The magic is in the moment

30 Sep 2007, ST

I thrive in the fast lane but a recent trip to see my parents in Malaysia taught me the wisdom of simply slowing down

By Cheong Suk-Wai

THE question that always makes me cringe is also the one people who know me most frequently ask.

'How often do you visit your parents?' they go, whenever we meet for a drink.

Not often enough, my friends, not often enough, I think to myself, itching to change the subject.

With each passing year, leaving my folks back in Malaysia after every visit has become an agony. For me, family is where it is hardest to square what one should do with what one must do.

I realised only recently that my rising impatience with those who ask me that question was my way of dealing with the frustrations of not being able to be with my folks as often and as long as I want to, and should.

That is, perhaps, also why I am only too happy to hurtle along on the hamster wheel of work. It helps me be in the moment, an exercise in forgetting, if you like.

But life is about balance and constant change, and I believe the universe conspires to drum into me the lessons I must, or won't, learn.

So, back with my parents a fortnight ago to celebrate their birthdays, a series of uncommon events gradually won me over to the idea that the art of living is knowing how to slow down and the value of going slow. No mean feat for a speed and convenience junkie like me.

It began with my mother greeting me at the door with her hand clapped to her jaw. She had just come from minor surgery at the dentist's. Any pain my parents feel pains me too, so I was eager to ease hers as soon as possible.

Luckily, the local cable channel had just the ticket.

They aired the finals of the Japan Open and the relationship between my mother and badminton is such that she has been known to insist that I time my leave to coincide with the game's main championships, such as the Thomas Cup and the All-England. 'It's no fun cheering the players on alone,' she likes to say.

So there we were, on a Sunday morning, yelling and whooping at all the swift wrist action and darting footwork flashing on our goggle box. Playing 'the best badminton of his life', as the Aussie commentator put it, Malaysia's Lee Chong Wei stretched the game to a rubber and the excitement numbed my Mum's aching gums (Lee took home the title eventually.)

My father was with us, but not looking on. He had coached me in the game for most of my schooldays, but had never taken to armchair badminton. So, instead, he was rifling through his desk drawers. 'Where's my pack of cards?' he called to my Mum.

I groaned inwardly. He, the casino virgin, would be wanting to show me card tricks again.

Don't get me wrong. As a tyke, I used to be thrilled to bits whenever he got out his card deck. Thanks to his ministrations, I could wow my pals with a few party gambits that I have long since lost to time.

A particular favourite of ours had something to do with my laying out the 52 cards in four rows, facing the wall (for effect), asking my pals to eyeball one of the cards, turning around and then picking out the card they had chosen.

But now, he sat arranging and re-arranging the cards, rueing aloud the hide-and-seek his memory plays with him these days.

Time to be with him, I told my Mum, ambling over to my Dad, who was trying hard to recall his killer sleight of hand.

Not strong enough to let him let himself down, I began distracting him by dusting off my Cluedo set, a game he had somehow never played till now.

Its rules took some explaining, and I learnt to slow down my chatter to his current speed of thought. Once he got the hang of the game, he still very much had his wits about him, and pronounced the murderer 'Mrs Peacock in the billiards room with a dagger' within 10 minutes (with no concessions from me).

'Beginner's luck,' he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Over birthday cake later, we got to reminiscing about our happy days in Muar, Johor and how my sister and I would come home from school to the musty-sweet smell of black olive pits being toasted over charcoal till they split and cracked.

Pounded till they resembled coffee grounds, mixed in water and drunk, black olive pits have cured many a sufferer of piles, including my parents and most of their friends for whom my Mum would prepare the remedy, which she had learnt from a kindly widow.

I mentioned a friend of mine who might still be having the ailment and good old Mum volunteered to prepare it for her.

The next evening, I came downstairs to the sound of something heavy being dragged across the patio. It was my Mum, getting our big charcoal stove out to toast the olive pits.

She then nipped upstairs to check on my napping Dad, whom I hoped was having happy dreams of nailing card tricks.

Me, the one with two left thumbs, called out to her that I would get the fire going. How hard could it be, I thought with a shrug.

Half a box of matches, a rice bowl of oil and a stack of newspapers later, all I got was a taunting wisp of acrid heat. I fanned furiously at the flickers of flame, only to see them go out minutes later.

'You must wave it to and fro gently and constantly,' she said, re-appearing at the doorway and taking hold of the fan.

Watching her, I was her little girl again, observing her all those years ago as she showed me how to choose ikan bilis, peel vegetables and chop herbs.

'Now you try it,' she said, after showing me the ideal rhythm. 'You must learn to be more patient, not hurrying, hurrying all the time.'

Yes, Mum, I sighed, still convinced her technique would take us way past midnight around this insipid fire, with mozzies starting to swirl around us.

But ... voila! Tongues of fire licked the charcoal, which began to crackle and pulsate white-hot. Triumph coursed through me. Less is more. And so, lulled by the alchemy of air and spark, I allowed myself to be overwhelmed by a rare sense of peace. This was as close to magic as I will get.

It was too muggy an evening for deep talk, but as my Mum sat toasting the olive pits, she surprised me by musing: 'Maybe my purpose in life is to help people this way.'

Pulverising the pits with pestle and mortar, I thought about this. Then I thought about how her days were made up of dressing my Dad's bedsores, massaging his aching legs and going up and down the stairs with his meal tray.

Then I said, lightly: 'You have done much more than that.'

She gave my arm a squeeze. 'Firm flesh. You got it from me.'

It's a good thing to have, I thought to myself. It's a good thing to have.

We're (Net)Working

30 Sep 2007, ST

Does virtual sheep- throwing have a place at work? The rise of Facebook has made employers address the issue of cyber-loafing in the office

By Sandra Leong

OFFICE workers hunched in their workspaces. The tap- tap-tap of computer keyboards over the whir of fax machines and photocopiers.

A pleasant picture of a company's white-collared brigade hard at work? Think again.

Max from accounting could really be throwing a sheep at Sue from finance. And, oh, that secretary Ling? She's getting a little boozy from that martini she received from administrative assistant Boon.

If the above sounds like loony-speak to you, then you probably haven't been clued in to the latest online distraction to hit the workplace - Facebook.

The social networking site - where users upload personal profiles of themselves to communicate with real-life and virtual friends - was founded in 2004 by Harvard college kid Mark Zuckerberg (see box on facing page). At last count, it had 43 million active users worldwide, with more than 200,000 new registrations a day.

In Singapore, its popularity is fast catching on.

According to online intelligence firm Hitwise, rival social networking sites Friendster and MySpace are still ahead in terms of market share of global web communities and chat sites, with 16.29 per cent and 2.36 per cent respectively last month. But Facebook's growth over the past six months has been phenomenal - its share grew from close to zero in March to 2.61 per cent this month.

Like earlier social networking sites, Facebook thrives on the promise of popularity ('friends' can be added with a simple mouse click) and appeals to the voyeur in everyone (surreptitious spying on exes, enemies and crushes can provide hours of fun).

But what makes Facebook different is that its users are connected to real-life networks such as schools and companies, which makes it harder for one to assume a fake identity.

Its addictive value also comes from its applications - third-party software ranging from online games to quizzes to random time-wasters like a virtual garden where you can plant flowers.

And if you're still baffled about the sheep and martini, these are 'virtual' gifts users can send to one another.

$390 million lost a day

BUT not everything is coming up roses in Facebook-land. Some bosses are worried that employees are cyber-loafing, spending too much time on Facebook at work.

Indeed, one local Facebook user, who declined to be named for fear of repercussions, confesses: 'I'm addicted to Facebook and I find myself taking longer to complete my work because I'm always logging in to see what's happening.'

Studies emerging from some quarters seem to paint a dire picture for productivity.

In Britain, employment law firm Peninsula estimates that businesses lose 233 million hours every month to staff who visit networking sites when they should be working. The cost in lost productivity was calculated at &pound130 million (S$390 million) a day.

In Australia, Internet filtering specialist SurfControl says the Facebook craze could cost businesses more than A$5 billion (S$6.5 billion) a year.

Showing that bosses are already concerned, a poll of 600 workers worldwide by IT security and control firm Sophos found that 50 per cent of employees are blocked from accessing the Facebook site on their work computers.

Forty-three per cent were completely blocked; 7 per cent had restricted access. Companies cited included bank Lloyds TSB, financial services company Credit Suisse and investment house Goldman Sachs.

In Singapore, a LifeStyle poll of 20 companies found that four blocked Facebook and other social networking sites entirely, while six had limited access, depending on what purpose employees were accessing the sites for.

Two reasons were cited: Such websites are a waste of bandwidth that can be put to better use for work-related matters; and employees don't need the interruption to their duties.

Observes Sophos' senior technology consultant Graham Cluley: 'Companies are split on the question of Facebook. Some believe it to be a procrastinator's paradise... others view it as a valuable networking tool for workers.'

Indeed, Ms Mylinh Cheung, spokesman for HR consultancy Mercer in Singapore, says: 'It's a well-known fact that the productivity of knowledge workers isn't determined solely by the number of hours worked. At the end of the day, it's the outcome and the deliverables rather than the official number of hours clocked.'

Adds Dr Adel F. Dimian, a professor of management at the Singapore Management University: 'The very definition of a knowledge worker suggests that more networking supports their productivity. If a friend, colleague, supplier or outside industry connection can inform or teach an employee, then the employer benefits from the learning.'

But there is no denying that cyber-loafing in the workplace - and the boundaries that might be needed - is a hot issue.

