So it has been a time of jittery expectations and mis-expectations. When one’s boss loses her mind and begins to shoot random commands with her not quite know what she really wants to do. Arguably, this has been the case since I stepped into the blighted office that is my workplace now. Nonetheless, the intensity is in a rather morbid sense commendable, and getting increasingly out of hand.
I am waiting right now, in various senses of the word, for various things. But foremost in my mind is the ominous sense of dread, that I will – without any reason that has thus far been made known to me – be required to stay back tomorrow and on Thursday night. I know and I have been proselytizing that there is a myriad of things in the organisation that I am compelled to breathe and serve in that we cannot, are not expected to and are precisely paid not to understand. When a Second Lower Econs major from NUS who is your boss talks to you about the economics of conscription, in order to justify her conviction that your existence makes economic sense, and that everything that she is firing away makes economic sense and is the most efficient way of doing things, you sometimes wish you’re not from Oxford (and wish especially that you didn’t ever do economics there), because it is precisely in the spirit of that tradition that you are impelled to question, and find the gaping lacuna that screams silence at you in her argument. You shudder at such grotesque imprecations of logic, you wish you could think you didn’t understand her, and if you’re lucky, you swallow everything in slowly enough so that by the time the nonsense settles in, you are allowed to go back finally to your cubicle to continue working.
But that’s not all. I am not intending to put this forth as a boss-bashing banquet. I am more interested in life beyond the banquet. I have been thinking of my ORD, of my time out of this breathing hell-hole and the trip(s) I can make before I finally go. I am thinking of my hitherto-unknown successor, how my life will be salvaged from the living tongues of hell and how I can begin to make my speedy exit. There are tough times ahead, but I trust that I can go out in one piece, and that I shall never need to see nor pity this headless chicken of a boss ever again.
I’ve abandoned my blogging for many weeks now, in fact in the measure of months. But that’s also in line with the fact that I’ve abandoned many things. I’ve abandoned introspection, I’ve abandoned some friends, I’ve abandoned the cello and music and many things that used to ossify into my very bone. But one thing I’ve tried to pick up again is reading. Perhaps – because of the substantial difference of my current reading habits which I am trying to cultivate – one might say that this isn’t picking up something that I left behind. I used to read, but read randomly, sporadically. I never quite had a big picture in mind when I read. I just read whatever that came my way that I found interesting or simply had to read. Then came university, when I had interminable lists of readings which I only covered a measly fraction of, consistently. And I rarely had time for any other sorts of readings except the musings of the occasional witty The Guardian writer on Sundays, the bored Chicagoan or Lonely Planet before and when I went on trips. Of course, the always-intriguing museum artifact description pieces kept me spell-bound often and time was always a liar when you looked at the watch before you step in and that last time after which you definitely needed to fly out in a hurry. But I didn’t go far beyond philosophy, beyond my immediate academic interests in Oxford and the US. I tried to go into politics and IR, and have now some stomach for current and political affairs, and since late last year, have been dipping a toe or two into the pool of history. Political history and history to me were almost synonymous for a long time, but thankfully, my ephemeral swim in philosophy in Oxford taught me that history in art, architecture and especially in ideas can be relatively self-sufficient and need not live on the life-support system that is political history. Sure politics pervades and pervaded much of our life, but similarly, art, philosophy and the rest were actuators of change too in the political scene. So I decided to learn more about Shakespeare (starting with my fetishised obsessions over tragedies), fiction in general (starting with the beautifully ironic The Inheritance of Loss which continues to baffle me with its overriding theme of chaos and fragmentation of the self by politics, memories and the humble chapatti) and the histories of ideas and civilization. It’s definitely my bias, but I often wonder just how important individuals as have been reified by political historians can be as one goes deeper and deeper into the past. Do we really care about the tantrums of some random King or Queen in the 15th century just so that we know ourselves today better? Wouldn’t an understanding of the ideas that pervaded that period that continue to have a hold on us today indirectly or not be more important? Probably predicated on my own understanding of society as a culmination of ideas as bubbled forth in the cauldron that is the history of philosophy, I believe more strongly in understanding how ideas came about and form sequences in the current chain of events to see why we are where we are today.
But that’s really the focus of my own narcissistic world for now. And that’s partly because I’m still floating around not being quite sure about where I am going to be and what I’ll be doing. It’s all part of this bell jar that has been capped over our heads. For two and a half years, our lives are forfeit, frozen and fried, all at once. We have no say over our destiny (in fact, the fact that we ought to have no say becomes a justification very often for what happens to us, as people in my line of service currently can attest to), and our lives are in that sense forfeit. Our time is frozen because we can’t do very much beyond existing as pawns on a chessboard of slime that catches our feet every once in a while. Our lives are fried because when time stands still and you have no say, you can’t quite be too happy without having lost your mind. We are (or at least I am) painfully reminded that we are covered by no labour laws, so we can’t even turn to some union or just the court for protection. And we are (or at least I am) not reminded that we are paid an allowance (and here’s where the law suddenly comes into the picture, like a rabbit out of a hat), which justifies our not being entitled to any bonuses or CPF contributions. The law of civilian society flits in and out of our lives like a flirtatious prostitute, eager only to whet our appetites but aware that nothing will come out of the exchanges. In short, while we are not protected by labour laws, according to labour laws, we are not entitled to bonuses or CPF contributions. Oh dear I wish I didn’t manage to articulate this so starkly (and here’s one instantiation when one should not think too much. In fact, I might venture to say that one is paid not to think about this).
