Top or bottom? I don’t understand. Why do I feel so lousy when there’re so many good things happening in my life? Went down to see the Master last Friday to get a date to register our marraige. Am working on the proposal - I know exactly how I want to do it and I reckon she’ll love it. My good friend’s father-in-law is a jeweller so I think I’m gonna get a nice shiny rock for her without getting ripped off. We’ve just bought a terrace house and are really looking forward to turning it into our own home. We’ve changed to a new car and I’m enjoying the drive. She’s got a new job and it’s working out well. I’m cruising along in my old job and collecting a nice paycheck every month. We’ve just been on a thoroughly enjoyable 10-day holiday to Shanghai, Suzhou and Hangzhou. Our relationship is developing very well and I continue to fall deeper in love with her. So life is good. Right? Why the lethargy? The moodiness. The feeling of not having done enough. Of struggling to stay afloat. This fear, this underlining sense of dread. The weight of the world strapped on my back. Does the problem lie in trying to do too much at the same time? It can’t be! People get married, people buy houses. People take responsibility and make plans. Many people, at some point in their lives, stand at the top of a mountain and see their future for miles ahead. So what’s wrong? I don’t know. And it’s beginning to bug me. Fourth Aunt She died as tragically as she had lived. Not forgotten but alone. Not ignored but dismissed. When calls to her were not returned, they thought she was just doing her own stuff. And no one knew better because there was no one around anyway. And so she laid there, face down on the floor of her rented room. Dying. She was a hard woman. But like most hardened souls she wasn’t born tough. She was hard because she had no choice. I’m sure she had her little-girl dreams, hopes when she got married, and things she coveted of her son as a mother. But her husband left her and her only child died young, struck by lightning. Then she got cancer. I remember the few times I met her. There was wrath in her eyes and a permanent timbre of resentment in her voice. A sound like that of an old car horn. Agitated, impatient. Angry. They say she was strong and brave. That she was jovial and always had a smile. I saw a woman whose eyes danced at the sight of food she craved but shouldn’t have. How desire swiftly turned into fury. I saw a woman eager to enjoy the simple pleasures of life - a game of mahjong, a night at the karaoke. But who knew, even as she grasped the microphone, that it will all end too soon. A woman who not only knew sorrow, but whose body was constantly gouged by pain. A woman for whom there was no solace. I am sorry, Fourth Aunt, for remembering the things about you that people want to forget. But I wish for you, as they did, that in death you are free. *** Coffin. In this wooden box, released. 5 reasons to attend hotel wedding package promo events #1 - Exotic food The lights dim, the music blares, and all your guests whom you have starved for an hour hold their breath as the wait staff march in. They might be too hungry to notice the irony of a burning candle in the middle of a cold dish, BUT!, I assure you, there will be a collective gasp as a sea of soap bubbles descend. As each staff glides through this sea, each plate a vessel for these bubbles to burst on. Jellyfish tossed in chef’s secret recipe? Bleah!!!. You ain’t had the real thing until you try it with soap! #2 - Angry brides Come see our models parade in gowns tailored for figures you’ll never have! In fact, come see their art! Learn how to sashay down the aisle while giving your guests the best “fuck off” look you can muster. Yes! Come learn from the very best in the business!  #3 - Laser show You’ve not had a memorable wedding unless there’s a laser and light display! They might have seen twirling flowers, they might have seen giant pulsating hearts. But I bet you they have never seen the shape of a man in a jockey cap riding a horse across the stage! And if you want to make it really unforgettable, speak to any of our staff for the Suntec Fountain Special! #2 - A special occasion This is the biggest day of your life! The most important occasion you’ll ever have. Come! Make it a day to remember! No one else in an audience of 150 couples will have a wedding like yours! #1 - Big value meal Yes, you might already be married. Yes, you’ll have to sit through an hour of advertisements. But hey! You get a six-course meal at a five-star hotel for only 18 dollars! Nett! For the both of you! Human He pulled his T-shirt down to preserve his dignity. Swaying in the shadow of a tree on the pavement, peeing into a bush as traffic went by. Maybe he was just another drunk vagrant to some, a study in irony to others. But I loved the dignity of that moment. The pride of being human. Melody She hangs up the phone and within seconds, the song “Superman” comes on loud and clear in the quiet of an office afternoon. “I can’t stand to fly … I’m not that naive …” And she sat there. Speared to her seat. Lost, in a world of troubles. I could tell that the fight with her husband was grave, despite her hushed voice and and its brevity. The hurt brimmed. And suddenly