Five: Winners of Creative Writing Competition 2012
⇜ An NUS Literary Society Publication ⟿
Masthead ________________________________________________________________ A philosophy and theatre studies major, Isaac founded Symbal in 2011, when he joined NUS Literary Society, in the hopes of promoting and encouraging budding Singaporean writers.
Isaac Tan, Editor-in-Chief
He’s an enthusiast for all things artsy as he can be seen hanging out in theatres, bookshops, museums and galleries. He hopes to be a professional actor someday and perhaps, in some possible world, a flamenco dancer and a writer as well. In his meagre spare time, he blogs at http://pre-lude.blogspot.sg
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Justin Tan, Executive Editor
Justin is a political science major and literature minor. He has served in the publications department of NUS Literary Society since 2011, and thoroughly enjoys reading every submission it receives. An orchestral film-score junkie and inveterate dreamer, he professes interest in any subject unclaimed by math and formulae. In such time as he has at hand, Justin hopes to be a writer, concept artist, amateur naturalist, and photographer. He finds aesthetic wonder in almost any environment, but is happiest amidst grand old architecture or boundless, pensive scenery.
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Suranjana Sengupta, Executive Editor
A Computer Engineering major, Suranjana joined the NUS Literary Society in 2012, hoping to unite her love for Literature with Science, along with meeting fellow students who share similar interests. As a reflective poet and a passionate writer, she enjoys reading everything from Early Medieval Literature to Contemporary Fiction. She loves Nature, Classical Music and just about anything to do with History. She also has an earnest interest in Mathematics, Physics and Astronomy. Although Suranjana aspires to follow a career in Computer Engineering, she also cherishes the goal of becoming a well-known author one day. During her tenure with NUS LitSoc, she hopes to participate actively in Literary Events in hope of encouraging innovative works of fiction, poetry and plays.
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SYMBAL MAGAZINE Winners of CWC 2012 The Editor Commends Poetry Self Portrait After Francis Bacon Samuel Lee First Prize Masking Smells Prasatt Arumugam Second Prize If The World Doesn’t End In 2012… Al Hafiz bin Sanusi Third Prize The Girl On The Train Srinath Nalluri Honourable Mention Prose Bon Anniversaire Chan Yuk Chi First Prize
Mayfly in Love Chin Jian Xiong Second Prize Decisions Haejong Kim Third Prize
Midnight Mouse Jyotsna Subramaniam Honourable Mention Plays On the Curry Question* Goh Koon Hui First Prize For Reign Country Gan Kar Liang Second Prize The Untitled Funeral Play Luke Vijay Somasundrum Third Prize
Announcements Submission Guidelines
* Disclaimer: contains strong language
-⋄ The Editor Commends ⋄-
I am sure some of you have noticed that this section is not titled “Editor’s Letter” or “Editorial” but “The Editor Commends”. This decision is made in line with what Symbal wants to do – to give a platform for budding writers to showcase their work. As such, what I do as an editor is to sieve out works that speak to me and commend them to you. If it speaks to me in some way, hopefully they will speak to you as well. The editor’s work, while seemingly crucial, is indeed a very humble one. As for the works you are about to read, they are commended by the three judges of our creative writing competition. Having read them, I concur with the judges and am in awe of the talented writers who participated. My hearty congratulations goes out to all of them and I wish them the very best in their writing endeavours. My heartfelt thanks goes out to our judges who willingly agreed to look through the works. Thank you Dr Edwin Thumboo (poetry), Mr Jason Erik Lundberg (prose) and Mr Tan Tarn Howe (play). This competition would not have been possible without your hard work and time away from your own writing. Our thanks also goes out to the English Language and Literature Department for their unwavering support. Special thanks goes to Dr Gilbert Yeoh, our faculty advisor for his guidance and support.
With that, may I humbly commend to you, the winners of our creative writing competition 2012. I will say no further and let the works speak for themselves. I am sure you will enjoy reading them as I have and if anything moves you, feel free to write in to us! Isaac Tan Editor-in-Chief 2nd March 2013
Self Portrait after Francis Bacon
the crust of paint covering the eyes. Each brush stroke a vein, a sigh, an exclamation, the arterial sweep of lifeblood from the centre of the frame to the vague stretch of shadows,
displaced. Now—the mysterious penumbra shading my face, as if a secret. Samuel Lee First Prize
Masking Smells
Her ikan bilis kicap is bait that reels the family in on festive dates early circled when the house will not smell of her alone. Fish-flavoured steam mingles with the crisp scent of new clothes and masks
the funereal incense seeping from her too-kneaded skin. a smell of funeral incense. At other times, she makes do with the feeble burn of Axe Oil (her bottled certainty) under her nostrils.
She does not like to read the news, for she glimpses faces familiar from zinc-roofed, pigtailed days, staring back at her in harsh black and white. She cannot avoid these pictures with TOTO just beside. If she does strike the jackpot, I wonder what attha will buy? A ten-year supply of air-freshener advertised on TV? Maybe bottles upon bottles of Axe Oil? Perhaps even an army of cooks to mask the smell of quiet days.
Prasatt Arumugam Second Prize Attha : (Tamil) Grandmother
If The World Doesn’t End In 2012... If the world doesn’t end in 2012, Then I want a break-up. Yes, a break-up with you. Please don’t get me wrong, it’s not you, it’s me. When you ‘innocently’ asked if you had grown fat when you couldn’t fit into that skinny fit jeans and I answered, “No honey, you look fine”— I lied. Even 2, 3 pairs of jeans wouldn’t fit you. When I said you were the apple of my eye, That I really meant it. An oversized one. But although my eyes were gazing at you affectionately, my hands were kept busy— On somebody else.
If the world doesn’t end in 2012, Then let me sleep in. Let me forget what comes after Sunday. Let me forget about having to wake up at 5 to brush my teeth, at 6 to go to school, and at 7 to rush for a bus cramped with
mindless zombies. Let me roll in bed as I make love to my bolster Repeatedly, over and over again. And while I’m at it, I’ll even have my breakfast in bed.
If the world doesn’t end in 2012, Then return me that $20 you owed me. I know I said to “keep the change” but I want it back. Now. Money doesn’t grow on trees and times are bad these days.
A plate of rice cost me 5, that’s 4 plates I can get. So please, give me back my 20. For I owed loan sharks money too. The world may not end in 2012 but my world will end If I don’t pay up.
If the world doesn’t end in 2012, Then I might consider getting a tattoo. The shape of a transcendental butterfly inked across my back. One that girls would cringe and wants to lay their hands on.
I might consider trying Ice, K, and everything nice. I might consider running away from home, just for the fun of it. I might consider burning down all the mosques, churches, temples, The mark of institutionalised religion. Forcing me to bow down and pray to HeWho-Can’t-Be-Named. I refuse to anymore.
But if the world will end in 2012, Then I will pray away my sins for one last time I will give away all my change and never ask for it again I will wake up early to see the sun rise in its finest hour And I will watch it rise with you, my love. The apple of my eye. Al Hafiz bin Sanusi Third Prize
The Girl on the Train I.
As the dark pines raced, my pupils widened at the pure and candescent smile Of the white damsel, seated cross-legged in the blue compartment. Her cute depressions spiced the rousing desire, ahead of swinging emeralds, Adjacent to lips that absorbed the pinkness of roses held between her curls, And beneath the tiny black and white pearls, that reflected her novel’s words. Her charm held my glance captive, while her eyes liberalised it with warning; Mind coiled tongue’s tip with words, still eyes relished the comfort of starring. The whole shebang around dimmed to darkness in the blue compartment In front of young lass’s appeal more when her fingers combed long tresses, And most when the pink draped lips kissed the plastic neck and wet her chin. In few stations to cross, sunlight soon wiped the desire off my misted glasses. The racing pines appeared scenic and stretched rills reflected sun’s bright; The thick pages had fascinating twists and electric numbers softened ears. The damsel no longer appeared white nor her mien gripped my attention; In bigger world, like coffee vapour into fog, her beauty immersed and vanished.
II. As dreams melted in my warm eyes, the magic stirred the passion again, Now more intoxicating—like perfume in jasmines, like venom in poppy tears; Mettle adorned my glance, for her pure pearls now were wrapped in soft skin. The dissolved dreams, blazed bright few footprints away in the form of a girl; It ain’t damsel, but an angel savouring peace, undisturbed by grille’s summer. Thin silk threads veiled over the fairness, with tips dusted of strewn vermillion, And eyelids sunk in dark, while lips, off synthetic wetness, shone infant’s pink. Pines gave in, for damsel’s glamour was just hazy reflection of angel’s appeal In the rays of my torches; and heart sung this hymn in praise of her beauty— It’s lyrical opulence penned by eyes: her kohl was ink, her charm were couplets. Silver shone on smooth surfaces, above red nails blushing behind bushy sole; And when my eyes met her lids again, shirt slid up unveiling her taupe navel.
Beneath swathed by transparent silk, and beyond brewed of quixotic colours, The ‘wet petals of white rose’ between two white edges, deepened temptations. As the train rocked on, the creamy coffee oscillated near white interiors.
III. Saffron in heaven dissolved to grey, and her skin reflected dim yellow light; My gaze still warmed her—more her midriff than her eyelids, than her lips. Breeze amplified, and the white scarf leapt over, covering most of her navel; The bare beige skin through transparent white seemed too artistic for eyes. My focus froze there, when her palm suddenly tugged her shirt down the waist. Lids closed over entire black in reflex, fear enfolded heart, and it beat faster; ‘Did she find the mischief in my eyes?’ hit my thoughts and numbed my senses. Warm eyelids dared not to open, nap resumed and dreams began to hallucinate. At the outset, a damsel spanned my world, not appealing enough to hold glimpse, But in deep kip, she transformed to angel, who was too beautiful to behold.
Srinath Nalluri Honourable Mention
Bon Anniversaire (Happy Birthday) It was an unabashed start to what was one of many sombre days. Hearty helpings of unflinchingly bright beams broke through the sparse cloud layer, turning the thin wisps almost transparent, only distinguished from the pale azure sky by the dancing shadows they cast over the land.
He could almost peek at the expanses beyond his cottonwoven curtains out of the corner of his eye, and if he imagined hard enough, the black infinity of space and all the stars nestled in her loving, smothering embrace opened themselves up to his mind’s eye. And for that moment, he found that he was no longer chained, and he could feel the rush of wind over his scalp, grazing his cheek as the gale tore at his smile from its corners as he flew higher and higher into what was almost certainly nothing but empty vacuum. And yet, the irony is that in that emptiness was his everything, hiding shyly away from the prying eyes and hopeful whispers of the others. It was in that lonely space that he longed for that he kept his garden, his secret escape amidst his earthbound incarceration. And yet, even though his fingers could touch the shimmering veil of darkness that encapsulated his ascent and his skin could feel the icy tug of airless space pull and gnaw at him, even though his vision was flooded with the immaculate and unclaimed beauty of whole galaxies and star systems, it was not real. Or at least, it was not real in any way that anyone else could understand. And in a large way, it saddened him in a lonely sort of way, in that he would never be able to share this world that had opened its splendour to him and, as it would seem, solely him. But it made no difference to him, because he wasn’t nearly about to let anyone see this massive universe that had unfolded before him before he had a chance to explore the heavens for himself.
Because at the very moment he was prime to break the threshold and escape into the sweet bosom of expansive nothingness, he fell. His body froze, and like how an airplane’s frame shudders and creaks as it stalls, he trembled violently as he plummeted back to the earth. He could see the panes of mirrors falling away to mirror his descent, revealing an almost blinding light reaching, clawing at him through hairline cracks all along the horizon. His fantasy was beginning to break, just as it had countless times before. And with a non-existent, soft thud, he landed back onto his bed with its white cotton sheets and soft orthopaedic pillow. He refused to entertain the light, which had stalked him from the depths of his daydream into reality, continuing to badger him through the fine slit between his eyelids. He had come too close this time to just surrender to his fatigue again. He wanted to sleep, but there was too much to be done for him to just rest peacefully, and he knew whatever slumber he had would be fitful until he finished his task. His desires whispered to him, using his lips as its mouthpiece as it uttered, I want to see the stars. He concentrated, buoying as helium lifted him from his frail physical form, and left the earthly realm behind for his beautiful dream once more. ‌
For a brief few moments, he kept his eyes shut, not just out of a primal fear from the bright white attempting to pervade his vision through his tightly sealed eyelids but also to experience his environs with his other, more visceral senses. He could smell the salt carried on the air from miles away, deep within the sea-swept recesses of his mind. He could feel the gritty sand sifting through his toes and implanting themselves within the shallow crevices tattooing the soles of his feet. He heard waves crashing into the shore, crashing into each other to form a delicious cacophony of chaotic sound that made his lungs swell with joy. He opened his eyes and was greeted by a vast sea enveloped in pitch black, whose white horses were illuminated by a warm glow originating from behind him. Above him hung tiny pinpricks of light, the stars for which he longed so dearly for. He turned to find the colourful banners of a great celebration hanging from the lampposts and roofs of a small town, dousing the night sky above in splashes of orange and burgundy. Above Poseidon’s high din, he heard a different kind of rapturous symphony, one of dancing and laughter and the merriment of people. He could see, even from this distance, the faint image of people living and loving and enjoying themselves deep into the night, and he found himself inexplicably drawn towards the scene. And so he walked, crossing the cold, fine sand and over rolling lawns of dew-laden grass, until finally he arrived at the town’s main street, which was pointed squarely towards the ocean.
He held back and watched, more curious than apprehensive, as he saw townsfolk dance barefoot and take deep swigs from heavy glasses that gave resounding bangs when set down upon creaky wooden tables. The men wore denim suspenders and waistcoats and the women wore lace and Lucille dresses, and they spun each other in circles up and down the street. There must have been a hundred couples twirling and swapping partners, and yet in that chaos everyone was so impossibly graceful, and he couldn’t help but gaze in wonderment.
And then a particular young lady around his age turned, laughing, grinning widely, and caught his eye. They gazed at each other awhile, and time seemed to slow as the music dialled down. She had big, bright, shining eyes of hazel and long fine eyelashes, so defined that he could see them from a distance, and he could feel himself falling into those brilliant irises. Finally he steeled himself to look away, only to find that the music had, in reality, stopped, and that all the townspeople were now observing him intently. His lips began to quiver as he tried to back away. Gingerly he took a step back, careful not to appear too frightened or to rile his fascinated watchers. But his eyes returned to her again, and a gentle smile formed across her soft, delicate features. He was desperately unsure of what she would do next, but something compelled him to stay his feet and watch, even if just for another moment. And in that moment, she turned to the rest of the town and exclaimed to roaring applause and exultation, “He’s here!”
And without another word, she ran over to him, grabbing his hand and unceremoniously pulling him into the street to join the party. ‌ The festivities lasted hours, and beyond the third he had just surrendered himself to the experience and given up trying to count. Finally, the crowd began to thin as people started heading home. The more boisterous adjourned to the town saloons, which stood in place of bars and clubs, and from within keystone piano notes rang out onto the pavement. Soon it was just the two of them, the girl with the shining eyes and him, waltzing and twirling in the dusty moonlight as the streetlights stood, gentle fluorescent light smiling upon them both. He began to realise just how beautiful she truly was, with her sun-touched brown hair draped down her shoulders, reaching down her back, and her hourglass figure spinning slowly in his arms. Her eyes seemed to dance and sparkle in the night, capturing his breath with each glance, and she seemed to notice his being under her spell. She smiled shyly and giggled as they continued to move in unison to the slow melody of the music drifting through the cool air, the band continuing to amuse the two of them as their soft footsteps formed their own beat. Eventually the clock tower struck midnight, and deep chimes reverberated throughout the town, and the band played their final song. They came to a stop in each other’s embrace, and as they spun to a stop in the middle of the street she looked up and he looked down. Under banners boasting riots of colour and burning lanterns that cast shadows all around them, they finally had a moment alone with each other and thankfully for once, the moment seemed to linger.
At last, his lips parted slightly and he whispered, “Hello.” “Hey.” “I don’t even know what to say right now,” he stuttered with a chuckle, “what’s your name?” “Janelle,” she said with what he could have sworn were flushed cheeks and a wry smile. “It’s nice to meet you Janelle, my name’s-” “Oh no, it’s okay, I already know your name!” “You do?” “Of course! Everyone in town knows your name!” “I don’t understand, how is that possible?” “I…I don’t really know. I guess that’s the way it’s always been!” He looked around the now empty town, feeling the warmth of starlight cosy up his soul, and he began to walk. She followed close behind, matching his slow saunter and looping her arm through his. “So, what great occasion could warrant such a grand spectacle?” “You, of course! Don’t you know, it’s your birthday!” He paused and thought hard, but something seemed to elude him. “Is it? Is it really?”
“Of course it is! Don’t you remember your own birthday?” She tried to stifle her laugh but failed, her giggles echoing throughout the town square. But of course his resultant confusion and distress only seemed to amuse her further, “I suppose you don’t know about our little present to you then!” Their footsteps stilled in front of the clock tower, and she pulled away and, like a sprite, danced in front of him in her own graceful, yet clumsy way. “Present? What present!”
“Ah you’ll have to wait till dawn to find out! But you’re bound to be tickled pink, I’m sure of it!” She couldn’t help but beam as she spoke, as though she had a hand in the gift’s selection. “Dawn’s hours from now, what do we do till then?” “Well you could go to bed, if you had a bed to go to!” She laughed, as she seemed to do a lot, gradually disarming him more and more. “Or, you could spend a few hours with a certain girl you’ve just met!” “Doing what, pray tell?” “Just exploring.”
“Well, if she’ll have me, I’d be happy to have someone to show me around!” She turned and skipped towards him, stopping with her face just inches from his, and she held his gaze for a lingering moment before speaking with an undeniable glint in her eyes, “I was hoping you’d say that! Now, let’s see what we can see, shall we?”
And for the second time that magical night, she tugged on his hand and pulled him deep into another adventure. ‌ And so for hours that seemed to turn to days and months but were shortened to seconds and moments, they wandered. They clambered up rickety ladders and rusty fire escapes onto shakily tiled roofs, and they dashed and pranced atop the town skyline, silhouetted against the backdrop of a great silver disk. They whooped and hollered from the highest bell tower, yelling the air from their lungs with such explosive force that they became dizzy and had to sit down, at which point they would look at each other’s breathless expressions and break out in laughter, gulping down air in between breaths. They strode along canals filled with sparkling sapphire that seemed to run deeper than any ocean, and the whistling wind that carried the faint smells of pine and freshly cut grass seemed to do all the talking for them. They walked, arm in arm and eventually hand in hand, lips hushed and tongues stilled, and by the time they reached the dam at the end, they had said all there was to say in the world in their silent conversation. Through furtive glances and playful winks and stifled, and shared, giggles, they had understood each other so completely and wholly that a single word would be one word too many. Finally they came to a rest on a bench overlooking the dam, their comfortable silence broken by the gushing roar of water running beneath them. And so they sat, enjoying the glow of his beloved stars hanging above, and as she rested her head on his shoulder his heart fluttered and leapt in his chest, and he prayed she couldn’t feel its wild thumping. And yet, she just nuzzled his neck and he gripped her hand tighter, willing the sun to stay away so that this moment would last forever in more than just his memories.
But at a quarter to six, she stirred and looked at him with a peculiar expression, and he thought he saw a flash of something sombre in her eyes.
“It’s nearly dawn,” she muttered, “I’ve got to get you to your gift, or else everybody is surely going to be cross with me.” “I’m sure they won’t mind if we were just a little late, it is after all my birthday.” She gave him a sad smile, and when she tried to pull away he refused to relent, and she fell back into him, giving a resigned sigh and trying to mask what was almost surely relieved bliss. She cuddled up to him and breathed in his scent deeply, whispering as her eyes began to gently close, “I suppose a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.” … Just after the sun peaked over the high mountains bordering the dam, they rose and began their quiet trek. She guided him by arm, insisting that he kept his eyes shut the whole way. “It’s a big surprise! I wouldn’t want your pesky eyes to ruin it for you!” she tried to muster playfulness in her voice to mask the encroaching sorrow that began to choke her, and eventually she couldn’t speak. And so they walked in silence. He could smell the leaves and the trees and the wild grass that tickled his toes, and he felt twigs snap and leaves crunch beneath his feet as he trod on, scorning the sun for ending what would have been a perfect night, save the fact that it had to end an eternity too soon.
Eventually he could feel them walking into a clearing, and as they stopped she covered his eyes with her palms. Well, she tried, despite his height, and she asked, “Ready for your surprise?” He nodded, and her hands fell away, leaving him to gape at the sight before him. A chrome rocket with a crimson red tip stood on its support struts, aimed at the infinite space above. Glass portholes ran along the side like buttons on an oxford shirt, and closer to the ground a doorway stood, with a gangplank reaching down onto the ground.
The whole town was gathered here before the spaceship, and two rows of neatly uniformed men stood guard beside the gangway, an honour guard patiently waiting. Waiting for him. “Now, you can finally see the stars,” she whispered into his ear, tears of joy and melancholy mixing as they brimmed in her shining hazel eyes. “This has always been your destiny.” “But…what about last night? Did it mean anything at all?” “Of course it did, and I will be waiting right here for you when you return from your adventures. But for now, you must step forth unto the breach without me.”
He was mesmerised by its beauty, and he staggered slowly towards it. He looked back, and saw her waving him forward. He paused for a moment, and he shouted, “I love you.” Her tears finally spilled over and ran along her cheeks, tracing the edges of her smile. The crowd fell silent and its gaze fell upon her, but she was only looking at him.
“I love you too. I’ll be waiting right here for you when you return.” He turned back and advanced, to the cheering applause of the whole town. The guards saluted smartly as he walked past, a few of them saying quietly well wishes and good luck’s. In the doorway he turned back, and he searched for her in the crowd to find that she hadn’t moved an inch. She swayed gently in the morning breeze, waving her handkerchief in the air while wiping her tears. He halfsaluted and gave a debonair grin, before disappearing into the shining metal ship. She began counting down the days before he returned, and silently mouthed, “Happy birthday.” The crewmen directed him towards the cockpit, where the ignition key sat patiently awaiting him. He slipped into his flight harness and fastened himself to the command chair, and with approving glances from the other crewmembers, turned the key. The roar of the rockets drowned out the cheers of the other spacemen, and as the windscreen turned from blue to white to indigo, he found himself holding his breath, and as tiny points of light began dotting into view he let out a great sigh and laughed. The rocket arced into the stratosphere and broke away from the Earth, and as it raced toward the heavens he whispered quietly, to no one in particular but himself, “I’m finally going to see the stars.” …
It was a sombre day, but not that you could tell from the weather. Sombre days seldom had the backdrop of a bright shining sun. In the darkened room, monitors beeped and gave eerie glows, bathing the white cotton bed and its sole occupant in ghastly green light. Two others stood in the room, a woman in a black mourning gown and a man donning surgical white, and together they observed the bedridden man lying motionless. “Are you sure about this? Once we cut life support…” “It will be quick and painless, right?” “Yes.” “Do it, then.” The doctor inched over to one of the monitors, tiptoeing as if he was afraid of waking the dead. He typed in several commands, and all the monitors in the room blinked and faded out. The beeps and mechanical whirring stopped, leaving the room in uncomfortable silence, only punctuated by muffled sobs. She bent down and gently kissed the man, her man’s, forehead, letting her tears fall onto his still face, before whispering into his ear, “Happy birthday.”
Chan Yuk Chi First Prize
Mayfly in Love
Ally’s bakery is like her anti-drug. When I met her she spent one year on smokes, before that one year on Massively Multiplayer Online Games and long before that, writing poetry. Now she’s addicted to the choux cream puffs which I buy for her every weekend before we meet at Crowsbury Park. Well, can’t blame her, lines get long on weekends, twist round the whole block like a boa constrictor. Any other bakery that tries to open within the vicinity is strangled in the deathly vice of supply and demand. So I buy the puffs and skedaddle before Sarah’s alarm goes off. The woman is a she-devil when it comes to punctuality, when she has to wait she gets pissed, starts tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. When I hear that tapping, I just gotta dance to her tune, like a marionette on strings. Choux cream and be there at the second, no arguments. After the hassle she becomes an angel for the day, starts sticking to you like a dead fly sticks to flypaper, twists your cheeks affectionately and giggles like a schoolgirl in a pop concert. No choux cream means she spends the whole day bipolar, the day becomes a war of wrong feelings and heartfelt emotions, sometime she’s crying all over the pavement and you just stand at one side trying to avoid the judgmental gaze of people walking down the street, other times her tongue becomes nothing but poison. Well, that’s not saying my baby got no bite. She’ll decimate you with her diction and eviscerate you with her vocabulary; it’s a war of the words with her every time we meet. Well, in the end that’s the best part about her, that sassy cynical attitude.
