Crossroads

Along the sea the little boy walks,
clear skies, blue waters, air drenched in salt.
The white sands set his heart alight with fire,
in the plain white beach his dreams conspire.
With a grin he steps resolutely,
towards to his castles yet to be.
Feverishly he digs into the sands,
the stuff of dreams he holds in his hands.

Castles, kingdoms and cathedrals,
Xi Shi, Helen and Mumtaz Mahal
Kremlin, Eiffel and Potala,
Zeus, Odin and Gautama.
Everest, Ring of Fire and Amazon,
Cupid, Asura and Leviathan.
Orion, Scorpio and the Big Dipper,
Lastly, the figure of love forever.

In the sands his love and soul poured forth,
through his fingers fantasies take form.
For every grain of sand he moulds,
An equal grain of sweat is flowed.
With a grin his work is done at last,
brimming with pride he cannot help mask.
What was before just a plain white beach,
stands now a castle richer than rich.

But in the distance a wave he spots,
the daily high tide has not forgot.
Against his wishes he had long realized,
the laws of nature can't be denied.
The waves would have to run their course,
oblivious to the little boy's loss.
Every wave that drowns out his creations,
the very wave drowns out his heart's passions.

From afar the boy tasted the sea,
salty streaks from his eyes flowed freely.
Now the beach is once again plain,
alone on the beach the boy remains,
but the sand still sets his heart on fire,
in which his dreams he sees forever,
With a grin he returns resolutely,
back once more to his castles yet to be.

-- Isaac, 18 Oct 2009, 415am

"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down."
- Woody Allen,

One of the biggest regrets of my life was the relationship with my dad. We don't have a relationship; which is regretful because the father-son relationship should be one of the most treasured in the world.

I've always felt very guilty and powerless with this detail of my life. And I've always sought to free myself from this guilt and shadow hanging over my heart.

Recently I did. I summoned enough courage and reasons to write a letter to him, telling him all the things that had accumulated over the past 29 years.

Another chain broken free.

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Dear father,

How are you? How is your health? I am doing fine in Argentina. Mom says you are working very hard. Please take care of your health. I won't be coming back to Singapore this year. The airfare is expensive and I want to help mom to save some money.

I know we haven't talked for a long time! I would like to say sorry, that I did not say goodbye when I left Singapore. I didn't know what to say or how to say, not even a goodbye. I think it's been a long time since I knew what to say or how to talk to you. I think it's probably the same for you too! You always say, 'the ice that is three metres thick is not caused by one day of snow'. I often think how did it become so bad? And I tried to think of some memories of us having a normal nice conversation... I can't think of any. Twenty nine years of my life and I can't find a single memory of it.

Sincerely, I know it's my fault, always was. Ever since I was a child, I had always made you angry, made you sad. As I grew up, and with the passing of time, words became harder and harder to say. I think it's probably the same for you too!

But right now I'd like to tell you, that in Argentina, I've finally found the courage and reason to talk to you. Because I've finally fell in love with studying! Twenty nine years old and I've finally found meaning and joy in books. Hence, I also finally have the reason, and right to tell you all the things I have been wanting to tell you, all the things that I should have told you long ago.

I often think of you, even now, no matter what kind of relationship we have, or if we have any at all. You are a great influence in my life. I often thought, do you still know who I am? The last time I spoke with mom over the phone, she told me that ever since I left Singapore three years ago, you haven't spoken much about me. But suddenly one day you said to her, "Ah Yang came to this world in pitiful circumstances, it was a very hard labour for you, remember? He couldn't come out of your body in time because he was too big. And when he finally did he had almost stopped breathing, his body was bluish and he couldn't even cry." I couldn't help myself but cried when I heard that. I imagine you, first time being a dad, looking at your first born son, bluish; on the brink of death... you must have felt so much love and sadness bursting in your heart.

Yes! You were twenty eight when I was born. I am also twenty eight this year. I remembered during my twenty eight year old birthday last year, I thought to myself, at twenty eight, you already started a family, had your first child.

And I am that eldest child, first child of my parents, first grandchild of the family. I have some photos of me when I was young; there was one with Mom, Ah Ying, you and me together. It was taken at the beach; Ah Ying must be two and I four. You were carrying me and you were looking at me with a huge smile and I too had a huge smile on my face. I have forgotten how that felt like.

Why was this so? How did it become like this? I know I was a lazy kid, and I hated studying. From primary school, till secondary school and even junior college. Every year you had to be summoned to talk to teachers and the principals, listen to their complaints about me poor performance in school.

I remember at Pei Chun primary school, where you studied as a kid too, I had many teachers who taught you as a child too. I caused them much troubles by not doing my schoolwork, I remembered one Mr Cheng saying to me one day, "When your dad was your age he was so hardworking! If only you were half as hardworking as your dad!"

And I told many lies when I was a kid, not because I liked to lie. But because I didn't have the courage to tell you that I didn't hand u my school work again, that I had poor results in my exams again, that the teachers have complaints about me again. I remembered that I would go through the lies I made, rehearsed saying them in front of the mirror so I would look more convincing. Many a times I succeed in my lies to you, and the feeling after that is not of delight, but great relief that I had escaped a beating once again.

Of course not every time I could succeed in the lying to you. When I don't I would have to get ready for a beating. Especially when you discover that I was lying, you would become even angrier, twenty strokes of cane would then become forty strokes. And I asked myself often, "Why can't I be a little more hardworking?" But when I was young I just couldn't sit down and study at peace, couldn't bear to finish up the homework, all I could think of is the world outside, going out to play with my friends, or watch television. I know I wasn't stupid, I even knew I was clever.

I remember that one time you were summoned to school again, not to talk to the teachers this time, but to talk to the principal. Of course the night before when you first got the news you had already given me a sound beating. The next day, pulling my ears we went to the principal's office together. I couldn't remember what was said but I remembered he said this to you, "Yen Yang is a smart kid, but very often, he can be very cunning."

Maybe the problem was that I was too clever, and did not have any self-discipline. No matter how much I want to study hard to please you, no matter how hard you hit me, no matter how afraid I was of being beaten; I just couldn't take studying seriously, I had no interest at all.

Because of this the beatings got worse. And I became more and more afraid of you. I remember that when I was young, you would often come home late, around ten o'clock at night. And every time when its ten o'clock, just before you come home my ears would ring automatically, and the hairs of my body would stand and I'd have goose bumps, my heart rate would increase. And not only during the days I know I made some mistakes, even when normal days too; in fact, every night I would get this fear. Sometimes I find myself wishing that you'd come home later, sometimes I would pretend to sleep the moment you came back.

Our old house had a place where two canes were hung high up in the air; they were probably only removed from sight during Chinese New Year. Wherever we go, sister, brother and I would always see it. In reality it was just for me to see. Sis and bro were very sensible kids, they hardly made you angry. Instead it was your eldest child, their big brother who was supposed to set a good example; he was the most useless one. I remember one time I knew I was going to get hit again; I grabbed the two canes and threw them out of the window so you couldn't find them.

And Mom had it tough too; I remember when I was young, every time after you hit me repeatedly, she would start to scream, "Stop it! Don't hit him anymore!" Often she would start crying too. There was one time you were so angry you picked up a knife and started towards me, and she had to throw herself in front of me. Then you would often berate here, "the loving mom spoils the son!"

I often think, was it me that caused the love between you and mom to disappear? The two of you often quarrelled because of me. Even till this day Mom is still stuck between the two of us, only through her we receive news of each other.

Now I think often and I realise, you had a very tough life then. Young family to raise, working from day till night, and when you reach home still there was no peace. You didn't get to see a hardworking sensible kid, but a stubborn, lazy, naughty kid who didn't study, didn't set a good example to his siblings. Maybe it was then, because of me, my behaviour, your dream of a peaceful, happy family was slowly destroyed.

You often said to me when I was young, "I really regret giving birth to such a useless thing like you! I wished I would have given birth to an egg, at least with that I could eat it!" It wasn't just the beatings, the humiliation hurt a lot too. Of course I knew, even then, that you were uttering these words in your anger, and when I was older I observed in all the uncles and aunties from your side of the family, they all spoke with similar harshness. But being scolded 'little gangster, little asshole, useless thing' daily, it was still hard to bear and humiliating. It was the same in front of other people too, grandma, grandpa, aunties, uncles, they often see the cane marks on my body, and they tell me to behave better and listen to you. At school, teachers and classmates would see the marks on my arms and legs too; "yen yang got caned again by his dad." my good friends would say. Those times, I didn't take pleasure in their sympathies, but I felt endless shame instead.

But the most shameful moment was during that incident that happened when I was twelve. I had stolen from you, mom, grandma and aunt, just so I can buy a handheld game from a classmate. I stole from you all a few dollars every time money was put around the table, sometime pennies, and I spent three months stealing bit by bit not being discovered this whole time. And when I finally got all the money and bought the handheld game, I skipped school to play the game. But I didn't go far; I went beside the school to play and was caught within the first hour by my classmates that were searching for me. The total amount of time I possessed the gameboy? One hour. When the truth was out, I had to bear the shame from school but the most shameful moment was when you ordered sis and bro to stand in front of me while I was being beaten, you told them, "look at this rascal, and remember never to become like him when you grow up!" I guess in that way I had set an example...

But I didn't hate you even then. I was scared, I was sad, I was contrite. I didn't want to anger you on purpose. But I just couldn't settle down and study in peace. I asked myself often, "why?" I didn't have the answer. Even now, I still don't have the answer; I just know I didn't do that on purpose to hurt you. Of course I didn't think much to please you. I think you were right about me when you said I only do whatever I want to do, without care or responsibilities.

But while there was no hate, love slowly disappeared too. The love I had for you was slowly disappearing, only fearful respect, and no love. I remember the last time I felt love for you, was when I was about ten. You told a joke that was not funny at all over dinner. And I still laughed to make you feel happy.

And the last time I felt love from you was when I was seven or eight. I hurt myself really badly, and you carried me all the way to the hospital. That time it was really painful, but I remember feeling calm and peaceful.

And because I didn't study, I didn't manage to get into the secondary school that I wanted to go. That was the school that you had went as a kid and you had wanted me to study there too; Hwa Chong secondary. And the worse thing was that I got enrolled into a school called Chong Hwa secondary! You were disappointed, so was I. And you kept reminding me it was a personal failure. From then on, every time someone asked me which secondary school I was from, I would try to avoid the topic or give some vague answers. I do however remember you telling me, "It is ok that you can't get into Hwa Chong, as long as you study hard, it doesn't matter where you study." I have this memory but I'm not sure if it's something I made up to make myself feel better.

Still I did not study in secondary school. Worse I began to go to school late, sometimes even two three times per week. And of course you still get summoned to school to talk to the teachers and principals. Sometimes, the teachers would even call home to complain to you that I didn't do my homework. Every time the phone rings, I would look over my shoulder in fear. Once I knew some teacher would call home, that night I disconnected the telephone cable so that no one could call in, and I was escaped that night. But I couldn't escape most of the time, and I continue to get beaten by you.

And I started to grow as a child, becoming a teenager, taller and stronger, you didn't scold me, "little bastard, little rascal" anymore, but "physically developed simpleton!" And the beatings started to hurt less and less, and I think you noticed that too, that beatings do not cause as much hurt anymore, so you started to take away the things that matter to me.

Although I didn't work hard in school and I was lazy, but there were things that I was crazily passionate about, that I was totally devoted in doing and practising. At twelve years old I became engrossed in Weiqi ('Go' chess), after learning for half a year I got first runners-up of my age category in the national competition, and I was called up to the national team. But later because I didn't study hard at school, performed poorly at school, you took my Weiqi away from me. When I was thirteen I started learning Wushu, one year after learning I was performing at a public performance for Chinese New Year. But again, because of school problems, you took that away from me, the Wushu teacher even called to beg you to let me continue, but to no avail. Not just these, all the things that I like that I could do well, like playing the piano, etc... As long as it was not studying at school, you would take them away from me.

Did I manage to study hard in the end? No. I had never loved studying; hence I never did work hard at it. And when I was young I still had fearful respect for you, when you began to take these things that I love, I started to be mad at you, and started to hate you. I remember when I was fifteen you were hitting me, I didn't cry at all, I remember you were slapping me and I blocked your slap with my arm, staring back at you with hate shooting out my eyes. That was the last time you hit me.

Although I did not take school seriously, did not do my work, habitually late, skipped school etc... I never had the idea of a rebellious kid. I never hurt myself, smoked, drank, took drugs or indulged in illegal activities. I never had the intention to hurt your feelings on purpose. To me, although there was no love, I still had a lot of respect for you: you were a very responsible family man, working hard day and night to support your three kids. You were even a very respectable and excellent Chinese doctor. I always told my friends, "Now look there is no love between me and my dad, so it is absolutely unbiased when I say this, he is one of the best Chinese doctors in Singapore. If anyone of you is hurt or ill, he would be able to cure you."

And even though I did not take studying seriously, I managed to get into Anderson Junior College in the end, one of the better junior college in Singapore. Still, when I was seventeen and eighteen, you were still summoned to talk to the school principal. I had been late for school fifteen times within the first three months. Not counting the times which I didn't go to school altogether when I realise I was late. The two years I studied in junior college, I did not hand up a single piece of assignment. Probably that time, not only you had lost all hope, you probably felt incredulous too. I don't have the answer myself. I just know that every time I wanted to start afresh, study hard and get good results, but every time it would fail. I can't do it! I didn't have passion for studying, and I didn't have the self discipline to make myself study.

Neither did I have the sense of responsibility towards you nor mom. And I have never felt you done me anything wrong. I always knew you wanted the best for me, you were afraid that I pick up vices, afraid that I would waste my talent, afraid that I would not be able to lead a useful and productive life when I grow up. But you were lost, don't know what to do with me anymore, just couldn't find the way to change or educate me, yet you couldn't accept my faults neither. And I continued to hate you, be afraid of you, of your actions and humiliation. We stopped talking to each other. To me, a good night at home would be we pretend that both of us are invisible, you don't say a single word of insult and leave me in peace.

