A study in new beginnings

"A light January shower veiled the street, the trees fidgeting and shuddering under the drizzling droplets. The sultry smell of wet soil and tar softly drifted over the road, now a concrete mirror gleaming in the grey light. The rainwater trickled over the leaves, wood, pavement, concrete, seeping into the soil and storm drains, on its way to carry on its journey elsewhere. A new beginning was about to take place."

The Neurosis of Sk8ter Girl

I heard Sk8ter Boi again the other day on the radio, in the angsty, striking vocals of Avril Lavigne. Seems pretty straightforward right? Airhead ballet chick rejected a skater boy who later becomes a talented rock star while she becomes a lonely mother.

But think about it: In fact, the song is not really about little Miss Ballet (we’ll call her that for simplicity) – it’s in fact about the girl singing the song – Sk8ter Girl. It’s an ode to her neurosis, insecurity and immaturity.

We hear only the perspective of Sk8ter Girl and what she hears from Sk8ter Boi. So basically, she’s telling you what he told her about his high school rejection, and re-telling it in an angst-ified way.

How do we really know whether Miss Ballet rejected him because her friends looked down on him? We only hear what Sk8ter Girl thinks, and whether Miss Ballet really did like Sk8ter Boi or not is never quite revealed. Sk8ter Boi may jolly well have said that to salvage his ego – yes, we’ve ALL known of at least one guy who claims to know of some unavailable girl who “actually did like me”.

Besides, why is Sk8ter Boi dwelling so much on one teenage rejection? Adolescent crushes come and go all the time. It sounds more like a “Haw haw, you didn’t want me and now I’m great and you’re regretting it” revenge tactic, like a puny kid who grows up to be a bodybuilder and goes round hunting his childhood bullies so he could beat them up.

What Sk8ter Girl also didn’t take into account apparently is that when you’re a teenager, being able to conform and peer pressure are two really big influences on your identity. Even if Miss Ballet really did listen to her friends, could you really blame her?

And really, what the hell’s wrong with being a young mother? Why is Miss Ballet being laughed at simply because she has a kid to take care of while Sk8ter Boi is doing ‘cool stuff’ like being an MTV hero?

The words she chose to relate the tale are very telling of her mentality. She sounds like a teenager herself in her means of expressing herself. She makes up for her low self-esteem and insecurity, making herself feel better by putting someone else down.

One possibility crossed my mind – if Sk8ter Girl recorded the song without letting her man know about it first: if I were Sk8ter Boi, I think I’d be a bit creeped out that my girlfriend would be recording a haw-haw song about my unrequited teenage crush and taunt the ex-crush to get back at her.

It also makes me wonder – since she’s going on about how Miss Ballet missed out, what is she more in love with? Sk8ter Boi’s “soul” or his rock star status? She makes no small point in conspicuously implying that the main thing that makes Miss Ballet regret is the fact that he’s a famous star.

You can tell how naïve Sk8ter Girl is by assuming “that is how the story ends” (i.e. with her and Sk8ter Boi being a couple). In reality, put insecure girl with insecure boy together, what do you get? Vindictive flakes.

Who’s the airhead now?

[OK, you CAN call me inane for psycho-analysing a pop song, but, well...I like doing it. So there.]

Mei Niang

I thought about my grandma today. This picture above was from when she was still in school - wasn't she cute? I've been told that I got a lot of my features from her, which is nice to know.

She died in 1996. Some of my cousins barely even knew her, which is incredibly sad as she was an amazing woman. I wonder how many of them asked their parents about her, if they even think about her anymore. A person is never really dead until everyone who knew them has forgotten about them, so I guess she's still living in our memories.

Her story sounds unremarkable when you first hear it: she was a midwife. But when I hear my parents start to enthusiastically talk about the people whose lives she touched, it touches me too. She often midwifed for free or accepted only a small token from families who couldn't afford expensive healthcare. I figured this is the reason for her legion of god-children and grateful pseudo-relatives who bombarded our house during Chinese New Year in past years - in fact, some of them still visit us, even though they are of no blood relation to us at all. Her midwifing 'precinct' apparently spanned at least a three-neighbourhood radius. My dad would tell me about all the food the happy families would press her to accept in return for her services. He'd tell me how their tiny, crowded home was often crammed with kids that she would help to look after and feed. It was eye-popping to hear about the number of people that filled the humble abode at any one time.

I remember her as a gentle, positive person who never stopped finding something to do, save for her short afternoon naps. Even with a maid in the house, she'd pick up a broom and start sweeping up fallen leaves, find something to tidy up, or stop to chat with her grandchildren. I remember her and grandpa showing up at our doorstep with bundles of fruits each time they came to stay. I was rather disappointed when they stopped coming to stay regularly. As a kid, I was impressed that she could speak a few languages and many dialects (not too wonderfully, but hey, let's hear YOU speak more than two languages). From all accounts, she was the main person of the household, handling the multitude of people that came in and out of the house and keeping everything running well. I also remember she loved drinking sweet packeted drinks. She survived her first brush with cancer.

I remember the first time I saw her cry. Grandpa had died some weeks before and his picture hung in my study room. I was doing homework when she came in and sat down to talk. She looked at his picture and started to cry as she spoke about him. I had never seen her sad before.

The second time I saw her truly sad was at a time when she could hardly cry even if she'd wanted to. She was lying on a bed in Singapore General Hospital, dying. Going by the signs, she was simply hanging on that week, and there was no reason why she should still be alive at that point. Her moment of sadness was when my father held his mobile phone next to her ear and she pleaded my sister to come home. I remember her exact words (in Hokkien): "Ah Tieng, come home. Ah Ma is going to die." After that day, she could no longer speak. My sister flew 13,673 kilometres across the ocean and arrived two days later and rushed to the hospital to see my grandma the last time. Grandma then died the next day.

I still think about the stories told about her. I remember Grandpa's story of how he liked her and wanted to get her family to let him marry her. I remember my mum chuckling about how she heard about how sought-after she was, apparently the prettiest girl in the kampung (village). In my mind, the only other woman who measures up to her in capability, gentleness and strength of character is maybe Mother Theresa (and then again).

I'd glad I took the time to ask my grannies about their stories before they were gone, and that my parents are still glad to tell me more when I ask. I can't decide if my favourite story is my grandpa's dramatic tale of his flight from his village in China to Singapore during the war, or any of his half-baked funny stories told in broken Mandarin.

Everyone that has lived has a story. Learn their stories before you regret not having cared at all.

Volume 2 is out!! So much sweat and hard work went into this, I can scarcely imagine I'm still sane. Some of us practically camped out in the office to get this through. I think my record for the number of hours straight spent in the office was 31 hours....after which I went home at 4pm for a quick shower and then immediately headed to a meeting. Gotta admit it's immensely rewarding to finally have the magazine in my hands. Will have to stock up on more Red Bull and supper snacks for the next round.... One good thing that came out of it is I found out the downstairs noodle stall in the Beach Road food centre is the only stall open that late with decent food and good mee pok. (Psst! Bit of advertising here: Check out the mag at www.livewell.com.sg)