The Singapore Human Resources Institute, an organisation of human resource professionals here, has recognised this. This week, it launches the Singapore HR Challenge 2008, a competition urging tertiary and pre-tertiary students to come up with new HR practices under the theme New Workforce, New Workplace.

SHRI's executive director David Ang counts motivating employees amid the era of online distractions as one of the pertinent topics to be addressed.

Where to draw the line

FOR now, the debate on whether staff should be given free rein in cyberspace boils down to: Lax IT policies leave the workplace open to abuse, versus: workers shouldn't be nannied, but trusted to do what's best for them and their company.

Recruitment company Kelly Services, which is headquartered in the United States and has an office here, is a believer of the former. Facebook and other social networking sites are blocked from its 170 staff.

Senior human resource director Jonas Ang explains: 'We have a high performance culture and we hold the firm belief that we want to keep everybody as focused as possible on the roles.'

He adds that companies which allow such privileges to their staff also have to consider that not everyone may want them. 'For example, if you have two people working very hard and the rest surfing the Web, the two will definitely be affected.'

For others, it's a simple matter of removing all temptation.

Real estate company Pacific Star Holdings blocks social networking and leisure websites because they are 'bandwidth intensive and have no productivity value'.

Its IT executive Marshall Ho adds that employees get 'addicted' to such sites and 'do not know when to draw the line, or when or when not to use them'.

Still, with such clear-cut restrictions, there could be a danger of 'demotivation' and inflicting 'low morale' on employees, note HR experts like SHRI's Mr Ang.

Clearly, there is no 'one-size-fits-all' policy on the issue. In front-line industries where staff are expected to be attentive to customers and project a certain image, fiddling with Facebook is usually a big no-no.

The opposite could be true for companies in, say, the creative industries that value an open culture and need to keep up with the latest trends.

A prime example would be Sun Microsystems in the US, which started using Facebook as part of an alternative to the company's intranet portals about six to nine months ago, says its director of systems engineering marketing Jeremy Barnish in an e-mail interview.

He adds: 'Using Facebook - as well as another online social networking portal called Ning - we were able to re-energise our employee communications. We expect that these tools will replace our internal portals pretty quickly.'

As of today Sun has over 2,796 users from all over the world on Facebook - from the CEO to the janitor.

On the local front, at advertising agency TBWA\Tequila, all websites - save for dodgy ones with porn, obviously - are allowed. Probably everyone from a junior executive to managing director Dan Paris is on Facebook.

Says Mr Paris: 'Social networking does have a work connection. People at TBWA need to spend time talking to one another and sharing feedback.

'If platforms like Facebook are well contextualised and people use them for honest, decent reasons, they become assets.'

TBWA also has a 300-member Facebook group started last year by head of production Joanny Wong. Apart from getting staff from local and overseas offices together in an online community, it has been useful with recruitment, she says.

'We have people writing to us from as far as France and Arab countries asking if they could work in the Singapore office.'

At MTV Asia, another company with an open policy to social networking, its senior vice-president Ian Stewart - who is on MySpace - notes that with the lines between work and play blurring, there is little point in denying employees some leisure time during office hours.

Most of MTV's 140 employees are on Facebook or MySpace. He says: 'If we block them during office hours, they're not going to want to check their e-mail after work.'

The idea is to 'empower employees to manage their own time'.

Other bosses, like Mr Patrick Grove, executive chairman of real estate portal www.iproperty.com.sg, are adopting a wait-and-see approach.

He has begun to notice more of his team members using sites like Friendster, MySpace and Facebook during work hours.

'My pet peeve is staff who ask me to 'be their friend' during what are clearly working hours. That takes some courage.'

If the situation exacerbates, he will consider blocking the sites.

Evidently, being free and easy with social networking in the office is a potential minefield for bosses and employees.

Already, stories have emerged in the US of job applicants given the boot after potential employers checked up on them on Facebook and realised they were not who they seemed.

And questions abound: Do you want your boss as a friend? Is it an appropriate medium to pass work-related messages?

Says Mr Stewart: 'At the level of senior vice-president, it would not be appropriate for me to send a company directive through my MySpace page.

'People have to realise that how they project themselves can be seen by parents, employers and potential employers.'

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Can't beat them? 'Poke' them

EVEN as some employers moan that too much cyber-loafing on Facebook lowers productivity, new media bosses like Paul Soon, 33, are hooked on it, are encouraging their workers to embrace it and, what's more, have already used it as a business tool.

Mr Soon is the managing director of digital consultancy XM Asia Pacific, which advises big-name clients such as Nokia, Tiger Airways and Hewlett-Packard on online advertising and marketing campaigns.

Just last month, XM used Facebook as a marketing tool for Tiger Airways, setting up a Tiger Airways Roars group in Facebook. More than 100 public users have since joined to get first dibs on the low-cost carrier's latest promotions.

Mr Soon's team is also looking at designing Facebook applications that would be proprietary to XM.

Citing Booze Mail, an application where users can send virtual drinks to their friends, he ponders: 'How can a brand of beer, for example, get into something like that?'

He adds: 'We're only beginning to understand the power of social networking.'

The bespectacled techie himself discovered Facebook about three months ago and says: 'It totally rocks me.'

He openly admits that he spends a total of about 21/2 hours a day fiddling with his Facebook account. He logs on 'multiple times' a day, and has an ever-growing list of 210 friends.

'It's got to a point where I wake up in the morning and the first thing I check is not my work mail but my Facebook account,' he says. 'I spend way too much time on it.'

With these words from the horse's mouth, it is no surprise that as far as workers surfing the Net goes, XM has an open policy towards websites - none is blocked by the server.

His company, which has 75 employees, even has its own exclusive group on Facebook's Singapore network. Called XM Asia Pacific, it rallies current and former employees of the agency to come together to share information and photographs.

In just two months, it has amassed about 50 members, with new additions being made every day.

The group was created by associate media producer and analyst Balasingam Chow Yu Hui, 30, who was inspired when he saw that many of his colleagues had personal pages on Facebook. He decided to form a virtual watering hole where they could all hang out.

Declaring himself the group's administrator, he began to invite other work buddies to be part of the fun. Then, after a company meeting where he announced the formation of the XM Facebook site, requests came in fast and furious.

With the group quickly taking on a company identity, he decided to pass on administrative duties to Mr Soon and another boss, Mr Vince Lui, director of technology.

Mr Lui, 34, another self-confessed Facebook fiend, has 130 friends on it. He even uses a scaled-down version of the site on his mobile phone.

The bosses take it upon themselves to set the tone of communication. Says Mr Lui: 'Sometimes, we're the ones making silly comments.'

'We want to keep it fun, not corporate,' says Mr Soon, who adds that he frequently sends his colleagues virtual 'pokes'. The victims retaliate - by 'poking' back, of course.

From e-mail to instant messaging to social networking, Mr Soon adds that online communication is taking over the workplace in a big way.

'If a colleague needs to 'poke' me to speak to me, that's fine. Not everyone likes to do so face to face.'

But amid all the cyber capers, do they get any work done?

Mr Soon says with a grin: 'I don't care how much time we spend on it. We tell our clients that they should be open to new technology, so we have to walk the talk.'

So far, none of the staff has been reprimanded for neglecting his duties in favour of Facebooking, he says. The only abuse he takes seriously is the leaking of commercial information via social networking sites and blogs.

Facebook has also been good for team bonding.

'I find out a lot of things about my colleagues that I wouldn't have known before,' says Mr Soon half-jokingly. 'Like I never knew that one of them, just an ordinary, technical guy, had so many good-looking friends. He's a stud.'

Mummy dearest

23 Sep 2007, ST

If there's one relationship I've never had problems with, it's the one I share with my mother

By Sumiko Tan

THIS is going to sound politically incorrect, but one word always comes to mind when I spot a single woman who is very close to her widowed mother. The word is sad.

Before I get pelted with eggs, let me declare that I'm one half of such a couple. I still live with my widowed mother and we're close. We exercise together, have lunch together and go on holidays together.

Why would anyone find this sad, you might ask?

It smacks so much of the novels of British writer Anita Brookner, you see.

Her books are filled with thin, well-mannered, repressed spinsters nursing some disappointment in love and life.

Her 1992 book Fraud, in particular, deals with the complex relationship between a mother and daughter.

Anna, a woman 'in middle years' living a comfortable but hermetic existence with her once-pretty widowed mother Amy, goes missing after the latter dies.

Much is made of the contrast between the nun-like never-married Anna and the coquettish Amy.

When Amy plunges into an animalistic love affair with a lout, Anna looks away, 'a neutral presence, expressing neither disappointment or disdain' at the sexual games being enacted right before her eyes at home.

The man abandons Amy in the end, but not a word of reproach escapes Anna. Instead, she takes on the role of her devastated mother's comforter and nurse. Amy, meanwhile, is filled with remorse at her daughter's unmarried and unmarriageable state, and her health goes into decline.

It's a depressing book, but I digress.

Is it just me or do you also find it strange, and even pathetic, when a woman is still a Mummy's girl when she is past the age of becoming a mother herself?

Maybe it has to do with the assumption that they are drawn to each other only because they are both without male companions and hence lonely, which makes them such pitiful characters.

Or could there be something darker going on? That the mother is so domineering that she can't bear to let go of the apron strings and, worse, that the daughter is so timid she allows herself to be strangled by them?