But I know that somehow I need to learn that discipline and self discipline. Because of this, and because I just couldn't bear to stay at home anymore, I signed on with the army when I was eighteen. When I signed on that army contract, I thought that was my ticket to freedom, freedom from you; I didn't think about asking for your approval either. I remember grandma telling me this in hainanese, just before she got Alzheimer, "Your dad doesn't like that you become a professional soldier, talk to him and work things out, don't sign the contract." Still I signed it.

My performance in the army wasn't too bad, I found passion in the army, and I got into the Officer Cadet School. In this school, finally you weren't called to see the 'teachers' or the 'principal', you didn't receive any complaints. Instead you were invited as a VIP to attend my commissioning parade. For the first time in my life, I felt I had made you proud. We had a photo of that day, from left to right was me, mom, Ah Ying, Ah Yao and then you. Every time I looked at that photo I would try to read your facial expression... I can't see the joy or the pride.

Maybe from so many years of disappointment, you needed some more concrete and long lasting actions. And I got enrolled into National University of Singapore, even though I did not work hard at all at junior college. I even got in on army scholarship, which paid for my studies and even gave me monthly allowance. At that point of time I sincerely thought things would become better between us.

But once I was back at a life with no enforced discipline, back to books, I had to end in failure once again. When I was twenty three years old, you were summoned, this time not by the teachers or the principal, but by the army headquarters. I had been kicked out of university due to poor results, and the army demanded me to return every single cent plus interest of the scholarship they had paid for me. That was the last time you shouldered my failure. You paid one third of the liquidated damages, the rest I had to deduct from my monthly army salary. I think that was the last bit of hope you ever had for me extinguished. You would be disappointed for the last time, and the fate of our relationship was sealed.

After that, all the small achievements in my life didn't matter to you anymore, be it a good and proper girlfriend, getting into Special Forces, becoming a popular tango dancer and teacher; they didn't interest you a single bit. Maybe for you, these things were just like those Weiqi, Wushu, piano, acting, etc... Some useless and pointless things.

I too, had lost all concern regarding you. I remembered when I was twenty five; I discussed with Mom and decided to go overseas to study. In the administrative process, we needed some bank account statement from you just to show the school that we have a healthy financial standing, I didn't want the money, just the bank account statement for the admin process. But you refused to help me, you said, "How do I know if you are serious this time? I don't believe you can do it." That is true, you had every right to doubt, and I do not blame you. But at that moment, I stopped regarding you as my father.

It's been three years since I left Singapore. I often think of health situation. During conversations, when people asked about my family, I would think of you too. On the streets when I see dads with their kids, I would think of you too. Twenty nine years, it's not true that there's nothing to say, only the inability to say them. Even I had wanted to tell you, I wouldn't have known where to start, neither did I have the reason to start talking to you. But now I have found it. Because I have finally fallen in love with the thing that you have tried so hard, for so many years, scolding and beating, just to let me fall in love but with no avail... I have fallen in love with studying. In this place where the language and culture is foreign, not only I had fallen in love with studying, but I've become very good at it. I have quite good results, and fellow classmates would come for me for advice. Recently I told a classmate what kind of student I was as a kid, she couldn't believe it.

In philosophy, I found much joy in exploring human knowledge. My passion for philosophy is not any lesser than what I had for Wushu, Weiqi, Tango, etc. Now all I can think of is some theory or concept of some great philosopher, to understand more, to find more answers, to continue to search for truth in life. My thirst for knowledge is so great to the point that when I am out with friends, all I can think of is returning home to study.

So I would like to take this chance to tell to the things I need to say to you. I do not hate you; I do not have the right or reason to blame you. You had always wanted the best for me. I was the one who had done you wrong, who couldn't meet your standards. And your guidance, although it was painful and bitter, but they were like the Chinese medicine that you always prescribe, the more bitter the better. And my character that I am not afraid of pain, not afraid of setbacks, was brought out by you. The fact that I had no become some two bit criminal was because you kept me on the right track! Thank you!

Still there are some things that still weigh heavily on my personality. Up till these few years, it was very hard for me to take criticism from middle aged men in authority; I would always feel unreasonably emotional when that happens. And to me, having a failed father and son relationship is a big regret in my life. Plus your health is quite problematic, and I always felt that on some level it was my fault, I made you angry so many times, even now my existence and actions still affects your physical and emotional health. I don't hope for any change in our relationship, but these words I need to let you know. And I want to say them while I still have the chance and especially now that I have the right reason. That I have finally fallen in love with something that you can be proud of. Although it's not medicine, engineering or law, it is still a great branch of knowledge.

Lastly, telling you all these things is also for me. If I don't say it out I would never be able to forgive myself. Once I get this out of me, another chain of my heart would be set free.

Come to think of it, all these years I had never changed. I am still the one who does whatever he desires. Just that now what I desire is something you can be proud of. Neither would I change in the future; I would never have that sense of responsibility or security that you want. If I cannot find a reason, a passion, then I can't do it, or I'll do it badly.

I hope you can understand that, and hopefully once you understand you would not feel so angry and disappointed anymore.

Love,
Yang

亲爱的父亲，

你好吗？身子还好吗？我在阿根廷过得很好。母亲说你现在工作繁重，请照顾好自己。我今年应该不回来新加坡了。机票还蛮贵的，想替母亲省一点钱。

我们应该好久没说话了吧？想跟你说声对不起，离开新加坡之前没跟你说声再见。其实那时候也不知道怎么开口。其实好久以前就不知道怎么开口了。我想对你来说也应该是如此吧！我想起你常说的一句话，“冰冻三尺，非一日之寒”。我常常在想为什么会这样子呢？我努力的尝试回想一些我们好好谈话的回忆，找不到，二十九年的生命里，竟然找不到。
我一直都知道错在自己身上。从小的时候就常常让你难过，让你头痛。慢慢长大之后，随着岁月的流逝慢慢就越来越无话可说。我想对你来说也是如此吧！

但我想跟你说，在阿根廷，我终于找到跟你说话的原因和勇气了。因为我终于爱上读书了！在我活到二十九岁的时候，我终于在书本里找到无穷的乐趣。因此，我现在终于有原因，有资格对你好好说我一直以来想说应该说的话了。

我常常都想起你，不管我们的关系存不存在，你在我生命里的影响是很大的。有时我也会想，你是否还认识我吗？我上一次在跟妈妈谈天的时候，她跟我说，在我离开新加坡的这三年里，你很少谈起我了。可是有一天你竟突然对她说，“阿炀出生时好可怜，留在你身体里太久，出不来，而出来时因为缺氧全身是灰色的，哭也哭不出”。我听了不禁流下了眼泪。我想那时是你第一次做父亲，在看着你那全身灰灰的儿子时，心里应该只有无限的爱吧。

是啊！我出身时你才二十八岁，我今年也正好是二十八岁了。我记得二十八岁生日的时候，我一直在想，你在二十八岁的时候就有一个家，有了你第一个孩子了。

而我就是那个长子。爸妈的第一个孩子，婆婆的第一个孙子。我看了一些小时候的照片。有一张我，你，妈妈和阿莹一起的合照，那时我们在沙滩上，阿莹才两岁吧，我也才四岁。你抱着我，而我们两个脸上都有着笑容。我不记得那是什么样的感觉了。

为什么是这样呢？我知道从小我就很懒惰，不喜欢读书。从小学到中学，甚至到高中，每一年你都需要去跟老师和校长谈话，听他们对你说我在学校的丑行。

我记得小学里有好多曾经教过你的老师。而我常常不交作业，也常令他们头痛。我记得有一位郑老师跟我说的话，“你的父亲在跟你一样年纪时读书的时候是多么的用功！要是你能有你父亲的一半用功就好了！”

小时我常说骗话，也不是因为我喜欢说骗话。而是我没有勇气跟你说我又没交作业了，考试又拿了很差的分数了，老师又有有关我的投诉了。我记得在说这些骗话之前都会自己跟自己先演说一遍。好让在跟你说时看起来自然一点。我也常常骗过你，而骗了你之后不是得意的感觉，而是逃过另一次大劫的轻松。

当然不是每次都骗得过去。被你发现时就准备挨打了。尤其是当你发现我在说骗话时，你会更生气，二十次的藤条常变成四十次。我也常常问自己，“为什么不用功一点读书呢？”可是小时候的我就是不能安静的坐下来好好把功课写完，把书读好。心里想的都是外面的世界，想着跟朋友去玩，去看电视。我知道自己不笨，甚至知道自己还蛮聪明的。

记得有一次你又被叫去小学，这次不只是见老师，而是见校长。当然在你知道的前一晚，你已经痛打我一顿了。隔天你拉着我的耳朵把我拉进校长室。我记得校长对你说的一句话，“焱炀很聪明，甚至可以说很狡猾。”

可能就是太聪明了，又没有自律，所以不管我怎么想好好读书让你高兴，不管你怎么样打我，不管我怎么怕被打，我还是一而再再而三的不把读书当着一回事，对读书一点兴趣都没有。

也因为是这样你打得就越来越严重了。我也越来越怕你。我记得小时在旧家你常迟回，晚上十点才回。而每当十点钟的时候我的耳朵回自动响起，身体的毛也会站起来，心跳会加速。不止是在我有犯错的时候，在我没犯错时也会有这种感觉。每晚都有。有时希望你迟一点回，有时在你回来时会假装睡着了。

旧家里高高挂着两个藤条，可能只有新年时才会拿掉。不然不管走到那里，弟，妹和我都会看得到。当然其实那是给我看的，弟妹都很乖巧，很少惹你生气。反而是这个大哥，应该有好榜样的大哥，最不长进。我记得有一次我知道自己又要被打了，在你没发觉前把藤条扔出窗外。

妈妈也好可怜，我记得你在我还很小时打我的时候，打到二十多下以后她会叫到，“不要打了啦！”有时她也会跟着一起哭。有一次我还记得你气得拿起刀子冲着我来，妈妈还拦着你。每次之后你都会骂她，“慈母必败儿！”

我常想，是不是我让你和母亲之间的爱，的关系转淡。你们常常为了我吵架，直到今天母亲还是被夹在我们中间，因为我们已经不说话了，只有通过她。

我现在也常想，那时的你也一定过得很辛苦。日夜奔波，早出晚归，回到家不是看到努力学习，努力向上的小孩，而是冥顽不灵，不自爱，不做好榜样的长子。可能也为了我的行为，那个快乐和谐家庭的憧憬也渐渐消失了吧。

从小你都常对我说，“真后悔生下你这个败类，败家子。生一粒鸡蛋至少还能煮来吃！”而不止是打，让我好心痛的是那羞耻。虽然我也知道那只是你生气时说的话，而后来我长大之后在叔叔，姑姑和你身上观察到你们说话的方式，都是嘴里不饶人。不过被骂，“小流氓，小混蛋，没用东西”，时还是非常痛心，非常羞愧。在别人面前也是一样，外婆，外公，祖母，叔叔，阿姨常看到我身上的鞭伤，都常常叫我要听爸爸的话。在学校里，同学和老师们也常看到手臂和腿上的伤印。在这些时候，我心里想的不是要他们的同情，而是感到无限的羞耻。

但最羞耻的那一刻还是在我十二岁时发生的那件事。那时我偷了你，妈妈，祖母和阿嫂的钱，为了跟同学买电动游戏。我花了三个月的时间，一点一点的偷，你们没发现。而在我拿到电动机的当下，逃学到学校旁边玩。不过我在逃学的一个小时以内就被班上的同学发现了。我真正拥有那电动机的时间也就是那一小时。真相大白之后，不要说在学校同学和老师面前蒙羞，最羞耻的那一刹那，是你在打我的时候叫弟妹们站在我面前看着我被打，你对他们说，“你们看看这混帐东西，记得长大以后不要变成这样！”我最终还是作了个榜样了吧！

不过那时候我对你没有恨，只有怕，只有难过，只有后悔。我不是故意要惹你生气的。可是我就是不知道怎么好好安下心来读书。我也常想。。。为什么呢？我也没有答案。到现在都没有，我只知道我从来没有要让你伤心的意思。当然我也没有特别要讨好你的心。我想还是你说的对，我一向来都是为所欲为。

不过没有恨，也渐渐没有爱了。在我心里慢慢找不到对你的爱，只有怕，只有敬，没有爱。最后一次记得对你有爱的感觉，是我十岁的时候，你在吃晚饭时兴致勃勃的说了一个我觉得一点也不好笑的笑话，而我却哈哈大笑。

而我记得最后一次感受到你的爱，是我在七八岁时，有一次弄伤自己，你抱着我跑到医院的那一刻。那时我的伤很痛，但心里却是很平静很温馨的。

也因为没有读书，小学六年级会考时考不上我想进的学校， 考不上你小时上的中学，那个你也很想我考上的学校，华中中学。更糟的是我竟然只能考上一所叫中华中学的学校。你好失望，我也好失望。你也常常提醒我这是我的一个失败。从此，每当人家问我在哪一间中学读书，我都含糊的掩盖过去。我想你有跟我说过，“考不进华中不要紧，用功读书还是能把书读好，那里都一样。”有这一个回忆，只是不知是不是我自己编出来来骗自己的。

当然我还是没好好的读书。而且还染上了上学迟到的坏习惯，一个星期至少迟到两三次。当然到了中学，你还是常常被叫去跟老师，校长说话。有时，老师还会打电话去家里，投诉我又没交作业。电话声响起，我都会战战兢兢的观察你的表情。有一次我知道老师会打电话回家，我在你回来前把电话线移开了一点，让它接不到，所以外面打不进来。那晚我逃过了一劫。但还是好多逃不掉的劫数，小学到中学，继续被打。

可是我的身体越长越大，我也不再被你骂“小畜生！”，而是“四肢发达，头脑简单！”被打的痛也越来越轻，可能你也知道，或可能你也觉得打我已经没有它的用处了，你开始在打我之外，拿走那些对我重要的东西。

