Untitled (for drawing on the left)

A writing on a drawing: it is derived from something, arrived at through a process of abstraction, subtraction, simplification, tranmogrification...yet it is hardly a product of anything. One might even be ashamed to call it part of a process, or an experimentation. No Expressionistic angst (or emo), no conceptual cool. No aesthetics, no idea. It looks more like a used paper palette than a drawing gone awry. Can one then consider such a drawing a drawing? One might not even be sure if the marks are intentional or unintentional; more likely something accidental. There are marks, yes, but they don't look like anything and they don't mean anything...is this great skill appearing as clumsiness, or the emperor's new clothes, or neither? Is this art, anti-art or non-art? What do you think? Me? Yes you, what do you think? Well, crush the paper, I say. It is not-yet-art. After you crush the paper, yes, now it becomes art.

Meditation

Sing Man Temple was located at Geylang Lorong 29. Previously, the place had been known as Sing Man Abode, a Buddhist monastery with a history of more than seventy years. The abbot was Venerable Sin Min, an elderly woman in her eighties. Next to the monastery, Venerable Long Zhen had set up Zen Garden, a relatively new Zen organisation, in the Liau Association Building. Zen Garden occupied one storey in the building. A monk in his forties, Venerable Long Zhen lectured extensively on the Platform Sutra and the Sutra of Perfect Enlightenment, and managed to attract a following of Zen practitioners. He became a monk when he was only seventeen years old, and not too long ago, he had worked closely with the notable Venerable Jing Hui. Zen Garden had moved for a few times, from Telok Kurau to Balestier to Geylang. With an increasing number of students, Venerable Long Zhen had been trying to find a suitable venue for his Zen classes, but without much success. Shortly after, Venerable Long Zhen and Venerable Sin Min knew each another and visited each other frequently. They eventually reached an agreement: they would reconstruct Sing Man Abode into Sing Man Zen Temple, and Zen Garden would raise the funds, which amounted to approximately three million dollars.

The first time I saw Venerable Long Zhen, I thought he looked extremely ordinary. Could this really be someone who had spent years practising Zen? Perhaps I knew as much as he did? After all, I was not unfamiliar with Zen literature. Alan Watts, D. T. Suzuki, Dogen’s Shobogenzo, the Diamond Sutra, the Blue Cliff Records, the Mumonkan (or Gateless Gate)… … I have sampled them all. The only text I had not read was perhaps the Platform Sutra by the Sixth Patriarch.

Less than a week ago, Dr Ho took me to the Cheng Huang Temple at Pandan Gardens. “I can pretend to meditate while you draw,” I told him. “Then you can tell the caretaker that you are waiting for me so he won’t chase you away.” I sat down the normal cross-legged way; I did not try the half lotus or full lotus position because I did not want my legs to become numb. I tried to meditate, but instead I found myself worrying about bird droppings landing on me. There were a few stray mynahs flying in and out of the temple and some were making their nests on the wooden beam above me. I wondered how the monks in the past meditated in the forests. It must have been worse with the ants and mosquitoes and heat and all. Then I dozed off…

Back to the Zen temple. The meditation hall was a large spacious hall with wooden floor. The tatami and futons had been arranged in neat rows. Everything had a Japanese-style design to it, except for a large golden Buddha statue; I had expected the statues in a Zen temple to be white or grey, not golden. Long Zhen entered the meditation hall in a composed manner. Around me, about sixty to eighty other people have filled the hall, mostly middle-aged uncles and aunties. They were already seated in their half lotus or full lotus position. Long Zhen made a gassho in front of the Buddha before walking to the low table next to it. He sat on the low table, made himself comfortable, and struck the wooden fish once, then twice. The meditation had begun.

