For my own personal remembrance.

My local friend Zineng, who probably has personal connections to practically every museum-affiliated person in Singapore, took me to an exhibition opening of a local artist's retrospective at the Singapore Art Museum. There was much free food, free wine and good art-viewing to be had, and the village rejoiced in a surprisingly unpretentious setting.

Anyhow, getting there involved riding on the back of his motorbike, which was a fantastic post-sunset experience of the island. Riding on a motorbike anywhere, really, is a wonderfully visceral way to experience any place. Maybe it's because watching the landmarks of the city whizz past you in the open air gives everything a more cinematic quality. Maybe it's because deep down, I know that I am too practical and un-badass to actually ever own and ride a motorbike, so better let a more experienced person drive while the wind whiplashes my face.

Oddly enough, motorbikes also remind me of The Last Life in the Universe--a movie made by a Thai filmmaker which takes place in Thailand, and stars Tadanobu Asano as a harmless librarian / Yakuza gangster / ridiculously attractive person. I know I name-drop this movie a lot, but only because it's one of my favorite movies ever. Plus, now that I've been to Thailand, I can appreciate the movie more once I watch it again when I come back from Singapore? Yes, exactly.

Gang-bangs, farewell dinner, and Christmas.

Singapore is the goody-two-shoes, law-abiding hall monitor of Southeast Asiaits more ghetto neighbors would probably beat to a bloody pulp if it weren't so goddamn rich and powerful. The analogy I often give to friends back home is that Singapore is kind of like Orange County but with more fish balls: a very safe place to raise your kids if you want to shelter them from the social maladies of drugs and excessive gum-chewing.

Annabel Chong, who was born in Singapore, probably did not do too much drugs or gum-chewing when she was growing up. But that did not stop her from doing....a lot of men. By setting the world record for the world's biggest gang bang in porno history, she (or rather her vagina) says screw you, Singapore! And about seventy other men, too!

I learned about Annabel Chong and her sexploits (filmography includes: Sgt. Lonely Pepper Hearts Club Gangbang; I Can't Believe I did the Whole Team; feats include pioneering on-camera triple penetration) because last night Christine was sporting an I Heart Annabel Chong T-shirt and everyone knows that Christine is a pervert who wants to be just like Annabel Chong.



Oh, Singapore. Who would have thought.

--

Last night, the Japanese Crew and Its Associated People took me out to a joint farewell-Yumi / Jun's preemptive birthday celebration dinner. The girls surprised me with a very sweet homemade card signed from our friends, which made my heart melt right out of my halter-top and fall all over the floor in an ooey-gooey mess.


The right attitude can transform a train station into a rawking mosh pit.


Cute girls. And me.


I kick thee out of my sight, Japanese boy. I kick thee!


My idea of nationalism. Chomp.

One of the best things you learn about studying abroad is the reassurance that no matter where you go, you will find good people. I hope to see some of these kids again--maybe possibly in Japan if I end up working there a year from now. Who knows?

--





Orchard Road, one of the main shopping districts of Singapore, is all pimped up for the holidays in a blinding orgy of tinsel and stringed lights. It's quite the purty sight.

Now as my friends know, I LOVE DECEMBER and I LOVE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS. I love all the cheesy things that start coming out of the woodwork at the end of the year: all the new holiday Starbucks latte flavors, how little pine green and holly ornaments start cropping up in random places and just the general sense of festivity heightened by the sudden crisp chill in the weather. Plus, my birthday is smack in the middle of all the merry-making. True, I probably get half the amount of gifts compared to other non-December babies (Here's your birthday and Christmas present, rolled into one!), but I figure that in the grand scheme of things, it just makes an already special month extra-super-special.

--

I'm leaving for Hong Kong tomorrow. I hear Hong Kong is like the New York City of Asia. We'll see how it goes!

Quakers, FIlipinos, and more.

Scott: no really, we seriously miss you
Scott: you need to be back int eh new world
Scott: instead of some malaria infested island

Oh, Scott "Snap-snap-triple-snap, BITCH!" Wen. Thank you for reminding me where I really belong. Because walking through the mega-malls of Singapore in a grass skirt and a goat-skin bra was starting to make me feel really uncouth!