虽然我读书不用功，又很懒。不过我却有我让我痴狂的东西，让我废寝忘食，不眠不休，日夜练习的东西。我在十二岁时迷上了围棋，在学的半年后，在一场围棋比赛中得到了全国亚军，被召入国家队。后来因为没有用功读书，在学校里没有自律，你把我的围棋拿走了。十三岁开始跟薛老师学武术，一年后在一场新年公开庆典上表演。也因为我在学校时表现不好，被你拿走了。薛老师还打了电话来替我求情，最后也没了。也不止这些，凡是我非常有兴趣的，我都做得不错，象弹钢琴，等等，只是那些东西不是读书，你都一一拿走。

最后我有努力读书吗？没有。我从来都没爱上读书，所以从来没努力读书过。而我小时候对你的敬，对你的怕，渐渐的在心爱的东西被夺走当中，转变成怒，成恨。我记得你在我十五岁时打我，我没有哭，我只记得我挡了你向我脸上挥过来的一巴掌，之后还狠狠的向你盯了回去。那也是你最后一次打我。

不管我读书再怎么不努力，再怎么顽皮，迟到，逃学，等等。我从来没有故意跟你叛逆的想法。从来没有伤害自己的身体，抽烟，酗酒，吸毒或做非法的事情。从来没有要故意让你伤心的念头。那时对我来说，虽然我们俩已经没有爱可言了，我还是在心里面很佩服你，日日夜夜努力工作，对家庭非常有责任感，还是一名被敬重，首屈一指的好医师。我常常对朋友说，“我跟我的父亲没有任何感情可言，所以我不是在跟你吹牛，也没有理由替他说好话，可是他的确是全新加坡最好的中医师。如果你受伤生病的话一定要去看他。”

而，我再怎么不用功读书，最后还是考上了安德逊初级学院，一所很好的初级学院。然而，在我十七八岁时，你还是被叫去见校长。我在开学的三个月以内就迟到了十五次。有时我迟到之后连课都不去上。在我读初级学院的两年里，我连一张作业都没交。可能那时的你，不止早就心灰意冷了，甚至还有点不可思议吧。我自己也没有答案，只知道我每年都想重新开始，努力读书，干一翻大事业。但最后都是以失败收场。做不到，对读书没有热忱，也没有逼自己苦读的自律，也没有要对得起你的责任感。

我也从来不觉得你在我身上做错了什么，有什么对不起我的。一向来都知道你只是为了我的好，怕我学坏，怕我浪费我有的才华，怕我将来不能在社会上找到好的生活。但你也不知所措了，你找不到改变我的方法，却又受不了我的错失。我也继续的恨，怕和讨厌你对我做的事，对我的凌辱。我们不再说话，那时对我来说，一个很好的夜晚就是我们当彼此是透明的，你没羞辱我，让我平平静静的过一夜。

而我也知道自己是需要学习纪律和自律的。所以也为了这个念头，和我也不想继续待在家里，我在十八岁当兵时，决定跟军队签约，成为职业军人。在签约时我想这就是我离开你的自由了，我也没去想你的认可。我记得祖母在她头脑退化前，用海南话对我说，“你父亲不喜欢你当职业军人，有什么事可以好好跟他商量，你还是不要签的好。”我还是签了。

在军队里我的表现不错，找到了在当军人的热忱，考上了军官学院，在这所学校里，你没被叫去见老师或校长，没有接到老师的投诉。而是以贵宾的身份，出席我当上了军官时的毕业典礼。我第一次感到有脸见你，感到在你面前能有的一点自豪。我们有了一张在毕业典礼的合照。从左到右，我，妈妈，阿莹，阿耀，你。我每次看着这张照片时都注视你的表情，你的眼神，却看不出你的欢喜或骄傲。

可能在那么多年的失望以后，你还需要更多的行动表示吧。我却也在一点也不努力的情况下考上了大学，还拿了军队的奖学金，能够在不用付学费的情况下读书。我那时也很渴望从此我们的关系会变好。

但是回到了没有拘束，没有军队纪律，读书的环境下，我又再一次以失败收场。在我二十三岁时，你不是被叫去见老师或校长，而是军队总部。因为我成绩不好被大学退学，而军队替我付的奖学金我需要一分不少的还给他们。那是你最后一次替我承担我的过失了。你替我还了三分之一，剩余的从我当职业军官的薪水每月扣除。我想那是你最后一次让自己抱有对我的希望，也是你最后一次对我失望。之后我们俩都接受了不可能有父子关系的结局。

之后，在我的人生里的小成就，不管是交到了好女朋友，考进军队里的特攻部队，成为被受欢迎的探戈舞者和老师。你都置身在外，也许对你来说，这些都跟我以前喜欢的武术，围棋，弹钢琴，演戏，等，一样都是一些没用的东西。

我对你也完全的死心了。我记得二十五岁那年我跟妈妈商量好，要出国读书的念头。在办手续时需要你经济上的一个保证，不要你的钱，只是一张保证。你却拒绝了。你跟我说，“我怎么知道你这次是真的还是假？我不相信你了。”没有错，是难以置信。我不怪你，但那一刻我在心里就完全没有父子的感情了。

离开新加坡也有三年了。常常想起你的健康状况。谈话时，人们问起我家人时，也都会想起你。在街上看到父子亲情时也会想起你。二十九年不是没有话要说的，只是说不出口。虽然很想说，从来也不知从何说起，也找不到开口的理由。可是现在我终于找到了。因为我终于爱上了那么多年以来，你费尽心机，费尽唇舌，打骂双施，想让我爱上，却一筹莫展的东西：读书。而在这个语言不通，文化陌生的地方，我不止爱上了读书，而且还读得很好，成绩很好，是班上同学们的模范，有问题时来寻求的对象，还是老师在班上的助手。我最近跟另一位同学叙说我小时读书的故事，她死都不信。

我在哲学里找到了人类思想的乐园，我对哲学的痴狂，没有比我对武术，围棋，探戈来得少。现在的我，脑子里只想着某某哲学家的论文，想了解更多知识，找到更多答案，继续寻找生命的真谛。现在的我渴望知识，甚至在外跟朋友聚会时，我的心情是巴不得快点回家读书的。

所以我想趁这个机会把我想对你说的话说出来。我对你没有恨，也没有任和责怪你的资格和理由。你一直以来都是为了我的好。是我对不起你，达不到你的要求。而你的教导，虽然对我来说很苦，很痛，但是就好像你常配的中药，越苦越有效。我不怕苦，不屈不饶的个性，是你引出来的。我想我没变成歹徒流氓，也是你打出来的吧！谢谢你！

但有些在我心里沉重的东西也是我们的关系造成的。一直到这几年，我每次在被中年男性批评时往往都会情绪难抚平。而对我来说，没有父子关系是一生的遗憾。而且你的身体状况不佳，我常隐隐约约的想，那是我的错，我让你太生气，我的存在和作为是你身心的一个阴影。我不要求我们之间有什么改变，但这些话我需要对你说。想在有理由，还来的及时说。跟你说我终于爱上一个你能够认可的东西了，虽然有点迟，虽然不是医学，工程，法律，但也是一门伟大的学问。

最后，跟你说这番话也是为了我自己。如果不跟你说，我永远都不能原谅我自己。说了出来，我的心里的另一个枷锁也将被打开，被释放。

其实我一直以来都没变。至少还是为所欲为，我行我素。只是现在我的‘欲为’是你可以赞许的。在未来，我也不会变。我是永远不会有你要的那种安分守己的责任感。如果找不到给自己的理由，找不到内心里的痴狂，我是做不了，做不好的。
希望你也能够了解，了解之后不要再懊恼了。

敬上，
焱炀

Ho sbagliato tante volte ormai
che lo so già
Che oggi quasi certamente
Sto sbagliando su di te
Ma una volta in più che cosa può cambiare
Nella vita mia
Accettare questo strano appuntamento
È stata una pazzia

(I've been mistaken so many times
By now that I already know
that today is almost a certainty
I've been wrong about you
But once more that you can change
My life...
To accept this strange appointment
Has been a madness!)

Sono triste tra la gente
che mi sta Passando accanto
Ma la nostalgia di rivedere te
È forte più del pianto
Questo sole accende sul mio volto
Un segno di speranza.
Sto aspettando quando ad un tratto ti vedrò
Spuntare in lontananza

(I am sad among the people
that are passing by me
but the nostalgia of seeing you again
it is stronger than weeping:
this sun shines on my face
a sign Of hope.
i am waiting when suddenly
you appear in a distance!)

Amore, fai presto, io non resisto
Se tu non arrivi non esisto
Non esisto, non esisto

(Love, make it soon, I don't resist...
if you don't come, I don't exist
I don't exist, I don't exist...)

È cambiato il tempo e sta piovendo
Ma resto ad aspettare
Non m'importa cosa il mondo può pensare
Io non me ne voglio andare.
Io mi guardo dentro e mi domando
Ma non sento niente
Sono solo un resto di speranza
Perduta tra la gente.

(and the time has passed and it's raining
but only to wait
it doesn't concern me what the world thinks
i don't want to go.
i look inside myself and I wonder
but I don't feel anything;
i only have is hope
lost among the people.)

amore è già tardi e non resisto
Se tu non arrivi non esisto
Non esisto, non esisto

(Love you are already late and I don't resist...
if you don't come I don't exist
i don't exist, I don't exist...)

Luci, macchine, vetrine, strade tutto quanto
Si confonde nella mente
La mia ombra si è stancata di seguirmi
Il giorno muore lentamente.
Non mi resta che tornare a casa mia
Alla mia triste vita
Questa vita che volevo dare a te
L'hai sbriciolata tra le dita.

(Lights, cars, showcases, roads everything
Seems so confusing
my shadow has gotten tired of following me
the day dies slowly.
it doesn't befit me to return to my house
to my sad life
this life that I wanted to give to you
you have crumbled between the fingers.)

Amore perdono ma non resisto
Adesso per sempre non esisto
Non esisto, non esisto

(Love pardons but I don't resist...
forever, I don't exist now
I don't exist, I don't exist..)

Leonel asked me an interesting question outside the little studio where we took Rock and Roll lessons from Facundo. "What did you learn from your time in the Army?" I remember giving some lame answer like, "It had taught me how not to complain and accept the best of the situation, how was it like to know my limits etc..." The answer did not feel satisfying at all, neither did it feel justified.

Now, sitting alone in my home, with the luxury of all the time in the world, George Micheal's Jesus to a Child and quietly reflecting on the lessons in life Army taught me, I will attempt at a better answer to that question.

It feels so long ago. I joined the army ten years ago and I left the army two and a half years ago. I had changed much since then. Let me see if I can even get into the state of mind of a soldier and officer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was April 1999. At the tender age of 18, after junior college, after spending all my life in the warm cares of my family, I was enlisted in the army. I was to stay 3 months in Basic Military Training Centre (BMTC), with only weekends for visiting the outside world, they call it 'book-out'. To make things more daunting, we were not able to 'book-out' for the first two weeks we enlist. BMTC was an offshore island called Pulau Tekong, the ferry from the island to mainland was around 15 minutes, but the isolation felt at that time was we were in a world away.

Sleeping quarters were divided as 'section quarters', twelve of us slept in spartan conditions. We had a metal framed bed, metal cupboard and a small little wooden shelf. We were all processed, given number tags and called by the name of 'Recruit (sirname)'. Yours truly was 'Recruit Ho'.

From the very first moment when we entered the military world, our young civilian life was being ripped away by the entire military system. They meant business because although it was a conscript army, the regular full-time core of commanders was strong enough for the system to be professional.

There is no way around it. Every single healthy Singaporean teenage boy has to go through this, two and a half years in the army. The faster one adapts to his new circumstances the easier it is to enjoy and make each day meaningful.

I had always been curious to experience new surroundings, I remember fondly the times when I was a kid spending nights at my local cousins' homes or going overseas and staying away in China for a month in my relatives' homes.

Plus my dad and I had a very strained relationship, he wanted the best for me but somehow, growing up, I was not able to live up to his expectations of a hardworking, sensible, conservative eldest son. He was not able to live with my antics neither. I would often feel unwanted or persecuted at home. Things got to a point where a good night at home would mean that he would had not noticed me and not utter insults at me.

So the army was an outlet for me to finally live away from home; all on my own.

Like most other young boys, I took very well to guns, explosions and violence. Often the idea of 'Rambo', heroes who did good with their physical prowess and specifically through military might attracted me. That time when I was enlisted, 'Saving Private Ryan' was showing and it quickly became my favourite show.

Once again, the idea of enlisting into army began to excite me, as I am sure the same way it would excite many young boys, like some sort of fantasy adventure and master class to learn how to become a fighting machine; a modern weapons expert.

Lastly at that time I had just been dumped by a girl in after a brief one month relationship. I was feeling quite rueful; sorrow and pain always has a way of making me more focus and more determined.

So unlike a lot of my peers, I was more than mentally prepared to leave my outside life and embrace this new one.

My first night on the little spartan bed, as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I kept hearing planes flying overhead, Changi International Airport was nearby and every 10 minutes I could hear one plane fly overhead. "Ironic." I remember thinking to myself, how can one so imprisoned be listening to the sound of something so free? Every sound of the airplane is a little stick jabbing in the ribs taunting us about our situation.

Physically I was always a very healthy and athletic kid. Participating in various sports and even representing my secondary school in middle distance running. But Basic Military Training was the first time in my life where daily activities revolved around physical training; performance grading and how other people judge you is dependant on your physical fitness in a very direct basis. The faster runners in the platoon are most highly regarded, the ones that could do most pull-ups were marvelled. Physical prowess determined how tough your life would feel or how relaxed it would feel.

I remember my first day, all of us young boys had just arrived on the military premises. We were still in our civilian clothes. We sat in the parade square with our backpack of clothes, listening wide-eyed at the briefing by the man in green uniform standing in front of us. Suddenly, as soon as the briefing ended, we were ordered into a pushup position due to some infringement of rules. "Knock it down!!!" The man in green barked. Facing down towards the ground, I thought half grinning to myself, 'Welcome to the Army.'

These first days introduced a total new world for me. Even as growing up I would look forward to the first introductions; first day of school, first day of the year, first time meeting new people and making new friends. Amidst the shock of the new environment and new system of life, new faces also tooked some time to get use to, although much less painful.