Why is it that the sight of a married woman who's chummy with Mummy doesn't instil the same negative sentiments and speculation? In fact, you'd describe that relationship as sweet rather than suffocating.

Could it be that such a relationship abides by the laws of nature - that every girl should grow up, get married, have her own family and, hopefully, maintain good ties with her own mother on the side - whereas the other is a quirk of nature and hence makes people uncomfortable?

BE THAT as it may, I love being a Mummy's girl, even at my age.

And, thankfully, there is nothing Anna-Amy about our relationship.

In fact, for someone with a history of stumbling from one ill-fated romantic relationship to another, I've been very lucky when it comes to the ties that I share with my mother.

We've always been close and to this day I still park myself next to her just to chat about nothing.

We get on well because we like the same things - dogs, shopping, spas, exercise, football and losing weight.

I can repeat ad nauseum a story about my life and she'll still respond as if it's the first time she's hearing it. She's understanding about who I hang out with and doesn't judge me or my friends.

We're matched in that she's stubborn and finds it hard to say she's sorry, while I'm the opposite because I can't bear any unpleasantness in my life.

It also helps that we are both undemonstrative.

My late father was the type who'd regularly spout 'I love you' to us, which always made me groan because it was sappy and unnecessary.

But my mother is emotionally reserved, as maybe the Japanese tend to be. I can recall hugging her only once in the last 20 years, and that was when someone in the family died. And we're both happy to keep it that way.

She does get on my nerves when she comments on my appearance ('Your hair looks very dry today') but she's cottoned on to my trigger points. I suppose there must be things I do that irritate her, but she doesn't show it.

My elder sister, on the other hand, has had a more difficult relationship with her, maybe because they are both stubborn. Clearly, I am my mother's pet - even my Mum admits it.

I asked my sister the other day: 'You do know that Mum's closer to me than to you, right? Do you mind?'

She said she was aware of this but has never been jealous. She's just happy that my mother and I share a bond - and she meant it when she said so (my sister's a nice person).

Besides, she's now a mother herself and motherhood does shift one's priorities. Building a relationship with her daughter is of bigger concern to her than the ties she shares with our mother.

MOTHERS matter more than some women care to admit.

How you relate to her does have an impact on other aspects of your life. If you're part of a quarrelsome duo, your confidence and self-image are bound to suffer.

A May 2007 issue of Real Simple magazine quotes experts who have identified five typical types of mother-daughter relationships:

Best friends. They so like each other's company they go for dinner dates and are buddies.

Sisterly. They understand and like each other well enough, but an element of rivalry underlines and even undermines their relationship.

Clashing personalities. You have her genes but that's where the similarities end. Marked by frequent headbutting, with each side feeling angry and powerless.

Reverse nurture. Your roles are switching because of age, health or finances. Daughters feel needed and mothers loved, but looking after the parent, or being looked after by the child, can also breed resentment.

Enmeshed. No decision gets made without the other's approval. It can signify closeness, but it becomes a curse when you feel your life is measured by your mother's approval.

I suppose I fall into the category of best friends, although I'm not sure I always show it.

Last week, my mother had a health scare. She had been feeling tightness in her chest and so had gone for a treadmill test. It didn't go well and she was told to go for another more complicated examination.

She spent more than four hours at the clinic, by which time it was six in the evening. Although she must have been exhausted, she rushed to the basement of Tangs to buy me dinner because she didn't have time to cook before I arrived home. And she travelled back by MRT, a 30-minute trip, what's more.

We were both worried about the test results, but kept it light. Thankfully she later got the all-clear.

As I said, our relationship has never been sappy. We were very relieved that she was okay, but neither talked much about it.

But it's my mother's 72nd birthday on Sept 25, so I thought I'd dedicate this column to her.

I'm sure I speak for other women - daughters who are best pals with their mothers, as well as those who clash with them - when I say, thanks for everything, Mum.

We might not always express it verbally or even show it, and we might sometimes even make you feel unloved, but at the end of the day, we do mean it, really.

Shyness: overprescribed and over-medicated

22 Sep 2007, ST

By Christopher Lane

FEW children relish the start of a new school year. Most yearn for summer to continue and greet the onset of classes with groans or even dread. But among those who take the longest to adapt and thrive, psychiatrists say, are children trapped in a pathological condition. They are so acutely shy that they are said to suffer 'social anxiety disorder' - an affliction of children and adolescents that, the clinicians argue, is spreading.

It may seem baffling, even bizarre, that ordinary shyness could assume the dimension of a mental disease. But if a youngster is reserved, the odds are high that a psychiatrist will diagnose social anxiety disorder and recommend treatment.

How much credence should we give the diagnosis? Shyness is so common among American children that 42 per cent exhibit it. And, according to one major study, the trait increases with age. By the time they reach college, up to 51 per cent of men and 43 per cent of women describe themselves as shy or introverted. Among graduate students, half of men and 48 per cent of women do. Psychiatrists say that at least one in eight of these people needs medical attention.

But do they? Many parents recognise that shyness varies greatly by situation, and research suggests it can be a benign condition. Just two weeks ago, a study sponsored by Britain's Economic and Social Research Council reported that levels of the stress hormone cortisol are consistently lower in shy children than in their more extroverted peers. The discovery upends the common wisdom among psychiatrists that shyness causes youngsters extreme stress.

Dr Julie Turner-Cobb, the researcher at the University of Bath who led this study, told me the amounts of cortisol suggest that shyness in children 'might not be such a bad thing'.

On what, then, do psychiatrists base their sweeping judgments? Most point to The Diagnostic And Statistical Manual Of Mental Disorders - the fundamental handbook of psychiatry. Yet a glance at the manual reveals that the diagnostic criteria for shyness are far from clear. The third edition, which was published in 1980, said that a person could receive a diagnosis of what was then called 'social phobia' if he was afraid of eating alone in restaurants, avoided public restrooms or was concerned about hand-trembling when writing cheques.

The same guidelines could hardly apply to youngsters heading to kindergarten, children not yet potty-trained and toddlers just learning to eat. So, in 1987, the revised third edition of the manual expanded the list of symptoms by adding anticipated concern about saying the wrong thing - a trait known to just about everyone on the planet.

The diagnostic bar was set so low that even a preschooler could trip over it. Self-help books and magazine articles further widened the definition of social anxiety disorder to include symptoms like test anxiety, aversion to writing on the blackboard and shunning of team sports. These ridiculously loose criteria led to more diagnoses, until social anxiety disorder in children began to look as if it were spreading like the common cold among second-graders.

Then, having alerted the masses to their worrisome avoidance of public restrooms, the psychiatrists needed a remedy. Right on cue, GlaxoSmithKline, the maker of Paxil, declared in the late 1990s that its antidepressant could also treat social anxiety and, presumably, self-consciousness in restaurants.

Nudged along by a public-awareness campaign, social anxiety quickly became the third most-diagnosed mental illness in the country, behind only depression and alcoholism.

This diagnosis was frequently irresponsible, and it also had human costs.

After being prescribed Paxil or Zoloft for their shyness and public-speaking anxiety, a disturbingly large number of children, studies found, began to contemplate suicide and to suffer a host of other chronic side effects. This class of antidepressants, known as SSRIs, had never been tested on children. Belatedly, the Food and Drug Administration agreed to require a 'black box' warning on the drug label, cautioning doctors and parents that the drugs may be linked to suicide risk in young people.

You might think the spectre of children on suicide watch from taking remedies for shyness would end any impulse to overprescribe them. Yet the tendency to use potent drugs to treat run-of-the-mill behaviours persists.

The recent book Nurturing The Shy Child: Practical Help For Raising Confident And Socially Skilled Kids And Teens insists: 'Do not be afraid to try medication.'

'When an SSRI is properly prescribed and monitored, medication can be very helpful,' say the authors, two psychologists. This book says it is a sign of social anxiety disorder if a child complains about or tries to avoid asking the teacher a question or getting up from his or her desk to sharpen a pencil.

Clearly, there is a need to reconsider the diagnostic standards. A team of mental health experts has recently gathered to oversee a new edition of The Diagnostic And Statistical Manual, and this time they should make sure to carefully distinguish normal - even healthy - shyness from social anxiety disorder. They should also remove shyness from the lists of symptoms of avoidant personality disorder and schizoid personality disorder.

With so much else to worry about, psychiatry would be wise to give up its fixation on a childhood trait as ordinary as shyness.

Christopher Lane, a professor of English at Northwestern, is the author of the forthcoming Shyness: How Normal Behaviour Became a Sickness.

He left us for another woman

26 Aug 2007, ST

In this fortnightly series, relationship gurus Allan and Barbara Pease offer advice for you and your better half. The married couple from Australia are the authors of Why Men Lie And Women Cry. Send your questions to info@peaseinternational.com

By RELATIONSHIPS MATTER Allan and Barbara Pease

My husband has abandoned me and our two children for his lover. Times are difficult and once I saw my son punching a photograph of his father. I told him to pray.

The pain is great and is still there, especially when I am alone. I feel betrayed and humiliated. I have lost all my self-confidence over the incident.

Barbara says: I feel for you. Being left for another woman is very difficult to bear. It destroys trust and damages self-esteem.

You have been very brave and showed strength when you advised your son to pray. It is okay to feel and acknowledge anger, but not to show hatred or wish for revenge. Those feelings harden the heart and soul.

But it is time to look ahead and your children should rightly be your first priority. They need a healthy and emotionally balanced Mum and stable environment.

I know it will be difficult, but you need to collect all the strength that you have already shown you have, and provide them with as happy and loving a home as possible.