So Sarah and I were walking around the park, two lovers on a hot summers’ day, making cute faces at each other whilst arguing about the deeper intricacies of Communist Russia. That’s usually how the morning goes, just making the same loops round the pond full of geese and fish; we’ve circumvented the ballerina statue in the middle of the pond enough to make her dizzy. “Yes, but just think about the intentions. You can’t deny that Stalin had only the best of his people in mind. Just cuz he was a shitty human being ain’t enough to say that communism in Russia could not have worked.” “You’re talking about a doctrine that so specifically requires a stranglehold on human rights baby. How else can you run a communist system without an oppressive government in place? Human nature just screws up the whole ideal of equality.” “Yea sure, might be too utilitarian and all, but eventually, eventually it provides the foundation for greater human change in society. Individuality is a double-edged sword, community spirit is slowly being eroded and it’s all everyone for their own self. Such harsh methods are needed, nay, required to set humanity on the right track.” To cut the long debate short, it was a stalemate. It’s at this point when I realize we went round the pond about eighteen times already. “Lunch baby?”
“Cheap or romantic?” If I pick cheap she instantly converts into she-devil mode. “Romantic, nice ambience by the sea, just you and me staring at the waves slowly drift by and occasionally staring into each other’s eyes with that slight awkward smile on our faces.”
“Real Shakespeare, smartass.” Sarah obviously knows this whole area is land bound. So how did this love-hate relationship come into fruition in such a boring town like Crowsbury Green anyway? Like all sappy love stories, it started in school. It had all the romance clichés attached to it and played out in my head like a Taiwanese drama. It was just me and her, standing on the roof that first time; she was taking a long drag from her Malboro whilst leaning on the railing. Well, they say when its love at first sight time slows down, they say your heart just can’t stop thumping and you sweat like a dog, your words become baby babble in front of her. Well, thank god that didn’t happen or I would have died in embarrassment in front of her, babbling and sweating like a pig. What helped most was that day she had the face of a real junkie, her eyes were drowsy and gloomy and she looked like an offspring of the Joker. That time I had the misconception she was one of those suicides, a girl who got nothing left beaten down by cruel humanity. So I rugby tackled her down. That gloominess left her eyes in a flash, replaced by the pure fury of a thousand suns. It was at that point where all the time slowing down and sweating like a dog kicked in, only it was as her fist was about to connect to my face. I can’t exactly be called tough but that did real harm to my pride as a man, being completely knocked out cold by a strange girl I just met. Now that I think about it, it played like a drama but it was more of a horror show in the end. I woke up in the sick bay; head throbbing like a rave of monkeys was playing in my head. She didn’t even have the decency to visit me after knocking my lights out. In the end though, I knew one thing, I was in love. Took me a couple more weeks to get out my confession to her, of course she just looked bored and accepted, like it was just another game to pass the time. She had already given up on the smokes by then.
In the end, the most romantic lunch my feeble imagination can think of is a picnic; cheap at the same time too. We take off to the nearest Subway for the sandwiches and Starbucks for the drinks. Well, I guess it is relatively cheap is compared to fancy 20 course Michelin meals. As we walk back to the park, we bump into a familiar face, Sarah’s aunt Leslie. Aunt, but in the end she became Sarah’s foster mother after her father passed on. “Two lovebirds out on a date?” Leslie gives us her best kind motherly smile. Thanks to a bit of old bribery in the form of Ally’s choux cream puffs, I was on good terms with her. “Romantic picnic.” “Oh? You should have told me, I would have prepared something for you.” “Oh puh-leeze Aunt Leslie, if Lewis can’t get a simple picnic done right I wouldn’t even consider him a potential candidate for husbandry.” Sarah retorts, rolling her eyes in a true rebellious teenage style. “Well, be home before dinner; don’t go out doing strange things at night.” Aunt Leslie quipped. Not in a long shot Leslie, not in a long shot. If I even laid a hand on Sarah’s shoulder intimately she would cut my hand clean off with the nearest razor blade. Last time I tried anything, she was shaking and almost in tears by the time it was over, and that was just for a simple kiss. She isn’t to blame though, not after all she been through. Aunt Leslie disappears in a flash, as if trying to give her ‘two lovebirds’ their own private time together. In the past Sarah would have flipped a middle finger as she took off, now she just sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry. Being Sarah’s parents is like playing a game of chess with only one king, she’s naturally caustic towards any form of parental authority.
So one day we were on the roof discussing the possibility of banning violent video games for children, this was during those emotionally rocky days, too much pathos not enough logos. “You think it’s all right for a little kid to go around hacking the heads off others, screaming pure obscenities and waving his digital ego around like a little snot? You disgusting man.” “But that solely rests on the freedom of parental choice to choose what is right for their child.” “What if her father is an asshole? I shouldn’t even bother listening to the arguments of a disgusting man like you.” “Then it’s the fault of the government for not monitoring the parents for child abuse, not the fault of the game. It’s unfair to implicate the creators for the failings of the parents.” “Shut the hell up. All your arguments are invalid for being disgusting.” Ouch, Ad hominem attacks hurt. But at that moment, I sensed spite in her tone unlike any other before. She usually played the insults for her own enjoyment, loving every moment of my suffering using her cynical wit and charm. This time it was as if she felt genuinely hurt by something, even her insults were getting repetitive. “You don’t like your parents?” She stared at me as if I was a cockroach, then she stood up and left without a word. So me and my baby spread out a mat on the grass and sit down enjoying the breeze. One of the most important lessons love has taught me is that you want to learn to eat slowly; you want to savor your love like you savor a greasy chicken sandwich, chewing and taking slow bites. In the end, you even wanna lick the crumbs off that greasy wrapper.
We just chew slowly and stare at the pond, the ballerina balances on one leg, stuck in time until some construction company decides to run the park over and open a mall. Perhaps we wish we were set in stone too, living day after day staring into each others eyes, being locked together in an eternal embrace. If my mind is already in full poetry mode, the atmosphere has got to be working. Dragonflies skim over the surface on the pond like little helicopters or hummingbirds. I am mesmerized by the way they dance around each other although I can’t really see from the distance. Could it be some form of mating ritual? “How do dragonflies mate?” I ask all of a sudden. “What the hell? You Formicophiliac.” I didn’t know there was a word for a person with an insect fetish.
“I’m looking at it from the interest of a biologist.” “Eh, they do a weird dance thing and mate in circles or something. Don’t talk to be about goddamn insects when I’m eating. I’m already pissed off every night by damned mayflies. They just keep popping up everywhere like goddamn suicide squads.” “Do you know the mating cycle of a mayfly then?” I ask this when she’s about to finish her sandwich. “Nope, not really.” “Once the flies grow wings, they last only a few hours. They go on a sexual spree in order to find a mate and reproduce in that little time. “ “That’s kind of sad, and a bit romantic.”
“Well, of course there’s a whole debate on whether animals can actually know the true meaning of pain of course. I mean they say that they do feel harm but it could just be instinctively, pain might not really have any true emotional impact on them in the same way humans…” I’m cut off by Sarah’s pouting face.
“You ruined the moment, damn you.” I love it when she gets angry. That kind of ephemeral love is beautiful, the inevitability of the ending makes it even more worthwhile to savor the moments in between. Yet, in the end, it’s still painful for people to part, even if they know the end is coming soon. We are both like mayflies after all. I was walking down the street after cram school, enjoying the silence of the night. It really leaves a kind of feeling within you, dread of the ghosts and ghouls lurking behind each corner while also leaving behind an air of mystery, it’s a different world which most people don’t usually experience that much since they’ll be tucked neatly in their beds, stomachs full of warm food and safe under a blanket. I heard a kind of soft moaning sound coming from a nearby alley, a small figure huddled at one corner shivering and frightened. It wasn’t a child but a girl in uniform. She was fragile and broken, as I reached out to touch her on the shoulder it almost seemed like she would crumble into dust. The girl that wore many masks, the girl that had a tongue of poison and eyes brimming with fire, inside she was a glass statue. “You don’t look well.” I say nonchalantly. The girl’s eyes start to fill with fire and spite. She bares her fangs like a wild mongrel.
“Don’t touch me, disgusting man.” I didn’t say anything else but I refused to budge. I just stood there, waiting without a word. My mind becomes fuzzy with thoughts triggered by a long ago memory, I’m supposed to be enjoying a nice view and a pretty girlfriend, I have no time for meaningless nostalgia. I try to distract myself with many other useless things, schoolwork, friends, family, my parents… “He touched me there… then afterwards….” I grabbed the man by the collar and shouted obscenities. He didn’t even retaliate as I threw him to the floor and started raining blows and kicks on him. He looked as if he finally gave up on life. Suddenly, the girl slapped me hard in the face. “What is done is done.” The thoughts are starting to get overwhelming, even Sarah can clearly see that there’s something wrong. I’ve been too silent. “What? So you wanna just sit here and enjoy the view baby? Or you wanna go watch a movie or something? I think there’s a new horror movie at the Cineplex, you get to see me scream like a girl.” I can’t hide it, she knows and she just sits there saying nothing. I can feel the tears slowly coming as more thoughts flood my mind. The doctor went up to me and her. His words were clear and concise.
“Yes, the shot was indeed fatal, there was no way he could survive a gunshot to the head like that. I’m sorry for your loss.” Filthy lies, he doesn’t care. “There’s one more thing, apparently his life was coming to an end anyway. He was HIV positive.” From her reaction, I could tell she knew already. “What? Why… why are you looking at me like that? Let’s continue this goddamn date already.” I desperately try to hold my emotions back, its way too obvious. “Just remember… nothing happened. I want you to remember that nothing happened.” “Impossible…” “Just treat me the same as always, irritate me, make me spit fire at you… make me forget all these painful memories.” The girl is crying. “But…” “I don’t want this dream to end, not like this. It’s selfish… but I don’t want to lose to reality.” “I can’t…” “Be cynical, be angry…” “Be cynical, be angry,” I softly whisper. It acts as a trigger, purging my mind of thoughts. I stand up slowly and smile.
“You gonna just sit there and stare at me with those dead fish eyes, baby? We got stuff to do, don’t we? We ain’t got all the time in the world you know.” I mischievously smile and stretch out my hand to pull her up. A shaky smile forms on her face. “You paying?” “Sure.” Sarah grabs my hand and pulls herself up. At the last moment she trips my leg and sends me tumbling to the ground. I’m supposed to feel angry but as I lie there on the grass, I can’t help but laugh out loud. It really looks like two lovers in a summer’s day melodrama.
Chin Jian Xiong Second Prize
Decisions
The first time Julia kisses Spencer is when they're both sophomores in high school. They're both young and curious and they could pass it off as a mistake because it's over almost as soon as it begins, a moment that tastes as stale as the shame in the air. Julia gets up and leaves without looking back once, and Spencer doesn't call back, but this is what they will both remember: Julia tilting her head closer and Spencer's heart beating glassy in her eyes. One thing Spencer never got about Koreans was how they counted their age. Remind me, Spencer had said, slipping Julia's hair into braids along her scalp, why this is your eighteenth birthday. They count the year you're in your mother's womb, she'd said. You know, like as a fetus? So you're eighteen? You are too. I'm seventeen, dummy. I still don't get why you're eighteen. Julia reached back to touch the braids winding around her head; both of them pretended not to notice the contact brushing between their fingertips. It doesn't matter, she'd said, smiling. We're still exactly the same.
Dyke. It's an ugly word; Julia doesn't look up, but she feels it throbbing in her temples like a tattoo. It multiplies hundredfold, a collective hiss catching on every earlobe in the cafeteria. Julia Cho is a dyke. Julia knows what it means, knows it in the notes and the condoms she finds in her locker. She gets up to dump the food off her tray and sees nothing but Spencer in the middle of it all, long and leggy with long hair she curls every morning. Julia gets home to five missed calls that she doesn't return, and lets herself forget what it was like to have a best friend.
If she could, Spencer would tell Julia about the time she was twelve and called in sick for school because it was her turn to present a report on pterosaurs. She'd rehearsed herself hoarse and then some, but when she got up the next morning, she knew she couldn't do it. Instead, she'd faked a fever and ate chicken noodle soup for the rest of the day because she'd been too ashamed to let anybody know what she'd done. If she could, Spencer would tell Julia that all she knows how to do is be afraid; if she could, Spencer would tell Julia that it wasn't her fault. Spencer is crowned homecoming queen at prom, kisses her boyfriend on the dance floor and loses her virginity at the W hotel. Maria doesn't go to prom, spends her night in her room studying for her SATs. She drinks hot chocolate with marshmallows and thinks it's too cold a night to be anywhere outside.
Julia gets accepted into UPenn, to the surprise of nobody, while Spencer decides to take a gap year to spend some quality time with her mom. She ends up pregnant and then married when she's twenty. They try to keep up. Julia writes letters and Spencer sends an email with a picture of the baby, but it's as short as it is awkward for both of them, so they stop.
One thing about Julia is that she's smart—not just book smart or street smart but the kind of smart that makes people look and listen and, eventually, bang a gavel in her favor. She calls her parents once a month and enjoys life on campus immensely; she dates a girl named Cindy who smells like dark chocolate and forgets her first kiss. (Here is the thing she doesn't tell anyone, though: the day after they break up, she emails Spencer; it's not even long, just Spencer and the words I need you. She was drunk and hurting and is half relieved when she doesn't get a response the next morning.)
Spencer knows—probably better than anyone—that she's dumb. She knows that she's made dumb decisions and she's done a lot of dumb things but she knows she always wanted more for herself than this. That matters, if nothing else does.
She wakes up every morning to a pretty girl in the mirror; her hair is straight, shorter now, a bob parted to the side instead of at the middle. She has a baby and a husband and a life that feels like it's closing in on her. She loves her husband, she really does—she loves his slow smile and the light in his eyes and how he reminds her that they're still young—but he's a carpenter and they're living in her mother's house and she always wanted more for herself than this. And maybe it was a dumb choice not to go to college, it was a dumb choice not to use protection--but the only things real anymore are the choices she made, so much so that she can't even feel herself live them. And it's terrible—it’s beyond terrible—but she can't love the baby. Elizabeth Allison Cavanaugh; sometimes she thinks, bouncing her daughter in her arms at three in the morning, that when Elizabeth gets older it'll be like looking in a mirror. She's beyond sure that it will hurt. But Elizabeth now—Elizabeth now hurts too, because she does nothing but remind Spencer of college, and of high school, and sometimes of the Julia, but mostly of the life she wanted for herself. So when she gets an email from Julia—it’s not even long, just her name, Spencer, and the words I need you—she calls Mrs Cho for an address and runs. Because Spencer might be dumb, but she knows an opportunity—she can recognize her last chance when she sees it.
Haejong Kim Third Prize
Midnight Mouse
The hair on the back of my neck prickles as I hear a slight clicking and a scurry of light feet across the kitchen floor. Fumbling around, I manage to turn find my cell phone to look at the time. 2:46 am. Please let it not be a rat. I’ve had a long day, and I really don’t want to deal with a rodent at this time. Many people might be living under an illusion, but the bubonic plague still kills over 25 million people every year, according to WHO estimates. I’d rather not be one of them. What with my vegetarian lifestyle, I could die of accelerated nerve degeneration or commit suicide due to the depression associated with no consumption of red meat. I don’t need a rat to complicate my life. Braving myself, I walk out with a rolled up newspaper in my hand (as if that would be of any help) to confront the culprit. I turn on the light and quickly scour the area for any signs of the vermin, but all I see are chocolate wrappers strewn across the cold mosaic floor. A lump rises in my throat, and I try to swallow it but it’s too late- hot, thick tears are already falling fast down my mottled face. There was a time when midnight scurries like this did not arouse suspicion of rodents. I knew exactly who the chocolate thief was. My grandfather had been diabetic for as long as I knew him. Born in the 1920s, he had lived parts of history, both of my family and of my country that I didn’t even know about. I grew up at his knee, listening to a thousand stories that he patiently spun for me, and later on, learning about quadratic equations and trigonometry during my early teens. Just like the rest of the family, I was horrible at mathematics. My grandfather was the sole beacon of hope in that area, he’d been a gold medallist in mathematics during his high school days. I don’t even know if he went to university, because I know he didn’t grow up well off as I
was fortunate enough to. Growing up, he married early and served in the army. Growing up, I had no friends and spent a fair amount of time in and out of hospitals, so I spent my days sitting on the low concrete wall in front of my parents’ house, squealing with delight at another one of his jokes or spending serene afternoons blowing large bubbles with a bowl of soap solution and a paper cone that only my grandfather knew how to make. He’d take a sheet of recycled paper, hold it close to his eye as if scrutinizing it for faults, and then start rolling painstakingly with his knotted and wrinkled hands. The soap solution would last forever and he’d love it if I blew bubbles at random passers-by, so I blew bubbles as big as my lungs would allow, till the sun sank below the trees and fruit bats came flying out of the trees around our house and I’d run back inside. He had greyish brown eyes, another thing that he alone had in the family. They would peer cautiously at any bowl of sweets that my grandmother laid out on the dinner table, or any piece of chocolate that I’d keep in the refrigerator. Late at night, we’d all hear a small scuffle in the kitchen, perhaps a swing of the refrigerator door or an opening of a tin, and in the morning a very tiny quantity of sweets or chocolate would have mysteriously disappeared. Sometimes I’d lay out dark chocolate unscrupulously on the table before going to bed, because I didn’t have the heart to stop him. He deserved his little treats every now and then. My grandfather would always ask me when I was coming home with a college degree. He was a little sad that nobody had inherited his mathematical genius, but he couldn’t be more proud that I was doing something I was good at and that I absolutely loved. As I entered my first year of undergraduate study however, I found that I had less and less time to spend with him and more time piled behind a tall stack of Milton, Keats and John Donne. He would always be there to listen if I had a story about stupid answers that my classmates gave, or horribly egoistic
teachers who insisted that Shakespeare would always be the greatest thing since sliced bread. And he’d always laugh the loudest. In the October of my final year at University, my grandfather, who was now almost ninety, fell very sick. I’d had vivid memories of him being pricked with a thousand needles and enduring pain far worse than I’d dare to imagine, but I’d never seen him being reduced to childlike proportions. His body shrunk to a shockingly miniature size, his eyes became gaunt and lost that spark that I’d always remembered, and purple shadows haunted his face from which that infectious smile had been thoroughly wiped. When we took pictures of him as he was discharged from the hospital for the thousandth time, his existence in those pictures seemed more and more artificial, more and more surreal. As though he wasn’t really there and someone had painted a greying likeness of him in his place. Something inside me cringed when I looked at those pictures. During another one of his bouts of sickness (during which the doctors announced that he’d caught a bad case of pneumonia), my parents took my sister and I to see him. I wore plastic bags over my flip flops, pumped hand sanitizer out of a large pink dispenser by the doors of the Intensive Care Unit and pushed them open with shaking hands. I didn’t know why I felt so uncomfortable. I felt like I shouldn’t have been there. In a large white dormitory filled with beds that emitted a distinct smell of saline and tincture, my grandfather lay at the far end, wrapped up in white sheets. He’d grown so small that he looked like a mannequin in that bed, or in the words of my cousin, like cloth. His mouth had become blackened and he didn’t look like he had the will to use his limbs, even if he had the strength to. “Water….” He whispered. Holding back my tears, I darted to
the bedside table and poured some water into a plastic cup, which I gingerly held to his mouth and tipped in slowly, helping him drink it. I remember him saying that he felt very dry, although I didn’t understand what that meant. I put a little Vaseline Petroleum Jelly on his lips, which felt like concrete, grainy and withered. I was too scared to do anything else because I felt like he would fall apart if I touched him too hard. “How are you?” He managed to ask. “I’m the one who should be asking,” I said inspite of myself. He cracked a smile. “When are you coming home?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t have but I had to. “I don’t think I am, dear” he said, with not the slightest hint of emotion. I abandoned my rule of not crying in public and sobbed like a baby. “You have to, you have to. I’m graduating in a few months and you have to see me get my degree! You have to promise me that you’ll be there when I get my degree!” For five full minutes, I stood by his bed and cried without inhibition. My grandfather, who’d seen World War II and the independence of my country, not see my college graduation? “What was it that Shakespeare wrote… the one with those famous words that I’ll always remember…” he groaned, looking straight ahead into empty space. For a minute, I couldn’t believe it. Here he was, telling me that he didn’t think he would come back home, and my grandfather was talking about Shakespeare.
“The Merchant of Venice…that was the one. Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” At that moment , the past twelve years of literary education flew out of my head and I couldn’t even remember if that was the right play. “Yes, that was the one,” I said instead. “I want you to remember that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Don’t ever forget that in your life.” “I won’t forget it grandfather. I won’t, but…’’ I couldn’t speak anymore. The tears came raging out of my eyes once again. “You musn’t cry now. I’ll be really sad if you cry… I can’t see you crying. You must stop crying now…” he kept repeating for two minutes. A young nurse with a clipboard and bleached, curly hair tapped me on the shoulder. “It’s time to go now miss, the ICU doesn’t allow visitors for more than fifteen minutes.” There were so many things I wanted to say to my grandfather at that moment, so many things I was afraid I would never get to tell him and that I would end up regretting walking away- but I had to go. Whispering a “please get better”, I turned and walked quickly out of the room so he wouldn’t see me crying, then sent my sister in to see him. My grandfather died two months before I graduated college with honours. I have the degree, printed very nicely in red and black bearing the university seal, but he never got to see it. Apparently, he had developed an advanced form of leukaemia which was common for people of his age, and the doctors had said that putting him on the list for bone marrow transplants wouldn’t help because his age would give younger patients priority over him.
I remembered feeling betrayed by science, by civilization and my medicine, which I had so strongly trusted. How is it that the species that cured smallpox couldn’t find a way to save my grandfather? How is it that in the 21st century, people still died of sicknesses like this and there was absolutely nothing one could do? I despised anyone who tried to comfort me by telling me that he had gone to a better place because I didn’t believe any of that offal; he was dead and burnt to ashes and I knew it. He didn’t float away among the clouds and he isn’t watching me as I cry myself to sleep every night. When they brought his body home from the hospital in a large blue body bag, I didn’t believe that that thing that my father, my aunts and my sister were carrying was really my grandfather. He seemed so small, light and fragile. They unzipped the body bag and put him in the centre of the house. He looked like he had a last satisfying smile sunk into his now serene face. I placed one palm on his cheek and silently thanked him for all the stories, all the mathematics, the jokes and the laughter he had given me for twenty years. Soundlessly, I said goodbye to my grandfather. I realize I’ve been standing in front of a heap of chocolate wrappers all this time with a sensation so heavy I felt I could be crushed under it. There is a dull throbbing in my mouth that shoots up to the depths of my head, and my fingers inexorably tremble as I reach into the broom closet and sweep all the wrappers into the plastic bin. It’s been one year and I’m still affected by my grandfather’s death as though it happened yesterday. Every day that I go to university I regret that he didn’t know and never will know that I made my dreams come true. The rest of my family offers prayers in his name on the anniversary of his passing, but since I exclude myself from those rituals, I often find others and myself asking me how I find comfort in a world without my grandfather.
Well for one, I now have fair warning that when someone completely healthy shrinks to the size of a child and loses the ability to move, they are more or less on the brink of death. But there is something that gives me immense joy. It’s not just the fact that I have such wonderful memories of my grandfather, or that a mouse takes me back to when he would childishly steal chocolate from the kitchen cabinets. It’s the fact that in this uncertain life, I formed a bond with another human being so strong that I’ll never forget it. And that is something worth remembering. My grandfather isn’t in a happier place, because I don’t believe it. I do believe, however, that he makes a small part of me.. .that part that tells horrible jokes, or that part that smiles before an examination, or that part that loves sharpening pencils until they are pointy enough to glint. I am a part of my grandfather, and he is a part of me. And as long as I’m alive, that part of him is too. Because he passed himself down, generation to generation. And that’s something that helps me sleep at night. Before I go to sleep tonight, I think I’ll put some chocolate out on the counter. You know, for the mouse.
