A treasured bookmark

A beautiful bookmark from a friend has set me thinking.

It makes me think about emotional memory and how we are affected by it, possibly for a life time because emotions and memories are intricately and inexorably connected. Emotional memory is the memory for events that evoke strong feelings or emotions stored in our long term memory which may or may not fade with time. We are more likely to remember emotionally charged images than neutral ones, particularly if they personally traumatic memories.

Imagine this scenario. Back in the 70s when Boat Quay was still a bustling hub for cargo and warehouses, a young child would visit her father's shipping office everyday after school. Situated just along the waterfront where a hip bistro-pub now stands, his office was like a creche where she spent a good part of the afternoon doodling, playing five-stones or paper dolls. She also loved to sit by the busy river banks listening to the whir and drone of Singapore's busiest waterways brimming with buzz and activity. She relished the sight of her father's Chinese tongkongs and sampans dotting the river with their merchandise for import and export dealings with the rest of the world.

In evening, they would be driven by the family driver back to their Chinatown home. The short journey home was usually a non-event because the little girl would be too engrossed in her paper dolls to pay particular attention to anything else..........until one day when their routine was grossly disrupted on the way home.

Three burly men accosted their car at a small lane along Upper Cross Street and forced the girl's father out. They pushed him against the wall and roughed him up while shouting in jargon only adults understood. It was only years later that she realised her father had been accused of winning over the aggressors' business. He had been a diligent and astute businessman but was often blamed for monopolizing a big slice of the industry's pie.

The little girl might have travelled along that small land a hundred times before but nothing about it struck her until that fateful day. Although she was not physically hurt, the incident has forever altered her feelings about venturing into that Upper Cross Street lane.

At the tender age of six, she would not have understood the implications of emotional memory but she knew that the small lane elicited an unconscious but powerful physiological reaction every time she had to go near it. She would begin to shudder involuntarily and experience an overwhelming sense of fear and helplessness especially at the spot where her father was attacked.

Permanently etched onto her memory, she can recall in vivid detail every expression and nuance uttered by the aggressors, the way her father was pushed around and the fear spreading across his face when he realised what was happening. Now, some decades later she can still recall the patch of fungi growth on the wall where he was left crouching against.

Emotional memory also refers to how an object, event or person can make us feel by triggering an existing memory that has emotional significance. I have a particular fondness for iced-coffee because it signifies my 'coming-of-age'. Due to its high caffeine content, my mother had always forbidden us from drinking coffee. However, she relented somewhat when I was in junior college as I was clocking in eight to nine hours at school and needed the extra boost particularly for afternoon lectures. The first time I bought a packet of iced-coffee from the vending machine, I felt so grown up. Since then, iced-coffee has become my 'comfort beverage' when I am down or in need of a spritz of energy!

So what are our emotional memories? Are they happy ones, 'spritzy' ones or are there past hurts, disappointments and shame locked deep within the recesses of our subconsciousness? The little girl is not me but I have my fair share of strong emotional memories and the harrowing experiences of being trapped by things that happened in the past. Should we leave them to ferment and dredge up all kinds of psychological reactions or should we scrub the decks of our emotional memory and leave them in God's good hands?

I don't think my friend knows the impact a simple bookmark she picked up from church has on my reflections but this is just the way God works.......... through trivial everyday matters. While the bookmark has an aesthetic drawing of Christ's profile, the beauty I could see is not only in its illustration but in a precious prayer it bears:

Lord, through the power of the Holy Spirit, guide me to go back into my memory as I sleep. I ask you to heal every hurt that has ever been done to me. I ask you to heal every hurt that I have caused to another person. For all the relationships that have been damaged in my whole life that I am not aware of, I ask you to heal those relationships. Lord, if there is anything I need to do or I need to go to a person because they are still suffering from my hand, bring to my awareness that person. I choose to forgive and I ask to be forgiven. Remove whatever bitterness may be in my heart, Lord and fill the empty spaces with your love. Amen.