Allan says: To raise emotionally stable children, you have to explain to them what has happened. Talk to them about their father having a different life away from them now, but that he still loves them.

Children tend to take the blame themselves for the loss of the relationship and feel a good deal of guilt. It is important to assure them that they are not to blame.

Tell them that things in their life will change, but that it will be okay. Tell your husband that you still want him involved in the children's lives and happiness.

Sit down as a family and get your husband to explain his new situation, and that he is still their father and loves them.

What you should do: If your emotions will let you, try to see the positive side of this situation. There is a reason for what happened, and you never know what the future has in store for you.

Spend a lot of quality time with your children as it will lighten your spirit and strengthen your family bond.

Although your soul will cry out for a different behaviour, try to think friendly thoughts about your husband, and speak well of him to the children. They will pick up on your positive emotions and act accordingly.

Your children love you and want to protect you, but it is important to keep your negative emotions to yourself.

Try to be as rational as you possibly can when you ask your husband to come and talk to the children. He may not agree to your request if you express negative emotions or accuse him of wrongdoing.

Show him that you accept his decision about starting a new life. This will be emotionally demanding and it may be good to seek professional help to guide you through this difficult time.

--------------------------

I was in a relationship for seven years. Although we never spoke about breaking up, it feels like it's over now and I have difficulty letting go.

For seven years, I supported him emotionally and financially. I felt that whenever there was something wrong, I got blamed.

He misinterpreted my friendships with other men and made me suffer.

For the past three years, I have been in Singapore earning money for our future. He says our long-distance relationship does not work and admits to having four girlfriends now.

Barbara says:
I understand that you are feeling lost and lonely and trying to hang on to your love. Long-distance relationships are very hard to maintain, and the bond may need to be very strong for it to last.

You seem to be the stronger person and leader in your relationship. He appears to be an insecure man who relies on you for support, both emotionally and financially. As such, he has lost his path without you there.

This could be a good time for both of you to have an honest talk about what you each want in life, from your relationship and from each other.

Allan says: Traditionally, it was the man's 'job' to earn the family's living. He may feel threatened that you took the initiative to go overseas to earn money while he stayed at home without a job. He may feel the need to exert his power and keep his pride and dignity by dominating you.

You appear to have rewarded this behaviour by being devoted and submissive to him. Perhaps this is why you are now letting him control the future of your relationship by being the one who decides if he wants you or not.

What you should do: It is very important that you sort out your feelings. Reflect on your relationship.

How do you feel about the way he treats you at the moment, and how would you like to be treated? Ask yourself how you would like the relationship to be in the future. If you want it to change, then you need to communicate your feelings to your partner.

He needs to understand and accept that you will not tolerate his past behaviour any longer. He needs to understand that his actions hurt you, and you want that to change. Be firm and confident, without condemning him.

Stay cool to defeat bullies

23 Aug 2007, ST

The scariest bullies aren't always found in school. Psychologist Albert Bernstein explains how you can handle enemies in a mature manner

By Loh Keng Fatt

IF YOU thought you had escaped bullies when you left school, you probably know better now that you haven't seen the last of them yet.

The fact is that bullies could be your colleagues at work, your bosses and even your friends.

That's why American psychologist Albert Bernstein has written books that arm people with self-defence tips on how to handle these pesky enemies.

In his 2001 book Emotional Vampires he tackles the problem of people who try to destroy the emotional and psychological well-being of others. Here's an excerpt:

TO DEFEAT bullies, you have to do what they don't. Namely, stay cool and keep your wits about you. Here's some advice that may help.

Ask for time to think: Only in the primitive jungle do you have to respond to attacks immediately. That's where the vampire wants to send you but there's no law saying that you have to go.

Normal people don't get angrier at you if you ask for a minute to think things over. By your actions you are communicating that you take the situation seriously and want to handle it well.

Vampires may try some other device to get you to respond in an immediate, emotional manner. They want a fight, not a rational discussion. They may mistake your silence for freezing up with terror, which you may be, but you don't have to let them know it.

Whatever you're feeling, just asking for a couple of minutes to think things over is usually so unexpected that you may be able to end the confrontation right there.

No matter what, take your time and think before you respond.

Think about what you want to happen: While you're taking your minute to think, consider the possible outcomes. Immediately discard any that involve making the bully back down and admit that you're right.

You cannot be right and effective at the same time. Don't even try.

Get the bully to stop yelling: Actually, this is easier than you might think. Just keeping your own voice soft may do the trick. Bullies expect you to yell back; don't oblige them.

If either of you is yelling, nothing reasonable will be said.

Another unexpected way to get a bully to stop yelling is by saying: 'Please speak more slowly; I'd like to understand.'

Often, people will comply with this request without thinking about it. Reducing the speed will also reduce the volume.

Have you ever tried to yell slowly? This strategy works particularly well on the phone.

On the phone, also remember the 'uh-huh' rule. We usually respond with uh-huh when the other person takes a breath. If you go three breaths without saying uh-huh, the other person will stop and ask: Are you there?

Following this technique will allow you to interrupt without saying a word.

Whatever you do, don't explain: If you are ever attacked by a vampire bully, you may feel a powerful urge to explain the whys and wherefores of your own actions.

Don't do it. Explanations are the way that primitive responses sneak down from your reptile brain and out your mouth.

Explanations are usually a disguised form of fighting back or running away. The typical explanation boils down to: If you know all the facts, you will see that I am right and you are wrong, or it wasn't my fault, you should be mad at somebody else. Never mind that your explanations seem true and reasonable to you.

Bullies always recognise the primitive patterns for dealing with aggression. They will see your explanation as an invitation to go for the jugular.

-------------------------------

# Emotional Vampires is available for loan from The National Library Board under the call number 158.2 BER.

# Books For The Soul is a weekly column that highlights books which move, comfort or inspire.

Spit? Spat!

19 Aug 2007, ST

While there is a lot of ranting online, why is voicing your thoughts without the cloak of anonymity bound to raise hackles?

By Cheong Suk-Wai

IN THE past week, I have been thinking a lot about a girl in the rain from my childhood.

I remember her because it seems I was the only one among her schoolmates to stop and ask her one day why she, all of seven years, was standing in the middle of our school field as a drizzle turned into a downpour.

I was nine then, but couldn't tell whether the streaks down her face were from raindrops, or her tears, but I did know what my mother would say if she found me like so.

'You will catch cold and fall ill,' I told her, parroting my Mum. 'I'd better take you back to class now.'

She refused to budge.

But after some prodding on my part - and possibly to get rid of me - she told me that two prefects had ordered her out into the field because she was always late for school.

Hmmm, I thought, I'm quite sure risking being hit by lightning in a thunderstorm was not the penalty for tardiness.

And I knew the girl to be among the clutch of kids from the rubber estates ringing outside my town who cycled about 5km to school every morning, usually on empty stomachs. (It was my father, whose job included inspecting said estates, who had told me this, not the girl.)

The girl went on to name the two prefects, who were my seniors, and who both had mothers who taught in my school.

Now, you would think, that should have been enough to deter me from marching to my headmistress' office and demanding that something be done about the big bullies, right?

Well, I admit I did pause to think - but only because I wasn't exactly the pet of Mrs H, my headmistress. I had been stupid enough to argue with her some weeks before when, as I was reading from my primer about Brer Rabbit, she corrected my pronunciation of the word 'lettuce' (I always said 'lattice') to 'let-tews'.

'LET-tews, LET-tews, LET-tews, silly girl,' she admonished.

'But,' I protested, 'my father says it's 'lattice'. And can't we say it both ways, Mrs H? 'Cos 'flour' can be 'flarh' or 'flower', right?'

She went quiet at this, and I 'lattice'-ed on regardless.

So, there I was in Mrs H's office, dripping with rain myself and protesting hotly that students should not be bullied even if they had broken school rules. (Yes, I was quite the lawyer buruk.)

She summoned the two prefects, whose scowls at me meant that I had better watch my back from now on, and made the girl come in from the rain.

The confrontation ended quickly enough, with Mrs H deciding that if the girl in the rain was not complaining, there was no proof that the two prefects had put her out there in the first place.

She also asked the prefects to warn all their ilk that if they made their schoolmates stand in the rain from now on, they would have to stand in the rain with them too.

That's it? I thought then, dragging my feet out of Mrs H's office. That's all?

Oh boy, I decided. I had a lot of growing up to do.

I STILL do, as it turns out.

Recently, I have learnt that a person whom I considered a friend had blackmarked me to people I care about because I have apparently committed a slew of inexcusable social boo-boos.

Thing is, the person did so without telling me why my boo-boos were considered boo-boos in the first place, let alone checking with me first why I had apparently meant to offend her (I hadn't, really).

Permit me to leave out the details of the spat, but suffice to say, it was a clear case of pot calling the kettle black.

My one big mistake was to complain long and loud to my circle of friends about how black The Kettle's deeds seemed to be.

I spat it out thinking that everyone should be used to people thinking out loud by now, what with all the soul-baring and bitching that is rife in cyberspace these days.

Apparently not, as it turns out, because what followed was that most people I knew thought The Kettle right and that The Pot (me) was as black as black can be. (Shameful I know.)

Doubtless, I had broken one of humanity's biggest unspoken rules - never complain, never explain, the point being that if you had to choose between hurting a person's feelings and easing up on your principles, it is better not to hurt a person's feelings.

But how is it I was the only one being chastised?

