What better way to commemorate the Great Singapore Sale by going shopping?

So I got paid and I went shopping. Shopping for me is never planned and I am not a girlie shopper. Translated, that means that I don't take hours mulling over a pair of shoes or that pretty red number sitting on the shelf. I go in there, see something I like, take it off the rack/shelf, try it on if I have to (which by the way, I hate), if it flatters, buy it, otherwise, dump it. I don't think, "Oh, if I just lose a bit here and another bit there....I can fit it................someday in the near future..." Girls, don't waste your brain space thinking that. By the time that "someday" happens, you are outdated.

Cut the long short, I got myself: 1 dress, 1 skirt, 1 cardi-ish top, 1 pair of shoes, 4 lacey numbers and some toiletries. Grand total: S$293.43. That is not cheap - not when you are supposedly buying sale items!!!

I was looking for bras. Now, whereas I'm not double D big, neither am I a minus A but I am happy with my buddies. I went 'round to the bras section and EVERY SINGLE bra was a padded one! I was going around poking all the bras with my forefinger - "oh, this one's got a nice bounce to it." "nice...feels like the real thing.." - pity about the colours. Why would you lie about size? I mean, you have to take it off in the normal ritual of sex. How would you hide then? Shadow trickery? Okay, even if you blindfold the guy, he's gonna grab you - do you give him cushions to grab on to in place of your breasts? Obviously, this is a national obsession.

This is not the first time where I walk in to look for bras and most of what they have are gel/foam/jello/cushion/water-filled bras. There are normal, well-adjusted and confident ladies out there who are happy with their buddies and normal, lacey sexy UNPADDED/UNSTUFFED would suffice. I don't want to wear a pair of stuffed toys on my chest, thank you very much, I prefer my own breasts.

I do wonder, though, how it would be brought out in public display. A national obsession with the declining birth rate has manisfested itself in Clarke Quay with major dick installations. When a girl stubbles out drunk and falls on her back, she opens her eyes, sees the giant dicks, she must be thinking, "I want cock right now." I think we must be fair to the blokes. Are we going to add breasts to that? When a bloke stubbles out drunk and falls on his back, he opens his eyes, sees the giant breasts, he thinks, "I want breasts right now."

They turn their heads, over glazed, bleary eyes, across the cobbled stones of Clarke Quay, their eyes meet. They got onto their feet (not an easy feat) and stumbled unsteadily towards each other. Their mouths, open greedily like chicks to a mother, hers smudged dark lavender, his stinking of the chicken rice dinner. She wanted cock and he wanted breasts. He saw that hers was ample. He grabs her. PPPPpppffffffffffftttttttttttt.....

Truly yours,

Petal P. Rose

"Stressed out people need luxuries!"

he proclaimed, at a corner of the Borders bookstore last night. He was chubby, with geeky glasses and dressed in a nondescript pair of bermudas and a polo t-shirt. I went past him and heard him. He was holding his handphone in hand and I thought he was on the phone though it wasn't put to his ear. Ah, you know how it is these days - bluetooth this and wired that and I didn't think too much about it - just that he was a bit loud. He repeated himself a couple more times and that was when I turned back and took a closer look.

He wasn't on the handphone. He was declaring it. He had alot of confused looks from the others who were walking past - I had to react. I went over to him, put 2 thumbs up and yelled back "I hear ya! Right on! I agree with ya!" Only then did I notice his bag. He was holding on to a "Dior" paperbag. I was tempted to carry on and ask "How about a spa package then? I'm stressed out. Or better yet - a whole 2 weeks, sequestered away in a nice villa in Thailand - without you.?"

I don't know if it was a social experiment he was doing or if he was part of a theatre group and he was researching a role - who knows? Or perhaps feeling guilty over his recent purchase, he was seeking redress and approval, but from the public? Hmm....He didn't even look like your typical loony. For one, he was Chinese, simply but well-dressed and well spoken. Some of you may say that now I am the one boxing someone in - but it's true. If you had seen him, you would think the same.

Or is it truly that with the level of stress he's burst the dam? How will he or people like him be dealt with? Will he be picked up and locked away somewhere - I mean, we don't want people like him to impede the progress of our gracious society, would we? Like the rest of Singapore, all is nice and green. People are smiley. Stepford Wives, Asian version 1.1...there was something pleasant about that place.....

Much love,

Petal P. Rose

Discoursed discord

I was reading an essay from Judith Ortiz Cofer, drawn from her collection, The Latin Deli” Prose and Poetry (1993). It is titled “The Myth of the Latin Woman”. This can be found in the third edition of “One World, Many Cultures”, a compilation of works by internationally recognised writers, exploring cultural difference and displacement in relation to race, class, gender, region and nation. This book, although first published in 1992, still is relevant and rings through to the present, unfortunately.

I picked on Ms Cofer’s essay in particular because I could identify with it. In her essay, she talked about how she’s stereotyped as the help because she is a Latina in America. She related how she inspired men to bend their wretched knees and burst into “Maria” from West Side story, “La Bamba” and “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”. Though I have not inspired men as such, I have had encounters similar to that – here, in Singapore. Not surprising to me as I view the people here as “technologically advanced, business savvy but culturally ignorant, not to mention tactless”.

I am brown-skinned. You can see that in my picture here. I have always attracted curious morons who do not think twice to ask the origins of my ethnicity – if I am asked, that is. But most often, it is assumed. This comes out in their body language and speech when they interact with me. Most assume that I am the help. I am divided on my reaction to this. I want to feel insulted – but there is nothing wrong with being “the help”. I mostly laugh it off but at the back of my mind, I am not happy with it yet I cannot go on a crusade and make it my battle to correct these idiots.

