Traditional Media in SG


It’s an open secret to most (at least, most of the cynical and critical online crowd) that the news in The Straits Times, the main English-language newspaper in Singapore, can’t really be trusted 100%.  Over the years you hear stories here and there from others as well as  your own experiences and these little (and not so little) anecdotes add up to an overall impression which is hard to shake, even if I couldn’t list and detail all my reasons for you as evidence.

However, here’s a recent piece of evidence that seems really, really low to me: ST misrepresenting part-time models.

The Straits Times article paints the girls in a terribly trashy light, like slutty attention whores. That’s completely different from what the girls were expecting– they were explicitly told the article would be about “the dangers of doing free-lance shoots and tips on how to protect yourself” and definitely not about how they like to “show off their sexy side”, which was the title of the article. How ironic, then, as the article has brought them loads of negative attention and online flak. So much for protection. (Screencaps of the conversation between the reporter and the girls and their photographer in the article linked above.)

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Recently, there’s been a petition to shut down STOMP, a branch of The Straits Times which features ‘citizen journalism’. More accurately, it’s usually used as a platform where people post videos and pictures of others doing what they deem to be bad behaviour, kind of like a public shaming platform. “Eh better don’t lah, later kenna STOMP” (Better not do it, in case you get posted on STOMP) is a common, half-joking refrain.

There are many things that could potentially bug you about STOMP; the voyeuristic quality of filming others and watching such videos; the petty complaints that get posted as ‘news’ just because this is ‘citizen journalism’; the infringement of privacy with the sometimes secret act of filming or snapping a shot and posting it online; the judging from the sidelines mentality it encourages, where you publicly shame others while remaining anonymous yourself; the mentality of whipping out your camera instead of confronting the individual directly or stepping forward to help.

If all that is not enough to phase you, there’s still the occasional fabricated story and the xenophobia, negativity and cyber bullying it encourages, reasons mentioned by the petition starter. Although the petition has garnered almost 23, 000 signatures to date, MDA (Media Development Authority) gave only a dismissive reply:

“Should you believe that Stomp, together with other class-licensed and individually licensed sites merit stronger regulation, we invite you to propose how the standards should be tightened. Let’s build a healthy online environment together.” 

We should propose how the standards should be tightened? You mean, do your job for you? Funny how this is in sharp contrast to how quickly alternative online news sources or political blogs or other independent individuals are taken to task. We certainly weren’t asked for our opinion on how strict the monitoring should be then.

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In 2013, Singapore fell 14 places to a record 149th position in terms of press freedom, according to an annual report by non-governmental, international organisation Reporters Without Borders (RWB), placing us between Russia and Iraq. In the Freedom of the Press report by Freedom House, Singapore’s press was rated as ‘Not Free’, tied at the 153rd place with Afghanistan, Iraq and Qatar. This is what our Prime Minister has to say:

 “I have given up that (Reporters Without Borders’ ranking)… I do not take them seriously.”

He pointed out that information flows freely on the Internet and newspapers report the news freely, but also responsibly.

Well done, great example set; when someone gives you feedback you don’t like, simply dismiss and ignore it (that is, if it’s beyond your power to shut it down). Sticking your head in the sand is something certain people seem to be very good at.

Preserve “Asian Values”, please.


My friend started a blog focussing on LGBT issues especially in the context of Singapore. Cross-posting this there and here.

Preserve “Asian Values”, please..

From a letter to the Straits Times :

It is also a country known for its safety and conservative Asian values, which make it a good place to raise children to be upright and responsible citizens.

In our bid to be a top global city, we must be careful not to emulate wholesale the values and cultures of other global cities like London or New York. They have very different cultural and historical make-ups and societal identities.

It took our founding fathers years to craft our modern Asian identity, and this should not be lost.

Our traditional values of filial piety, humility and a focus on the family should be promoted, instead of Western values like absolute freedom of speech, sexual permissiveness or gender ambiguity.

For once, the comments are faith-restoring rather than faith-dashing.

