Shaye Saint John

This is Shaye Saint John. It is believed that she was involved in an accident which horribly disfigured her and destroyed her limbs. She now makes short films to depict real life events. For your information, these films are apparently quite well recieved by some people. I chanced upon this one called "Wire Therapy" early this morning. I freaked out. But after watching it a couple of times and reading her Livejournal entries, I began to empathize with her and the video didn't seem as creepy anymore.

Anyway, here's "Wire Therapy" for you below. Love it or hate it, you make the call.

Passport!!!

YESSS!!

I've finally gotten my passport after waiting for almost 3 years! It came as a pleasant surprise because I was supposed to only get it in like 2008. The excruciating wait is finally over! I'm overwhelmed with so much joy I've decided to forgive those inconsiderate baboons who cut my queue and incurred my wrath.

My goodness. I never expected the repercussions of drug abuse to be so severe; I've always thought that imprisonment was the worst it could get.

Wrooong.

I still had to put up with:

1) Tiresome urine tests at a police station -3 times a week for 24 months. The officers treated me like a dog.

2) The hassle of leaving the country - I've got to get an approval from the director of CNB, head down to ICA, queue for hours, get my a Document of Identity (it's a substitute for a passport), get a visa if necessary, get bombarded with rhetoric questions ("Why are you using this for?" Cos I don't have a passport. DUH!) at checkpoints etc.

3) Getting that look - Hmmph! Junkie. Bet his urine is contaminated with so much dope you can get high if you drink it. I wish I could just let them try.

Oh man, going through this has made me tired all over again. It's terrible! Guys, if you're thinking of doing drugs, please think twice. The aftermath is intolerable. Prison will drive you mad, which I probably am right now, and whatever comes next just sticks with you the rest of your life. It's a stigma that you'd probably never gonna get rid of. The closest you can do to eliminating it is to basically use it for some greater good, but even then, it still exists somehow.

Oh well. At least I got my passport!

Grandma

She stands there, old and stale. Wrinkles mark every chapter of her life in a definitive way. Darting around the room, her eyes make a desperate attempt to put names to the sea of faces in front of her:

The fat one. Hmmm.. must be Jeremy.

The one with Ang Kongs. Hmmm.. Justin? Cannot be, my grandson won't so "pai" one.

There you have it. My Grandma, stricken with Dementia and Alzheimer's. Her memory fails her every now and then, but if it happens to be her day, she remembers every single thing that has happened in the past 80 over years of her life.

I love my Grandma. Though she always whacks me and forces food down my throat when I was a child. And I know she loves me too. I recall the period when her memory first deterioated. She began to forget who is who in the family, but she always remembered me. Whenever I pick up her call, she'd instantanously know it's me upon hearing my voice.

"Ahhhhh.. Justin ah? Your mother leh?"

Sometimes being the black sheep of the family in the past is not a bad thing; people tend to remember you more than they do of others.

Although Grandma has taken the back seat in managing the family, her presence is still very much felt in the decisions the uncles and aunties make. Family gatherings are, in a way, centred around her. Which makes me think: would it still be the same when she passes on? Will we still meet, feast and be jolly when the hour comes for her to go?

I have my doubts, but I have my hopes too.

My cousins and I have talked in depth about this a couple of times and we believe that the best thing to do now is to start building bonds that are based not on responsibility - think: oh this is my family, therefore I must be there to show face -, but rather on the love that we could have for one another. We tried that out within our clique and realized that, yeah, we do love one another very much, even though we don't express it in the best way. We concluded that we'd organize gatherings among the cousins and make it a point to look out for one another the way our uncles and aunties have done for decades now. I mean, we're a family after all aren't we?

Still, the thought of losing Grandma chills my spine. I'd hold my breath each time I think about it and every year, I'd wonder if it'll be her last. I know what to do when Grandma is still alive; I'd embrace her, kiss her, hug her and joke with her everytime I see her. But it is when she departs that I'm at loss. I wouldn't know what to do then.

I love my Grandma.

I love you Grandma.

Dear Uncle

Dear Uncle,

I wonder if it ever struck you that despite your miniature stature, pathetic status, irresponsible attitude and strabismus, my family still chose to allow you to marry my aunt. They opted to turn a blind eye to the obvious flaws that you have, thinking that you’d make up for them by fulfilling those marriage vows you exchanged in front of the altar that fateful day.