I had a western boyfriend. We, along with a friend of mine, who is of mixed parentage, went to Carrefour to get some groceries in preparation for a barbeque at his place later in the evening. As we stood at the checkout counter, waiting for the groceries to be tallied and totalled up, I instructed my boyfriend and my friend on how to pack the groceries and who should carry what. “Ding!” She, the checkout lady, rang up the total and I was taking out my purse to hand her the cash. “Tell sir, if he just add S$3 he can get 1 extra lucky draw coupon.” I was stunned. I asked her, “What do you mean?” and she repeated herself. I then put on my most Singlish accent and told her, “No need, we are not interested”. I thought that would put an end to it but noooooo…she insisted that I “ask sir if he wants to add S$3 – eh, why not, extra 1 coupon, extra 1 chance, you know.” Two of them were oblivious to this exchange as they were busy discussing the barbeque and packing the groceries. I practically shoved the cash into her hand, “No need, don’t want”. Never mind that I was instructing “sir” and “mam”. Never mind that I was dressed nicely.

Later in the evening, during the barbeque, I was also treated as “the help”. The crowd was a mix of locals and expats, but mostly expats. I had people talk down to me, ordering me about, thinking also that I was “the help”. I was treated like a bloody waitress, right there in my own home. Yes, I am the co-host and must be gracious, warm and all those things, I understand that. But there is a difference between asking and commanding. I have never been so out of place in my own home.

I was also at Daiso a couple of weeks back with the same friend of mixed parentage. It was our day off, so we dressed simply, t-shirt, shorts, flip flops. The same thing happened at the checkout counter (what is it with me and checkout ladies?!). “Ah, you can ask Mam to help you stick the sticker.” So aside from being “the help”, I am also stupid. Nice.

I am sick and tired of being stereotyped and honestly, also being asked “what are you?” I am human, just like you, with feelings. It does not matter where I come from. I have no problems, like I said, being asked about my ethnicity but a little tact would be nice.

The presumptuous attitude of Singaporeans at large is appalling. They consider themselves Lords and Kings because Singapore is very much advanced in many ways. It is a fact but we do not need to push the dirt into the faces of “the help”. “The help” who has helped and who are still helping, you to clean the house, bring up the children, build homes and offices. “The help” know that they are poor and their economic situation is not quite like Singapore – far from it. That is the reason why they are working here, neglecting their own families to care for yours. Ironic, isn’t it?

I sat in the back of the cab. He glanced in the rear view mirror. “Oh, from Indonesia. You just finish work is it? Wah...Orchard ah, this time….ya lah…nowadays must work very hard to get money.” He had picked me up from Orchard Hotel, near the infamous Orchard Towers. With that gleam in his eyes, I could see where this conversation was going – down south where I did not go. He continued as he carried me along the scared road towards home. I tuned out, gazing out of the window, hoping that he will just bloody shut up. He didn’t get the hint and continued on his monologue. As we neared my place, “Wahh…you in Singapore, so lucky. Live in a block. Indonesia all kampung kampung. Ah, S$23, miss. Good night, ah.” Need I say more?

So to end it (for now, at least) I am a second generation Indonesian, born and raised, here in Lion City. As I tick that box under “Race” in all my application forms, I nod in agreement of that coffin that is prepared for all inhabitants of this sunny island. I nod in agreement of the lid closing in and of the nails that are slowly knocked in, securing me, in my place, right here, sunny island, Lion City.

Petal P. Rose

Singaporeans - high on life?

They have to be. They can’t walk straight. Haven’t you noticed that? They love to walk in a zigzag manner at the malls, on the street and just about everywhere. I can’t find any good reason for it except that perhaps they are intoxicated. Well, they can’t be intoxicated with alcohol – it happens even in the bloody morning. Come on, we are an Asian society, still largely with Asian practices (and so called values) so – no drinking before sundown mostly. How boring, you think? It’s bad enough that they can’t walk straight intoxicated on life, with alcohol, disaster! It can’t be drugs, come on people, repeat after me “Singapore does not have drugs.” Very good. What about those people who shuffle ever so s l o w l y? They must be out on a stroll, smelling the roses, noses high up in the air that they can’t see these lowly subjects who are trying their best to go past them and so to move on with their zigzag prowl.

I wonder, with Singapore who prides itself on efficiency and being number ones in a few things, why do the Singaporeans walk the way they do. I think the pace of most countries usually affect the way their citizens walk. In Singapore’s case…hmm…what do I conclude ….

Petal P. Rose

Urban Jungle

Some of you may know that I was at the zoo over the weekend. I don't know if it was a case of being unfortunate or not. It was hot and bloody humid as it always is in Singabore. It didn't help that it was extremely crowded - NTUC was having their May Day celebrations there - so free tickets given out, blah blah blah...I leave the rest to your imaginations.

I watched a few performances put up by different embassies to commemorate this NTUC thing. I enjoyed their performances - all were unique in their own ways. I was almost falling out of my chair laughing when I caught the performance by the zoo itself. It featured 5 men and a woman, all dressed in some Tarzan and Jane getups. 2 of the men were beating their drums and the rest of the group were doing various jungle-like-as-depicted-by-them dances and using some long thing to shoot and burst (PINK!!!) balloons. What the hell were they thinking??!! Brings to mind the tagline: "Uniquely Singapore". Oh bloody yawn!

But really, what IS unique about Singabore? I think there's nothing particularly unique about it at all. Everything I see is copied. So selling "Uniquely Singapore" is actually selling lie, a mirage. Or perhaps it does exist - in the minds of it's Creators.

Do you see what I see.....

Smiling faces greet you everywhere

Do you see what I see.....

while They poke and snarl behind your back

"Welcome to..." "Thank you" "Please"

Put on manners ensnare them unawares

Put on Their clothes, shoes, manners, smiles

Ready - Lights! Camera! Action!!!

Petal P. Rose