Now this is every woman's dream come true. Waking up to some Quaker. Not the edible oat kind, but the ones that come in the form of a certain hapa boy named Jonathan. Thank you for the care package, friend! This photograph will now go under my pillow before I go to sleep every night.

Thank you Robbie, for always talking to me and keeping me updated on your life...NOT. Where the hell did you disappear off to? The only way I remember you is from the fractured bones and bruises that still haven't healed from my one year of living with you. Why are Filipinos so goddamn abusive?



Speaking of Filipinos... I saw a whole bunch of 'em. A whole country of 'em! This must have been about a week ago. Or something like that.













By the way, somewhere between the two-hour distance that separates Clark Airport and Manila, there's an invisible rift in the fabric of time and space that transports you directly to downtown Los Angeles. Or at least that's what it felt like. Because some parts of Manila are so eerily similar to downtown Los Angeles I was ready to pee my pants. It might have been the fact that we were driving on the right side of the road. Or the ridiculous traffic and the smog. Or all the brown people who love Jesus. Or like, the fact that the Philippines was once occupied by the United States. In any case, it was kuh-ra-zee. You just had to see it to believe it.

So my one regret is that I didn't have enough time to properly experience all the Filipino things that the country has to offer. That, and I didn't have a thermal body suit to keep me warm when I rode that horrible nine-hour bus ride from Manila to Vican in an air-conditioned bus that gives a new defintion to the term freezing hell.

Toubie and I had fun, though. We ate a lot of pork / rice dishes, got made fun of by Filipino teenagers, played in random playground sets in the middle of the city, looked at churches, random art galleries and a bunch of other amazing, awesome things! I'm excited to travel to Vietnam in ten days with this girl.






We're cute little Japanese girls.



The best way to conclude any trip in Southeast Asia: Burger King. God bless fat.

--

I'll be home in exactly three weeks. Three weeks, friends!

The right answer usually involves sex, drugs and violence.

Dear Singapore,

It has been brought to my attention that while only forty-three years old as an independent country, you are struggling with a low marriage rate and your population is in imminent decline. Several government ministries are scratching their heads and wondering why a country that is so young and rich and successful is not twisting its panties in a knot to screw like bunnies and make more babies for its fledgling nation.

And this might hurt a little bit, but I’m going to be brutally honest with you. And no, it’s not even about the size for once. For all your economic power, your island does absolutely nothing to turn me on. Even with your obvious phallic symbolism in boasting the world's largest man-made fountain and man-made waterfall, your tiny country-state crammed with skyscrapers and other erect physical structures is one libido-crunching black hole of regulations. Being reminded every other corner of the many fines I can receive for the many minor transgressions I may commit does not make me want to have more sex and bear children. It makes me want to walk around with hunched shoulders and constantly glance over my back to make sure that Big Brother isn’t watching me.

No littering? Okay, that’s fine; picking up trash does get a little anal after a while. But no gum chewing? And a death penalty for any possession of drugs? Isn’t that a bit too melodramatic? And no public dancing? First of all, what the fuck does that even mean? And secondly, how the hell can you expect your people to make babies if a mere rhythmic sashay of the hips is going to lead to a nasty run-in with the law?

What I fail to understand is that for all your fetishistic compulsion to make every harmless activity known to man illegal, you make the one activity that is antithetical to the production of happy families legal. That is, prostitution. You demand an outrageous fine for picking flowers off a lawn and spitting on the sidewalk, but you look the other way when your citizens get busy with some random whore off of Geylang Road. And then you act all surprised when your people aren’t getting married and making more little Hui Fangs and Jia Nings. What kind of messed up logic is that, Singapore?

Your censorship policies and one-party rule doesn’t work too well to the libido of your people, either. While beautiful people get by with being beautiful to get some booty, the rest of the average-looking folk use things like intelligence, a highly articulate mind and drug-hook ups to get into other people’s pants. But if there’s no open exchange of opium and opinion, why should there even be an open exchange of body fluids?