I sat in the half lotus position, my right foot resting on my left thigh. I tried to focus my attention on my breathing, but my monkey mind would not remain still and my thoughts wandered from place to place. I thought about the waxed canvas bag at Wanderwonder boutique. It was dark green with light brown leather straps and cost a staggering three hundred over dollars. It would go very well with the Japan Blue jeans I saw at The Denim Store. Then perhaps I could also pick up one or two contemporary Japanese novels (preferably a thriller) and get a few CDs…

I had strayed too far. I returned to my breathing. Inhale, exhale. One. Inhale, exhale. Two. Inhale, exhale. Three…ah, a newcomer. I cast a furtive glance. A somewhat young and pretty lady. I started to think about pretty girls. The beautiful waitress at the café. The lady in the long black dress. The stranger on the train last weekend…inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale…I had lost count. Return to zero. Inhale, exhale. One. Inhale, exhale. Two. Inhale, exhale…I thought about my students’ art projects. I thought about my incomplete drawing. Before I knew it, my right foot became numb, and the numbness coursed through my entire leg. My left foot had become numb too. I fidgeted. I tried to sit straight. I wriggled my toes. I wondered about the rest. Surely some of them were beginning to feel uncomfortable? Then I remembered a visualisation technique I had read about in a book. I tried to imagine a glass of murky water before me, the particles slowly sinking and settling to the bottom as the top part of the glass slowly turned clear. It helped for a while. Inhale, exhale. Fifty-four. Inhale, exhale. Fifty-five…Where was the pretty latecomer seated? Inhale, exhale. Fifty-six…Should I visit the café later to see if the pretty waitress was working that day? Inhale, exhale. Fifty-seven. Inhale, exhale. Fifty-eight. I began to feel sleepy. When was Long Zhen going to strike the wooden fish and put an end to my misery? Inhale, exhale. Forget it – I was not going to count anymore. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. My eyelids became heavy…inhale…I gave up on observing my breathing. I waited. And waited. And waited…and still waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And wa…w…z…zzz…zzz…zzz…(dozed off)…zzz…zzz…zzz…z…w…woke up with a start. My legs were completely numb and I felt extremely uncomfortable. I wanted to get up and walk out. Why had Mum even brought me to this place? Be still, be still. Do it all over again. Inhale, exhale. One. Inhale, exhale. Two…it would not last very long. All I felt was restlessness.

As I was one of the later ones, I was seated in the front row. The back rows had been occupied. Time stood still. The old uncle to my right seemed to be doing well. The young man next to him seemed to be doing well too. In front of me, Long Zhen sat very still, like a Buddha statue, composed amd relaxed, neither stiff nor uneasy. I recalled one of Alan Watts's sayings about people confusing what is spiritual with what is geological. Long Zhen was as still as a piece of rock. I thought he was just being geological. Perhaps I could challenge him on a discourse on the Shobogenzo or Joshu's koan? Or perhaps I could ask him if the Medicine Buddha and Amitabha Buddha physically exist or if they were merely symbolic? What is, what if, why, where...

For all my knowledge and theory, the truth was I was sinking fast. I was struggling. Then I was struggling against struggling. Soon I was struggling against struggling against struggling, ad infinitum. I told myself I must outlast them all, but there was no way I could hold on to my pretence. Each passing second seemed like an eternity. I began to feel as if both my legs had become paralysed and useless. I was certain that if I should be made to stand up  I would not have been able to do so, or assuming that I could, I would be unsteady and I might even fall. All of them (including Mum) were pretentious posers! Geological artifacts! Dead, dead, dead...they were all dead! What was so spiritual about sitting like a stone? Then I remembered what Dogen said about zazen, and I was not sure if I still wanted to engage in a dialogue with Long Zhen about the Shobogenzo. When he finally struck the wooden fish to signal the end of the first segment, I was convinced that I was in the presence of a true Zen master.

I uncovered my legs and folded my towel. My legs were so stiff and numb that I could only move them slowly and with much difficulty. I tried to stretch and massage my legs. Meanwhile, Long Zhen had distributed a photocopied handout on Bodhi Dharma's teachings to everyone. He began his discourse:

'For one to enter the Way, the paths are many, but they can be reduced to two: the first is through understanding, the second is through practice...'

...



a brief history of the last 100 years

2015 -the Constitution was amended to provide for automatic citizenship in the case of people who had lived  and worked on the island for more than 5 years and did not partake in voting in any other country.

2022 -the Housing Development Board shifted all of its housing development to the Iskandar region to focus on providing universal housing for all who lived in the region. Prices for subsidised HDB apartments start from as low as sg$10000.

