My First Ambulance Call

I had never imagined that one day I would call an ambulance for a painful foot.

At first it was the mild discomfort resulted from an exhausting 13 km jog (mixed with walking) on a Sunday morning. That afternoon saw a slightly reddened first toe joint on my right foot. I didn’t pay much attention because it happened many times.

On the following day, 13 June, Darling and I went to Legoland as planned. I applied medical ointment and bandaged the toe before I left home. At Legoland, I took off the bandage because it felt uncomfortable. It was mildly painful throughout the day.

The condition persisted for another two days. The joint became swollen on 16 June. Since I could not join Darling for jogging, I brought my Brompton to cycle alongside. Then we went to Changi Airport. The joint suddenly became seriously painful there, perhaps due to excessive exercise.

So I decided to go to Ho Hong Meng Chinese Physician and Acupuncture Centre at Tampines, which I had trusted for long time.

One day after the treatment, the joint was no longer swollen. But because I could not assert force on the toes, my body weight was mainly on the ankle, and that led to a painful right ankle on the following day, 18 June. I did the usual stuff: medical ointment, bandage, massage.

On the morning of 19 June, it felt a bit better, but still had great pain when walking. On the afternoon, however, it suddenly worsened. I could not walk without Darling’s help. Darling suggested we should go to see a doctor. After Darling helped — almost carried — me to the void deck, I realised that I could not make it even to the street to take a cab. So I asked Darling to help me buy some Salonpas patches. The patches were working, but once I started walking again, I almost collapsed.

Ambulance was the next logical option. Since it was not an emergency, I did not call 995 for SCDF but 1777 for private ambulance. I was in the ambulance after some 40 minutes of waiting.

This was the first time I called an ambulance and the first time I was in the ambulance as a patient. It was quite old and shaky. I held Darling’s hand, which gave me lots of comfort and warmth.

We arrived at A&E of Ng Teng Fong General Hospital at Jurong East. The ambulance cost S$150, cash only. We did not have so much cash. Darling had to go to IMM to withdraw money to pay for it.

While she was away, I tried to go to the toilet in a wheelchair. Although I had no problem navigating, I could not open the door. An old gentleman helped me. After using the toilet, I attempted to open the door from inside but failed. The same gentleman came to help me and pushed me to the waiting area.

After the initial examination by a nurse, Darling tried to push me to a wheelchair spot near the consultation rooms. A gentleman came to help us when he saw we had problems.

After almost two hours of waiting, we entered the consultation room. The doctor asked me the same questions that the nurse asked two hours before, and he said my ankle pain should be due to mild gout. He decided the five steps of treatment: blood test, to check kidney function; painkiller, both injection (Tramadol) and tablets (Suniton); lowering blood pressure; X-ray, to check my ankle joints; gout tablet (Colchicine).

My kidney function was normal. Like a few years back, Losartan worked well on me, lowering my blood pressure significantly. The painkiller injection and tablets  relieved much of the pain, but still I could not walk without assistance. The X-ray showed my ankle joints to be normal.

I requested to buy a pair of crutches. This was the second time I used crutches. The last time I used them, I borrowed from a clinic.

The doctor offered me medical certificate of three days, and prescribed Losartan (for hypertension), Colchicine (for gout), Suniton (for pain).

When we were waiting in front of the pharmacy, I felt a bit feverish. Darling touched my forehead and said it did warm up. It might be a side effect of the drugs. Darling went to look for the doctor but could not find him, but a nurse attended to me. Another nurse checked my body temperature and it was 37.2℃, half degree higher than usual, but it was not a fever.

We collected the medicine, made the payment. A nurse pushed me to the taxi stand. It was almost midnight and the taxi stand was empty. I requested a taxi through ComfortDelGo app and soon we were in a taxi back home.

Kindness

More than often, people shared chicken-soup-for-souls stories with me. One of the themes is it pays to be kind. In some extreme cases, the horrendously obviously made up stories tell how a kind person did small deeds of kindness and eventually the receiving ends of those deeds saved his or her life.

Of course it’s good and noble to be kind. But these stories focus on the benefit of being kind, and try to educate — or rather, entice — readers to be kind. That’s totally wrong: charitable people are kind not because kindness is profitable but because it is the right thing to do.

Another question is, should we save one’s life only because the poor soul had been kind to us? If it were a total stranger who had not done anything nice to us, and we had all the power and ability to save this stranger, shouldn’t we save him or her all the same?

Why should the authors of these stories treat good deeds as some kind of deals and trading? Why should we not be kind for a higher purpose than being helped in return? Are we so shallow-minded that we need such dear incentives to be kind? Why would people be touched and inspired by such nonsense, and pass it onto others still?

My problem is not with kind acts. A kind act, no matter what the actor’s motive is, is a kind act. My problem is with the ways those stories promote kind acts. It’s pure atrocity committed to humanity that kindness becomes a means and not the purpose itself.

