Human

“Human” is a song borne out of a very trivial mistake. During an event, I absentmindedly misplaced an item borrowed from a venue personnel and frantically went back to him. As it turned out, he found the item lying around unattended and kept it on my behalf. He proceeded in chiding me nonetheless. Having made that mistake (God knows how careless I am), and compounded with other issues then, I went home feeling really terrible about myself.

A few days later, I sat down with my guitar and three words popped up, “I’m only human.” As I started writing, I figured that there really is no need to pick myself apart for the mistakes I’ve made. It’s not as though they were heinous crimes.

One quarter into Honours year, I think this message is more important than ever. More chase, more haste, more mistakes – I’ve honestly never seen friends around me this stressed out before. But this song’s a reminder to them and to myself: Don’t forget that you are only human, and sometimes, it doesn’t hurt to be a little kinder to yourself. 

Have a good day y’all!

Lyrics:

It’s a funny world out there
People striving for their best
But who can keep up with the chase?
At least not without falling from grace

And I’m just one of them
Caught up in this mad race
Beating myself up over smallest of mistakes
But God knows who is keeping score

Sometimes we forget we’re only human
Perfection was never once an option
Sometimes we fall short of expectations
But were there ever rules to this game?

We’re only human x3

Sometimes we forget we’re only human
Making the best of what we have
We wear our calluses as medals
When all we want is a warm embrace

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Alien Tongues, Brilliant Minds

One year ago, during one of my tutorial classes, I met a classmate from China, J, who was on exchange in Singapore then. The professor split all of us up into small groups to discuss answers for the tutorial questions. J ended up in the same discussion group as me.

As soon as we settled into our groups, J began flipping through his stack of assigned readings which were filled with boundless highlights, underlines and scribbles. He also brought along two pieces of foolscap paper, in which the answers to the tutorial questions had already been written down neatly.

Peculiarly, even though he had evidently prepared for the questions, he did not speak much during our discussion at all. When he did, he always stumbled over his words, and we always end up finishing all his sentences, or worse, making up new sentences for him.

To be very honest, in a curious way, I had felt a inexplicable sense of superiority over him there and then. That was despite the fact that I knew I had come to class half as prepared as he was. I was leading the discussion; I was expressing (his) ideas to the group confidently; I was speaking fluently in English.

After the tutorial, we chatted a little, and I found out surprisingly that he came from Fudan University, the university that I was about to go for student exchange the following semester! We exchanged contacts excitedly, and headed off to our next classes.

Fast forward one semester later, I realised that not only was I in the same university as him, we were taking the same course too. That course required us to do a group project, and J was kind enough to approach me to join his project group, considering that I did not know anyone there, and that local students tend not to group with students on exchange for fear that they will slack off.

On my way to our first meeting, I remember being rather nervous. I had done some research prior to the meeting, and I wished I would come off as helpful during the meeting – just not some slacker on exchange basically.

Upon the arrival of other group mates, J enthusiastically introduced me to them as “the new singaporean exchanger in school”. As we started our meeting, there were two things that struck me immediately. First, J was clearly the unofficial leader of the group. He shared with us the outline of the project that he had in mind, and asked for our opinions. He was SO confident, so in control, so different from the person I had known in the classroom just one semester ago.

Second, amidst streams of Chinese sociology terminologies, I was clearly … lost. Sure, J made the effort to pause time to time to explain what the terms meant to me, but I felt a little more embarrassed than comforted because I felt that I was wasting my group mates’ time. I later tried to express my project ideas to them in choppy Singaporean Chinese, and was not the least surprised that none of my ideas were adopted eventually.

I left the meeting feeling extremely shi*ty about myself.

That module was my hardest module that semester in Fudan University. I spent a lot of time in class getting awed at just how brilliant my classmates were, and getting upset at just how inferior I was to them. I spent a week ploughing through Chinese articles for our project, and only managed to churn out a page or two out of our twelve page report.

In spite of all of that, I must say that this experience was such a humbling one. The stark contrast between the sense of superiority I had felt back home and the sense of inferiority I had felt in a foreign land taught me this – to never judge the mind of a person by his or her language (or the lack thereof).