SMRT and the Delgro Group will receive a total of up to sg$10 billion from the Ministry of Transport to develop transport services in Iskandar, including a new train service.

2023 -the Malaysian government stops national subsidies for goods sold in the Iskandar region.

2024-the Ministry of Transport will extend their public transport subsidies to citizens living in the Iskandar region using SMRT and Delgro services.

2027-the new National Productivity Act made it possible for working couples to apply for exceptions to the Maintenance of Parents Act of 1996 if their parents have lived in the Iskandar region for more than 5 years and thus qualify for Malaysian citizenship under the terms of the Accelerated Emigration Agreement between the 2 countries signed in 2022.
Anyone who took advantage of the Accelerated Emigration Agreement to transfer to Malaysian citizenship also received a one time payout of sg$10000 as a token of appreciation.

2032-the Constitution was amended to replace the Identity Card with the Work Permit and thus let everyone who had an economic stake in the country to vote in decisions that affected its future. A deposit could be paid to the Ministry of Manpower in lieu of an employer's application, to receive a Work Permit.

2034-responsibility to administer the Work Permit was transferred from the Ministry of Manpower to the newly created Ministry of Identity and along with the transfer, the Work Permit was renamed the Identity Card.

The Ministry of Transport stops public transport subsidies on the island, citing low usage and its focus on the Iskandar region, where utilisation is high.

2036 -James de Souza selected to be the new Minister of Identity. He's been working in Singapore for the last 20 years and did not vote in the 2031 filipino presidential elections.

2037 -proof of land ownership on the island is accepted as qualification to receive a Identity Card from the Ministry of identity.

2038 -the Treaty of Iskandar establishes Malaysia as the island's priority supplier of water, electricity and fuel. Work on dismantling the NeWater Project and the transfer of ownership of the island's power stations will begin immediately.

2041 -Peter Chen , a property investor who has been based in singapore for the last 10 years, is elected president.

2042 -the Constitution is amended to allow for the Elections Department to charge fees for their services rendered to the citizenry.
The Elections Department will employ professional vote counters and organisers and will not rely on volunteers for its operations.
The initial price for each vote is set at sg$400, which will be adjusted in the future according to demand.

2047 -the Constitution is amended to allow for more than 1 vote per voter.
The Elections Department have decided that the number of votes per voter will be capped by the number of non-voting family members(e.g. children not of voting age) the voter has. Voters will be allowed to register their intentions to vote in the next election with the Elections Department as soon as one week after the preceding election has taken place.
Peter Chen, now in his second term as President, is quoted as saying:" the people who care more will vote more, we are a democratic country".

Word Play

I saw a banner outside SAM and decided to do some word play:


Recent Art in Contemporary Asia

Contemporary Art in Recent Asia

Recent Contemporary Art in Asia

Art in Recent Contemporary Asia


Not sure if it's the art, or Asia,

that is contemporary, or recent,

or both, or neither,

but I guess it doesn't really matter.

Random writing

When I went to Ayer Rajah Food Centre his morning, I was surprised to see it open; the banner stated that it would be closed from 1 - 15 November. Upon re-reading the banner, I realised it was the market that was closed, not the food centre. What a blunder! What carelessness! And thus I had subjected myself to the inferior food at West Coast Market for the past two weeks. How silly! Anyway, I ordered a kopi-c and a vegetarian prawn noodle. When it came, I slurped down my noodles voraciously. A bit spicy, and I realised, to my dismay, I had not brought my tissue paper. More carelessness. Thirty cents unnecessarily spent.

My feeble attempt at writing local poetry:

Lallang lallang
Layang layang
Sayang sayang

...whatever it means. Grass grass kite kite love love?

(Friend adds a touch of Zen humour with 'wayang wayang'.)

Two weeks to a month have passed since my attempt at 'serious' writing. It is about myself and my family. The story (if I may use the word) is somewhat particular and peculiar, nothing quintessential or archetypal at all. It is not representative of a typical Singaporean or Singaporean family...

I hate Chinese ink; I can never get it right! The Forbidden City -- it is supposed to be Halloween and haunting and all, but it looks more horrid than horrifying. Rushed work, lacklustre attempt. Exploring medium, process etc.

Inadequacy. Incompetency.

Breakfast, books, bye for now.

