This is for those of you who are not in Canberra. This is my recent piece featured in Us Folk magazine Issue 2. Us Folk is a new independent magazine providing a platform for young and emerging artists, photographers, designers, writers and performers from Canberra and the surrounding region to gain exposure and have their work published.

Hope you guys find this an enjoyable piece, as much as I enjoyed writing it. It took me a while to think about what Canberra means to me.

Embrace the season of deliberate gatherings

 Every city has a sex and an age which have nothing to do with demography. Rome is feminine. So is Odessa. London is a teenager, an urchin, and, in this, hasn’t changed since the time of Dickens. Paris, I believe, is a man in his twenties in love with an older woman.

- John Berger

My city, Canberra, is a middle-class modern geeky introverted boy. He has never really fit in, often teased and hassled because of his unique geeky personality. He dances like nobody is watching. So what? He is comfortable in his own skin. Unlike his peers, Canberra is more laid back and peaceful. This city loves his book clubs, and enjoys quiet gatherings at pubs more than jostling around in clubs. However, he tries not to stand out in a bad way. He is always looking for something new to be part of, be it ice skating or roller skating in the city or that upcoming Apple store. He is shy and usually quiet, and takes a while to warm up to him. He is a typical teenager, experiencing erratic changes in his mood swings all in a day. He can be cold to you in the morning, warming up to you in the afternoon, before turning plain cold nonchalant in the evening. On cold frosty winter mornings, he gets up, scrapes the ice off the windscreen of his car, and continues on with the day. This is a city chastened by an extraordinary landscape and extravagant weather.

There is no clean definition between seasons in Canberra. For around four months every year, Canberra is often bitterly cold and dry. You have to watch and listen to know when winter is coming. But, don’t rely on the trees. The view outside my window says autumn, but the world outside of my window screams winter. There are other ways to tell that winter is just around the corner. The days get shorter, with the sun setting at five. You keep the fans away, and start switching on the heaters instead. You wake up to frosts in the morning, and you see smoke coming out of your mouth when you talk. You see clothing shops in town shift their displays from shorts and summery dresses to long coats. The radio stations start talking about temperatures inching above zero degrees celsius at 9am in the morning.

In summer when days are longer, gatherings with friends are often spontaneous. We run into friends on the street and have beers at a pub or decide on a barbeque right there and then. We bask in the sun and have picnics at the Botanic Gardens. In winter, particularly in Canberra, the opposite is true. We often hurry home at the end of the day, staying in unless an event warrants our presence. Gatherings between friends are often deliberate and infrequent. Winter potlucks are organised with intentions. Friends come together at each other’s homes wrapped in coats, scarves and gloves. We bring comfort food perfect for the cold weather: hearty soups, robust roasts, wholesome casseroles, rich cakes and sweets, and of course, rich hot chocolate.

Winter in Canberra may be crisp, foggy and bitterly cold. But, there are redeeming features. Frosty mornings in Canberra can be rather therapeutic and beautiful if you are able to pull yourself out of your warm bed. Instead of trudging through this winter and making plans for summer, make this winter a season of intentional small gatherings between friends, family and loved ones. Have not one, but multiple Christmas in July gatherings. Winter in Canberra comes as a season that reminds us how much we need each other. Like all places and seasons, the winter here is what we make out of it.

The following piece is my latest thought piece published at HerCanberra.

When was the last time you found yourself shelving away a trip to a place because you were not able to find anyone to come along with you? I almost did. But, I decided to go ahead with the trip.

So, this summer saw me on a solo backpacking trip in Italy for three weeks, armed with nothing but a 50L backpack that towered over me.

Let’s be honest here. Solo backpacking is often a decision borne out of convenience, not something most people would deliberately choose to do. I am not a huge believer of the often talked about cliché of travelling alone for the purpose of ‘finding yourself’.

So, I was a little skeptical before starting on my trip. I had previously travelled alone but never this far, for this long, and what more in a country that doesn’t speak my language.

But, if you decide to take that risk, and go ahead with the trip, there is much to be learnt.