in that moment, as I stole a sidelong glance, a part of her came clearly into focus. She’s unhappy. She’s trying to make it work. She’s strong but even the strong get tired. She’s fought resolutely for something that just won’t be. And she can’t understand why with the best of intentions and the most determined of spirits, she’s still bleeding and it’s all still falling apart. I’m more than a bird … I’m more than a plane More than some pretty face beside a train It’s not easy to be me Wish that I could cry Fall upon my knees Find a way to lie About a home I’ll never see It may sound absurd … but don’t be naive Even heroes have the right to bleed I may be disturbed … but won’t you concede Even heroes have the right to dream It’s not easy to be me ~ excerpt from Superman, Five for Fighting Between Fear & Hope I’ve always been an optimistic person. I find it easier to believe than it is to doubt. I would rather strive than defend. I look for the positives because it makes me feel better. And I believe good things happen to happy people. Much like how the rich usually get richer. The past month though, fear has crept into my life. I watched as the dark clouds steadily rolled across the sky, snuffing out all that is clearly still good. But just as I felt myself on the brink of being overwhelmed last night, my faith returned. I will not be cowed. Hope results in disapointment sometimes. But it also delivers joy. All that fear can ever give you, is validation, vindication or even satisfaction. Between the promises held in hope and the dirty comfort of fear, I know what I’d rather have. I can take disappointment. So I will continue to hope, to want, to labour. To imagine and wish. But I refuse to wrap myself in the foulness of fear. 6 that make me sick #6 - Someone gives way to you in heavy traffic because you’ve signaled your intention to filter into their lane.  Raise a hand in thanks afterwards. It’s not hard. #5 - A car signals to filter into your lane. You’re 5 car lengths behind the bus in front of you but suddenly get upset at the prospect of not being able to admire the nice model in the poster plastered across the back of the bus anymore, so you speed up. Fuck off. #4 - You’re a descendent of the Flintstones and use their patented car engine so you can’t go very fast. Please ya-ba-da-ba-do your ass out of Lane 1. #3 - Don’t cut in front of a truck or heavy vehicle. There’s a reason trucks keep space between them and the vehicle in front. It’s because they’re big and heavy, and need braking space. Especially if they’re going reasonably fast. It’s not because they’re wussy drivers out on a leisure drive. Most of them will happily squash a Cherry QQ that squeezes into the 5 inches of space they maintain for safety - if not for the fact they then have to stop and wipe you off their bumper. #2 - A car is coming up fast behind you. Don’t cut into its lane and continue driving at snail pace. Yes, you can filter into the lane before the other car actually gets there. But this is one of those things in life you shouldn’t do just because you can. And if you must, then at least signal. Before you filter. So I can flash my headlights at you and honk the shit out of your brain. #1 - You’re a motorcyclist driving at night with the highbeam on. You’re fucking annoying and there’s a reason why some cars purposely close the gap between lanes so you can’t past. Because if your way of driving ’safely’ is at the expense of other motorists’ comfort, then fuck you and fuck off - you’re not passing me. 2 AM in Taipei I’m tired but I can’t sleep. And the words, recently, are hard to come. When they do, it’s in strobes. Too many things going on, too many moving parts. She remains the one thing anchoring me to sanity. I hope it’s the last time I’m in Taipei for work. Five and a half years is a long time. I suddenly remember her after lunch this afternoon. Taking a last puff of the cigarette, burning it to the filter. Drawing it out completely. Another few seconds more with me before we say goodbye. Even though we just stood there in silence. Because no words seemed right at that point. Or sincere. So we stood there and smoked our cigarettes. Occasionally flashing a smile at each other. Her eyes said everything. Mine was glazed over from a lack of sleep and tasks from work spearing through my mind. She finally stubbed it out. We collected the umbrellas dangling on the handle of my suitcase and kissed goodbye. I wanted to tell her I love her. But those words too, wouldn’t come. Comment on The London Eye by LMD Ah you finally told her. The London Eye Woke up at 5 this morning and couldn’t get back to bed. Dialed reception and was told breakfast starts at 6:30. One and a half hours to burn. Switched on the telly, watched BBC news and realised this - BBC is like the McDonalds of news. The same jingles and the same format. And even some of the presenters are the ones I see when I’m in Singapore. Was flipping through the channels after that, when I chanced on this weird program. It was an old British movie - with a girl doing hand signs at the bottom corner of the screen. I didn’t know whether to look at the person doing the signs, or at the movie itself where events were actually happening. It was impossible to look at one without missing the other.  