But have you? Let’s go through some of the wonderful things you have done over the years before coming to a conclusion:

When my aunt bore you your first child and was subsequently under confinement, my frail old grandma had to attend to her needs and that of the newborn. Giving her a token of your appreciation, you generously placed a $10 bill in a red packet and handed it to her.

Along came your second and third child, and the same thing happened – you conveniently left them in my grandma’s care. This time, however, by a stroke of creativity I suppose you should have as a self-proclaimed architect, you did something different: you didn’t even show gratitude in any form, but just took it that my grandma was doing what she should be doing.

Then storm clouds gathered and my aunt was diagnosed with lymph node cancer. So valiantly, you proceeded to stretch your budget on gambling to, I reckon, earn more money for her treatment. But you know, I guess lady luck was never on your side so you end up just throwing your money down an abyss, never to see it again. Again, you strode on courageously, always looking on the bright side of things, and decided to cut back on your family’s expenditure, leaving your beloved wife with little or no money to pay for her treatments, utility bills, school fees, food etc.

What? What was it you were saying? No money, not your fault. You also don’t know what to do? You’re trying hard to make ends meet? Oh yes, I’m sorry to omit the amount of effort you put in trying to coerce my aunt into working to pay her own treatment. I’m sorry, my bad.

Alright, enough about your spouse, whom you probably love so much that you hate her. Let’s talk about your children. I’ve heard that you’ve been a great role model and teacher to them. Independence is your over arching topic in all the lessons you put them through – like having your 12 year old daughter go down to buy dinner back for you while you go on a clickerty click click rampage on gambling sites. And when she bought the wrong food up, you threw in some corporal punishment by smacking her head for the mistake. Oh, I forgot to mention that superb stunt you pulled off when you backed out from an arranged meet-the-parents session with your daughter. Now my Mum has to waddle her way down with a fractured foot, just to spoil your otherwise flawless lesson on independence by not allowing your daughter to go down alone like a fool. Wow, you’re like my all time favourite superhero - Spiderman. You could simply weave a web of lies to protect yourself from the relentless attacks of self-perceived accusations and swing away to a distant place for refuge. Maybe you should get those $1.50 Spiderman masks from a nearby Pasar Malam and hide your face because people who see you in action are bound to react, violently. Try the mask I have in the picture below, though I think it looks better on me than on you.

Amazing! I think you’ve done an amazing job as a husband-cum-father-cum-loser. You’re so good at getting it all wrong I doubt anyone can beat you to it. Maybe you didn’t dig your ears when you went through the procession of holy matrimony, that’s why you got it all mixed up. No wait, were you drunk? Because it seems every time you walk, you’re swaying from side to side and your eyes don’t look right to me. Oh, I forgot, you’re cross-eyed and that probably impaired you ability to strike a balance in life and walking. It could be a major cause of why you see right as wrong and wrong as right because you see things on the left with your right eye and things on your right with your left eye. I’m sorry, I should have known. My bad.

Uncle, you’ve never failed to make a laughing stock of yourself by your feeble attempts to be impressive. Quit it man. Seriously. Quit it. I laugh so hard I soil my Spongebob Squarepants boxers each time my family discusses you. Be genuine so we can help. Be real. Be honest about who you really are and admit your mistakes. Because he who is a respectable man shrouds himself not in fanciful decorations, but lays himself bare for all to see that he has nothing despicable or disgraceful to hide. Besides, Singapore’s so near the equator it’s insanely hot! Why on earth do you try to cover yourself with so many layers? But please! Spare my eyes and don't take me literally about baring yourself! With my current level of astigmatism and myopia, I'm already considered partially blind; I don't want to be totally blind at the sight of you in your birthday suit. Please put on you pants.

Lastly, please stop wearing those thick black rimmed or turtle shell framed glasses. Judging by your lousy acting when you cried over the phone whilst talking to my mother about your situation, you just don't have what it takes to be an emo. You sounded like you were having spasms, by the way.



Best Regards,
Justin (the one you tried to lecture about being a good son)