In my Cultural Anthropology class, we learnt that language is an integral part of one’s cultural capital. It signifies your class and group membership. As a result, we often mistake one’s inadequacy in language for one’s stupidity (sorry for the lack of a better word), and one’s proficiency in language for one’s brilliance.

For example, in the case of foreign workers in Singapore, many would perceive them as less educated, or worse – less than human – simply because they engage in low-paying jobs and speak a language foreign to us. But upon befriending these workers, I realised that their views are much deeper and more profound than I can ever imagine. Some would speak of politics back home in Bangladesh and others would share about their pursuit of further studies in Singapore.

So, I don’t know if intelligence can be objectively measured, but I sure do know that the perception of one’s intelligence is relative, subjective, and perhaps even constructed. You can totally be a genius in one culture, and be an absolute idiot in another.

There is a time, a place, and most importantly, a culture for everyone to shine. And none of us have the right to judge anyone (or ourselves) just when and where that may be.

Uplift

Just 3 days ago, I witnessed two other Singaporean contestants, Olivia Cho and Stella Seah make it through the first round of auditions in Sing! China(中国好声音), the first being Joanna Dong. It was such an ecstatic moment that I almost let out a squeal.

However, it was not long till I found a similar thread amongst the background stories of these Singapore born contestants, especially for Joanna and Olivia. Both are aspiring singers who have hustled hard in Singapore’s music scene for a (very) long time, but eventually find it too difficult to make a living out of music in Singapore, let alone carve a name for themselves, and decides to get out in the world and see where that leads them.

A part of me feels incredibly proud of them, but another sees the heart wrenching side of these stories. Because of our population, Singapore’s music industry is small. I get that. But the even more disheartening reality is that there is little desire from Singaporeans to know of, to get acquainted with, to uplift our very own music talents.

Talents like the three mentioned above, and Nathan Hartono have done amazing gigs/ released incredible covers on Youtube long before the Sing! China programme. I’ve had the luxury of watching some of them before they had even starred in the programme. So I wonder why it always have to take a programme like Sing! China before most Singaporeans realise just how talented some of our musicians are.

Some may argue that that’s precisely the purpose of singing competitions and programmes! To put the spotlight on talents who would otherwise slip by, unnoticed by the crowd. In that case, why do several champions of high-publicity singing competitions in Singapore such as Singapore Idol still fall short in their music careers? Even as Nathan clinches second-runner up, still I hear plenty of critical commentaries from Singaporean friends about him. Putting aside individual preferences, is it that difficult for Singaporeans to applaud a fellow Singaporean for overcoming his individual strife to achieve such splendid results on the global stage? Also, for Singaporeans who are awed by Nathan’s performance on the show, will this support be continuous?

Recently, I’ve become more familiar with a few other less high-profile Singaporean bands and singers (though whether they are high profile/ low profile is entirely subjective), such as Inch Chua, Charlie Lim, Lin Ying, Marian Carmel, Jawn Chan, Monster Cat, 龚芝怡, 铃凯 etc. PS: Highly recommend YOU to check them out. Previously, I may have known of some of them, but I have only delved deeper into their stories in recent years. I dare not consider myself a music guru. I just know that when I listen to these Singaporean singer-songwriters, I feel as happy for having found good music as I feel immensely depressed about how it is possible for so many Singaporeans to not know of the existence of such talents in our home ground.

In fact, this extends way beyond the music scene. In the theatre scene, we have Kuo Pao Kun, Eleanor Wong, Tan Tarn How, Chong Tze Chien, Alvin Tan, Alfian Saat, Haresh Sharma, Oon Shu An and so many more theatre practitioners who have created a whole tapestry of the Singapore narrative in one way or another. A week ago, I caught a theatre play, Without Reason, written by a friend of mine. I definitely felt more overwhelmed by the fact that someone of our generation has taken theatre seriously enough and has painstakingly written and performed a play, than the subject-matter addressed in the play itself. Sim Yan Ying is definitely yet another up-and-coming theatre practitioner to look out for in the coming years!