With faith and confidence, we should have the courage to walk through the small lane again.

What national day parade means to me...

We celebrated our 44th national day today. I should be feeling patriotic or at least excited by the parade on TV , a yearly display of our nation's most dramatic showmanship and fireworks; not to mention a trip down memory lane on how far we've come as a nation.

But because I had to crank out an assignment due on Tuesday, I only caught the remaining half of the show by the time I managed to tear myself from my laptop to turn on the TV. Somehow, the spirit was different. As I sat there toggling between the impact of parental involvement on a child's literacy and the visual feast unraveling on the screen, it dawned on me that all those drama, singing and special effects had er...... no effect on me.

The cameras zoomed back and forth on our leaders and captured them singing our national songs and waving their hand-held hearts in unison with the people. Looking at these familiar faces who have done so much for this island-state, a single thought flashed through my mind. Were they impressed by the show or did they think it the same year after year save for brighter lights, louder music and better effects? Being leaders of such a progressive country, they must have seen it all. Can they see beyond the pyrotechnics and colourful displays into the core of our nation?

I'm sure a lot of effort and logistics had gone into putting the parade together. As Singapore progressed over the years, our celebrations also evolved with the focus on high-tech entertainment put together by theatrically trained parade directors and awesome military spectacles. Almost Mardi Gras, if I may say so. Now, I'm no parade-detractor but I feel that as a nation, we've become the way our parades are turning out.....showmanship, bright effects, festivities and complacence.

Where is the quiet strength and fortitude? Although much more intelligent than we ever were as kids, our children today complain when they have to walk under the sun, they prefer to hop onto a cab wherever they go, they refuse to eat at hawker centres but choose instead, restaurants or bistros. And why is there such a debate on giving up seats to those who need it on public transport? Isn't it inherently our duty to do so, to take care of the young, old and weak in our society?

Perhaps I'm old-fashioned. I prefer to keep solemn things solemn and the Hollywood effects to the theatrics. Growing up in the 70s, national day parades were always a high point for us kids because the focus then was on the march-pass and on things that really mattered, our flag, our national anthem and our pledge. Our country.

However, something in this year's parade touched me. In an excerpt of PM Lee's speech, he made mention of the national day parade held in 1968. There was no fanfare; just marching of contingents and a couple of lion dances. When it started to rain, nobody ran for cover. Soaked to their skins and shivering in the cold, the participants stood their ground because they were proud of their parade. These were the people who were determined to make it, not just at the parade but for their country.

This is the spirit of NDP we need. And this is the spirit Singapore needs.

My Dad.......My Dad-in-Law

From a very young age, I already had a very close bond with my dad. I remember how we would do stuff together and chuckle endlessly. How he loved to hoist me in the air and sit me on his shoulders. I would feel so safe and happy to see the world from such height in the knowledge that I was secure in my father's grip.

I also remember how he disciplined me when I, seated at the back of the car, stealthily ate the sausages but left the bun intact while my parents watched their movie at the then Jurong Drive-In theater. What they say about the bond between a father and his daughter is true. At least for me and my dad.

Fathers and daughters have a natural bond. How about fathers-in-law? My dad-in-law is a man of strong character and few words. He is quite similar to my grandfather, a typical Asian dad whose love is not articulated but felt through his providence for the family in the order of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I have never been close to him although I know he cares for me and is wonderful with my boy.

But I got to know him better through a family trip to Malaysia last December. It had not been planned that way but when our earlier plans for another trip went awry, we decided to still head to Seremban to visit his hometown and relatives. To me, it was a very special trip. It was more than a holiday; it was a journey of discovery and kinship. I got to know my dad-in-law better in these 4 days than in the 10 years I've lived with them.

I never knew that as a young man, he travelled to Singapore on the roof of the old rickety train braving the elements so many decades ago. I never knew he was slapped around by a Japanese soldier when he did not bow to the sentry guard during Japanese occupation. We had passed by the building where the incident took place and he pointed it out to me as a father would to his daughter. I was touched.