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The (implied) argument that traditional values = good values, or Asian values = good values, or conservative values = good values is a pretty poor one. As the comments have pointed out, do you even know what you’re actually saying when you say ‘traditional values’ or ‘asian values’? Probably not. People just like to throw catch phrases about.

Traditional just means its the way it’s always been done, no implications on whether it’s something that’s always been done and should be continued, or should be changed. Asian just means… well, from huge and varied Asian and I’m sure you don’t need to think far to know some Asian values or traditions really should (and/or have) been done away with. And conservative… that’s just a comparative term, is it not? What is considered conservative today is different from what was conservative in the past, and the future.

And while it’s true that different countries and regions have different social cultures and histories, I’d like to hope that respect and good-will towards all people, without discrimination, should be universal values that everyone everywhere is striving towards.

My Gay Lifestyle (the Debunking of)


It is perhaps a shame that my reaction to anger, to provocation, is to turn away.

To tell myself to ignore it, to tell myself that I shouldn’t waste my energy getting worked up over other people’s ridiculous ideas.

It is also perhaps a shame that my reaction to scandals and things blown out of proportion is to shut up. Because I always feel that adding my own two cents to the already saturated pile of self-important opinions can’t possibly add any value to the discussion. Besides, anything I wanted to say has surely been put across more succinctly and in a more powerful manner by someone else with better writing skills, someone else who has lived though more reality than I have.

Yet there are some thing worth getting angry about.
There are some things worth shouting about.
There are some things worth repeating.

I “came out” on facebook today. Well, no, not exactly. I’d define coming out on facebook as posting a status or notes essentially saying just this, “Hi guys, I’m gay. kthanxbai.” While I’ve considered that before, the thought (after it’s initial flippancy) usually fills me with enough fear and apprehension for me to change my mind.

Perhaps a better description would be that I was “dragged out”, in the course of a ‘discussion’ with a friend.

I posted something, and she and another friend made some comments which I didn’t get involved with.

Then, she made this comment, “In any case, I’ve heard a lot about the LGBT lifestyle, and I don’t like what I’m hearing. They claim they are a peaceful group, but I don’t see that…”

That really got me mad. I couldn’t let it go. What the fuck is a LGBT lifestyle?

Last time I checked, I am a part of the LGBT community because I am female and I’m attracted to females. By definition, then I must lead this mysterious gay lifestyle. Well, this is my “lifestyle”, on average:

Wake up. wash up. go to work. Survive work. Head for home. Perhaps meet with friends for dinner. Surf the net/facebook. Read news articles, read science articles, read human rights articles, read funny articles. Watch some videos. Write some blog entries. Read a book. Pack my room. Time to sleep, good night.

Call it a monotonous lifestyle, call it boring, call it sedentary, call it antisocial, but please, highlight for me exactly which part of that can be considered as an “LGBT lifestyle”??

If you have a problem with, say, a clubbing lifestyle, then please fucking say so.
If you have a problem with, say, a promiscuous lifestyle, then please fucking say so.
If you have a problem with, say, a drugs and booze lifestyle, then please fucking say so.
If you have a problem with, say, a sex-obsessed lifestyle, then please fucking say so.

But none of those are synonymous, exclusive or inherently linked to LGBT. All of these can be found in any and all kinds of people across time, cultures, genders and sexualities.

This friend is an incredibly nice person. Yet, even having known her general stand on the matter, her reply to my question shocked me– things about promiscuity, pedophilia; it being a choice and proven as unnatural; proven that it can be walked away from; violence, death threats, militant-like behaviour and arrogance from the LGBT camp…

You can honestly say those things about promiscuously and pedophilia to my face? And the rest– do we even live in the same reality? Another friend commented, wow, the amount of propaganda they receive…

The other friend who was also commenting started going on a comment posting rampage on Lawrence Khong’s facebook page— a Pastor of a mega church in Singapore (in)famous for his vocally anti-gay stands (2:36 -onwards). The most recent incident has to do with the Singapore’s Health Promotion Board’s surprisingly pro-gay FAQs on sexuality. LK started a petition for the FAQs to be removes– albeit anonymously under the name ‘Aaron’. Then, he evidently circulated a guide amongst his flock on how to make their voices heard without revealing their Christian identity.