One big categorizing factor in the life of the a Singapore kid was his/her education. The type of school, the results and the prestige of his/her education often determines the type of friends he/she makes. For example if one comes from a special stream from one of the top schools like Raffles Institute or Hwa Chong, he would definitely have a very different circle of friends, with very different style and substance of interaction; as compared to a normal stream student from an ordinary neighbourhood school. For entertainment the Raffles Institute group might talk about 'Magic Game Cards' which costs about 10SGD per card, while the group from the neighbourhood school might talk about going to the nearby street soccer court for a kickabout.

But the army is a place where most young boys leave this sheltered, one sided, skewed level of social networkings to a melting pot of characters. Boys from all levels of education background are mixed together. And a pure english speaking St Joseph Institute chinese boy would have to contend about understanding a Changkat Changi hokkien speaking chinese boy; and we are not even speaking about communication between different races!

Community living was the main lesson in these days, there were sideways and upwards responsibilities. Towards fellow recruits we would need to take care of each other, then upwards responsibilities towards our sergeants, platoon sergeants, platoon commander and then our god, the company commander.

Volunteering and going out of your way towards helping out other people became a powerful way to establish oneself; volunteering to do more, extra. We were recruits, 'the lowest life form' as our sergeants would often call us. Indeed there was no downwards responsibility attached to us. The only people we really need to take care of was ourselves.

For the observant and the initiated, it was a real exercise in social dynamics. After the initial psychological settling in, one starts to be aware of his individuality in this new system; everyone began to form his own objective for his three month Basic Military Training stint. Some just want to pass and become a normal foot soldier, or a desk bound job at some military headquarters for the next two years, many of us would be posted to the specialist corps to train and become future sergeants. But the most honourable prize at the end of this three months BMT course was Officer Cadet School (OCS): where future military officers are trained.

Out of a platoon of around 45 recruits, only around 3 to 5 gets to attend OCS. The criteria for choosing would be based on leadership, fitness and soldiering skills shown during BMT course. For a lot of us young boys, this was a great honour. In the platoon two distinct group starts to form out: The achievers ('Siao On' - hokkien for 'crazily enthusiastic') and the black sheep. The achievers would be the group of boys who would do everything to the best and display great enthusiasm in order to learn, and demonstrate their worthiness for OCS. The black sheep would be the boys still unaccepting army life and their main aim would be to try take the easiest way out possible. Yours truly was the former group.

Gene was a great guy in our platoon. He was an National Cadet Corps (NCC) platoon sergeant in his secondary school days, extremely fit, full of military knowledge, and possess a natural charisma with great leadership. He would always be smiling, helping out with duties and a friend to everyone. We became fast friends and I was extremely motivated by his enthusiasm. I remember during interval trainings, he would band a group of us who were all motivated to go to OCS, as we sprint across the finishing line he would lead us to shout, "OCS!". It was easy for the general body of recruits to dislike people who always shine, show extraodinary enthusiasm or superiority over the rest, but Gene, for his charisma and sincere exuberance, was well-liked by all.

Another outstanding recruit was Vijay. He had dark shining skin, large round eyes. Physically very fit, he was the fastest 2.4km runner of the entire company. Always beaming and ready to help, mild temperance which belies his fierce countenance; not once he lost his temper. If Gene was a naturally charismatic leader in a passionate, fiery way; Vijay was one who leads quietly by example and with whom the other weaker recruits could relate and feel close to.

The lines in the army are clearer and more sharply distinguished than the real world. Honesty and righteousness were always rewarded, dishonesty and skivving were always punished. This was the same for most brotherhood or monastic societies, where there are a strict adherence of codes; and the military codes are often in line with the moral codes to be a man. Justice, moral strength, courage, professionalism and discipline, etc. For me that was a great time in my life for character building.

I am one of the least disciplined and responsible man I know. And in the army, two things kept me in line and made me learn how to take up more responsibilities. 1. The regimental structure of the system: any breach of discipline is severly punished. 2. The inherent desire to be the best soldier I can be, so I can get into OCS.

Physical stress can causes some of the most uncomfortable and painful sensations a human being can feel. As a recruit it was the most powerful deterent and most direct punishment tool. Countless pushups, running non-stop, duck walk, endless situps. That was the first time I felt the precious value of being physically fit. I had weak arms and I could only do 5 pullups when I entered army. Every other night, at around 9pm when fellow platoon mates are resting comfortably in the bunk, on their beds, I, along with other weak platoon mates had to do half an hour of extra training with our sergeants.

Not that I minded that extra training; I had been caught by my platoon sergeant in the middle of the night doing weights alone after 'lights-out' (sleeping) timing. I nearly got the platoon into trouble that time (I did in my OCS days but that's another story). I got to learn that I personally get a lot of drive and motivation from overcoming a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, from overcoming my own weakness. I also learnt that I hate appearing weak in front of the others. On the flipside I also realised I had a slight disdain towards weak individuals; not physically weak people per se, but those who are weak in the mind.

Because it was also during those days that I understood the power of human determination. At the end of the BMT course there was a 24km route march. No matter how fit one is, the shock of a carrying a 15kg backpack, with helmet on the head, a rifle on the shoulder and walking for 24km is tremendous. The very first time we trained for a 4km route march, I almost thought I would die from the suffering I experienced in my body, I was thinking at that time, "How horrifying and impossible would it be, to go through the same thing 6 times non stop!?"

But in the end, one does it, they always do. Every single recruit from the platoon marched 24km; everytime one of us felt like giving up and stopping, somewhere somehow, from within himself or from his fellow friends, he finds that extra inch to go on. Not only we finished a 24km overnight march, we finished at the BMTC parade square and stood motionless for 20 minutes with the pain and tiredness warcking in our body and the packs on our back, listening to some Colonel finish a speech that marks the passing out from our recruit stage of life. The human body does not fall as long as the spirit does not fall.

It was the first time I understood; we underestimate ourselves sometimes; we underestimate desire, determination. I am capable of so many things I once thought was too painful, too impossible to do.

Even more amazing were our superiors. I remember these interval trainings, route marches and field camps, while the recruits were all suffering, our platoon commanders, platoons sergeants and sergeants participated and did the same things with an assuming air of nonchalance. How could they manage? Where did they find the strength? In fact my platoon commander was just one year older than us! What we did with so much effort and pain, they went around doing like another day at the job. Once again, the power of the state of mind and the way the body and spirit adapts to hardship.

I had not learnt the true magnitude of human spirit over hardship then; it was still early days, I would later learn the extreme levels in throughout my army years. But those were the first inkling of consciousness over this fierce determination which I would term 'mental limits'.

18 years old was also the transition years from adolesence to manhood. I remember looking at my company commander, all 1.9m hulk of a man, broad shoulders and square jaw, he was 30 years old. He was a 'Guards' captain. The nickname for 'Guardsmen' were 'sandbags' because they wore khaki coloured berets. He had large round eyes and a booming voice; and the way he walked chest puffed up and pencil straight with large powerful strides, his biceps seem to be bursting out from his green uniform.

The recruits used to be in awe of him. There was one time during a grenade throwing exercise conducted by our platoon commanders, he was walking by, did not like what he saw and he boomed out, "You guys throw worse than my grandmother!" He took a dummy grenade and hurled it almost halfway across a football field. I looked at him and thought to myself that was a presence and power of a real man.

Captain Sandbags cuts a mean and intimidating figure. In my platoon there was a friendly and cheerful guy. He was skinny and pale and looked like he had bones that would brittle and crack with just a rugby tackle. His name was 'Lee Teng Hui'. Everyone remember him because that time Taiwan had a president by the same name. During one fieldcamp, where we learned the basic field combat skills of 'fire and movement', Captain Sandbags was overseeing the exercise. Lee Teng Hui led a half hearted charge and Captain Sandbags was unto him like a wild hound. He shook Teng Hui and reprimanded him. Without so much of a shout, Teng Hui started crying. I remember thinking to myself, "Was it really that scary? Maybe that was the difference between men and boys?" (Later on when I became a commander and a trainer myself, I would make boys cry too.)

But yes, these men that walked about the military premises, they were not only great due to the fact that we recruits idolized them. On hindsight a great magnitude of their apparent greatness was due to our starry-eyed way of looking at them. But some of them, like Captain Sandbags really had a piercing gaze which came from deep down inside their core; which seems to say, "I have an inner strength that is greater than most mere men. I know it for a fact because I had been through hell." And I would find this look in many army men and commanders for the rest of my army tour. I remember thinking to myself, "one day, I'll want to get the same look in the eye."

The acid test for a recruit's leadership skills and hence suitability for OCS was called the Situational Test or Sit Test for short. It happened during the last day of a four day field camp. We will form into sections of 10 men and go through stations where the empire would tell us a scenario with a series of obstacles, for example - a river is in the way and the section needs to cross to the opposite bank. Some materials like wooden planks would be available to us and a leader would be choosen amongst us to navigate our way through the obstacles using devices constructed by these raw materials.

I remember asking my National Police Cadet Corps (NPCC) mate Meiyan to teach how to tie knots. Beautiful Meiyan was a great NPCC leader during our secondary school years and she was one of the most knowledgable police cadet during our time.

During the Sit Test the knowledge about knot-tying came in handy and a lot of the knots were tied by me. As such, I was useful enough to the team and be noticed by the empire assessing our performance. That was when I was first aware of team dynamics; how to be a good leader and how to be a good follower, they were equally important. Most importantly how not to be an 'indian chief'. We called someone an indian chief when he tried to lead or help for the purpose of showing himself up when his leadership or help was not appropriate.

Time flew by quickly, especially when field camps came around. Field camps were a great way to spend time. For sure it was tiring, for sure it was dirty. But the camaraderie experienced within the platoon, the adventure in the wild, the camping experience and the whole military war simulation was a hell lot of fun!

The first time our sergeant threw a thunderflash making a loud bang in our direction, and we all had to turn immediately to our right, forming a line and charge into the bushes firing our M16s; with the putrid firepowder smell, tired legs and thick green camouflage makeup on our faces; those moments beat going to fake arcade games like 'laser quest' anytime.

How about those times out in the field, where we had leaves and mud and dirt around us. The entire section gathered together and cooking awful tasting army combat rations. Those were strange times as the combination of hardships and the stripping away of modern creature comforts made men relate to one another in a more honest spiritual way; even the awful combat rations tasted delicious!

Then time spent in the BMTC training quarters - our bunks - were little oasis in the desert; little islands in the sea of suffering. Boys laid around topless, in the sweltering Tekong heat, talking about our girlfriends, the army training, lying on our beds and resting, doing nothing, waiting for time to pass; these unique days of male bonding would always be dear to me.

One thing I learnt is never to bitch. Always stay positive, no matter how hard the training is, how bad the punishments are. We all hated the negative guy, hated to listen to him complain. no one likes it. And as always, the negative guy defeats himself, loses enthusiasm and drive to accomplish tasks and suffers more in the meantime, making him more negative; a vicious cycle.

The best amongst us, like Gene, Vijay, they even had the strength to encourage people, help people when the chips are down. They were my role models. It was also in the army I began to realise the facade of 'goodness'. When things are going easy, in a civilian setting, everyone can be Mr Nice over tea and coffee. But when you are out in the field, three days, eating army rations, with the rain beating down and sergeant hollering on you, fullpack on your back, rifle over your shoulder; when you feel so much like shit about yourself, that is the time where you face your true character, that is the time to see if you can still be Mr Nice to others, can you still help, can you still think logically, can you still be tolerant, be useful, be positive?

I remember in BMTC, I never complained, because I never had the cause to. I loved the life, even the punishments I took it as a kind of training, in mind and body. I was friendly and cheerful; and I had boundless enthusiasm and energies. I realised when you do everything 100% it often feel better than doing it less, and it makes the thing easier than if you put in less effort and heart. But I also found out I was not by nature an inspiring leader, like Gene or Vijay; I was more like a joker in the pack.

One friend said to me, "YY you are an excellent soldier, more suitable as a soldier than a commander." I did not mind that at all, in fact I agreed.

Nevertheless I still dreamt of OCS and come end of the course, I was amongst the better recruits in the platoon. Peer appraisal towards the end of the course presented another side of our humanity. Everyone had to rank the platoon members from the first to the last, the top few will get to OCS. It was very much like the voting council of the reality show 'Survivors'. People started to use friendship and favours to get that ranking that he wanted.

There was one particular guy, extremely arrogant, we all hated him throughout the course. But he begged us to put him high up in the ranking because, "I need to go to OCS to fulfil my pilot dream." He even washed the toilet all by himself for the few days leading up to the peer appraisal, just to prove a point. It was quite a pathetic show, some of us including me quietly thought he was very pitiful. Of course he did not get to OCS in the end, I think his ranking amongst the platoon mates was very low.

Some of us really deserved to get in but did not. Gene was one of them. He was devastated. We later learnt he was arrested as a youth for some fighting before; the government does not treat such records kindly. Everyone in the company expected him to go. I remember I was very sad for him and told him not to give up hope as he was going to the Specialist Course for Sergeants, and very good performers from that course will get to join OCS midway. But that was the first time I felt the perceived injustice of the system. Or at least the helplessness of a system so huge that I could not understand.

It was a lot of growing up in the short three months of BMT. I got to OCS eventually but a big reason was because I signed on with the army under the 'Local Study Award' study grant. I remember my platoon commander commending me on a good result and wishing me all the best for the upcoming nine months of OCS.

His last words to me were, "If you think BMT is tough you ain't see nothing yet, in OCS you are appraised everyday, judged every single activity. And in this platoon. Gene, Vijay, you and the few are the motivated ones. In OCS every single one in the platoon is as motivated if not more than you, and it is your job to be better than them.

"Oh and by the way, expect lots of sleepless nights." He winked as he sent me through the door. I did not know what he meant. I would find out soon enough.

Early November 2008

It was a Saturday afternoon, Flor and Hung Yut, a korean professional tango couple, had just arrived in Buenos Aires earlier that week. We had just finished a rock and roll class with El negro Facundo. I called Javier and asked if we could all go visit him. I think Javier was excited to see Flor and Hung Yut, so we all went to visit him at his home around late evening.

