Of English and pork ribs.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Yichen directed me to this blog about a Singaporean girl (or woman?) who finds it much better staying overseas than here. Some very logical comments on her post included the fact that you can never compare Singapore to Canada (her emigration destination), or any other Western country due to the overwhelming disparities, not including the fact that Canada has an abundance of resources to draw upon. But this post isn't about that.
I went off course (as you eventually do, no matter what you set out to find on the internet.) and found this guy's blog. He has a uniquely Western name, and lives in Illinois, but for some untold reason, has ties to Singapore. He wrote this poem, which I put here. Sorry if it really shouldn't be done, but I thought it was pretty meaningful and nice. Bear with the length and maybe you will apreciate it as much as I did?
in the Daily Nurture
I traced out five little Stars and a Crescent
on red-penciled paper
then taped it on a stick;
"you are Singaporean."she told us with knowing eyes
and the stature of high-heeled shoes
and this — I kept in my heart.
across the Peaceful Ocean and
across the Great Grass Expanse
I approached Them
expecting amicability;
"he has Cooties!"she informed her companions
hazel eyes gleaming disgust
coffee-coloured hair turned up with indignation
and this — I kept in my heart.
in a teeming hallway
filled with footprints of boots
that had been in mud, slush and snow
he came up to me and said
"why don't you go back to China?" his head of spiked blond hair
agitated in my direction
smirking with his blue eyes
while at this witty remark
his comrades found delight
and this — I kept in my heart.
in a class that taught as a second language
The Language that was my first
I read aloud material mired in fantasy Cathay;
and when a misconception I rejected
for the umpteenth time
she told me with her red-tinted hair
and raspy self-indulged voice
"look, I know over in Indonesia they...."her green eyes surprised
at an exasperated protest
and this — I kept in my heart.
back in the land of my nationality
where I struggled to find my Home
I retained an Element
which distinguished me from my own
she told me with her black-coloured hair
and heightened voice of irritation
"can you stop speaking in your fake accent?"an exchange of Looks circulated
around the project table
and this — I kept in my heart.
an Examination and a graduation
a choosing of a place
I pass by a walkway
that has never seen ice or snow
they inquired in their various coloured hairs
and various skins of dark to light
"hey Slanger. why do you slang?"I reciprocated an indignation
that I once saw so long ago
and this — I kept in my heart.
but what hurts me the most is
when he told me with his combed blond hair,
fell complexion and crying blue eyes
"you are so racist!" in that same hallway which never saw snow
it was a sob that I could not quell
because it was true.
and this: I keep the most in my heart.
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I don't welcome the veggie fiesta my family is getting nowadays. I believe I became a meat lover that very time I went to Prague and at this sizeable 1Kg Pork Leg with my dad. I tend to always have space for my mom's pork ribs, as I am sure I must have mentioned before. Seriously, the Muslims are missing out on a lot. Beef has this nice milky taste, but it isn't very often done to the best of my liking. Chicken is nice, but a bit too ordinary.
I know of the plethora of criticisms vegetarians have with livestock cultivation, but I can't really help it, meat tastes very nice. Simple. Still, my mother, who plans the meals at home, has chosen to suddenly opt for more vegtables. Today, we had 2 plates of brocolli, 1 plate with beansprouts and another with cabbage. The meat? Pork ribs and steamed fish. Where was the meeeeaaat? (although I must say, the pork ribs were a rebuttal to hard to ignore.)
Must be the maid, who likes vegetables, who subtely influenced my mother. My own mother! 0.o
I don't really fancy what the cow eats. I prefer to eat the cow.
posted by joseph at 7:58 PM