In the literature scene, I have discovered, and sought emotional refuge in several Singaporean poets and authors like Jennifer Anne Champion, Cheryl Julia Wee, Krishna Udayasankar, Alvin Pang, Yeoh Jo-Ann and so many more. Let’s just say that I never knew how liberating it was to have the stories of ordinary Singaporeans shared, and by implication, my story, captured in printed ink. How nice it was, I thought, to have had HDBs and local streets as the background for the stories in the books to occur. If you would like to understand more about what I mean, I think this particular article, “What local poetry does that Shakespeare cannot” explains it pretty accurately.

On a random side note, I think that is where my anger for this year’s National Day song stems from. Having listened to songs written by Singaporean musicians, and having read plays and stories written by Singaporean playwrights and authors, I know for the matter that Singaporeans do have the words and the melodies to express who we are beyond hackneyed vocabularies like “one nation, undivided” or “everyone is family, friend, and neighbour”.

All that being said, this article is not meant for me to flaunt my knowledge of the local arts scene, or to patronise other Singaporeans who do not know so much. First, I know as much about the arts scene in Singapore as an entrepreneur would know about the start up scene in Singapore. I count myself very very lucky to have had exposure through school modules, inspiring friends who are carrying out their own artistic endeavours and a very culturally well-informed sister who works in an arts-related company.

Second, it would be naive for me to think that the arts scene in Singapore is as such because Singaporeans just don’t care. Maybe audience engagement is poor, maybe there is a lack in technical expertise, maybe Singaporeans are already accustomed to prioritising bread and butter before the arts. For the local talents that Singapore have in all fields, all I hope for is that whenever we spot one, we support one. Buy their books! Listen to their songs! Go to their plays! And most importantly, share the news, and make their brilliance known to even more people.

It’ll be a day after Singapore’s 52th National Day by the time I post this article. What do people actually mean when they say ‘I love Singapore’? ‘Nation’ is too abstract a term for me. ‘Love’ too. One thing’s for sure though – that a nation’s made up of its people. I’m proud that mine is inhabited by such a brilliant bunch, and for me at least, to love is to uplift.

So here’s a reminder to myself, and an earnest plea to you – uplift, uplift, UPLIFT.

Farewell Letters

Friends would know what a fanatic I am for letters, especially farewell letters. But some goodbyes are harder than others. So here’s a song I’ve written, dedicated to every mate I’ve met in my 5 months in China.

Also, first collab with a friend whose ukulele cover of一期一会 ( Ichigo Ichie, or “one opportunity, one encounter”) laid the seed of inspiration for this song 

上海 | 无锡 | 张家界 | 北京 | 桂林 | 南京 | 四川 | 云南

I predict that I’ll be back in China v v soon. 😥

Lyrics: 

Days fluttered by
Sprinkled with a taste of blue
Spring came on by
And it left without a clue

We jumped at every opportunity to
See the world as it is
Its beauty and the not-so-pretty scenes
Fill us all with endless glee

But as quick as the wither of the flowers,
Our time for the ground has arrived
So we packed our bags up for our very last ride

I’d send my goodbyes in a letter to you,
In a letter to you, my friend
And I’d send my goodbyes in a letter to you,
In a letter to you, my friend

Words flickered on
Empty pages of the book
They can’t seem to bear
The weight of ink-soaked memories

(pre chorus)

(chorus)

Ooooh

Years will pass and we’ll meet again
Years will pass and we’ll meet again

Treat People as Humans, not Specimens

Today, I decided to head to Shanghai’s People’s Park (人民公园) for a fieldwork for my Marriage and Family module. People’s Park is renowned for its marriage market, where distressed parents put up qualities of their unwed children, in hopes of finding their children suitable partners for marriage. I couldn’t decide on a topic for my final paper, so I thought I’d find some inspiration there.

With my DSLR slung on my neck, and a notebook and a pen in my bag, I was ready to hit the busy crowd of People’s Park. Upon arrival, a swarm of sociologically interesting sights and scenes overwhelmed me – the sheer number of elderly “promoting” their children, their conversations with one another, the umbrellas with the children’s qualifications and the parents’ expectations of their partners attached to them and more. I began snapping away. Ah, an old lady looking for a partner for her child even when she’s wheel chair bound? Take the photo quick. It’d make an interesting photograph (with a story that is).