We settled down into a nice comfortable chat. And soon the conversation turned to tango songs. Javier started to play some tangos from his Macbook, and he started to play the orchestra we all liked; Carlos di Sarli.

"Porteno y Bailarin, me hiciste tango, como soy, romantico y dulzon." And so it began. The best part of the night had started, Javier started to do a live translation of the lyrics of his favourite songs. It started with the famous 'Porteno y Bailarin'.

He paused the song midway and began, "The following lyrics is written in some kind of poetic form, to understand it clearly, we need to rearrange the order of the words. 'Tango! You made me a porteno (port people, Buenos Airean) and dancer. Like the person I am, romantic and full of sweetness!'" Javier looked at us, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh.

"Tango, your violin inspires me..." Javier started to stand up, hands pulling out an imaginary thing from inside his heart. "...your rhythm drags my soul, the bandoneon serenades me to sleep."

Pacing around his little living room, he gestured around his home, "The author writes about this particular house, his porteno home, alive and filled with melancholy, breathing with love!" Flor, Hung Yut and I were slowly transported to another realm, by the music, the words and Javier the master painter.

He stopped at his door, lining the door carefully, "I gave all my love to my porteno little house within her doors..."

Then he moved to his balcony window and laid his head beside a nearby table. "And in his native/creole (criolla) house, he had a little window which the sun comes everyday to sit by it."

Javier returned to his seat near the Macbook and paused the music, "Now after describing his little porteno house, he turns his attention to his lover. He sings, 'All my love, all the drama of my life was in my lover's voice; her hands which bid me goodbye; and her bright red carmine lips...

"Look how clever the writer was, here he puts a twist to the lyrics. 'For her and for her love, oh tango! You made me the man I am; a porteno and a dancer.' Ayy no..." Javier half covered his face and looked at us; a look which seems to say, "my heart can't take what the song is singing anymore."

"Listen to this!...the following lyrics is incredible! 'Que importa el sueño que a mis pilas roban, las mentiras horas de bailar sin calma.' This porteno guy, romantic and full of sweetness says, 'What did it matter to me! Even if dancing tango every night robbed me of all my energy and all my youth!' All these hours dancing with his lover in his arms, feeling in the dance the love from the woman, seducing him; captivating him, but alas! It was all a lie, because although he had danced with the woman with all his love and thought the woman in his arms had felt the same; but at the end, it was just a dance to her, not love, even though she had made him felt differently."

At this point, I could not help but started to tear, because deep down in my heart I had felt exactly what the singer was singing.

"Isaakito! Te emocionaste! (You are really touched eh!)" Javier saw the tears. "The following is my favourite part. 'Que importa el miedo de dar la vida si encontrar el beso que me pide alma.'" Hung Yut chirped in, "Yes you even put the phrase on your skype and msn profile!"

"Yes!" Javier replied, "What does fear mean to me??!! Why fear giving all I have to living life? If I find that kiss which takes my soul away from me!" All of us nodded in agreement, especially fiery little Flor, who understood the least spanish but probably understood that phrase with her soul more than any of us.

"Now that I am old, having danced all the tangos that I had within me; I finally understood: this illusion of love that I thought we had, were nothing but tangos of love, glasses of wine; and most importantly, being romantic and full of sweetness, crazy swallows that were flying about in my young heart."

Fresh tears broke out once again from my eyes.

(Hung Yut wrote about this night too, he recorded the translation of Esta Noche de Luna. You can read about it here.)

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One month later, Javier and Andrea were due to perform in Maipu 444, the milonga called Mano a Mano, as part of a tango festival. Hung Yut, Flor and I were there to watch their performance.

As the two of them stood on the dancefloor ready to perform, the rousing violins of 'Porteno y Bailarin' filled the room.

Javier turned and winked at me.

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PORTEÑO Y BAILARIN
Letra de H. Marcó
Musica de Carlos Di Sarli
Versión de Jorge Duran

(PORTENO AND DANCER
Lyrics by Hector Marco
Music by Carlos Di Sarli
Version of Jorge Duran)

Porteño y bailarin,
me hiciste tango
como soy,
romantico y dulzon.

(Porteno [Buenos Airen] and dancer,
you made me tango,
like [the man] I am,
romantic and [too] sweet.)

Me inspira tu violin,
me arrastra el alma tu compas,
me arrulla el bandoneón.

(your violin inspires me,
your rhythm drags my soul,
the bandoneon lulls me)

Melancolica casita suspirando amor,
le di en sus puertas mi querer
y en tu criolla ventanita recostada al sol,
rompio mis cuerdas el ayer.

(Melancholic little house breathing with love,
I gave [the house] my love in her doors
and in your creole little windows lies the sun,
[which] broke my bonds of yesterday.)

Todo mi drama
esta en tu voz,
en tus manos el adios,
labios de carmin.

(All my drama
is in your voice,
in your hands the goodbye,
carmine lips.)

Por ella y por su amor,
me hiciste tango como soy,
porteño y bailarin.

(For her and for her love,
you made me tango like how I am,
porteno and dancer.)

Que importa el sueño
que a mis pilas roban,
las mentiras horas
de bailar sin calma.

(How important is the weariness
that from my life force were draining,
those false hours
of dancing restlessly.)

Que importa el miedo
de dar la vida
si encontrar el beso
que me pide alma.

(How important is the fear
of giving [all] in life
if I find the kiss
that takes my soul away.)

Hoy se que fueron,
tangos de amor y copas,
golondrinas locas,
en mi corazón.

(Today I know that they were,
[nothing but] tangos of love and drinks,
crazy swallows,
in my heart.)

Porteño y bailarin
me hiciste tango
como soy,
romantico y dulzon.

(Porteno and dancer
you made me tango
like [the man] I am,
romantic and [too] sweet.)

好久没起笔用中文写作了！不过今晚深夜展转难眠，闭目思潮起伏。一幕幕尼泊尔
(NEPAL)的回忆有如电影画面般历历在目。

而有趣的是，脑子里随着这些回忆画面都是中文叙字和声音。有道:“山明水秀”，
可能是小时候读的充满诗意的中文篇章，随着尼泊尔在我身上留下来的深印，在凌
晨五点半的深夜里，一起舒发出来吧！

----------------------------------------------------------------

时间，就有如一位老伯，他的脚步慢慢的一步步向前进。我在尼泊尔的山脉远足已
经有十来天了。而时间的脚步，在这深山峪岭里感觉真的好慢，好平静。

那天下午，我独自坐在一道粗造水泥道路的沿边。安静的观视这个被深山环绕的小
村子。

身处在这村子的最高点，我背向高山，放眼望去，整个村子都在我的视线里。远处，一群小孩在一片草地踢着足球，嘻哈作乐。 草地旁一排排的小屋，白烟从小屋们里轻轻升起；快要是晚餐时间了。

我的视线随着小孩，小屋，轻烟的伸展，慢慢地往左边的山脉望去，又慢慢地随着
被深山树林刻画出的山线，望向身后的高山。

一阵微风迎面而来，我闭目合眼， 心摇神荡，此时我与天地和一，更正确来说，大
地把我容入在她怀抱，我一瞬间变得如沙般渺小，同时又有如大地一般辽辽无边。
身后的高山，沉静无声。一株株松树高攀向天，直升白云，随着微风摆动。一阵感
动：“这就是大自然吗？”

“NAMASTE！ (尼泊尔的‘合掌’敬礼 )”一个清脆的女儿声把我从梦境中轻轻唤醒。
两位尼泊尔小女生微笑好奇地望着我，叽喳做声，比手划脚。

我望着她们，心中说不尽的舒畅，说不尽的喜悦，说不尽的平静。

---------------------------------------------------------------

十年没动笔，好多字都忘了。写起来也有点生疏。不过感觉很好。而且也察觉到，
用中文描叙风景，诗意浓；描叙心灵深处的感觉，字少意深，点到为止。比起用英
文或西文，别有一番风味。

My final post for the participants of my tango workshops in Singapore.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
What is a Milonga?
After the numerous classes, workshops and practicas, what is the ultimate aim of learning argentine tango? To dance in the milongas! Of course!

A milonga is a dance party where all tango lovers come to socialize, listen to nice tango music, check out the scene and most importantly dance!

Why go milongas?
Now we have group classes, private classes, practicas and numerous classes. Long time ago when tango first started, no one took the dance seriously in this academic way, nor did they have the money to pay for classes.

What they did have, is a sense of pride; not to be a worse dancer than the guy standing beside him; a great sense of old school chivalry, an unspoken promise to the women in their arms that they will enjoy the best of times while dancing with him.

So how did they learn then? The milongas were their school. The senior milongueros and milongueras were their teachers. Lessons were given out of passion for the dance.

These days, even with classes and practicas, a milonga is still the best learning environment. No matter how much you practise in front of the mirror or with your partner, that ocho cortado move, that little boleo embellishment; you will never be sure you got that move correctly until you try it with different partners on a social dance floor.

Roles of Men and Women
I really love what Cacho said in one of his interviews, "(On the milongueros) The pleasure he feels, he transfers with elegance to the woman's body. She, in turns, follows him, generally with eyes closed. She follows like a perfume he is wearing, she sticks together in this joyful journey..."

"... There are also many milongueras(women tango dancers), many, and very good. They are ageless. Their posture, the charm of their footstep, and the subtleties of their movements make for the man's inspirations, and it's them who make the man shine. They are simply chiche bombon!!!"

In this dance, it is really a gentlemanly invitation by the men for the ladies to join them in a good time. Women are queens and men are their knights. The things men do, are really inspired by the desire to make women happy. Women also allow themselves to be treated like a real lady; rare in this sexless modern society of ours. In turn, in their own lady like ways, inspire the men during the dance to greater heights.

Tango is really a 50 – 50 conversational dance. Not a chauvinistic lead and follow dance as commonly misunderstood.

Etiquette
In a dance so close and sensual, there are some general common sense etiquettes to be observed.

- Smell nice. Wear perfume or deodorant.
- Be polite.
- Don't be afraid to say no to a dance; likewise don't be offended or afraid to ask again after being turned down. This is after all a social dance; you get to choose who you want to dance with, no obligations nor pressure.

There are many more tips, you can refer to my blog post 'Practical Tips for the Social Dance Floor'.

"...but the activity of reason, which is contemplative, seems both to be superior in serious worth and to aim at no end beyond itself, and to have its pleasure proper to itself (and this augments the activity), and the self-sufficiency, leisureliness, unweariedness (so far as this is possible for man), and all the other attributes ascribed to the supremely happy man are evidently those connected with this activity, it follows that this will be the complete happiness of man, if it be allowed a complete term of life (for none of the attributes of happiness is incomplete).

...for man, therefore, the life according to reason is best and pleasantest, since reason more than anything else is man. This life therefore is also the happiest.

...But, being a man, one will also need external prosperity; for our nature is not self-sufficient for the purpose of contemplation, but our body also must be healthy and must have food and other attention. Still, we must not think that the man who is to be happy will need many things or great things, merely because he cannot be supremely happy without external goods; for self-sufficiency and action do not involve excess, and we can do noble acts without ruling earth and sea; for even with moderate advantages one can act virtuously (this is manifest enough; for private persons are thought to do worthy acts no less than despots-indeed even more); and it is enough that we should have so much as that; for the life of the man who is active in accordance with virtue will be happy."

- Excerpt from Nicomachean Ethics, Book 10, by Aristotle

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Some 2350 years ago, 350 BC, the great philosopher Aristotle had already written down the key to human happiness. Of course he was preceded by his teachers and many philosophers before him like Plato, Socrates, etc.

But the point remains the same: The ideal life is one of contemplation and rational reflection; and then acting and carry out one's actions as a consequence of this virtuous contemplation.

How ideal it will be for me! To one day be able to live a life of quiet reflection!

The picture painted in my mind of this eventual peaceful contemplative mode of existence:

A small wooden cabin in some countryside woods close to a lake. Reading, reflecting and writing; on the life I would have lived, the things that I had seen and experienced and the passions which I had encountered.

Waking up to an hour of daily sharpening of the body, by the physical trainings I had learnt so far, from military, from athletics, gymnastics, boxing.

Then the time of the day to earn my keep, to maintain a humble living. A skill that allows me to work and create with my hands; carpentry, clothes making, shoe making and/or painting etc; for the human hands are capable of such magic and industry. And creating something useful is the closest act of God humans can emulate.

As the day winds down, a time to connect spiritually and emotionally. An hour on the piano, a few tangos danced with a loved one. As the rational mind is limited and is only one part of the beauty of the humanity; inside us lies a beauty that can only be felt emotionally and spiritually, unable to be grasped by logic, yet necessary for us to stay in touch with.

Finally the evening would end. And the night time is the best for contemplation and reflections.

The external world is filled with wonderous things for us to learn and experience. Yet the internal world of philosophy, literature and human knowledge in general, is just as vast or might be even more infinite.

The ideal life for me would be spent in reflection, contemplation, exploration, learning and understanding of this vast internal world.

Hopefully, I would had spent my youth not in vain, experiencing the external world profoundly. And calming sufficiently the wanderlust in me, to be able to live in this ideal life of quiet contemplation.

Maybe in the end, I would never be able to calm this wanderlust. Then I guess the wooden cabin would have to go... Replaced by a backpack.

Another incident which illustrates why the dance without its culture is reduced to just a series of senseless movements:

Andrea Misse was giving another friend of mine a private lesson and she was explaining a movement call the 'pass-over from a parada'

(To the non tango readers: The man leads a forward step for the woman but puts his foot in the way. Usually he pauses for awhile at this moment, hence the name 'parada' (spanish for 'stop'). The woman has to skip over the man's foot which is in the way, hence the term 'pass-over'.)

"Long time ago, this little movement had lots of hidden meaning loaded in it. At the moment of the 'pass-over', the woman can choose to brush against the man's foot and leg suggestively, which means, 'hey baby let's get it on.' Or the woman can choose to give the man's foot just a light tap which means, 'this is just a dance my friend.' Or the woman can tap her own foot impatiently underneath herself which means, 'this is boring, yawn!'"

"But many women now just do it automatically as part of a memorised choreographed 'embellishment' without understanding the subtleties; the meanings they can convey."

