The 10-Metre Rule:
All RJ girls from RG will meet, know, or greet a girl they know every 10 metres in the RJC compound, on average.
Just something I observed. Virtually every trip to or from any lecture theatre, seminar room or our homeroom has proven this theory correct.
(N.B.: the RI guys tend to meet, know or greet a fellow RI guy every 25 – 40 m, on average, although this is a rougher estimate.)
Last week, I got (on average) as many as 2 queries daily from concerned buddies who ask me why I looked so “emo”. Of course, it seems that the most popular suggestion was that I should stop worrying about those people over “there”, in response to my previous post (with all the dreary news I post, it’s a wonder why people still visit this online repository of depression 
. WordPress stats tell me that readership rates have actually shifted upwards, which is somewhat surprising news.)
There is a reason, I reckon, as to why this blog seems to have survived for 3 years running, without dying out, and with a post at least every month. Blogging is a stamina sport, and it isn’t about regurgitating everything that happened that day with a few cutesy reflections to mark the occasions. That’s what I learned soon after a whole slew of my friends’ blogs died out at the start of this year – it is about putting some thought into each post, so it isn’t a shallow confession of the day past, but sustained intervals of quality stuff. Mine’s not all “quality”, though 
, it’s really more of a motley of random readings and reflections strung together.
Anyway. (what a junsean-esque way of beginning!)
How’s life been for me? GREAT. Really, not bad at all.
I haven’t reported the events since january began; nor do I plan to faithfully to do so. So here’s a nice little summary.
Orientation was good – my OG (O’ops I did it again!) and OGLs were wonderful people. It wasn’t the all-out-chiong sort of group, but we got to know each other really well, judging by the time we were put together. We have had a number of lunches so far, which were all pleasant affairs.
My class is 10A13A, a HELM-GELM-other combo class. It’s very diverse, and the people are, as most humans people are, outgoing and very friendly. RJC operates in a vacuum of group-work projects (in academic subjects besides PW), so there’s less breeding ground for conflict. Right now, everyone tends to stick to their invidual cliques, also divided along gender lines. (So much for faithful reporting.) Still, there have been promising signs of better class bonding, and more guy-girl interactions, so we’ll be great friends with each other at this rate.
Meanwhile, the lecturers and tutors seem to be reasonbly good, with some exceptional ones like Mrs Uma Chong and our expatriate teachers (Mr Reeves and Mrs Perry).
Right now, I’m also dabbling with poetry. It seems to have taken on a fresher meaning. Prose is still my favourite, though. Maybe I’ll compile some of my short stories (Short as in short, not rambling ones.) and post them here. You’ll need to ask me!
Other people think fun. I think those who don’t have fun.
Other people think partying. I think those who have never partied – not those who didn’t want to, but those who could not.
Other people think that new iPod, that new blouse. I think those who can’t afford a proper meal for every single day.
It’s the first time I’ve had this feeling hit me so hard. For the past few days during Orientation, I’ve tried a little to smile more. But how do you do that?
1 billion people live on less than US $1 a day.
2 billion people live on less than US$2 a day.
That makes 3 billion on this planet desperately poor. That’s half of the human race. That’s half of this species.
Now think about this carefully.
Poverty isn’t just the thing you try to solve when you go overseas for community points. It isn’t the thing teenagers think they are helping to alleviate when they go in groups. They bring iPods and handphones to those places. They talk in rich-world language – YouTube, laptop, Google, Mac, Yahoo, KFC, Nike, PCs, PDAs, SMSes.
Poverty isn’t just a social cause.
It’s the worst possible torture.
Are you listening? Or are you going home?
What do you think people could do with an annual salary of $365?
Some don’t bat an eyelid when buying a standard PC.
But hey, that’s more than 3 entire years of pay for half the human race.
You could do a lot with that 3 years. Go through college, complete your undergrad studies, get promoted a few times.
These people don’t really get those.
But what can I do about it? What can you do about it?
Just sit here – staring at the screen blankly? On a PC? (3 years of pay) On a swivel chair? (2 months of pay) With a nice can of coke beside you? (16 continuous hours of labour)
Don’t you realise the immensity of the beast we know as “poverty”?
But it’s pointless brooding. I can’t do anything. Neither can you, I guess. We’re not going to get all emo or guilty over that – that’s the way the world works.
Don’t just think of the image of a black African child with a bloated stomach, sunken face and ribs, and a flesh-less frame. That’s what the media has been telling you.
There people who dont’ even have a roof over their head – not even a flimsy piece of zinc. Not a piece of cardboard. They don’t have a home. They are paid by the day – one dollar, two dollars, three. Some days they don’t even get pay. If they complain about working conditions, they are booted out. They’d much rather suffer in silence than to let their children be hungry for the next few days.
The torture doesn’t just originate from natural disasters like tsunamis or hurricanes. They stem from people who’d rather hang on to their thrones than let that beggar have a grain of rice. From those, halfway around the world, have salaries of $350 000 per year, with bonuses of $3.5 million on standard boom years. From people who are as capable of ruling a country as I am at expressing my frustration.
Just remember that there are so many much less fortunate than you. They live all around you.
You may live in a bungalow. You may live in a condominum. You may live in a flat.
You know what?
Some don’t even have a home. Some have diseases they can’t rid of, not because they aren’t available, but because those few drops – anti-retroviral (HIV) drugs at 60 cents – were too expensive.
Some are dying tomorrow.
And there you are reading, and here I am typing, both of us on computers – Dells, Acers, Lenovos, Macs.
What we can do is to think of these people, and perhaps have a life purpose dedicated towards actually helping some members of your fellow species.
I do.
Do you?
[closes tab, and sighs. thinks of the poor black African child. gets up, walks around own bedroom. grabs a carton of juice. opens iTunes. turns up the volume.
and forgets everything.]