Can’t they just lip-read or something? And if they can’t, then maybe we shouldn’t torture them with such a tease. I’m all for equality and catering to the needs of different groups. But this is er … dumb. *** Me: I’m going down for a fag. Female colleague: Oh I didn’t know you had turned gay. Heh. *** “So are you ready to go home after a full-on week here?”, she asked. Yes. And it’s because I miss her. This is the second time I’ve been away since we’ve been together. But it’s during this trip that it’s all hit me. And I’m even more aware of how in love with her I am. So I’m off to the pub and then the airport. See you soon my love! Back to now It’s good to have goals to work towards. A quality of life to aim for. A loved one with whom you want to create a better life with. Events to plan, things to aspire to. But I seem to have gone too far down this path recently. My mind and thoughts arc forward in all directions. Some are terribly exciting, others rather stressful. And some, a bit of both. The girlfriend and I are talking apartments and wedding bands. I guess there’re few decisions as big as these in life. But the planning around that, especially in terms of financial committments, can be rather daunting. At work, I feel like I’m near the end of my time with this job. But I lack the verve to go look for something else because at least I have stability and a good paycheck now. The very things that are essential to my other goals of an apartment and wedding bells. So I’m trapped. In a job I’m growing to detest. For a future I want. Added to this, is the fact I’m in the midst of heavy-duty business planning for a new product we’re launching. Cost projections, launch schedules, revenue modeling into 2009. Plus it’s the time of the year when we’re wrapping up staff appraisals and setting goals for the next 12 months. All this, at a time when I can’t tell whether I’ll still be around in 3 months. Yet feeling like I can’t be irresponsible by simply churning out a business plan that looks good to the boss just so I get her off my back. And then have someone else come in with the impossible task of trying to actually paint the pretty but impossible picture I’ve promised. Neither do I want to penalise my staff by being flaky about the appraisal process because it is their careers and their futures we are working on. Outside of work, I’ve been reviewing my finances strenously. Going through my CPF savings, my bank accounts, even my insurance policies. Looking at the cost of apartments and of getting married, and my expenses. Working out the sums, re-prioritising what’s important and what I want to spend money on. And then it hit me. I am living in the future. And this weird feeling I’ve been having, is a sense of limbo. Because even though I am here and I am breathing, talking and working, the fact is I have been consumed by the future. Sucked through a vortex of dreams, aspirations, goals and responsibilities. Dumped unceremoniously into a place that really, only exists in my mind. And everthing around me now is just a monotone of grey. I need to pull myself back. Because maybe in this chase of a better future, I have lost sight of what is good about life now. The things that are right. The things that give me joy and purpose. The very things that inspire me to strive for a better future. Remembering “If I’d stolen you in time’s moment and given it away to the world, it seems no longer something shared and therefore no longer special.“ It’s how I feel sometimes. That in an age of consumable images and incidents, maybe the best ones are framed in the heart. Cured with the quirks of our memories. And retrieved, reassembled - imperfect and even different sometimes - with a whimsical hand. Comment on 6 weird things about me by sandstone Xena - The girlfriend took a picture of it. But I think it’s too scary to put up! Lakeside Girl - Yes. And I was the loveliest girl in the room that night. Comment on 6 weird things about me by lakeside girl You dressed up as a SCGS girl!? *rrawr* 6 weird things about me Tagged by Tet.  One I have (had) 3 mothers. A biological mother. A godmother whom I don’t know because she died when I was very young. A mother (Aunt) whom I lived with for 12 years when I was a child. My cousin shouts “Mum, it’s your youngest son!” whenever I call and she picks up. Two I do well in skirts. I played Cinderella’s stepsister in a school play. We were so good the principal asked us to do an encore performance for the afternoon session. I also turned up as an SCGS girl in the company’s annual themed-party. We won best-dressed team. Three Adverbs. Verbs. Nouns. Adjectives. Past participles. I have not a clue what these are. Seriously. Four There’s a small lump on the back on my head that’s covered by hair. (Just like Tet!) Five I only started eating vegetables during my time in Melbourne because I was living on a budget and had to eat whatever the housemates cooked. Before that I would pick peas out of fried rice, tao-gay out of bee hoon and so on. Part of the reason I resisted was because my mum kept preaching and insisting on my eating them. Which made the stubborn, rebellious me refuse to out of spite. Now I love veges. Six My brother and I look different without