Exactly, Singapore. Exactly.

Because honestly, Singapore, when you cultivate a public psychological space that is hyper-paranoid of all things dirty and irregular, you are indirectly nurturing a subconscious fear of sex among your people. Because as much as you want to admit otherwise, sex is a very dirty and irregular business, and judging by the current state of affairs, no amount of government propaganda is going to make your people get busy any time soon.

Maybe you need to take a cue from your less rich but more sex-happy neighbors to instill some artificial danger and excitement into your little country-state. You know, give your citizens a sweet taste of death to kick-start their dormant libidos. For example, I have traveled to unsafe parts of Southeast Asia that have unpaved roads, no stoplights and really shitty drivers. Just the very act of crossing the street was a life-or-death situation. But guess what? It made my heart beat faster! It flushed my cheeks and made me sweat! And being in the midst of a dirty-ass ghetto with a poor infrastructure and constant muggings ignited my evolutionary instinct to go home to my hubby and make some babies!

How about this, Singapore? Loosen that collective necktie and order yourself a bottle of champagne. And ask that foreign fellow from Europe or North American to roll you a joint. How about as a social experiment, for one week you make prostitution illegal and everything else legal? There may be some mild bouts of anarchy. There may be some litter on the streets, and then possibly some meth-soaked bodies. But I assure you, all the bloody mayhem will make your country collectively horny as hell.

Think of the children.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Non-Singaporean

Some important business back home.

Some cool cats of the male variety back home have decided to take on the Insomnia Film Festival and spend twenty-four hours of their life writing, directing, acting and editing in their very own short film "Countdown"!. Vote for them and make your mama proud. Heck, if Angry Asian Man thinks it's worth a mention in his daily updates occurring within the Asian American community, then you know it's something gosh-wow-kabam!


Coincidentally, the makers of "Countdown" are also a microcosmic sample of the ridiculously beautiful people who compose Lapu the Coyote that Cares Theater Company, an Asian American theater group that's been around UCLA for the last eleven or so years. Rumor has it that they are holding their annual auditions like, now, and you should like, check this shit out before you regret it for the rest of your life and die a lonely, bitter death. Now you really wouldn't want that, would you?

Before I joined LCC, I was a socially inept recluse with awkward conversation skills and no boyfriend. Two years later, I am still a socially inept recluse with awkward conversation skills and no boyfriend--but now with invaluable writing, directing and acting experience under my belt! Hot damn!

--

I just spent four days in the Philippines. I ate a lot of pork and rice. I will elaborate more on this later.

A small sampling of the people I've met in Singapore.

Yuni

Two weeks ago, I had a chance to be aquainted with Yuni, who is a staff on the international relations office of N.U.S. (or something of that nature) and organized the weekend Tiomann trip for international students like myself. This is a weird, extremely narcissistic bias of mine, but people with "Y" names tend to subconsciously get extra brownie points with me--and the more similar to my name, the better. But not exactly the same, because then I would have to eliminate you. In addition to that, she apparently has a brother named Fayumi--whom she calls "Yumi" for short. Clearly, her parents have unexcelled taste in naming their children.



But Y name asides, Yuni was so concerned that one stray kitten chilling on the pier would somehow accidentally fall into the ocean she picked it up and carried it safely to the mainland. And it didn't end there. She bought ice cream and bread from the nearest food stand to make sure that this malnourished thing was well-fed. I was very amused. Not only that, I was moved. If someone is willing to put so much time, money and effort towards one flea-bitten, disease-ridden stray kitty (and for some reason, Tiomann is just swarming with them), then you can be certain that he or she has a pretty big heart.