This Father's Day, I'm thinking of my dad who has gone home to the Lord. I know no one can replace him in my heart but a father's love is a father's love; whether they are in-laws or biological fathers, love has no boundaries. I understand that now.

Angel or Demon?

While I had no remote interest in either the book or the movie version of 'The Da Vinci Code'; I found myself drawn to 'Angels and Demons' because of the rave reviews on its awesome photography and studio reconstructions of the Vatican, Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basilica and churches with beautiful works of art.

For someone who's not been to Rome and will not likely have a chance in the near future (sob..sob), paying $10 for such a visual feast is considered a steal. Now I definitely want to make a trip there! To top it off, I've always enjoyed Tom Hanks' acting skills and was not disappointed this time although of course, Ewan McGregor as the misguided Camerlengo had my attention from the beginning to the twist at the end of the movie.

Earlier on, there had been rife talks that this was an anti-Church production but I beg to differ because I believe movie-goers today are intelligent and discerning. 'Angels and Demons' comes across as an engaging mystery thriller with impressive sets, heart-thumping pace and perhaps if you will, many inaccuracies about dates and historical figures. But then again, the movie has never claimed to be a documentary. It simply presents itself as Hollywood entertainment albeit some flawed script and lame dialogue.

It does set one thinking though. With the 'bad guy' turning out to be the handsome and soft-spoken Camerlengo who firmly believed that the Church alone, not science, should dictate the moral creed of the Christian faithful, how far will one go to protect his opinions and position?

There is but a thin line between being an angel and being a demon.

Woman minister.....finally

The first time I met Mrs Lim Hwee Hua was at a food centre in Serangoon Gardens. The year was 2006. The event was Singapore's 15th General Election.

For us, it was a lazy Sunday brunch after church. For Mrs Lim and her entourage, it was a Pre-election walkabout to touch base with the people. While the all-white ensemble was an impressive sight to behold, I did not pay much attention to it because firstly, I did not live in that area; secondly, politics did not appeal to me much then. Besides, I was more interested tucking into my Char Kway Teow and Roti John.

But I almost fell off my stool when Mrs Lim approached to shake my hand. Unlike other casual-social types of handshake where a limp, lifeless hand meets yours and is withdrawn quickly, Mrs Lim extended a warm, firm, palm-to-palm handshake while maintaining eye contact throughout. Nothing communicated self confidence, sincerity and camaraderie more than this one gesture. She then smiled and said "Please support us."

I was bowled over. Totally.

That single encounter changed my views on politics and politicians. Of course, I had always been a fan of Dr Vivian Balakrishnan and Mr Teo Ser Luck after attending seminars where they graced the event as guests of honour or keynote speakers. But I only saw them as top government officials, albeit good looking ones :0)

Through Mrs Lim Hwee Hua, I began to see politicians as humans; not just policy-makers. Notwithstanding the odd black sheep in every political arena, I began to see that there are people who really wish to make a difference in the lives of others.

With her promotion to a Minister in the Prime Minister's Office, Mrs Lim has broken the so-called invisible glass ceiling to become the first full-fledged woman minister in Singapore. Her credentials and vast experience will see her contributing at the national level but I believe she will also be able to provide a woman's perspective on many policy issues.

I also believe that Mrs Lim, like her handshake, will continue to lead and serve in a warm, sincere and steadfast manner.

What the prawns??!!!

In a debacle involving 6 American tourists, an insidious seafood stall and a hard-nosed stall assistant, the ugliness of our local mentality stuck in the colonial era was played out on a busy Saturday night at one of our tourist hot spots, Newton Food Centre.

Hoping to impress upon his friends the "safe, clean and honest" city-state, Mr Rigby must have felt exceedingly abashed when presented with a bill of $491 for his dinner. Almost $500 for a party of 6 at a hawker centre? Did the diners feast on out-of-this-world delicacy drizzled in ginseng gravy or foie gras or perhaps caviar whipped up hawker centre style?