“小妹!(Miss!), ” someone called out to me. I turned behind, slightly surprised to find an old lady who asked me, “你拍这些照是干什么的?你是记者吗? (Why are you taking these photos? Are you a journalist?)” I thought she looked kind of hostile, probably because she thought I was another journalist, trying to dig some news about unique Chinese traditions, and taking street photos of these elderly without permission. I immediately diffused the tension with an awkward smile, explaining that I’m an exchange student from Singapore who’s just here out of curiosity. To my relief, she let her guards down, and even started chatting with me about her situation, why she was worried that her daughter would not find a partner, the imbalanced gender ratio in China and more. Later, this conversation led to the next, as I spoke to her friend next to her as well.

Not bad, I thought, this fieldwork research was progressing better than I had expected. I had felt rather jittery before coming here, because nothing scares me more than having to approach strangers, and attempting to make conversations that are hopefully sociologically valuable. But there I was, having found someone who resembled the “Doc” in a sociology classic, Street Corner Society. For the benefit of non-sociology readers, this means having found someone who is willing and able to help you infiltrate into a group that you are studying. This is perhaps one of the most crucial steps for a sociologist during fieldwork – to become an insider instead of an outsider.

2 interviewees down. I reviewed the information I received again, and figured that while the old lady and her friend provided me useful details, their circumstances were too similar. I need variety in this sample. So thereafter, I took another stroll around People’s Park. Then, I saw an old man who is advertising for his daughter and son, which was rare since most people in their generation only had one child due to the one child policy. I saw elderly advertising for their children who are studying or working overseas. I also saw a 40 year-old lady advertising for herself, plausibly the only one in the marriage market thus far.

Good. Let me talk to all 3 then. That’ll make the number of interviewees 5. Whole numbers sound good to me anyway. So, having tasted a few successes with my previous “interviewees”, I approached the lady advertising for herself next, with more confidence than I had initially.

“你好勇敢哦。你是我在这里看到的,第一个为自己找伴侣的。(You’re so brave. You are the first person I’ve seen here, who is finding a partner for yourself.)”

She let out an awkward smile.

I started to worry a little. She reacted to my comment, but did not say anything after that. How should I continue this conversation?

“你在这里多久了?(How long have you been here?)”I asked. I considered it quite a basic question to ask, since I had asked the same question to the old lady and her friend before, and this question opened them up to sharing just how worried they are about their children, because they had tried so long but to no avail.

“有一段时间了。(It has been some time.)” This answer left me dissatisfied. ‘Some time’ is too vague. For the research to be more significant, more specific answers are needed.

I knew for a fact that the conversation was going nowhere. She was not open in sharing more information. Was it because she did not trust me, considering that I was just a random stranger? At this point of time, I panicked. It’s a bad habit of mine to slur my words when I feel that I have lost control in a conversation, and especially when I feel that the other party distrusts me or does not feel comfortable around me.

“其实,其实我是个学生。因为好奇,才来这里看看的…… 嗯,我是读社会学的。所以对婚姻与家庭比较感兴趣。(Actually, actually, I’m a student. I’m here only out of curiosity… Erm, I study sociology, so I’m rather interested in issues of marriage and family,)” I explained, as if to justify the slew of questions that might have seemed strange to her.

She simply nodded her head. I immediately knew that I was fighting a losing battle here. Should I let the conversation end? But she’s the only person advertising for herself at People’s Park here. Since it is so rare, I have to put this in my findings. I just have to. How many weeks, days, or months has she been here? Has she tried finding a marriage partner through dating apps instead? Aren’t the chances of finding a marriage partner here much smaller? Why is she still here then? Why is it her but not her parents who are here? I still have so many questions left unanswered. I can’t just stop the conversation here.

I decided to try again, “你想要来这里是你自己的意思吗?还是父母要你来的?你的父母会担心 –?(Did you come here on your own accord? Or were you pressurised by your parents? Are your parents worried – ?)”