'Take it easy,' a good friend e-mailed me, signing off with a smiley to cheer me up.

'Don't carry a bag of rotting potatoes,' went another cautionary e-mail, putrid potatoes being a metaphor for the burden of hatred. 'Love a person even if you don't like him or her anymore.'

Two other friends took me to lunch and dinner respectively, hearing me out over long hours and reminding me that people hate only because they fear. Too true.

Usually, I would just let things be. The truth will out some day, I'd say, brushing things off, not realising that, by doing so, I was not respecting myself (so why would others?).

But, somehow, for once I didn't want to be like my schoolmate, standing in the middle of the field in the rain.

So, last Tuesday, The Pot called The Kettle up and had the long talk we should have had well before our bags of emotionally rotten potatoes began to stink.

As human nature goes, we have agreed to disagree, although I doubt we will move on very far.

Still, peace has settled in my heart because, by letting The Kettle know I understood and forgave the fear, at least I have come in from the rain.

Should I get a divorce?

08 Aug 2007, ST, Mind Your Body

Wendy Chua K. Wand
for Mind Your Body

The writer is author of All Kids R Gifted, a life coach and founder of Wand Inspiration. Her latest inspirational self-help book is Break To Dawn: New Challenges, New Commitments.

Q I accidentally found my husband browsing photos and e-mail sent by another woman. When I confronted him, he insisted it was all innocent. I insisted on seeing his e-mail mailbox and saw that there were e-mail messages from other women and he had adopted a pseudonym.

I could not believe it, but maybe it explains why he has not been interested in having sex with me for many years. Has he been having affairs to satisfy his sexual needs instead?

In the past, I have confronted him about our lack of a sex life but he always said that his diabetic medication left him with no sexual urge.

I do not doubt his love for the children, but I cannot believe how he has deceived me, his wife. I told my young children that I felt cheated by their father and told them that I was considering seeking a divorce. They pleaded with me not to.

Weeks have passed since I confronted my husband. He chooses to keep quiet, yet is still claiming his innocence. I have no one to turn to, and the situation is affecting my children.

If I opt for a divorce, will I get custody of my children and receive maintenance fees?

Do I have to find a lawyer? How much will the legal fees cost? We are both contributing towards the HDB flat, so what will happen to it? I am really lost.

A Have you actually decided that you want a divorce? You are already asking about your HDB flat and legal fees.

A marriage is more than an HDB flat. And closing down a marriage is more than the price of lawyers and a flat. Before you make a rash decision, step back and reflect for a while.

If you had not discovered those photos, would you say your marriage was good?

It sounds like you were already unhappy with your lack of sex for years. Yet, you have not sought counselling or help to communicate your feelings constructively.

If your husband has difficulty in his sexual performance, he would be feeling very embarrassed and depressed, and even angry. If you were to demand sex from him, or belittle him, that would worsen your relationship with him.

What if he is no longer attracted to you? This is a harsh question which must be addressed. How attractive have you kept yourself - physically and emotionally?

I think that when you found those pictures of other women, your self-esteem got hit badly. You are feeling insecure and inferior to the women in those photos. He may be telling the truth about not having affairs. He may be enjoying the sight of the photos.

Most men are visual - they will look at attractive women. Most men only look, with their integrity keeping them sexually and emotionally faithful to their partners.

Even if he is not having an affair, you feel betrayed because you would expect him to desire no other women but you. You need to deal with your own feelings and communicate them through the right channels.

Since your discovery, you have avoided communicating with him. He is also avoiding talking about it, for his own reasons. Perhaps he is confused, embarrassed, angry, lost himself.

So you end up communicating your hurt to your children. It is not right for you to confide in young children this way.

They are innocent and too young to understand your feelings.

Of course, they would want their parents to stay together. You are planting insecurity in them by telling them your own fears. You are also possibly turning them against their own father. DO NOT USE YOUR CHILDREN AS WEAPONS.

You need to speak to an adult who is neutral and objective. Walk in to a family service centre and ask to see a counsellor. You can go there alone, because you need to know what you really want and to face your own fears. If you find out that you want to save and enrich your marriage, you will find ways to improve yourself and your relationship with your husband.

If you are physically abused, and despite your efforts to save the marriage, your husband is not interested in the marriage, then your counsellor can help you find the strength to move on.

In your soul searching, think of the qualities that you do love about your husband. Think of the qualities you show to him. If he is truly not having affairs, then I strongly advise that you focus on the good parts of your marriage and work to build upon those strengths.

If all you are thinking about is divorce, without thinking through ways of staying married, and improving your marriage, you are jumping the gun.

Perhaps your husband wants you to find those photos, so take that as a sign that you both need to address the problems in your marriage, and to do something to solve those problems.

It is also an opportunity to find the love and strength to set new and better directions for your marriage.

Small gestures can make a big difference

05 Aug 2007, ST

By Mathew Pereira

I WAS watching one of those fun weekend adult-versus-youth football games about two years ago in which my sons Shaun and Marcus were playing when I noticed a skinny, lanky kid struggling on the pitch to keep up with the speed, agility and skill level of his teammates.

Not surprisingly, the teenager was replaced after a few minutes and was standing on the sidelines, sulking at being given such a brief outing.

This boy has always been a bit of a loner but I decided to walk up to him to keep him company. After all, the first conversation we had was when he stopped me abruptly one day to ask me about how newspapers got their news.

As soon as I pulled up to his side, he started complaining about being substituted so quickly, though he did concede that he was playing badly.

He usually plays better, he said, and started telling me about a game he had played for his class just a week earlier, proudly announcing: 'I scored two goals.'

Then suddenly he blurted: 'I wish my father had seen me.'

'I dribbled so well that day, I beat a few players and the goals were very nice goals.'

He repeated: 'My father should have seen me. I played so well.''

I have met this boy's father on two or three occasions. He is in his mid-40s and superfit. I know this because when I was introduced to him, he was in running shorts and singlet. He had just completed a 2.4km run in slightly over 10 minutes, an impressive time for a guy his age. He was apologetic about his sweaty hands and said: 'I just finished doing some trackwork.'

Now, normal human beings jog or run - only serious athletes call their training 'trackwork'. During that chat, he went on about youths today and how they didn't have the coordination and agility and strength of the older generation.

He had even pointed to his son as an example, adding that he would tell his son to play just to have fun.

Then it clicked. That boy, judging by the way he confided in me at the soccer game, obviously wanted to impress his father.

Yet, would the Dad have been impressed?

Because the event itself - an inter-class game - was quite insignificant.

That it was a mundane event did not matter to the teenager, though. Just the fact of his father coming down to watch would have made a difference to him.

Sadly, few parents I know go to watch their children play or perform in school. And even if they do, they usually save themselves for the big final game which, of course, often never materialises.

I react like most of these parents, too, waiting for the Big Occasion and letting other opportunities slip by.

When my son Shaun completed his basic military training recently, we went for a buffet meal to celebrate; time for the family to bond, I thought, well-meaningly.

However, at the buffet, we were all focused on getting our money's worth.

After the dinner, my three kids were too stuffed with food. They could either talk or breathe - not both.

So much for bonding.

Instead, the best times to bond have proven to be something I originally dreaded, fearing it would be a tiresome chore - the long drive on Sunday evenings every weekend to drop my son off at the Safti Military Institute for his training.

This is the camp he has been posted to after his basic military training for national service.

This 30-minute drive has turned out to be a delight.

During that slow drive, this NS-man son of mine holds court, telling me and his two teenage siblings about the week that had passed - the highs and the lows, his and his fellow trainees' blunders, the rewards and the punishment.

There are the occasional interjections from my two other kids: 'What!', 'Really?', 'Did he really do that?'

All three kids cackle away throughout the drive. Considering how often they squabble over the smallest of things, this is really something.

The hearty laughter, seeing them enjoying each other's company and my son returning to camp in such high spirits leave me with a wonderful feeling.

For me, it is a great way to end the weekend.

Often I make well-intended plans about how the family can take time out and go for a nice meal together, or go on holiday together at the end of the year.

But in waiting for that special occasion, countless other simple daily opportunities slip by. Now, with my son coming back from camp only on weekends, I realise the need to seize every opportunity I get.

Like the teenage boy who wished his father was at his class football game, and the Sunday evening trips to drop my boy off, these simple opportunities are so easy to miss.

It took my son going into NS for me to realise that.

Mum's cooking, so hold the arugula

05 Aug 2007, ST

By Andi McDaniel

I CONFESS. I'm one of those 'thoughtful' eaters you've been hearing so much about - the ones interrogating the arugula in the produce section or scrutinising the ingredients on each box of Annie's mac and cheese.

When there's a traffic jam in Aisle 3, it's usually us, commandeering the tortilla chips, weighing the question of local vs organic against any number of other eco-socio-ethical concerns.

I shop like this because, according to what I've learnt from books such as The Omnivore's Dilemma and Fast Food Nation and from spending two summers working on organic farms, it's the most effective way to 'vote' for a healthier food system.

But for all my pondering in the produce aisle, there's a point where I draw the line.

The few times a year when I visit my folks at my childhood home in suburban Chicago, you won't hear me talking about food miles or the sheer horror of a transcontinental February tomato.

When mum's cooking, I check my dogma at the door.

It wasn't always this way. It used to be that when I went home to visit, mum would have to get up to speed on my latest food philosophy.

'Are you eating meat these days, honey? Or are you still worried about those poor cows being all cooped up?' 'I couldn't find organic yogurt, sweetie, so I just got you low-fat.' 'I can't remember. What is it you're boycotting this week?'