I try to read his page but I can’t quite do it, and I can’t find any motivation to want to reply comments there. It’s not merely about being offended of depressed about comments which flat out contradict my beliefs and reality, it’s also all the typically ugly internet comments– why do people always stoop to personal insults and sarcasm? Why do adults sound like immature kids?

More than that, it’s that I can’t shake my own fatalistic feelings about such discussions– while I rationally acknowledge that they can help or that it’s better than nothing, I can’t stop feeling that it’s just pointless. No one is going to change their minds. The people I’m ‘arguing’ with are faceless and can walk away or ignore what I’m saying anytime. They’re not going to listen to me.

Replying my friend was different though– she’s real. She might not change her mind, but hopefully what I say, because I am more real to her too, will give her pause and thought.

I consider writing a piece of my own– just putting my opinion out there. But I don’t know where to start. There can be so much to say. What do I focus on, what should I assume of my readers? Opinions and backgrounds are too varied.

Replying to accusations thus makes it easier to focus your argument– there’s to much to say otherwise. Although at the same time, because I’m focussing on convincing this one person, what I say doesn’t necessarily reflect my personal views exactly. I’m trying to look at things from her perspective and using what I think will be the most comprehensible to her. I mean, no point in differentiating the nuances between gender expression, sexual orientation and physical sex or sexual orientations besides gay and bi or even the gay and trans and so on when I’m just trying to convince her that none of these are inherently immoral. And of course I wouldn’t mention that I think polygamous relationships could be permissible and healthy in certain situations– that would just cause her to stop listening to me entirely.

Throughout the discussion I have to wonder– is there a point?

It there a point in me writing all this stuff to her?
Is there a point in my friend’s commenting on LK’s facebook page?
Is there a point if I write a blog entry about my beliefs and send it out into the net?

Does it change anything?

Only as handicapped as the society you’re in


If you had to lose one of your senses, which would you rather lose? Which would you loathe to lose?

That was one of many ‘would you rather / what if’ games we used to play as kids. My answer to that one was always the same: I couldn’t imagine losing my sight. Where would I be if I couldn’t see? All the colours? The skies and the clouds and the seas and the trees… all this beauty? Painting and drawing and art and photography would all be meaningless. To be shrouded in darkness. I didn’t think I could bear it.

A week ago, the school brought all of us to Ngee Ann Poly to take part in Dialogue in the Dark, a short session for you to have a brief experience of what is it like to be blind. In a nutshell, Dialogue in the Dark “is essentially a walking tour of various simulated environments in complete darkness, led by visually-impaired guides.” We took a stroll in a park, a boat ride down the river, walked in the city streets, identified a parked vehicle, crossed a road and even ordered some snacks at a cafe, all in pitch darkness.

It was a good experience. Can you identify a statue by feeling the wordings on the wall? What do you appreciate on a boat ride if you can’t see? What’s the number plate, colour and model of this car? How about grocery shopping without sight (everything feels potato-ish)? Do you think you can figure out how to share ice-cream with a friend when you can’t see the ice-cream, your friend or even your own hands?

As an activity that’s obviously meant to have a larger impact than just testing your listening and touching skills or putting you out of your comfort zone for a short while, I thought there is still room for improvement. I confessed that my mentality while in the darkness instinctively took on a playful, competitive edge rather than a sombre, contemplative one. What I mean is, I saw it as a game, as a challenge– to see how much of my environment I could discern without my sight, to see how confidently and quickly I could move and orientate myself. I had to remind myself that it may possibly be a fun ‘game’ for that half hour to an hour, but how fun is it when this is you life, all the time?