No, they merely ordered 8 tiger prawns, 4 crabs, baby squids, half a steamed chicken, 4 bottles of beer and fruit juices. The usual run-of-the-mill fare we can find at Lau Pat Saat, Chomp Chomp or East Coast Lagoon Food Centre.

It seems that the protagonists of this saga are from the crustacean family - tiger prawns. At the listed price of $8 per 100g, the 8 prawns would have to weigh an average of 375g each to cost $239. But are we splitting hair here?

Or is the colonial mentality that tourists, particularly those of Caucasian descent are wealthy and free with their money still alive and kicking in this day and age? If so, hawkers at Newton and other tourist attractions have to sit up and take note that the economic recession is felt more deeply in Europe and the Americas than in China and India. With the falling dollar, $491 Singapore Dollars would have meant much more in US Dollars exchange.

Current recession aside, it is also no longer true that 'gwai-louhs' have inexhaustible spending power and are thus easy to fleece. It has not been that way for a long time. Over the last few decades, the spending power of Asians has increased dramatically with profound economic, social, political, cultural and psychological transformations. Although Bill Gates and Warren Buffet still count as the richest men on earth, many Asians now wield tremendous spending power beyond what their forefathers ever dreamt possible.

In today's economic climate and with the integration of foreigners into our midst whether by employment or by marriage, an average Caucasian can be seen to be as dime-watching as the next guy. Indeed, I know of friends who would rather take the MRT than take a cab to get around the island. It is common to see a head or two of blond hair (not the chemically-dyed variety) bobbling in the sea of shoppers at Giant or NTUC Supermarket. Caucasians clad in our national costumes of T-shirts, shorts and flip flops milling about food courts and hawker centres is also an ubiquitous sight today.

In the Newton fiasco, NEA has officially ordered the suspension of the errant stall for 3 months while the staff in question is barred from working in the food centre for a year. Some people attribute the 'harsh' and prompt sentence to the fact that the complaint was lodged by Caucasians. There, you see? Colonial mentality again. Sigh.

I say it's because NEA is looking at the big picture. The Newton saga is the third negative exposure on our tourism in almost as many months. Last December, it was the Singapore Flyer. Last month, it was the Merlion. Now, tiger prawns are hogging the headlines.

It is high time someone stepped in to right our image a little. Right about now and rightly so, I surmise. Right.

It takes 3 days to learn a vice...

I was on duty at the Career & Education 2009 exhibition fair at Suntec yesterday evening. Being second day of the fair, the crowd was understandably thinner than the much publicised 120 000 visitors on its opening day on Thursday.

Interestingly, the booths that garnered the most responses were the Integrated Resorts - Marina Bay Sands and Resort World at Sentosa. Attractively decked out with casino gaming tables to boot, these booths did indeed command a second look. Even exhibitors like us could not keep our curiosity in rein.

At the gaming table, the dealer smoothly dealt the cards. Chips were offered to bystanders who wanted to have a go at the game. I do not know how I ended up with a place at the table and was astounded when dealer looked at me and asked if I wanted a card to follow.

Huh? I went all red and turned around to see if he was speaking to the person behind me. My colleague nudged me and whispered "You have 16 points. Want another card or stay this way?" Huh? Huh? What game is this? Twenty one? Oh, I see.

Actually, I did not see. I was confused because I'm no gambler. I didn't even know how 4D or Toto worked until they were explained to me. I guess I'm one of those who has to live by the sweat of my brow and not depend on windfalls or any other chance money-making opportunity.

However, it did not take me long to get the hang of the game. It was really fun because we were playing with mere chips, not real money. I won a few times but lost many more times over. The Chinese saying came to mind: It takes 3 years to learn to be good but only 3 days to learn vices. Well, it took me only 10 minutes to learn the game. But it was all for fun and experience. No money was used so I was not technically gambling and it is unlikely I will be found at that table again.