glasses. But people have trouble telling us apart when we have them on. Comment on 6 weird things about me by xena “There’s a small lump on the back on my head that’s covered by hair. (Just like Tet!)” Phwoar!!! This I must see! ~ xena Comment on Promises & Tears by sandstone Nice Comment on Promises & Tears by Magz The sun’ll come out Tomorrow Bet your bottom dollar That tomorrow There’ll be sun! Just thinkin’ about Tomorrow Clears away the cobwebs, And the sorrow ‘Til there’s none! When I’m stuck a day That’s gray, And lonely, I just stick out my chin And Grin, And Say, Oh! The sun’ll come out Tomorrow So ya gotta hang on ‘Til tomorrow Come what may Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya Tomorrow! You’re always A day A way! Promises & Tears “If I could choose all over again, I’ll still choose you as my wife.” And with these words, he leaned in to kiss her. The guests looked on, swept away by his promise too. Chests swelling, exploding into cheers. Five years as a couple, another five as husband and wife. And now it’s all broken. “The worst is over,” she says quietly. And maybe that’s what she tells herself every night. Twisting her way through the last ten years. Trying to untangle the promises from the lies. Giving up when she suddenly realises it does not matter anymore, which is which. *** She turns to me and asks, “But how do you know she’s the one?” I let her question bristle in the silence that follows. The anger of a freshly broken promise explodes in her eyes, before it retreats just as quickly when she realises what she has just done. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to answer this question. I go with how I feel. And when it feels right then I don’t think about it.” It was only later that I realised this - while love does not come out of a mould, it’s usually the same when it ends. It stops being about each other. It’s starts being about yourself. What you want. What matters to you. What you can salvage. And the promises - painted together in happier times or held quietly, like a treasure locked in the heart - are quickly forgotten. That, or they are caressed and turned over a million times by a pair of callused hands. Gems turned into stone. I can only hope, that the worst is indeed over for her. And that tomorrow, brings the promise of a brand new life. Comment on Space by xena Good for you. Comment on Space by sandstone I guess this desire to know is usually driven by two things - a greed for more when we take for granted what we already have, or a lack of security/assurance about the love someone has for you. That’s how I look at it anyway. The good news is we worked this out and it’s turned out well. And that’s that. Comment on Space by Titania I agree in that why should the blog be everything or the end all be all? And if it is surely there is something wrong therein. Is she prepared to read about your history of past loves? Comment on Space by LMD While I agree showing someone your blog can (sometimes) be assurance that he/she means so much to you, it is just one of the many ways, and should not be the end all or ultimate or whatever means of showing assurance. (I could go on but…) Space Do you need your own space in a relationship? Or should couples not keep anything from each other? I say needing my own space doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. You say me having a blog I refuse to share with you makes you feel like you’re not fully a part of my life. I think this is a problem. And it’s not something we can simply agree to disagree. Because it is a fault line. And deciding to live along a fault line is a decision that takes time to make. Especially when you have the choice not to. It’s not simply deciding which matters more to me. Because how can a blog even begin to compare with what you mean to me. So why can’t I share my blog with you if doing so means so much to you? And you mean so much to me? I don’t know. Maybe I simply need space. Maybe sharing it with you would mean the end of writing as I know it. Writing as freely as I want to. And my blog is about writing for myself. Without reservation. With honesty. A space to work my thoughts out. And we usually don’t just say whatever comes to mind. We figure it out. We think about it. We contemplate. And this is my space for doing so. Whenever I want to. And it matters to me that I can exchange words with strangers. That I can show you my words, my heart and my life. But never tell you who I am. I like it this way. So what do I do then? I don’t know. Because simply shutting this down isn’t an option either. It doesn’t address her concerns. In fact, it will probably worsen the situation. I guess we need to talk. But not now. Because what I need now is space. And time to think. A matter of heart; A question of time My girlfriend and I actually met in June last year but neither of us remembered it. Not until I chanced upon a photo on her blog did I recall she was the someone I once sat down and had a drink with. Even chatted for awhile. We were introduced again four months later. By the same friend but with different intentions. On another night out drinking but in a different place. Under the same moon but maybe, the stars were different this time. I believe in the importance