We went in as a group of 9, which meant we were in a line and clinging to each other all the time, the train of people seldom broken. We must have looked hilarious, all huddled together. The guide was also constantly giving us instructions (follow the wall on the left, everyone found the wall? move slowly, slowly, found it? okay good, now just follow and go straight!) so we never really had to navigate on our own. I thought it would be a much more powerful experience if you were left to on your own, deposited in the ‘park’ and told to find the bench with no more help other than to know it exists. How much more vulnerable you would feel, with no one to cling on to, no one to feed you directions? That’s their reality.

I was sweeping my hands all over any and every surface I could find and swinging my cane as far out as it would go, trying to paint as clear as picture in my head of my surroundings. That must have looked hilarious too– no blind person would have the luxury of doing that in real life, at least not in public. You can’t go around molesting everything within reach.

Your sense of touch and hearing can actually feed you a whole wealth of details– but it’s so limiting compared to sight. Like I said, you can’t feel up everything. And while I felt I could get a lot of detail, it took too long. And you can only discern things spatially close to you.

When we got out of the darkness and into the open again, I couldn’t help but notice just HOW MUCH information I was taking in with just a casual sweeping glance. The layout of the metal chairs on the wooden floor (and their shapes, sizes, occupancy, even estimated weight); the number of motorbikes parked further down and their models and colours; the trees and plants in the distance; the light, time of day, weather…. and so much more. From a split second glance that wasn’t deliberate, that I didn’t even give any thought to.

Today as I was at the bus stop waiting for my bus, a white-haired uncle with a cane came inching slowly towards the bus stop. I stared at him worriedly. Did he know where he was, where he was going? Does he need help? Oh no, is he going to crash into the pole–okay, no. Is he going too near the edge of the road? Should I help him?

Slowly, he positioned himself by the pole/barrier at the edge of the pavement at the bus stop. I saw him lift the cover off his watch to look at the time. Excuse me, I mean to feel for the time. Should I help him? I wondered. How should I help him? Does he need my help? How does he know what busses are coming?

As a bus pulled in, I tensed up–should I help him? what should I do?— but I did nothing as I watched him shuffle towards the front of the bus stop — that’s way too slow…— and I realized he intended to ask the bus driver. At the moment, one of the other people at the bus stop passed near to him and he spoke out, asking the guy what bus it was. It wasn’t the uncle’s bus, so he stood back at his spot.

As the bus pulled out and the background traffic noises continued, I suddenly noticed how full of people the bus stop was. Not packed, but a significant number. And all of them silent. Invisible, out of reach. I was back in the dark room, where you couldn’t tell if there was someone right in front of you or not, not unless you reached out, not unless they spoke out. When everyone fell silent, when you kept your hands to yourself, you lose all sense of orientation and scale, you can’t tell… You may know there are people there, somewhere, but you can’t reach out to them because they are invisible to you. The power is in their hands to reach out to you

I thought of a typical scene in an MRT carriage in Singapore. Packed but silent. Each individual in their own bubble and none reaching out.

No one was reaching out at the bus stop. The suffocating darkness further stifled by the silence of our society. It would be so easy for someone to go up to him and offer assistance, to make their presence felt, rather than leave that more than physical gulf of detachment between all those seated and the man with the cane at the edge.

It would be so easy… Go on. Just go tap him on the should and ask him what bus he is waiting for. C’mon. 

I pictured it in my mind, and again, trying to push myself out of my bubble, to overcome the inertia of a Keep Quiet and Mind My Own Business Singaporean.  Why is it that difficult?

Another bus pulled into the bus stop and the uncle started moving again. I quickly stepped forward. Did I touch his shoulder? I should have but I don’t think I did. My Personal Space bubble is even harder to get past. Imagine a voice that suddenly appears by your ear, then vanishes again– how do you know if it’s still there or not? I should have touched his shoulder, or elbow, or something.

“It’s bus 14. Bus 14.”  I say.
“Oh I’m waiting for 961. So the bus is not here yet?”
“What bus? 196?”
“No, 961.”
“Oh, no, not here yet.”