The game blackjack has been described as a game of chance with elements of skill and the thrill of playing your hand individually against the dealer while in group setting. To win, you need to beat the dealer without busting. You bust when your cards total to more than 21 and you lose automatically. The winner is whoever has closest to a total of 21. You reach 21 by adding up the values of the cards.

It can be very addictive as I had experienced. If one is on a roll, he might want to continue the winning streak. The appetite grows, the bets get bigger. If he is losing, he might want to recoup his losses because surely, the cards will get better? This is probably how compulsive gamblers lose everything they have, including their homes and families in the hope of a better card.

The IRs can be good for our economy judging by the tens of thousands of jobs created and the revenue each tourist dollar will bring. Our government has assured us on its thorough research into the project and how a slew of social safeguards and the National Council on Gambling will be set up. The control measures put in place will be self-righting and the damage, if any, will be minimal. Time will tell. Let's hope moral values and social order will not be largely eroded in time to come.

As for me, I will continue to be 'blur' in the gambling arena. Someone has asked me to learn mahjong as it has been said to prevent dementia in old age. Er, thanks but no thanks. I think I'd rather do cross-word puzzles or blog or even attempt primary school math problem sums. Now, that would really stave off idleness and inactivity!

Is Chivalry Dead?

Whenever someone mentions chivalry, the oft associated 3 words are: chivalry is dead along the lines of 'cash is best', 'dress for success' or 'service above self'. These 3 words are so well quoted that they seem to have infused the hearts and minds of everyone - particularly women. I am no exception. Gulp!

To thoroughly discuss 'chivalry', we will need to span many pages of this blog and engage in a great deal of debate in the variety of men vs women, Mars vs Venus, etc. You get what I mean. But I shan't expound on something that dates back to the middle ages because I finally believe chivalry is still alive and kicking as I speak, um, type.

I was at a bookstore last weekend. A harried-looking lady was at the payment counter trying to balance her armload of assessment books (presumably for the little girl next to her), some pens, pencils, correction tapes, rulers and "Bob the Builder" CD-Roms. Why she hadn't heard of a shopping basket I wouldn't know but there she was, trying to juggle all those items while trying to fish for her wallet. Precariously, I might add. Very precariously.

Murphy's law won. She dropped half her load with a loud thud and spilled the other half across the counter. Hassled and embarrassed but she didn't seem to know what to do next! To organise the disaster on the counter or the floor first? Just when I thought I should be a good Samaritan, I spied an old spindly hand reaching down to pick up each item from the floor.

Chivalry on 2 legs, albeit knob-kneed and laced with varicose veins. This man had to be in his 70s, I thought. He handed the wayward items to her reverentially and nodded when she mumbled her appreciation.

I don't need further examples of chivalry. That man is my knight in shining armour.

Betrayal

In an obscure corner somewhere on this earth, a certain lady sits and stares unseeingly at the horizon. With no more tears to shed, she lets her mind float in the oasis of nothingness. Don't think, don't grieve, don't hurt.

I do not know her. In fact, I would not even have heard of her if not for the scandalous pictures splashed across the tabloids and on the Internet. She is Elizabeth Wong. Young, intelligent and beautiful with an upcoming and promising career in public service. But overnight, she fell from grace - just like that.

No, I am not about to delve into what happened and discuss the moral or political implications of this newsbit. I do not share her values but I have no right to exercise judgement either "let he who is without sin, cast the first stone". From the records, Ms Wong has vehemently defended her private life, her rights to privacy and maintained that she had broken no law. Perhaps so. The pictures were taken in the privacy of her home by someone she trusted then.

Working in an all-women environment, this topic is essentially very close to our hearts and has become the subject of our lunchtime discussions. While my colleagues have different opinions and moral convictions on how the exposure panned out, we all agreed that the saddest truth to emerge from this episode is that of betrayal.