Enough said. I can only continue to wait, wait for the number to fall on a daily basis, until I begin to see at least a whisper of light at the end of the tunnel.
I am waiting right now, in various senses of the word, for various things. But foremost in my mind is the ominous sense of dread, that I will – without any reason that has thus far been made known to me – be required to stay back tomorrow and on Thursday night. I know and I have been proselytizing that there is a myriad of things in the organisation that I am compelled to breathe and serve in that we cannot, are not expected to and are precisely paid not to understand. When a Second Lower Econs major from NUS who is your boss talks to you about the economics of conscription, in order to justify her conviction that your existence makes economic sense, and that everything that she is firing away makes economic sense and is the most efficient way of doing things, you sometimes wish you’re not from Oxford (and wish especially that you didn’t ever do economics there), because it is precisely in the spirit of that tradition that you are impelled to question, and find the gaping lacuna that screams silence at you in her argument. You shudder at such grotesque imprecations of logic, you wish you could think you didn’t understand her, and if you’re lucky, you swallow everything in slowly enough so that by the time the nonsense settles in, you are allowed to go back finally to your cubicle to continue working.
But that’s not all. I am not intending to put this forth as a boss-bashing banquet. I am more interested in life beyond the banquet. I have been thinking of my ORD, of my time out of this breathing hell-hole and the trip(s) I can make before I finally go. I am thinking of my hitherto-unknown successor, how my life will be salvaged from the living tongues of hell and how I can begin to make my speedy exit. There are tough times ahead, but I trust that I can go out in one piece, and that I shall never need to see nor pity this headless chicken of a boss ever again.
I’ve abandoned my blogging for many weeks now, in fact in the measure of months. But that’s also in line with the fact that I’ve abandoned many things. I’ve abandoned introspection, I’ve abandoned some friends, I’ve abandoned the cello and music and many things that used to ossify into my very bone. But one thing I’ve tried to pick up again is reading. Perhaps – because of the substantial difference of my current reading habits which I am trying to cultivate – one might say that this isn’t picking up something that I left behind. I used to read, but read randomly, sporadically. I never quite had a big picture in mind when I read. I just read whatever that came my way that I found interesting or simply had to read. Then came university, when I had interminable lists of readings which I only covered a measly fraction of, consistently. And I rarely had time for any other sorts of readings except the musings of the occasional witty The Guardian writer on Sundays, the bored Chicagoan or Lonely Planet before and when I went on trips. Of course, the always-intriguing museum artifact description pieces kept me spell-bound often and time was always a liar when you looked at the watch before you step in and that last time after which you definitely needed to fly out in a hurry. But I didn’t go far beyond philosophy, beyond my immediate academic interests in Oxford and the US. I tried to go into politics and IR, and have now some stomach for current and political affairs, and since late last year, have been dipping a toe or two into the pool of history. Political history and history to me were almost synonymous for a long time, but thankfully, my ephemeral swim in philosophy in Oxford taught me that history in art, architecture and especially in ideas can be relatively self-sufficient and need not live on the life-support system that is political history. Sure politics pervades and pervaded much of our life, but similarly, art, philosophy and the rest were actuators of change too in the political scene. So I decided to learn more about Shakespeare (starting with my fetishised obsessions over tragedies), fiction in general (starting with the beautifully ironic The Inheritance of Loss which continues to baffle me with its overriding theme of chaos and fragmentation of the self by politics, memories and the humble chapatti) and the histories of ideas and civilization. It’s definitely my bias, but I often wonder just how important individuals as have been reified by political historians can be as one goes deeper and deeper into the past. Do we really care about the tantrums of some random King or Queen in the 15th century just so that we know ourselves today better? Wouldn’t an understanding of the ideas that pervaded that period that continue to have a hold on us today indirectly or not be more important? Probably predicated on my own understanding of society as a culmination of ideas as bubbled forth in the cauldron that is the history of philosophy, I believe more strongly in understanding how ideas came about and form sequences in the current chain of events to see why we are where we are today.
But that’s really the focus of my own narcissistic world for now. And that’s partly because I’m still floating around not being quite sure about where I am going to be and what I’ll be doing. It’s all part of this bell jar that has been capped over our heads. For two and a half years, our lives are forfeit, frozen and fried, all at once. We have no say over our destiny (in fact, the fact that we ought to have no say becomes a justification very often for what happens to us, as people in my line of service currently can attest to), and our lives are in that sense forfeit. Our time is frozen because we can’t do very much beyond existing as pawns on a chessboard of slime that catches our feet every once in a while. Our lives are fried because when time stands still and you have no say, you can’t quite be too happy without having lost your mind. We are (or at least I am) painfully reminded that we are covered by no labour laws, so we can’t even turn to some union or just the court for protection. And we are (or at least I am) not reminded that we are paid an allowance (and here’s where the law suddenly comes into the picture, like a rabbit out of a hat), which justifies our not being entitled to any bonuses or CPF contributions. The law of civilian society flits in and out of our lives like a flirtatious prostitute, eager only to whet our appetites but aware that nothing will come out of the exchanges. In short, while we are not protected by labour laws, according to labour laws, we are not entitled to bonuses or CPF contributions. Oh dear I wish I didn’t manage to articulate this so starkly (and here’s one instantiation when one should not think too much. In fact, I might venture to say that one is paid not to think about this).
Enough said. I can only continue to wait, wait for the number to fall on a daily basis, until I begin to see at least a whisper of light at the end of the tunnel.
posted by kitchenofintrigues at
6:22 am
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