She cut me off – not rudely – and said, “你能不能不要问了呀,你问了我心里很难受。(Do you mind if you stopped asking me questions? It is making me feel very upset.)

That was clearly the last straw for her. I halted, expressed my apologies hastily, and walked away.

I couldn’t quite remember where I headed to after that, except that I ended up finding on a rock in the middle of nowhere in the park, and sat there sobbing uncontrollably for god knows how long.

‘WTF were you thinking?’ I asked myself again and again. A pang of guilt hit me real hard, because I suddenly realised how hurtful my questions must have been to her for her to let out such a begging request. What’s worse was that I had not even realised it prior to her stopping me.

It had to take this much for me to start empathising with her. Now, imagine for a moment that you’re unmarried at the age of 40. That’s notwithstanding the fact that you are a female in a culture where women are expected to wed before the age of 30. Here you are at People’s Park, having mustered all your courage to find a partner for yourself. Most people here are desperate parents, and you stick out like a sore thumb. Streams of people walk by, evaluating you from your job, your educational qualifications, your hukou status to your height, your weight, your face… basically everything. You don’t quite like that, but you do it anyway not just because you “have time to spare” but because you buy in the idea that time is running out for you as a woman. Single children are often unhappy when their parents advertise for them. You are different though. You don’t mind it that much. In fact, you choose to find a partner by yourself. Because the one thing that you want more than anything else is to be – happy. The thing is, you have been doing this every week for weeks and months now and still, nothing much has changed.

One day, out of the blue, a wide-eyed student approaches you, and commends you for being brave. Should you take that as compliment or mockery? She asks you, “How long have you been here?” Should you tell her you have been here for months and still nobody wants you? She tells you that she’s a sociology major. So she’s speaking to you now because…? Because you’re not ‘normal’ like everyone else in society? How should you feel about that? She asks you why you are here. Is that even a question? If you were happily married like most women of your age, is there a need to be here at all? And the worst of them all – she asks persistently, with an irksome oblivion of the luxury of time she has as a lady right in the dawn of her youth. How small must you have seemed to her?

I imagined how hurt I would have felt had I been in her shoes, and these thoughts crushed me. It might sound a tad too dramatic, but it is close to, or I can say, downright unethical to exploit someone’s pain just for the sake of “research”, not to mention in such an insensitive and crude way. The whole time, I was so caught up with fulfilling my interviewee count and quenching my thirst for answers to “important” questions, that I overlooked the most important but taken for granted fact that here in front of me is a living breathing being with a personal history unbeknownst to anyone but herself.

When I eventually calmed myself down, I tried making up to her the only way I knew how to, which was to write. I took out a piece of paper, wrote her a letter expressing my sincerest apologies, and had just enough courage to hand it to her. I had always known spoken language to be my nemesis, but I had wished then that my written language could heal in someway or another.

Never embarrass your respondent; your respondent is your priority; talk through sensitive topics empathetically so that your respondent will be open to sharing more, my teachers say. Yet, no amount of lessons can prepare anyone for the real deal. I won’t deny that today made me seriously doubt if I can ever do qualitative research work or journalism or just about anything that requires me to speak to people a lot in the future. That to me is quite very tragic because as much as I desire to connect with people and understand the intricacies that come with them, I unfortunately lack the means to do so. I’m not new to this realisation that has gnawed at me for years and years now, but that’s a topic for another day. Conversing with grace, and above all, tenderness, is an art that I might very well never master, but I’d gladly take today’s encounter as a lesson anyway.

Sama Sama

Habari! 🙂 Here on student exchange in Shanghai, I befriended my first Kenyan friend! In a rather unexpected way though – physical examination (what even). A while back, I caught up with him again over a meal, along with a few Singaporean friends. I can’t quite put my amazement (and gratefulness) for this whole encounter in prose, so I wrote it in a song.

