2nd entry - Changing
2011 was not only a year of change for the political scene in Singapore, but it was also a year of change for me personally.
In the General Elections of 7 May 2011, I performed my duties as an elections official for the first time, and in spite of my inexperience, I thought I did reasonably well, given the feedback from the colleagues who worked with me. Further, during that period, my mother was going through surgery to remove her gallstones. Although she only had keyhole surgery and a scope procedure, I was worried for her given that she was diagnosed with diabetes a few months ago. Thank God, all went well.
The same could not be said for the ruling party, who lost a GRC to the opposition for the first time in Singapore's history. A bold move by the maverick Worker's Party to fight for the Aljunied GRC sealed its victory, and resulted in the loss of a few key people in the ruling party, including Foreign Minister George Yeo. MM Lee Kwan Yew, SM Goh Chok Tong, DPM Wong Kan Seng, National Development Minister Mah Boh Tan and Transport Minister Raymond Lim stepped down, giving way to other up-and-coming party members. The upheavals in GE 2011 set the stage for a new era of Singapore politics.
The proliferation of the I-phone and popularity of New Media played a significant role in the outcome of GE 2011, but they were merely the means through which a new and influential generation had voiced its unhappiness with the status quo and expressed its enthusiasm in what alternative voices in parliament had to offer. Whether such alternative voices could deliver what they promised remained a question that would be answered by the time we hold the next GE. I was sure everyone's eyes would be also on the ruling party, which promised improvements would be made after much "soul-searching". The big cabinet reshuffle was a first step in this direction, and hopefully it would be a prudent one for the nation.
As for me, my hope was that changes would be for the better. But what sparked me to write this entry wasn't the political upheaval in Singapore.
Recently, perhaps arising from its hope for winning more votes, my mayor ordered the town council to repaint my housing estate. It had been more than 7 years since I moved to Punggol, and they had only started major washing, repairs and repainting at my estate a few weeks before GE 2011. Coincidence? Whatever the underlying intention was, I was hardly impressed with the way things progressed. Had I not chosen to visit my mum in hospital and foregone my right to cast my vote, I might have voted defiantly against the ruling party. Not only did the contractors fail to wash the walls systematically or thoroughly, but also and more importantly, as a result of their painting work, I was compelled to part with my beloved cacti.
I started growing cacti since I was 14 years old. I took 3 small offshoots of a cactus plant that was growing in my maternal grandmother's garden (nobody knew how or when she started growing them, and she could not remember either). It was the only species that survived under my hands after all these years - of course, many generations of the parent plant had lived and died, and the original 3 that I adopted were no longer alive. I tried growing other varieties of cacti but most of them didnt make it. If they all survived, I would have had a huge cacti garden and at least 30 large pots of cacti. I guess I was lucky that 7 large pots made it, until today.
The painting contractor came by last week and told my dad that my cacti had to be removed from the walls (where I had hung the cacti pots) so that they could do their job. Fair enough, but where was I to relocate them? My neighbour found them unwelcome and put their stuff in strategic parts of the common corridor so that I could not place my cacti pots near them, and there was no available space at the common corridor to put them. My mother would never let me keep my cacti in the house. With great reluctance, I decided to place them at the rooftop garden on the 6th floor of the multi-storeyed carpark adjacent to my apartment block. Even though they would be exposed to the weather and nuisance of children and pets, at least they had a space to grow and enjoy the sun.
I felt really sorry for my cacti. No one else in the world were ever fond of them, except for me. They were like freaks in the plant world, with an intimidating appearance and a prickly personality that people were repulsed by. My neighbour's wilful child learnt to leave it alone after he playfully grabbed one cacti stem with his bare hand, and his painful ordeal nearly drove a wedge in the cordial relations between his family and mine. Of course, nobody blamed an "innocent" child of wrongdoing, and everyone blamed it on the menacing thorns even though it was no fault of the poor cactus. I suspected that my neighbour even attempted to kill my cacti slowly to avenge their child by overwatering them (she claimed that she was helping me to keep an eye on it since I seemed to be too busy to care for it).
The eviction of my cacti must have been a victory for my neighbour and my mother who always found them a nuisance - not because she was prejudiced against them but because she was driven only by materialism and pragmatism. My mother, who loved money and her possessions more than anything in the world (except herself), had told me on many occasions that my spending on fertiliser and soil and pots etc were extravagant and needless, and if I had given her the money instead she would have 101 better uses for it. But I was largely to blame for not being vigilant in protecting my cacti from the evil plots of my neighbour and my mother. Frankly I had neither the time nor the motivation to devote more resources into caring for them as I should; I was spending absolutely minimum time watering them and I scarcely gave them more than a glance everyday when I leave from or returned to my apartment. Rightly, I think I am not fit to be their owner.