Another bus is behind this one.

“The next bus is 147.” I tell him.
I suddenly realize this is my bus. Feeling a little confused, I head towards the bus then quickly doubled back to the uncle.

“147 is my bus.” I tell him.
He says something like, “Oh okay, then go, go.”

And so I left. Thinking about how much easier life could be for him if people around just acted a little differently, took a little more initiative, cared a little more. If, in our society, it becomes a given that someone will go to his side to be his eyes just for that short while. And if when that person boards a bus, someone else would automatically step up to take their place to help. Such a small thing for us, such a big difference for them.

Why so much inhibition to perform such a simple act that can make someone else’s life so much simpler? Practice makes perfect. I hope I will  help more readily the next time.

Child – Adult Dichotomy


It occurred to me recently that I seem to still be on the ‘wrong’ side of the child-adult  dichotomy.

Just beside my block of flats, there’s this huge, open longkang (drain). As I was walking out from my block one, I was just in time to see a wet soccer ball being rolled pass some children, as a small sized boy climbed over the green railing, coming out from the longkang after having retrieved the ball.

What I imagine a typical (Singaporean) adult would think; oh dear, how dangerous. and go on to imagine a million ways in which the scenario could have gone horribly wrong for the child, and a million ways to ‘rectify’ the problem like covering up the longkang, building more appropriate play/soccer areas, banning playing of balls at inappropriate areas etc.

What I thought, instead, was awww how fun and had fuzzy, nostalgic thoughts about the past, being in tuned with and a part of your environment, and how play should be unrestricted and unscripted. In contrast to the overprotective and sterile play environments of today…

Not to far from that longkang, just across the small street and in front of the supermart ShengSiong, there’s a huge raintree, growing out from a hole in the tiled ground. I love rain trees, I love looking up at its branches from underneath, I love the texture of its bark and the inevitable army of bird’s nest ferns adorning it. And I love that they’ve saved the tree, building around it instead of chopping it down.

More recently however, a circular metal bar has been built around it. A barrier, a separation. This is nature (it’s dangerous, don’t get too close) and this is civilisation. At least, that’s what it seemed to say to me.

I lamented to a friend– just imagine in our parents and grandparents days, kids played by running through fields of grass as tall as them; by climbing trees and any other structures they could climb; by catching spiders and making toy guns and catapults out of whatever they could find lying around.

If they step on a nail while running barefoot through the field, that was their own fault; of course if you’re going to be barefoot you have to watch where you put your feet! If branches or things fell from trees onto them then that was their fault too– well, also the tree’s, I guess, but what’s the use in blaming the tree? branches have to fall sometimes, it’s natural.

Whereas nowadays? People would demand that the management protect them from trees! from insects! from monkeys! It is the management’s fault when these things happen. No wonder the management has to cover their own asses and fence up trees… if a silly person climbs up the tree and gets hurt, it’s their fault. Why take the risk for the sake of caring about ideals and abstractions?

Then again, do I really disagree with that? Safety first, after all. If someone is killed by a falling branch, you wouldn’t dare to say to his family, ‘Branches fall, it’s natural! It’s no one’s fault, get over it.’

It’s hard to pin point exactly where necessary precaution transforms into suffocating over-protection. I thought our culture and education has been trying its best to move away from rigidity and sterility towards creativity and vibrancy…

True creativity and vibrancy can’t be categorized and classified– this is the time to be creative, when I say so during certain lessons, and these are all the other times you have to obey my rules exactly. Really? Think about it!

There’s this small playground in my school where each station is accompanied by a write ups with a science/physic slant. It’s usually filled with kids each recess, but of course, the kids ignore these write ups and ignore the ‘proper’ ways of playing.

The seesaw, meant for just two, is usually piled with kids–two groups challenging each other to see who can force the other group into the air. Otherwise, they will try to get off the seesaw as quickly and suddenly as possible to cause the friend(s) on the other end to come crashing down with a bang.