Jyotsna Subramaniam Honourable Mention
On the Curry Question
1. The Incident at a Cafe Lights up. Scene at a café. There is a barista counter and three big round tables on stage. Ken is sitting on a round table occupying a small portion of the table. He is studying and doing his work, with his laptop open, while he listens to its music via earphones. KEN has a mug of tea with him. L’ETRANGER and his friend are occupying another table. SHAO XIANG and AMELIA are occupying another table. Four people of both genders walk in. They are KOREANS. They occupy the table of KEN without asking. As they sit down KEN good-naturedly gestured that the seats at his table are not taken although they. sit without seeing his gesture. The people started talking loudly in Korean..- Spotlight down on KEN’s table. The conversation below will be spoken in Korean. Korean 1 Ok guys, we got to think about the location of our weekend getaway. Korean 2 Let’s get out of Singapore and go to one of their neighbouring country. Korean 3 Korean 4 locations!
Like where? Let’s take out our laptops to search for good
The four KOREANS take out their laptops and resume their talk in mime. Facebook jingle. Spotlight on SHAO XIANG’s table. KEN glances across at SHAO XIANG who smiles slyly at him. SHAO XIANG types into his laptop. The following conversation takes place as recorded, like a kind of thought conversation, it should supercede whatever that is happening on stage.
Shao Xiang noisy.
(voiceover) Your Korean friends are damn
Ken types into his laptop. Facebook jingle. Ken (voiceover) They are Koreans? SHAO XIANG rolls his eyes at KEN. He types. Facebook jingle. Shao Xiang dickhead.
(voiceover) Take out your earphones la
KEN takes down his earphones. KOREANS speak in Korean and laugh loudly. Korean 2
Oh my god you did NOT just say that!
KOREANS laugh and resumes their miming. KEN muses and types back. Facebook jingle. Ken (voiceover) Lol! I thought they were the tiongs. SHAO XIANG types back. Facebook jingle. Shao Xiang tiongs arr?
(voiceover) You think all Asians are the smelly
Spotlight on the L’ETRANGER’s table. L’ETRANGER’s friend takes out his earphones followed by L’étranger. Korean 3 Oh my god, the tickets are dirt cheap! Korean 2 Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Korean 1 We can practically go Bali ten over times!
KOREANS resume their miming. L’étranger’s friend
这些韩国人太吵闹了吧 ? (1)
L’étranger 好像是有一点. (2) L’étranger’s friend 太不懂礼节了吧? (3) L’étranger 关系? (4)
(shrugs) 算了吧, 咱们也在听自己携带的音乐,有什么
They resume studying while spotlights on them down. KEN types back. Facebook jingle. Ken (voiceover) Aiyo you are mother nationalist! SHAO XIANG types back. Facebook jingle. Shao Xiang (voiceover) This nation is my motherland what, of course I nationalist. KEN types back swiftly. Facebook jingle. Ken (voiceover) Ok la I need to go back and do my work. SHAO XIANG types back. Facebook jingle. Shao Xiang
(voiceover) Ok, talk again.
(1) These Koreans are too noisy (2)Yup, a bit. (3) Don’t you think they are rude? (4) Nevermind, we are listening to our own music anyway, why does it matter?
SHAO XIANG resumes his work while KEN stands up and takes his cup to the barista counter. He asks for a refill. In the meantime, five more people came into the café, they spot the people sitting around KEN’s seat and goes to join them enthusiastically.
Korean 5
Oh my… you guys are here!!!
Korean 6 Hello hello! Korean 4 Join us! Korean 7 All of us?!
Korean 1
All of you, there are still more seats here.
Korean 8 Who is the hardworking idiot studying here? Korean 2 Oh, just some Singaporean (this word has to come across very obvious). We are sharing the table with him.
Korean 9
Oh we are!
The KOREANS starts to mime their speech. KEN comes back to his seat feeling extremely dismayed. He squeezes himself in back to his seat and tries to ignore them. After studying for a while, he types on his laptop. Ken (voiceover) Sorry my dear foreign friends, but don't you think it's rather rude to just take over my tables gradually and eventually while I'm gone? You all never buy drinks somemore. Now I feel caged. KEN resumes his studying. In the meantime there would be random background people saying lines.
Random Person 1
(voiceover) Likes this.
Random Person 2
(voiceover) Likes this.
Random Person 3
(voiceover) Likes this.
Random Person 4
(voiceover) Likes this.
AMELIA looks at her laptop, does a few clicks then glances over at KEN. She laughs then types. Amelia You are damn haps sia! Ken. KEN looks at his laptop. He types back. Ken (voiceover) Wtf sia. Never buy drinks, never ask, just sit down, talking so loudly somemore. KOREANS speak in Korean then laugh loudly. AMELIA looks at her laptop. She types back. Amelia (voiceover) Join us? We’ll make space for you. AMELIA nudges at SHAO XIANG and points at KEN. KEN looks at his laptop. He types back. Ken (voiceover) Don't want. All the more I must hold out. This is my land leh, not theirs, anyhow just come and conquer and invade meh. SHAO XIANG types back. Shao Xiang noisy. Zzzz…
(voiceover) Your foreign friends really damn
KOREANS speak in Korean then laugh loudly. KEN types back.
Ken Tsk.
(voiceover) Wa lao I didn’t know Koreans are so rude.
AMELIA types. Amelia (voiceover) I like your persistence! Jia you! KEN sees and smiles to himself. He types. AMELIA looks at her laptop. Ken (voiceover) Colan Capital “D” AMELIA looks at KEN who smiles and gives a “Yes I can” gesture. AMELIA laughs and resumes her work. KEN looks at AMELIA while she’s not looking and smiles. He types. Facebook jingle. AMELIA looks at her laptop. Ken (voiceover) Hey, btw, are you free next Saturday evening? AMELIA types. Amelia (voiceover) Possibly. Why? KEN types. Ken (voiceover) You wanna go grab dinner together then go for a movie? I heard that Supernatural Activity 2 is coming out. Colan Right Bracket. AMELIA peers at KEN while KEN continues to look at his laptop screen. She types. Amelia (voiceover) Hang out?
KEN deliberates, then types. Ken (voiceover) Ya. AMELIA types. Amelia (voiceover) Hmm… Should be fine I think. AMELIA resumes her work. KEN looks happy. Two ladies come on stage. They see the bunch of people around KEN and goes over. Korean 10 AHHH, there you are! We’ve been looking for you all for ages! Korean 11 crowded.
Can we join you all? Gee… the table looks
Korean 4 Oh no problem, come come, we are just sharing table with a Singaporean. KOREAN 10 tries to remove KEN’s bag that on an empty seat near the table and places it under the table. KEN sees and takes his bag from under the table and places it on the table near his laptop. KOREAN 10 and 11 sit down. KOREAN 10 sits at where the bag was. Korean 10 The aircon is really cooling eh? Korean 11
Yea, thank god, What have you all got?
KOREANS resume their miming. KEN types furiously. Ken (voiceover) FUCKING CHEE BYE REMOVE MY BAG WITHOUT ASKING. FUCK YOU CHEE BYES. SHAO XIANG AMELIA.
SHAO XIANG looks at his screen randomly. He nudges AMELIA and beckons her to see the screen. AMELIA types. Facebook jingle. Amelia (voiceover) Aiyo what happened? KEN types back furiously while looking pissed off. Facebook jingle. Ken (voiceover) Fucking Koreans KNNBCCB wanted to remove my bag for herself to sit. Never fucking ask, CCB! SHAO XIANG types back. Facebook jingle. Shao Xiang (voiceover) Foreigners!... Which one? The SNSD cute one in red is it? The one on your right? KEN types back furiously. Facebook jingle. Ken (voiceover) FUCK SNSD. FUCKING PLASTIC GIRL ON MY RIGHT. CUTE MY FUCKING CHEE BYE. SHAO XIANG types back while laughing together with AMELIA. Facebook jingle. Shao Xiang CHEEBYE?!
(voiceover) LOL SINCE WHEN YOU HAVE A
Korean 8 This guy here that is sitting with us is such a mugger. My god!
Korean 4 I didn’t know Singaporeans mug so hard. KOREANS laugh loudly. KEN types back furiously. Facebook jingle.
Ken (voiceover) Fuck la! These Koreans are damn cb. Too much man! AMELIA types back. Facebook jingle. Amelia them.
(voiceover) Ok la join us la, don’t get angry over
KEN types back. Facebook jingle. Ken (voiceover) NO. I will be determined and stay here. Yes I will! SHAO XIANG types back. Facebook jingle. Shao Xiang (voiceover) Even though I’m rolling my eyes so much I just saw my brain, I SUPPORT YOU! (pause) Don’t come here arr. All of them resume their work. Lights down on KEN and SHAO XIANG’s table. Spotlight up on L’ETRANGER’s table. He takes out his earphone and nudges his friend and signifies him to take out his earphones too. L’etranger 多呢? (5)
好奇怪, 这是新加坡对吧? 为什么韩国人比新加坡人还
L’etranger’s friend 新加坡本来就是这样的. 你不知道吗? (6) Lights down.
(5) Strange, is this Singapore? Why are there more Koreans than Singaporeans? (6) This is how Singapore is like, don’t you know?
2. The Singapore ‘Story’ Spotlight on. On the empty stage is SHAO XIANG in black at downstage right. Shao Xiang (dramatically) It was a few centuries ago when some members of Noodle, Dhall and Potato moved in with Belachan who were residing on a small island. Tribe Belachan in the centre welcoming the different tribes into their land. Shao Xiang They were living in harmony until members of Dhall decides to cook a red and brown concoction in their effort to alleviate homesickness. Everyone leaves the stage except Tribe Dhall. They would be gathering around an imaginary pot while one of them would be stirring a huge ladle. Shao Xiang The other tribes were annoyed by it initially. Hence Dhall, in trying to promote some kind of understanding over their culture and habits, extended a formal invitation to all these other residents to come taste their concoction. The line of people starts to drink the concoction. They look satisfied. Shao Xiang These other tribes tried the concoction and were extremely pleased with it. In fact, they were so pleased with it that they eventually gathered with the purpose of cooking a pot of the concoction to best represent the diversity and solidarity of the four tribes. Everyone exits the stage except a representative of each member who gather around the pot on centre stage.
Shao Xiang The Belachan representative decided that the concoction could be too spicy sometimes, and decided to add in coconut milk. The representative of Belachan adds something into the concoction. Shao Xiang The representative of Noodle decided that, since the island was bounded by a water body, they could add something which was readily available such as fish, or specifically, fish head. The representative of Noodle adds something into the concoction. Shao Xiang The representative of Potato, decided to add in that is true to their name sake: Potatoes. The representative of Potato adds something into the concoction. The representatives on stage appear to be very happy with the concoction. Shao Xiang This is how Curry was born.
Lights down. Spotlight on SHAO XIANG up. The rest of the people on stage start to gather around SHAO XIANG as they listen to him speak. Shao Xiang Years later, there were many other people from other tribes who came to live on the island. A family of them was from Noodle. They became PR and applied for HDB. One day, they decided to complain against their Tribe Dhall neighbour who was cooking Curry. They complained to the CMC and asked that their neighbour be disallowed to cook Curry when they are around. And the CMC actually agreed! SHAO XIANG moves to centrestage as everyone follow him.
Shao Xiang Now my fellow friends, do you think this is right? (crowd starts to shake head.) Do you think it is right that these foreigners come over to our land and infringe upon our culture and practices telling us what to do and what not to do? (crowd starts to talk among themselves in awe of SHAO XIANG) Don’t you think that we, as Singaporeans, should stand by our Tribe Dhall against these outlanders who refuse to assimilate with our culture? I say that we stand up together against these people! Crowd YEA! Shao Xiang I say that we continue the legacy of our forefathers who are Curry converts! Crowd YEA! Shao Xiang I say that we uphold our proud Curry culture and force Curry down their noses! Crowd YEA!
Shao Xiang I say that we invite our fellow friends to this event which I’ve created! I say, that all of us, all of us that call ourselves Singaporeans, click “I’m attending”! I say that we cook a pot of curry next Sunday! Crowd YEA! Cheering from everyone on stage. They propped him up and carry him off-stage like a revolutionary figure. Random Person 1 (voiceover) I’m attending. Random Person 2
(voiceover) I’m attending.
Random Person 3 (voiceover) I’m attending.
Random Person 4
(voiceover) I’m attending.
3. The Train Dialectic Lights up. On the train. 5 chairs are lined up in one straight line. All the seats are taken. From the left, all the passengers on the seats are asleep, except for the fourth one who is listening to music. Beside him on his right there is a child passenger with his/her mother on his/her right. Spotlight on KEN. Ken (to audience) Here I am on the train again. Like usual, the same shenanigans everyday every single day. So, surprisingly the train feels clean today, no usual stench of sweat and hotdog mustard, no noisy students and suit-up bastards trapping me like a bubble wrap. I contrast what it is the now, with the then, The ‘then’ of my irrelevant childhood that has zero concept of a nation hood, when the other person there (Spotlights upon L’ETRANGER as though holding a metal pole in the train.) standing, holding the metal pole is Indian, Malay or any other race, and not a Chinese, that you and I have similar faces; What goes? He that stands there dressed like us, marked, with perhaps little distinctions in his clothes and in his behaviour could have as well been the everyday Jew in the olden German days, before the advent of the later German ways. But is he? Is he? Spotlight down on KEN. Spotlight up on man at the pole, L’ETRANGER.
L’étranger (to audience) I am rather lucky that the train isn’t squeezy today. It usually is. You see? I’ve been living in Singapore for a while now, and although I don’t speak English well, I think you can tell that I am picking it up swiftly. Singapore is quite a lovely country. I am not a PR yet, but I will be. I love durians and I love curry. (What’s up with the whole curry issue, seriously!) And I love being here. But there is something wrong with me being here, or here being a part of me, or the confused relationship between here and me. Me and my kind, we’ve been known to strive very hard, it’s in our blood you see, and it’s in yours too; it flows within us like the river Yang Tze, or 黄河 . (9) Because you and I, we come from a race of diaspora. Our bloodline threatens to be diluted by the sea, by this pool of water that the blood of every colour drowns in. Henceforth to assert ourselves, we have to make our mark That was why I learnt English.. Last year, on a time like this, on a similarly empty train with an empty train of thoughts, I stood. Similarly. Was it my fair skin, my bespectacled small eyes or my slippers (in my defense, I was just travelling to get my groceries) that betrayed me? I do not know. I was talking to my local friend, about a project. Then she says,
Spotlight on the CHILD PASSENGER and the WOMAN besides him/her. Child Passenger Mama, is that a Chinaman? L’étranger (to audience) I didn’t quite flinch. I pretended to be listening to my phone when in truth, the call ended already.
Child Passenger Mama, is that a Chinaman? Mother Shh… don’t so loud. So rude! Child Passenger (softer but still loud) Is he a Chinaman? Mother Must be la. Must be. Wah, my boyboy so smart?
Child Passenger Ya, coz he cannot speak English. L’étranger (to audience) I cannot speak English? That’s insulting. And he doesn’t end here, he goes on, Child Passenger Mama, why Chinaman English so lousy?
L’étranger (to audience) Oh wow, so you and your Singlish is so superior. Child Passenger Chinaman?
Mama,
why
Singapore
got
L’étranger (to audience) 抄你妈的! (10) I was spared when the door opened and I alighted. So the next day came, and I decided to register for level 1 French. Time to further assert myself. (9) The Yellow River (10) Fuck your mother
so
many
Spotlights down. Spotlight on KEN up. Ken Is he then? Is he? The tricky thing about standing behind national boundaries and delineations is, you never quite know. How do you know?! How can you know?! He doesn’t wear a star of David on his left breast, not even a panda, or a 红中 (11) mahjong tile, So how can you really know? How can you know something that the eyes differentiate, and scientific methods, for all you know cannot break him down to a PRC working in a MNC but a yellow skinned Chinese like you and me, a you and a me and an everybody?
cannot
Spotlight down. Spotlight on L’ETRANGER up. L’étranger First lecture : I came, opened my ears and listened hard to all the Latin melody, nuances and subtleties so familiar to me. We were taught the basics and asked to introduce ourselves. Spotlight on KEN. Ken (unsteadily) Je m’appelle Ken. Je suis un étudiant. J’habite Singapour. Vous vous appelez comment ? (12) (11) A red worded mahjong tile in a mahjong set. The word 中 is the same word
for 中国人 which means a Mainland Chinese (12) My name is Ken. / I live in Singapore. / What is your name?
L’étranger (confidently) Moi ? Je m’appelle James Liu. Je suis un étudiant Chinois. Maintenant, J’habite dans la rue de Kent Ridge, Singapour. J’aime jouer au basket et au foot. Je peux parler l’anglais, le chinois et un peu de français. Qu’est que votre nom et prénom? (13) Ken Now I remember him. He is that imba guy who introduces himself so well in French. No wonder he looks so familiar. Spotlight on KEN down. L’etranger She came up to me after lecture and asked me if I’ve taken French before, Madame Truffaut. I said yes, but not enough to pass the placement test. The truth is I had a white paper laced with French words hidden somewhere upon the wall of ma chambre (14) back home Under my Chinese sky, verified by Chinese characters, above my Chinese roots. C’est chez moi là-bas. C’est chez moi là-bas. (15) Sometimes it is when I have to trudge along tall blue grasses that I long for home. Spotlight down on L’etranger. Spotlight on KEN. Ken So he will stand right there as I sit right here, minding between our spaces, minding our between spaces, as I glance my sometimes awkward glance, my sometimes avoided glance, I make a judgement, my authority is my hairless wig, my flawless wit. (13) My name is James Liu. / I am a Chinese student. / Now, I live in Kent Ridge Street, Singapore. / I love to play basketball and football. / I can speak English, Chinese and a bit of French. / Your surname and name? (14) my room (15) It is my home there. It is my home there.
People do not seem what they seem to be. They are what they seem to be. And he seems to me, a seasoned French tongue, licking durians and curry flavours. Why do we do things we do when we don’t know if we’ve really got to do or need to do? We just do. Lights down.
4. The French Tutorial Lights up. Classroom setting. In front of the class is the French Teacher, MADAME TRUFFAUT. There are a number of students in the classroom, including KEN, AMELIA, SHAO XIANG and L’ETRANGER. This is a French tutorial. Madame Truffaut (with French accent) Ok, class, for today tutorial basically, you will converse with your partner, using as many of the French vocabulary and grammar as possible, especially passé compose (16), which we have just learnt, apprendre (17). Oui? Commencer (18)! Everyone starts to engage in a partner. KEN, SHAO XIANG and AMELIA have problems allocating the partnering among themselves. L’ETRANGER seems quite shy, not knowing who to look for to partner with. Ken Hey Amelia, can I partner with you? Shao Xiang (cuts in) Nope dude, she’s mine. (16) pass tense (17) learn (18) start
KEN cringes slightly. Amelia (half-jokingly) Sorry, but I really could use with a better French partner. Shao Xiang (cuts in) She means to say politely that you are Frenchly impossible. Get it? Frenchly impossible. KEN cringes further. Ken Oh. Pause. AMELIA laughs. Amelia Oh come on, I’ll promise I’ll be your partner for the next time alright? KEN lights up. Shao Xiang Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. I’ll induct her well in the nuances of the French tongue. (licks his mouth exaggeratingly) Délicieux! (19) AMELIA rolls her eyes. KEN looks puzzled. Ken Erm. Hmm… I’m sure you know, it would have hurt much better if I actually understand what you are saying, but for the moment, let’s just pretend I do. AMELIA laughs. KEN shows SHAO XIANG a triumphant sign. Shao Xiang Whatever la, go and love with French with the expiak (20) over there. They all look at L’ETRANGER who is still alone and uncertain. Ken (groans) Oh god, I’m going to feel like an idiot. (19) delicious (20) He means ‘expert’. He’s saying it in a quasi-Hokkien manner.
Amelia Get him to explain to you what he is saying la. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help. It’s how you’ll improve your French. Ken Alright. Later then. KEN walks over to L’ETRANGER. Spotlight on the pair. Ken (slightly uncertain) Hey… Do you have a.. erm… partner? L’étranger
No. No. You want to be my partner?
Ken Ya. L’étranger Ok. You want to start? Ken Er, no la, you start can? L’étranger Oui. Salut (21)! Vous vous appeler comment? Je m’appelle James Liu. Comment ça va (22)? Ken (unsteadily) Ca va. Ca va (23). Je m’appelle Ken. Je suis un étudiant. J’étudie dans un école dans Singapour. Et vous (24)? L’étranger Je suis un étudiant aussi (25)? J’étudie dans l’université nationale de Singapour… Ken (cuts in) Wait. Is that the National University of Singapore? L’étranger Vrai! Vous êtes un génie! Très bien! (26) Ken (confused) Oui oui oui… Er… J’habite où (27)? (21) Salutations (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27)
How are you? Fine, fine. I study in a School in Singapore. And you I am a student also. Correct! You are a genius! Well done! Where do I live?
L’étranger
(confused) Vous ne savez pas où vous habitez ? (28)
Ken (confused) Eh… (realised) OH ! I mean, vous habitez où? (29) L’étranger
Oh, J’habite dans l’école. Prince George parc. (30)
Ken (confused) Huh ? L’étranger
P-G-P.
Ken Oh!!! Oui oui oui! J’habite dans l’école aussi. J’habite U-Town. L’étranger Oh, Je vois. Je pense, nous devons utiliser passé composé pour notre conversation. (32) Ken Oui. Oui. Oui, oui. L’étranger Je suis une personne très sportive. La semaine dernière, j'ai joué au basket le lundi, j'ai joué au tennis le mercredi et j'ai aussi joué au squash le vendredi. Avec mes amis. Et vous ? Qu'avez-vous fait la semaine dernière? (33) Silence. Ken Oh. Oui oui oui. Oui. Silence. Ken I’m sorry, can you just say that again, slowly?
(28) You don’t know where you live? (29) Where do you live (30) I live in school. Prince Georges Park. (31) I live in school also. I live in U Town. (32) Oh I see. I think we must use the past tense for our conversation. (33) I am quite a sporty person. Last week, I played basketball on Monday, I played tennis on Wednesday and I also played squash on Friday. With my friends. And you? What did you do last week?
L’étranger Oui. (slowly with emphasis with actions) Je suis une personne très sportive. La semaine dernière, j'ai joué au basket le lundi, j'ai joué au tennis le mercredi et j'ai aussi joué au squash le vendredi. Avec mes amis. Et vous ? Qu'avez-vous fait la semaine dernière? KEN is silent. Then he sighs. Ken Je suis pathétique. (34) L’ETRANGER smiles. L’étranger eventually.
It’s ok. Take your time, I’m sure you can do it
Ken Why your French so zai? You study a lot is it? L’étranger I do study a lot but, I’m sorry, what does, “zai” mean? Ken Huh you don’t know what is “zai ” (35)? You from atas school is it? Don’t even know what zai means. L’étranger I’m sorry, I don’t know what is “atas (36)” either… Ken Don’t even know what is atas?! Are you even local? L’étranger
(polite laughter) No.
Ken OH!!!! THAT’S WHY! NO WONDER! Where are you from? (realising) Oh… Are you from France? Is that why your French is so good? A French Chinese?! Eh wait, if you are French you cannot take French… L’étranger Je suis un étudiant chinois. Ken Huh? Je suis un étudiant chinois aussi (37)! (34) (35) (36) (37)
I am pathetic extremely proficient high class I’m a Chinese student also.
L’étranger (matter-of-factly) Je suis un étudiant chinois de Chine. (38) Ken Er… What does that mean ? L’étranger Chine. (spell in the French way) C-h-i-n-e. Ken Chine. (realising) O…(then realising that he shouldn’t be making such a big deal)…oh… I see… Pause. L’étranger
Oui.
Pause Ken Eh, but it doesn’t make sense leh, how come your French is so good? And your English also not bad what? L’étranger (indignant) So if I’m from Mainland China my English has to be bad? My French has to be bad? Mon anglais est d'être mauvais?? Mon français est d'être mauvais?? Ken Eh chill. I’m saying your English is good what… But I mean, come to think of it your English does have a bit of a, (pardon me when I say this), PRC twang. L’étranger
(sarcastically) Thanks for the feedback.