无根

这是个十年前我就写过的题目。十年过去了，无根依然，却少有感慨。

对于那个我出生的国度，我抱有十分复杂的情感。我讨厌那个流氓的政党所建立的无耻的政府，讨厌因无耻的政府而造就的低劣的国民性，讨厌因低劣的国民性而形成的恶心的社会。

然而我却依然沉醉于那个国度在悠久的历史中产生的美丽的文学和艺术。我依然深深爱着我的母语，爱着以我的母语书写的诗篇，以至于我现在的工作乃是把这份对母语的爱传递给下一代。

可是，我已渐渐失去了用母语写作的能力。我再不能用母语构建一个故事，再不能用母语指点江山。讽刺而且尴尬的是，我的第二语言，如今竟成了我主要的写作语言。并不是我的第二语言修炼到多高的程度，而实在是痛感母语受污染之严重，母语词汇所关联的意象已然被那流氓的政党、无耻的政府、低劣的国民性和恶心的社会所劫持并扭曲了。

远离那个国度，却依然感受到那个国度对母语施加的强大影响力。即便对这影响力有清醒认识，我却不能躲开它，而仍然在不知不觉间被它侵略。这股影响力，美其名曰“软实力”，已经让许多远渡重洋的爱国者们自豪万分，而于我而言却是一种耻辱。

既然根不在故国，在异乡又如何？我在异乡的时间，超过了在故国的时间；我在故国是异客，在异乡却是故人。孰为故国，孰为异乡，已不复辨识，亦无须辨识。国籍已变，乡音偶失，而我的根并不在现在这个国度：这个国度里并没有一处地方可以称作我的家乡。

就在这种复杂而无奈的境况中，我的所谓无根之感，除了偶尔做感叹的题材，又有什么实际的意义呢？

My Ideal Singapore

I followed some of the rally speeches, a few of which were very arousing, whereas the rest were boring. Some candidates resorted to emotions, which I disliked a lot. Some attacked the opponents without solid foundations, which I disliked even more.

The Cooling-off Day will start in 15 minutes, marking the end of the campaign period. It is time for me to calm down (thus ‘cooling-off’) and think: what do I want for my nation?

Freedom of speech

Also known as freedom of expression, this freedom ‘includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers’, as stated in Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In everyday life, it translates into rights of opinions (or no opinions) without censorship or self censorship. Websites, press and films can be rated, but should not be censored. Public figures, including but not limited to political figures, should be confident enough to embrace critics. Lawsuits against political opponents should only aim to clear names, not to elicit large sum of damage.

Fair play

All constituencies, regardless of which party win the seats, should be granted unbiased consideration and priority in development. Town councils should be independent of partisan politics and run by professional civil servants.

Zero corruption

Singapore is almost there. Almost. She will be perfect if not for the ridiculous and largely unnecessary lapses. Transparency in the handling of our CPF is the least the government should achieve. I am not even asking about operations of Temasek Holdings and GIC.

LGBT rights

Section 377A of Singapore’s Penal Code is a remnant of the British law during colonial days. There is no state religion in Singapore, while there is in the UK, but the latter’s official attitude (cultural and legal) towards LGBT is far more progressive. In Catholic dominant countries like Spain and Portugal, same-sex marriages have also been legalised. Same-sex marriages have been legalised even in socially conservative USA — therefore having a conservative population (whether this is true is another story) should not be an excuse for the NLB to pulp books portraying alternative families.

Better social-economic coherence

I am not an economist, so I have no suggestion on how to narrow the income gap, how to make the infrastructure cope with the ever expanding and less impatient population, and how to make life affordable for the middle and low income groups. But I know it is very expensive to live in Singapore and I do not believe it to be inevitable.

Better transports

The MRT broke down even during this sensitive period. I have no word for this. But faulty railways are not the major problem here. The major problem is, why the buses and trains are so crowded, despite successive increases of fares?

Conclusion

As a public servant, I was reminded to stay neutral and not be involved in any politics during this general election period. No, this post does not imply any side-taking. In fact, I genuinely think that all parties are equally good — in another word, equally mediocre — regardless of their positions on the political spectrum. I am not a fan of PAP, neither am I a fan of any opposition party. I criticise the government much, not because I support the oppositions (I don’t), but only because it is not (yet) optimal.

Chirping of Stars

Looking up, I saw the beautiful stars blinking upon me. Night breezes stroked my face; it was so quiet, except the chirping of some insects, likely crickets.

It was so familiar. This whole setting. The scene, the touch, and the sound.

