When I first started blogging in 2001, I always thought that it was just an outlet to vent and basically talk about my day. Blogging wasn’t big back then, but existed within what we called the “teen web scene”. Within this “scene”, blogging was big – although it was mostly filled with angst-filled teenage whims and ramblings. It was totally different back then as compared to now.
I received my first comment in November 2001 and it made me shout aloud with glee. It was the “wow, there are people listening to me?!” kind of feeling, and it just spurred me on to write more.
So, write more I did. I started writing about my day in full detail, emphasizing on the funny and interesting bits. The number of comments and readership grew. Soon, I began to spot a few familiar names appearing over and over again in my comments. Out of curiosity, I checked out their sites and was hooked.
We became blogging pals, familiar to one another on the web but still strangers offline. Some were based in Singapore and some, overseas. They knew almost every bit of information about me (thanks to my blog entries). Likewise, so did I.
One thing for sure, I didn’t expect back then that we’d actually meet in real life.
In 1999, my favourite bus service (back at my old home) was converted from a purely non-air conditioned service to a partial one (meaning that some buses would be air-conditioned and others, won’t.)
I liked the feeling of natural air blowing at my hair as I rode the bus back from school back then, so I voiced my displeasure. I wrote a letter to SBSTransit (known as just SBS back then) expressing my distaste for how air-conditioned buses will pamper Singaporeans in general and cause more environmental pollution.
It was written on pink Hello Kitty paper, and I dropped it off at the information booth at the bus interchange while on my way back from school.
I didn’t expect a reply. But less than two weeks later, I received a postcard from SBSTransit, thanking me for my feedback and that they’d look into it.
Unfortunately, the postcard was intercepted by my then-family maid who passed it on to my mother, remarking that I’ve become a meddlesome creature who was making trouble for big agencies. Both then interrogated me about what I had written in the original letter and lambasted me for it.
I was since then, barred from writing letters to ‘big government companies’ because I was merely being a busybody and they won’t listen to a small fry like me. I was immensely annoyed, but didn’t say anything.
Less than two years later (when I was 14), a new neighbour moved in – whose window directly faced my home’s dining room where I studied every afternoon. The neighbour proved to be a disturbing one. His/her son would without fail, blast his infernal techno music at full volume every afternoon. Either that, or he would practise his guitar playing with the window wide open.
And I was trying to study.
Bearing in mind I was no longer allowed to write to ‘big government agencies’, I wrote directly to the neighbour – basically telling him/her that his/her son had to shut the hell up for the comfort of the other residents in their vicinity and for the general peace and quiet of the neighbourhood.
There was the sound of loud yelling from that neighbour’s house one afternoon. Apparently that of the neighbour screaming at the son for the daily afternoon din. Subsequently, every afternoon was filled with the song of silence, with the son’s window clamped shut.
A few days later, mum pointed out the sudden silence, bemused. “Eh, our neighbour is no longer making noise ah?”
So I pointed out that it was because I wrote to them.
She went white.
Just imagine her response after that. (Hint: It borders on the line of hysterical.)
This story doesn’t have a moral. This memory just suddenly came back to me once fine day and I wanted to share this because you know, just because “you are a small fry” doesn’t mean that you can’t make a difference in today’s society.
Society generally frowns upon people who speak up more than they should. But if everyone keeps silent at everything, there wouldn’t be change. Be daring to speak up, no matter how young you are.
What I really miss – driving further South on the motorways (and occasional, off the beaten tracks), going through small towns, watching the rolling hills dotted with flocks of sheep from the car’s window, and seeing the occasional snow-capped mountain range.
Snow mountains spotted while driving down the motorway to Wellington.
I love long and scenic drives, and last week’s New Zealand trip involved intensive driving. Plus one for me, but unfortunate for the drivers. The drives were long, winding and extremely tiring. I have no idea how they did it, but I have much respect for them.
I’m now back in Singapore. The concrete jungle. Where the only “mountain” we have is actually a hill standing at a mere 105 metres tall (Mount Faber), and the tallest point is only a mere 163 metres (Bukit Timah Hill) – and please don’t ask why our ‘mount’ is actually shorter than a ‘hill’. Where we find ourselves having to squeeze past folks all the time and be stuck in traffic jams, all while considering it ‘normal’. It’s suffocating.
I’m longing for fresh air – particularly New Zealand’s air. I really miss the place. The trip just went by too quickly.