Ken No seriously, I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just… You know… trying to make some sense out of you… L’étranger
(sarcastically) Well, thank you very much.
Silence Ken (placating) I’m sorry. (38) I’m a Chinese student from China
L’étranger
(pause then sighs) Ok, accepted.
Ken But honestly, you being a PRC who is really really (may I use the word fucking) good at French is kind of an oxymoron. L’étranger I’m sorry. I don’t understand that either. Is that what you all call Singlish? Ken Oh no no, that is definitely English. Basically it means… I mean, I’m trying to say that you being a PRC doesn’t fit my understanding of someone who is really fucking good at French, you get what I’m saying right? L’étranger Ah… Let’s just say, French is my second language. I’ve learnt it since young. Ken Huh? Your second language?! You mean, not even English… L’étranger L’anglais is my third language. I only learnt it five years ago? When I knew that I’m coming Singapore to study. Ken (wide-eyed with interest) WOW! (pause) Tsk, then how come you here? Want to bell-curve us arr? L’étranger For my CAP 5. Ken (irritated) Walao! L’étranger (laughs) Well… I left my French certificate at home. They can’t prove that I’ve taken French before anyway. Ken Placement test? L’étranger I assure you, I’m not the only one who deliberately failed it. Ken (sulking) Not fair man… Tsk.
L’étranger Well… If you don’t want to be at the lower end of the bell curve, you can partner with me during tutorial lessons. I can try to help you improve your French. Ken Oh… (contemplating) That’s… quite nice of you. (smiles)
L’étranger Just because I’m at the better end of the bell-curve doesn’t mean that I’m a selfish or bad person. Spotlight down. Lights up. KEN is back with SHAO XIANG and AMELIA. Madame Truffaut Class, please remember to do page 56, 57, skip page 58 and 59 and do section 3 of page 60. Ok. Ne pas oublier les pages (39)! A bientôt (40)! While everyone else is packing and leaving the classroom, Shao Xiang I took great care of her, Ken. Ask her if she enjoyed us rolling our tongues in the French fashion. Amelia (rolls eyes) Whatever. How was your imba partner? Ken Damn imba! Do you know French is like his second language? Cannot tell right? Shao Xiang Nabei! Means he comes here to bell-curve us one right? Fuck la! Amelia Wa why so weird? Shao Xiang
(cuts in) Oh wait, is he a foreigner then?
Amelia French as second language, can’t be a Singaporean right? Shao Xiang (exclaims) FUCK, HE’S AN ABC ARR?! (41) (39) Don’t forget the pages (40) See you soon (41) American Born Chinese
Amelia Eh, don’t so loud please! Ken No, he’s from China. Shao Xiang (exclaims) MOTHER FUCK! HE’S A TIONG ARR!?
Ken SHHH… Shao Xiang (loudly) Know then know la, this is Singapore, what can they do to me? Ken Well, they probably won’t understand what Tiong means la but still…
Shao Xiang (agitated) Chee bye, these tiongs come to bell-curve us in engineering never mind, but even French also can find this kind? Fuck la! I thought I’m in Arts quite safe, wa lao! I think this module definitely must S/U already la! Amelia You are so mother exaggerating. Softer a bit can? Shao Xiang (snaps) No one already la. Looks like my Cook-A-Curry campaign is a right move. Ken Oh! Ya, wa, I haven’t congratulate you arr! Your event took the nation by storm! I shall click “I’m attending” and attend in spirit. Shao Xiang
Wa steady. Amelia leh?
Amelia Nah, I’m not interested. I didn’t even know about the whole CMC and curry issue until I clicked your event page. Shao Xiang Eh wa lao, support a bit leh. We need all the efforts to speak out against this kind of government-backed foreign invasion! Amelia (looking at SHAO XIANG incredulously and shakes her head) Seriously…
Shao Xiang
Aliens everywhere! Is that a small issue to you?
Amelia Did you forget that you are the descendants of these aliens? Your Ah Ma and your Ah Gong migrated from China also you know? Ken Ya ya ya… All our grandparents last time were also tiongs before you know? Shao Xiang But that is different. We are now hundred per cent Singaporeans! Our grandparents, they have lived here for how long already? Their family also here you know, they can be considered Singaporeans already! Ken So if these tiongs stay long enough they will be Singaporeans la? Shao Xiang Tiongs are tiongs, they won’t bother to assimilate one. At the rate we are going, they might take over the country and turn us into their quasi-colony one day, who knows! Amelia Tsk tsk tsk… So essentialising. Ken But that guy quite nice you know? He offered to be my tutorial partner so that I can improve my French. Shao Xiang Oh… So you mean I can continue to (lick lips) French with Amelia? Amelia (shakes head) Shao Xiang you are damn disgusting you know? Ken NO! I’m going to French with her next week! Pause as AMELIA and SHAO XIANG freeze. SHAO XIANG looks slyly at AMELIA. Ken I mean, I am going to partner her… Amelia (laughs to ease the awkwardness) Ken, I think you go partner with him in future la. After maybe like three weeks, we partner again ok? Ken Oh… Ok lor.
Shao Xiang Anyway, him being nice to you is surface only! A tiong will always be a tiong! Selfish, lazy, smelly and mugger fuckers. Amelia Lazy AND mugger fuckers? Shao Xiang I mean… (firmly) They are selfish people who are lazy to shower, that’s why always smelly and are mugger fuckers. Ken Aiyo Shao Xiang, you damn bad. Shao Xiang Bad then bad la. Look at the recent Curry fiasco, the fact is they are here staying with us as neighbours and they are telling us what to do and what not to do. When they take over every aspects of your life then you regret, then it will be too late already. That’s why we must act now! AMELIA rolls her eyes and shakes her head while KEN nods contemplatively. Lights down.
5. Video From Youtube Spotlight on KEN at downstage left sitting comfortably on a chair with a laptop opened facing him. Facebook jingle. KEN looks at laptop. Friend (voiceover) Hey man, how’s life as a year 2? Ken (voiceover while he types) Hey! Good I think. Just started so I don’t really know? How’s your year 2 life at NMU? Pause. Friend (voiceover) Ok la. Eh, check out this video I posted on my wall. High level man.
Ken (voiceover while he types and smiles) Must be porn right? Fasting month still watch porn, haram siol! (42) Pause. Friend (voiceover) LOL, FUCK YOU, KEN! Everything porn to you! Watch la. Ken (snaps his fingers) Play. Spotlight at tableau. On his right is a tableau of an indignant woman blocked by a middle aged lady who is trying to mediate between her and an old woman with a packet of jasmine flowers. (Note: This scene has to be done at a speed and audibility level that we don’t exactly know what they are quarrelling about.) Woman … 人的话你会这么讲吗? (43) Old Woman 你以为你年轻我就怕? 我才不怕你 ! (44)
Mediator 小姐… 小姐… (45) Woman (pointing) 你不讲理啊你, 绝对不讲理! (46) Old Woman 你一个年轻人欺负我这个老太太! 我才不怕你 ! (47) Woman 你怎么这么不讲理啊你! (48) Mediator OK, 小姐回去. OK, OK, 回去. (49) Woman 你不讲理啊你.你这不讲理 ! (walks off) (50) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49) (50)
a way of exclaiming a sentence used by the Malays … would you say this to me? You think that you are young so I’m scared? I’m not afraid of you! Miss… Miss… You are unreasonable, absolutely unreasonable! You one young person bully an old lady like me! I am not afraid of you! Why are you so unreasonable? Ok Miss walk away. Ok, ok, walk away. You are unreasonable. So reasonable!
Old Woman 你不讲理!我有花也不卖你! (51)... (continues scolding) A middle aged woman comes up from behind the old lady, Middle-aged Woman 你是个没有礼貌的人啊你! (52) Woman walks back in a huff. Woman (indignant) 我骂她什么?! (53) Middle-aged Woman ...哪里有人这样的! (54)… (continues to rave) Mediator now tries to protect the middle-aged woman. Woman Huh, 我骂她什么话, 我问你, (Silence from the middle-aged woman) 你不要不讲理, 我骂她什么了?! (55) Huh… Mediator (cuts in) 小姐 (56)... Woman 你! (57)
(cuts in) 我从开始到现在都没有骂她一句脏话我骂她什么了?! 我问
Mediator (cuts in) 小姐让我讲几句 (58)… (continues to explain…) Woman (talking to OLD WOMAN) 我没有说过一句脏话你知道吗?! (59) Old Woman (pointing to her packet of jasmine flowers) 我说我这个只卖 叶…我讲就只… (60) Woman (cuts in) 对啊,我说我 (gesturing behind her) 看一下, 我回来拿你的 你就说不卖了! (61) (51) (52) (53) (54) (55) (56) (57) (58) (59) (60) (61)
You are unreasonable. Even if I’ve flowers I would also not sell to you! You are such a disrespectful person. You! What did I scold her? Where got people like that one? Huh, what did I scold her I ask you? You don’t be unreasonable, what did I scold her? Miss… Right from the beginning till now, I’ve never scolded any vulgarities, did I scold her?! I ask you! Miss, let me say a few words… I didn’t scold any vulgarities you know? I say this one I only sell the leaves… I say I only sell the… Ya, I said I’ll check the rest out, when I come back you said it’s not for sale anymore!
Old Woman …拿回了就 (62)… (continues) Woman (looks at audience while MEDIATOR tries to block her) 你拍什么 拍?! (walks towards the audience while MEDIATOR tries to block her) 你 拍什么拍?! (63) Tableau freezes. Spotlight down. KEN grimaces and laughs. He types. Ken (voiceover as he types) Why ask me to watch? You don’t understand is it? Got subtitles what. Pause. Friend (voiceover) Go look at the comments. Pause as KEN does a few clicks. Random person 1 China pig. Random person 2
Likes this. Fuck PRC (Please Return to China) Likes this. Walau!
Random person 3 Likes this. I resent China people because they themselves choose to come here but refuse to respect and follow our customs. And they criticize everything about Singapore. One Chinese teacher says she looks down on Singapore noodles so she has to make noodles herself at home. One wrote an article published in a China paper mocking our 'cheapskate' red packet because her boss gave her $20 red packet for Chinese New Year. Not happy, Roll back to CheeNah land. 中国人，有志气， 有尊严，就滚回去! (64) Random person 4 Likes this. So, is she a foreign talent? What we need is those real talent not this kinda talent( picking of old folks) fuck those China!!!!! Random person 5
Likes this. 中國共產婊子. (65)
(62)…Take back already… (63) Take what video? Take what video? (64) Chinaman, got backbone, got dignity, then scram! (65) China Communist Bitch
Random person 6
Likes this. FUCK China prostitute!!!
Random person 7 Oh c'mon even the author has expressed that he or she doesn't know the cause of the argument. Since we don't know the full story, we don't have the right to judge. Clearly, this video was put up to discredit the woman unfairly. Have you even looked at the tags? How are the tags "bitch, bitchy, sluts, slut, hooker, pro, sex, sexy, Geylang, deflower, night clubs, club, night, bed, hotel, and selling body" even relevant at all? Random person 8 Likes this. The intolerant comments speak louder than the pissed off PRC in this clip, interesting!
Ken (types as voiceover) Wa, the comments are damn harsh. I think the last comment quite funny hahaha. Pause. Friend (voiceover) Ya, that one is the most funny. Videos on China people forever got this type of comments. You got watch the crazy woman in MRT one? That one the comments also not that bad. Ken (types as voiceover) Which one? Pause. Friend (voiceover) The PREGNANT ARR, PREGNANT ARR video. You know the reserved seat one?
Ken (types in realization as voiceover) OH! That one! Haha, that one also quite funny, but that one is like crazy funny. This one is comments funny. (pauses as he continues) Eh you got join the cook a curry event thing? My friend is the host you know? Pause. Friend (voiceover) Oh that one. Of course la. So epic of course must join! Wa your friend so zai arr? Your uni friend is it?
Ken (types as voiceover) Ya. My good buddy since year one. He’s damn anti-tiong one, that bugger. Pause. Friend (voiceover) I think we are all anti-tiong to some extent. Too many of them already la. Ken (types as voiceover) Seems like the common sentiments. Sometimes I really don’t understand why the government like that sia. You in NMU Computer Engineering right, sure a lot of ah tiong one right? Pause. Friend (voiceover) Ya, Computer Engineering. But Ah tiong not so much. It’s the Indian nationals that’s a lot. Damn disgusting you know these foreigners. They already learnt what there is to learn in their country for the basic modules already, they just come here to bell curve us. Pray to bell-curve god also no use. I understand that the country needs it la but this is too bullshit already la.
Ken (types as voiceover) The Indians and Chinese all over again. Lol, don’t you find it ironic that people like us are complaining about foreigners when we ourselves are foreigners last time? Slightly long pause. Friend because identity Chinese
(voiceover) Sometimes. Maybe a bit, but I won’t kp (66) you we are Singaporeans and you are just trying to protect our and culture. Plus, you are, arguably speaking, my best friend in Primary School.
Ken (types as voiceover) WALAO, arguably speaking? Like that lah! Racist me somemore, next time got girl problem don’t come look for your “best Chinese friend” arr! Pause. (66) short form for kao pei which means to complain or grumble
Friend (voiceover) Joke la, joke. You never racist me meh, you also everytime racist me one. Ken (laughs then type as voiceover) Hahaha… In good faith la huh, in good faith. (pause) I wonder what does the older generation of Malays think. Your family got talk about this kind of thing one not? Sure have one right? Pause. Friend (voiceover) Got la. I remember got talk about it before. From what I understand during conversations, they are quite ok with Chinese or Indians Singaporeans la because we understand one another and because we have lived together for so long already. It’s these foreigners who refuse to assimilate that’s the problem. (pause) Eh change topic la, I sian already. Talk about that girl you said you interested last time leh, what’s her name again arr? Ken (types as voiceover) Her name is Amelia. I’m going out on a date with her tomorrow. Aiyo, I nervous sia… Lights down.
6. Dinner at a restaurant Lights up. At a restaurant. KEN is waiting at his table for AMELIA with a tad of anxiety. He is constantly looking at his watch and his phone for news of AMELIA. He is afraid that AMELIA may not turn up. Waitress A enters. Spotlight at KEN’s table. Waitress A
(in Filipino accent) Sir… would you like to order first?
Ken (hesitatingly) Er… yes, can I have more water please?
Waitress A No food for you sir?
Ken Not yet. I will order food when my gi… erm… friend comes. Waitress A Ok sir.
AMELIA enters. Amelia Hi. Sorry I’m late. Ken (very pleased) It’s ok. AMELIA sits down. KEN stands up anxiously while AMELIA stares at him. Ken I need to use the toilet. KEN exits in a huff while AMELIA laughs. WAITRESS A walks to her and serves KEN’s cup of water. Waitress A May I help you m’am?
Amelia Can I have a glass of cold water please? WAITRESS A exits. KEN comes in smiling at AMELIA. Ken (sitting down) Traffic jam? Amelia Ya, MRT too crowded.
Ken Oh… I see. WAITRESS A comes in with a glass of water for AMELIA. Waitress A
More water for you sir?
Ken No no, it’s fine now.
WAITRESS A gives them the menu and exits. KEN and AMELIA will look at their menus in the meantime. WAITRESS B comes in.
Waitress B m’am?
(taking out her notepad) May I take your order sir and
Silence. Ken (looking at menu) Give us a moment arr…
Amelia (looking at KEN) What are you ordering? Ken (looking at menu) Don’t know yet. Silence as WAITRESS B rolls her eyes and taps her pen on her notepad very quickly. Beat. Waitress B Do you want any recommendation? (mechanically) Got student meals. One main course, one appetizer, one dessert. Forty dollars. Ken Can show me the page? WAITRESS B flips to the page. Ken (looking at menu) Do you think the steak looks good? Amelia (looking at menu) I can’t really decide. Silence as WAITRESS B taps her pen on her notepad quickly. Waitress B
Can I come back later when you all finished deciding?
Silence. Amelia (still looking at menu, then beat) SURE! WAITRESS B exits. Amelia (still looking at menu) So rude.
Ken (looks from the menu) Hah, you also realised? Amelia (looks from the menu) Of course I do. So impolite.
Ken Nowadays very hard to find polite local waitress. Have you decided? Amelia Yup. KEN signals for WAITRESS A. She comes over. Waitress A (Filipino accent) May I take your order sir? Ken Yes. Amelia? Amelia Your colleague told us there’s like student meals right? Waitress A Yes M’am. (takes a menu and flips a page. Gesticulating) Choose one appetizer from here, (pointing) one main course from here, (pointing) and for dessert you can either choose this (points) or this (points). Amelia Ok, so can I get a Black Pepper Ribeye Steak for the main course, one set of Mussels and Scallops Delight for my appetizer and for my dessert can I have a Tiramisu Devilicious? Serve it later. Waitress A
(writing down) Ok. What about you sir?
Ken Oh, hmm. (shows menu) For my appetizer can I have this? (points then points again) This for main course, (points) and this for dessert. Also serve later. Waitress A (writing down, then) May I repeat your order? One Black pepper Ribeye Steak, one set of Mussels and Scallops Delight and Tiramisu Devillicious serve later for m’am. One Seafood Platter, one set of Mediterranean Ocean Titbits and one set of Irish Cream Cake for dessert for sir. Anything else? Ken Nope, that will be all.
Waitress (smiles) Ok. (proceeds to collect back the menus and exits) Long silence as they look at each other with AMELIA slightly smiling. KEN takes a deep breath then sighs. Ken I’m sorry for this awkwardness. I er… am too nervous. (laughs self-deprecatingly then looks at AMELIA) You know I only reached here fifteen minutes before you came but I drank like… five cups of water. (pause) Please don’t judge me. Amelia (laughs) It’s ok. Quite cute… actually. (smiles) Ken Seriously? So… (pause) You like cute guys? Amelia Cute’s good. Better if he’s also handsome. (slight long pause) What about you? Ken I like girls who are adorable but not too sweetly cute. (slight laughter) Too much I think I might puke. Amelia Need to be pretty? Ken (pause) Well… Would be good. Perfect in fact if she’s… Amelia (snorts) Typical! Ken (indignantly) Says the one who likes handsome guys! Amelia Ah… But I never say perfect! Ken Ah… But I mediate it by using the conjunction “if”! Amelia (laughs) What is this? Introduction to English Language? They look at each other challengingly for a moment. WAITRESS A enters with their food.
Waitress A
Here you go. Sir, M’am. (serves them and exits)
AMELIA and KEN start eating. Amelia That waitress is quite friendly right? Ken Ya she is. Better than just now that local one. So impatient that one. Amelia Precisely. Ken Too sheltered and spoiled already la Singaporeans, cannot work in the service line. Amelia Maybe. Ken Last time when we were younger, it’s so easy to find good local waiter or waitresses. Amelia Tsk tsk tsk. You are beginning to sound like Shao Xiang. Ken No la, I’m just saying.
Amelia Why leh? Ken I don’t know? The people at the McDonald counters are usually foreigners nowadays. Amelia Not surprising what. The pay is terrible. Ken You get what I mean? The people who are serving us are no longer Singaporeans. Amelia (nods) Ya, I get what you are saying. Ken Ya. (animatedly) Ok, imagine this, I’m an angmoh in Singapore as a tourist, and the person serving me is a Filipino waitress… Spotlight on ANGMOH TOURIST sitting at a table. WAITRESS A moves over to serve him. Their interaction should happen concurrently with KEN’s monologue.
Ken So don’t you think I’ll feel weird? I’ll certainly be like, this is Singapore arr? Then I will check the menu to see if this is a Filipino restaurant.. ANGMOH TOURIST is looking through the menu as though nothing is amiss. Ken Then after seeing that this is not a Filipino restaurant, I may wonder if I’m in the wrong country right? So then I may take out my passport… ANGMOH TOURIST fumbles in his pocket and fishes out… his handphone. He SMSes. Ken And check if I’m in the correct country because after seeing the Filipino person that serves me, I may think that I am in some Filipino city right? Then when I check and see that it’s not, I’ll be like, where am I? Am I lost, oh my god oh my god, you know? ANGMOH TOURIST puts back his phone into his pocket. He orders his food nonchalantly. Ken (exclaiming as though he is enlightened suddenly) So you see, if it’s already so disorienting for them, you can imagine how it is for many locals. Don’t you think so? WAITRESS A smiles and exits. Amelia (contemplates) Erm… No. Spotlight on ANGMOH TOURIST down. Amelia You imagine too much la. KEN shrugs and continues to eat. Ken Oh, you know the Shao Xiang thing is tomorrow right? Did you see the number of people clicking “I’m attending”? So many of them!
Amelia Looks like he’s our future opposition leader arr! Ken Initially, I don’t quite know whether this Cook-A-Curry thing is right. But after seeing so many people clicking I’m attending, I’m really having serious doubts now. Amelia What makes it popular does not necessarily make it right you know? Ken (munches on and thinks) It is just bizarrely heart-warming to see Singaporeans coming together over this incident you know, in trying to defend something that everyone of us identifies with. So maybe it’s not a bad thing after all? Amelia Ah… Like what Prof Myers said, Us versus the ‘others’. Ken Right. (lights up) And it is in this ‘others’ that we assert ourselves as Singaporeans. It is in them that we feel like true blue Singaporeans with something to defend. And I feel like we should defend this curry which is ours, this curry which we identify to be Singaporean. (pause) You know? Pause. Amelia (clearly impressed) I didn’t know you can be so passionate. Ken (suddenly self-conscious) Oh… Erm. Sorry… (then mutters) I can be even more passionate you know? Amelia (pretends not to hear) Hmm… what did you say? Ken No no nothing. I was just, you know, mumbling to myself. A pause as AMELIA stares at him. She laughs heartily as KEN looks on at her.
Ken What? Amelia Just ignore me. (pause) I can’t wait for the movie.
AMELIA gestures to WAITRESS A for the bill. WAITRESS A comes in with the bill. Ken Eh wait… KEN fumbles for his wallet. AMELIA gives her credit card. WAITRESS A exits. Amelia I’ll pay first ok, I got credit card discount. You return me all the money later. Ken (stops fumbling and miserably) Orh. WAITRESS A comes back. AMELIA signs. KEN looks at her signing the receipt. Ken Wa… so rare arr your signature has a Chinese character. WAITRESS A gives her back her card and exits. Amelia Yup, that’s 芉 (67) my surname. My Dad makes it a point that I have my Chinese surname in my signature. Made me practice signing when I was in Primary Six. Wants me to always remember my Chinese roots. Ken What a rare surname. So you are Amelia what arr? Amelia Gan lor. Direct translation. KEN looks puzzled. Amelia (matter-of-factly) I’m born in China, but my family migrated since I was three. That’s why cannot tell. Ken (exclaiming) Oh… No wonder! Amelia Ya ya ya, I get that all the time. Ken No, I mean no wonder you always get CAP 5! (jokingly) You have tiong blood!
Amelia (glares) Very funny. Just so you know, I don’t consider myself a tiong. I don’t even speak mandarin with my parents anymore. KEN nods. Amelia Anyway, (gestures out her hand) money for the meal. Ken (fishes out his wallet) How much arr? AMELIA hands KEN the receipt. KEN looks at it and passes AMELIA the money. Amelia Wrong amount. I said “return me the ALL money later right?” You are about 42 dollars short. Ken (looks at her) Huh?! AMELIA smiles indignantly. Ken (understanding) OH!!!! (proceeds to give her the rest of the money) (stands up and holds AMELIA’s hand) Shall we go for the movie now? AMELIA smiles and looks at the held hand, then looks back at KEN. They exit. Lights down.
7. Cook-A-Curry Sunday Spotlight at centre stage to reveal a person who is listening to an iPod in front of a table with a pot and “ingredients”. (67) The Chinese surname of a Chinese that Gan is phonetically translated from
Shao Xiang (from offstage) (clears throat) (very singlish) Welcome everyone, to Cook-A-Curry with Shao Xiang One-Time-Only Show! To all the listeners who are listening to this live podcast this instant, wherever you are, good morning! It’s a beautiful Sunday morning right? So lovely! This is the first time I’m doing a podcast so bear with me arr! Ok, ok, very simple. This podcast is basically made to instruct all of you on how to cook a pot of curry. If you don’t know by now, we are cooking a pot of curry for all our foreign friends who refuse to see curry as part of our identity.
