Someone told me that you need to control your own emotions in order to manipulate other people's. I'm not very sure about this. Hasn't art portrayed this kind of repressions as the means that everyone else controls us? It all boils down to a power thing, where all of us just want to have the upper hand. May as well be me. It would be great to scream when I want, have people cower when I want, and being able to eat peanut butter and chocolate spread out of the jar. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

Had that H3 briefing today. I probably fall into that class of people who are more unsure than not about the area they would like to research on. Maybe I'll do young children's literature, the kind that only ever has titles that are variants of Spot Goes Running, and is used to teach four year olds to read. It'll be so incredibly asinine that the Cambridge examiners will believe it to be horribly profound and give me an A. I wonder which teacher will be willing to mentor me for that?

I know that I prefer lit any day to history, but I still regreted not doing history h3 slightly. Turns out you can do in on stuff like art history or film history or history of the American development of the doughnut. I would've done something controversial but quite relatable. Perhaps the history of the French Fry revolution and how it came to replace mashed potato as the side of choice.

I must be stoned on something because random thoughts are bouncing around my head, giving new meaning to "freethinker". It is painfully boring, which is why I'm glad that I'm starting work tomorrow, even if its going to be sai kang and pays peanut shells. I am a strong advocate of using formats that please the eye, but since this is an exceptional day, and more exceptional to some than others, I will break my rule.

Happy Birthday Vanessa!!!

Written is response to reading Euthanasia: What's age got to do with it? by John-Henry Westen in today's Straits Times.

Doctors in Britain are trying to get infant euthanasia legalised, something which they call post-partum abortion. They want to be able to initiate it for severely disabled infants as a safer option that will not harm the mother as much as an end-term abortion. Nothing could be more horrific. Let me clarify, that first, I have nothing against abortions before the spinal column has formed, because I don't think that a ball of cells counts as an individual. I also have no problem with abortions done to save the life of the mother. However, late term abortions, where the foetus has developed some form of consciousness is already bad enough. Now, if the doctors get their way, there's no protecting disabled infants whose parents would rather not have them.

Euthanasia is acceptable only because it is the choice made by the individual himself when he wants to escape unbearable pain that will only end after a long-drawn out death. But infant euthanasia is hardly consensual, which is the first reason why it is so wrong. A baby cannot be asked whether it wants to live or die, neither has it developed the mental faculties to make such a choice. It is much better to let nature take its course rather than let other people decide when it's time for a newborn to die. Admittedly, the baby is going to suffer, but this can be alleviated with palleative care.

Suffering is something that some can bear better than others, and is hardly quantifiable. Even if it was, no one knows if the person in question would rather live or die. Granted, in some instances, if the infants were able to make such a choice, many of them would choose to die. But to make the other error of killing an individual that wants to live outweighs letting nature take its painful course.

The article defended its stand first by saying that we should not discriminate the right to die by age. If this were possible, I would agree with the writer. But as established, the right to die has to be a free choice, not a choice made for you. Then the writer says that Holland has implemented this law without the sky falling, so we should all be ok. The non-occurrence of apocalypse is not a good defence for the existence of a bad law. A bad law may not cause total destruction, but the damage done is still principally unacceptable.

Furthermore, there's the slippery slope argument, which is used in about everything and wuite tiresome. But it is here that it is most applicable and the consequences are closer than ever. If we do decide that it is ethically acceptable to kill a severely disabled newborn, then what would stop us from deciding that killing a severely disabled, mentally retarded person to "ease his suffering"? What next? Will we then decide that people with mental illnesses also have lives not worth living, and kill them too? The most disturbing thing is that the article suggests this very thing, that parents be allowed to euthanise their children even in early childhood or even adolescence when severe autism, manic-depressive disorder, and schizophrenia become apparent.