--


Dr. Shen

Dr.Shen teaches the introduction to Asian theatre class that I took this semester. I know it's weird to call someone of his age "cute," but Dr. Shen is just that. A cute Chinese man. Maybe it's the way he holds the sheet of lecture notes over his mouth while he's talking like a shy geisha girl covering her teeth with her silk fan. Or how he constantly oscillates between self-deprecating humor and joking narcissism over his own academic brilliance. Or the way he... awww, shucks, just look at him! Don't you want him to be your cute, non-creepy uncle who shows you videos of Japanese puppetry when he's not busy working on the next academic thesis that will shake the very foundation of theater studies as we know it?



I kind of look whorish here because that day I had to act in a five-minute scene from a Chinese play where I played a saucy whore. Either that, or I'm making that up and I actually do wear six pounds of make-up every day.

--

Seno Gumira

Okay, so I didn't really meet Seno Gumira. I was indirectly acquainted of this Indonesian author through my Southeast Asian literature class because we happened to read his trilogy of short stories for a recent lecture.

But not only did Semo Gumira manage to write a short story that involves zombies AND a scathing criticism of the Indonesian government, he bears a very uncanny resemblance to my apartment mate Robbie.

Semo Gumira:




Robbie Akira Monsod:





Or maybe it's just very powerful wishful thinking on my part because as much as I hate to admit it, I really do miss having a domineering Japino around to verbally abuse me and tear down my self-esteem every time I think I lost something important when it's actually in immediate physical proximity of me. I hate you, slut. I mean, DON'T HURT ME I LOVE YOU

--


Arthi



I'm cheating here because Arthi actually lives in Los Angeles and I knew her before I even came here. But I talk to this hottie every day on AIM she may as well be in Singapore. Now if only.

Arthi is one of those amazing people who manages to have time to be a pre-med student and a very creative, artistic person at the same time. I don't know how the hell she does it. I can't wait to see her again--because our hang-out sessions always inevitably seems to end with one of us massaging the other person's back on someone's bed. I question my own sexuality every time I think of her. Sometimes late at night I touch myself and start sobbing uncontrollably for no particular reason. Oops, now that just really ventured into T.M.I. territory, didn't it? I was just making that up to be FUNNY! Ha, ha! HA HA HA HA HA! Ha, ha, ha...

On a completely unrelated note, I'll be back in five minutes...

--

Some Random Sister



Now I don't know who THIS sister in the hoochie black dress is, but clearly she knows how to keep it REAL. Even in a farewell buffet dinner at the Ritz Carlton hotel, she knows her ROOTS. You can take a fly girl out of Westwood, but you can never take the Westwood out of a straight up P.I.M.P.C.E.S.S., BITCH! Just want to give a quick HOLLA to all the homegirls hanging in the 310. Um, did you hear me? I said HOLLA, YOU STUPID DUMBFUCK HO BITCHES! Don't raise your arms all at once now. Seriously.

I don't smile in photographs because when you're straight outa WestWOOD, smiling is a sign of weakness.

Text message this, bitch!

Apparently President Bush is going to be in town tomorrow because of a stop-over on the way to Vietnam. Not only that, he will actually be on campus at NUS. Chances are I won't see him because it'll be highly inaccessible to the public, blah-blah-blah, but kind of neat, en't it?


Speaking of Singapore, most recently a certain 23-year-old Singaporean woman beat the Guiness world record for fastest text-messaging. Congratulations, Singapore. Living in a tiny country is no excuse for not having nimble thumbs.

--

Thanks to a Southeast Asian literature class, I've had a chance to read a lot of good short stories from Singapore. Do you know what's so great about reading short stories from Singapore if you're studying abroad in Singapore? Chances are, if they ever mention an actual location within the country, you've already been there. Twice.

Speaking of reading, here are the books that I have read while being here:

- Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
One interesting thing about this book was I wasn't particularly pulled into the story while I was reading it, but it wasn't until after I put down the book I couldn't stop thinking about it. Creepy and unsettling in a wonderful kind of way.

- The Giver by Louis Lowry
This is a reread of a young adult classic. Recommended rereading at least every five years.

- Best American Short Stories 2006
They really are damn good.

- The Merlion and the Hibiscus [A collection of short stories written in English from Singapore and Malaysia]
Southeast Asian fiction is sorely underrepresented in the publishing world. It's a shame a lot of these writers aren't known outside of their respective home countries.