When I was four years old, I spent a lot of time in a rural village that I called my homeland. On many summer and autumn nights, I sat in the courtyard, overwhelming myself with stars, ten times more then and there than now and here. The adults were listening to radio and chit-chatting in the rooms, while my cousins were either too old or too young to share my little paradise in the courtyard. Night breezes stroked my face as gently then, and I heard the chirping loud and clear. ‘Where is the sound from?’ I looked around and found nothing special. Then I looked at the stars. The stars, as they always are, were blinking in rhythms, ‘apparently’ according to the beats of that loud and clear sound. I thought I made a great discovery. I did not share this great discovery with anyone because I felt it might be obvious to anyone else.

Of course the stars do not chirp. I realised my mistake on a winter night, when the stars were still blinking but I heard no chirping. But I had no idea where the sound came from, and that troubled me for some time, until on a later summer night my elder cousins told me the truth.

I remember that ‘great discovery’ so vividly because, whenever I look at the stars, I still feel they are chirping, with their rhythmic blinking, although I have already known the truth.

On NLB’s Recent Book Destroying Madness

When I was young, the well maintained and easily accessible libraries became at the same time a paradise for my mind and a sanctuary for my heart. At first I read and borrowed only Chinese books, then more and more English ones; my reading scope widened from pure literature to all sorts of non-fictions. Libraries had become places somehow rather sacred to me, and I continued to visit them after I started working even though I had purchased more books than I could finish reading.

All the rosy images suddenly shattered two days ago when I read the news of the National Library Board’s decision to remove two children’s books from shelves. The decision was made because these books portrayed ‘unconventional’ families, a.k.a. same-sex couples and single parents. I have known that the Singapore society is largely conservative and the majority of the citizens are against LGBT; but I have not imagined that my beloved and supposedly neutral NLB has taken such a stance. My first reaction was a silent ‘WTF’, followed by a tweet, ‘maybe I should start boycotting NLB.’

As a  teacher, I have been teaching my pupils such values as respect, inclusiveness, and embracing diversity, as promoted by MOE. Yet I could not sense these values in NLB’s decision.

The books really do not need to be removed. NLB can have put the books in the adult area. NLB can have even set up a ‘controversial books corner’ where children under certain age can only access with parental guidance. In fact, even without such a corner, if parents really care about their young kids’ reading, parental guidance should be provided whenever a child reads; if the parent thinks that a book is ‘inappropriate’ in values, the parent can just leave it alone.

I thought removing books for such reasons was the worst action taken by NLB. I was wrong. After a heated debate involving a spectacular tide of opposition and engaging a large number of netizens who voiced their protests through open letters and petitions (1, 2), NLB did not reinstate the books; instead, it has decided to pulp the books — not two, but three. This time it was backed by Dr Yaacob Ibrahim, Minister for Communications and Information, citing ‘representing social norms’ as a mission of NLB.

Yes, the society is conservative, and yes, many parents do not want their young children to be exposed to such topics; removing the books upsets me but is still within range of tolerance. But destroying books? Even if removing those three books were justifiable, NLB could have just given them away; why pulp the books? This is what I call ‘madness’, and is apparently a symbolic gesture. And it is a terribly wrong gesture, a gesture that appeases the conservative majority but enrages the open-minded minority, a gesture that sums up all debates and discussions in a simple, forceful, physical action.

As a public institution, NLB is maintained with taxpayers’ money and therefore obliged to involve the public in major or possibly controversial decision making; but it has failed to do so. There was no public hearing, no room for disputation, not even the slightest attempt to be impartial and inclusive. How can we trust such an institution to provide unbiased, unselected and unfiltered information when we do research in its libraries?

If NLB can destroy books because those books depict real, homosexual penguins, happy LGBT families with adopted kids, alternate families with a permutation of family structures, then it will not be any surprise if one day NLB decides to destroy books on evolution, paganism, and non-mainstream versions of major religions; one day it will censor each and every book, destroy all books that do not conform to ‘social norms’ and discard all facts that are against the beliefs of the ‘overwhelming majority’. Call me a pessimist, but this chain of events appeared just too many times in history.

Destroying books is at least a terrible PR move and more importantly a step backward in human history. Dictators and religions pillaged libraries in history because libraries did not succumb to fanaticism or biases. Shockingly ironically, the modern NLB is now doing what tyrants used to do to libraries.

The Worst Ankle Sprain Ever

On the first day of the holiday I sprained my right ankle so badly that I could only stay home for almost two weeks — the full duration of the holiday itself.

At first I could not even stand upright. By the support of walls and railings I brought myself to the street, and struggled into a cab, heading to my favourite TCM clinic that fixed my joint problems for at least thrice in the past. The bandage and medicine helped, and I could stand upright on the second day of the treatment, but could not walk properly; every step made by my right foot was sufficient to induce a collapse. The extremely hot and humid weather of those few days also made my right foot itchy with the bandage; the skin became irritated and I dared not apply any more bandage.