of 天时地利人和. The right person at the right time. And I know the stars were smiling that night in October. Winking at one another. Amused at how our eyes and hearts opened to the wonder of each other this time, but not the other. I have friends who are waiting and searching for the right one. I don’t really know what to say whenever we talk about love. I recognise the struggle. How the eyes sparkle with hope. And a determination not to concede, not to settle for less. I also remember the doubt. How I wondered whether it will ever happen during the seven years I was single. Whether I am asking for too much. Whether I am too picky. Whether I should actively circulate or just let it happen. Whether I will grow old alone and only then, regret not having reshaped my round hole to a square to fit all the square pegs I met in my life. I want to tell my friends, “Don’t give up. Believe.” But I stop myself. Because what if it doesn’t happen? What if the same stars that winked at me, blinked at them? Who am I to tell someone how much something is worth to them? Who am I, to tell someone just how long is too long. Or whether it’s ever too long. My girlfriend and I laugh about it. How we made no impression on each other the first time we met. And I know I’m lucky. To have finally found her. For we could easily have passed each other by, as we did the first time. And if you are still looking for that someone, I only wish to say this, from the bottom of my heart: May love find you too. Two Indians, a Goat and My Destiny “Happy New Year, Sir.” “Happy new year.” “It’s going to be a very good year for you. You veal blah blah blah …” I couldn’t understand him through the thick Indian accent. But I worked out he wanted to give me a reading, which I politely declined. Only because I have an appointment with Master Chua coming up. *** When an Indian man last volunteered a reading for me ten years ago, he saved my life. I was reading the New Paper when I glanced up, and he looked at me. I went back to my paper but soon found a pair of feet in front of me. Thinking it was a customer, I looked up to see the face I’d seen just a second ago. “Are you going out this Saturday? Be careful.” He punched through my cynicism very quickly with a few facts about me. And proceeded to warn me of great misfortune on the coming Saturday. He rounded it off by handing me a small idol of an Indian god before walking away. I ran after him to pass him some money as a token, but decided against wearing the statuette as I couldn’t get pass my fear that it could, after all, contain some kind of dark magic. I met with a bike accident that very Saturday night. Despite having seventy percent of my body wrapped in bandages as well as stitches to the chin and the back of the head, I had no internal injuries. No broken bones. No fractures. A slice of fortune that my Aunt attributed to the Indian man. That he had mediated the slated calamity just by telling me about it. Much like how if you dream of someone’s death, you’re suppose to tell that person in order to ‘break’ the curse. *** I wasn’t into fortune telling until recent years. I believed in the absolute power of the self to shape one’s destiny. Maybe it’s the superstitions garnered with age. Maybe it’s a diminishing of the appetite for a ‘fight’ as I get older - of which the alternative is to parcel parts of how life turns out and brand them with the stamp of a higher power. Or maybe there is a destiny after all. A fortune that lies in wait. A ‘choose-your-next-action’ book of how life turns out, that ultimately sends you to one of a few prescribed endings. And maybe there are indeed men who can see and understand these cosmic beacons better than most people do. And so I have taken to seeing Master Chua every Chinese New Year for the last couple of years. I don’t take his annual advice rigidly and down to the last detail. But I do what I can - colours to wear for the year, food to avoid, months which I should pay attention to what. After all, this is the man who told me last year, that I would get married within four years to either a Goat or a Pig. I remember snorting cynically in my mind at that time. I remember the wry smile when I worked out the girlfriend is a Monkey via her year of birth, and resolved not to let it distort the very good vibes I had about her. I recall the shock when I found out the girlfriend is actually a Goat. Because she was born before the Chinese New Year that year. We’re both seeing Master Chua this year. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I bring the Goat in. To V or not to V So it’s Valentine’s and I’m in the classic conundrum of whether to send flowers to the girlfriend. To be more specific, to knowingly be a sucker and send over-priced flowers to the girlfriend just because everyone else is. Despite her insisting “Don’t do it!” Despite me knowing she means it. Because I also know, that despite her sincerity in not wanting me to ‘waste’ money, she would still be happy to receive flowers on Valentine’s. That it would still suck if her colleagues get flowers and she doesn’t. That in some recess of a girl’s heart and mind, whether the boyfriend/husband/lover sends flowers on Valentine’s is still a measure of how ‘good’ he is. So I am sending her flowers tomorrow. Because it will make her happy. Because it will mean she won’t be the girl whose other half is too stingy to dish out the dough - even if it’s only in the eyes of her colleagues. Because I know I should swallow my pride and be a sucker. Because it’s really not about me. Because even with the handwritten love letter I intend to give her tomorrow, and for every Valentine’s thereafter, flowers on Valentine’s Day is still a need rather than a nice-to-have. Bah! A Good Man A woman has hopes for the men in her life. For the father to be a responsible man. For the husband to be strong and loving. For the brother to achieve.  