The writer is out of his mind when he tells us that it is acceptable to choose for a large number of children whether they deserve to live. Firstly is is wrong to take away the right to life of an innocent, in fact, from anybody who does not directly threaten your immediate existence. (I am also against the death penalty, but that's another argument.) Secondly, if Britain does decide to follow Holland's example, then they are on the precipice of far worse things. What kind of society do we want? One that fights as hard as it can to save a human life while respecting the freedom of choice, or one that makes the choice for you, essentially abandoning you when you need it most?

Expats are an imported breed here, but I saw something today that shows exactly how much they are in demand. There's this giant black and yellow sign on a window at Balmoral Plaza, and it says Expat Rentals. I suppose now the government has made foreign talent sound so attractive that everyone wants one. Maybe they have different rates for expats. Like your common garden expat, the one with blonde hair, suit, drinks and exclaims alot would set you back $50 an hour. Then the ones who know how to eat Hokkien Mee, live in HDB flats and ride their uncle Bob's bicycle will cost twice as much because they are so scarce. The sunburnt ones will be on discount.

I was on the bus outside the stop at Far East Plaza, and I saw this big-nosed French guy hesitate around this woman whose long hair was hiding her faced. He circled a bit, and peered at her, kind of like a dog deciding whether or not to pee at a fire hydrant. So he decides that he will pick her up, and sits down next to her, startles her with his loud voice, then smiles alot. The woman looks rather flattered, and starts talking to him when really what she should be doing is telling the sod to bugger off. But who knows? It could be the start of something beautiful. And romantic. And that is so strong and deep that he will freeze his butt off while she lies on a floating door in the middle of the Atlantic after their ship smashes into the iceberg. Nah.

"SHITT!!!! WHAT HAPPENED??" screamed Fong Sai. He wet his pants. "I'm BLIND!!"

The smell of urine mingled with week-old bar chor mee in the reception area. Sunlight poked through the clouds, haze from Indonesia, and the dirty glass doors of the police post. It was just after lunch.

Jocks Drap's superhero instincts kicked in. He shoved Corporal Ong under his desk (with normal strength, Jocks didn't have Mr Incredible's powers of superstrength). His eyes scanned the semi-darkness with his X-ray vision. Like Clark Kent, he could turn the power on and off at will, whether to peer through 10 inch thick steel walls or to tell a mega oil company where to dig. Unfortunately, it had rather inconvenient limitations. Jocks vision never allowed him to see through the most hardy of substances, the fabric of a bikini bottom, or a lacy brassiere. Twas such a horrendous weakness and threat to his safety that Jocks cursed his inadequecy daily.

A creeping figure presented itself into the reception room. Jocks stretched out his ultra elasti-arm to grab the man, and promptly tore his long-sleeve shirt. The loud ripping sound seemed to have startled the intruder.

"Eh, you eat too much laksa issit? That time I ate from the coffeeshop across the road and then..."

Jocks got a grip on him this time and pinned him against the wall. "Who the hell are you?"

The man was indignant. "Sorry ok! I service air-con, then something short circuit. Accident OK? Why you so buay song?"

With a sheepish smile, and a profusion of apologies, Jocks let the air-con serviceman down. He had a morbid fear of Ah Bengs. It all started when he was six, and a group of young Ah Sengs saw his tailor-made elasti-suit meant to expand with him, and called it si bei obiang, then tied his arms into a knot. "Fong Sai, you can come up now."

Fong Sai resurfaced with another wave of ammonia. He started a tirade against the air-con serviceman. In the dim light, Jocks could tell that the Ah Beng was pale, skinny, and looked like he was about to die. A suspicion bloomed in his head.

"What's your name?" he whipped out the photo Corporal Ong had given him, "This is you isn't it? Why are you really here? Tell me NOW!"

"I donch telw youuuuuu!" shrieked the air-con Ah Beng, and he bounded out the police post, and into a waiting van that read 'Air Conditioners, Smooth and Silky.

"Should we go after him?" asked Fong Sai excitedly.

"No," replied Jocks Drap, "I'm going to call his company to comprain."