- The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
I can't believe someone my age wrote this book.

- When Broken Glass Floats by Chanrithy Him
One of the few nonfiction literature to emerge from the Pol Pot regime. A woman's autobiographical account of growing up in a Khmer Rouge death camp as a child. This is a really compelling read even if you've never been to Cambodia. If anyone ever wants to borrow it, let me know.

- Currently reading: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon.
This is my reward book for sort of getting all the anal academic crap out of the way until finals. I am only maybe three chapters into it and I am absolutely loving it. Magicians? Comic books? Jewish people? What more could I possibly ask for?!

I also checked out a copy of Banana Yoshimoto's Kitchen in Japanese and since I read the book already in English, I figure my focus can be on feeling out the general rhythm of the language rather than trying to pick my brains figuring out all the details of the plot. I'm excited!

--

It's raining! My spaghetti-strap top is colored like a fruit-roll-up! I love exclamation points!

Cambodia (Part III.) The Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum.

One of the best classes I’ve ever taken in college was a course in Holocaust-related film and literature. I spent a good chunk of my past summer reading Iris Chang’s “The Rape of Nanking.” And one of the most memorable places I’ve visited so far in Southeast Asia are the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and the killing fields right outside the capital city.

I don’t think it’s so much that I enjoy learning about these subjects. Maybe it’s more akin to a grotesque voyeurism that comes from watching the aftermath of a car accident amplified by a tenfold. Maybe it’s because no matter how much you learn about it or read about it, there is always this huge unanswerable question looming over the historical facts, and no matter how close you reach the edges of the black hole existing in every human being, the very depths of it can never be truly comprehended or rationalized.

Someone needs to take care of the dead. It’s in our civilized desire to make sure that the people who pass away are properly buried or cremated. Even for those who don’t necessarily believe in an afterlife, there’s a certain innate idea that the human dead should be taken care of, not disposed in the streets like animals or garbage. We all hope that when the time comes for us to die, that our loved ones will take care of us even if we won’t experience it ourselves.

Over two million people died under Pol Pot’s regime, and someone needs to take care of the dead. Someone needs to make sure that the photographs of the nameless victims are on display, that the skulls have open air to breathe and that the museum is there for anybody who wants to learn. I wonder if the tour guides and people who run the Tuol Sleng Genocide museum ever wish they were doing something else. Or if they are so used to reciting the same grisly historical data day in and day out that they have become desensitized to it. Maybe they have simply accepted that taking care of the dead is their everyday job.

I love kids drawings.

Why yes, I have been enjoying my stay, thank you very much!

Things I've been up to:

- Weekend getaway to Tiomann, a scenic island beach off the coast of Malaysia. Got a lot of good snorkeling and general beach-ing done.

- Hanging out with Toubi and her friend Ai, who came to visit from Tokyo for a week.

- Went to the Biennale exhibition at Tanglin Camp, some of which involved walking in very drenching rain with no umbrella.

- Gloating over the fact that I changed one dreadfully dull class to Pass / No Pass.

I know, what a fake update of a post. I will write something substantial more later. I promise.

--

My days here are numbered. Which further fuels my rationale to eat as much cheap Singaporean food as my budget allows. I'm kind of torn between wanting and not wanting to leave. The decision, of course, has already been made for me.

Just as how the idea of coming to Singapore was an abstract, faraway concept in the days leading to my departure, the idea of coming home is, well, strange. It's too huge of a rupture in the geographical location and everyday rhythm of living that I've come to know as well as my own skin. Something's waiting for me when I finally come home, I'm just not sure what.

A public service announcement by yours truly that has nothing to do with Southeast Asia.