1. You are the boss! Do whatever you want!

Don’t feel like visiting a highly recommended place? Don’t do it! There is no need to worry about hurting others’ feelings when you are travelling alone. There’s almost a definite travel circuit that most backpackers follow. You don’t have to follow that, particularly if you know what personally interests you.

2. You will meet people you otherwise wouldn’t have met.

Be open when it comes to talking to strangers. You will definitely meet people – the other solo/group backpackers in the hostels or at locations, the very friendly Italians who help you out despite the language barrier, and even the people you talk to on train rides. But, what you need to accept is that most of these encounters with other travelers will be fleeting and short term. Just like you, everyone else has got their own plans.

3. The occasional loneliness

It is inevitable to feel the occasional loneliness while travelling. You will almost certainly feel a little alone if you are arriving in rainy and cold Florence on Christmas Eve! That feeling however is temporary and will fade.

4. CouchSurfing

The truth is it might not be that great an idea to be couch surfing when you are a solo female backpacker. However, if you love meeting other fellow travellers or locals along the way, the CouchSurfing initiative is still an excellent way to start.

I’ve had a local take me around in Florence for the best gelato ever, and ushered into 2012 with fellow couch surfers from all around the world in Venice. Admittedly, one of the most enjoyable serendipitous experiences while travelling was when I met a random solo traveller at the Cupola of St Peter’s Basilica where we explored Rome together for the rest of the day.

5. Do get yourself lost. But, the iPhone GPS always helps.

Maps don’t always work. Getting yourself lost is often a good way to travel. In fact, getting lost is highly recommended when exploring Venice, and in Naples, particularly for the former when maps really are useless. When all else fails, what I have realised is the iPhone GPS is an excellent tool.

If all this isn’t tempting enough to make you want to plan your next trip, the following should be. The most enjoyable moment in travelling isn’t in the above. Rather, it is the ‘what you see is what you get’ nature of travelling. People don’t have your history to hold against you. There are no yesterdays on the road. That can really be a breath of fresh air.

So, what are you waiting for? Go forth, the world is waiting.

Have you ever travelled solo? What were the best and worst parts of your experience?

The following piece is my latest thought piece published at HerCanberra.

It may seem pedantic to even try to pin down an exact meaning for the term “friend” in today’s society. Besides, the term “friend” is also very subjective, where someone in their twenties would be expected to have a completely different perspective on whom is a friend compared to someone in their sixties. Does it even matter?

Dictionary.com defines a “friend” as “a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.” Yet, with the rise of social networking websites like Facebook, I can’t help but feel that the very DNA of the term “friend” has been altered, if not cheapened, and is now pretty much a label without much deeper meaning for many.

Before the evolution of social networking websites, and online interaction tools like Skype, GChat, WhatsApp, and even emails, friends are people you saw and talked to in person or at the bare minimum, over the phone. That is perhaps something our generation cannot possibly comprehend, having always depended on social networking websites and online interaction tools.

Don’t be mistaken. I am not advocating that we should all go back to a world where friends are people you see and spend time with frequently. That is impractical. For someone like me who has lived a quarter of my life abroad somewhere, tools like WhatsApp and Skype are fantastic for keeping in touch with friends I have known for more than half my life, and even with my mom. Besides, my Facebook account is an excellent place for crowd sourcing, and for organising events.

Facebook tells me I have 470 friends. Honestly, I like to think of these “friends” as connections, like how LinkedIn has done so. My friends are a subset of these 470 connections, of which some are not even in these 470 connections I have.

There is a subtle difference between real friends and friends of the more superficial kind. The former is a group of people I spend time and effort to get to know and am willing to go the mile for. These are also the people who do not judge you, and are reciprocal towards the time and effort you spend on them. This is in contrast to the less intimate relationships as defined by the latter group which are less demanding to manage, which really consist of people I have met from everywhere, people I only hang out and have fun with, or people I have coffee with from time to time.