To cook a curry is very simple: You don’t need to be an Indian, you just need to be a whole-hearted Singaporean. You will need these ingredients: Some potatoes, half a cup of oil, two onions peeled and sliced, two lemon grass cut into two-inch lengths, two cups of water, half a cup of coconut milk, four teaspoons of salt, half a teaspoon of sugar, some curry leaves, five cloves of garlic, ten cloves of shallot and another three stalks of lemon grass. Pause as the person checks that he has all his ‘ingredients’. He nods to himself and continues to listen intently. And of course, the curry powder! 60 grams of it. Ok, but if you wanna be adventurous and make your own curry powder, then I suggest you prepare the following, some coriander, turmeric, (at this point, the person would look really confused and worried) cumin, fenugreek (what the fuck is that I don’t know), red pepper, ginger, garlic, asafoetida (seriously what the fuck are all these), fennel seed… You know what, stick to the curry powder. You probably can’t shop for all these ingredients anyway, nobody will understand what talking you. So ya, curry powder, 60 grams! Mix with water. As I’ve said, to cook curry is very very simple. First thing you die die have to do is to blend the five cloves of garlic, ten cloves of shallot and three stalks of lemongrass. Very easy one, just put them into
the machine and (makes blending noise) and then you’ll get a paste and mixture of these ingredients. As he says this, the person on stage would do the same and ‘blends’ them. So now we will start to fry some of our ingredients. Fry them. Very simple only. Cut the potatoes into pieces and lightly fry them until golden brown. When that is done, set it aside. Spotlight on stage right and left to reveal two people. All of the people on stage would be frying their ‘potatoes’.
OK, now when you are done, add in the blended mixture and stirfry it with low heat until fragrant. So you fry fry fry, fry until you can smell the really salivating smell of the mixture. Remember to fry in low heat arr, don’t later chao tar! (68) Ok, now that you are done, you should add in the peeled and sliced onions, rest of the lemon grasses and the sixty grams of curry powder diluted in water into the mixture and start stirring. Lights up to reveal six more people who is cooking curry at upstage and downstage. Give quick stirs arr. Then you add in the two cups of water and the kantangs (69) and stir them further. OK, now is the very very important part so all must listen very very closely. All of the people on stage listen very closely to their iPods. Now, I know some of you are afraid of putting on weight, so secretly replaced your coconut milk with either yogurt, fresh milk or worse: Marigold HL Milk. I mean, if you put in yogurt or fresh milk I can understand, but HL Milk? SERIOUSLY? That’s not even milk la, it’s like commercially made MILK FLAVOURED DRINK. Disgusting much. (68) overcooked to the extent of getting it burnt (69) potatoes
Someone on stage guiltily fishes out a tub of yogurt. Someone else then fishes out a carton of fresh milk. The rest of the people on stage would look at them and wag their fingers. Someone else slowly fishes out a carton of Marigold HL Milk which everyone else would jeer. My dear fellow citizens, this is not the way! We as authentic Singaporeans must therefore strive to represent the habits of authentic Singaporeans cooking authentic Singaporean cuisines. Therefore, please pause the podcast and go and get yourself some real coconut milk. Those with the wrong kind of milk would exit stage and come back in with real coconut milk. With the packet of coconut milk, pour it into the pot, add in the half a teaspoon of sugar, four teaspoons of salt and then stir slowly. If you like meat, you may consider putting some meat at this juncture. After you have put them in, you add in the curry leaves and stir… At this point, everyone on stage would be stirring their pot of curry uniformly. And stir… Someone enters the stage, listening to his iPod with a pot in hand, stirring. And stir, patiently and steadily, stir… Two other people enter the stage listening to their iPod with a pot in hand, also stirring. At this stage, while stirring, your whole kitchen would be engulfed by the smell of curry, let it engulf the whole house… Three other people enter the stage listening to their iPod with a pot in hand, also stirring.
It should now permeate to the living room and out of the window; keep stirring… More people start to enter the stage stirring their pot of curry uniformly. It will now attack and invade the noses of your curry-hating neighbours. Yes, I can see their face flushing red with anger now, like the curry which we are cooking. Now they will be opening their gates in a huff and on their ways coming towards you in your apartments… More people enter the stage stirring their pot of curry uniformly. One of them is L’ETRANGER.
But before they reach you, this is what you will do: you will stop stirring and cover your pot, let it simmer in the heat. Everyone on stage abruptly stop stirring and ‘put a lid’ on their pot. These neighbours of yours may be retreating, thinking that the threat is gone, or that they have possibly just imagined the curry to be there. Put your hands on the lid and feel the pot as it slowly comes to a boil. Everyone will put their hand on the lid uniformly. Yes, yes, can feel the pot boiling? Can you feel the soft vibrating of the lid that continues to pass on its vibration to the cells of your fingers? You can imagine the amount of fragrance and flavour that have gestated within the pot, trapped and waiting to break out into the open, and free itself with its own expression, but not yet, not yet, a bit more. In the meantime, you will open the gate wide open, prepare two sets of utensils and crockery. If you can dine in the living room, dine there. Now, turn off the fire and lift the lid. Everyone on stage lift the lid together.
Let the smell of the curry explode onto your face. Can you smell it?! OOH LA LA! THE SMELL OF SINGAPORE CULINARY ORGASM! Everyone on stage take a whiff and looks at the audience in delight. Your neighbour should be chionging over from his or her apartment all ready to knock at your door like he has never knocked before. But he will be disarmed by your opened door, your unlocked gate. He will be disarmed by the extra set of utensils and crockery that is on the living room table. He will stand at the gate of your house, not knowing what to do. Or he will be shouting expletives at you that you don’t understand, as you take a spoonful of curry, Everyone takes a spoonful of curry,
and taste it, and shout, altogether with me, “THIS IS DAMN MOTHER AWESOME!” Everyone tastes it and shouts “THIS IS DAMN MOTHER AWESOME!” Then you will turn to these neighbours of yours, and offer to them a spoonful of Singapore and say to them: (everyone says together except L’ETRANGER who will look around everyone else) “Shut up and be a fucking Singaporean!” Lights down. Random person 1
Likes this!
Random person 2
Likes this!
Random person 3
Likes this!
Random person 4
Likes this!
8. Curry VS Sze Chuan Spicy Soup Lights up to reveal L’étranger with a friend at stage left. They will talk and move to exit stage right as a flock. The following conversation below happens while they are walking. L’étranger’s friend 哇, 你昨天煮的那个咖哩鸡实在太好吃了! (70) L’étranger 你过奖了. (71) (laughs) L’étranger’s friend (72)
虽然那个香味好像是重了点, 但那个味道实在是…
L’étranger 实在是什么? (73) L’étranger’s friend 我也说不上来.它就和我所尝过的任何食物都不一样. Eh, 你是怎么学会怎么煮新加坡咖哩的? (74) L’étranger 哦, 我是听podcast学的,是一个蛮怪的podcast.开始好像在教 听众怎么煮咖哩, 到了后面好像在搞革命似的. 还骂起脏话来了. (laughs) 新 加坡人真奇怪啊! (75) L’étranger’s friend (laughs) Eh, 对了. 你来说说, 这新加坡咖哩和咱们 四川麻辣汤比起来, 哪个比较好? (76) L’étranger 哪个比较好? 这… (77)
(70) Wa, the curry chicken you cook yesterday is very delicious! (71) You flatter me. (72) Although the smell may be a tad strong, but the taste is… (73) Is what? (74) I also cannot put a finger to it. Its taste is just very different from whatever that I’ve tasted before. Eh, how did you learn how to cook the Singapore curry? (75) Oh, I learnt by listening to a podcast, a rather strange podcast. It started out teaching us how to cook curry, but towards the end it seems to be whipping up a revolution. It also has vulgar expletives. Hahaha, Singaporeans are really weird. (76) Oh ya, What do you think of the Singapore curry and our Szechuan hot soup, which one do you think is better? (77) Which one is better? Well…
L’étranger’s friend 我总觉得还是咱们的麻辣汤比较好, 比较辣. 而且也 比新加坡咖哩清淡许多. (78) L’étranger 你说的也没错, 它的味道和四川麻辣汤比起来的确浓厚了许多. 但这也算是它的特色, 也许尝久了就不会觉得太浓还是什么的.依我看,它们各 有千秋. (79) L’étranger’s friend (shrugs) 也许吧. (80) Lights down.
9. What the Minister Says… This scene happens as a voiceover. Minister (languidly with a lot of pauses in between) As discussed at length, the CMC did not disallow the Indian family from cooking curry when the PRC family is at home. The government is very happy to see so many people coming forward to protect our identity, but at the same time, let’s not turn this into a xenophobic attack on foreigners. Foreign talents are good for the economy and what is good for the economy will certainly be good for all Singaporeans. I personally urge all Singaporeans to remain open minded and accommodative towards our foreign friends. Let me remind you, that the government has reviewed the current criteria for foreigners to work and stay in Singapore, and we have deemed it to be satisfactory. If we do not continue to welcome these foreign talents, to use a phrase from our Great Leader, Singaporeans “will repent” in years to come. (78) I just feel that it’s still our Szechuan hot soup that’s better and spicier. Also, it is far lighter in taste. (79) You are right, its taste as compared to Szechuan hot soup is definitely much heavier. But this should be considered its characteristics, maybe after tasting it more frequently, it wouldn’t feel as heavy or whatever. I think they each have their own plus points. (80) Well… Maybe.
10. Back to the café Lights up. Scene at a cafe. Same configuration as in Scene 1. There is a barista counter and three big round tables on stage. KEN and AMELIA occupy a table. They are studying while listening to music from their laptops. L’ETRANGER is also studying while listening to his own music from his laptop. He is occupying a small portion of a table. Spotlight on KEN and AMELIA. This part of the conversation happens on facebook. Amelia types. Amelia (voice-over) (facebook jingle) What are you doing? KEN types back. Ken (voice-over and looks up from his laptop and smile at AMELIA) Doing work. AMELIA types.
Amelia (voice-over) I’m so sian (81) of studying. KEN types still smiling. Ken (voice-over) Study for ten more minutes. Then we take a break together ok? AMELIA gets restless. She looks around and spots L’ETRANGER. She types Amelia too.
(voice-over as facebook jingles) The French expert is here
KEN looks at AMELIA queerly. L’ETRANGER is. KEN types.
AMELIA
Ken (voiceover) Wa so lonely. One person only.
gestures
to
where
AMELIA types. Amelia (voiceover) Wanna go say hi? KEN types.
Ken (voiceover) When our eyes have to meet, I’ll say hi to him. AMELIA types. Amelia (voiceover) Not friendly arr you. KEN types.
Ken (voiceover) Damn weird what. Not like I know him that well. If we have gone through a few weeks of tutorial together then maybe I’ll go. Spotlight on them down. Spotlight on L’ETRANGER up. Two people enter the café. Person 1 Fuck… This café forever full one leh. Start of sem only right? Simisai… (82) Person 2 I pity Singapore. Grooming generations after generations of muggers. Wanna mug cannot go library meh, must come to the café in School? Tsk… Person 1 (spots L’ETRANGER’s table) Eh, that guy over there, let’s sit with him. Person 2 Eh, we got five other people leh, the table so small how to accommodate all of us? Person 1 Ya, that’s why sit down first, make a bit of noise, then he buay tahan he will leave. (81) tired or bored (82) what the shit
Person 2 Aiyo, you bastard sia. Person 1 If he can bear with us, then he just continues to sit there while we squeeze a bit la. PERSON 1 and 2 proceeds over to take the seat with L’ETRANGER. Person 1
Anyone sitting here?
L’ETRANGER shakes his head as PERSON 1 and 2 sits down. They open their laptops. Spotlight on L’ETRANGER down. Spotlight on KEN and AMELIA up. KEN’s handphone buzzes on the table, he flips it out and looks at it. He types. Facebook jingle. Ken (as AMELIA looks at her laptop, voiceover) Shao Xiang coming over to look for us. AMELIA types. Amelia (voiceover) Wow, haven’t heard from him since the Curry thing, finally decides to drop by and grace us with his presence, I see. KEN types. Ken (voiceover) He will probably talk to us about it later. They return to their work. Spotlight on them down. Spotlight on L’ETRANGER’s table up. Two people enter stage. Person 2
Finally, those idiots are here.
Person 3
Sorry guys…
Person 4 (pointing to PERSON 3) It’s all her fault. Person 3 (looks at PERSON 4 irritatingly) Tsk… You very gentlemanly hor?
Person 1 Spare me the love birds banter please. Come we need to start researching now now now now now… Person 4 somemore.
Table so small… How to sit? Still got someone here
Person 2 We don’t need a table for your computers. Just open your LAPtops and put onto your LAPs la. Like that also don’t know meh? PERSON 3 and 4 open their laptop and sit down. Person 1 one…
Ok just now we found this very steady deal. Damn cheap
Spotlight on them down. Spotlight on AMELIA and KEN’s table up. SHAO XIANG comes in with a throng of people. AMELIA on hearing and seeing them nudge at KEN and they both stare at SHAO XIANG. Shao Xiang (to these people) OK people, honestly, we are already done for the day since like… just now, so you all actually can go home, go study or go hang out or something. OK so I’ll see you all again the next time. Please join my Facebook group and like my page. Search for my name on Facebook, Li Shao Xiang under “public figure” and like my page. Also follow me on twitter: my name is @lishaoxiang Ok arr, thanks, see you all again. The throng of people left. SHAO XIANG looks at them tiredly and turns back to see AMELIA and KEN looking at him amusedly. L’ETRANGER goes to the Barrista counter to get a refill. Amelia arr?
So… What’s this that you have been busy with? Fan club
Shao Xiang No, woman, not fan club. Fellow members of the (clears throat) F-A-A-Q Party also known as the FAAQ party… Ken (laughs loudly) The fuck party?!
Shao Xiang Fuck your stupid head la, it’s Foreigners Are A Question party ok? Amelia What a lousy name. Shao Xiang Lousy but to the point. We are running for the next General Election ok? Motto very simple: Assimilate before it’s too late. Not bad right? Ken Whoever put that idea in your head seriously? Amelia How did you even get the cash to form this party? Silence as SHAO XIANG looks around. He leans in and speaks to them softly Shao Xiang (softly) You know after my Cook-A-Curry event, other than becoming really famous, there is this top notch member from the… (looks around) OP who contacted me and asked me to run for the next General Election. He said, my agenda would surely be a hit in the next election and so he wants to back me up to challenge the P-U-P. So ya lor, I created this party. Not official yet la, it’ll be official in the next election. (proudly) According to him, I’m the kind of young man Singaporean needs, a force to be reckoned with. Ken (loudly) WA SERIOUS ARR! Shao Xiang SHHH… Don’t so loud. You never know if there’s any grassroots lackeys out there. (whispering) Plus… I think… after that event, I’m being watched. Amelia Watched? Shao Xiang
Ya, by the government. Or worse, the ISD.
Amelia You are damn ridiculous can? You also not like a big shot.
Ken Ok la, still big enough to spearhead a new political party. No wonder haven’t seen you in such a long time. Next time if you do become the prime minister of Singapore, (may all the gods bless us when that happens) you don’t forget about us arr. (looking behind SHAO XIANG) Eh, I thought you say got fangirls?
Shao Xiang (exclaiming) Ya! They are damn psycho you know? Keep following me around, wa lao. But all quite pretty la. Ken How pretty is pretty? Shao Xiang (thinking then looks at AMELIA then looks back at KEN) Prettier than Amelia?
AMELIA rolls her eyes while KEN laughs. Ken Prettier than her, where got possible. (looks at AMELIA) Right? AMELIA looks away slightly and looks back at KEN smiling. Shao Xiang WOAHHH! Wait a minute. Though I’ve seen it coming long ago… SINCE WHEN? Ken (puts a hand at AMELIA’s waist) Since the formation of your fuck party. SHAO XIANG’s phone rings. Shao Xiang (speaking to his phone) Hello?... (gentler) Oh hi… (pause) Now?... (pause) Oh, no problem… (pause) Anything for my party members!... (pause) Ok, I’ll see you there in a bit… (pause) Bye! (puts down his phone) Ken Who’s that? Shao Xiang One of the girls. (laughs) She wants to meet me to talk about some suggestions for the party.
Amelia Bravo!
Upgrade from future political figure to present political slut.
Shao Xiang
Whatever. Gotta go. See you guys soon.
Ken Alright then bye! SHAO XIANG exits. Spotlight down at SHAO XIANG and AMELIA’s table. Spotlight up at L’ETRANGER’s table. After getting a refill, he walks back to find his table cramped with three other people. He squeezes in to his seat. Person 5 Eh, I don’t wanna go Phuket leh. Wa lao not sian meh, everytime mid sem break go Southeast Asian country? Person 4
You come late don’t kaopei so much can? Just go along la.
Person 6 But seriously, we’ve been going to Southeast Asian countries since JC you know, shouldn’t we think about going somewhere else? Person 7 Ya lor, this is my first mid sem break leh, can go somewhere nice and memorable?
Person 1 (annoyed) You all think so easy to find good deals arr? Go find yourself la! Person 2 (surprised) OH MY GOD GUYS CHECK THIS OUT! (turns laptop to friends) Person 1
(containedly) Mmhmm… Not bad…
Person 2 (exclaim) WHAT NOT BAD, THIS IS DAMN GOOD LA! TAIPEI THREE DAYS TRIP AT TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS, QUICKLY GO BOOK ALREADY STILL WAIT FOR WHAT?! L’étranger (takes out his earphones) I’m sorry. You guys are a bit loud. Can you all speak softer a bit? I need to concentrate. Person 4
Oh sorry arr, my friend too excited already.
L’ETRANGER puts back his earphones. Person 6 friend)
Oh, I found another good place to go… (turns laptop to
Person 3 (shrilly) OH MY GODDDDDDDD! SHOPPING PARADISE!!!!! HONG KONG!! Person 5 nights!
(excitedly) Wa this one sure not? 300 per pax 4 days 3
Person 7
Wa!
Person 2
INCLUDING HOTEL STAY!!!!
Person 1
Eh please, don’t sia suay (84) hor so loud for what!
L’ETRANGER stands up silently and starts to pack his things. Person 1 (whispers to PERSON 2) Eh, he leaving. Get ready to invade his seat. L’ETRANGER leaves his seat and moves towards the exit. Spotlight at his previous table down, spotlight at AMELIA and KEN’s table up. L’ETRANGER spots the both of them but pretends he doesn’t see. AMELIA spots L’ETRANGER and waves to him. L’ETRANGER smiles politely and walks toward AMELIA. AMELIA nudges KEN. Amelia Hello. (effortly) Tu étudies ici aussi?? (85) L’etranger Oui. Mais il se fait trop bruyant. (86) Ken (uncertainly) Oh. Oui… (silence then decisively) Can we… er… stick to English? (84) Embarrass oneself (85) You are studying here also? (86) Yes, but it’s getting too noisy.
L’etranger I mean, it’s getting too noisy. Ken Orh I see I see. (laughs politely) Amelia Your name is James right? I’m Amelia. (extends her hand and shakes) Still remember him? This is Ken. Ken (lifts his hand in a slight wave) Salut! L’etranger Bonjour! Yes, I know. Our tutorial class isn’t very big, that’s why I can remember everyone’s names. Ken Oh I see… (silence) Really crowded arr, this café? L’etranger Ya, really crowded. Too bad for me. I’ll just have to return and study in my room. Amelia How come you never study with friends? You prefer to study alone is it? L’etranger My friend is not free to join me today. That’s why. Ken (looking over at L’ETRANGER’s previous table) Eh, those are not your friends meh? L’etranger No they are not my friends. They are sharing the table with me. They are the ones who are very noisy. I cannot stand it, that’s why I left. Amelia No wonder. I recall you sitting alone just now, suddenly there’s a new bunch over there sitting with you. Thought they are your friends. L’etranger No. They are not my friends. They are very rude. I sat there first, then before I know it, there were suddenly seven more people sitting around me. I’m fine with sharing the table with them, but they weren’t being considerate and started talking very loudly. I have no choice but to leave lor.
(silence as AMELIA and KEN looks at him in disbelief) Did I use the ‘lor’ wrongly? I’m sorry, I have been experimenting with how you Singaporeans use Singlish. (polite laughter) Ken (staring very intently) No no. It was correct. Just that your intonation sounds a bit weird that’s all. Amelia (also staring intently) Ya. (silence) L’etranger Well I guess, I better leave now. Need to study. (polite laughter) I’ll buy a cup of iced coffee first. Au revoir. (87) L’ETRANGER goes to the barista counter. AMELIA and KEN resume work. Amelia (nudges KEN) Hey. Wanna get him to join us? Ken For? Amelia Study with us lor. Studying alone is quite sad. KEN looks from AMELIA and looks at L’ETRANGER, then turns back. Ken (about to say something) Lights down. Spotlight on AMELIA, KEN, L’ETRANGER and SHAO XIANG who will enter the stage. Ken, Amelia, L’étranger and Shao Xiang On the Curry Question. Ken Tomorrow, I’ll be on the train again, on my way to somewhere, (87) Goodbye
looking straight ahead, with my ears filled to the brain: music from my iPhone. The scenery will slide past me in a whirl via the window screen, stopping at the next station. And him, with his trousers and slippers will board again. L’etranger I will board the train again tomorrow, sloppy in my grocery shopping clothes. My hair, messy from my recent wakefulness and my phone at my ear, while I utter imperfectly in a tongue you feel native, in an accent that betrays my descent. You will look at me and assert yourself in your tell-tale rejection of myself, as, in you, the child will differentiate while the mother will mediate. But not enough, certainly, to understand the French that comes after, the French from my mouth that beguiles you, the French from my mouth that annoys you. I will accept the triumphant bafflement from the corner of my eyes while I move into the carriage corner. Amelia Tomorrow, I will take the seat at the carriage corner and fall asleep, like always. The motion of the train shall lull me as my blood is lulled seconds after seconds, minutes after minutes and hours after hours, into gradual dilution, gradual transition; nationalization. I will look forward twenty years later, look backwards twenty years after and look at my roots in nonchalance. My Mum will call to question my wheareabout
and my accent will question its own whereabout so when the train eventually emerges from the tunnel and into daylight I shall no longer hear the echoes of my deep-rooted past coming near. Even when he comes in. Shao Xiang When I come into the train carriage tomorrow, my throng of devotees behind me, we shall still sing our song. Our disgruntled song of protest and unhappiness shall persist and pervade the entire train as always, rousing other passengers to join us. It shall not cease, even when the doors open at the next station, boarding anyone with an ez-link card, boarding anyone with an ID card, Even when it continues to open at the next next or the one after, we shall never stop singing. The driver, disoriented by our passion will have to stop eventually and call these strangers into judgement, these who are estranged but not sundered from their motherlands. Because this train is mine, this train is ours and we shall head towards the vast and uncertain infinity together as a train full of native passengers. Ken So what shall I do, as one who is native to the train and doesn’t enjoy singing? Sure, these people are caging me, their stench of sweat and hotdog mustards has and will continue to trap me like a bubble wrap, edge me off my seat at a cafÊ, bell curve me at French. Yet the driver will not stop driving the train, and the train singers will not stop singing. So what shall I do? Tomorrow, I’ll be on the train again, on my way to somewhere, looking straight ahead, with my ears filled to the brain: music from my iPhone.
And similarly, at the next station, him with his trousers and slippers, his hopes and fears, his pride and insecurity, will board again.
Goh Koon Hui First Prize
FOR REIGN COUNTRY This is a story about women, immigrants, and family. This was originally conceived as a full-length play. CHARACTERS CHELSEA Brookes, 49, female YING HAN, 25, female WANG CHEN ZHI, 23, soccer player for Singapore JASON, 40, associate professor, male SUSAN, 37, housewife ILLYATI, 24, maid, female Chinese Friend 1 [CF 1], male SETTING The set is divided into four sections, three of them living rooms, and one an open space (“Common Space”) with just a generic table and generic chairs (which could look like both a void deck setup and a university setup) where they’ll meet one another. Each time the spotlight focus comes on for one of the sections when the characters in the section speaks – the characters in the other three sections will continue with their actions, unless specifically stated. Scene One: WALLS [all italicized dialogue is spoken in Mandarin Chinese, with subtitles shown in a screen above the stage] A round reunion table. WANG, YING HAN, CF 1 and CF 2 are all seated around, with drinks on the table, a bit of food, laughing and joking and talking in Mandarin heartily.
