But before you go on to read this please note that this will be a very, very stereotypical piece; but generally I’m not overtly stereotypical; it is after careful evaluation that I decide that this is a safe generalization to draw – in our country at least.
The middle class I am referring to, is basically the rather large and growing community of people who have quite substantial wealth, enough to spend in high-end merchandise outlets for almost everything, enough to eat out at a restaurant almost every evening. These people generally gain wealth in quite a short period of time.
These people are the epitome of conformism and capitalism.
I will not deviate into anything else, and thus will force myself to talk about just their practices.
The thing about the middle class is that it really spends its money on whatever it desires, and a very prominent characteristic is that it
I am fully aware that by saying that, I am insulting so many people that this can be considered flaming; but I will go on anyway.
Have you ever wondered why Singaporeans, and some other Asian countries, is so high on “tuition”? It’s the phenomenon of the capitalist middle class. They carry their practices forward from when they were not-so-rich; yet from their practices they still think themselves as existing in a higher social strata.
I have once come across a tuition center which only accepts students who can pass a certain difficult test that they will set for you upon registration. Should you fail it, out you go. We will not give you help.
I will not comment in that, because firstly you, dear reader, may be someone from that center, and there really are way too many of you out there who engage in these bourgeois practices. So see past my nuances and insinuations to read what I’m trying to get at.
It is this kind of areas that the middle class spends their money in. They buy iPhones when they have no need for them; they sustain the business of a restaurant(s) during a supposed economic downturn.
And before I go on to further insult you, I will calm down and stop here.
***
Pop music
Just in the last post, I professed my love for pop music.
But in this world, not everyone loves everything; some people hate pop music; I think they are rather hypocritical because you can’t deny that some songs actually do sound fantastic; but let’s just hear them out.
A quote from somewhere reveals all: “Pop music is like pretty people with ugly ideas”. Or something along those lines. Pop music has been criticized for being way too superficial; the lyrics are extremely superficial because they talk about love at a very superficial level, like David Archuleta’s songs, which are really all about infatuations. In comparison to a song like Don McLean’s Vincent, the lyrics really seem a tad bit ridiculous.
Next, while some songs are nice, sometimes people don’t like it because its tones are not as raw and refreshing as classical rock; not as subtle and beautiful as folk music. But I overtly generalize. Howie Day’s songs are pop rock, guitar based, and are really beautiful.
And I agree.
But let’s just consider this: music is for enjoyment. And whatever we agree, I think it deserves our respect. I mean you don’t go around being hypocritical and lambasting like Adam Lambert songs for having ridiculous lines like “what do you want from me?”, for the sake of appearing intelligent, even though you absolutely love that song?
In this day and age, people are living lives too fast, lives to superficial, to really sit down, listen, enjoy and analyze what is really good. And that’s why we have pop music – something that exploits human life. It’s for people (like myself) who like music enough to appreciate simple lyrics, and the singer’s vocals, but are living in an age without exposure to more sophisticated forms of art.
So there. A very random and rant-y post, hope you actually understand what it meant. Argh.
And finally I will append a story I wrote.
***
Sometimes we need a storm,
Sunny days on end isn’t the norm
Plants will wither, animals will die
Beautiful as the summer may roar
Spectacular as the day may soar
The clouds can’t hold it for too long
Sometimes we need a storm
The raging rain, the howling wind
The smothering seas and the turbulent lands
A catharsis, a pent-up’s release
Beautiful as the summer may roar
Spectacular as the day may soar
The clouds can’t hold it for too long
Sometimes we need a storm
***
Would you catch a fish if you threw a coin into the pond?
--
The fish supply was bad. Less than six fishermen came back with decent stocks these days; overfishing was suspected, but never really bothered about. They needed the fish; they needed to give their all, and they needed the lake to give its all.
Kars woke up, awakening to the putrid smell of vegetables.
How disgusting, he thought. It had been a week without snakehead, and all vegetables.