Besides, there really is a limit to how many real friends one can have, isn’t there? At least British revolutionary anthropologist Robin Dunbar suggests there is. Based on his research into primate behaviour, most of us can only maintain around 150 meaningful relationships (also known as the Dunbar’s number), online and offline. There are considerable emotional and psychological investments that a close relationship requires, and the available emotional capital we have is limited. On average, each of us possesses about 50 friends, 15 “good” friends, and a mere 5 that can be categorised as “intimate”. I reckon that is not far from the truth for most of us.

The truth is: Along the way, we all probably have made conscious decisions on who is a real friend, who isn’t; who are the people that you would spend your time and effort on establishing intimate relationships with;  and why. With that, I can now probably expect a few people to drop me off their “friends” list. But, I really am just stating the obvious.

A heavily edited version of this article which differed a fair bit from the original article displayed here was published in Woroni in 2012.

A few years ago when I was a fresh undergraduate at The University of Queensland (UQ), I had a housemate from Tanzania.  Before I met my Tanzanian housemate, all I knew about Tanzania was the beautiful Kilimanjaro portrayed in pictures. In fact, all I knew about Africa then was what the Western Media had portrayed. Africa was a place filled with beautiful landscapes, people with dreadlocks who spoke in another language, safaris we absolutely have to visit, people plagued with poverty and AIDS, and often in need of foreign help. This is without a doubt what many people who are not in contact with the African culture think as well. I was naturally a little stunned when my Tanzanian housemate spoke to me in perfect English, and listened to Black Eyed Peas and Queen, just like I do.

Through my undergraduate days at UQ, and subsequently over the last two years at ANU, I came across as a surprise to many when I introduce myself as someone who originally came from Singapore. I had people commenting that I speak English really well, and was shocked when I told them that English is an official first language in Singapore. Others were unable to identify me as a Singaporean because I do not communicate in Singlish. Then, there were a few others who told me I am unusual for a Singaporean because of the very different topics I tend to talk about.

What struck me through these experiences was this: Most people had assumed that I communicate in Singlish and chat about a certain set of topics upon knowing that I am a Singaporean. That is something I am uncomfortable with. This single story of a Singaporean creates a stereotype that unfortunately paints an incomplete view of a person.

These encounters are what novelist Chimamanda Adichie calls “the danger of a single story” – the danger of thinking that people have a single narrative. For instance, if you have grown up in Singapore, your narrative will be the same as your neighbour. We often make myopic judgements of people, based on the very little we know of them from a single story. It is often a habit to make sweeping generalisations about a lot of things and to pigeonhole people.

Over the years, what I realise is that if you take time to listen to the stories everyone has to tell, everyone has different facets. Stories and not a single story make up who we are. When we stop pigeonholing people and start listening to their stories, there is a lot more we can learn from the people around us.

The following piece is my latest thought piece published at Woroni.

In a recent New York Times Op-Ed article, the writer wrote about how the pros of random selection, with particular reference to roommates, outweigh the cons. The writer mentioned the different studies that showed that much education takes place not through formal classroom syllabus, but rather in peer-to-peer learning that occurs in colleges. For example, economist Bruce Sacerdote found in a 2000 study that randomly assigned roommates at Darthmouth in the United States affected each other’s GPAs. On the other hand, David R. Harris, a sociologist at Cornell, found in a 2002 study, that white students who were assigned a roommate of a different race ended up more open-minded about race.

Looking back at the moments of randomness and spontaneity in my life, I have to agree with the writer. Unfortunately, with the inventions of the Internet and digital technologies, it has become tempting to resort to Google Search, instead of leaving things to randomness and spontaneity. Having everything in order and control is often valued over randomness. I know of friends who would not watch movies that they haven’t read reviews of or with less than three stars ratings or go to a random new restaurant that has opened up in town.

When I first started out as a postgraduate student in ANU last year, I recall forming an alliance with two PhD friends I had just befriended, putting their names down as preferred flat mates on the college accommodation forms online. I was also looking for off campus accommodation with friends. In hindsight, it might have been a blessing that I ended up in a studio on campus. Living in a studio forced me out of my comfort zone, to meet new wonderful friends I would otherwise not have really bothered knowing if I was living with friends.

