Runaway American Dream

A few of us went out last Saturday to try to celebrate the 4th of July (actually, it was only the 3rd in Singaporean the 2nd in the US, but who’s counting?). It was raining, still, but most of us had spent all day inside and were enticed by the promise of candy apples, live music, fireworks, and fortune telling. (Okay, maybe I was the only one who cared for the last one but I think the others were excited for me?) We jumped on the bus to head to the Singapore NAVY base, not expecting the fiasco we ended up in the middle of. Our group went up to the second tier and headed to the back, sticking our noses in the boring ethnographic research book we had to finish by the next day. I looked up a few pages later to a commotion going on in the front of the bus, a man and woman in their late twenties yelling and pawing at one another. It was strange, but died down within a few seconds so everyone kind of just shrugged and went back to reading. A few paragraphs later, the yelling started again but this time, it escalated to a full on beating. It was by far the most horrible experience of the summer; one of those things that are so just extreme and awful and sick that you feel like laughing or crying or something else completely inappropriate, and sometimes you do. Basically, something I don’t think anyone wants to read too much about, so I'll spare you. The wildest thing though was the complete lack of response by practically everyone present. We're not talking shock here, we're talking a shut-my-eyes-and-maybe-they'll-just-stop kind of mentality.  I had talked to our Singaporean history teacher about this phenomenon before, the tendency of Singaporeans to just want to stay out of everyone else's business, but this was on a whole new level. While these two were mauling one another, those in the seats in the immediate vicinity attempted to look out the window or stare at their newspapers. By that time, Jeanna and I were both standing, feeling pretty useless, hopeless, something, in our heels and party dresses. I ended up running up to the front and past the couple, trying to get down to the driver. I was kind of surprised at myself because I always thought I would be one to actually do something, and quickly, rather than just staring stupidly and just running on by, but I guess there are only a few of us who are really the heroes we think ourselves to be. Anyway, it took me a good 60 seconds to beg the driver to stop the bus and call the police, all the while I could hear the man and woman slamming around upstairs. Granted, I probably appeared to be somewhat insane, but this guy was just chilling. An eternity later he and I made our way back up the stairs to find Matt, our TA, had the guy in some sort of makeshift chokehold which turned out didn't completely stop the couple from brawling. Another kid in his early twenties stepped up to grab the clawing woman and finally separated them like pouting, ugly children. Our group ended up switching buses after Matt was warned to get lost so he wouldn’t get in trouble with the police for being involved.  I regretted leaving immediately, I think everyone did.

If nothing else, the two significantly altered my image of marital abuse; it turned into something very real, very quickly. The woman definitely got the bad end of the stick, ending up with a bloody nose and missing a significant amount of her hair, but she wasn’t quite the innocent victim I imagined, several time provoking the fight despite the fact he easily had 60 lbs on her.  Matt, whose younger sister works for a battered women’s shelter, pointed out that she could have very well been trying to coax him into a bad enough fight to get him put in jail, which was something I hadn’t really considered. The man however, was nothing more than a coward. I remember screaming at him to let go of the lady at some point during the scuffle and once he finally untangled his fingers from his hair, he sat down and sneered that it was self-defense, that she would have hurt him if he didn’t ‘get her,’ all the while spitting her hair from his mouth. Did I mention that the fight was over who was crossing the midway line on the bus seat? Or that children, who quite possibly could have been their children, watched while they fought, listened to all the filthy words they said?

We decided to go on since we were already on the opposite side of the island. We finally arrived at the mud hole where the festival was supposed to be about an hour late, well after the fireworks were over and most of the booths had gone home. Not that any of us really cared at that point. The Asian interpretation of American culture didn’t help much; burgers and hotdogs were sold by a stand called ‘The Terrorism Club’, food was served by Asian hooter girls in cowboy get-ups, and there were men in naval uniforms singing 50 Cent. We finally herded up SEAS kids who had arrived earlier from the watering hole and went home, content to mark the night as a complete failure and cut our losses.