Looking back, I'm amazed at her diplomacy. But at the time, I thought I was the one with the admirable values.

It all started about six years ago, when I was 20. Leaving behind my Kraft cheese childhood, I'd gone off to get a first-class liberal arts education (financed by mum and dad).

It was at college that I began questioning authority and reading books with titles such as Milk: The Deadly Poison. Before long, I'd learnt so many dark secrets about the all-American diet that I lost my appetite.

'Natural flavours' are manufactured in New Jersey? Milk really doesn't do a body good? Easy Cheese isn't cheese at all? I was fascinated to learn how things really work, but on a deeper level, I was confused.

How could my mum - with her loving hands and her legendary sloppy Joes - have been enabling such a compassionless industrial food system? How could her careful nutritional nurturing have been based, at least in part, on lies and misinformation? She meant well, right? So what went wrong?

I tried to realign the incongruent parts. If I could just explain to her what I'd learnt, I figured she'd come to the same conclusions I had.

The crusade began. I demonstrated how to make pumpkin pie with real pumpkins. I built her a compost bin and told her it would reduce her weekly garbage by half. And I accompanied her to the supermarket, providing running commentary free of charge. Trouper that she is, mum tried to listen. 'Interesting, interesting,' she'd say. 'Hormones in milk?!' she would gasp, while scanning the shelf for whichever brand happened to be on sale.

The fact was, mum wasn't interested in rebuilding her lifestyle from scratch.

But it was a long time before that dawned on me. For several years, I'd visit and she'd try to accommodate my vegetarian diet, then my preference for organic products, then my conviction that local trumps organic. Not that we actually discussed much of this at all. Usually when I brought up my 'food politics', her eyes would glaze over and she'd say something like: 'Well, you know more about this stuff than I do.' And I did.

But did I know enough about where she was coming from? Back when she was a young mother, nutrition was certainly a concern - but the guidelines of the day offered little beyond the food pyramid and a recommendation to eat three servings of fruit a day. What's more, processed foods such as TV dinners and Hamburger Helper represented progress. No more time wasted canning vegetables - or making pumpkin pies from scratch.

But the most important thing I've come to realise is that, to my mum, food is a language.

When I go home to visit, I constantly have food before me. The message has always been clear: As long as there's food on our plates, everything's okay. Feeling down? Have a snack.

When my mum slides a little plate with a few

orange wedges, a cup of Yoplait and some Ritz crackers in front of me, what she's really saying is: 'We love you, honey.'

So one Thanksgiving, towards the end of my vegetarian phase, when I sat down with my family and plunged a fork into mum's buttery mashed potatoes to find three small pieces of roasted meat underneath, I knew what she was saying: 'Is it really going to kill you to eat one bite of turkey on Thanksgiving? Do you know how long it took to cook this thing?'

And for some reason - maybe I'd reached a certain maturity, or maybe I was tickled by the sentiment, or it could be that I was just tired of scrutinising my food - I ate that turkey. And I asked for seconds. And things haven't been the same since.

Now I tell her to serve it up. What I've realised is that sometimes the food itself isn't all that important. Because even when what she serves is somehow corrupt, my mum's message is pure. And how can I refuse a helping of that?

Washington Post

Whole world is watching but who cares?

05 Aug 2007, ST

By Joe Queenan

IN THE audaciously predictable style for which he is famous, New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman recently rhapsodised about the many ways in which 'transparency' is making our 'global discussion...so much richer'.

The theory was that the 24/7 surveillance wrought by camera phones, blogs, YouTube, Facebook and MySpace has turned all of us into public figures.

Because everything we say or do is now apt to turn up on the Internet - potentially with humiliating results - we must live our lives more judiciously, cognisant that in the new 'transparent' age, there is nowhere to hide.

Not long ago, such a society would have been deemed an Orwellian nightmare, a living hell where the brain police spied on everyone.

But somehow, Friedman has gotten it into his head that although surveillance is a bad idea when the government does it, it is just peachy keen when done by amateurs.

Friedman's argument that 'the whole world is watching' - thereby compelling mankind to be on its best behaviour - ignores reality.

The Taleban is simply not concerned that some blogger hammering away at his laptop doesn't approve of its activities.

Hamas is not worried about having its latest depredations captured on mobile phone camera.

Friedman suggests that the 'digital footprint' young people leave on MySpace and Facebook means - and he doesn't seem to think this is necessarily bad - that it will be extremely difficult for them to recover from the mistakes of their youth.

Deceitful resumes, compromising photos, ill-advised confessions of sexual predilections could all come back to haunt them.

But this assumes that some future version of society actually will hold people accountable for their bozo-like past behaviour.

Get real. When the 35-year-old twit who once posted a video of himself mooning Dick Cheney applies for a job with the International Monetary Fund, the 36-year-old interviewing him for the position will be the guy who once blogged about imprisoning George Bush on the planet Alderaan and getting the Death Star to destroy the State Department.

That's not a digital footprint. It's a digital handshake.

The one seemingly valid point that Friedman makes is that transparency will force corporations to be on their best behaviour.

But even this is a flawed assumption. Camera phones and YouTube videos are useful when depicting pollution or botched surgical procedures.

But transparency doesn't work well in the bond market or the private equity field because finance is an abstraction and mobile phone cameras cannot capture the invisible. You cannot post a picture of a hyped stock. You cannot post a video of a rigged initial public offering.

You cannot depict felonious stock market activity on MySpace unless some white-collar crook agrees to be videotaped.

If 'the new transparency' actually could deter obnoxious or criminal behaviour, it might be worth getting the whole world watching.

Muggers, drug dealers, car thieves, axe murderers, hedge fund managers and Antonin Scalia are not afraid of the blogosphere. Especially Scalia.

The weapons of transparency might be good at embarrassing people, but this approach works only with people who worry about being embarrassed.

The Mafia doesn't.

Osama bin Laden doesn't.

The guy who's going to key your car tonight just because you stole his parking space doesn't.

And the woman who conceivably might confront you with your quasi-pornographic, falsehood-swollen online profile 10 years from now isn't going to because she's the gal who once posted a video of herself puking her guts all over her wedding cake.

In a society in which people have decided to immortalise their stupidity, being an idiot isn't going to hurt anyone's career.

The new 'transparency' is just like the old television: The whole world might be watching, but nobody seems to be paying much attention.

Los Angeles Times

Queenan writes frequently for Barron's, the New York Times Book Review and the Guardian.

When nobody takes the trouble to ask

30 Jul 2007, ST

By Valerie Tay

THE right ear had turned a bright red, a stark contrast from the left. Still, the teacher tugged forcefully on the ear as the rest of the class winced.

The boy grimaced in pain but not a sound issued from his lips.

'Why didn't you do your homework?' the cikgu screamed, her anger getting the better of her. She gave the ear another vicious tug and I feared it was going to come off. Thankfully, it didn't but its colour deepened to a darker crimson.

The boy stood silent, hanging his head. He didn't look frightened, just kind of resolute and resigned, like he had accepted his fate.

And that had been his daily fate on a school day. Hardly a day passed when he was not berated, had his ear pulled or had his exercise book thrown in his face.

Think it's fiction? No, I witnessed those scenes countless times when I was in primary school.

If I remember correctly, his name was Chin Huat and he was always getting into trouble because he hadn't done his homework.

I could never understand why he couldn't just do his homework and avoid the humiliation and pain. Like my teachers, I'd thought I'd never seen a lazier fellow and a more hopeless case.

Then one Friday night, on a whim, my mother took me to the Haig Road hawker centre for supper. We had settled down to eat at a table when I spotted him.

Chin Huat, no longer in his school uniform, was busy at one of the stalls, serving customers and clearing tables. I watched him for a while, awed by this different side of him that I'd never seen before.

He was very efficient at his job, multi-tasking and quick on his feet, and instead of the usual quiet and sullen-faced boy I knew in school, he looked happy, smiling frequently. A confidence shone on his face like he knew he was in his element here.

It was past nine. It dawned on me that the stall wouldn't close till late as the food centre was still packed with people and business was brisk. There was a middle-aged couple busy manning the stall as well. Was Chin Huat helping out at his parents' stall? Did he come here to work every day after school?

I thought about all the homework that hadn't been done and I finally knew. That very moment, I learned that, sometimes, things aren't what they appear on the surface.

Our eyes finally met. I nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. He seemed embarrassed for a moment, before a holler from the stall brought him to a start and he resumed his duty.

With the understanding, a new respect took root in my heart. I was a lucky kid, while not so lucky kids like Chin Huat went to work after school. Overnight, my perception of him turned 180 degrees. I was the cloistered child, he was an adult living in the real world. I admired him.

He didn't last till the Primary Six exams, dropping out of school after a few more months of ear-pulling. There was no point - he wouldn't have passed.

He'd definitely be happier taking to work life like a responsible adult. And if he inherits his father's hawker stall, I know he will do well and not have to owe anybody a living.

But why hadn't he told the teacher? Explain why he could never find the time or energy to do his homework? Why didn't he say anything to anyone? For years I couldn't understand his reticence - till one day, I found myself in a Chin Huat situation.

Working as an executive in a large company, I was sent to a four-day workshop held at a hotel. Classes started at 9am every morning.

The first day I managed to arrive only at 9.30am. The trainer made some remarks about punctuality and continued his presentation. Of course, everyone knew the comment was directed at me.

The next day, I arrived at 9.30am again. The trainer repeated his call for punctuality, seemingly to nobody in particular, again.