Seriously in need of a pair of crutches, I searched online for any retailer within Tampines that carried stocks. The search was in vain; the most promising shop was an online shop that could only deliver crutches in three days. In despair I tried my luck at getting a pair from the family clinic beside my block, which I visited every time I needed and the friendly staff and doctor had known me as ‘Mr Weng the teacher’. Over the phone I asked whether they were selling crutches, and the response was, ‘no, we don’t sell crutches,’ and just as I was about to sigh, the response continued, ‘but you can borrow them! We have two pairs here. Ask your family or maid to collect for you as you can’t walk…’ Since my flatmates were at work and I had no maids, I decided to walk to the clinic; it was not so far anyway. The loan was free and indefinite. I almost shed my tears there in gratitude.

On the 4th day I visited the TCM clinic again, this time with more ease, thanks to the crutches. Other patients opened the door for me as I was too clumsy with both crutches. I felt so much better after the treatment, though no bandage could be applied due to the irritated skin. I continued to use the crutches for another week, before I could walk without them, in a laughably wobbly manner though. So I decided to get a walking stick. I used a walking stick for 5 days, and finally I could walk — limp — without it.

So, for most days of these two weeks, I ordered fast food and struggled to the minimart across the street to get some bread and drinks. I planned to walk around Singapore and take many pictures during this holiday, yet I could not even move around the house freely; I used my swivel chair as a wheelchair as much as necessary. I could not do any routine exercise, because all my routine exercises required strong feet or legs: walking, cycling, planking, squatting, staircase climbing…

I did feel upset and desperate. At the beginning, the pain kept waking me up at midnight, and turning in my bed, I kept thinking what I should do if I were to kill myself at that moment. The saddest part was I could not even terminate my own life because I could not move to either get a weapon or to fling myself over the corridor railings.

But darkness subsided before I realised. There were so many people that showed me graciousness and care. The staff of the family clinic, and the patients at the TCM clinic, are just two examples. One of the fast food delivery men was shocked seeing me with crutches; he chatted with me about his wrist sprain and wished me to get well soon. On some days I had to take bus (because I was disgusted by the daily fast food) with a crutch or a walking stick, and many passengers gave up their seats for me; at least three bus drivers waited patiently for me to catch the buses. The restaurant waitresses and waiters helped me carry my bags and guided me to easy-access seats. Singapore is full of kindness and love.

Now that the holiday has come to an end, I will try my best to be fully recovered, and hopefully I could be as active as before soon.

Writing

I used to express my awe in sunrises and sunsets in poetry and proses; now I have replaced them with iPhone photography. I used to be very sensitive to breezes and stars and reflect this sensitivity in my writing; now I have replaced it with occasional 140-letter tweets. Time has changed, but more blame should be on my own lifestyle. I am no longer the sensitive and productive, though unsuccessful, writer of youth and vigour, but a technologically enslaved and bureaucratically toiled teacher who seeks consolation in reading and alcohol but not in writing or art activities.

I would not say whether this is a bliss or a curse; to me it has been natural, though it should never be pre-destined. It is the easier way out, with iPhone and Twitter as my tools. Sometimes I found it difficult to limit my thoughts within 140 characters; but when I tried to write it in this blog, it could never exceed 200 characters. My mind has been adapted, or trained to adapt, to the fast-food-like, fragmented writing styles of the modern technological era.

I ask my pupils to write more while I myself stop writing; I preach the importance of frequent writing exercises while I myself seldom write. My personality has been torn and my integrity has been ruined; but what should I do? I have had interesting ideas that could have been expanded into a voluminous novel, just to meet my limited time and skills. Without the pious practice I have lost most of the zeal and techniques, and it would be unfeasible, or at least impractical, to pick them up at the moment, under the current circumstances.

Or maybe that is just an excuse. Maybe I am just too lazy, hopeless, pessimistic and negative. Being nostalgic does not help. The action-denial itself is devastating. I often convince myself that I can resume my writing enterprise any time I like, but of course it is not true. I can only mourn for the past, for the beautified memory and rosy past, like what I am doing now.

Requiem

Is Mozart’s Requiem for optimists or pessimists? As a pessimist I love it; as a trying-to-be optimist I cannot refuse it.

Whenever I feel down I listen to it, but it never soothes me but makes my heart resonate with that dying soul. I seek no comfort in the beautiful melodies, nor do I lift my spirit up in that grand choir; I simply submerge, and indulge, myself in the sadness, thinking of the inevitable end of everything.

I believe in no god(s) or heaven, and I seek no refuge in Elysium or Paradise; my soul, if it ever exists, cannot be quieted by the vague promise of heaven.

Is it a contradiction that an atheist fall in love with religious music, or it is an evidence that music knows no boundaries among religions and races?

My awareness of the fact that my paragraphs above are incoherent brings this post to the end; yet wearily I am still struggling through the overwhelming helplessness even when I have stop thinking.