Lyrics: 

I travelled miles and miles and was lucky to have found
Somebody just like you
You brought me into the world of another
Beyond the touristy brochures views

You shared a story of when you were young
You heard a man speaking Italian so you turned to your papa and said
“I wanna travel the world and learn all the languages.”
Your papa shook his head and said you would not
But then you grew into a fine young man
Speaking Chinese in a foreign land where we met
People laugh behind your back
“What’s a Black doing in our homeland?”
“我们都是人啊。” (We’re all human) was what you said

La la la la la la
We’re all one and the same
We’re all one and the same
La la la la la la
We’re all one and the same
One and the same

You told us all about your beautiful homeland
From the lions on the streets to the sweetness of the water
The air is so fresh we’d breathe in twice if we can
We’ve never heard that from the press
We only heard of people living from hand-to-mouth
You told us that is somewhat true, but we really ought to know
We’re all a basket filled with both good and bad
Don’t you ever tar them all with the same brush

(Chorus)

I’m glad you proved your papa wrong
That’s what a heart could do if it wanted more
Mankind has colours aplenty but just the heart of one
If love could be a language
I think you’ve mastered it all

(Chorus x2)

P.S. Written on a particular sleepless night after all of us drank 3 cups of Kenyan tea each.

Processed with VSCO with g3 preset

Why Everyone Needs a La La Land

I caught La La Land in one of the movie theatres in Shanghai a few weeks ago. And boy was I glad I did. It was enchantingly beautiful – heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time.

The film follows the story of two aspiring dreamers – Mia and Sebastian, on their road to achieving stardom and establishing a jazz club respectively. In this process, they fall in love, and consistently support each other’s dreams. But it is not all glitz and glamour for this couple. Sebastian struggles to make ends meet and compromises on his own passion for Mia. Mia fights her own insecurities, having experienced countless unsuccessful auditions, and a self-funded play that only attracted a handful. In the end, (spoiler alert), both characters do fulfil their dreams, but not without unintentionally growing apart and eventually falling apart.

It’s a simple, and at times predictable storyline indeed. But it’s precisely this inevitability in the storyline that makes the film so captivating. It poses a question that so often resurfaces at the back of our minds – What exactly makes the pursuit of dreams so alluring, in spite of everything that comes at the cost of it?

For some, dreams possess such a charm because it appears that with sufficient talent, hard work and passion, anyone has a chance to make it big, regardless of who we were or who we are. But it doesn’t take much for anyone to realize that opportunities are not at all equally distributed amongst different groups of people in society.

For example, an article that has been pretty popular recently “Entrepreneurs don’t have a special gene for risk – they come from families with money.” presents the critical view that while characteristics such as risk-taking are commonly perceived as the source of success for many entrepreneurs, the actual potion for success lies in the financial resources some can receive because of their positions of privilege.

So there we have, the enlightened and the disenchanted, who argues that dreams are exclusively for the rich, the young, and the privileged. Dreams are a luxury some cannot afford, especially when they have to worry about their next meal or whether they have a roof over their head today.

This brings us back to the age-old Idealism vs Pragmatism dichotomy. I suspect that most people identify and understand the intentions from both sides, and fall somewhere in between. After all, there are hardly ever pure idealists and pragmatists in the world. And this, I believe, is where the pain comes from for most.

I remember a scene in La La Land when Sebastian overhears a conversation over the phone between Mia and her parents. As with all parents, Mia’s parents ask her if Sebastian is nice, and of course – if he has a proper job with a stable income. Mia replies lovingly with all the nice things she can say about Sebastian, not forgetting to mention his ambition of opening a jazz club in the future, which is of course – only going to happen in a hypothetical future.

Sebastian understands that. As he listens attentively to the conversation, it was as if the audience could hear him weigh between his love for Jazz and his love for Mia. Eventually, he agrees to join a band he does not wish to, for the sake of a steadier income.

But nothing is as heart wrenching as the look on Mia’s face when she attends one of Sebastian concerts and soon recognises that he isn’t happy doing what he’s doing on stage. This is despite the roaring audience, and the apparent smile on his face. Mia understands that a crucial part of Sebastian has been changed, and compromised. Sebastian’s choice is a true testament of love. Yet, at the same time, by doing so, Sebastian has lost the very part of himself that made Mia fall in love with him in the first place.