I went out again with a few kids a few nights ago for Matt’s birthday, traveling to the other side of the island to see a documentary about Islamic Hip-Hop in America. I was a bit on the fence about it at first but it really was awesome. It wasn’t necessarily promoting Muslim rap; in fact, the director said in the Q&A that one of the problems with Islamic hip-hop was that it was so bad, a result of a small talent pool, lack of popular interest, and technological disadvantages in comparison with modern Western rap. He did however, encourage the audience to resist purchasing or support the things that were being fed to them, to us, be it trashy music or images of 'beauthy.' Hip-hop, or music with Islamic references in it at all, are taboo and may soon be forbidden all together in Islam. "DeenTight" was mostly followed about six or seven rappers and showed their struggle between expressing their passion and being condemned by the leaders of their faith. Those who worked ‘in the gutters’ of the States, rapping in bars where mixed gender dancing, drinking, and probably prostitution were taking place, felt especially trapped between reaching out to those who they felt needed it the most and being looked down upon by other Muslims. One of the points I liked and kind of stuck in my back pocket was one that a rapper, a previous convict, in the documentary made. When talking about youth, he said, "How do you expect to speak of these people, when you don't understand them? When you refuse to understand them?" Well?

Anyway, thanks for reading. We’ll be in Malaysia for the next week, staying in “KL” and traveling a bit into Malacca, so we should have significantly less time on the road than we did during our tour of the East Coast (!!!!). Plenty of SEAS groups have gone there in the past but it’s a bit more dangerous than anywhere else we have been so prayers for the safety of our group are welcomed and appreciated very much. Until then!

This was 'Disco Inferno' if I'm not mistaken. The fellow wearing the stars and stripes did nothing but stand there all night, so I'm not sure if he was a domineering manager or a creepy patriot.

These ladies covered up a bit more than a few of their coworkers. Gotta keep this blog classy.

Universal American Icons?

These big guys are everywhere once the sun goes down. Sorry for a lack of a reference item, but they're pretty darn big (and make for a gross run every once in a while).

 The exterior of a Hindu temple we visited (photographing the interior was not permitted). We read a book and took a tour of another nearby temple that worshiped a god that 'originated' here in Singapore within the last few decades. Neat stuff.

This was what I got when I ordered 'Japanese pizza.' There's a fried egg in the middle underneath the fish floss. It usually comes slathered in mayo but I was able to figure out what was going on in time to salvage the pizza.

Taylor at Hui Qian's pool during our celebratory party for winning the scavenger hunt the first night. Didn't take too many pictures during.

I just like how this turned out.

Awesome chicken curry soup. Awesome. Cost: $1.50

'Supper.' A waffle, obviously.This one was blueberry, and a bit more toasted than usual. Typically, they're a cool green color because of the funky batter used.

Our visit to a local high school. It was quite nice, and my host kid, Matthew, was totally awesome. He was really sharp, and a real jokester in the classroom, which made for a really entertaining day. I went to Calc and P.E.

From the school canteen. This was about $1.50 as well.

Before the showing of the Islam and Hip Hop movie. Women and men were segregated.

Traditional Malay music was played afterward.

Yummy Indian food. $2.

We took a quick and dirty calligraphy class. Shown are the 'four treasures.'

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A step away from eternity. We practiced this sign because it incorporates all the major types of strokes.

The deceptive Matt and his 'artwork' (the example piece) and some practice strokes. I'll be the first to say that this was really difficult, especially with Connie as our teacher who was pretty adamant about 'proper form.' Lefties were out of luck, as were those with triceps that tired quickly.

Tea afterward.

Matt's 'birthday night' at Marina Barrage.

**Obviously, I assembled this blog last week but, due to pending internet difficulties, I am only now publishing it. Apparently the prayers came regardless because we all made it back it the same shape we arrived in (sans a good bit of ringget), so thanks for that. Tales from Malaysia are soon to come, but we're finally home and this bed is more 'mine' than last night's was. Goodnight.