"In other words many embellishments which used to be 'words' of the dancers are now meaningless movements. And men and women who used to communicate with each other through all these movements and gestures are now mute."

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Midsummer Nights' Tango Introduction Series: Part 3

Characteristics of Tango

What makes Argentine Tango, tango? Where does it's magic lie, why is it so addictive? Why is it one of the hardest lead and follow dance? Here might be some reasons why.

Embrace

Imagine embracing the close friend you have not seen for a long time; embracing someone you love. So much emotions and words to tell each other, but conveyed and transmitted to each other in that silent and peaceful embrace.

For tango, you start and end the dance in this embrace. When a man and woman move into each others' arms, they embrace each other with love and gentleness, enjoying the musical and emotional journey as one, as long as the tango lasts.

Connection

Argentine tango is a pure social dance. You do not dance tango for competitions; nor for exams; nor for judges; nor performance. You dance tango for your partner, for yourself, for your own enjoyment.

Like an intimate chat between lovers, looking deep into each others' eyes, talking in a low hushed tone; tango is very private, everything you need to say is only for the two of you to hear. For the 4 minutes, the only person in this world is you and her, totally connected. That's why they say, in tango, you dance as though no one is watching you.

Walk

The language of tango can be simple or complex. But most importantly, tango is elegant, tango is musical, tango is full of subtleties, tango is improvised.

Jean Michel my first tango teacher says, "Tango is about doing one step in hundred ways, not doing hundred steps in one way."

Cacho Dante says, "When I first learned to dance I did ten steps, when I got better I did fifty steps, but when I truly knew how to dance I did five steps; but with real quality."
Tango is one dance where you can express the full emotions of the music just by walking. Because even in the walk, every small little nuance and feeling can be led and followed; even the simple walk there is no choreography.

Music

A lot of social dances the dancer dances a happy, joyful feeling; or a single range of musical feeling. However, in tango there is a full range of emotions and feelings. Sadness, nostalgia, romantic, intense, dramatic, happiness, aggressiveness, sweetness; all these feelings can be felt even in a single piece of music.

In Buenos Aires, you can still see milongueros shed a tear when dancing to their favourite heart wrenching tango tune. And the most amazing thing is, you can share this emotion with anyone from any part of the world, even a complete stranger.

Its been ten years since it happened. A little trip down the memory lane... still fresh like it happened yesterday. A funny little recollection that brings a smile everytime I remember it and a laugh everytime I tell it.

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December 1999.

We were eager, strapping army officer cadets, all nineteen years of boyhood, bursting with vigour and anticipation of the manhood to come.

Bravo Wing, OCS cadet corps had just completed a gruelling one month jungle training in the savage tropical jungles of Brunei. For one month we went through battle procedures and drills in the thick, wet vegetation; and also went through an especially signifigant, life-changing experience for all of us young cadets: The Jungle Confidence Course (JCC).

(I failed this Confidence Course as an officer cadet trainee, having failed to meet the cut-off time to navigate back to the base. Five years later, as a commissioned officer, I would try again and pass.)

After one month of Brunei jungle training, we had a one week vacation for us cadets to recharge our batteries before the last phase of our officer cadet course. Me and my fellow platoon mates were decidedly bored and were thinking of a little trip to Malaysia, our neighbour country.

So mission 'JPP' was conceived. Young minds and its crazy ideas; influenced by our time in the army, every other plan deserved some military codeword, every other actions were influenced by some military 'S.O.P' (standard operating procedures).

'JPP' stood for 'Johor Porn Party'. As most of my friends did not do very well for 'JCC' the 'Jungle Confidence Course', many did not get the 'JCC' military badge. We decided to reward ourselves the badge of 'JPP'.

The idea was to go to Johor Bahru, the nearest malaysian city across the Singapore causeway, for a sumptous seafood dinner and then spend the night and next day at a nearby beach resort at Desaru.

So where does the porn party part come in? The plan was to check out a 'Tiger Show' in Johor Bahru after dinner, before we head to Desaru.

(For the uninitiated, a 'Tiger Show' is actually a live sex show, with the performing women doing acrobatic stunts with their vaginas, e.g. shooting ping-pong balls or darts.)

This plan generated quite a buzz amongst us as you can imagine, a bunch of innocent Singaporean nineteen year olds, more than half of which had never seen a real life pussy before, after one month training in the mosquito infested jungles of Brunei; going through the whole jungle confidence course (JCC) without succeeding and getting the badge. One can see why we were all excited about JPP.

After a superb seafood dinner over-flowing with chilli crabs and deepfried cereal kingprawns, it was time to execute the big plan; the porn party.

To put that into perspective; upper middle class singaporean boys, well educated and of supposedly upright moral character, something like this was both unprecedented in our lives and outrageous: being in a foreign land going to see some live sex show.

As such, some of us chickened out after the dinner and decided to go back home to Singapore. The rest, about seven of us, who decided to carry out the plan, were filled with an exciting anticipation of the night and a sheepish feeling of guilt, the same guilt like how young boys feel after masterbating.

The night went downhill from then on; for us young, inexperienced and sheepish boys, everything that could go wrong went terribly wrong...

First of all, no one in our group knew where to find such shows. Imagine Malaysia, a muslim country where pornography rules were stricter than Singapore, none of us had the guts to approach anyone to ask neither.

So what did this lost, sheepish, but excited group of young nineteen year olds decided to do? Ask the taxi driver. We thought, a taxi (cab) driver will know just about every nook and cranny and dark corners of the city.

And we did not ask just any taxi driver on the streets, but the first taxi driver from the taxi stand outside of Johor Bahru busiest shopping mall, where the queue behind us was around 10 meters long.

DC, a handsome chinese version of Leonardo Di Caprio, usually the most outspoken of the group went up to the taxi driver and asked with his half past six melayu, "Eh Ahbang, di manakah 'tiger show'?" (Where is a 'tiger show'?)

"Tiger show?" The malay taxi uncle looked bewildered. DC began to flush deep red, "You know, 'ping pong' show? Err sex show?"

"Ah okok boleh..." The taxi uncle got it. "I am not sure, but wait here." The taxi uncle stood out from his taxi and shouted back towards the whole line of taxi waiting behind him, "EH THESE BOYS WANT TO SEE A TIGER SHOW, ANYONE KNOWS WHERE TO FIND ONE???!!!"

Its like the theatre went dark and a spotlight beamed upon the seven of us. And worse, we were naked.

A hand went up a few taxis behind the first one. "THEY WANT TO SEE TIGER SHOW IS IT? OK COME!"

Amidst the murmurings and stares of the queue of people waiting behind us, we hurriedly boarded the taxi and another behind it.

While driving us, the taxi uncle began to talk excitedly, "Boleh lah! You want to see 'tiger show' is it? I know just the place! The girls very cantik one... maciam princess ok. Oh you from Singapore. There are some Singapore girls there too! Tak boleh tahan!! They are the prettiest!!!"

After a few turns around the neighbourhood, the surroundings assumed an omnimous and dark character, with sparse and dim streetlights. Feels about right, a sleazy place for a sleazy activity.

"There you go ahbang! Your 'tiger show' enjoy!' The taxi driver stopped us in the middle of the dark neighbourhood, the only light emanating from a huge red neon signboard shaped in our Singapore national logo, a stylized lion head. And the name of the joint: 'Lion City', a moniker for Singapore.

"Hey YY (my nickname amongst my platoon mates, my chinese name is Yan Yang.)! How come they have our Singapura logo?" AC, the most muscular guy amongst us asked. He was a school representative for dragon boat, but his gentle and mild mannerism was a stark contrast from his physical size.

As we stepped into the premises of 'Lion City', I noticed it was a small dimly lit club, very quiet with small groups of two or three people huddled in dark corners; hushed and silent. The walls were lined with television sets of images of music videos and words.

"Wait a minute." I thought to myself. "This looks like a KTV (karaoke) lounge." The trouble was, amongst us, no one actually knew how or what a 'tiger show' should look like.

"Eh YY, ji pai siao liao lah (hokkien phrase - we're screwed this time). I think we've just walked into a 黑店 (literal translation, 'black shop' which means a place where customers are fleeced)." KC whispered to me. KC's nickname was 'wildboar', a rough looking guy; straightforward character and probably the most 'by the book' amongst us.

A man led us deep into the club to a small private room. "Ok gentleman, what can I do for you today?" By the time we were seated down, all of us had half our minds to leave, but we were all too intimidated.

"Er-hem, we want to see a 'tiger show'." DC said. "Tiger show?" The man hesitated for a moment, "Sure give me a moment, I'll bring in the girls." He left the room and shut the door behind him with a wry smile.

Silence. The seven of us were left alone in the room. We were seated in a semi-circle sofa, with the opening of the semi-circle leading to the door. There was nothing in the room except for a rectangular coffee table in the middle. We looked at each other with the same excitement, only this time the guilt was replaced by something more omnimous; the feeling of something was wrong with the place, rather than we were doing something morally incorrect.

The door opened and an elderly lady with greyish curly hair walked in. She sat beside AC and began to smile at him with her yellowish teeth, then at all of us. Then more ladies of similar age and appearances walked in. The man was last to enter and he said, "ok gentleman, how many of these beautiful ladies would you like for your 'show'?"

At this point all of us were dumbfounded. We stared at the women, most of them old enough to be our mothers and a few of them old enough to be our grandmothers. Sure some of them had low plunging neck line dresses, or red rougue on... but that did not cover up their wrinkles and saggy arms. That was so far removed from the fantasy we had pictured in our minds: nubile, sweaty, young naked girls.

Hence, once again, silence reigned. Only this time there were not a single inch of excitement left, nor guilt. We only felt fear; the deep deep fear of the choices we had to make. Leave this place and how? Or forever destroy our virgin 'sex show' experience?

I was the only regular soldier then, earning more pay than the rest of the gang. Hence I was unofficially financing this little adventure, I had to speak out, "Ok can we have a moment alone to decide?"

The man, who we now guessed was the boss of 'Lion City' was half amused as if also experiencing a new situation for the first time himself. "You need to decide? Just take all my beauties here! Ok if that's what you want. Let me know when you guys made the choice." He and his harem streamed out.

The moment he stepped out DC shrieked, "Oh shit oh shit oh shit! The first woman came in and I thought she was the 'ah soh' (auntie) coming in to clean up the place." He was half suppressing a laugh.

The hilarity of the situation were getting into us. At that point I felt like I was in a horror comedy movie; 'American Pie' feat 'From Dusk Till Dawn', with 'Hotel Carlifornia' as the theme song.

"They all look older than our mothers! Oh shit oh shit oh shit!" KCO a.k.a. 'Wendy' said. KCO was one of the fastest middle distance runner of the platoon but he was small in size and had very fair skin, so we all call him 'Wendy'.

We did not know if we were to cry, be angry or laugh. But it was a strange mix of all feelings. "Ok, let's just go with the least ugly one, get on with the show, pay for it and get the fuck out of here." I said.

Somehow, none of us had the guts to just stand up and leave, even though that was the thing all of us wanted to do. The fact that we were in foreign land, in a sleazy looking place probably ran by traids, we were cowed into staying and letting the act run its course from the motions we first set in place.

"So we all agree the second one from the door is the least ugly?" BT the only indian in our group said. "Yes yes, I think she was the slimmest and probably the least elderly." We all agreed.

I think the discussion took so long that the boss did not wait for us to call him in. He came in halfway through our discussions and demanded an answer; surrounded by all the elderly women.

"Ok we'll take her." DC said, pointing at the one we all agreed upon. "And who else?" the man asked. "No one, just her." DC repeated and we all nodded. "If that is what you want. But you really don't know what you guys are missing." The man left the room slightly irritated with the rest of the ladies, leaving the one we chosed behind.

"My name is Sandy." Closing the door behind her, "I heard you guys want a tiger show right?" Sandy was a chinese lady probably in her late forties, slim and wearing a clingy black little dress. Her face looked mature and were covered by wrinkles usually found on people who worked for a long period of late nights. "Ok I'll GIVE you your tiger show!" She laughed and her eyes gleamed wildly as she said that, assuming the role of a wanton experienced woman in control over a group of young boys. Within five seconds, she was stark naked. No slow sexy stripping, no sensual movements; faster than the fastest soldier in a uniform change parade.

What followed was a life-changing moment.

Sandy was naked in front of the door. Around the door all of us were sitting in a semi-circle. On her right, the start of the semi-circle sat Moby. Moby was the pushover of the platoon, usually the butt of all our jokes; he had a uni-brow, big round eyes, flat nose and looked like a funny japanese comic book character, and behaves like one too. Directly on her left, the other start of the semi-circle sat I, yours truly.

"So who should I service first???" She swept the room with her eyes. I'll never forget that wild gleam in her eyes. It happened like in slow motion, her gaze lingered on me for a second and then she settled her eyes on Moby, turned, and suddenly her naked body was up in the air and she pounced on Moby. She sat facing him, straddling him with her thighs.

Ever watched movies which played on decision making and future scenarios; like 'Sliding Doors', 'Back to the Future', 'Time Machine', etc? It could have been me. My first taste of breasts could have been Sandy's late forties tits. But unfortunately for Moby, it was him.

"来,我来帮你洗脸!!!" ("Come, I'll help you wash your face!!!") She cried, pushing Moby's face into her tits and started to mash them around his face. The others looked on in horror. While I looked on with horror and a great feeling of relief.

Moby was immobilized. We could only imagine he was paralyzed with shock. A late forties woman sitting on him and squeezing her tits on his face, his only movements were small twitches on his fingers and small jerks with his legs; like a man electrocuted. That moment, Moby was also immortalized in our minds.

After terrorizing Moby for a few minutes, she looked up at the next person in line, AK. AK was the only one amongst us with a girlfriend. He did not want to come but was dragged along. Little did he knew what was in store for him.

I was sitting right across AK when she pounced on him. And I'll never forget the look on his face. "来,我请你吃鲍鱼!!!" ("Come I'll treat you to some abalone!!!") Sandy cried and stood over the sitting AK, and sat on his head. It was a strange moment because Sandy had her pussy right smack on AK's forehead and we could all see AK's expression of horror peering through her butt naked, wide open legs. Suddenly Moby's plight did not seem so terrible afterall.