A ‘clown’s nose’– a red hemisphere surrounded by a ring on which you can sit– is meant for maximum four. You’re to lean your weight a certain way, and you can spin yourself. Instead, kids pile up again, with one or two trying to spin their friends as fast as possible, seeing who can last the longest without giving up or falling off.

Maybe something more serious happened one day than the usual harmless falls to the padded ground. Or maybe their children’s debatably rough play just came to the attention of the wrong (or right) person. Either way, one day a briefing was given to the entire school about the proper use of the stations in the play ground.

ONLY two on the seesaw, and DON’T bang your friend down. ONLY four on the clown’s nose and NO ONE should be pushing. THIS is the EXACT way and ONLY way you should be playing with these, and nothing else. Oh, one last thing, you are ONLY allowed there during recess WHEN THERE IS A TEACHER WATCHING AT ALL TIMES.

The next time I walked by the playground, it was practically empty and the few kids that were there looked pretty bored. I guess they’re ‘safe’ but that empty playground look for the world to be the saddest, least creative and least vibrant thing.

Can you blame the management, though? If something were to happen to the kid in school, how much noise (and blame) would the parents make…

Freedom


It’s when you’re thrown in darkness that you most appreciate the light, when you’ve been in the scorching sun that you most appreciate the shade, when you’re parched that you most appreciate water… I’m sure you know all this.

It’s only been three weeks since I started work work proper and woah, the freedom each Friday/Saturday and especially today with a one week break coming, tastes so sweet. The freedom to be wandering around aimlessly and not worry about getting home to get work done, or to get sleep. The freedom to wonder to yourself, where should I go next? and know that it really doesn’t matter– I can wander for a few more hours or I can go home, it’s entirely up to me.

Not to mention the freedom to wear something other than collared shirt and pants, and the freedom to actually style my hair something other than boring neat and normal, and the freedom to  paint my nails odd colours and…

Too bad my freedom will never last long enough for me to have the freedom to have funky hair…

This afternoon we were about to jay walk across the road and the group of us were like um, no so nice right, for us as what we are, to jay walk? One of the girls exclaimed, we have no freedom!

I was scrolling through my facebook newsfeed and saw pinkdot calling for volunteers. As a civil servant and especially this kind of civil servant, am I not allow to volunteer for pink dot? Is my freedom really that restricted?

Can I survive three years in this environment, with these restrictions? To put a part of me (a large part?) on hold and behind bars for now? How sweet will the freedom taste after three whole years? Or would I be ‘tamed’ by then and these things no longer freedoms that I crave but mere wild fancies that I can easily do without? Would I find that it was those childish whims that were restricting me and holding me back, keeping me from reaching my full potential and leading a productive life?

Freedom to be who you want to be versus the freedom to fit in and live a normal, respectable life. How important is the freedom to be whatever you want to be, do whatever you want to do… compared to all the other priorities in life?

Pink dot updates!


I’m back from Sydney! We went sand boarding and whale watching and all was awesomeawesome. It would be nice if I can upload photos and do a proper entry for my quick holiday, but I’m not sure if I will have the time to. :(

Anyway, being in Sydney was the reason I missed this years Pink Dot, so I’ve been combing through the videos and pictures from the event and it looks BEYOND AWESOME. Simply watching the videos makes me grin so widely and feel like crying. If I had been there in the swaying crowd singing along to ‘True Colours’, I would probably have been bawling.

When I went last year, the sense of community and belonging was already so strong. You look around you and it’s so… strange and refreshing. Positively heartwarming. You get this surprising sense of… oh wow, I’m not alone after all. There are people just like me! A surprising sense of feeling comfortable and at home. Surprising because you’re so accustomed to the norm that you don’t realize those out-of-place feelings are constantly there until you have this to contrast it with.

To think it was just last year when I attended with my ex; I wore my platforms plus borrowed a pink shirt from her. She was fully decked out in a pink yukata.