Sebastian is never a pragmatist, at least not when he defies rules during his restaurant gig to play songs he wanted to, instead of songs he was instructed to, although that can cost him his job; not when he talks passionately about Jazz, although not many can comprehend them. But he too, is human, and he is not spared from the pressures of life.

Making that choice must have brought so much inner turmoil to him, precisely because he understands the importance of both Mia and Jazz to himself. Upon reflection, it becomes apparent that the struggle that Sebastian faces in La La Land is one that millions of people struggle with on a daily basis: a student chooses between pursuing a literature degree, or a law degree to help with her family’s finances in the future; a high-flyer chooses between furthering his career overseas, or staying back to take care of his ill parents; a 60 year-old grandmother chooses between fulfilling her dream of travelling the world, or staying at home to take care of her grandchildren.

With all these eminent pressures of life weighing down on us, should we still dream? Can we still dream?

Unlike many skeptics, I would argue, hell, YES. Dreams, as I refer to here, refer generally to the accomplishment of a task that one desires to achieve simply for the sake of it. They are what one wants to do if he or she is freed from the things he or she needs to do. This can range as simply from wanting to spend more time with one’s family to wanting to pick a new skill or pursue an interest.

What I believe in is dreaming within limits. A possible reason why many people would feel jaded is because they adopt an all or nothing attitude. Using the example of entrepreneurship, some may think, “If reports show that there is much less chance that people of a lower economic status can succeed in their startups, then I might as well not try.”

The problem here lies in dreaming beyond one’s means. If someone of a lower economic status would like to try a hand at starting up a business, he or she doesn’t even have to think of becoming a successful businessman at the beginning. Why not dream of attending workshops on entrepreneurship first? Then work on getting an internship at a startup? Then a full-time job? Then eventually gain enough experience (and funding) to start up?

Thus, if there was something wrong with how the media paints the success of entrepreneurs, it is not so much that they overestimated the importance of characteristics such as risk taking and underestimate the influence of privilege, but that they missed out too much of the “invisible” steps that individuals took to reach where they are now, regardless of the gifts that they are accrued with at the starting line. One can start with less, and that’s okay. And we should be okay with that. Because no matter how much we have, there’s always going to be someone with more resources, and more talent than us. What’s more important is the knowledge that we can still get to the end, and recognising how we can do so.

I had once attended a talk in which the speaker reckoned that everyone belongs to a box. As much as we don’t like it, humans do have the tendency to classify ourselves along lines of social categories such as class, education backgrounds, and age etc. But nothing is stopping us from working (very hard) within our boxes, until our boxes expand, then repeat.

At this point, I’d like to share my motivation for writing this blogpost. I’ve been putting off writing about this topic for a long time. For one, the word “dreams” has somewhat of a bad name. It seems like a special word reserved for a naïve and socially oblivious group of people, who just “need to grow up”. For another, I hate to risk making this blogpost sound too much like a cliché self-help piece. However, there have been plenty of instances that have proved to me the absolute importance (and attainability) of pursuing one’s dreams.

For instance, a few months ago, I interned at a productions company. We were tasked to document the stories of elderly who lead extraordinary lives, or have interesting hobbies for a video series. In one of the episodes, we interviewed a “Kpop Ahma” (grandmother) who left an unwavering impression in me. (Watch the episode here if you’d wish!)

She goes by the name of Bee Lay, or her Chinese name, 美丽 (which translates to ‘Beautiful’ literally). Bee Lay, 59 this year, was preparing for a Kpop dance competition earlier this year when my friend and I had met her. Her friend and her formed the only elderly group participating in the competition. The song they had chosen to dance to was “Shake It, Shake It” by a Kpop girl dance group, SISTAR.

Although she has been dancing for over 10 years now, and has even become a dance instructor at Community Centres in Singapore, Kpop dance is a genre completely new to her. And scary, because it requires the kind of fitness and strength that youths exhibit with ease.

We asked her repetitively, “Aren’t you afraid of being laughed at?” or “Do you think you can do as well or even better than other youths in the competition?” Her replies were always this, “我们活到这把年纪了,应该要尝试一下。被别人取笑是一定会的。不过你没有被别人取笑,怎么会跳的好?”(We’ve already lived to this age, so we should give it a try. If we don’t let ourselves get laughed at, how can we dance better?)