I wasn't late on purpose. It was simply no use leaving the flat earlier. On a normal working day, I'd arrive at the office at 8.45am instead of the required 8.30am. I had sought the understanding of my supervisor and he had kindly agreed to let me start work 15 minutes later and finish work later.

You see, every morning, I would be at my son's PCF kindergarten at Bedok Reservoir (where my mother lives) waiting for the teacher to open the door at eight, drop him off and then rush off to work. I could make the office in 45 minutes by bus. My mother, who doesn't get up till 9am, would pick my son up after school.

The workshop's location was further than the office. I had to take a bus, then switch to the train, to get there. That was why I arrived at 9.30am.

I thought of telling the trainer about my situation, but decided to wait and see if he would take me aside to talk about it. No such luck.

My colleagues, too, did not ask, and I, too, did not explain.

The third morning, the trainer made another exhortation for punctuality. But by then, I had grown irritated and stubbornly refused to go to him to explain.

I also pushed aside the thought of taking a taxi to the hotel. Why should I spend the equivalent of a tin of formula milk to gain the approval of the trainer? I'll admit I do have a wilful streak in me.

Then came the last day of the training, and he took his revenge. Oh, he'd saved the best game for the last.

Taking one end of a long piece of string, he invited a participant to hold the string a little distance away from him. That participant would then invite someone else, and so on, in the great string communion.

It was obviously a popularity contest, and no prizes for guessing who would be last. I stood there waiting till the end and, in a way, I deserved it.

The trainer let a long pause develop before coolly asking the pariah standing alone, 'Would you like to join in?'

'Sure,' I replied, just as coolly, with a smile. 'I don't mind.' And I stepped up smartly, confidently, to grasp the end of the string, unrepentant and defiant to the end.

I thought about Chin Huat then, and I finally understood what I had failed to understand all these years.

Chin Huat hadn't spoken of his problem because no one had asked. No one had cared to ask. Sometimes, things may not be what they appear to be.

Next time I see a Chin Huat, I think I'll ask.

The writer is a full-time mother who has just started to do freelance writing.

I thought about Chin Huat then, and I finally understood what I had failed to understand all these years. Chin Huat hadn't spoken of his problem because no one had asked. No one had cared to ask. Sometimes, things may not be what they appear to be.

Big brother watching

23 Jul 2007, ST Life

I've always been dismissive of the relationship between my youngest brother and his girlfriend. But at their wedding recently, it dawned on me that what they have is what I've always dreamt of having

By Teo Cheng Wee, straighttalk

TWO weeks ago on 07/07/07, like scores of other Singaporeans, I attended a wedding.

If the bride and groom had been anybody else, I would have rolled my eyes at the cheesiness of holding the event on that date.

But I ignored all that because it was a special day. It was the first wedding in my immediate family as my youngest brother got married to his childhood sweetheart.

Like a proud parent, I found myself brimming with pride when I saw the two of them walking hand-in-hand down the aisle of the ballroom at the Meritus Mandarin Hotel, cheered on by some 500 people.

I suppose the feeling would be a natural one for most brothers, but not for me. A few years ago, I would probably have baulked at the thought of them tying the knot.

Indeed, my happiness that night showed just how far things have come as my relationship with my brother and his girlfriend had been cold for many years.

The most probable reason for this was that things started off on the wrong foot and matters just deteriorated from there.

They were all of 16 years old when they got together and my whole family viewed the relationship with suspicion.

My parents were unhappy as they wanted my brother to concentrate on his studies.

I was a bit peeved with both him (for being so blatantly defiant) and my parents (for being so blatantly lenient with him when I felt that they were much stricter with my activities).

The longer their relationship carried on, the more unhappy I became - and it showed.

During the early days of their courtship, she would ring him a few times a night - these were the days before every kid had a mobile phone - and I would get increasingly exasperated playing operator to the two lovebirds.

'It's your call. Again,' would be my usual disgruntled remark. Eventually, I got so tired of taking her phone calls that I would just let the phone ring, even if I was sitting next to it, and wait for my brother to run out of his room, scrambling for it.

Our relationship took another dip when my brother decided to move out of our home about five years ago. This was met with more disapproval from the family, more defiance from him and ultimately more unhappiness all around.

We never spoke openly about our feelings, so we raged a cold war. I hardly spoke to his girlfriend for many years - unless the occasional grunt counted - and they didn't really try to be friendly with me either.

It would not have been impossible. My second brother was more amicable and got along fine with the couple.

I made things hard by putting on a stern front. I felt he was deliberately distancing himself from the family by moving out and viewed it as a form of betrayal.

In hindsight, I realise that when there was so much displeasure at home, one can hardly blame them for not wanting to come back to a host of disapproving looks.

But I think the reason I never cared to be part of their relationship was because I was convinced it would never last.

In fact, I don't think anybody in my family thought it would. We were quite certain that this puppy love would run its course in a few years, especially when the relationship appeared rocky early on and we witnessed several angry exchanges over the phone.

THE first change in my attitude came about three years ago.

My brother was then 23, had completed his national service and was more than qualified to be an adult.

Yet I still didn't see him as anything more than a rebellious teenager - until I found out that they were going to register their marriage.

By then, our relationship had soured to the point where I had to hear about it from my mother instead of him.

Curiously, I wasn't upset. Instead, I felt as if a veil had been lifted and I could finally see my brother and his girlfriend for what they were - two people who were truly in love.

Before that, I had never imagined them as mature adults ready to commit a lifetime to each other.

Why didn't I realise this earlier? Maybe because we never hung out enough for me to witness it myself. Maybe because I mentally blocked out that possibility. I don't know.

But the ice started thawing. And once you see each other as family rather than enemy, attitudes and behaviours change and the bonds start re-forming.

During his wedding dinner two weeks ago, another truth dawned on me.

Ironically, I realised that their relationship - which I had dismissed in the past - is actually one that I had always been yearning for.

I have always harboured the ideal that true love is one where you meet your first and only love, build up the relationship through many years of bonding, weather numerous storms and ultimately get married with no doubt in your minds that you were always meant for each other.

Such a scenario had in fact been playing itself out in front of my eyes all these years, yet the wedding I had always been opposed to turned out to be the wedding I myself had always wanted.

So to my brother Xian and his wife Shan, I'm really happy for you and here's to a Happy Ever After.

I can only hope that my love story will be as beautiful as yours.

What would life be like in a world where everyone was strong and smart?

22 Jul 2007, ST

Generation aXed

By Cheong Suk-Wai

THERE are conversations and there are conversations, but a chat I had with a virtual stranger over lunch recently just about takes the cake.

All I will say of my lunchmate, whom I was meeting for work, is that he is quintessentially a gentleman, and a hugely successful one at that, as far as education and material pursuits go.

After talking shop for a few minutes, apropos of nothing, he launched into his theory of how health services everywhere were buckling under a barrage of diseased patients because those with weak genes - ergo, those more susceptible to diseases - were continuing to procreate.

Nothing wrong with that view, you might think, except that his idea of weak genes were the blue-collar folk among us, or 'labourers' as he called them. 'Labourers,' he said, 'keep passing on their weak genes because they tend to have many children.'

I fairly choked on my fish porridge.

Now I don't know what he made of me, but my stunned silence throughout his tirade did not mean I agreed with it.

In fact, I was biting my tongue because I knew of at least two sons of menial labourers - my uncles - who are now professors in universities overseas and whose offspring - my cousins, nieces and nephews - are bankers in New York and Sydney, surgeons in Glasgow and Melbourne, and lawyers in London and Toronto.

And what of the scores of hard-luck immigrants, with the proverbial two cents in their pockets, who washed up on Singapore's shores and turned it into Metropolis Extraordinaire today?

What would he make of me, the granddaughter of labourers?

If I had met my lunchmate 10 years ago, I might have had a few choice things to say to him.

But time and tribulation have taught me that the best response to such head-scratching pronouncements is to say what you know in the very pit of your gut to be right and real.

And you have to say it with much care for the person's feelings, because his view could be just as valid and, well, he is human after all.

So I asked him, gently and innocent-like: 'What would a world with only strong and smart people be like?

'What would competition be like when there are only good genes to compete against other good genes?'

'A world of smart, strong people,' he started to say but, perhaps sensing that I remained unconvinced, fell silent.

As my father likes to remind me, a world where everyone was gentle and good would be a very dull one indeed.

Life is, after all, a big test, and how would we be able to tell good from bad, if there were nothing bad to compare good against?

And what would the value of goodness be if goodness was a given?

I AM no expert on how genes, strong or weak, determine strength and intelligence, but Canadian psychology professor Steven Pinker is.

Prof Pinker, who wrote the clear and wise book, The Blank Slate (2003), told me in a chat not so long ago that science today has shown that nature, not nurture, maketh the man.

That means who you are depends on the bundle of genes you get, so no one is born pure of mind and heart, to be corrupted later by culture and circumstance.

Still, he stressed: 'By the way, intelligence is not the only morally desirable trait. A person with a high IQ would have little if he did not also have common sense, compassion and credibility.'

Touche.

In The Blank Slate, he tells of the time when Nobel Laureate George Wald, an American biochemist famous for decrying the Vietnam War publicly, was asked to donate his semen to a sperm bank for Nobel Prize-winning scientists.

Prof Wald said: 'If you want sperm that produces Nobel Prize winners, you should be contacting people like my father, a poor immigrant tailor.