“Eat and go out and fish. Don’t waste your time away at home; I’m sick of carrots too. “
“Yes mum,” Kars replied, dragging his feet, yet correcting his posture immediately, eager to show his mother his energy.
Soon he lugged his rod, net, bait and string and headed off.
“Hey boy, going out to fish at this hour?” Uncle Boon asked.
“Yeah, fish are hungry in the morning,”
“I’m sure,” he grinned. “You heard of the guy who caught the 10-pounder yesterday?”
“Sure, I saw it!”
“Well, they say he caught it because he threw a gold coin in the water, attracted the monster,” Boon chuckled as he took a puff.
“Really?” Kars asked, raising his eyebrows. A gold coin?
“Well, not that it mattered; half the monster already brought him twenty more coins,”
Kars smiled and proceeded on his way.
A gold coin! What ingenuity!
He settled at his favorite spot at the lake; just around the bend near the jetty, where the water was deep, where there were no rocks to trap the hook, to break the string like a never-ending, cold hard labyrinth.
That too was where he once caught his largest: a seven-pound snakehead. And he never forgot it.
He got the bait on, set the line, the sinker, aimed to his left, and cast the line, into the distance, into the dreamy, ominous mist. Often he would hear the sound of water, and imagine if he would strike a fish right after the hook landed on the far end of the crystalline gem. And with these thoughts he would allow himself to dream on, and it would distract him till a tug was felt.
But that day the tug never came.
And this was something he couldn’t accept anymore – especially after so long of poor catches; only schools of small fish wouldn’t satisfy mother and cure father’s illness.
He thought of his father’s gaunt face.
And then he remembered his mother’s…
Was there nothing he could do to get a good one, just one, just for once, one chance?
“caught it because he threw a gold coin in the water, attracted the monster…”
A ripple appeared on the water as he looked up, eyes brightening. But he looked down again, caught in painful indecision.
Could he afford to sacrifice the only gold coin he’d receive in a week?
But unconsciously his left hand reached down to that familiar ragged pocket, filled with stones, and found underneath the jagged pile, a shiny coin.
He saw his face in it and stared into it, dazed.
And he threw it like he’d always threw the dart, with such precision, such accuracy, such hope.
With a plonk it landed in the water, as the splashes created ripple after ripple; after which the water was silent again.
Kars watched the rod in feverish anticipation; he waited, longed, and prayed for the tug, the magical tug, the sign of a bite. Just one slight pull, one molecule of movement, and he would be on it.
The succeeding lunge almost threw Kars off his feet. The rod nearly slipped out of his grip as he instantaneously turned into battle mode; he the warrior, the fish the enemy.
He pulled and pulled; the string grazed a cut on his fingers. He heard tweaks and scary snapping sounds on the rod. Kars worked the fish as the fish worked him out. It never seemed to tire while he was already feeling the strain in his shoulders.
His slippers gripped the soily and stony ground as he teetered on the edge of the pond.
It was amazing yet terrifying at the same time; thrill swept through him like an electric current, feeding him rushes of energy, of excitement; yet at the same time threatened to throw him off course.
How can I? How can I give up a gold coin and let it go like this?
With renewed vigor he give another large tug, and for once he saw the fish.
It was indescribably huge; the heaving, callous morning mist failed to conceal it.
And with every endeavor, Kars, brought it closer; with every breath, it was harder to believe.
In his mind, there was nothing else.
The fish. The fish.
**
It was finally up. With a final heave Kars pulled the dead tired fish from the water. He fell back in exhaustion.
The colossal giant struggled to get its grand body to flip; to get a muscle to twitch; to flee for its life. Its scales shimmered as its breathing struggles were almost clearly audible.
Lying on the mud, at the corner of his eye, Kars saw his prize; its yellow eye outshone its gigantic torso; it was glimmering, shining, large and smooth; it was as bright at the sun, as perfect as the moon, shining like a golden coin.
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