A message I sent four days ago to a friend:

To:	[My friend] (CSU Fullerton)
Subject:
Message:	How I can't stop singing the praises of acne.org! How I love my newly clear skin! How I love the fact that I don't even wear colored foundation anymore! I feel more alive! Hotter! Heck, I feel like a better person! I share with you because you are the only person I know who understands! ♥

--

As far as physical qualities go, God has been kindly to me. I have decent capacity of all five senses and as much as I would have liked an excuse to bear a rusty metal hook for my left hand and go completely apeshit on society, I don't have any horrible physical deformities that would relegate me to the status of the lackey family member who eats fishheads in the attic.

However, God has decided to test the extent of my mental endurance by giving me bad skin. Which has lead to many awkward years of trials, tribulations and concealer.

Which is why when a certain wonderful friend of mine (Hi Hans!) whose opinion I always trust started raving about the skin care regime found on Acne.org, I figured, oh, why the hell not?

Anyway, long story short, it's been about three weeks and it works really well. One day, I was walking to class carrying all my sketchbooks and I accidentally took my glasses off, and the class president asked me out on a date! And then I was elected Prom Queen! And then I realized that it's important to stay true to yourself at the expense of superficial popularity!

I won't be a spokesperson for any Neutrogena ads anytime soon, but my skin hasn't been this happy since I was, oh, I don't know, twelve.

If you're the rest of the 99 percent of the population who doesn't have beautiful, gorgeous skin every day, try it! And tell me about how wonderfully it worked for you. Then we can get drinks at the local pub and crow about our newly improved faces while trying to pick up members of the opposite sex.

It's raining fobs.

As much as I don't like to admit it, I've been in a bit of a rut lately. First, it's the semester system; I'm used to having everything shoved down my throat in ten succinct weeks and having the academic window of time stretch beyond and beyond what I'm used to is killing me. I've been tired, lazy, uninspired and prone to more disgruntled behavior than I am used to. Furthermore, I have been obsessing over things that are beyond my present control and I do not like how it is robbing me of my present happiness.

But things aren't so bad. It rained today, and not only that, there was a thunderstorm.

One thing that is great about Sinapore is how nutty the weather is. This little island country has the most schizophrenic weather ever--hot and humid one minute, raining cats and dogs the next. It is as though the fucked up weather is a subconscious compensation for everything else that is so strict and regulated in this country.

Singapore, by the way, has the highest incidence of people being struck by lightning.

I've always had a romanticized love for rain. Rain is a great aesthetic, cinematic and literary device for heightening emotions in dramatic situations. Lovers look hotter and more desperate when they make out with wet hair and drenching, near-transparent clothing. The background sound of rain makes music sound better, tea taste better and conversations more meaningful. When I am bored out of my mind in the afterlife and I make a top ten list of all the physical sensations I will miss from living on this earth, one of them will be waking up and falling asleep to the sound of rain.

And this is what happened today; I woke up to rain and thunderstorm, and for some reason, the burden of all the mundane and not-so-mundane things that have been bothering me felt temporarily lighter.

I was walking to class in this weather and it was raining so hard it was practically pounding holes into the flimsy, fobby umbrella I bought for three dollars at the local supermarket months before. The flash of lightning and roll of thunder were so close together I was afraid I was going to get burnt to a crisp. Even with the umbrella and all, my feet, my hair and my clothes were completely soaked.

It was glorious. Make-out buddy or no make-out buddy.

--

Akira Kurosawa likes rain. I can't believe it took me almost twenty-two years to finally sit through an entire Kurosawa film, but better late than never, right?

Rashomon has always been one of those movies that has been floating in the back of my head under the category of "MUST WATCH BEFORE I DIE" and for the lack of a better description, it kicks ass. You are getting yourself immersed into the storyline and just when you start thinking Kurosawa is so brilliant and awesome and he couldn't possibly be any more brilliant and awesome, POW! He pulls something else out of his sleeve that makes everything all the more brilliant and awesome. It keeps going on like this for the whole duration of the movie. I think I needed to smoke a cigarette when I was done.

In conclusion, I need to watch more of his movies. Gotta love a man who loves his rain.

--

Last weekend, Toubi dyed my hair and cut my bangs and as a result, I look very .... Japanese. I look like an underage fob! I am both pleased and disturbed by the final outcome.