Next up was 'Wendy'... Credit to Sandy, thinking back, how did she came up with all these crazy stunts? Because as Sandy pounced on the bespectacled Wendy, Wendy avoided her, she then grabbed his spectacles and said, "我来帮你洗眼鏡." ("I'll help you wash your spectacles."). And proceeded to rub his spectacles vigorously with her pussy. Then she proceeded to help Wendy put his spectacles back on.

At this moment the rest of us, AC, KC, BT, DC and myself, we slowly huddled together, away from the scene of carnage. I could feel these guys all squeezing towards my end of the semi-circle.

"Who's next hahaha???" She turned around laughed gleefully. It almost felt like she was the paying customer; She should be, because she was the only one having fun here.

Next in line was DC but he cried, "No no its ok!" and started to stand up. Sandy laughed mockingly, "why are you guys so shy?" She turned and chased after DC towards our direction. Like pedestrains running away for their lives from an impending car crash, the rest of us stood up and started running away too.

The situation completely broke down into a farce: A naked late forties woman, running circles, chasing young nineteen year olds around a tiny coffee table of a crammed karaoke room. A situation one finds hard to believe even when happening to him that very second.

"Stop stop, we've had enough, here let me pay you and we have to go." I cried desperately, pushing some money for her. Sandy had her fun terrorizing us and left, taking the money.

The rest of the elderly women streamed into the room once more. Some gesturing to us the famous 'cock-sucking' gesture, winking and smiling. I handed out money to all of them, just to placate them and drive them away, finally I gave the boss more money and we bundled clumsily out of 'Lion City'.

As the 'Lion City' doors slam shut behind us, we all burst out laughing. The fear was replaced by a feelings of the comical hilarity of the situation and relief of getting out of that place.

"Hey don't let my girlfriend know alright?" AK said woefully, wiping his forehead. The rest of us turned around and everyone made a 'pussy' sign with our fingers and placed it on our foreheads.

We turned around and took a picture in this pose, with 'Lion City' and the national symbol of Singapore as our background.

Too bad the picture never got developed.

Javier (Rodriguez) said something during one of his private class to a chinese lady, in which I was there as a helper: "When you dance argentine tango, you have to try to think and act like a argentine woman."

"The tango is a latin dance, the women's body has lots of sensual movements, their butts are proud and showing off. The argentine women are never submissive. They are aggressive, passionate and 'in your face'. When they dance, they can be quite the bitch!"

"For example, if one day I were to try to learn Japanese 'Kabuki', I would have to think and act like a Japanese too! Without this spirit, the dance is empty and would just be a series of movements."

"So instead of dancing tango like an (stereotypical) oriental woman; submissive, shy and timid. You need to channel the 'bitchiness' inside you, like an argentine woman!"

"And no matter how much good technique or posture you have, without this spirit, tango would just be another empty dance for you!"

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Midsummer Nights' Tango Introduction Series: Part 2

Dear friends,

There is a famous saying in tango amongst the milongueros, the seasoned social dancers of Buenos Aires; 'Tango first enters through the ears, then reaches the heart and finally comes out from the feet.'

Like any dance, tango is not just movements or fanciful figures, but a heartfelt and soulful expression of the tango music.

So to really fall in love with tango, you must first know and love the music.

Un abrazo tanguero,
Isaac

Golden Age

The tango music mostly used for dancing is from the 'golden age' of tango, 1930s to 1950s. The tangos from this era are nostalgic, non pretentious and usually about the treachery of romantic relationships. They usually sing about the homeland the immigrants left behind for Argentina, the new lands of Argentina; the love ones they left behind and the women who broke their hearts.

There are countless of tango orchestras from this golden age. Just like different orchestra leaders have different taste and personalities; music from different orchestras sound different.

I'll leave the detail exploring to you, but here I'll start you off with three of the most famous ones.

The Orchestras

Juan D'Arienzo – King of the beat
"In my point of view, tango is, above all, rhythm, nerve, strength and character." – Juan D'Arienzo

D'Arienzo's music is rhythmic, powerful, playful and extremely infectious to dance to. It is characterized by an underlying steady, driving beat, above the beat plays different melodic variations of other instruments or the singer. Very often the heart wrenching melody is played by the violin.

Listen to some tunes from Juan D'Arienzo.
El Puntazo
Pensalo Bien

Carlos Di Sarli – Epitome of Tango Salon
"The piano led in a suggesting way, with an embellished bass line, which turned into a trademark of the maestro, linking the bars of the piece and stressing the delicate, elegant rhythm, especially for dancing." – www.Todotango.com

Di Sarli's music is always elegant, delicate and full of subtleties by the piano. His mid-era compositions were romantic and melancholic. His late compositions changed to very formal, profound, full of grandeur and expansiveness.

Listen to some tunes from Carlos Di Sarli.
Tu el Cielo y Tu
A La Gran Muneca

Osvaldo Pugliese – Tango Fantasy
"If Di Sarli is the epitome of tango salon, then Pugliese is the epitome of tango fantasy." – Javier Rodriguez

Pugliese's music often tells a story, great rises and falls; sweet moments and brutal moments; the beat drives and then disappear and reappears again. It is very intense, dramatic and passionate. One dances Pugliese not in moving, but often in the intense pausing.

Listen to some tunes from Pugliese.
La Yumba
Nochero Soy

(references www.todotango.com)

In July 2008, I went back to Singapore to give a series of tango workshops. There were already more than four pairs of tango teachers existing in our small tango community of Singapore. In which no more than twenty dancers could really call themselves regular and hardcore tango addicts who dance every week.

Hence the main challenges I faced were: What made me special from the other teachers? How could I attract students? What could I offer to the tango community that the other local teachers could not?

I thought to myself one very obvious advantage I had was the fact that I had been in Buenos Aires dancing tango for the past two years. Which no one else in Singapore could say they did the same.

So my tagline was "Bringing Tango from Buenos Aires to You". True essence that separates just a series of dramatized choreographed movements from the real tango; the 'Buenos Aires tango'.

True essence which separates the fake 'Made-in-China' Armani t-shirts and the real ones. That which separates an americanized 'chinese chop suey' and real exquisite cantonese food.

Essence of true tango from Buenos Aires... What an ambition. What snobbery. But is not it the very thing thousands of tango pilgrims come searching for in Buenos Aires?

What then? I asked myself... Is so special about this 'Buenos Aires tango'?

For the lack of a better word; culture. This thing that makes 'Buenos Aires Tango'; that makes it 'porteno'; that makes it authentic, is the whole culture behind the dance.

So what then? Is the 'culture' of tango? That would include the social codes and etiquette of the milonga, the different dance styles and the reasons for their existence, the history of the dance, the music and so much more.

Hence, while I was back in Singapore as a much better dancer technically; while I had learnt some complicated and exciting sequences; while I had observed and copied some fancy women's feet adornments; the most important thing I possessed were the firsthand experiences and insights about the cultural aspect of the dance.

The things I got after two years dancing in the traditional milongas of Buenos Aires; with the argentine dancers... they really got something the very few foreigners possess.

The things that I really wanted to convey to the participants of my workshop. Hence I wrote a series of articles which were called 'Midsummeer Nights Tango Introduction Series.' In hope to open the door for my students, to the essence of this wonderful dance called tango.

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Midsummer Nights' Tango Introduction Series: Part 1

Low Class Beginnings

Around 1870s, a large number of European and african immigrants came to Argentina, Buenos Aires. Bringing along with them their native music and folk dances. These European folk dances; polkas, waltzes, were mixed with the African candombe and other South American folk dances, particularly the 'habanera' from Cuba. A new type of dance was formed the 'milonga'or 'tango'.

At that time, 'tango' or 'milonga' also meant a place to dance or a gathering place. Indeed amongst the gathering places of the low class immigrants in the busy port of Buenos Aires, the dance and music of tango flourished. They were typically poor and desperate, hoping to make enough money to return to Europe or bring their families to Argentina. The evolution of tango reflects their profound sense of loss and longing for the people and places they left behind. These men would meet and dance with prostitutes in a scandalous 'close hold'; chest to chest and cheek to cheek.

In those days, men outnumber women greatly; as such even prostitutes had to be impressed and seduced by the men's dancing skills. Men would practise amongst men before getting good enough to dance with women.

But tango soon found itself to the rich upper class young men of Buenos Aires. These young men would visit the slums of Buenos Aires and their brothels. They were fascinated by what they saw. How exciting and scandalous this dance is! Bodies rubbing together, legs invading each other's space, with flirtatious looks and caresses; they were enthralled and began to teach their upper class female cousins and friends.

Although the dance began to spread to the mid and upper classes, tango remained pretty much a vulgar, low class dance between the gangsters, pimps and prostitutes.

Europe and Tango's Golden age

In the early 1900s, the rich sons of Argentina began travelling back to Europe, especially Paris. The high society of Paris embraced this risqué and innovative dance of the young and wealthy latin men. Tango spreaded from Paris to the rest of Europe; it was the dance of the moment!

The upper class argentines were forced to accept this once low class and rejected dance as a form of national pride. Tango returned to Argentina with triumph and thus, ushered in the golden age of tango, which lasted from the 1930s to late 1950s.

Military Junta and Tango's Decline

Tango's decline started in 1950s, where there was great economic depression in Argentina and Argentina was ruled by military dictatorship. The dictatorship banned the dance as the music started to become political. At the same time, rock and roll became very popular, taking over tango.

Resurgence

Mid 1980s, the show 'Tango Argentino' opened in Paris and received critical acclaim worldwide. Once again, tango was popular. Late 1990s, Gustavo Naveira, Fabian Salas and Pablo Veron introduced the 'tango nuevo' style. Since then, many different tango academies emerged and tango is currently a worldwide phenomenon, reaching even our tiny Singapore shores!

"It's not personal, It's strictly business."

Michael Corleone, played by Al Pacino, immortalized these words in the film 'Godfather'.

And this was what I learnt in the organization and execution of my 'tango summer workshops' project, which took place this year July.

I was due for a school vacation, visiting my lovely little country, Singapore, for the month of July.

I thought to myself in April, that when I am back holidaying in Singapore for the month of July, I would very much like to have my very own dance space where I could have the tango music that I enjoy, instead of the current offerings of Singapore. Also, I could take this chance to share with the Singapore tango community what I've experienced and learnt from the Buenos Aires tango scene.

Between April and June, what started out as a little project between me and my three-man Singapore team (Valerie, Su-Lyn and How Meng) snowballed into something rather ambitious. In the end we organized and conducted about 40 hours worth of group classes and practicas; 3 milongas and I gave private lessons almost daily, sometimes up to four privates per day.

In the month of July, the participation rate of the tango workshops registered up to over 50 people per class and our first milonga had a participation rate of up to over 70 people.

It was a huge success, due to many factors; the timing of the economy, the fact that I was coming from BsAs, the supportiveness of the local tango community, etc...

Two things I've learnt or made aware of. Firstly, that if you want to make it profitable, then it has to be run like a business. Or at least with the same methods and ideals that a well organized business would respect.

And if it's business, then its nothing personal. Especially when it comes to human relationships. Infighting exists amongst every social community, even in our little tango community; which could hardly muster thirty regular dancers.

And disappointingly so far, the internal disagreements, about music, about dancing styles, about business competition; has stunted the growth of our tango community.

But they forgot that to really optimize the participation rate, to attract and retain more students, to make the milongas vibrant and successful; you need cooperation, mutual planning and advertising, and most of all, a good vibe from all sides.

Now when ego comes in the way, and when everyone thinks he is right and the other party is wrong, cooperation is easier said than done. Maybe even myself would be hindered by my personal ego and opinions.

But I learnt to transcend these feelings by upholding this mantle, 'Its not personal, its just business.' To look past personal grudges for the sake of business; to get down and dirty for the sake of business; to smile through anger for the sake of business.

As I am not wise enough sometimes to do the above, just for the sake of the greater good of humanity; But for the sake of business and the success of the tango-summer project, I would do whatever it takes.

(Not to be confused with the idea of profits, because its not about the money; money is just one of the indicator of a successful business.)

The second thing I learnt is that I am not yet ready to do business. Its not my calling. Over time, this project evolved to be also about proving to myself that if I want to, I can do it. I have enough capabilities to make the money if I want to, to do make a successful business.

But capabilities is one thing, desire and determination are other important factors which make up the rest. And for business and money making, I do not have the appetite or passion, not just yet.

Like so many things in my life, I just need to know the fact that 'I can do it'. Maybe do it once, then its time to move on.

Thales, the famous ancient greek philosopher, did a good piece of business; With his philosphical mind, he predicted the weather and the good harvest of olives, and he brought all the olive presses beforehand at a low price and made a huge profit when the demand came in.

But he did that just to demonstrate to his fellow milesians that one could use intelligence to enrich oneself.
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It was just for fun, because I never thought myself of being a business oriented person; when I wrote the concept paper for the tango-summer project, I put down 'To earn a profit of 3000SGD (around 2000USD).'

Why 3000SGD? Because that was the price of a return ticket from Singapore to Buenos Aires. (Also it was to impress my 'business consultant' Jean-Michel. )

In the end, I earned enough to cover the return trip and then some... heh heh heh

A philosopher (was it Hegel?) once said that when we have only one perspective of the big picture, the next most well informed perspective we can take is the complete opposite one.

Which is why it seemed wise now that I radically choosed the other end of the world, Argentina as the destination of my journey out of Singapore. Different language, different culture, different living standards...etc.

Which is also why, in late June 2008 when I returned to Singapore, after one and a half year away, suddenly I was very aware of the things that were very Singapore to me...

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It was an late morning run. I couldn't resist.

2 hours upon reaching my beautiful little tropical island, after 30 hours of flight. At 11am I changed into my running gear and did what I could not do in busy downtown Buenos Aires: Go for a run around the neighbourhood right outside my door.

As I basked in the humid 30 degrees sun, looking up at the skies, I saw rolling clouds much thicker and lower hanging than Buenos Aires.

Starting my run, I took a deep breath and savoured the air. Clean, almost sweet, but heavy with water vapour. Unlike smokey Buenos Aires (although its called 'Buenos Aires', 'Good Airs' hah!).