WANG: So I told him, this is ridiculous! You can’t expect me to sit on that damn bench the whole season! CF 1: Why is he so bad to you? Your performance wasn’t that bad last year. WANG: It’s all politics, I tell you. The coach is some damn British, so he favors all the white people more. YING HAN: Don’t be silly. I read he is a fair man. WANG: The newspapers don’t know what they’re writing. It’s all biased, run by people who are paid under the table. YING HAN: Oh, please. CF 1: So, the important question. Are you going back next week? WANG: No, I have that match against Malaysia. Remember? CF 1: But it’s Chinese New Year. WANG: I don’t care. My parents will be coming next month if we make it to the finals! CF 1: I’m sure you will make it! Cheers, everyone! WANG: Drink up, drink up! YING HAN can’t take it anymore. She stands up, and the lights dim around the rest of the table. YING HAN: (broken English) Zhong Guo has population of over 1 billion. Yet why, God gave me these two ben dan, I don’t know. The two dumbest people in Zhong Guo. God is playing with me.
YING HAN starts packing in the plates, clearing the table. YING HAN: While they drink, watch TV, I clean up. No one left. Who else do? They don’t do jia wu, these are below them. The sound of people yelling and calling each other names drifts in. YING HAN: Only I can hear fighting, because the TV in the living room is too loud for them to hear. She pours out cheap alcoholic drinks for them. YING HAN: It’s funny. They used to watch basketball back home, but here, they only watch is football. Hm. When they live in India they’ll probably love cricket.
As YING HAN continues doing the dishes, the light comes on for the next room. JASON and SUSAN are sitting on separate seats. SUSAN: I can’t continue with you. I need to prepare his breakfast for tomorrow. JASON: It’s plain bread. There’s nothing to prepare. SUSAN: It’s still food! He has classes till 3 pm, then football till 5. He needs food. JASON: There’s a canteen. I give him enough money to buy whatever he wants to eat. SUSAN: He wants homemade food.
JASON: Bread isn’t homemade food. Porridge, boiled eggs, hot Milo in his Ben Ten cup, that’s homemade food. You’re just taking NTUC store products and transferring it directly to his lunchbox. That doesn’t need much effort. SUSAN: Not everything is about money. JASON: Really? I see, that’s the reason why you haven’t given him a single cent since he started school all those years ago, isn’t it? SUSAN: He likes what I make for him. SUSAN walks away from Jason, to the edge of the stage. SUSAN: This time, I know for sure that it’s over. That’s the end of it. We’ve always been fighting, always battling over our son. But this week, it feels different. I feel different. We’re not putting in effort to fight – that’s how you know it’s over. When you can’t even give enough shit to give a shit. SUSAN wipes her hands and returns to the bedside. SUSAN: I want to end it. JASON: So do I. But we can’t, because it’ll be unfair to him. SUSAN: So what do we do? JASON: Some couples manage. They don’t sleep in the same bed, they hardly talk to each other, but they remain together just for the child. I got a friend in FASS who’s doing the same thing. SUSAN: That’s not going to work. JASON: We’ll talk tomorrow. I want to sleep. SUSAN: I want to address the issue here.
JASON: I need to sleep. I’m the one who has to work tomorrow. SUSAN: There it comes again! The issue of money. JASON goes to sleep. But SUSAN just sits on the edge of the bed. Then she gets up, starts pacing. SUSAN: It’s a big deal, this money, right? What am I saying? It’s Singapore, of course it’s important. It’s the most goddamn important thing on this island. But I never had to worry about it. I’ve always had the luxury of being financially protected. But now… for the first time in my life, that’s changed. I feel scared.
SUSAN sits back on the bed, mulling. The lights come on for the third room. ILLYATI: Good evening, ma’am, sir. This is my place. I live here; I live in a small storeroom at the back of my ma’am and my sir’s flat. Right next to the next door neighbours’ living room, and I know that because once every week I hear them cheering very loudly at the TV. The wall is very thin. Every goal, every yellowred-green-blue card, I can hear so well. Beat. ILLYATI: This country’s people love sports. Loves sports, but they don’t do very well in them.
(From offstage) VOICE: ILLYATI! ILLYATI: (yells) Yes, ma’am! Beat. She waits. ILLYATI: That’s my boss. Usually, I know what she wants. I can even predict her every step and move. Wait wait, watch...
VOICE: (simultaneously) Have you packed the breakfast for Derek? ILLYATI: (simultaneously) Have you packed the breakfast for Derek? ILLYATI: (yells) Yes, ma’am, I have! VOICE: Good! I’m going to sleep! Don’t touch anything! ILLYATI: But once a month, she becomes unpredictable. It’s about this time that – The CHINA BOYS cheer. ILLYATI covers her ears at this particularly loud one. ILLYATI: It’s just my bad luck, that this football match tonight clashes with – VOICE: Did you hear me, Illyati? Don’t touch anything in the living room! If anything breaks like last time, I’m docking it from your pay! ILLYATI: (yells) Yes, ma’am! (to us) Just my luck this match clashes with her. Every Sunday, I don’t sleep very much. But tonight, I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep at all. She opens a book. ILLYATI: I do two things on these kinds of nights. I read the Bible, and I write in my diary. Recently my diary ran out of space, but funny thing I managed to find was… She holds up her book. ILLYATI: I was at Orchard Road on my off day two months ago, and I bought this wonderful book at Lucky Plaza. It was half Bible, half diary. The first part, see, is the whole Old Testament, which is what I grew up with back in Indonesia. This second part is all empty, with lines, for people to write their thoughts. About God and sin and whatever they want to. But mostly I, I mostly just write about my life in Singapore. This book is fantastic. It combines the two things I do most often. Tonight, I can finally write.
She begins to write. SUSAN stands up again and walks offstage, deeply troubled.
YING HAN pauses, finally finished with her last dish. And she starts crying, unnoticed by the China Boys, who rise as one when a goal is scored. They cheer, slapping hands and exclaiming wildly. ILLYATI covers her ears as she writes. But it’s not easy, and she drops her pen and knocks her notebook off the other side. Lights out.
Scene Two: MISS AMERICA Lights up. In the Common Space, a Caucasian woman is seated, dressed in a luxurious pantsuit and with her hair tied up. JASON is rushing, getting dressed and moving down from his house to the Common Space, while the woman constantly looks at her watch impatiently. JASON: (flustered) Hi, you must be Professor Chelsea Brookes? I’m so sorry for being late, so sorry! CHELSEA sees that JASON is good-looking and fit, and she immediately sits up. Her annoyance vanishes almost instantly. CHELSEA: Yes, I am. And you must be Associate Professor Jason Chee. Okay, calm down, take deep breaths… JASON: I’m so sorry for being late. I had some issues at home. Small stuff, nothing to worry about now. I’m so sorry – CHELSEA: The wife?
JASON: Excuse me? CHELSEA: Am I right?
JASON: Errr… CHELSEA: It’s the wedding ring on your finger. No other thing could make a man so flustered. I always say, marriage is the one social phenomenon that could disprove human evolution. Jason laughs uncomfortably. CHELSEA: So you’re married. JASON: I’m sorry. CHELSEA: Never mind, you’re forgiven. JASON: No, I’m really sorry. CHELSEA: And you’re really forgiven. Nice office, by the way. JASON: Thanks. CHELSEA: Well, just so you know, the Dean told me I had been assigned one of the most gifted associate professors in the university to show me around and get me acclimatized. JASON: (embarrassed) Wow. Really? CHELSEA: It’s high praise. Do you truly live up to it? JASON: It’s not a good start, but I’ll try to make up for it starting now. CHELSEA: Associate Professor of Economics Dr. Jason Chee. JASON: Yeah.
CHELSEA leans in. CHELSEA: I need to ask you something. JASON: Uhuh. CHELSEA: (waves him in) Something very, incredibly important. JASON leans in too, expecting the worst. CHELSEA: (leaning in) I’ve heard you’ve been here for a while. When are you going to be promoted and leave? JASON: (laughs; he is relieved at it being easy) I know what you’re thinking. I like my job, and it pays really well. Plus it gives me lots of free time to spend with my family, and do other projects outside. CHELSEA: I get that. But you know, it’s Economics. Big stuff. World-changing stuff. Everyone needs an economist nowadays. By extension, everyone needs an economics professor. Besides, this is Singapore. Tiger Economy and everything! Get with the flow, man! JASON: I’m just… not focused on that right now. CHELSEA: You could be big stuff. And you have to know you could be big stuff, and dedicate yourself to research and work, if you want to go all the way. JASON: Well, thanks, but I have other things on my mind. CHELSEA: A family can’t feed you for life. It’s kind of the other way around, actually. JASON: Do you have a timetable? CHELSEA: Such tactful changing of the subject.
JASON: Erm, well… yes. I see you’re sitting in to one of Dr. Wu’s classes… CHELSEA shows him her timetable, and they start planning the day. They exit offstage as they plan. YING HAN is seated at the dining table. The China Boys are nowhere to be seen. She has pen and paper, and is scribbling something. YING HAN: “China is the most fast rising country, money is growing and more people are rich.”
She studies what she’s written. Crumples it up and tosses it away. YING HAN: “Singapore is small, but powerful. No farming. Farming and hand work… work… work by hand… is for people with no money, no brains. So Singapore don’t like that. Because brains equals success.” She doesn’t like it. Tosses it away again. ILLYATI enters. She is incredibly sweaty, and looks frazzled. ILLYATI: I really don’t know what she is going to do next. She told me to bring the kids into the school. Usually she does that herself, but she wanted to sit in the car this time. The kids started making noise, because they wanted their mother. But I don’t have a choice! I walk in, bring them directly into the hall because she was tired. Everyone stared at me, and the kids made noise, because now their friends are going to make fun of them. And they are going to tell their mother now. ILLYATI sits down, exhausted herself. ILLYATI: I’ve been with this family for four years. Four years! I’ve learned everything about them. The son likes his eggs scrambled only. He always leaves his computer on because he’s always
downloading something. He hates cucumbers. The daughter hates spiders, arranges the clothes in her cupboard like the rainbow colours, and doesn’t like it when her brother takes her stationary. ILLYATI takes out a bag from under the bed and starts throwing things into it. ILLYATI: Four years and today, I’ve finally had enough. Makes me want to leave. Go back home to Indonesia. I’ll run away, and ask my agent to book me a ticket. Tell them that I’ve been mistreated. I won’t sue, I’ll just ask for money, because I still have a family to feed… but most importantly, I’ll get to go back home. ILLYATI stops. ILLYATI: To my children. ILLYATI is about to cry, but she stops herself. She walks to the Common Space to calm down. Her bag is still in hand. YING HAN: Huh? Who is crying outside? YING HAN steps outside, into the Common Space. YING HAN: Excuse me. You okay? ILLYATI: Oh yes. Yes, I am fine. YING HAN: Why you crying in the corridor? ILLYATI: Oh, no. No I’m not crying. YING HAN: You… got tears. ILLYATI: I… yawned. (wiping them off hurriedly) Do you live here? YING HAN: Yes. Yes. I do.
ILLYATI: Oh. You know, you have very noisy friends. YING HAN: Yes, I do! I know. ILLYATI: Tell them to keep quiet please. Especially on Sundays. YING HAN: Oh. Okay. ILLYATI: Thank you. YING HAN: You… going somewhere? ILLYATI: Yes… Holiday. YING HAN: Oh! You can go holiday in July? ILLYATI keeps quiet. YING HAN: Do you live here? ILLYATI: Yes. That unit. YING HAN: My neighbour! I’ve never seen you before. I thought it was a woman and two children. ILLYATI: Yes. I… I live with them. YING HAN: Oh, that’s good. Really nice boy and girl. They are very good, always say “Good morning!” to me when I pass them in the morning. ILLYATI: Yes, they… like to say “Good morning”. They love greeting people. They are very sweet. Beat.
YING HAN: I will tell my friends to keep quiet. ILLYATI: Thank you. I’m fine now. ILLYATI takes a deep breath, turns around and walks back into her flat.
Scene Three: WRITER’S BLOCK SUSAN is seated at her table, a newspaper opened up. She is circling entries. Enter JASON. She quickly flips the paper closed. SUSAN: (to cover up; nervously) How was your day? JASON: I don’t want to talk about it. SUSAN: Just like every other day. JASON: Look at you, everyday staying at home, cleaning the house, and reading the newspapers. You lead such a good life, and you don’t know it. SUSAN: I do. I know it. JASON: Good. I’m going to sleep. Don’t make such a ruckus when you go into bed. JASON sits on the edge of the bed, removing his watch, tie, and starts changing into sleep clothes. SUSAN watches him. SUSAN: He thinks I’m useless. I know it. He always says it. He thinks I do nothing for our son. But that’s not true. It’s not just
about the money, it’s also about his daily routines in life and his existence, and I help make it easier for him. So what’s wrong with that? SUSAN picks up the newspaper.
SUSAN: It’s not that I don’t want him to know. It’s that if this gets worse, and it most certainly will, we will take this to court and they’ll definitely bring up the fact that I don’t have a job. How will I support him, they’ll ask. This is Singapore. Money is power, and money is getting to do what you want. It’s getting to keep the love of your life. So I don’t want him to know I’m trying to get a job ASAP, so he won’t be prepared, he isn’t prepared to go up against me. JASON climbs into bed. JASON: Don’t make so much noise! I have to work tomorrow, remember? SUSAN: (to herself) It’s okay if I lose the battle here. As long as I don’t lose when it matters.
SUSAN picks up the newspaper she hastily tried to put away. She sees an entry she likes. Circles it, folds it, and tucks it away. Lights up on YING HAN. YING HAN: (reading) Singapore is a big economy, but not as big as China. But it is something to be amazed, because Singapore is tens of thousand times smaller than China.
YING HAN looks at what she has written. YING HAN: No, no, no. Enter WANG. WANG: What are you doing?
YING HAN: I’m writing. Go away.
WANG: That stupid book? Give it up. YING HAN: No. WANG: I know how these things work. You need agents first. YING HAN: No, you got it wrong. I need a manuscript first, to let agents decide. WANG: Do you think you know more than me? I’ve done this before, getting an agent. YING HAN: Don’t bother me.
Wang snatches the piece of paper in front of Ying Han, pulling it away from her before she can snatch it back. YING HAN: Hey! Give that back! WANG: “China does manufacturing and produce, because it has land. Singapore does not have land, so it only has tourists and finan… financia…” YING HAN: Financial. WANG: Wow, someone’s English is spectacular now is it? Aren’t you insulting Singapore in this book of yours? YING HAN: I’m writing the truth. The difference between this country and ours. WANG: Great. Why don’t you focus on your real occupation? YING HAN: I work the reception counter at a B-grade hotel. That’s not an occupation, it’s a death sentence.
WANG: This country gave us a lot of opportunities. It’s a chance to make more money than tilling fields all day. So could you not be an ingrate? Don’t bite the hand that feeds us.
YING HAN: Excuse me? WANG: Just suck it up and do what you’re supposed to do. We’re all working hard here. YING HAN: You’re not exactly working hard. You’re a struggling soccer player.
WANG: (indignantly) I’m not struggling! I’m good! YING HAN: (scathingly) Really? WANG: I’m a good player! YING HAN: Hard to assess, when I see you don’t actually play much. WANG: Look at you, trying to write in English. You can say one big word, can say ‘thank you’, ‘please’ and you think you can speak English, you can write in English. Pah! For God’s sakes! YING HAN: I studied here, you idiot. WANG: Doesn’t seem that way. YING HAN: Tomorrow I have a meeting with a book agent. WANG: Hah. With this crap? WANG waves the paper. YING HAN stares at him, seething, boiling. WANG: OK. I don’t care about you. You do what makes you happy. WANG tosses the paper to the ground.
YING HAN: Dinner’s been sitting out on the table for the past 3 hours. Everyone else already ate. WANG: I was out with the team. Had dinner already. Besides, it looks and smells disgusting. YING HAN: Excuse me? WANG: I would suggest you write a cookbook, but looks like you can’t do that either. Go brush up on your skills. He looks at the laid-out food on the dining table, as though it was unworthy of him, and exits. YING HAN: (fuming) I can’t stand it. Really can’t. She starts pacing. In a sudden outburst of rage, she sweeps all the papers on the table to the ground. YING HAN: I can’t do this. I really can’t. Here, I can’t think, and I can’t write, and I can’t be who I want to be. It’s like being back home again.
Scene Four: BACK IN THE GAME SUSAN is seated on a lone chair upstage centre, in the Common Space. Facing the audience, she looks noticeably nervous, worried and scared. SUSAN: Okay, hi. Good morning. My name is Susan, as you can see on the CV, and I’m here to interview for the job of music producer. Yes, I understand the credentials are a bit dated. But I can explain. I got my double degree in music and communications from the University of Leeds in 1991. I met my husband there, during the final year; he was majoring in Economics. He courted me the whole
year, and for half a year after graduation, until I gave in. I had already planned on becoming a producer then, because you know, in music you’re either on the screen or behind the scenes, and Britain back in the 1990s, there’re less jobs on the screen if you’re Asian. So all those producing references, that was during that period of time. But of course I got married in 1995, see, that last reference on the paper, and my husband got offered a job in JPMorgan. I followed him back here, and had a kid four years later. So now I’m trying to get back in the workforce, and to put all the things I learned back then to good use, as I originally wanted to. Beat. SUSAN: Oh, yes, of course I know things are very different now. Technology is crazy. Used to be just mixtapes and a tech board back then, now it’s AutoTune and quick edits and splicing and you can do anything with Skype and Audacity. But I’m a quick study, I can learn fast, so it’ll be no issue to me. Beat. SUSAN: Look, I know I can be an asset to your radio station. Back in the early 1990s, there were what, only a handful of stations around, all owned by SBC? It’s indeed different now, but in a very good way. Now it’s not an uphill climb anymore. There are opportunities, and I want the chance to make full use of them. I would just like for you to let me show you what I can do. Lights out.
Scene Five: WHEN THE SUN COMES UP The lighting comes up gently, slowly, mimicking a new day. Each woman dominates her own space, as spotlights slowly brighten to focus on them.
ILLYATI: (to audience) Good morning! Yes, I’ve done everything my ma’am told me to do last night. I scrubbed down the bathroom, I washed the washing machine, and I fixed the kettle. (sighs) It was tough, but I felt good after doing it. When I saw the look on their faces – the bathroom clean again, I felt good. I felt happy. And I think I could do this. I could really do this. But I do still miss my family. I wish I could do it for them. SUSAN: The sun rises once more as it always has, but this time, it’s a day that brings hope and light. Well, technically, there isn’t any light at the moment, but you know what I mean. In case you’re wondering why I’m up at 7 am, I’ll tell you. Today I begin my new job at Mediacorp radio, and I’m excited. Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a step in the right direction, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do before I got married and had a kid, and better yet, when Jason finds out I have a job he’ll find out like the rest of the nation – by tuning in to me every morning from 10 am to 12 noon. YING HAN: I called publishing agent. This morning, everyone had gone to work, an hour before my work at the hotel, I look through Yellow Pages and I found an agent. I called them. And they will meet with me. I am happy. Things will change. JASON enters. JASON: Good lord, I thought someone had broken in. Why are you up so early? SUSAN: I… am going somewhere. JASON: Hmm. That’s new. SUSAN: Yes. I’m trying something new. JASON: Well, when you’re back from your run, don’t forget to make breakfast. I don’t want him to complain all the way in the car. SUSAN: I thought you gave him lunch money?
JASON: Yeah, but somehow he still thinks your food is the best. Go figure. SUSAN: “Go figure”?
JASON: It’s a figure of speech. SUSAN: I know. I didn’t think you were the kind to use it. JASON: Well, I am. I don’t think our son knows what quality food is yet. One day I’ll take him out to Hilton High Tea.
SUSAN watches JASON go back to bed. SUSAN: He thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t. Tonight, when he comes back, we won’t be around anymore. VOICE: ILLYATI! ILLYATI: Yes, ma’am! VOICE: I thought I told you to fix the kettle! ILLYATI: I did! VOICE: Well, it’s not working! I can’t make my coffee. Forget it. I’m going to work and get some coffee along the way. I told you, I want things done immediately. And I’d wish you just listened and did them. ILLYATI: Yes, ma’am. Silence. ILLYATI: I’m doing this for the children.
Scene Six: YOUNG BLOOD YING HAN: Good afternoon. My name is Ying Han, and I’m from Guangdong. I been living in Singapore for four years, and I studied in Hwa Chong Junior College for two years. I learned so much, and I have so many ideas, so now I plan to write my book about the differences between Singaporean and China economies. Beat.
YING HAN: I… I didn’t go university. I… didn’t want to do that. A levels I did okay, but I didn’t want to go university. Beat. YING HAN: I don’t have a lot. I brought something to show you. (stands up to pass the document) It’s ten pages of what I written so far. Thank you for reading. Lights out.
Scene Seven: TALKING HEADS JASON and CHELSEA are at the “Common Space”, now functioning as a restaurant. CHELSEA: I’m impressed. You’re a family man, it’s 10 pm on a weekday, and you’re still out.
JASON: My wife and son are not in for the week. She took our son to her mother’s place. They’re going to go to school from there, just for this week. CHELSEA: Really? Dare I ask? Trouble in tropical paradise? JASON: (quickly) Oh, no, no. CHELSEA: You can tell me, you know. I’m divorced myself. JASON: Really. I didn’t think you would get married in the first place. CHELSEA: You’re quite right. It took me three years, but I realized marriage wasn’t for me. I was itching to do things, to get out, to write papers and teach and work late. All he cared about was living the good life. Food and sex all the time. I could have dealt with a workaholic, but I couldn’t deal with a narcissistic Sybarite. JASON: No children, right? Nothing to fight for? CHELSEA: Even if we did… well, the only thing we would fight for is the poor fellow’s custody in court. Best to let him have it. I don’t think I would have given the boy a good life anyway. Bring him all the way to Singapore for what? To get stuck in an international school when he could be with his friends in his home country? Enter CF 1. CF 1: [in halting English] Ah… good evening. What you want to eat? JASON: Um. The St. Louis ribs, and I’ll have a Set A. CF 1: Okay… Drink? JASON: Iced tea. CHELSEA: I’ll have the Texacana chicken, and a Coke Light.
CF 1: Ah… we, we don’t have the Texacana chicken today.
CHELSEA: You don’t have it? Wow. Okay, I’ll have the same thing as him then. CF 1 leaves meekly. CHELSEA: Are all the servers like that? JASON: He’s not rude, he just can’t speak English. CHELSEA: And they got the spelling wrong. It’s TexARKANA, not Texacana. It refers to the Texas-Arkansas city border. This place ain’t earning my tip. JASON: We don’t tip in Singapore. It’s included in the service charge of the bill. CHELSEA: Then how do you show your displeasure with someone who doesn’t do a good job with your meal? JASON: (shrugs) You complain. CHELSEA: That won’t have any effect! You take away their tip, you leave an impact. Money speaks volumes. Money is the only way to reward, or punish anyone. I would have thought you, an up-andrising Economics academic, would know this too. JASON: You must get your way a lot in America. CHELSEA waves it off. CHELSEA: I’m an aging has-been, a once-promising beautiful young starlet in the world of social science that has now been past her used-by date.
JASON: Isn’t that ironic. A sociology professor who has absolutely no empathy for society. CHELSEA: It wasn’t always like this. Only recently, my eyes were opened. You see, universities are like Hollywood, really. They’re always looking for young blood and fresh ideas, and people like me are expected to just lie down, shut up and teach. JASON: And you chose to come to Singapore to improve your situation? CHELSEA: Well, it can’t get any worse. The idea I get is that that’s a lot less freedom in Singapore, especially when it comes to things like research and studies. JASON: Then why are you here? CHELSEA: I’m an intellectual daredevil! When studies say something is dangerous, I want to know just how dangerous. When research says something works, I want to know how effectively it works. When the papers call this a repressive country, I want to know just how repressive. JASON: That’s admirable. CHELSEA: You don’t think so. JASON: No… I just think, it might be wiser to consider a careful approach. Life isn’t all about pushing the envelope.