Anyone who has been betrayed can vouch that it is one of the worst feelings in the world. To be betrayed, you must first trust. To trust, you must first share of yourself. To share of yourself, you must first have the courage and humility to put the other person above you so that he can be privy to your deepest thoughts and feelings.

To be eventually betrayed by that person, it is possibly a fate worse than death. The greater the trust, the deeper the hurt. I should know. I've been there. No, not the photo thingy but betrayal in the name of friendship.

With Lent so close, I can't help but think of how Jesus was betrayed by people whom he had served, healed and loved "Away with him, away with him, crucify him!' they chorused at Pilate. And how the ultimate feeling of betrayal sunk in as the cock crowed at Peter's third denial. Although our Lord already knew what was on his plate, did it make the betrayals easier to bear? No, not likely so. His humanity made him feel like we do and hurt like we do.

As long as human interactions abound, no one will be immune to hurt and betrayal. We should not let it stifle our friendships or belief in the essential goodness of mankind. I hope Ms Wong glimpses what's really important in life from this brouhaha and emerges stronger from it.

Sinalco

I will think positive. There are things in life worth savouring and going ga-ga over. They might be little events, things of no particular consequence, casual words, the twinkle in someone's eye, the tilt of the lips in breaking a smile, a chance encounter with a stranger or even an empty can of soft drink.....

Last Sunday was rather ordinary. We were at Holland Village for lunch because it had been ages since we set foot in this bohemian enclave. Amazed at the many changes since, we decided to eat at a former dilapidated structure renovated to the current spanking Holland Village Market & Food Centre. This eatery has been touted to give the ritzy wine bars and fine dining restaurants a run for their money.

I was the drink-taker that day because I just had to have my iced kopi-si fix, fast. The hubby ordered "Sinalco". Perhaps I had been living in Mars but for the life of me, I could not associate Sinalco with any soft drink I knew. It was also not displayed on the stall's shelves.

Skepticially, I asked the elderly drinks seller "Uncle, do you have Sinalco?" With a twinkle in his eye, he said "You're really lucky. This is my last can." With that, he went to the fridge at the back of his stall and took out that precious can of Sinalco. "It must be before your time. This is a very old drink, at least 40 to 50 years old." I remember Kickapoo and Green Spot but not Sinalco. That's strange.

As we were finishing our lunch, another elderly man approached us and asked if we could spare him our empty can of Sinalco. To say there was a stunned moment of confusion was an understatement. Two Sinalco encounters within 45 minutes? Was Candid Camera lurking around to make fun of innocent diners?

He was a distinguished-looking man in his 60s and came across as articulate and pleasant. He explained that he had wanted to order Sinalco but the drinks seller had sold his last can to me. He had been waiting for us to finish our lunch so he could collect the empty can.

With a sheepish smile, he confided that he has been a Sinalco lover since childhood and now collects all its memorabilia. He went on to share that Sinalco is one Germany’s oldest soft drinks brand and had surpassed Kickapoo and Green Spot in popularity during his time.

A little chance encounter but so much history to learn! I felt particularly put in my place (and rightly so, I mused) because all I knew growing up was McDonald's and Coke. There is this great big world out there with rich history of food and beverages from different eras and cultures. Sometimes it's not even about the food but rather, a fad of following, an identification, a reminiscence and a slice of history a person wishes to preserve forever.

Just like the elderly uncle and his Sinalco memorabilia. I can't help but smile whenever I think of our empty can taking its place in his home.

Humility and tolerance?

Some of the basest human behaviours emerge as our society continues its progress in science, technology and medicine. Ironical? Yes, but justifiably so.

Today's world leaves no time and place for graciousness and basic humanity. Incidentally, a blog I've been following has this to say about acquiring knowledge "If such acquired knowledge simply serves oneself and demanding the entire universe to circle around one's life, it creates a utilitarian attitude that will serve no one in general and eventually degenerate to a life that hints of arrogance, pride and self-love." Arrogance, pride and self-love. The world is full of them camouflaged as human beings walking, eating, breathing and working among us. In all likelihood, they might even be us.