So much greenery and nature surrounding me: The trees, so much more enormous and numerous, surrounding the buildings, if we could take all the buildings away, I could almost still imagine a tropical jungle around us.

As I ran around the same paths that I had ran for the past 10 years of my life. I noticed how wide the pavements are! How clean and new! The roads are well laid and in pristine condition.

The only broken roads and pavements I saw were roads that were being constructed; being upgraded! Every 500 metres I ran, I saw a new building being constructed; a new road being laid; an existing house being renovated! (The apartment under construction beside my Buenos Aires building has been under construction since a year ago.)

I look ahead around the horizon. Such clean and new buildings! Fresh paint and new concrete! But such sterile architecture!!! Squarish blocks of ugly green mixed with bright blue coloured public housing; like a crayon painting of a 4 year old. Who in the Ministry of Housing Development Board approved such colours?! The old european styled buildings of Buenos Aires, although run down and dilapidated, they are much more pleasing to the aesthetic eye.

As I ran past the town center of Toa Payoh (a town in Singapore). It struck me how few people were walking along the streets even in the town center.

On a Tuesday noon, the only people I see outside were the elderly or housewives, or a few young kids getting out from school, probably skipping classes. The rest of the country is either at work or at school; or probably hiding from the heat at some air conditioned place.

Compared to Buenos Aires. The only times when the streets are quiet like this are during Saturdays or Sundays.

I smiled at some of the elderly as I jogged past. They all looked at me as if I was some alien. Well, they are not that wrong. I already feel like a foreigner in my own birthplace.

I realised from the look they gave me, from the way they sat around the plush green parks and the clean sidewalks. The fire in their soul has long been extinguished. Time is just counting the tick tocks for them.

Is it any different in Buenos Aires? I think so... maybe life in Buenos Aires is tougher. The elderly still have to struggle with everyday life. Maybe the struggle keeps the fire burning.

Such peace and tranquility! The serenity though seductive, is dulling to the senses.

Yet it was good to be home for awhile.

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The most incredible observation I had was that very evening, while taking the MRT (Singapore subway) at around 7pm, the whole train was filled with commuters getting off work.

The collective smell emanating from the crowd was one filled with the humid tropical sweat mixed with an artificial office air condition scent. It was a very familiar one, one which I had not noticed since I was in Buenos Aires.

Only in Singapore.

What makes the saturday milonga at Maipu 444, named Cachirulo, so popular with the milongueros of Buenos Aires?

What is the reason Cachirulo can boast the highest level of social traditional tango dancing in Buenos Aires (not to be confused with professional nor nuevo dancing)?

I believe one of the key factors, is due to the strict enforcement of the traditional milonga codes, by the organizers Hector and Norma. Codes that discourage inconsiderate social dancers away from the milonga.

Hector and Norma really enforce the rules. One time I saw a couple of french ladies dancing together between themselves and straightaway Norma asked them to stop.

Numerous times, tourists who were fooling around the dancefloor, disrupting the other social dancers, were asked to leave the dancefloor.

There was another time, a group of japanese tourist came and did not use the cabeceo (eye contact) rule to invite the ladies. Hector grabbed Jean-Michel straightaway to explain to them the rules (Jean-Michel speaks japanese).

Just the other day Hector showed me his new code enforcing gadgets, a yellow card and red card! Like football referees, he would show the first time code offenders a warning yellow card, then repeated offenders would be ejected off the dancefloor with a red card. What a funny guy!

Even I, or even regular porteño dancers, were not spared. There was one time when I was doing quite large steps. He came over and asked me to dance smaller. I see him do it to offending milongueros too.

The organizers efforts reaped benefits. While Salon Caning, Niño Bien or Porteño y Bailarin are besieged by problems of unruly dancefloor, bad navigation, crazy high kicking dancers; Cachirulo maintains a high level of dancing and a traditional social milonga feel.

I will leave the explanation of the obvious and hidden codes of the milonga, to be done by the well written articles of my good friend Jean-Michel.

“Saber Milonguear” Part 1: the obvious codes of the milonga - By Jean-Michel LEDEUR

“Saber Milonguear” Part 2: the hidden codes of the milonga - By Jean-Michel LEDEUR

Just a week after Jean-Michel wrote the above 'codes of the milonga' posts on Royce's blog. By chance or otherwise, Hector approached him to come up with a little signboard of the codes of the milonga, in english, chinese, french, japanese and spanish. And he put it up at the entrance of the milonga.

He then asked Jean-Michel (look at how slim he is!) and Royce to give a little impromptu announcement during the milonga. Enjoy!

My last update on the student visa problems was in February; where I needed to resend my police record back to the Argentine counsulate representing Singapore, located in Indonesia (whew), for them to re-legalize it.

I sent it through DHL and 2 weeks later, they sent it back to the Argentine chancellery. With this final piece of the puzzle I went to the University of Salvador (USAL), sat through a short interview and they finally handed me a permission form which allowed me to go to the Ministry of Immigration to apply, not just a student visa, but temporary residency.

After the ministry of immigration checked through all my documents, 24 hours later they issued me a temporary 'DNI' (document of identification) that was valid for 50 days, while they arranged with other departments to process my application. I was to go back to collect the official DNI two months later. But this temporary DNI was sufficient for me to start school.

So I started school early april 2008. As I had went back to confront my demons 2 years after failing my first army spec ops selection tests. I am now confronting my demons which I had left behind six years ago; when I was kicked out National University of Singapore (NUS).

School was not easy. USAL made me missed NUS a bit. I had missed the chance of making the best out of the wide open school campus of NUS, filled with libraries, lecture halls, football fields, amphitheatre, etc. And here I am, in a small 8m by 8m classroom. My university life will revolve around here for the next four years.

The first few days of classes I was completely lost. I remembered just staring blankly at the professors and noting down some keywords I caught so I can go back home to look them up.

Then more problems arised when I had to do so much reading but in spanish. Every paragraph for me, will take the same amount of time for others to read one chapter. I resorted to downloading the english versions of the texts of Plato, Heidegger, Saussure etc... Reading first the english texts then the spanish texts.

Of course more problems arises when I have to write essays, which I have to write them first in english then translate them to spanish.

The most amazing problem came two weeks ago, when I went for my very first classic greek exam. Not only I had to bring along a classic greek dictionary; I had to carry a spanish to english to spanish dictionary the size of an encyclopedia to the class. My fellow classmates stared on with amazement.

But it is strange how things are working out. All the above problems are helping me to concentrate more in class. A small classroom space and student size made the interaction more personal; I had to study and prepare beforehand to make sure I can answer the questions. Not being able to follow what the teachers are talking about, made me read more on my own. Reading each text several times in english then in spanish actually made me understand them more profoundly.

I guess at my current age, I am more mature and quiet to settle down to study for hours. Also, my mental state is keyed to absorb the knowledge available to me. I find myself thirsty for more knowledge, reading and finding out more and beyond the texts given by the school.

Life experiences also helped to guide my thinking in a more mature way. As much as I can in my philosophy writings and understanding I try to guide them towards applications and influences in living my life.

This time, even though the odds are stacked against me, I am even more confident than 6 years ago; more confident and determined that I will conquer this final hurdle. Because this would be the final bond that I will break to completely free myself to explore the world.

Below is a letter to my beloved spanish teacher who could not understand why I wanted to study philosphy, she recommended engineering, business, law or psychology instead.

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Don't worry Mariana

I know you care for me and want me to have a good future... A bit like my mom. She says the same things you say all the time. Haha. But I know myself. If I was more conventional in my choices and had choosed to study business or architecture etc... I would not be here in Buenos Aires would I? I would be in Singapore, still working in my Army job, with lots of money and married with one baby coming up.

I had said philosphy is useful in life. It really is. Of course the 'arm chair' philosophers are indeed not very useful to the society nor themselves. But I treat these four years of studying philosphy as acquiring a skill that will help me think better, have a more open mind and see the world in a more profound manner.

Would I continue to philosophize all my life? Probably. But is there such a job called a professional philosopher? I don't think so. Most philosophy graduates go on to become language teachers, business people, arts directors, lawyers or even our dear english girl's grandfather; a carpenter.

In my life, as I grow to become who I am, I have seeked out what defines me. What is my meaning in life. Who am I really are and what am I made of. During the journey, I set some targets for myself. The first was to find my physical and mental limits. That was achieved when I joined the Special Forces in the Army. And during that discovery process, I learnt how much determination I can have, how much physical efforts I can make and also helped shaped my character. I become stronger.

So now, my next goal is to find out my intelligence limit. How smart I am? So which subject is more appropriate than philosophy? A subject that requires you to think and analyse from different and profound angles? Not engineering, biology, history, or literature. Of course all these subjects need intelligence, but not as demanding as philosphy, in my opinion.

After these four years, I am sure I will find the limits of my intelligence, grow to become a better person, and of course get the degree which I could not get in Singapore. After which, I have to and will, find another passion in life to continue to seek. But at least I would be sure for myself, in my physical, mental and intelligence aspects. So one day if I want to climb mount everest I would know I can achieve it. One day if I want to write a bestseller, I may know if I have the capability. Whatever dreams I might have I would have no fear in my own capabilities.

Such is life. I don't ask you to understand my choices. But I hope you can support me. Because already philosophy is difficult, philosophy in spanish is even more difficult. But philosophy in spanish with Mariana saying it's useless all the time, is incredibly difficult.

Having said all these, I am not angry with you. I know you want the best for me and yes we are friends. And I respect you more than a friend so I understand. Like I said, a bit more like my mom. And please do continue to say whatever you want to say. Because in life, no friend agrees with each other 100% all the time.

love,
Isaac

Dear friends,

I'll be coming back to Singapore for the month of July 2008. During which I am looking forward to share my Buenos Aires tango insights with you guys. I'm organising some workshops, guided practicas and also a couple of milongas for everyone to enjoy themselves.

This is the website to go, to check out the details of the activities I am planning: midsummernightstango.blog.co.uk

After living 26 years of my life just eating and not cooking anything other than instant noodles and fried eggs; after having inspired to learn to cook because, living in a faraway land the thing you miss most about your country, and that which could let your foreign friends have a taste of your culture - is the food.

After two failed butter cake attempts, one failed Char Kuay Teow (fried chinese flat noodles with dark soya sauce) attempt, I proclaimed myself graduate summa cum laude from the Isaac Ho Mommy and Granny's school of cooking, year 2007.

After all that, here I am, back in Buenos Aires ready to flex my culinary muscles in front of my friends.

"I am going to host a Chinese New Year's party at home, and I propose a 10 dish chinese culinary spread. I would be inviting 15 guests; Javier, Andrea, Marite, Rosana... etc..."

"...And the dishes I would prepare are Jiao Zi (steamed prawn dumplings), hainanese chicken rice, Ma Po Dou Fu (beancurd with spicy meat sauce), stir fried beef with celery, Nian Gao (sticy new year cake)... etc..etc.." I told Royce and Jean Michel excitedly late January 2008, two weeks before the Chinese New Year.

"Yup! This Chinese New Year would be the time where I return the hospitality to all my argentine friends and also cook for them some real chinese food, not the lousy ones they get from the chinese restaurants here... Hehehe... and Royce I would like you to help me cook..." I continued excited, all gungho and ready to cook up a storm.

"Hold hold hold hold... Isaac, calm down..." Jean Michel said, bemused. "How many cooks you have?" He asked. "One, myself. Plus Royce two. Plus Maxima as a helper. Heh heh heh."

Royce, the real cook, chimed in, "How big is your kitchen? How many pots and pans for cooking do you have?" Slowly, the Isaac that was flying in the clouds was being pulled down to earth.

"I think you should consider that you have only one or two afternoons to prepare your meals, the size of your kitchen and the cooking tools available to you, and most importantly, you cooking experience and manpower available. A 10 dish spread is impossible!!!" They said a matter of factly.

I couldn't help but feel the impact of crashing down to earth. But I know they had the best of intentions and they are experienced in organizing parties. Plus I know I have the tendency to be a little bit extremely idealistically inclined.

"Ok... what do you guys think then..." The disappointment in my voice could not be suppressed. I think my dear friends sensed that and but they were determined not to let me fly off into outer space. "Isaac, what is important in such a gathering is that all your friends enjoy your presence, much more important than proving you are a good cook."

In the end we decided on doing a much scaled down party: my now famous 'Hainanese chicken rice' (who better to do hainanese chicken rice than a hainanese?), a 'ku lou yoke' (sweet and sour pork), supplemented by the bah kwa (dried pork) Valerie sent to me from Singapore, ready made steam buns bought from Chinatown in Buenos Aires, and Royce's stir fried kangkong.

During the party day, 15th Feb, Friday, I started cooking from 10am in the morning; Maxima helped in the kitchen all day. Poor Maxima had to put up with my army like commands.

In the end when the guests arrived around 830pm I was still putting together the finishing touches of the dish, at that moment I thanked Royce and Jean Michel for keeping me in place, if not the guests would probably had to wait till 12 midnight to eat... But we made it, Royce, Jean Michel, Maxima and I!

As we rolled out the dishes, the guests came streaming in, Rosana who used to teach with Cacho Dante, Cecilia my first argentine friend, Adriana my spanish teacher and two of her students, Gimena, Bichy, Andrea Misse, Annie and Fish the taiwanese dancers, Sandra, etc... the house was packed.

Jean Michel and I did a little impromptu standup comedy act while introducing the dishes. Reminisence of my university emcee days with Nick the Dick. There was a lot of chemistry between us because Jean Michel did theatre too when he was studying. There were loads of laughter talking about the exotic chinese food and their names.

Then the party got underway. I put on some funky chinese music, the food was swept up fast. They enjoyed the food very much, they even wanted the secret recipe! Well it was not hard to impress because good chinese food is hard to find here.

Looking back at the party, food is really a way to bridge cultures. Especially chinese cuisine which is so sophisticated, delicious and has so much history. It is really a good skill to learn; a very personalised way to spread the goodwill and introduce my very own culture in a foreign land.

All thanks to Isaac Ho Mommy and Granny's cooking school!