We met her again at the competition venue. Her partner and her arrived in black T-shirts with apple designs on them, and sequin skirts (designed and sewn by Bee Lay by the way). She wore a blond fake hair unapologetically, and had put on extremely strong make-up, with fake eyelashes so thick they felt heavy on the eyelids, and blusher so pink I could see her from a mile away.

Her partner and her stood out like a sore thumb amidst groups of youngsters in their hipster black and sexy outfits, not to mention their minimalistic and chic Korean makeup. Bee Lay and her partner stepped into the audition room in a slightly tentative manner. When the music came on, they started performing as best as they could.

Standing in front, I sensed that they were nervous, and indeed they were. A few slips were made, and some movements were done even better during their practice sessions. They did their final pose, the judges gave some comments to help them improve, and then they left the audition room.

I sat in the audition room for a while longer, and watched a few other young groups perform. They were beyond amazing. Steps aligned, energy unparalleled. But as I sat there, the images of Bee Lay practising and eventually performing in that room just kept flashing in my mind. Her moves were imperfect, but her very presence in that room, her name on that registration list, was such a huge statement in itself.

I recalled how immensely impressed I was with the amount of energy she has when we followed her around her dance practices and dance classes. She travelled from place to place – her house, where we interviewed her; her void deck, where she practised for the competition with her partner; a community centre, where she taught dance classes; and back to her house, where she sewed her costumes, all without a single complaint of fatigue. There’s no question that she lives her life purposefully.

It became clear to me then that whether or not her group wins the competition has become irrelevant. It is the sheer act of dreaming, synonymous to me as a pure expression for having passion in life itself, which truly inspires.

I compare her with my grandparents and wondered how amazing it would be if my grandparents had something they loved and lived for that. They are close to 70 years old, recently retired, and are living through each day with dread. That’s mainly because of illness, but partly because they have lost purpose and interest in life. “What do I live for if I can’t be of use and earn money for the family?” they ask me more often than I wished they had.

I thought to myself, is Bee Lay more privileged than my grandparents? Neither is she especially rich (she lives in typical 4 room flat), nor does she have the privilege of youth, or the privilege of time (she has to take care of her grandchildren every day). What she did was to prioritise her interests and lean in on them to make them into reality.

Now, I compare her with myself. What do I like doing simply for the sake of it? Writing, and composing a few tunes, I’d say. But if someone ever asked me if I had a dream, I wouldn’t dare say I aspire to be a writer or a music composer. I evaluate my own capabilities realistically and know that that’s way out of my limits. Instead, I create and publish a few works sometimes, with whatever skills and knowledge I have at the moment. There’s no harm enrolling in that module on songwriting or writing another blogpost to hone my muscle for writing, despite knowing that most people probably wouldn’t bother reading it.

Still, I’d admit that there is always a lingering fear that people would laugh at these works for their amateurishness. But in those moments, I recall Bee Lay’s dance journey and have learnt to ask, “So what?” It’s no surprise that people who inspire me most these days aren’t necessarily the ones who perform exceptionally well, but the ones who persist relentlessly in their pursuits.

Becoming skilful in these interests is a byproduct, a cherry on the cake. But nothing brings greater joy and liberation than continuing to do something you love for the very sake of it. It’s about conceiving of the word “dream” not as a noun (as in something you need to achieve), but a verb, something you do on a daily basis. In other words, a way of life.

There are many definitions of THE good life. Some say that it’s about having good relationships with your close friends and family, some say that it’s about earning enough material resources to live the rest of your life comfortably. I don’t know what it is, but looking at Bee Lay, I know that she’s leading a good life, and that’s the kind of life I want to lead.

I’m grateful that watching La La Land sparked my desire to put all these thoughts into words. So… what’s La La Land? A space, both mental and physical, where everyone can wander off in the pursuit of his or her desires and interests. And, I believe more than anything that everyone needs one.

Cheers to the “fools” who dream! 🙂