The Path to Happiness

Hammy likes to take slow walks around the estates because at night, when the spirit is soothed by the closure of the day, many thoughts that have percolated slowly make their way to our consciousness, including things which we already knew but have forgotten. During one of those strolls last week, Hammy heard a small squeak from within my psyche. "When was the last time you remembered to be happy?" Yes, remember. So often in life, we are somehow led to believe that happiness is extrinsic. Advertisements try to make us believe that all the time- 'Buy X, and you will have more time for the things that matter in your life.' 'Try Y, and your problems will be solved!'

In truth, products X and Y are unlikely to bring any real joy and the short-term thrill that comes with them will be expended before long. To be truly joyful, and I am not talking about the fleeting short-termed thrill that comes with shopping, one must make a conscious decision to be happy. This kind of happiness does not depend on someone else or something to be obtained before one can be happy; it comes purely from the inside. One must set parameters for what makes one content, and decide to be thankful for our blessings daily.

A Tale of 2 Soldier Ants

A few nights ago, Hammy was taking one of my usual night strolls when I spotted a soldier ant crossing my path. I know ants have that urgent 'I need to get somewhere kind of look', but this one looked FRANTIC. It was all alone, walking very quickly in a disoriented manner and the night was getting dark (if that matters to ants). It seemed to be furiously trying to find its way by picking up some old scent trail, and I stopped for a while, wondering where its home might be. Suddenly, another soldier ant appeared from the grass. It did a little ant wave and must have said something to the other ant, because the lost ant immediately turned. "Here, here!" The other ant seemed to be saying. "Home is THIS way!" The bewildered soldier quickly followed the other. Pity it was too small for me to see what a look of relief would be like on an ant's face.


Sometimes we just need a kind soul to show us the way. 

A Response to news articles regarding flood in Orchard Road last week

Dear Editor,

I refer to 18 June's ST article 'PUB's work comes under scrutiny' where Members of Parliament and experts "questioned if a lack of maintenance was behind the flooding of Orchard Road on Wednesday". While I do agree that PUB may need to increase the frequency of drain checks, I wonder how much of the debris that had caused the drain to be choked had been made up of tissue paper, plastic wrappers and other types of litter carelessly tossed by pedestrians who assumed that our regular army of cleaners would clean them up. 

It is typical of Singaporeans to cry for blood and find someone to take the blame when things go wrong. However, this incident may be a timely reminder indeed, that our littering habit has finally caught up with us and nipped us in the butt where it hurt most. Damages caused by the flood could amount to hundreds of thousands, if not millions. 

While authorities such as PUB can install more sensors to detect rising water levels and so on, the average Singaporean can also look at his own part to blame in this disaster. Perhaps, just as the flood was made up of millions of small drops of rain water, ultimately creating the massive force that swept through Orchard Road unexpectedly, the debris that choked the drain at Orchard Road may also have been the consequence of several bits of litter thrown by inconsiderate Singaporeans daily. 

What's worse, while business owners were frantically trying to save their goods from being soaked by the gushing flood water, passers-by happily looted the goods that had floated out of the shops, some even asking their friends to join them. Does this behaviour reflect our status as a developed nation? 

If the flash flood had taken place during the Youth Olympic Games, I would be more embarrassed by Singaporeans' behaviour than by the flood itself.

(An edited version of my letter was published in the Straits Times on 19th June.) :)

The Curious Case of the Handbag-carrying male

You would be hard pressed to find a Singaporean man carrying a handbag when alone. In our island state however, Hammy has observed a curious phenomenon- men carrying their girlfriend's handbag for them. Most of the time, it is a small, dainty carrier. The man carries it along with her shopping, slung over his shoulder as nonchalantly as if he has carried it every day of his life, while his girlfriend saunters down Orchard Road with nothing in her hands.

Some men say that they do it because they care; I can't say the same for the girlfriend though. Why in the world would you make your man look so effeminate carrying your little pink pouch? Most of the time, it seems to be an issue of ego. Doggy cares for me too, but with gestures like remembering special events, my likes and dislikes, often observing quietly. He does carry my shopping, but never my handbag. Girls who allow their boyfriends to carry their handbags seem insecure, as if the bag lays claim to him. The pink tote says a lot, "This man is mine. What can yours do for you?" Lots, I'm afraid.

A Tribute to Mrs Sylvia Morris

Dear Mrs Morris,

Yesterday I was clearing my drawers, throwing out some dusty memories from the past, when I came across your handwritten note. It contained your address, in neat red ink. You wrote that 18 years ago when I was a student librarian in PLMGSS. I was leaving the school and would miss the many times we spent in the library together.

You knew that I love Roald Dahl. Like a fellow playmate, you used to beckon to me excitedly from your counter when a new book came in. You would keep it for me; the date was the first stamped in the book. Back in those days, we used to paste borrowing slips in the books. You always ensured I pasted it neatly. I, in turn, made sure I stamped the date the right side up.

You must have heard my thoughts in Heaven. Today I was reading the papers as usual, and saw your picture in the obituary page, but I am too late, as always. You have been gone for one year already, and I didn't even know. I am sorry we didn't keep in touch all these years, but I hope you are in a better place now.

The Cockroach Starer

Hammy was on the train back yesterday when a thin elderly lady sat down next to me. First she poked me with the sharp corner of her bag while she slowly arranged the rest of her things on the floor. She finally settled down and moved her bag after I nudged her 'gently'.

Then the staring started. She turned her head slowly and stared and stared in my direction. I guess peripheral vision is not part of her anatomy, because she didn't seem to realize I could see her from the corner of my eye. When I turned to look at her, she quickly looked away. Then she would turn and stare again. Hammy adjusted my clothes and wondered if I was turning subconsciously turning into a Navi, but there were no blue spots on me.

Suddenly an insect flew from my head onto the floor. Ah! It looked like a small cockroach. So that's why she had been staring. Would it have killed someone to tell me I had a 6-legged creature rolling in my hair?

But the staring continued. It felt weird. Old ladies are not supposed to ogle at me. Give me Hugh Jackman instead.