'What have my sperm given to the world? Two guitarists!'

As Prof Pinker pointed out in my chat with him, strong genes or weak genes, you can always choose how you behave because 'genes do not pull your muscles every which way'.

THERE is much to be said about struggling against one's nature to be better - and having the hunger to stick it out.

In my younger sister's case, the hunger is literal.

The other day, after telling her about my 'strong gene, weak gene' lunch, I asked what she was doing for food these days, remembering that, as a factory clerk, she would live on bread and Milo for weeks so she could save for her dreams long overshadowed by my supposed achievements.

Well, having ventured out of our small town to live out her dreams in Kuala Lumpur in recent months, she is baulking at the high cost of living there.

She's cramped into a small university-sponsored flat with eight other women, with no fridge for the fresh milk she loves. I wanted to buy her one, but she said no, there are enough petty politics from eight strangers under one roof.

Conscious of not drawing a salary at the moment, she assured me she was well, then said: 'I like chappati with dhal best, but I have to think twice about buying two, because it's now RM1.50 (66 Singapore cents) for just one chappati with curry.'

The bun I was snacking on amid all this suddenly tasted tinny on my tongue.

So, even as my sister counts her chappatis, I pray that she may find a good and kind man she can have many happy babies with - strong and weak genes be damned.

What's wrong with being easily contented?

08 Jul 2007, ST

By Mathew Pereira

A FRIEND retired recently after serving all these years as a naval officer. He, like all who had served as regulars in the Singapore Armed Forces, collected a lump sum of cash upon leaving.

He was a colonel and had been in the SAF from the time I met him on the rugby pitch during my NS days and again in university.

During our gatherings and football games the past couple of months, at least one of us in the group would ask if he had found a job yet.

'Nope,' he'd say, and add that he had no plans to rush into one.

There would be follow-up comments and questions - Don't you feel bored? How can you not work? Surely the money will not last you another 30 years?

This is one guy who never used to show up for any of our get-togethers in the last 20 years, not even Christmas parties. He would be out at sea, on recall or training in some foreign country.

In fact, at a wedding where he was supposed to be the master of ceremonies once, his unit activated a recall and the groom was left scrambling for a replacement from among the dinner guests.

Those days are gone.

A bachelor, the former rugby player has not only been showing up at every gathering but also for our football sessions.

He is happy to be able to do all these, he said.

But it was his answer to the question about the fear of not having enough to last till old age that impressed me.

'Just live simply. I am happy with what I have,' he said.

He had decided that he would be content with what he had. He did not dismiss the idea of working but he was not about to rush into any job just for the money. If he was going to work, it was going to be something that he enjoyed and, until then, he would live simply.

When three out of every 200 people in Singapore are millionaires as reported recently, retiring at 50 and not wanting to pursue more wealth is not an easy decision to make.

I have heard at least a handful of people say that the next time there is a count, they want to feature in the millionaire end of the statistics.

And I see many examples of it around already.

I had a recent chat with a friend whose condominium went en bloc. He was one of those who tried to squeeze as much money as he could from the deal. He was already getting a hefty amount but that wasn't enough.

He said: 'Wouldn't you do it? Wouldn't you push for more money?'

I said: 'Of course, more is good but at what point do you stop?' His hard bargaining almost scuppered the whole deal.

But he was not an aberration.

I chatted with another close friend, one I've known for over 20 years and whom I believed had many things in common with. Even he said: 'Matt, I must be honest. I can't say I would not have done the same thing.'

I am not at all anti-wealth but I have often been reminded that one of the secrets to happiness in life is contentment.

These reminders come from friends whom I feel have the right perspective. A friend dropped in at my home three days ago, on his way to work, just for a chat. Our talk moved on to work, house, friends.

He told me that he was enjoying working in his company, that he had made a name for himself in the industry he was in and could walk out any day and get a 50 per cent jump in his salary. But he decided that he would stay where he is because he enjoys the work and the environment.

He has a decent home which he bought many years ago and could upgrade to a bigger one with what he earns but has decided against it. He is going to stay put. That is contentment.

I have seen some who epitomise discontentment. They are constantly unhappy. One can be discontented with anything - from your job to your house and your car to your spouse.

Sticking around with people who are contented helps.

One such is this middle-class couple who have two boys. They made a conscious decision not to upgrade but stay in their five-room HDB executive maisonette flat in Woodlands. Their two boys attend neighbourhood schools and many of their friends come from lower-income groups.

The mother told me about how, when the boy's classmates visit their home, they would exclaim: 'Wah, you so rich' or 'Wah, your house is so big' and 'Wah, your father has a car!'

Her 11-year-old became very conscious and there were times he decided not to take his new adidas bag or other branded goods to school for fear of reinforcing this idea that he came from a rich family.

But the boy was rattled for a while when he started taking tuition lessons at an expensive tuition centre recently. All the kids there came from wealthy families and after a few sessions he remarked: 'I don't have the latest phone', 'I don't have the latest PlayStation', and 'Why do we have such a small car?'

Overnight, his perspective changed.

It took some talking from the parents to undo the damage and make him see things correctly.

Quite often we hear people dismissing a person in a condescending manner with: 'Oh, he is easily contented.'

That 'easily contented guy' may be on to something, which many of us have yet to find out about.

Aids and a friend

This morning, SO called me to inform me that a friend, AM suspected that he may have Aids. It seemed that AM's partner came out to him that he has been visiting bathhouses for a year and that he suspected that he may have contacted Aids and maybe even passed the virus to AM.

AM had sent a sms to SO earlier this morning......
I am very depressed...K came out to me that he has been visiting bathhouses for the nearly past 1 year....N he suspected he got Aids.....wat should i do...I had insomnia for the past 2 nites...


Gosh.....I am not exactly close to AM or K. They are both friends of SO. Friends for over 10 years?

In fact, I have spoken to AM probably twice at the most cos we dun have much to talk about. As for K, I think I have seen him a few times but never spoken directly to him.

What I remembered about K was he was a short, average looking boyish fella. He should be 30? and yet he looked just like a small size teenager....

SO said he would probably come back late as they needed to talk to him. They were simply bursting with sorrows and did not know who to speak to.

Meanwhile, after chatting with SO, i surfed the net for some information on Aids testing. I did know there is a anonymous testing center in Kelantan Lane. So i checked out the testing schedules and the Aids hotline and sms the info back to SO.

http://www.afa.org.sg/anonymous.asp

I did informed SO to tell them to stop speculating and just take the anonymous Aids test this very day. No point just wondering if K had contacted Aids. Better to know for sure, then they could make plans.

So SO took some early time off, and went to speak with AM and K.

It turned out the couple had been wandering the streets all day since yesterday, feeling depressed about their situation and not knowing what to do.

K had visited saunas and bathhouses twice a week on his off days for more than a year now. And each time he engaged in casual sex with strangers. As for whether he did used protection, he did claimed he did so.

Sigh....twice a week...that means 52 x 2 = 104 trips....and say each trip about 1-2 casual partners..... that means he has about 100-200 partners or so since then?

Sigh...and he said he did not know who gave him the virus.

Is the very few joyful moments of ecstasy and orgasm worth years of sickness and suffering? I suppose not. But then when one is writhing in the throes of lust and passion, getting an incurable disease is the last thing on the mind.

Well, the test results came out 20 mins after their visit to the clinic. AM was negative but K was tested positive for HIV. There were no tears. But this could be just a window phase period for AM. He could still have Aids, it's just that the HIV antibodies are not detected in his blood now. He need to come back for another testing 3 months later to confirm his HIV status.

K had suspected he had Aids for some time now and he even got an instant Aids test from those vending machine that is outside the bathhouses. It came out positive then. So more or less, he is resigned to the fact.

The clinic was crowded.....and the counsellors did not have time to counsel K immediately after his test, so they asked him to call back after 8pm when there are less patients. Then they would advise K on the next course of action.

This Aids news is a very loud personal awakening call to me. I have no friends who had Aids, so the virus itself is a very far fetched concept to me. Like I know the moon is there, I see the moon but i cannot touch the moon or visit the moon....type of concept.

What would K do with his life on from now? He is 29, works in the service industry where he needs to have some form of physical contact with customers and he needs to undergo an Aids test once or twice a year to get his working licence.

Would he tell his parents? Would they reject him and chase him out of his home? Or would they open their hearts to him?

What about medicine? The counsellors told him he probably should get his medicine from Thailand cos medicine here are costly.

Having Aids is like having a deadline looming over his head. Medication is able to prolong life...but for how long? There has been cases of people surviving 10-20 years after contacting HIV. But not every one survive that long.

Besides K probably has a high sex drive to visit bathhouses twice a week. What is he going to do for sex now? I suppose he could control his sexual urges for now, (who has the mood or urge after finding out he has a life threatening disease?).....but what about a few months/years down the road when he has become more accepting to his illness? Will he go down to saunas and bathhouses to "spread" the virus to unsuspecting "victims"?

Some people would. Cos they are angry that they got the virus from someone who may know they have the HIV virus and yet still deliberately engaged in casual sex. Will K also do likewise and "avenge" himself for the unjust act done unto him?

Who should he blame? Himself for visiting bathhouses so often? Or the guy who may know he has Aids and yet engaged in casual sex with him?

Frankly, i dun know. SO left after the results, leaving them wandering the streets in despair. They wanted to be alone, together, their future unknown. SO had done all he could for them.

Sigh....what i know is they probably can't sleep tonight or the next few nights, wondering what life and HIV have in store for their future.