My dad was worried that my poor cacti would get stolen from the 6th floor garden. That was not my worst fear - in fact I would be delighted if some kind soul would adopt them and care for them as I should and would have liked to. My greatest fear was that spolit brats like my neighbour's child would kick my cacti pots or kill the poor defenseless plants in vicious attacks. Irresponsible pet owners might also let their pets harrass the cacti with their urine or faeces, which would burn the cacti roots and injure them. But what right did I have to voice such concerns, without appearing as a hypocrite? After all, I was THE one who exposed them to the risks without making sure that they were adequately protected. If they died, their "blood" would be on MY hands.
I still remember how their ancestors looked like. They were 3 stoic-looking, stout cacti, hardly more than 3 inches tall. I had lovingly planted their prickly bodies into soft soil taken from the pot that nursed them. I imagined how happy they were, sitting in an acrylic pot placed at the kitchen window grille in my apartment in Bedok; basking in the sun, and growing well as they were sheltered from the wind and rain. They multiplied, and eventually became so large and so many that I had to repot them. One pot became three, and soon became six and more. Those I gave away to friends and relatives somehow didnt do well - perhaps they needed to stick together. I had wept when I heard that the first of the original three died, and its siblings soon followed suit. It was some consolation to me to know that many generations of their offspring had survived in spite of the odds, and in spite of me...
Ironically, the only living offspring of the original three probably never saw it coming that one day they would die at the reluctant hands of their irresponsible owner. They might even have been looking forward to me providing them with a better home and praying for better living conditions so that their offspring could thrive - a larger pot perhaps, or fresh soil from the nursery. Sadly, today they succumbed to their cruel fate helplessly as I brought them to the 6th floor garden. No doubt they must have hated me, for they speared my fingers with the only weapon they have, in silent protest; or maybe its their way of telling me their disappointment and heartache at my betrayal of them. Like Lady Macbeth I washed my hands compulsively afterwards, in a futile attempt to absolve myself from my heinous crime.
In life its inevitable that our priorities change; right now, honestly, I am more anxious about how my beloved is coping with the setbacks being encountered on the Taman Negara trip, and about a big project presentation at work next week. Tomorrow when I wake up I might even forget how disgusted I was at myself for letting my cacti go to their doom. I hope my cacti will forgive their useless owner, and remember the fond memories of their good ole days when I tended them like infants and fussed over the cute little babies that sprouted energetically from their parents' stems.
O Mighty God full of Grace, please have mercy on my cacti and protect the little angels from harm.
In the General Elections of 7 May 2011, I performed my duties as an elections official for the first time, and in spite of my inexperience, I thought I did reasonably well, given the feedback from the colleagues who worked with me. Further, during that period, my mother was going through surgery to remove her gallstones. Although she only had keyhole surgery and a scope procedure, I was worried for her given that she was diagnosed with diabetes a few months ago. Thank God, all went well.
The same could not be said for the ruling party, who lost a GRC to the opposition for the first time in Singapore's history. A bold move by the maverick Worker's Party to fight for the Aljunied GRC sealed its victory, and resulted in the loss of a few key people in the ruling party, including Foreign Minister George Yeo. MM Lee Kwan Yew, SM Goh Chok Tong, DPM Wong Kan Seng, National Development Minister Mah Boh Tan and Transport Minister Raymond Lim stepped down, giving way to other up-and-coming party members. The upheavals in GE 2011 set the stage for a new era of Singapore politics.
The proliferation of the I-phone and popularity of New Media played a significant role in the outcome of GE 2011, but they were merely the means through which a new and influential generation had voiced its unhappiness with the status quo and expressed its enthusiasm in what alternative voices in parliament had to offer. Whether such alternative voices could deliver what they promised remained a question that would be answered by the time we hold the next GE. I was sure everyone's eyes would be also on the ruling party, which promised improvements would be made after much "soul-searching". The big cabinet reshuffle was a first step in this direction, and hopefully it would be a prudent one for the nation.
As for me, my hope was that changes would be for the better. But what sparked me to write this entry wasn't the political upheaval in Singapore.
Recently, perhaps arising from its hope for winning more votes, my mayor ordered the town council to repaint my housing estate. It had been more than 7 years since I moved to Punggol, and they had only started major washing, repairs and repainting at my estate a few weeks before GE 2011. Coincidence? Whatever the underlying intention was, I was hardly impressed with the way things progressed. Had I not chosen to visit my mum in hospital and foregone my right to cast my vote, I might have voted defiantly against the ruling party. Not only did the contractors fail to wash the walls systematically or thoroughly, but also and more importantly, as a result of their painting work, I was compelled to part with my beloved cacti.
