem with us?
Why do Singaporeans ask themselves if they are Chinese enough? I really can't seem to find the answer to this one. People in China speak Chinese, but not all of them understand the cultural evolution of their language, not all of them have read 红楼梦, so why should this bother us so much that we don't have a cultural understanding of chinese history? I feel that much of the reason lies with the weak historical foundation singapore society has. Singapore has no history, other than superficial fairy tale of Sung nila Utama, cheesy Raffles landing in 1819. The over-killed japanese invasion in Channel 8 dramas. We have nothing to ground us, and we do not even know what being Singporean is? The more difficult question of what being a chinese means is equally confused.
I feel that the situation will not get better, because all along we have been asking the wrong questions and we will keep asking it. Being Chinese is a state of mind. (it is more than just being able to speak Chinese, understand Chinese culture)If that is the criteria for being Chinese, then a lot of foreign Chinese studies experts have become Chinese in their academic studies. I think we are really complicating a very simple matter-- it is as simple as just thinking that you are a Chinese. Questions are good, but sometimes some things have no answers and the more we ask, the more confused we get. Perhaps, people who have no problems with their ethnic identities are simply people who don't ask questions. As we all tertiary students have learnt "culture, ethnic identity" is very much an illusion. If ever Singaporean Chinese want to be convinced that we are Chinese, we need to stop look for the equation, because there really is none to be found. (at least not one that is universal, nor one that is correct).
By: Nippy | Saturday, September 30, 2006 at 1:01 PM | | 
"Desperado, why don't you come to your senses.
You've been out riding fences
for so long now
Freedom oh freedom
Cruising all your highs and lows
Desperado, why don't you come to your senses
come down from your fences
open the gate
it may be raining
but there's a rainbow above you
you better let somebody love you"
All spoken out beautifully in the Eagles' wonderful voice
oh the music!
I think I just fell in love with watching horse racing.
Those shoe-shined, lean, full of animal magnetism
buzz in the air
horses, trainers making rounds
parade to those anticipating spectators
the possible winner
white lights on the green tracks
Bill boards and numbers
place your bets
price, dividends
desperate Uncles
in slippers, cheap cigarettes
Dark faces
desire to spend the night with
the never-present luck
2mins to race. Place your bets now.
Horses taking a short gallop
jockeys test-race
reveal a little
but not too much
Make that round to the gates
Forcing the adrenaline pulsing
jockey-on-horse inside
Gates closed
A hush descends
unwarned
They burst forth only seen on the screen
hoofs too far to be heard
In the lead, numbers, numbers, numbers
They draw closer to the grand stand
figures small unclear
Head for finish
that line ahead
Pulse race, Uncles' thunderous chants
Go Star, Go star
3, 3, 3, 13, 5 (in every imaginable dialect)
as if someone's fortune and life depended on it
The last lap
Jockeys lean , rising
butts way above seat
whips, fury, sweat, foams
gravity and speed
horses diving
admist chaotic shouts
it's over
"who's won?"
groans, mumbles, clapping
on screen the re-enactment of the
already dtermined outcome
slowly showing in all dramatic
the close gaps
and the undenial winner
Jockeys come full circle back
the winner steps up to take a photo
the rich angmoh in business suit
and his tai-tai wife
stand next to 'his' beast and man
smiling his tooth-paste advert smile
sleaze glitter , flash
at the betting booth, men
women feels the wave of reality
the dazzle is over
bet tickets strewn
like dead hope
swept up by an Indian woman
By: Nippy | at 11:48 AM | |
Watching the world news today, I feel a little bit thrown of by the global "mess" we are all in. We, lucky Singaporeans have the priviledge of delusional peace, even to the extent of comforting boredom. But frankly, in today's world (as always) that peace is fragile. And the belief that stability is a "natural state" only sometimes borken by "unnatural violent occurences" is a terrible misconception.At best, idealistic. At worst, foolish. The feeling many still have is that our society have more or less reached a state after evolving through centuries of turbulent history to a relatively workable system, which allows majority of people to remain at least vaguely satisfied. Satisfied enough to keep quiet and to keep from violent rebellions. Where discontentments come in watered down forms of complaints, peaceful protests. Where people can make changes by banging on that political system, where we all have a say.
Never before have I felt so threatened that all this is a mirage, which sometimes need only a slight tilt in the balancing act of power(to keep people believing and the discontentment which follows when that belief is betrayed) War, chaos we have learnt to convince ourselves are un-civilized, a mutation, only the most un-enlightened, backward people are capable of. Not true. Never was, only it takes a lot for us who are taught to belief this to come to grips with this. History will not repeat itself. We learnt, didn't we? The last world war only ended 51 years ago. Our rapid recovery after it and our massive developments may have blinded us (and the generations after to this prosperity's impermanence. People like to think we do not revert back to early states, we only ever keep improving.