It was also through randomness that I ended up with a girl from Tanzania as my off campus flat mate during my first year undergraduate days in Brisbane. I learned to appreciate the African culture and food, picked up bits and pieces of the Swahili language, and even hosted her in Singapore. She turned out to be the best flat mate I ever had, and would never have met if I did not leave things up to randomness. Of course, there are other times where random selections meant that I ended up with the worst flat mate ever in my life. Yet, I survived with hilarious tales of my ex-flat mate, the police, ambulance and the hospital to tell.

Certainly, there are other areas in life where certainty is valued over randomness, such as when it comes to seeing a doctor or a dentist. You would want a good professional one. A few months ago, I needed a dentist and decided to leave things up to randomness. Typically, I would have typed “good dentists in Canberra” on Google Search, be amazed by the answers I would be getting and choose one from the shortlist of dentists I have gathered. Yet, I chose to visit the dentist that is five minutes away from my office. My dentist turns out to be the best dentist I ever had in my life so far. Out of curiosity, I did a Google search on my dentist’s name the other day. One would never have guessed that the only thing that came up on Google search is that my dentist was actually a nominated bachelor for Canberra’s Bachelor of the Year. If I had done this earlier, I would probably never have turned up for my dental appointment.

So, the next time when you have some free time with no one else free, consider catching a random movie. You could be pleasantly surprised. After all, when we lose randomness, we lose that bit of serendipity in life, which makes it more interesting.

The following piece is my latest thought piece published at Woroni.

A giant, noisy, brightly-lit, gaudy carousel, whirling ever faster. Some watch and wonder from the darkness outside while others try to climb aboard. Some are clinging on precariously, trying not to fall off.

The successful riders grin giddily. A few sit in the still centre, sipping champagne. You look towards the controller’s booth and see that it is empty! This is the modern world.

From a young age you have focused on your achievements, in pursuit of perfection: that sense of achievement and the accompanying adrenaline high. You have grown accustomed to being seen as aloof and unsympathetic. You just find it hard to express your empathy towards others.

You always plan ahead. You take extra courses in an attempt to finish your bachelor’s degree in record time and forgo holidays in favour of prestigious internships.

But the adrenaline highs never last long enough. So you endlessly chase after the next big thing. You’re never satisfied. If your current job isn’t a step closer to the next job, it’s a waste of your time.

You don’t think you need help moving from place to place or lugging huge bags. As painful and tiring as it can be, your pride won’t let you ask for help. It’s hardly surprising people find you stubborn.

After a few years at work, you find yourself increasingly dissatisfied with your own incompetence. You quit your job, convinced that you need further education. You take on another degree – be it Masters, MBA or a PhD. Your hunger for perfection drives you insane sometimes. Acceptance into a prestigious postgraduate degree gives you that instant high once again, but it quickly sinks away.

Some days you wish you were in the dark, watching the madness of the carousel from safety On other days, you wonder if there would be one day where you make it to the calm centre of the ride.

The following piece is my latest thought piece published at Woroni.

A few weeks ago, I found myself in the Borders store in the Canberra Centre, browsing through the heavily discounted books. Almost everything in the store, down to the very shelves, was on final sale.

At its peak, Australia had 26 Borders Stores. All of these are being or already have been closed by administration. With the additional closure of the Angus & Robertson outlet in the Canberra Centre, ANU students are pretty much left with Dymocks and Smiths Alternative Bookshop as their only options in Civic.

As a kid, I remembered spending hours in bookshops flipping through page after page. Those trips to the bookstores cultivated my lifelong interest in reading, with books by Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl lining my bookshelves when I was younger. While those books have since been tucked away, they remain prized possessions. As an adult, browsing in bookstores remains one of my favourite things to do. I’m sure many would agree that it’s one of life’s sublime pleasures.