I started growing cacti since I was 14 years old. I took 3 small offshoots of a cactus plant that was growing in my maternal grandmother's garden (nobody knew how or when she started growing them, and she could not remember either). It was the only species that survived under my hands after all these years - of course, many generations of the parent plant had lived and died, and the original 3 that I adopted were no longer alive. I tried growing other varieties of cacti but most of them didnt make it. If they all survived, I would have had a huge cacti garden and at least 30 large pots of cacti. I guess I was lucky that 7 large pots made it, until today.
The painting contractor came by last week and told my dad that my cacti had to be removed from the walls (where I had hung the cacti pots) so that they could do their job. Fair enough, but where was I to relocate them? My neighbour found them unwelcome and put their stuff in strategic parts of the common corridor so that I could not place my cacti pots near them, and there was no available space at the common corridor to put them. My mother would never let me keep my cacti in the house. With great reluctance, I decided to place them at the rooftop garden on the 6th floor of the multi-storeyed carpark adjacent to my apartment block. Even though they would be exposed to the weather and nuisance of children and pets, at least they had a space to grow and enjoy the sun.
I felt really sorry for my cacti. No one else in the world were ever fond of them, except for me. They were like freaks in the plant world, with an intimidating appearance and a prickly personality that people were repulsed by. My neighbour's wilful child learnt to leave it alone after he playfully grabbed one cacti stem with his bare hand, and his painful ordeal nearly drove a wedge in the cordial relations between his family and mine. Of course, nobody blamed an "innocent" child of wrongdoing, and everyone blamed it on the menacing thorns even though it was no fault of the poor cactus. I suspected that my neighbour even attempted to kill my cacti slowly to avenge their child by overwatering them (she claimed that she was helping me to keep an eye on it since I seemed to be too busy to care for it).
The eviction of my cacti must have been a victory for my neighbour and my mother who always found them a nuisance - not because she was prejudiced against them but because she was driven only by materialism and pragmatism. My mother, who loved money and her possessions more than anything in the world (except herself), had told me on many occasions that my spending on fertiliser and soil and pots etc were extravagant and needless, and if I had given her the money instead she would have 101 better uses for it. But I was largely to blame for not being vigilant in protecting my cacti from the evil plots of my neighbour and my mother. Frankly I had neither the time nor the motivation to devote more resources into caring for them as I should; I was spending absolutely minimum time watering them and I scarcely gave them more than a glance everyday when I leave from or returned to my apartment. Rightly, I think I am not fit to be their owner.
My dad was worried that my poor cacti would get stolen from the 6th floor garden. That was not my worst fear - in fact I would be delighted if some kind soul would adopt them and care for them as I should and would have liked to. My greatest fear was that spolit brats like my neighbour's child would kick my cacti pots or kill the poor defenseless plants in vicious attacks. Irresponsible pet owners might also let their pets harrass the cacti with their urine or faeces, which would burn the cacti roots and injure them. But what right did I have to voice such concerns, without appearing as a hypocrite? After all, I was THE one who exposed them to the risks without making sure that they were adequately protected. If they died, their "blood" would be on MY hands.
I still remember how their ancestors looked like. They were 3 stoic-looking, stout cacti, hardly more than 3 inches tall. I had lovingly planted their prickly bodies into soft soil taken from the pot that nursed them. I imagined how happy they were, sitting in an acrylic pot placed at the kitchen window grille in my apartment in Bedok; basking in the sun, and growing well as they were sheltered from the wind and rain. They multiplied, and eventually became so large and so many that I had to repot them. One pot became three, and soon became six and more. Those I gave away to friends and relatives somehow didnt do well - perhaps they needed to stick together. I had wept when I heard that the first of the original three died, and its siblings soon followed suit. It was some consolation to me to know that many generations of their offspring had survived in spite of the odds, and in spite of me...
Ironically, the only living offspring of the original three probably never saw it coming that one day they would die at the reluctant hands of their irresponsible owner. They might even have been looking forward to me providing them with a better home and praying for better living conditions so that their offspring could thrive - a larger pot perhaps, or fresh soil from the nursery. Sadly, today they succumbed to their cruel fate helplessly as I brought them to the 6th floor garden. No doubt they must have hated me, for they speared my fingers with the only weapon they have, in silent protest; or maybe its their way of telling me their disappointment and heartache at my betrayal of them. Like Lady Macbeth I washed my hands compulsively afterwards, in a futile attempt to absolve myself from my heinous crime.
In life its inevitable that our priorities change; right now, honestly, I am more anxious about how my beloved is coping with the setbacks being encountered on the Taman Negara trip, and about a big project presentation at work next week. Tomorrow when I wake up I might even forget how disgusted I was at myself for letting my cacti go to their doom. I hope my cacti will forgive their useless owner, and remember the fond memories of their good ole days when I tended them like infants and fussed over the cute little babies that sprouted energetically from their parents' stems.
O Mighty God full of Grace, please have mercy on my cacti and protect the little angels from harm.
posted by sunshine wallflower at 12:46 AM
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