Already we are arrogant of this fragile peace we take as a given. I look at local land developers' talk about 99yr leases and laugh. Only 50 years ago we have had the last world war. 99years ago on this very day, there was still an Emperor in China. We really kid ourselves into thinking that we will all grow richer, develop faster, go further. Even to the extent of planning 99 years ahead. I have even seen a 999yr lease property.1000 yrs ago, it was still the dark ages. Who knows what will happen even only 20 years from now?
Thailand's coup, Taiwan's anti-Bian movement, Hungary's protests, Japan's newly elected, (I say elected but really he is chosen) leader Abe, and talks about Hilary Clinton "possibly stepping up to become a presidential candidate, only convince me that we are light years away from the ideal that democracy (whatever that means) boasts. But the scary thing is not that in itself, but the deep belief of so many that that ideal is achievable: a sacred ideal which should not be betrayed. Hence twice the anger, when they see how far the reality is. They feel betrayed, that their system which should have been their's, upholding their rights, justice, and the voice of the people is corrupted. Corrupted not by Corrupted leaders, but the gap between the ideal and the reality. I do not think I am a cycnic, but haven't we learnt? Of all things, if we can learn any at all through History, through Nazi Germany, Communist China and Soviet Union-- that Utopia is unattainable. What follows after a massive crazed faith in achieving the utopic paradise only resulted in destruction, deep scars and historical ridicule of failed experiments of the improbable made believable. Yet, today we can stand here, laugh at the past, yet be blind to the present. Nothing is wrong with dreaming, but we will soon learn how easily enough that dream can become a nightmare while we all continue slumbering.
It doesn't take a lot to figure out that our current politics are dominated by play-acting, all about the appearance, but what happens when we realize that our fundamental faith in this politcal system might be misplaced? (but I say might, it might also not be misplaced. We shall wait and see.)
By: Nippy | Wednesday, September 20, 2006 at 9:26 PM | |
So Weird. My life in boxes. Hah. Not quite yet. My past in photos, letters, old Christmas cards from friends. Message of encouragement, Angry words, happy moments. Some I am forced to decide whether to keep or to let go. What to carry with me away, what to leave behind. What to remember, what to forget.
Official letters from schools, CPF, employment agents, banks. No longer significant. Insurance policy notes--I want to throw away but can't seem to be able to.
Old photographs and postcards--some no longer make sense.
Gifts, trinklets, things I bought on the spur of the moment. Not worn. Some still in packages. Waiting still to be opened.--Do I give these away.
So many possessions--some which define my past, some I have yet to give life to.
Blank note books.
Old books I have read time and again.
Chlidren stories, cartoon tapes, CDs I use to love.
Do I throw them away? Are there people who can give them a better home?
So many things. Things. My things. Things which use to matter,
still matter, might matter
Things which are part of me, abundant, redundant, unimportant, vital.
Evidence of places I've been to, things I hve said, thoughts I have thought of.
Friends who lit up my life, some I have lost, some I still treasure.
All these taken account of, as I savour some of these captured moments
yet to consider the unknown and to know that life is a journey
always a decision between carrying a burden, a history of our past and to travel light into the unknown.
To throw or not to throw, that is the question.
By: Nippy | Sunday, September 17, 2006 at 11:51 PM | |
a) A cockraoch just got very smashed in the midst of my blog surfing. I heard my sis's hysterical "Daaddy!! Got cockraoch!!" and a frustrated father in the midst of watching EPL, " you get rid of it (cantonese)" A shrill " I cannot!" . Father went downstairs. Boom! Boom! Boom!I can imagine a very smashed bug. Unlucky fellow. I suspect it is the same baby cockraoch I let off time and again (not because of compassion, but I'm to chicken to kill it, in case it retaliated)
b) I'm finally getting down to packing. (ONly half-heartedly though)First goes the books into the cartons. Cds next on the agenda. Clothes and all those can wait lah.
c) School's starting Monday. No comments.