These days, the likes of e-books and readers such as the Kindle and iPad, seem to have taken over the world of reading, and found their way into lecture theatres. A few years ago, it was novel to see students using laptops in their lectures. Today, you can easily find students scrolling through lecture notes on their e-readers. For the cost-conscious consumer, e-books hold popularity because they are often much cheaper than physical books. For example, while Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner in hard-cover format retails for USD$16, the Kindle edition is nearly half-price at USD$8.30. The increase in e-book choices available is ever-expanding: while children’s books aren’t common, young adult books are.

Besides, reading a ‘board book’ – those durable and tactile things – to a toddler on an e-reader is unimaginable. Nonetheless, Barnes & Noble offer a range of “Read To Me” e-book under their range for younger readers.

Leaving e-books aside, hard-copy books sold online are always cheaper than those sold in brick-and-mortar bookshops. When all this is considered, the extinction of traditional bookshops doesn’t seem too far away! Yet, while entertaining that possibility, I can’t imagine a day in the future when my kids ask: “What’s a bookshop?”

The following piece is my latest thought piece published at Woroni.

I was walking around the campus when I came across the poster presenting the premier Canberra screening of the movie “The Economics of Happiness”. Over the last few months, I have read one too many articles on how Australia is the happiest nation in the world. With the gradual increase in emphasis on happiness, I can’t help but wonder why society has become so obsessed with “the pursuit of happiness”, so much so it has to be measured quantitatively.

Since the 1970s, economists and governments around the world have been arguing that economic growth doesn’t equal happiness. Way back in 1972, the then King of Bhutan instituted a GNH (Gross National Happiness) index as the basis for the country’s future planning. The GNH was carefully selected as a measure rather than the usual GDP (Gross Domestic Product), which the Bhutanese believe reflects only one aspect of national development. Last year, the UK government launched its own “happiness index” as an alternative to relying on Gross Domestic Product (GDP) as a basic guide to the nation’s progress. Three months ago, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) unveiled Australia as the “happiest” nation in the world according to its Better Life Index. The Index allows citizens to compare well-being across 34 countries, based on 11 dimensions the OECD has identified as essential, in the areas of material living conditions and quality of life: housing, income, jobs, community, education, environment, governance, health, life satisfaction, safety, work-life balance. Yet, just a few weeks ago, the Reserve Bank’s governor, Glenn Stevens, suggested that Australia’s households are unlikely to see a return of the “good old days”  of rapid spending growth, as consumers are now more cautious, suggesting that the country seemed “mostly unhappy”.

So, are we quantitatively certified “happy” or “unhappy”? Why are we so obsessed over measuring happiness? Do these measures really reflect happiness? In today’s society, it has become common to associate “the pursuit of happiness”  with a certain level of material success and economic activity. There is a constant pressure for people to have “bigger, better, more”. Yes, governments have attempted to shy away from focussing on GDP and economic statistics as a measure of well-being and happiness. However, measuring happiness has its flaws. Have a look at the Better Life Index launched by the OECD. Happiness economists, like the people at OECD, have attempted to measure well-being by taking into consideration citizens’ answers to quality-of-life questions like: “How satisfied are you with your life?” and “How would you describe your health?”, and “Do you know someone you could turn to in a time of need?” How accurate and reliable are these responses then? Other measures of well-being include looking at measures like income, jobs, education standards, political freedom and economic prosperity. However, reality seems to suggest that people do not seem to feel better when they have access to more money or when they are consuming more. Rather, a better quality of life seems to stem from a range of mostly immaterial things. The happiness paradox then questions the following: Why don’t people feel better despite the high standards the Western world has reached in terms of fields like economic prosperity, political freedom, hygiene and health standards and life expectancy? The happiness paradox therefore belies the statement ‘more income means more well-being’.

In reality, what we realise is that economic activity is largely related to providing relief for unhappiness. We constantly seek solutions to the negative externalities such as environmental degradation that comes with economic growth. So, instead of investing time and money into indices that actually says “Yes, you’re indeed the happiest nation in this world”, why don’t we focus on the economics of (relieving) unhappiness instead?