CHELSEA: No? In America it is. JASON: You’re not in America. CHELSEA: Clearly. In America, there is such freedom. Chewing gum! Graffiti! Protests and rallies and pornography and debates! So the question is, what are you guys scared of?
JASON: Chaos. A lawless society breeds chaos.
CHELSEA: And an extremely lawful one breeds timidity. JASON: I don’t know about you, but I don’t think Singaporean men are timid. CHELSEA: Maybe not. I’ve only been here a short time. But from what I can observe… you guys don’t have the guts and drive and passion to just go out there and get what you want. JASON: I beg to differ. CHELSEA: (leaning close) Would you like to prove me wrong? JASON leans forward. A moment of palpable sexual tension… and then they kiss. Lights down.
Scene Eight: THE LIGHT The sound of keys. SUSAN enters, fumbling with her things. She peers around in the darkness. She looks for the light switch, looks for the light switch – Spotlight on YING HAN. She sits upright, awakened from sleep. It is WANG and CF1, both entering. Both clearly drunk. WANG is singing a song loudly at the top of his voice. In her room, ILLYATI looks annoyed.
YING HAN: Can you just shut up? WANG: I will not shut up, you lousy woman. YING HAN: What did you just call me? WANG: Slut, I called you a slut. YING HAN: (standing up) How dare you? CF 1: Hey, hey hey, what’s all this – Without warning, WANG slaps YING HAN across the face. YING HAN: What? YING HAN is furious. She shoves WANG backwards, into the furniture. SUSAN manages to turn on the switch: Spotlight on SUSAN. Enter JASON. JASON: What the – SUSAN: Oh my God, you scared me.
JASON: You scared me! I thought it was some burglar! SUSAN: Oh, don’t be dramatic. Enter CHELSEA.
CHELSEA: Honey, is everything… SUSAN: Oh. CHELSEA: Hello.
SUSAN: Now it’s dramatic. Spotlight shift. YING HAN: How dare you touch me! How dare you?
WANG: (drunkenly) Oh, why so sour? Why are you not happy and cheery today? CF 1: Hey, hey, calm down – WANG staggers forward and grabs YING HAN. WANG: Hmm I think, I think, it’s because your book deal didn’t happen, did it! YING HAN: (starting to cry) Let go of me! CF 1: Let go of her… But CF 1 isn’t doing much; he’s drunk himself. WANG: I’ll let go of her! WANG “lets go” of her forcefully – and into the table of papers behind. He reaches now and smacks her forcefully over the head.
WANG: I told you you’d never amount to anything! And I’m right! I’m right aren’t I! I’m better than you! Admit it!
He starts smacking YING HAN. She tries to defend the blows, but each blow gets more forceful. CF 1 staggers forward, but slams into WANG instead, who shoves him off and to the ground. WANG: Admit it! Admit it! You are a piece of shit!
Now, when the violence in YING HAN’S apartment is taking place, SUSAN and ILLYATI are slowly recognizing the sounds and realizing what is happening next door. SUSAN: What the?
Soundless fight: As YING HAN is fighting for her life and CF1 is trying to stop WANG, spotlight on ILLYATI. VOICE: Illyati! Illyati! Can you go next door and tell the family to keep quiet? ILLYATI: Oh dear. Now I have to go and talk to other people… ILLYATI looks frightened. She gets up, and walks over to the Common Space. She peers in, and gasps when she sees YING HAN being attacked, and CF 1 on the floor, unconscious. ILLYATI: Oh my! (rushing back) Ma’am! Ma’am! There’s something happening in the flat next door! Someone is beating – VOICE: Illyati! Keep quiet! I need to sleep! Did you tell them to pipe down? If you did, then you’ve done your job!
ILLYATI: No, no! Someone is beating a woman! She’s this nice woman – VOICE: It happens all the time, Illyati! These are domestic arguments! They happen, and those people will shut up soon. Spotlight on SUSAN. SUSAN: Hey, I’m going to go see what’s happening. Exit JASON and CHELSEA, as SUSAN walks to the Common Space. SUSAN: Oh my God! She pulls out her cellphone. SUSAN: Hello? Is this the police? Yes, I’m reporting a case of domestic abuse and assault… Lights out.
Scene Nine: CITY GIRL Lights up. YING HAN, SUSAN and ILLYATI all sitting around a table in the Common Space. WANG is in a darkened corner of the stage, in handcuffs.
YING HAN: When I moved to Singapore, it was to study. I was too lousy for China, you know, everyone there is smart, so, how you say, kiasu. I was happy reading books, writing, and my parents say, draining money. My brother was the one who was going to be somebody. Always, that was the case. I was just taking up oxygen and food and water. Which is why I think it was funny when my friends and teachers always said my parents were Western and liberal. Never see the full picture. They were just Western in the ways they talked and the food they chose, but the same when it came to the family. SUSAN: That’s typical. It’s like that, anywhere you go. It matters, you know. When and what you came here to study. If you’re studying secondary school or primary school, it’s okay for the government, because there’s enough time to brainwash you into serving out the country. Foreign talent, but entrenched in local soil. But if you’re here to study for university, you gotta sign a bond. YING HAN: They never tell me, that all the other China people here are worse. More competitive and smarter than the people I was against in China. So all the Singaporeans try to fight the Chinese people too, and everyone becomes so smart, and all I want to do is read my books and write. But that’s not the way, my parents say. What to do for a China girl who isn’t as smart as them, who doesn’t want to fight with them? We become farmers. Or in this country, we work in construction. Or SMRT. No. I don’t want to do that. SUSAN: To us, it matters, where you study, and where you’re from. China, India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, America. I hope you’re not one of those people who were sent to here to steal our jobs. I had a tough enough time finding one, circling newspapers all over. YING HAN: I supposed to. But I did badly in A-levels. ILLYATI comes up.
SUSAN: Yeah. That’s the thing, see. One wrong move, and it’s all over. Not that you cared, you didn’t care anyway. But to the rest of us, it matters what you do in life, every step you take, every move you make. It’s almost like we could observe Butterfly theory. One person flaps his wings, and it causes a hurricane somewhere in somewhere else. We’re all interconnected this way. He flaps his wings, and his whole life, and others too, changes. His future, forever and irreparably altered, maybe others’ futures too. YING HAN: I wish things were different. I want things to change. SUSAN: Why don’t you write a book instead on your experiences living in Singapore? Instead of doing all this socio-political analysis, try writing a semi-autobiography or something. A nice little novella about a young Chinese girl moving from farms and dreams to a foreign country called Singapore, a big city and not knowing where to start. YING HAN: Oh. I should do that? ILLYATI: Yes. You should. That would be much better.
YING HAN: And then… things change? SUSAN: Things won’t change. But you will. You’ll read through what you’ve written, and you’ll find you learned a lot of things since you’ve moved here four years ago. ILLYATI: Here. I decided this is for you. She passes YING HAN her Bible/Diary. YING HAN: What is this? ILLYATI: Something I bought from Lucky Plaza. I write it every weekend, when I’m done with my housework for the week, and everyone is asleep, and that’s after your horrible football games, and your fighting.
Both YING HAN and SUSAN are embarrassed. ILLYATI: It’s half a Bible, half a diary. That’s why I also write in it on Sunday, so God can hear me.
SUSAN: That’s nice. YING HAN: Thank you. Oh, the policeman wants to talk to me. I’ll go and see what he wants. ILLYATI: And I’ll go back to my family. SUSAN: That horrible woman living in that house? That’s who you work for? ILLYATI: Yes. But no. I’m going back to my real family. Exit ILLYATI and YING HAN. Enter JASON and CHELSEA. CHELSEA: Hello. SUSAN: Hi. CHELSEA: I’m sorry you had to… experience that.
SUSAN: No, no. It’s fine. I understand. It’s not my house, technically, anymore. I should have knocked first or something. CHELSEA: Still, I have to admit, I’m a bit embarrassed. SUSAN: I can understand why. I just came to pick up stuff for my son.
CHELSEA: I see.
It is rather awkward. JASON: Why are there policemen in our corridor?
SUSAN: You missed a lot. As usual. JASON and SUSAN glare at each other. A little resentfully. JASON: I’m going to see what’s going on.
Exit JASON.
Scene Ten: EYE TO EYE CHELSEA is staring at the television screen in Susan’s room. CHELSEA: That’s soccer. SUSAN: No, football. CHELSEA: Well, in America we call it soccer.
SUSAN: I never understood this game. CHELSEA: Well, neither do we. Football, American football, that we get very well. See? You and me, we’re not so different after all. SUSAN: No. We are not. JASON enters.
CHELSEA: (to Jason) Hey. I’ll wait for you downstairs. JASON: Yeah, sure. CHELSEA leaves. JASON: I’m sorry that you had to see that. SUSAN: I’m not. I always knew something like this would happen. Now I know for sure. Better I walk out first then let it happen to me while we were still living together, no? JASON: That’s unfair. You already left. SUSAN: You’re right. I did. Just didn’t expect it to be so fast. JASON: It wasn’t fast. We didn’t do anything. SUSAN: No. Of course not. I have to go back. My show starts in a few hours, and I gotta prepare for school and all.
SUSAN looks calmly at JASON. JASON: Has he… Does he… miss me? SUSAN: Yes. All the time he asks when you are coming to see him. JASON: Does he understand what’s going on? SUSAN: I explained it to him best I can. He understands roughly. He’s 13, he gets it. JASON: OK. Good. Make sure that’s the case. Don’t cut him out. SUSAN: I won’t.
JASON: I know you won’t. SUSAN: Have a good life with Chelsea. JASON: (blurts) I love you. SUSAN: Don’t be silly. JASON: I won’t… be with Chelsea. No, she’s a bit too much for me. SUSAN: Then you’d better let her know soon. Before she thinks you guys are getting married or something. JASON: She’s a little overbearing. SUSAN: Much like you, actually. Match made in heaven. JASON: Opposites attract. SUSAN: Sometimes they do. And then, over time, this attraction died. JASON: It didn’t die. SUSAN: It did. We died. JASON: You’re too stubborn. Always have been – SUSAN: Always will be. JASON: (disappointed) Don’t forget to lock up when you’re done. CHELSEA: Yeah. Don’t worry, I will. I’ll just take what’s important and go. Beat. JASON turns and leaves.
Enter ILLYATI and YING HAN, all in their own apartments. Spotlights on them: SUSAN packing the boxes, ILLYATI packing her bags, and YING HAN just looking at her new diary forlornly, her life changed forever. SUSAN: After all that we’ve been through, it seems almost anticlimactic. That things changed, just as we wanted them to. I guess that’s really a testament to what we, as humans, are capable of, I guess. That if we want something enough… something will happen. I don’t know about the world, but that’s what I’m going to take away from this. I’m going to be content with knowing I can change my life. Things can change. They will. I believe that, anyway. It’s what we should hope for. As Singaporeans. As humans. For now, all we can do is to return home, return to work, return to everything that’s here in life… and hope for the best. Lights out. FIN
Gan Kar Liang Second Prize
The Untitled Funeral Play
Arthur
A 28-year-old man, married to EMILY.
Emily A 26-year-old woman, married to ARTHUR. Karan A 47-year-old man, ARTHUR’s uncle. Florence A 50-year-old woman, EMILY’s mother The Undertaker
A 22-year-old man.
The living room of a large flat. There are four important exits in this play. Firstly, there is the front door of the flat. People outside the front door cannot see the living room, just as people in the living room cannot see the door. However, the audience can see both. Secondly we have a passageway leaving to another set of rooms offstage. Thirdly, we have a passageway leading to a kitchen. Finally we have a passageway leading to the master bedroom. The exact positioning of the three passageways is unimportant. However, it is important that the audience understands that each passageway leads to a different part of the house. It must be believable that someone in any of the offstage rooms would not be aware of someone in the living room/the other offstage rooms. ARTHUR is sitting down. EMILY is pacing around the room, slightly frantically. She keeps looking at the clock and drinking from a cup of coffee. Emily Arthur
He’s dead. Yes… hence funeral.
Emily Oh?! Oh, no! I’m sorry! Gah. I meant he’s late. Arthur
…Same thing.
Emily No, no! The undertaker. I’m talking about the undertaker. He’s late. And, I meant, he’s dead, as in, I am going to kill him…. For being so late. Um. Probably not the best choice of words. Arthur No. Emily I thought they were supposed to be on call 24/7. Arthur
Maybe he didn’t take the hearse with the siren.
Emily Don’t defend them! Spirit Funeral Services! What kind of name is that anyway?! Honestly Arthur, I’m going to write to the NMP... No! The paper! That way everyone will know how shoddy this company is. Arthur You should consider a career in journalism. Emily No lah, I’ll leave it anonymous so they don’t exact retribution. Arthur Everyone knows how vindictive funerals homes are. Cross them and they won’t put you six feet under. Emily Arthur! Arthur It’s not like the body is going to get up and walk away. Pause. Emily I’m sorry. I’ve had four cups of coffee today. I’m a bit hyped up. Arthur I hadn’t noticed. Emily I have a dozen things left to do. I haven’t even done the dishes from last night yet! It slipped my mind with everything. I should probably do them now. What if -
Arthur -On the one day you let the dishes slide, your mother spontaneously materializes in the kitchen. Emily It could happen. Arthur I haven’t even called her yet. Emily Good idea, don’t! Arthur You don’t honestly think we can hide this from her? My father is dead. She might notice someone missing during Christmas dinner. Emily
We could send her a letter.
Arthur You worry too much. Emily I can’t help it. There are just so many things to juggle. This whole business is just too messy. I’ve decided: for ours, we’ll plan in advance. Arthur What?! Emily Oh you know, it’s always good to be prepared. Arthur
I’m not sure I like the idea.
Emily Don’t be silly. I mean we should get everything in order before hand. Arthur I barely have enough time to prepare for next week, you want me to prepare for when I’m dead. Emily I’m just saying…gaahh. Fine. It’s a stupid idea. Happy? You know, the thing I hate most about funerals is that they are so disorganized. Pause.
Arthur I hate the fact I can’t think of anything to say… Everything feels like something I’ve heard in a movie. Emily Watch fewer movies. Arthur
Ha.
Emily Things become clichéd because they’re true. Arthur
That’s a cliché.
Emily
True though.
Arthur No excuse. Beat. Emily Maybe we should just get them all out of the way. Get them out of your system. Arthur
Maybe.
Emily Ready? Arthur
Mmm.
Emily I can’t believe he’s gone. Arthur
I miss him already.
Emily Things just aren’t the same. Arthur
I wish I could just wake up.
Emily I never got to say goodbye. Arthur
-He knew. I wish I could have told him-
Emily -he knew-
Arthur
He would have done anything for anyone.
Emily He led a full life, no regrets. Arthur
It was his time.
Emily He’s in a better place now. Beat. Emily Anything else? Arthur
No, I think we’ve purged them all.
Emily Good. Pause. Emily -I really think something happened. You’re sure you gave them the right address? Arthur -Maybe I should give them a call.
Emily Don’t do anything on my account, please. ARTHUR exits. KARAN appears. He is at the gate. Karan
Indran? Emily? I am… here!
Emily Uncle Karan! ARTHUR! Someone’s come! (Rushes over to let KARAN in) Karan Ah! Emily! I flew down from KL the second I heard. Where’s Indran? Emily …He just went to call the funeral home. Karan
What?! He hasn’t contacted them yet!
Emily
They’re behind time.
Karan Outrageous! You should write in! Emily I know, that’s what I said, but Arthur… Karan It’s good to know that there’s at least one sensible person in this family. Emily No, no… I suppose Arthur is right as well. It’s not like the body is going to get up and walk away. (Laughs) Karan is silent. Emily Right, of course.
Karan Forgive me. It was a rough flight and I did not get much sleep yesterday, with all the preparations. I know I can be quite grating at times... Especially times like this. Emily (breathing a sigh of relief) Oh Uncle Karan! Oh you poor dear! Are you doing all right? Karan I… will endure. It’s good to see you. Are you holding up, okay? It is of dire important that you keep CALM. Emily (stunned) Of course I am … I mean, it has been hard. Your brother has been a fixture around the house for so long. (Pause) But really are you sure you are all right. I cannot imagine what you must be going through. Karan Yes, I’m sure. Emily If you need anything, just let me know – a warm drink perhapsKaran
If only this cold ache could be warmed so easily.
Emily Oh…!
Karan
You know… I had a dream this would happen. In it, Rajan
and I, we were driving home on this cold rainy night. Suddenly, he told me to stop the car. Then, he got out and walked into the night alone. In that moment, I knew. Emily Incredible…. When was this? Karan Just twenty-four years ago. (Sighs) Emily Come Uncle, let me get you a cup of coffee. I think I need one for myself as well. Karan No, I don’t drink caffeine. Emily (shocked) Really? Karan My friend, his son is an herbalist, and he tells me that the effects of caffeine on the body are simply horrifying! You might as well hang yourself with the strainer! Emily That’s…news. (puts down the cup and pushes it away from herself.) Karan
Juice. It will be…sufficient. Now, I have to unpack.
Emily Oh. You’re staying here? Karan I am prepared to do what needs to be done. (He picks up his luggage from where EMILY left it and moves it to another area. KARAN takes an assortment of things out of his bag searching for the garment. He leaves these on the couch) I have brought…What’s wrong? Emily Didn’t Arthur tell you? We’re… Oh dear… Karan ….What? Emily (quietly) Oh… um… We were actually thinking of having a Christian service actually.
Karan (laughs) No! What would make you think that? I assure you that is not what my brother would want. Emily Oh… Karan I must speak to Indran about this. Emily He’ll be right downKaran -Now. Emily Hold on just a moment, I’ll get him. Arthur! Dear could you come here!
Karan I don’t think he heard you. I didn’t realize you were so softspoken! You know my nephew has always been a bit of a dreamerEmily -Yes, I’m sureKaran INDRAN! INDRAN! Emily Uncle Karan! Please don’t exert yourself! You must be tired. Why don’t you just sit down and try and conserve your strength. I’m sure my husband heard me the first time…. ISN’T THAT RIGHT ARTHUR! Karan Don’t worry dear, we’re family, I don’t mind. INDRAN! COME HERE. ARTHUR enters. Arthur I’m coming! I’m coming! Why are you all screaming? Uncle Karan! (Goes up to him) How are you holding up? Karan
I will… endure.
Emily I’ll get us all something to drink.
EMILY exits.
Arthur You’re the first to arrive. Thanks for getting here so fast. Karan And not a moment to soon. Indran, your wife has been telling me very strange things.
Arthur Oh, the undertaker! I don’t know what they think they’re doing! I can’t seem to get in contact! This is totallyKaran No! Something infinitely more …dire. Arthur Oh? Pause. Karan Indran. Let me tell you something about my brother. Your father and I, we are very similar people. We like the same food. We went to the same school. In fact people even say we look similar. Of course, I was more handsome. But most importantly of all, we think similarly. By which I mean, we have certain beliefs that we hold onto, regardless of whatever else happens. Arthur Yes… Karan And above all else, Rajan was a Hindu man. He was born a Hindu man. He lived his life a Hindu man, and he should die a Hindu man. Arthur That’s not what he wanted though. Karan And how do you claim to know this? Arthur He told me. Last week. Karan Ah, of course. He magically changed his mind on his deathbed. Is this what you call a Christmas miracle, Indran? In July as well! Even more miraculous! Arthur
I would like to think that he had a spiritual experience.
Karan Oh that really takes a load off my mind Indran! Arthur
I don’t need to convince anyone.
Karan Of course not! Why would you need to convince anyone! Who could doubt! I might be struck down for my disbelief!
Arthur
There’s no need for sarcasm.
Karan Oh there’s no need! No need for sarcasm! Of course there’s no need! Why would there be a need! Arthur Karan
Enough! The nerve of you! Have you forgotten I am his brother!
Arthur I’m his son! Karan I knew him longer! Listen now, I don’t want to tell you how to manage things, but you don’t have much time. I will be able to pull some stringsArthur We’ve made arrangements. Karan I’m not saying these because I want to meddle myself, Indran. Arthur (mimicking KARAN) Oh no! Of course not! Karan Imagine, what will happen when Vimla-auntie arrives later and sees… I don’t even what to think about it! It’s as you were condemning his spirit to wander the earth. It’s rather rude. Arthur I don’t know what to tell you. Karan
Oh come now Indran…Evidence.
Arthur What?
Karan Evidence of Rajan’s new found beliefs. Arthur Maybe we can rifle through his belongings? Would that appease you? Karan It won’t appease me Arthur. (Shakes head sadly) Beat.
Arthur
But you want to do it anyway.
Karan It’s the only way this family will ever have peace. Arthur
Fine.
EMILY enters. KARAN exits.
Emily There. This should calm every… Arthur? Arthur If he thinks he can just seize control of this, he’s in for a surprise. The nerve of that man! Emily
Arthur… I don’t think he means to offend -
Arthur Ha! Emily Arthur… sometimes, we have to make space. Everyone knows - funerals are for the living not the dead. Pause. Arthur That’s ridiculous.
ARTHUR heads for the exit. Emily Let him have something… for closure. He just lost his brother.
Arthur (Stopping and turning around) Compromise? We aren’t going to just surrender. We aren’t the typical Singaporean cliché, Emily. Believe in things only until they are uncomfortable? No. He’s going to have toEmily -Arthur…
Arthur
He is. I’ll be back.
ARTHUR exits. EMILY sighs goes to move KARAN’s luggage back to where she placed it. Suddenly, FLORENCE enters. She’s at the gate Florence
Girl! Eh girl ah!
Emily Mother?! (She leaps to her feet and quickly neatens up the room. She hides ARTHUR’s documents under a couch and she keeps all of KARAN’s things in his suitcase and stows it by the door.) Let me just get the keys. Hold onFlorence Don’t worry, don’t worry. No rush. Although you really should keep your keys in a more accessible location. It’s very easy to just mount a tiny little hook here, and just hang the keys. Even I can do it, why don’t you letEmily No, no mother! Here we are! (Lets her in, FLORENCE enters with bags and bags of luggage) Come in, come in! How did you know? I know Arthur hasn’t told you. Florence Oh, I found out from my sources. (Smiles) Once I heard, I dropped everything and packed. I know I must be the first one here but I just had to rush over! Emily Actually Arthur’s… Wait… Why do you have…. Luggage? Florence You two… so young. (Shakes her head and dabs a tear) It must be so hard to manage. I’m prepared to stay until things are back to normal.
Emily You want to stay with us? (As Florence speaks she wanders around the house inspecting everything. She finds dust and makes a displeased noise.) Florence Which is why I told myself, Florence Tay, you need to get over there right away! They need your help! If it’s for a day or a week or a month or three, I’ll be there for my darling Emily. Emily (alarmed) No mother, it’s fine! It’s hard but we can manage on our own.
Florence Ya, of course. I don’t doubt you. It’s just you have so much to handle now. You never know when a third pair of hands might come in useful. See! All tidy! Now, what’s next? Emily Not the kitchen! Florence What is it dear? You’re so high strung! Let me make you some of my tea. It’s best when it’s fresh! Emily No, no, no! Mother! Please… Why don’t you go to the bedroom and leave your suitcase first. You can unpack. Let’s not leave that for later. Florence Why, thank you ah girl! So nice of you! But… The guest room is next to your father-in-laws old room right…. Aiyah… I’m not strong enough to go so close to a place where death has visited. Let me make some tea to steady myself. Emily What?! No! No! I mean the master bedroom! Florence Your room? Waaaah! Are you sure or not! I know you two need your rest. Emily Yes mother, but… what with your back… it’s better that you sleep on a something firmer. Florence I don’t know lah, girl. Won’t Arthur mind?
Emily Now mother please… The worst thing that can happen now is you throw out your back and end up in the hospital. I don’t know what I would do… (Starts herding FLORENCE away from the kitchen and towards the master bedroom) Florence Oh no! I don’t want you to fret on my account. Okay, okay, I understand. (Starts dragging her luggage to the master bedroom.) But remember! After this, tea! FLORENCE exits. ARTHUR enters. Arthur Someone came? Emily My mother is here. Arthur How? Emily She has her “sources”. Arthur, I do not want deal with her now. You need to get her out of here… If she settles in, she’ll be here for weeks! Arthur
Where?