d)Finally heard the original "Bohemian Rhapsody" realize I've heard som any of its parodies, I have heard the tune like thousands of times before. Strangely, the original sounds more parodic than the parodies--maybe it's because it's such a strange song. It's so silly. I can't imagine any fan tearing/crying to this song. But oh well. Who can understand the mindsets of fans...If someone can actually cry to Westlife songs then, I guess anything is possible. "Impossible is nothing" if Westlife is still giving a concert. (they actually have the guts... I had a secret wicked wish for terrorists to... oh well..they're not worth it)
By: Nippy | Saturday, September 09, 2006 at 11:51 PM | |
Love is a perpetual journey that does not go through space, an endless oscillating motion that remains unmoved. Love create for itself a tension that disrupts every tense in time. Love has certain elements in common with eternal regression, since this exchange of reflections can neither be exhausted nor destroyed, but it is not a regression. It is a direct durationless, locationless progression toward an ultimate state of ecstatic annihilation
--Angela carter, The infernal desire machines of Doctor Hoffman
She makes 'love' sound like Armaegaeddon(sp-pardon my blog's fatal flaw, second to irrational ramblings).Poor tormented conflicting souls of lovers. Maybe people in love should be more associated with hell than the common association of love with being in heaven. Which sometimes strike me as a very peaceful but nonetheless terribly boring place. Where nothing much happens, in opposition to the constant chaos and barbequeing of heaven's darker twin. Her concept is so intense and honestly so tempting. I wish love was indeed eternal regression--I would love to be eternally regressing-progressing on the same plane toward ecstatic annihilation. But alas, I am not character in a novel. But an average, rather boring girl too aware of my reality but what I really love about this quote is not the seemingly destructive/beauty. But the sense of the uncanny. Perhaps this has less to do with romantic love but just a more general sense of love, especially that of self-love.
Because sometimes I get that uncanny, slightly alien feeling when I look into mirrors placed directly opposite one another, yes eternal regression-progression on the same plane. Angela carter merely by example is just using tha analogy of the opposing mirrors, but the experience in reality is strange and problematic to the individual. Confronted by an endless projection of a reflection of my relfection, I get freaked out. I feel alone (infinitely, multiplied by million)And the confrontation between the me and the multitude of reflected images of myself, makes me feel if I have some kind of leakage in my being that i need to close up.
I dont' know if anyone can look at the above quote and not feel a shiver running up their spine, and some sense of anxiety, but her definition of love is scary, because it points to a loss of the unique 'I' similar to the case of the 2 mirrors. Most other definitions of love I have come across are strangely comforting in their reassertion of the importance of the individual lovers in love. The other half is there only to reassure the uniqueness of the beloved, not to negate his/her identity. Love in all those definitions make the beloved unqiue in the eyes of the lover. Here it is a threat of taking that away. I do not think this has to do with selfless or selfish love and all that rubbish but the possibility that the state of love objectifies and tries to erase. Love in this case, is not a creative force, but a force which negates, leaving uncanny empty replicas, and a black hole. It is the case of mirrors causing anxiety and doubts to arise of one's own existence instead of a reassurance of it. And it is probably in all sense normal for me to feel this sense of anxiety, which refuses to go away even with the happier philosopher's concepts on love. It's just that I have no stronger remedy to rebutt the power of the quote, it leaves me feeling dislocated and slightly thrown off.
By: Nippy | Tuesday, September 05, 2006 at 5:03 PM | |
Aiya. dunno why sometimes I want to trivialize everything, even though sometimes these things make me feel slightly depressed to be a being in society.(I will never complain about being alive, cos I'm love to be alive.) I just read a terrible entry about Singaporeans not doing anything when someone on the train had a fit. ( Oh my god! I feel so ashame sometimes. I hope I'm not one of those people too stupid and afraid to do something. Sometimes we are really like a herd of animals. Stupid sheeps. ) That day, my sis and I were watching Arts central they were talking about 911. Some people were heroically combing every floor to free trapped people. But these heros, disappeared and were last heard of on a certain floor before oh well.. we all know he story too well.
She said" these people very brave. I don't think I will be like them.I don't think I can be such a hero."
what she said made me quite pensive. I told her, "I don't think these people thought they were heros. Maybe they were just acting out of what they instincts told them to. Maybe their first thought was just that someone needed help." Perhaps it is the not thinking to much but responding to another human being's calls of distress that makes these people great.
This made me think of the heros I have met. People who have probably long forgotten their kind deeds. But the beneficiary never forgets. Just little acts of kindness that gives me faith in humanity. Makes me feel less ashamed of the world I'm in with all its ugliness.
Like that terrible rainy day when I was stranded with my sister waiting for our mum to come back with an umbrella at a children's art school. That cup of hot chocolate which warmed us from a stranger. A father who was buying drinks for his children. understanding that we were someone else's children, damn cold and huddled at a corner waiting for our mum.
Like that lady who freed my feet when I clumsily (as a kid barely able to walk) stumbled into the gap between the platform and the train. How I still remember her rushing over and with freeing my feet just before the train doors closed and the relief of my panic stricken mum.
Like so many incidents from a passing stranger who saved my day, saved my feet and saved my faith in people. Yes, we are all connected. What one person has done and forgotten may sometimes still live on in another. Sometimes this makes me feel less alone. In these rare moments when we realize how much we need other people, that we are vulnerable and that we all rely on one other.
By: Nippy | Saturday, September 02, 2006 at 4:36 PM | |