The boyfriend to be capable. The father of her child, a decent man at least. These are the men around her who truly matter. And who sometimes cause the biggest disappointment. The deepest hurt. I watched a single tear fall from your eye. Hope, frustration, anger and hurt crystallized. Hurtling towards the ground at a hundred miles per second. Smashing to the sound of a breaking heart. And I tried to be more of a man to you that day. To be the man your father isn’t. To wrap you in a safe place as you started lashing out at people around you. Hurt. Sad. Angry. And I hope I can be a good man in your life. The man that others aren’t. The man that you want. Rites & Wrongs So Mum decided we should have proper rites for the grandparents and uncles, now that “we can afford it”. If we’re comfortable in this world, so should they be in theirs. Among the paper offerings were the usual big house with maids - so “they can all live together again”, and a car with attending chauffeur. Then I spotted dozens of Guiness Stout (now I can blame my drinking on the genes), handphones (I wonder what Grandpa will do with his) and, get this - a laptop computer. I guess all the hype about how there are no boundaries with the advent of the internet is true. And, ever wondered what priests listen to in their cars, when they’re not chanting to the rhythm of drums and bells? Apparently they groove to Gwen Stefani. At a volume I’m sure the dead can hear too. Another priest was about 60 and balding. He turned up in a yellow MX5. As I sat there amidst the chanting, I was shocked by the discovery of what was depicted on the ceremonial banners. At first glance, it looked like a pretty garden with deities frolicking in pavillions. But among these was a collection of gruesome scenes of hell - bodies strewn on trees teeming with spikes, bodies being chopped up by hell soldiers holding big knives, people being speared under a bridge or boiling in pots et cetera. All embroided in soothing pastel colours. And as my mind started to twist, I suddenly wondered whether whatever we were burning/sending would reach my grandparents and uncles. I mean, what if someone’s already reincarnated. These things can’t exactly be ‘Return to Sender’, can they? And isn’t it a bit inconsiderate to give them just one house? I mean, what if they don’t get along? One big spanking new house with all the works sounds like a legal wrangle. It was here that the ringing of a middle age priest’s mobile phone interrupted the chanting - and shook me from my revelry. The others continued while he nonchalently stepped away to take the call. His ringtone? A song from Taiwanese pop girls S.H.E - I don’t wish to grow up. *** I have to say, that this post isn’t meant to be disrespectful. And if it causes any offence, I am sorry. Just in case blogging has caught on in the other world and one of my uncles reads this. $700, Shootings & A Mystery Solved “Are you pleading guilty?” “Yes.” $700 fine, 18 demerit points, no suspension. For excessive speeding. According to one of the old-timers, we had a “good judge”, as opposed to ”the other one fine at least $1000″. And since I have 6, one-redlight-12-points-license-gone, freaking points left to last me the next two years, I am now driving slower than your auntie-in-a-Camry. I was ruthlessly ‘gunned’ down last August. I had just taken my foot off the peddle, and my eyes off the rearview mirror, when I looked up to see two policemen running into their Subaru-I’ll-outrun-your-ass WRX. All because of a motorcycle that insisted on going at 90 on Lane 1. At one in the morning. With no traffic in front. Despite 3 zaps of the high beam. A rush of blood - and ego - meant I slowed down, filtered into Lane 3, accelerated, then cut in front of him. Fella decided he should catch up, so I floored it. But as things turned out, he had the last laugh. Which is probably good timing anyway. It’s hard to speed in Singapore nowadays. It’s not just speed cameras, mobile speed guns and traffic police muscle cars that are just around the corner. If you’ve not realised, taxis are now part of a “Total Speed Control” solution. Sources say up to half the taxis are now part of Operation Box-’em-in. Their job - drive slowly in Lane 1. Cameras, guns and cars catch you when you are speeding. These taxis prevent you from speeding. They’re the final piece of the jigsaw. So the next time you can’t get a cab at a taxi rank, it’s not because they’re hiding in some remote carpark waiting to take bookings. It’s because they are freaking on the way ok? And if you are stuck behind one on the road, just be thankful it’s not me you’re tailing.