Emily I sent her to the master bedroom to unpack. Arthur What?! Emily It was the only way to keep her out of the kitchen! I’m telling you she’s drawn to unwashed cutlery like a moth toArthur Your mother is not commandeering our bedroom! Emily She is not getting in the kitchen until it’s spotless. You know my mother; if she sees it messy she’ll think we can’t take care of ourselves. She’ll chain herself to the stove! Arthur
Better the stove than our bedframe!
Emily Fine, fine! You go tell her then!
Arthur What?! Me?! Why do I have to do your dirty work! I’m grieving! Emily Maybe she’ll show pity and be more willing to listen to you. Now if you excuse me, I have a kitchen to scrub, before my mother stumbles in and gets it into her head that we live like Ikeastraddling bohemians. EMILY and ARTHUR exit seperately. KARAN enters. Karan INDRAN! I have found no conclusive evidence! Of course there’s one conveniently planted book at his bedside table! Hardly proof of a spiritual revolution! Now – (sees his luggage packed up and in a corner) – OH!! So you think you can just pack me away is it INDRAN! No, no, no no! (He tears open his suitcase and takes out the robe and a box then exits.) FLORENCE and ARTHUR enter. Arthur Yes, yes. Of course I know you are here to help, but believe me, depriving me of my bed is not the best way to do that. You don’t need to stay with us Mother. We can take care of things here ourselves. There is the sound of a door slamming in the distance. Florence What was that? Arthur (Sighs) The bathroom door tends to slam… Don’t bother, it’s probably that stubborn old man. Florence Oh?…old man… OOH! You mean his (she waves her hands mystically) presence hasn’t …left… this place yet? Arthur Ha! The way things are going I don’t think his (he waves his hands mystically) presence will never leave. Florence Oh my…!
Arthur Now look, I need to find out where that undertaker is. Why don’t you just sit here and wait for Emily to come back. Florence Of course, of course my dear. I have something very important to do anyway. FLORENCE sits down and looks around. She has a lot of extreme determination. She begins to meditate. Florence OH RAJAN… OH SPIRIT OF THE DEPARTED…. COME…. SHOW YOURSELF… SHOW YOURSELF…. OHHH… OHHH…. (KARAN angrily comes into the room dressed in his ritual garments. He walks behind the sofa, unnoticed by FLORENCE and picks up his luggage, he eyes her with irritation. He approaches her) SHOW YOURSELF! (She suddenly claps and opens her eyes and sees KARAN. She lets loose a short shriek but controls herself) I knew it. Karan (vaguely confused.) Hello? Florence (awestruck) Hello…. (Catches herself) I’m so sorry. Karan am.
(thinking she’s talking about the funeral) Not as sorry as I
FLORENCE nod in sad understanding. Florence
You know… we met once before…
Karan I don’t remember. Florence Of course… The…. journey…. makes the mind foggy. Karan The flight wasn’t that bad. A lot of turbulence, though. Florence (nods sagely) A troubled spirit has difficultly moving between worlds.
Karan Excuse me; don’t try that first world, third world nonsense please. There was a time we were one country once. Florence The lost soul speaks only in riddles and enigmas!
Karan
….Are you sure we’ve met? I am excellent with faces.
Florence It’s true… you look different though… changed. It’s as if this… experience ….has made you age beyond your years. Karan With family like this? Of course I have more grey hairs! Florence
You blame your family?
Karan Then who? I’m not leaving here until they do as I tell them! Florence That’s not good at all. Please, you must move on! Karan What are you talking about! I’m staying right here! Florence Oh my no no no! (Rifles through her bag and produces a talisman) Oh… OHH…. Ohhh…. HONOURED SPIRIT… THIS IS NOT YOUR PLACE… IT’S TIME YOU MOVED ON!! MOVED ON!!!! MOVED ON! FLORENCE moves towards KARAN and stamps a piece of paper with Chinese characters on his head. Karan What are you trying to do you crazy woman! Florence (Something fearful in Chinese that translates into ‘not strong enough!) FLORENCE pushes KARAN away and runs for the kitchen. Karan (Grunting in pain, he peels the paper off his face and studies it.) Oh, so Hindu practices cannot, but CHINESE superstitions are fine!
KARAN storms towards the master bedroom. EMILY enters, being pulled back by FLORENCE. Florence No dear! It’s not safe! The spirit! The spirit!
Emily Mother?! Please! There are no spirits in this house. See! Florence He was here! He was here! Unless…The talisman! It must have weakened the spirit’s hold on our plane! Quickly! We must reinforce this place to ward it off! FLORENCE runs to her bag and pulls out a huge selections of talismans. Emily Mother! What on earth are you doing with all those in your bag?! Florence Let me tell you ah girl, it never hurts to be prepared! Especially at funerals! Emily Honestly! (Shaking her head as she chases FLORENCE around the room. FLORENCE hangs the talismans up, and EMILY is trying to take them down and put them back into the box, but cannot do it as fast as her mother, who seems very experienced. The room is soon covered in, FLORENCE slows down out of breath) MOTHER! MOTHER! STOP! Florence I saw him Emily! I saw Rajan’s spirit and touched him! With this very hand! (Holds out her hand) I swear, in that contact a CHILL went through my whole body! The chill of contact with something that is more than of this world! You know, times like this, there is greater likelihood of movements in the spiritual being perceived in the physical. It’s better to err on the safe side. Emily This is not safe, this is a fire hazard! Florence Good idea, we should light incense too!
Emily Enough mother! There is no ghost! Florence But I saw him! Emily I don’t know what you saw, but I know exactly where Indran’s father is, and he is most definitely in no condition to be gallivanting around terrorizing old Florence Choi! Middle-aged. Emily Middle-aged women. Why don’t we go and pay our respects together? I think that will put your mind at rest. Florence (thinks it over) Yes… yes… I suppose that is a good idea. I did see him though, Emily. You do believe me? Emily I’m sure you saw something mother… let’s… let’s just try not to think about it? FLORENCE and EMILY leave for Father’s room, as they exit, ARTHUR and KARAN enter from the bedroom. Arthur I am telling you Uncle Karan, there is absolutely no oriental conspiracy occurring in this house! I mean honestly how could you even… even… even… (trails off as he sees all the talismans strewn about the living room) Karan Oh is that so?! Then how do you explain this! Or this! Another miracle eh INDRAN! One of those rascally cherubim perhaps! Oh wait! Maybe my brother also became a tai-chi master before he died! (Starts ranting in Tamil) Arthur Now listen... Uncle Karan, this must be some kind of mistake. I don’t know what’s happening but I will get to the bottom of it. Now, how about a cup of coffeeKaran ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME AS WELL?! No, I am tired of this! I’m going to step outside for a breath of fresh air. This place
is too claustrophobic. When I come back, I expect to find you ready to discuss this like a reasonable adult! KARAN exits. ARTHUR walks to the centre of the room and sighs. EMILY and FLORENCE enter. Arthur
Let me guess: Redecorating.
Emily My mother had a bit of a fright. She may have taken things a bit too far. Arthur I…Let’s not get into this right now. EMILY and ARTHUR take everything down.
Florence Girl, ah! Don’t lah. It’s not a good idea! Emily You just saw him mother! He’s right where he’s supposed to be. Florence That’s because of the talismans! If you take them down, who knows what will happen!
Arthur Mother, let me assure you, there are no ghosts here. My father is not some vengeful spirit! Just because I’ve taken down a few pieces of paper doesn’t mean that the devil is going to come a ‘knocking! There is a knock at the main door. ARTHUR, EMILY and FLORENCE all turn to stare at it. FLORENCE faints on the couch. EMILY tries to wake her up. Arthur
Oh for goodness sake, that’s just my uncle, Karan!
ARTHUR goes over to the door and opens it. Undertaker Hello?! I may be a bit late? The traffic was kil…. Um… I mean… heavy. Yes. I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.
Arthur Oh. Um. Oh! The home! You are Mister Goh? You’re two hours late! I was starting to think something tragic had happened. Undertaker Yes, yes. I’m Goh from Spirit Funeral Services. So sorry, so sorry! Please ah, I’m new at this. This is 14-04 yes? Arthur New?! That’s not… ah… nothing to be done anyway. I’m Arthur, that’s my wife Emily and well... Mother is overcome with grief. Undertaker Ah yes, yes. So sad… She is taking it badly. (Takes out a document and makes some annotations.) Emily Arthur, I’m taking her to our bedroom, she needs to lie down. Undertaker (Notices the talismans) Oh no! I had put you down for the western option! I didn’t know you want the oriental option. Didn’t think, didn’t think. I don’t mean to discriminate. I’ll just change that. Arthur What?! No! We’re having the western op- I mean… Listen. I just want respectable funeral funeral for my father! Undertaker Aiyah. Okay, okay. Arthur body.
I’m sorry, it’s been a bad day. Let me take you to the
Undertaker Oh no sir, please I can’t see the body yet. Arthur …Why. Undertaker I need to see the death certificate. And your IC. And passport for confirmation. Arthur Sure, sure they are in the room, let me take you-
Undertaker No, I can’t do that. It’s against regulations! My boss told me never to be in the same room as a body without first confirming the death certificate. Arthur You cannot be serious.
Undertaker Sir, people in my line of work are always serious. Arthur Okay. So I am going to go to the room next door, pick up a piece of paper, bring it back to this room, so you, me, and the piece of paper can go back to that room. Undertaker Sir, policy is policy. These things are there to protect everyone. Arthur
…
Arthur exits. As he leaves KARAN appears at the door. Karan Well? Let me in? Undertaker Oh no sir, I am not the owner of this house. I’m the undertaker. Goh. From Spirit Funeral Services. Karan Excellent. I must speak to you about the funeral ceremonies. I want theUndertaker Oh no sir, this is going to be the western option. You must be at the wrong house.
Karan What? I assure you I am not. Undertaker No, no. I have it on the form. Karan I’m telling you this is my nephew Indran’s house. Undertaker (checking his form) No, sir, there’s no Indran here.
Karan What are you talking about! I just stepped outside!
Undertaker (looking at his forms, confused) I assure you sir there is no Indran here! Karan Now listen you, I just flew down from Malaysia this morning and I am not in any sort of mood to be trifled with! Undertaker Oh!! You just flew in? This makes sense! You know, a lot of these HDB flats look the same. I had so much trouble finding this one myself! Are you sure you didn’t take a wrong turn on? Or got off at the wrong floor? Sometimes the lifts give trouble as well. Karan Do you seriously believe that there are coincidentally two people died in the small building on the same day at the same time and both undertakers are late! Undertaker When I started this job, my boss told me not to be surprised by anything. I suppose this is what he meant. Karan (shakes his head) A dark world. Undertaker True, true. You should have seen the deceased’s wife. She was overcome with grief! She could barely stand. Karan Oh! My brother’s wife died years ago! Undertaker There you have it! Mystery solved! Karan My apologies, sir. Undertaker It’s fine. You must be under a lot of stress. Try drinking less caffeine drinks. The things they do to your mind areKaran -Horrifying! I know, it’s surprising they aren’t illegal. Well, Thank you for the help. Goodbye. Undertaker Sir, wait! Karan Yes?
Undertaker (takes his hand) I’m sorry for your loss. Karan Thank you. (KARAN leaves. THE UNDERTAKER, alone snoops around the house, he notices some dust and he shakes his head. ARTHUR re-enters with the papers. ) Arthur
Well. Is everything in order?
UNDERTAKER takes the papers and inspects them carefully. Undertaker Hold on...Alright. Perfect! Everything’s perfect… Well, not perfect exactly… I mean, it’s very sad…. Um…. I’m sorry for your loss. EMILY and FLORENCE enter, FLORENCE is collecting her bags. Arthur Yes, you said that. So I can take you to my father’s room now? Undertaker Yes, yes. Arthur Alright it’s just down the hall to the left. (UNDERTAKER leaves, ARTHUR follows him but stops when he sees EMILY and FLORENCE) Um… Mother? Are you going now? Emily Yes, she is. I don’t know why she’s seems so stressed out but this just isn’t where she should be now. I’m talking her home – you can handle things here right. Arthur She’s leaving? That’s wonderf… Er, I mean. Oh that’s too bad. But I suppose it’s for the best. You must take care of your health Mother. Florence I know… I’m sorry Arthur. Sad isn’t it? I was supposed to be here to help and now Emily is going to have to take me all the way back herself… Aiyah, you know I think I can just stay here and rest I will be fine-
Emily -No! Mother! You are going home right now! I do not want you here… stressing yourself out! You are onlyFlorence All right, all right girl I understand. (sighs) Such is life I suppose. But you must believe me, I am sure I saw what I saw! Emily Mother, please. Can we just put this behind us. You’ll upset Arthur. Florence Very well. I’ll go quietly. Just be careful Emily. At times like this you must be sensitive, not stubborn. There is a spiritual dimension and the things we do here will be reflected there! You never know what doors you may be opening unintentionally. FLORENCE opens the door and KARAN is waiting for her. Karan You! FLORENCE screams and drops everything, running offstage. Emily MOTHER! (EMILY is about to chase after her mother) Karan ARE YOU ALL TRYING TO KEEP ME OUT OF THIS HOUSE?! Emily (remembering herself) Oh! Uncle Karan! I’m so sorry, how did you- (letting him in) Karan Some character claiming to be an undertaker tried to convince me that I was in the wrong house! Emily The undertaker? Surely a misunderstandingKaran -Ohh! Misunderstanding eh! Misunderstanding is it?! KARAN goes to the bedroom and returns pushing the UNDERTAKER with ARTHUR in tow.
Undertaker Sir, please! I’m going have to ask you to stop! My company has very strict rules about taking out grief on employees! You have to opt for that option beforehand!
Arthur Karan, what’s the matter with you? EMILY exits. Karan Oh, what’s the matter with me he says?! Too afraid to own up to your own plots, eh Indran?! Well here is your agent! And you caught red-handed cavorting with him!
Undertaker Oh no, no, you must have been mistaken for someone. Karan Of course you are! And are you not the undertaker who but a few moments ago, stopped a grieving man from entering shelter and cast him out into this concrete maze to search in vain for something he was never to find?!
Beat. Arthur Well? Undertaker (laughs) You must understand that this is all very confusing, you had applied for the western option, and he…. Well… I assumed! (Gestures at KARAN)
Karan How can you be that stupid! Don’t you see the resemblance between us! Don’t you see the resemblance! Undertaker Sir…I don’t see colour, if that’s what you are trying to imply. Beat.
Karan Yes well… fine then… as long as you realize your mistake. We have more pressing matters to attend to in any case. First off, we’re changing to the Hindu option as-
Undertaker -curry option checkArthur No changing! Karan, I don’t know why you can seem to understand this, but we are not changing our plans, just because you throw a tantrum.
Karan You dare! Why I should – As tensions rise, it becomes apparent that they are about to fight. EMILY reenters with FLORENCE. Both are horrified, for different reasons. Florence S-spirit! T-the s-s-spirit! (Everyone looks at her oddly. She tries to say ‘ghost’) Gho-gho-gho-ghoUndertaker Ah yes ma’am! I am Mr Goh from Spirit Services. Are you thinking of planning in advance? I have some brochures... Emily Everyone please! Control yourselves! You’re upsetting my mother! Can’t we settle this like normal people?! Undertaker Oh, this is very common ma’am. We see a lot of these inter-religious squabbles. Very messy. Arthur Wait! You! You said you see happen often? Undertaker Yes…. Arthur How are they usually settled? Who gets to decide? Karan, I’m sure we can agree to follow the precedent? Undertaker Oh I’d highly advise you to do sir! We have a very high success rate! None of our clients have ever complained. (He pulls out a manual and starts flipping though the pages) Karan (Thinks) Very well. We Rajaratnams are very reasonable people!
Florence I’ve never seen anything like this! It’s like he’s really here with us!
Arthur Right….wellUndertaker Sir! I have it sir! I’ve consulted our standard operating procedure manual and I feel I have a solution! Karan Good! At least we are getting somewhere, now; tell me what you have to offer. Arthur
This still isn’t your decision.
FLORENCE gasps. Karan I should be involved! Florence He must be involved! This is how he will find peace! Karan Finally someone here who is thinking of my peace of mind. Florence Yes… only when you find peace can you rest! Karan Exactly! I’m telling you Indran, once this matter is over I will be out of your hair! Arthur
I don’t see how you-
Undertaker -I have found it! Inter-religious Funeral Protocol! (holds up book in triumph.) Now… Karan Well? Undertaker Please! You cannot rush this. Let me see. What is the conflict? Western option andArthur I’d prefer if you call it Christian optionUndertaker I’m sorry sir, the form is very specific. Karan Oh stop with the fuss, Indran. Let’s get this done with.
Undertaker Thank you. And you want the curry option, correct? Well. I am pleased to say we have exactly the right solution for you. Emily Oh really? Undertaker Yes ma’am. You do have one more possibility on the table. A very popular option. Arthur What is it? Undertaker It’s a bit sensitive sir… (he leads ARTHUR forward, away from the group.) Sir, in my professional opinion, I think perhaps the best, the only option you have left to exercise is… (He whispers into ARTHUR’S ear) Arthur
Two… coffins.
Undertaker Two. Coffins. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Elegant isn’t it? Two coffins, two funerals! Simple! No more conflict. Arthur What are you saying? Are you really telling me to buy two coffins for my dead father? Are you insane? Undertaker It’s really a popular option. Arthur But which one is … real? Undertaker Both are real, sir. Arthur No, which one gets the body? Undertaker There’s the brilliance sir! You wouldn’t know! We shuffle them around. No one could tell one from the other. We’ll even give it the exact weight! Arthur You want to play Three-card Monte with my father’s corpse?!
Karan WHAT?! (pushing forward) Undertaker Sir! That’s a gross over-simplication of our Interreligious Funeral Protocol.
Arthur What else can this be? Undertaker Well sir, have you heard of Schrödinger’s cat? Well, think of it that way. You know how the cat is both dead and alive until you look? Well your father’s body is in both coffins at the same time… until you look. So as long as you don’t look, you can hold two separate services each with whatever optional extras you would want! Karan
My brother will not be your perverse thought experiment!
Arthur This is completely ludicrous! Undertaker Sir! Surely you understand the body isn’t really important anyway; it’s all about the motions, the ceremony! The body is just waste material to be disposed of. Pause. Arthur
I think… you should leave now.
Undertaker Are you sure? Why don’t you take a vote? If you think about it rationally, the two coffins option is ideal! I’ll even throw in a 99-year warranty! Arthur Oh! A vote! A vote! Why do we need a vote! I’ve already decided! Get out of my house! Undertaker But you’ve signedKARAN snatches the paper from him.
Karan Get out, you cretin!
Undertaker But…. You need to fill up your feedback form! ARTHUR and KARAN advance, and the UNDERTAKER is forced to leave. Emily Never in my life could I imagine-
Arthur Such an absolute disregard for even the most basic of courtesies! Karan Who does that man think he is! What is the world coming to! Arthur I mean, honestly! That was appalling!
Karan Two coffins he says! Arthur He said it was popular?! Is this seriously what everyone does? Karan This is exactly what I find is wrong with Singapore. Everyone thinks they know what’s best. Like there can be a by the book solution to everything. Standard issue, SOP. So logical it makes your brain hurt. Arthur Well who the hell cares if its what most people do? We aren’t going to just follow the herd. Karan It just wouldn’t work! How would you split the guests? A lottery?
Arthur Ha! It’s unreasonable! Emily It is, isn’t it? And neither of you are unreasonable, are you? A pause.
Arthur (suspiciously) No… Emily You aren’t going to stubbornly insist on things that just aren’t going to work? Karan Never! This family has always been practical people, Emily!
Arthur
… Yes.
Karan Rajan wouldn’t stand for any of it. He would just stop everything and sayArthur Get out of my house? Karan Well, not in those words but… He wouldn’t let some outsider tell the family what to do. Emily He didn’t let things get in the way of what was important to him. Karan He… kept things in perspective.
Pause. Arthur If we came up with compromise, it would be simple. Understated. Karan We’re level-headed people. Emily Clearly. Pause. Arthur I mean, sometimes… we have to make space. Everyone knows - funerals are for the living not the dead. Emily So wise of you, dear.
Arthur
Well…
Emily I don’t know where you get such good ideas. Arthur Thank you. Pause. Karan We’ll have to talk more, of course. I’m sure there’s a way to make everyone happy. It’s what my brother would have wanted. I’ll have to call the temple soon though. Arthur
I think…
EMILY glances at ARTHUR. Arthur
I think I better show you to the phone.
ARTHUR and KARAN exit. EMILY and FLORENCE are left alone. Emily
Wow. Thank goodness they…Mother? What is it?
Florence
OH! Rajan had a brother!
~END~
Luke Vijay Somasundrum Third Prize
Announcements
1. Dear NUS undergrads, our inaugural Musings contest will now be open all the way to the 24th of March. Prize winners stand to receive vouchers as well as have their entries featured in future issues of Symbal. If you are inclined to pen your own prose / poetry, why not share it with us? For quick reference, the full guidelines for submission are up on LitSoc’s WordPress. We look forward to reading your work! 2. Dear all, here’s announcing that Symbal will continue to consider submissions of prose or poetry that far exceed our word limits! We may do so by featuring a limited number of them at a time in periodical form. If interested, kindly email us your (preferably completed) work for consideration and approval. We’ll be happy to discuss the specifics with you.
_______________________________________________________ At Symbal, we value your feedback and would like to maintain a section featuring your letters to the editor. Should you have general comments on layout, aesthetics and how to make this magazine awesome, you may also write us at symbalmagazine@gmail.com!
Submission Guidelines Submission of Literary Works Symbal welcomes works from NUS undergraduate and graduate students, staff, students from other tertiary institutions (local junior colleges, polytechnics and other universities) and even those who are serving their national service. Unlike other publications, we welcome any kind of work that is of literary value regardless of whether it is poetry, prose, dramatic extract, commentaries or treatises. Due to space constraints, however, we would like the writers to observe the following guidelines: Poetry – Any form of poetry is welcomed but do keep it within a page of the word document. Prose – Any genre is acceptable but do try to keep the word count between 500-2500. If you would like to submit a longer piece of work such as a novella, please provide us with a summary of your work (and the full text, if possible). Do bear in mind that it will be serialised when you are writing this piece. Dramatic Extract – It should consist of no more than 2 scenes. It is advisable that the scenes should for the most part be able to stand on their own (i.e. the reader should be able to make out what is generally going on as well as the relationship(s) between the characters). Of course, if you would like to submit a monologue, you are more than welcome to do so.
Submission Guidelines Commentaries/Treatises: Kindly keep to the word limit of not more than 2500 words. Do note that it must be relevant to the literary arts; expositions on a particular book/author, commentaries on the state of literature in the country/education system or even reflections on a particular literary event are accepted. As we aim to give budding writers a platform to showcase their works, we will accept submissions that have already been published or entered in competitions as long as they do not contravene any guideline of the other party. Do note that it is your sole responsibility to ensure this. Should we come to the knowledge that you have contravened the guidelines of another publication or organisation, we will remove your work immediately. By the same token, we are fine with you submitting the same work to other publications or competitions as long as the other party is fine with it. Symbal reserves first serial and anthology rights. We may also consider publishing your work in other mediums, but will contact you in advance for approval. We will not publish or modify your work without seeking your consent.
Submission Guidelines Submission of photographs/illustrations What is a magazine without some pictures or illustrations? If you would like an avenue to showcase your artistic skills, Symbal is a great place to do so! We welcome all forms of photos, drawings and paintings. Do bear in mind that at the moment, such submissions will be included in the publication only if it is relevant to the theme or fits a particular work, as there is no space set aside to curate such works. However, do check back on the submission guidelines from time to time as there might be a section calling for such works in the future. Similarly, your submission will be an indication of your agreement to allow us the rights to retain the pictures (which will still be credited to you) as well as to edit it to suit the publication.
How to Submit Send all your works to symbalmagazine@gmail.com. The subject title should be prefaced as follows: “Submissions: <title of work>”. Please submit your works in the body of the email or in an attached word document (do note that PDF files will not be accepted). You are highly encouraged to append a short personal biography of about 50 – 100 words to the email. Should you have further enquiries, kindly write to us via the same email address and preface the subject heading with “Enquiries: <area of concern>”. We seek your cooperation in following this template so as to allow us to sort the mail easily. Thank you.