Well, I won’t say too much since I wasn’t even there this year. Shall leave you with some links to articles and pictures and sharings of the event. :) Can’t wait to be a part of this next year! It’ll be even bigger and better! <3

Shout out from Jason Mraz! Aw, I like him even more now. <3

Singapore shines at Pink Dot 2012!

Featured on inSing!

On the Wall Street Journal: Pink Dot in Singapore Highlights Gay-Rights Debate
A straight person’s (very moving!) perspective: Elyssa on facebook
Msn news: Pink Dot Breaks Record with 15,000 Attendees 

Gay activist Alex Au wins Singapore Humanist of the Year award


Life has been slightly hectic for me recently and while I’ve had ideas and inspirations for posts, I haven’t had time to sit down and write them. Hopefully things will ease up next week and I can be more active here again.

In the meantime, I have to share this speech by Alex Au aka Yawning Bread, a well-known Singaporean blogger and activist. He was recently awarded the Humanist of the Year Award by the Humanist Society (Singapore). You can read more about that here (Fridae).

“It strikes many people as somewhat strange that I, like many other gay men, foreground my gayness as one of the key defining characteristics as a person. Well, there’s a simple reason for it. Those who are heterosexual live in a world where heterosexuality is normative: social conventions, expectations, law and institutions are built upon assumptions of heterosexuality. It’s as comfortable as wearing a right glove on your right hand. After a while, you’d hardly notice you have one on. But gay people have to go through life wearing the left glove on our right hand. There is no moment when we are not conscious of the misfit.”

I personally would give his speech a standing ovation.

Definitely do read the rest of his speech at his blog at here at yanwingbread.wordpress.com.

Pink Dot Plushie!


I hate the colour pink. I don’t know why exactly, but I always have. Somehow, 5 year-old-me already treated pink as the ultimate representation of everything I didn’t like, or didn’t identify with. In fact, I never knew people actually liked pink– I thought it was the colour you were just supposed to dislike. The only people who liked pink were little girls who had been brainwashed into liking it by their mothers who dressed them in pink from head to toe. (I may have gotten this idea from my mother. Oh, the irony.)

Okay, so I’m no longer that ignorant– as unbelievable as it may seem to me, people do actually sincerely like pink. And many times little girls and not-so-little girls deck themselves out, head to toe, in pink because they do like it. And I guess now that my eyes have been opened, I’ve softened my position somewhat– I suppose I can see how certain shades of pink might be pretty. Oh, and pink flowers. Pink on flowers can be absolutely lovely!

…It’s still my least favourite colour though. And I don’t own any pink clothes and wouldn’t buy any pink accessories of any kind if I can help it. Last year, when I had to beg/borrow/steal something pink to wear to pinkdot, I was very… “WHY, pinkdot organizers, WHY? WHY PINK? Why not… rainbow! I can do rainbow dot. I like rainbows!  Why not… purple dot! I thought purple was a ‘gay colour’? I can do purple. I like purple!”

Well. Despite my innate resistance to the colour pink, look what I have hanging on my bag now:

:D :D :D A pink dot plushie/keychain! I think the pink contrasts very nicely with my black bag (I can’t believe I’m saying this).

This is the smallest size they have. There are two larger sizes. You can buy them online from here, or go down to any one of three physical shops in Singapore. My friends and I went down to VERY Wooonderland in B3 of Ion and the two of them spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to choose the roundest, cutest ones while I kept trying my best to convince them that ALL THE PINK DOTS LOOK THE SAME C’MON AREN’T YOU DONE YET.

I feel like buying extras to give out to people, but I don’t know who I could give them out to…

(If you don’t know what Pink Dot is, check out my previous post for a short explanation and this years campaign video!)


We may have limited power, but still we have the ability to make a stand for the kind of world we want to live in.

Yawning Bread

“To be very honest,” said Mei, a student aged 23, “I don’t know much about what happened then.” She wasn’t even born when the arrests began in 1987.

“But somehow the whole idea that you can imprison somebody without having to show proof in a court just strikes me as wrong.”

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