Where is humility and tolerance? It is in the teacher forced to apologise to her student over a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding that occurred only because she was trying to do her job. A misunderstanding that occurred only because the girl had not liked being reprimanded for her misbehaviour and had gone home to exaggerate the drama.

As a professional, the teacher had called the girl's mother to make peace but was instead ordered to apologise to the daughter. Humility and tolerance is in the lone tear silently rolling down her face as she put down the phone. It is in the quiver of her lips as she bit back the bitter taste of this humble pie.

Humility and tolerance is in a domestic helper bearing the brunt of her employer's tirade....over a dish at dinner. It is in not having a voice to refute the employer's version of the story even though the story was flawed and lopsided. It is in putting up with indignity because of the mouths to feed at home.

Why are all these atrocities committed with nary a night's lost sleep? Why do bullies thrive whereas the weak just suffers in silent desolation? Matthew 7:12 is my one of my favourite verses but does it have a place in our lives today?

The visual of the lone tear snaking its way down the teacher's cheek and the echos of stifled sobs will forever be etched in my mind as a stark reminder of this arrogant, proud and narcissistic world we live in.

Hazing at JC

My colleague's daughter has been accepted into a prestigious JC of her choice. While the mood at home has been celebratory, the mother is now worried about the culture at junior colleges after the fiasco of hazing at ACJC.

Maybe I'm really getting older....or perhaps youngsters these days are really taking it to the max. A popular student at her JC, this girl was hazed & ragged on her birthday by friends who threw cake, milk and water at her face; followed by a birthday song. Duh??

Eons ago, I was just as bright-eyed and enthusiastic to embrace JC life as it signified 'coming-of-age' and breaking away from highly structured secondary school life. Stressful it might be academically; the independence, freedom and wide array of activities could really bowl one over.

For a 'sua-ku' like me, JC life really opened a world of fun moments in school with friends and even teachers. I remember my teachers as friends and had lunch with them occasionally. The best part was that we were old enough to be treated like young adults but young enough to get away with most pranks..........definitely more interesting than life in the university.

There was an incident which, as I recall now, am awfully glad did not take place. I shudder to imagine the implications and consequences if we had gone ahead with our ill-conceived plan that night.

An active committee member of my school's Interact Club, we organised a lot of intercollegiate events among the participating JCs and sometimes with the Rotary Club. My school had to play host to one such event, a 2-day camp at our school compound one weekend. Touted as a teambuilding activity, it was an overnight stay with Interact Club members and teachers from CJC and ACJC as well.

You can imagine the ruckus and brouhaha created by a bunch of active, exuberant, fun-loving teenagers - not from 1 JC but 3! It was generally good, clean and youthful fun. Teachers who facilitated the event did not have much to worry about; until night fell and part of the agenda was to visit a cemetery.....

Many students were raring to go but some of us had our reservations. Yes, I was very worried because it just did not seem right. But I was a teenager then, eager to fit in and belong; never wanting to seem a prude. Did I raise my objections? No, I just kept quiet and hoped God would be with us!

By His grace, we did not go through with the plan. For that, I heaved a sigh of relief that night. Now, after so many years and knowing all the possible implications, I really thank God for his hand on this bunch of naive teenagers even then. To this day, I still feel the sting of being a coward.

Being a JC student is indeed fun but one has to know his limits. Throwing a surprise birthday party is great but to subject the person to such pranks is contradicting the word 'celebrate'. In a birthday context, 'celebrate' means to make merry, toast, hold festivities so the person feels happy.

From the article and pictures, the girl was neither laughing nor enjoying it. I think it is a celebration taken too far. And this opinion is coming from someone who had thoroughly enjoyed her JC life.