When I alighted from the bus, I was pleasantly surprised to run into her.

'Hey,' I called out.

She turned around and saw me. 'Oh hi! I didn't see you.'

'Are you having breakfast?'

'Yup. Where are you eating?'

'Near the stall behind. There are very few stalls I can eat from. You okay with that? Or are you packing?'

'I'll join you,' she said.

She told me she had read the book I recommended, but had not watched the DVD.

'The book was really engrossing. I was reading it till eleven plus and my hubby asked me if I was going to finish it by twelve or thereabouts.'

'Oh dear. Doesn't sound like a good idea...'

'It's okay. Sometimes he plays online games till twelve plus too.'

'I read the author you recommended. She's really not my cup of tea. A bit dark and depressing. I don't think I'll ever pick up another of her books again.'

We talked about other things -- the past, fashion (I liked her olive green bag; but then I like everything olive green), colleagues, gaming (I know nuts of course) etc.

It was time to go. She asked for my number. I gave my number to her and she gave me a missed call.

'Bye, see you.'

'Bye.'

a little colloqialism

eh fuck, you eat glass grow up one is it?

cheebye whats your problem?

you fucking blocking the tv, can stand one side or not?

kan ni na watch my tv still want to talk big voice at me. when you return me my $500?

fuck you la, my payday still 2 weeks away, like you don't know like that. 

then you fucking owe people money cannot return then don't talk so loud

wha. now owe you money like owe you what like that. ask you siam from in front of the tv must talk lanjiao owe money. you think i want to watch your fucking tv ah? 

don't want then don't watch, fucking jiak liao bi, only come here leech. 

ah fuck you la i going liao. cheebye watch your tv like owe you money like that. 

chao cheebye fuck off la. remember to return me money when your cheebye pay come.

Mind Games

Another long day, another late night. I sit here, recalling the conversations we had ('How did she manage to poison the coffee?') and imagining what I would say ('Her writing is really not my cup of tea. By the way, have you watched the DVD yet?') But no, none of this would materialise, because of the games we play -- mind games, mind my words, mind my own business; but always on my mind, at the back of my mind, everything -- it is all in the mind.

Do they take bus in Switzerland?

He's not yet ah pek. Still in uncle territory. Hair very gray,still some little smatterings of black left. His shirt had repeated light brown geometric shapes on thin man made material and a mauve collar.
It'd cost maybe two dollars. At most 3 for ten dollars.
I imagined myself frugal wearing only on sale g2000 polos,bought in threes or more.
Without looking. I imagine his sandals cost $5 at most. I'd shopped queensway half a evening to find a pair of adidas at $40:i thought it cheap enough for a pair of casual shoes..that i don't wear to work.
Shops in hdb estates,and along little india, sold clothing and bags and shoes and many other things at these prices.
Then those shoes will be worn until they half disintegrate. Whereupon they'll be held together by that yellow glue that came in little cans, cured under the phone book,some parts with the help of clothespegs.
Back in the day they wore no name automatic watches, but now he wears a fake tag heuer.
Including his watch what he wore probably cost less than two packs of cigarettes. He probably quit a long time ago during one of the many tax increases on tobacco.
Nowadays he'd go out a couple of times a week to meet his friends,discussing the relative merits of horses and soccer teams,the various places that denied them subsidies,how life is now the shipyards and factories all won't hire them and how well the neighbours' sons and daughters treated their parents over a couple of beers.

Why am I thinking of her?

Why am I thinking of her? Shoulder-length hair, longish face, unremarkable features, skinnier than thin and taller than I: do not be mistaken; I have no romantic intention. She had a ring on her finger, a sign that she might be married, though my intuition told me otherwise. A chance meeting, the briefest of encounters, over three days, and she found her way into my diary. On an evening like this, the air chilly and the weather cold, would she be reading her Chinese novels or Japanese manga, or drawing, or watching TV, or simply doing nothing? Or would she be browsing my books or watching my DVD? Beyond a certain age, can’t a man and a lady simply be friends, without cares or concerns, without reservations, so that we could have coffee together, watch movies, view exhibitions, shop, exchange ideas, take long walks, et cetera et cetera, without worrying about whether we would be a part of each other or apart from each another?